Chapter Twenty-Seven
As soon as it opened the next morning, I was at the fiber store. I didn’t need anything … except serenity.
I still had two projects I was working on: the table runner and the lace project. Both of those had languished over the last few weeks. I should start weaving again. The lace pattern took a lot of concentration. It would keep me from thinking about things that might have been.
If my mind was too distracted, though, I could make mistakes. That would be unfortunate. It was coming along nicely. The table runner took concentration, but my fingers were familiar with the pattern, and I was almost doing it by rote.
After receiving three texts from Rodrigo this morning, I put my phone on airplane mode. There was nothing I could say to him right now. I’d let myself mourn a little more, then send him a final text telling him it wasn’t going to work for me and to have a nice life.
A phone call would more polite. But I couldn’t bear to listen to his voice right now.
As for seeing him, that was out of the question.
So here I was with my first love: yarn. My mom had taught me to knit, just like she had with Liz and Diane, only with me it had stuck. I loved the repetitive motion that produced an actual thing that someone could use. Once she took me to the store—a discount place—to see the varieties and colors of yarn, I was hooked. There was yarn that was so delicate it could be used to crochet the doilies that my great-aunt loved, and other so bulky, fuzzy, and colorful, I could create wild scarves as gifts for my few friends.
Later I began to learn about the multitude of varieties of sheep, as well as other fiber producers like alpacas and camels. Spinning yarn and using it to create garments was a craft that went back almost to the beginning of human history.
It had always been mind candy to me, as well as a distraction.
Surely, it could be enough to stop the movie reel of my time with Rodrigo from running over and over again in my mind.
“Can I help you?” one of the sales clerks asked.
She looked familiar .
“I recognize you,” she said, her smile broadening. “You came to the lace class. How is that going for you?”
“Slow, but steady,” I said.
We chatted for a few moments about the challenges of the craft, then she said, “You have a good time browsing and let me know if you need anything.”
It was one of the best traits of fiber stores and bookstores. Sales clerks were there to help, not hover. I’d visited quite a few fiber places on our trip, and they’d all been filled with friendly folk ready to chat about anything non-controversial.
People talked about personal problems and yarn problems, but politics and religion were left at the door. Just the click and swish of ancient tools and the continual murmur of women’s conversations.
Serenity.
Maybe I should knit something in the evenings while we were watching television. It wasn’t too early to get started on Christmas gifts. I could find a nice tweedy sweater pattern for Liz, who was moving to the Hudson Valley after we finished our trip.
I was going to miss her. We’d lived on the same property for a long time, and I was used to seeing her there. We hadn’t always been the closest confidantes, but no one had known me longer than my sisters. Diane would be moving to Butte to take up her relationship with Joe, but she’d be living in an apartment close to his house.
Remnants of church teachings, and his children, kept her from moving in before any official ceremony.
Since Diane had been living in the San Francisco Bay Area for decades, she’d need a nice, thick sweater … or maybe a hat, scarf, and mittens set. My son and his family could always use new warm clothes, as they’d been Texas residents for a long time.
Did they even use knitted garments in Texas? What was I going to make up for Rodrigo?
My breath caught in my throat.
There was no need to give anything to him. I was tossing him out like yesterday’s trash.
Fool.
No, no, I tried to convince myself. This was the right thing to do. He should find someone else, someone he’d known for a long time.
The image of Trixie Lynn rose in my mind. I shuddered. As soon as I left, she’d try to get her hooks into him. He’d resist, but eventually, she’d wear him down. The sisters would tsk, but she would put them in their place .
I tested the texture of a delicious deep blue sport weight yarn. It would look beautiful knitted up in a vest that would keep him warm for early morning golf games or late night porch sitting.
My heart started to ache all over again.
I’d so clearly imagined us sitting together watching the sun set on one of our ranches. He’d said he was willing to come to Montana. Not move there permanently, but spend time there.
Did I really want to spend any more winters in the state?
I’d enjoyed this time without snow or the freezing temperatures that chilled the marrow of my bones so much that it took days to leave.
Was I being resistant because I was being realistic, or had Trixie Lynn’s suggestion wormed its way into my brain and grown into a full-sized monster?
I’d never given Rodrigo a chance to defend himself. He’d told me he didn’t cheat on his wife, but there was still suspicion in my heart, suspicion put there by that woman, just as she’d intended.
And the gambling? Was I overlaying the pain I’d experienced with Michael on a fun night of bingo years later?
Or was fear of change still driving my life?
I’d resisted this trip, and it had been one of the most wonderful experiences I’d ever had.
“That’s lovely yarn, isn’t it?” the sales clerk said.
“Yes.”
“It’s the perfect weight for Texas. We don’t need the heavy sweaters of the north, but an extra layer can make a difference sometimes. Do you have something in mind?”
If only she knew.
Some bubble of hope hadn’t died.
“Not yet, but let me take enough to make a sweater,” I said. Better to have more than I needed from the same dye lot than risk not having enough, even if I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it.
“Sure thing.” Her smile brightened. Sweater sales were always going to be more satisfying than the single skein required for a hat.
With my purchases all neatly placed in a basic shopping bag with the shop’s logo, I left the store. While I hadn’t achieved serenity, I felt more at peace.
Yarn had a way of doing that.
~ ~ ~
“Kathleen!” Genna called as soon as I got out of the car at the RV park.
“Hi,” I said, unsure if I was happy to see her.
“It feels like ages since we’ve had time to weave and spin together,” she said. “Things must be heating up with that guy you told me about.”
“That’s a long story,” I said.
“Then tomorrow will be perfect.”
“Why?”
“My husband’s got a big fishing trip scheduled with a group. It’s one of the reasons he’s down here. He helps wounded veterans—amputees and that sort of thing—learn to fish again.”
“How wonderful,” I said.
“It is. He gets great satisfaction. From surveys they can tell that it’s a real boon to the veterans as well. Apparently fishing is as relaxing as spinning or weaving.”
“My dad loved to go fly fishing,” I said. “Always alone, though. He’d never take any of us. He needed his alone time.”
“We all do,” Genna said. “So I’ll see you tomorrow? I picked up some cheeses and other things from some of the local markets. I’d love to share.”
“Thank you. I think we have some berries I could add.” Genna was one of the kindest and most generous people I knew. We’d have to keep in touch.
~ ~ ~
The next day I brought over the table runner to work on. I didn’t think my brain could handle the intricacies of the lace pattern.
We settled into our crafts in the shade outside her trailer. The soft new age type music she had going in the background was soothing, as was the air temperature. Weaving outside at the end of February was something that wouldn’t have ever crossed my mind.
After a period of catching up, we were quiet for a long time.
“How are things going with you and the man you met?” Genna asked when we took a break to nibble at some of the delicious cheeses and crackers she’d bought. “Are you staying after your sisters leave? Or coming back when your trip is over?”
“Neither,” I said.
“Oh?”
“It’s not going to work out,” I said. “There are too many unknowns. ”
“Well, you won’t figure them out if you don’t spend time with him,” she said.
“The logistics to do that are crazy,” I said.
“You do most of the driving on the rig already, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“So what’s the big deal? You just drive it back down here, give it a few months, then see where you’re at.”
“You make it sound easy,” I complained.
“I know. Sorry about that,” Genna said. “It wasn’t easy for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s go back outside, and I’ll tell you about it,” she said.
When we were settled back into our chairs, she began.
“I was married for twenty years, pretty much straight out of high school,” she said. “It sounds a lot like what you’ve described. We were teenage sweethearts. He was captain of the football team, I was a reluctant cheerleader. I did it more to be with him at the games than because I wanted to be a cheerleader.” She smiled. “Of course, cheerleading was very different back then. We were just there to root our team to victory. It wasn’t a competitive sport.”
“Sometimes it feels like every feel-good thing we ever did has been taken over by people trying to make money from pitting us against each other,” I said.
Genna laughed. “That sounds right to me.” Her fingers gently pulled fiber from a clump she had in her hand while the wheel magically made yarn.
“We did all right for the first ten years,” she continued. “We had our kids. Our relatives were close by, and our jobs went okay. He worked in manufacturing, and I was a nurse. Then the factory moved somewhere else—not overseas, I think they were just going south back then. He lost his job along with half the town. It was tough finding anything with a high school diploma and no experience other than a factory job.”
The wheel slowed and came to a stop. She looked over at me. “I’m telling you this because I want you to know everyone has secrets. Everyone has moments in their lives when they wished they’d done things differently. Keeping this to ourselves only makes the shame fester. We need to share and support each other so we can break free of the past and find a more joyful future.”
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
The wheel started up.
“Seeing how much he could drink became his next job. It took a long time before it really began to affect us, and I put up with a lot, more than I should have. He got odd jobs while I kept working. The kids made it to high school.”
For a few moments she didn’t say anything, and I respected the silence.
“I thought I could ride it out until they left home, but one night he came home and told the kids we were only in this situation because I refused to move. If I really supported him, he said, I’d move south where he could find work. It was only because I refused to go that we were poor.” She glanced at me. “Problem was that was the first I’d ever heard of it.
“I tried to tell him that, but I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before. I told the kids to go to their rooms. They were reluctant to go, but I insisted. Once they were gone, I told him he needed to stop drinking, get counseling, and then we’d discuss moving.” The wheel slowed, but didn’t stop.
“He backhanded me.”
I felt the statement like a punch in the gut.
The wheel seemed to go at a faster and faster pace. A tear trickled down Genna’s check.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling like what I’d dealt with was nothing compared to her trauma. “Did you leave him?”
She shook her head.
I moved my shuttle back and forth. The air around us practically vibrated with her anguish.
No matter how long ago this had happened, the hurt remained. I knew that. Nothing ever made it go away. You just learned to deal with it.
Some of us did it better than others.
“He never hit me again,” she said. “He got counseling, said we needed to stay together for the kids’ sake, and I agreed. I did move into the guest bedroom. Being intimate just seemed wrong.”
I nodded. I’d done the same when I could no longer deal with Michael’s lies and excuses.
“He joined a church,” she said. “When he did that, I thought we had a chance. Maybe we could pull it together. Maybe I could forgive him so that we could learn to love each other again.”
Somehow, I believed, it got even worse before they split.
“The church he joined was very conservative. They believed in traditional roles, family run by a male head of household.” She gave me a wry smile. “It was too late. I was used to doing things my own way.”
She stopped the wheel to draft some more fiber. “Unfortunately, my husband traded in one addiction for another. He soon became a leader in the church, and my failure to become a compliant, submissive wife chafed. The boys pretty much ignored him.”
Starting up the wheel, she chuckled. “Oh, the lectures he began to give me. Once he tried to get me to agree to domestic discipline.”
“What’s that?” I asked. The term seemed vaguely familiar, but I had no idea what it actually meant.
“Spanking your wife when she gets out of line.”
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“For real.”
“Insane.” I tried to imagine placing myself over any man’s lap for discipline.
I started laughing, and she joined in.
“What did you do?” I asked when we finally calmed down.
“Exactly what we just did. I laughed at him. His face turned so red I thought he was going to have a heart attack. That’s when I realized the total absurdity of the situation. He wasn’t going to change. Neither was I. I filed for divorce the next day. He protested a bit when I told him he had to move out, but our boys had gotten as tall as he was, and both were doing sports. He left.”
“That’s quite a story,” I said. “You must be incredibly strong.”
“We all are,” Genna said as she started up the wheel again. “No one realizes how strong women are because we use our strength quietly. We endure things we shouldn’t have to. Sometimes we forget how strong we are, and we let others do things around us and to us they shouldn’t be allowed to do. That’s why we need to support each other, give each other the strength to take a clear-eyed look at what’s actually happening and take action if necessary.”
I nodded and concentrated on my weaving.
What was supposed to happen now? Was I supposed to share? Were we bonding?
It was the reason I’d never joined a self-help group. I was fine with listening and supporting. It was talking about myself that was difficult.
There was too much shame.
“Whew,” she said. “I need a break. How about you? Let’s go inside for a bit and have something to eat. I’ve got a nice bottle of Riesling if you want to crack that open. Or iced tea—unsweetened. I’ve never gotten used to the sweet stuff. ”
“Me either,” I confessed.
She laid a sheet over the spinning and weaving to protect from any birds with overactive digestive systems, and we went inside.
“How did you meet your new husband?” I asked.
“At work. He was a pediatric doctor. His wife had died of complications in childbirth, and he’d never remarried. I did a rotation under him. First, I fell in love with how he handled the kids. He knew when to be gentle and when to josh or get stern. Then I fell in love with him.” She held up the wine in one hand and a pitcher of iced tea in the other.
I pointed to the tea.
“Fortunately,” she said. “He fell in love right back.”
“It’s great when it works out that way.”
“You should give him a chance,” she said.
“Who?”
“The guy you’ve been seeing.”
“We’ve got nothing in common.”
“I find that hard to believe. You wouldn’t have seen him multiple times if you had nothing in common. Tell me what you’ve been up to. I love romance.”
“There’s no romance.”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Um …”
“That’s a yes. There’s romance. So spill.”
Maybe I should have had the wine after all.
But suddenly I felt a need to talk about Rodrigo, if for no other reason than to explore my feelings for him.
This was a safe place to explore. I loved my sisters, but they were far too used to telling me what to do since they were older. Having just rediscovered love for themselves, they were also very opinionated on the subject.
So I relived all of my experiences with Rodrigo, from the hilarious miniature golf fiasco to viewing the city at night to our horseback rides. As I talked, I became more aware of the intensity of my feelings in such a short time. He’d been considerate at every turn.
“My problem, I think,” I admitted to Genna. “Is that I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Is it all an act? Or is that who he really is? I was so wrong about Michael.”
“Why don’t you tell me about Michael,” she said softly.
I took a deep breath. “I think I’ll take a glass of that Riesling now,” I said .
She nodded and poured us each a glass.
I settled into one of the chairs in the RV and started to talk. I told it from beginning to end, even though I may have said some of the information before. The logical explanation was as much for me as it was for her.
“Like you,” I began. “We were high school sweethearts. Not standouts in the school, just some of the ranch kids that hung together for the most part. Some of the guys joined athletics, and a few of them took their shot at college, particularly in schools with ag degrees. Most of us were middle-of-the-road kids, looking for a high school diploma. We might go on to a trade school or community college, but that was about it. Unlike my sisters, I felt no need to leave Butte.”
“You were happy there.”
“Yes. Especially after Michael and I got together. I felt complete … you know, satisfied. I knew who I was going to be, and it was exactly what I wanted. I’d be a rancher’s wife, his partner, and a mother.” The feelings of contentment I’d felt so long ago drifted around me like a ghost’s mist.
“My dad didn’t like him, but eventually accepted him because Michael was the one I’d chosen. Maybe Dad saw a weakness I didn’t know was there.” I shrugged. “Whatever it was, Michael and I were happy for the most part. Every couple has its ups and downs, and we weren’t any different.”
I sipped the wine.
“Liz used to babysit when we wanted to go out. We started going to bingo games at the church. It was fun at the beginning, but then Michael really got into it. He bought as many cards as he could and wanted to stay to the end. I’d be ready to go long before he was. For me it was a fun night out. Looking back, I can see it was more than that for him.”
“An addiction,” Genna said softly.
“Yes. Then he started going to the casinos. He told me he was fishing with some friends, but he lied. He’d spend all weekend gambling. It was fine when he was up or at least breaking even. But then he began to lose.” I put my glass down and clenched my fingers together. “I didn’t catch on for years. But then we needed money to get Patrick equipment for soccer camp. That kid had worked all year to save up enough to go for a week. When I went to buy the stuff, Michael told me we didn’t have the money. I couldn’t believe it. He’d always insisted on doing the finances, and I let him.”
“Money is always tricky. If one person handles it, the other person doesn’t really know what’s going on. And it’s so hard to talk about it.”
“True. I’d always had access, but I hated things like balancing a checkbook. Give me a machine, and I can figure out what to do,” I said. “But numbers? Ugh.”
“So what did you do?”
“I should have called Diane. She was a bookkeeper. But I was too embarrassed. So I slogged through it alone. I’d always had access to our accounts—I’d insisted on that—I just hadn’t paid much attention to them. I began to notice several large withdrawals, always on the Friday before Michael said he went ‘fishing.’ Sometimes they were repaid, but most of the time they weren’t. I confronted him with what I’d found.”
“That was brave.”
“I was angry. My kid needed something. You know how that feels.”
“I do. Did he tell you the truth?”
“Not right away. He started with it was none of my business, but when I pointed out it was a joint account, he got defensive. You see, I have a trust fund from my grandparents—we all do. That’s how I paid for the kids’ college educations. He told me I’d never shared that with him.” I could feel the anger and tension rising within me all over again. “I was so mad. I reminded him that he’d spent his life on our ranch, that we got a good salary, and that it would probably be our children who inherited.” I took a deep breath. “When he finally admitted to the gambling, I told him he needed to quit. He refused. He swore he’d make up the money somehow.”
“Did he?”
“No. Instead I set up a second account that was mine only. It was complicated, but I squirreled away enough money to take care of the kids. Patrick went to camp. And, like you, I moved into the spare bedroom.”
“I’m sorry to hear all that. I bet it was difficult.”
“Yes. But I did it.”
“Did he ever quit?”
“No,” I said. “Well, he did once he started getting ill. He was forced to. But if he’d been able to do so, he would have been out that door. Gambling came first. Our kids took second. And that’s what burned me the most. They should have come first, damn it. They should have come first.” To my horror, I burst into tears.
Genna put her arm around me, and bless her soul, she just let me cry.