Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Adelaide
“You know how I think you make a lot of dumb decisions?” Willow says as I’m shoving a pair of overalls into a bag at the front door.
I glance up at her. A smug smile is on her face and her left eye twitches. I straighten.
“Okay, sure.”
“Well, you’re making a really dumb decision here now.”
“By going to the embroidery club?”
Willow sighs dramatically and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, Addie, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I don’t have time to entertain her sarcasm. I’m already running late for the Monday evening meeting, and seeing as it’s only an hour, it’s almost not worth going if I wait any longer. I throw the bag over my shoulder and grab my keys from the hook.
“I won’t be gone long,” I say. “But text me if you’re going out.”
I open the door and she salutes me. God, I miss the days when her hatred for me was more subtle.
“Be safe!” Willow calls. “Don’t trip and fall into another criminal!”
I want to antagonize and yell back that there’s only one criminal whose arms I plan on falling into, but I don’t. She’s not worth the time. And I would also never refer to Zander that way.
I climb into my car and throw my embroidery bag onto the passenger seat.
The dusky last bits of sunlight stream through the fractals on the stained-glass film I applied to my sunroof.
It’s an extra boost of serotonin every time I drive somewhere.
And frankly, I need it today, because Willow has made it her mission to convince me Zander is awful.
I need the quiet, the space away from my manuscript, and an hour of working with my hands to clear my thoughts.
I’ve made the most informed decision I can.
I listened to everything Zander had to say and saw the story work its way through his body like a crippling pain.
It wasn’t an easy telling. It isn’t a part of himself he likes.
I heard him out, then went home and read the articles he sent to me about that night and the fallout.
I stayed up half the night and binge-read his memoir.
And I cried. A lot. When I woke up, I made sure to send him a text that I cared about him.
So I won’t write him off. Not now. Not when everything in me is convinced he’s a good man fallen victim to his circumstance, which he has made every effort to overcome.
I don’t rush on my way to the library. I may be running the slightest bit late, but, honestly, when am I not?
I’ll get my embroidery time in. But I’ll also get the relaxing drive through Beaver Creek’s most scenic areas.
The colourful houses and old school brick storefronts are hallmarks of my hometown.
We’ve always prioritized nature, which is why the park is such a huge fixture in town, but it’s also why we have so many trees and flower beds in the downtown core.
It’s iced over in winter, blossoming throughout spring, vibrant and bright for summer, and sepia toned with fallen leaves come autumn. It’s a marvel in all seasons.
The library is once again busy, and I find myself parking in the exact same spot where I met Zander. Maybe that’s destiny. Maybe I’m pushing it a little because I didn’t even try the parking lot.
Embroidery club is held in a program room at the back of the library.
It’s small, lined with comfortable chairs that sit in a circle, and has a view of the garden in the courtyard at the back.
It’s a cozy reprieve from life that I’m glad I’ve had since the beginning of the year.
I’ve liked playing around with yarn and string since I was a teenager, but it always feels a little different when you have a community enjoying the same thing.
I sit back in the leather armchair that has become my chair and pull out my supplies. I’ve been embroidering a pair of overalls with mushrooms, flowers, and insects for the better part of a week. Eventually, these will be my gardening overalls.
A half-finished bumblebee stares at me from the pocket on the chest. I find my yellow thread and settle in to work, when an older woman, with wide-set hips and a puff of wavy hair that ends by her cheeks, eases herself down into the chair next to me.
I look up from my lap and smile. She sends one back my way, a dimple imprinting itself in her cheek rings a familiar bell in my brain.
“Hello, Adelaide,” she says, her voice smooth and motherly, “it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Oh,” I say. “Peggy!”
“Yes, honey, that’s me. From what I’ve heard, you’re a lovely woman.”
I flush. It’s not often I meet the parents, or grandparents.
Aside from my ex-boyfriend Daniel who grew up here with me so I knew his parents by default, I’ve only ever met one boyfriend’s family.
And they didn’t like me. So that hasn’t really made me feel all that confident about my viability as a suitable partner.
Peggy looks at me like she has stars in her dark eyes, illuminated behind her gorgeous blue glasses.
It is not funny how much I want glasses exactly like that.
Instead, I adjust the gold wireframes on the bridge of my nose.
“Zander’s talked about me, then? Because he talks about you all the time. He thinks the world of you.”
Her smile wobbles. “Thank you. I’m so glad to hear that. I imagine we’ve been unknowingly under each other’s noses for quite some time now. I should have brought Zander to town sooner.”
“I wouldn’t have complained,” I say with a laugh.
“Good. Good. I think you’re good for him.”
“What do you mean?”
Eva, the librarian in charge of the more creative events here, shuts the door to the program room after the final chair fills.
I recognize all ten of the women here, all in their usual seats apart from Peggy Browning.
Everyone aside from me and a girl fresh out of high school are over sixty.
I never said my hobbies were young and hip.
“What’s everyone working on today?” Eva asks. She holds up an embroidery hoop divided into twelve sections. Almost half of them are filled with small embroidered details. “I’m filling in this past week’s year in stitches. It’s really starting to shape up now.”
I have this theory Eva started up embroidery club to ensure she finishes this project.
When the program went up on the library’s website at the end of December, The Year In Stitches, where you embroider one icon a day for 365 days, was advertised as something we could accomplish with our time in the club.
While a few of the members kept up with it, most didn’t.
I didn’t.
I didn’t come here for structure.
We joke now that embroidery club has more or less become yarn and thread club. So long as you’re creating something, no one really cares. Honestly, you could probably show up and just exist and we’d still be chill.
Light chatter fills the room after everyone volunteers what they’re working on. Peggy pulls out a half-finished needlepoint of a Christmas village.
“I know it’s early,” she says when she notices me looking over. “But I want to be able to hang this up come December.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t judging. I just wanted to see what it was.”
She flattens it out over her lap, running her knobby fingers over the spaces she hasn’t yet filled. Colourful houses and pristine snowdrifts. It almost looks like our little town.
“To answer your question,” she says, setting up for the next section of work, “I appreciate you giving him a chance. He’s a good kid. He got mixed up in some terrible things and I regret not being there for him every day.”
I thread string through my needle and take a breath. Guilt seems common in the Browning family.
“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you,” I say.
Peggy pauses, sighs. “I’m sure he doesn’t either.
He’s too hung up on blaming himself. That’s why I think you’re good for him.
He’s due for someone other than me believing in him.
” I let out a breathy laugh and she snaps her head toward me.
“He’s told you about his past, hasn’t he? I’m not just running my mouth, am I?”
“Oh, he has. Yesterday.” I meet her eyes, frames to frames.
She nods and turns back to her work. “I know what happened was awful and I get why he struggles to let that go. I’m not sure I could ever—I don’t know—reconcile, I guess?
I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself. I don’t understand why the town treats him the way they do, though. ”
“Beaver Creek is a lovely place and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But sometimes, a small town is just…small.”
I know all too well what she means. I felt the same after my mom left.
The whole town knew and looked at me a certain way, pity ringing their eyes, even if they thought I didn’t notice.
I was gossip fodder at school for a while, before the town moved onto the next piece of scandal.
Which, thinking back, was likely when Zander’s parents were outed as abusive.
“I couldn’t wait to leave Beaver Creek as a teenager,” I tell her, looping thread through my jeans. “And then I couldn’t wait to come back after I graduated. Funny how that works.”
“I think you’ve given Zander a reason to come back home.”
“Don’t put that all on me.” I laugh nervously.
She chuckles like we’re in on some secret joke. “Of course not, honey. No pressure. I just like seeing him happy. If your blush is any indication, my sense is that the two of you probably glow when you’re together.”
If possible, I blush harder. My whole body goes hot. I fan myself with my hand, string still dangling from between my fingers. Peggy bites back a smile.