Sasha’s Dad by Geri Krotow Page B

Claire knew good manners would carry her further than an antagonistic attitude, warranted or not.
    “A prayer shawl for my church ministry.”
    Claire slid into the seat across from her. “That’s a wonderful idea! Do you think I could learn to make one?”
    “Of course.” Mrs. Ames peered into the basket Claire placed on the table between them. “Ooh, looks like you’ve been making progress!” The pleased tone was unexpected.
    “I’ve been learning on the Internet and from a friend. I know I should finish one project before I begin another, but I can’t help myself.”
    “Nonsense. It’s important to have several projects going at once. I always do. Keeps me interested. I finish them as needed—whether a gift for me or someone else.”
    Relief washed over Claire. “I must admit I’m thrilled to hear you say that. I thought I might have some kind of knitting attention-deficit disorder.”
    Mrs. Ames laughed. “No more than the rest of us—oh, look, here comes Patsy.”
    Patsy Lovette sashayed in, her giraffe-print jacket an odd mix with her blueberry shade of dyed hair and fuchsia scarf.
    “Hey.” She cast a curious glance at Claire and bent to air-kiss Mrs. Ames.
    “You remember each other, don’t you?” Mrs. Ames offered as introduction.
    Claire smiled at Patsy. How could they forget? They’d both competed for the same spot on the high school gymnastics team. Claire won in ninth and tenth grade, but Patsy had taken the spot as a junior and senior. They’d never been real enemies, but not close friends, either.
    “Hi,” Claire said.
    “Hi, honey, I heard you were back in town. Didn’t know you were a knitter, though.” Patsy wasn’t at the group that disastrous time the year before.
    Claire shoved the memory aside. She’d assumed it would be a group of genteel older ladies all too willing to teach a young woman like her the techniques of their craft. Not the lively women she’d discovered, many of whom still grieved Natalie.
    “So what are you working on?” Patsy nodded at Claire’s basket.
    Claire had faced world leaders with what they perceived as hostile interview questions. She’d stared down prevaricating government officials. She could handle opposition and criticism with the best of them; she knew not to take it personally.
    But her knitting projects were highly personal. She’d labored over learning the stitches and deciding which patterns she could attempt with her limited skills. Learning to knit was part of how she’d redefined herself.
    To her dismay, her hands shook as she reached into her basket. She yanked up the first project she touched, hoping that her action covered her nervousness.
    “This is a scarf and this—” she pulled out a brown square “—is the first of thirty-six squares for an afghan I saw in a magazine.”
    Patsy’s hands were all over her projects, caressing the yarn. “Oooh, is this alpaca?”
    “No, it’s a blend of llama and merino.”
    “Really? Did you buy that around here?”
    “She’s probably one of those Internet yarn buyers, aren’t you, Claire? Your generation doesn’t go to stores as much.” Mrs. Ames sniffed and kept up with her knitting, using the plastic needles Claire had tried, but found uncomfortable in her hands.
    “Actually, it’s from the farm where I bought my llamas.” Claire felt a certain smugness—she might not knit well, but she’d learned a great deal about fiber over the past couple of years. “Llama fiber tends to stretch, so even though it’s warm and soft like alpaca, it works best when it’s spun with another wool or natural fiber.”
    Patsy nodded again. “You’re really gonna make a go of this—your llama farm?”
    Claire couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “That’s my plan.”
    “Give me a high five!” Claire hesitated when Patsy held up a slim, acrylic-nailed hand, but then raised her own worn, short-nailed hand and landed a firm smack on Patsy’s palm.
    “Now this is what I’m