The Knitting Diaries (21 page)

F
or three days Caro checked her email, waiting to hear from Gage. She didn’t like to think of a near stranger as an obsession, but the attachment between them felt far stronger than she expected or even wanted. Her grandmother had managed to find a way for her to contact him, to her relief.

“Gage Grayson? Yes, I believe he wrote me via email last month. Let me look him up.” Her grandmother slanted her a questioning look. “Was there a problem with the painting he picked up for his friend?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just that—we went to lunch. Nothing more. And I told him he could write me, but after he left I found the piece of paper with my email address. He dropped it near his truck, and I haven’t heard from him yet.”

Caro’s grandmother started to say something, then closed her mouth abruptly. She looked down and flipped through a thick binder. “Here he is. Lieutenant Gage Grayson. I have an APO address, a cell phone number and an email address for him. I’ll write down all three of them for you.” Morgan’s voice was carefully neutral. “I spoke to him twice on the phone last week and he seemed like
a very nice young man. He was only visiting here temporarily, as I recall.”

“He was going back to Afghanistan. Then something happened and his flight was moved up. But there was something about him, Gran. We both felt it. I’m not sure that I can explain.”

Morgan McNeal nodded slowly. “Sometimes things aren’t logical. Never ignore the feelings that don’t seem to make sense. Those can be the most valuable of all. If I had ignored that small, nagging instinct, I never would have met your grandfather.”

“Really? You knew he was—special, right from the start? You never told me that.”

“I can keep some secrets, can’t I?” Caro’s grandmother stared out the window. “And that story will have to wait for another day, my love. We have work to do.” Morgan closed her binder, brisk and efficient as usual. “Now let me look at your hand. You’ve got another physical therapy visit tomorrow in Portland, and I don’t want him to say you’ve been coasting. Have you managed any knitting yet?”

“Nothing to speak of.” Caro laughed wryly. “I took it all for granted, Gran. First cables, then lace, even color stranding in the old Nordic style. Knitting was always there for me when I needed comfort or focus or just plain entertainment. I was beginning to learn crochet, too, with all those beautiful motif squares. And I loved all of it.” She took a deep breath. “Now I can barely hold two needles at once, much less knit an even row of stitches. The day that Gage came here, I broke Mother’s old teapot from clumsiness. All I wanted was a cup of tea. But I misjudged and knocked the pot to the floor.”

“Just give it time, Caro.”

“I have. It’s been over a month, but nothing works right.”

“You’re in pain, too,” her grandmother said quietly. “I can tell.”

Caro closed her eyes. “I’m lucky to be alive and mobile. I’m blessed to have you helping me. I know and believe this, Gran. The accident could have been far worse.” She smiled a little. “But why is it that I keep thinking about what I
used
to have?”

“Call it being honest with yourself. You
have
lost a part of your life, after all. But a very wise and experienced victim’s advocate once told me that in her work, brutal honesty was always the first step to recovery. Do you remember telling me that, Caro? It was your second year and you had a very difficult case at the time.”

“I remember. So I’ll follow my own advice and keep being honest. Forgive me for any whining. In fact, just give me a nice sharp bang on the head and tell me to shut up.”

Caro’s grandmother laughed and gave her a quick hug instead. “No banging will be required. Now, why don’t you go and butter those scones that Melissa sent from the Island Diner while I get out your therapy bag. Something tells me this session is going to hurt more than your others. I think that you’re at a transition point. If you push harder, you can break through to a new level. But it’s going to cost you.”

“I can take the pain, Gran. What I can’t take is these reminders of all the things I used to be able to do. It’s like running into a brick wall with a picture on it, and that picture is yourself the way you used to be, but you can’t get there because you’re all blocked off. Everything is changed. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense. And we will tackle that wall together, you and I. Even though it came about in this horrible
fashion, I’m so happy to have you here, Caro. Never think that you’re a burden on me. And while we work, you can tell me more about this charming lieutenant you had lunch with.” She stopped suddenly, looking thoughtful. “Wait a minute—he had two animals with him, didn’t he? It was hard for me to see into the truck when he left.”

“That’s right. A cat and a dog. Why?”

Morgan drummed her fingers on the big antique farm table. “Peter Lindstrom saw him. At least, I think it was your lieutenant. The description fits. I think I’ll call Peter and find out.” Her eyes twinkled. “But not until you finish your exercises. That will give you some incentive to work harder.”

Twenty minutes later Caro reached for her towel with trembling fingers. She was wrung out and sweating, but she’d made clear progress. She had to be grateful for that.

“If Gage had a problem, why didn’t he say something to me? He could have brought his pets to me. I would have found a way.”

“He barely knew you, Caro. Probably he didn’t want to bother you. You didn’t by any chance happen to mention that I’m allergic to cats, did you?”

Caro blew out a sharp breath. “You’re right. We were talking about his cat, and I said how wonderful she was, but I couldn’t ever have a pet because you were allergic.”

“There’s your answer. That young man chose not to saddle you with his problem.”

“So what happened? Dr. Lindstrom wouldn’t have taken Gage’s animals away to another shelter, would he?” Caro shot to her feet, grabbing for her coat. “Let’s
go,
Gran. We need to find those two before anything happens to them. I have to—”

Morgan laughed. “Sit down and relax, scatter-head. The matter is well in hand. Even though you think of Peter and me as ancient, we still have a few brain cells left. I found out that Gage’s cat and dog are living with Peter.”

“You’re sure?” Caro felt some of her tension ease. “They’re definitely safe?”

“Absolutely. Tomorrow they’re going home with Peter. He has been rehabilitating a wounded hawk and couldn’t risk an encounter until he freed it. So everything will be fine with Bogart and Bacall.”

Caro stood holding her coat, unable to relax. “They’re at the shelter now? I want to go see them, Gran. I want to help Dr. Lindstrom take care of them. And when I get back,” she said slowly, “I’m going to write to Gage. Maybe I can send him some photos. Do you think he would like that?”

“I think it would be wonderful. We’ll go just as soon as you finish your last set of exercises.”

Caro stuck out her tongue. “Have I ever told you you’re a dictator?”

“Only twice today. But I’m determined to see you knitting again by the end of the month.” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “My studio gets cold, remember? You promised me a new pair of fingerless gloves. I’d like pink. And you can make a matching pair for yourself while you’re at it,” Morgan added slyly. “I’m sure that your dashing lieutenant will think they’re very cute.”

Caro’s grandmother helped her carry a big plastic bag up the steps to the animal shelter. Inside the bag were cat treats and dog toys purchased at Summer Island’s only grocery store. The veterinarian opened the door and
welcomed her inside, looking a little tired but very happy to see Caro and her grandmother. Dr. Peter Lindstrom was still handsome at seventy-two, and he worked the hours of a man three decades younger. Caro had always suspected that he and her grandmother had a secret attachment. Dr. Lindstrom’s wife had died seven years earlier after a protracted battle with lupus, and Caro had thought they might marry after that, but the two seemed happy to live independent lives.

It figured, she though wryly. Caro never expected her grandmother to do anything the normal way.

“Come in, come in,” the vet said, waving them into his office. “Have you come to help me clean out cages or to administer enemas?”

It took Caro a moment to realize he was kidding. “That’s a joke, I hope.”

“Of course it is. I’m pleased simply to have your company, Caro. And your grandmother’s too,” he added, slanting a look at Morgan. “You’d better not stay long, Morgan. Your allergies—”

“I know my own limits, Peter. Five minutes will be fine. Then I’ll just go outside. But Caro wanted to see how Bogie and Bacall were doing.”

Peter Lindstrom’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, your grandmother told me you spent some time with the lieutenant.”

“Only a little.” Caro brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, feeling self-conscious. “I had lunch with him before he had to leave. He told me that a friend was going to take his pets while he was in Afghanistan.”

“Yes, I believe that was all arranged. Then his friend had to be hospitalized. Gage didn’t have many options by then, but he landed at the right place and his animals are safe with me. They miss him, of course.” The vet shot a
thoughtful look at Caro. “I suspect they’re not the only ones.”

Caro didn’t hear, too focused on opening the door to the back treatment rooms, where she could hear Bogart barking. The big dog almost knocked her over when she went inside. Caro scratched his head carefully, wary of her wrist, while the dog pranced in delight around her. Bacall was curled up in a wicker basket lined with a flannel sheet. The cat looked thinner than she remembered and seemed to be lethargic. “Dr. Lindstrom, how is Gage’s cat? Has she been eating? She doesn’t look so good.”

“She’s taking it harder than the dog, but they’re both missing their owner, Caro. It’s not scientific, but I can tell.” The vet stood in the doorway, frowning. “People or animals—all of us suffer from the force of our emotions.”

For a moment Caro read something deeper there as the older man glanced back at her grandmother who had walked out to the front porch. Then the vet cleared his throat and leaned down to search through his well-stocked drawers. “Gage left this for them.” He held out a plastic bag. “It has two of his old T-shirts and an old sweatshirt. He figured these would help them make the transition. He’s very intelligent, that young man. Maybe you’d like to give them to the animals, Caro. It should be okay now.”

“Now? I don’t understand.”

“I waited so they’d have a clean transition. I didn’t want them strung along, hoping Gage would walk back through the door. They have to adjust to him being gone. As it was, it took me twelve hours to even get them into my office. They stayed right at the front door, hoping he would come walking back through it.”

Caro felt a lump in her throat as she took the bag with Gage’s clothing. Bogart bumped against her side as she
crossed the room, but the cat stared up at her without any interest. The poor creature was clearly suffering.

Caro knelt next to the basket and spread Gage’s old T-shirt on her lap. “Do you want to come here, honey? I’ve got a treat for you.” The cat’s head rose. Ears back, she sniffed the air. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped from the basket straight into Caro’s lap, sniffing every corner of Gage’s old T-shirt intently.

“That’s a good sign. She remembers Gage. These will make her feel calm. Give her a few minutes, Caro. Let her get comfortable and then try a couple of those treats you brought. This is the most alert she’s been since Gage left.”

The cat sniffed and stalked, exploring every inch of the worn T-shirt, her tail straight up in the air. Caro heard a low rumble of a purr. Then Bacall rolled onto her back, rubbing her body against the T-shirt in a frantic display of excitement. “So cute. She definitely remembers. Is there anything else I can do to help her?”

“I’d say you just did the best thing possible. Just give her a few treats when she’s ready. And now, since there are more cages to be cleaned out, I think I’ll go and deal with that. Maybe you wouldn’t mind staying here with Lieutenant Grayson’s animals. Once I finish, I’ll take your grandmother down to the house for some coffee.”

“I guess that makes
me
a cheap date,” Morgan called through the open door to the porch.

“You two go on and have your coffee.” Smiling, Caro reached out to stroke the cat’s white fur. “Once my hand is better, you can put me down for any kind of work you need done here at the shelter, Dr. Lindstrom.”

The vet stood in the doorway. “Any idea when that might be?”

“A few more weeks. My physical therapist says I should have some real strength back by then—probably enough for simple jobs like cleaning cages and changing litter.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The vet rubbed his neck. “With funding the way it is, I can use all the help I can get. And if you’re certain you’ll be okay, I could definitely use some coffee. We won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need. We’ll be fine here. Won’t we, Bacall?”

The idea came to Caro while she was listening to Bacall purr. The cat had wolfed down four treats and now was sleeping contentedly, curled up in Caro’s lap.

For no reason she could name, Caro itched to grab one of her grandmother’s sketching pencils. She had no great talent, but Caro had lied to Gage about being completely without artistic genes. As a girl she had delighted in making quick cartoon sketches of her friends. She had even sold a few to their parents. But the skill had never seemed very important to her.

Caro decided she would begin a little diary with daily sketches of the two animals. Even though any kind of drawing would be a challenge, Caro was determined. It would be her gift to Gage.

After all, a soldier in a faraway place needed a little sunlight in his life.

Forward Operating Base Wolverine
Afghanistan

“Lieutenant, you’ve got a call coming in. And I think there’s an email for you.”

Gage took off his helmet and swept the sand out of his face. Flies buzzed in through the window, along with the
smell of mutton fat carried over the ridge. Another spring day in paradise, he thought wryly.