Tight Knit Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Disclaimer/Acknowledgement

  Blank Page

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thriteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chaper fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Chapter twenty-four

  Chapter twenty-five

  Chapter twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Chapter thirty

  Chapter thirty-one

  Chapter thirty-two

  Chapter thirty-three

  Chapter thirty-four

  Chapter thirty-five

  Under the Dusty Sky

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  Tight

  Knit

  ALLIE BRENNAN

  Copyright © 2012 Allie Brennan

  Cover by B Design

  Image Copyright © IGPhotography

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Te iubesc cu toata inima, Nana ~ I love you with all my heart, Nana

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  This book wouldn’t have happened without the support and encouragement from those close to me, and even some far away. Thanks to Travis for being my ‘bad boy’. Thanks to my wordsprint partner, Courtney, for keeping me on track and making sure I stuck to my word count. Thanks to my readers: Ainslie, Olivia, Nyrae, Jolene and Leigh. A big thanks to my brutal editor, but loving mother, Darlene.

  The characters, setting, and events in this book are purely fictional. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events is coincidental and was not the intention of the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Talia

  The tips of my fingers tingle with frantic energy. I snap my wrist to try and expel the building anxiety that so often grips me. I lean back against the warm bricks of the mini-mall and dig my toe into a crack in the sidewalk.

  Just calm down, I tell myself, pulling my cell phone away from my ear. I really don’t feel any better about this and talking to Deacon isn’t helping.

  Taking a deep breath I concentrate on my beating heart. This really shouldn’t be such a big deal. It’s just a knitting club meeting.

  Another breath. It’s okay that I’m alone. Nan just isn’t feeling well. She’ll be back next week. That’s what she said.

  “I just need a break, darling. I think I’m coming down with something,” her words echo through my head.

  It’s not the words that concerned me. It was how she wouldn’t look at me when she said them.

  A muffled sound catches my attention and I remember I’m still holding my cell phone away from my ear.

  “Talia, are you listening to me?” Deacon’s voice comes through the speaker.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” I tilt the phone so he can’t hear my breathing.

  A sharp pain shoots through my chest and I press my hand hard against the spot that hurts. I hate this feeling. It’s moments like this I wish I was still on meds. Moments when I want to be numb so I don’t have to face this never-ending doom.

  “Are you freaking out?” Deacon asks, because he can’t actually call them what they are. A panic attack. It’s not hard to say, but for him it is, I guess. Even after two months.

  “I’m fine.” I lie. I do that a lot now. Lie to Deacon.

  “It’s just a knitting club meeting. It’s not like you were elected president.” He is on edge. Distracted. This isn’t like him.

  Yeah, actually I was, I think. Stepping in as president of the Tight Knit Society for one week would probably mean nothing to anyone else, but for me it might as well be the end of the world. I work hard to stay unnoticed. Leadership roles equal disaster for me.

  I struggle to push back the thick layer of negative thoughts that are always waiting to blanket my mind with darkness.

  “Yeah,” I mumble and shift position, still vibrating with energy. I hear a familiar voice in the background. “Are you with Janna?” I ask.

  Good. I need to change the subject. I have no idea why I’m so freaked out by this meeting.

  “Yeah, why?” he says sharply, which startles me and I stand up straighter.

  “I’m supposed to meet her later.” The swirling mess in my mind sinks down my spine and settles in my stomach. Something doesn’t feel right.

  “Just come over to my place, we’ll be around.” He hangs up without saying goodbye, which is not like Deacon either, but I don’t have time to dissect my boyfriend’s increasingly odd behavior.

  Man, I wish Nan were here.

  I slide my cellphone shut and push off the brick wall. I take one more deep breath before stepping up to the door of Nan’s favorite wool shop. The bell jingles softly and the familiar warmth of Tight Knit Wool and Accessories envelops me, making me forget Deacon. The shop smells like Nan. Like soap and baking and freshly spun wool.

  My shoulders slump forward for only a second before I’m jabbed in the spine.

  “You stand up straight, Talia, or you’ll end up like Georgina, all snake spine-ed, when you’re old,” says the crackly voice of The Tight Knit Society’s resident know-it-all, Marybeth. I can’t stop myself from smiling. It’s amazing how stereotypical The Tight Knitters are sometimes. I make my way to the circle of couches in the center of the store while fishing a container of Pecan cookies from the bag slung over my shoulder.

  “Oh, you’re a damn liar, Marybeth. You know full well it’s the osteoporosis that curved my back,” Georgina glances up at us from her regular spot on the couch and I smile. Her eyes are a watery blue and her white hair shines in the warm light. Her face is all kindness and a lifetime of experience. Georgina is the oldest in our group and I am the youngest; it’s something we bond over.

  Marybeth coughs, a deep chronic-smokers cough, and waves her hand at Georgina dismissively. Marybeth’s signature bright red fingernails contrast with her thinning pale skin, an her silvery hair is pulled back off her face. She looks down at my cookies with narrowed eyes. She knows Nan didn’t make them.

  “You haven’t even tried one yet, stop criticizing me,” I scowl at her and curl the container into my chest. She looks like I had said I baked them in the nude, but she isn’t shocked; she just loves drama.

  “You don’t let that Marybeth give you a hard time, Talia. She’s had a hard life but you tell her to mind her own business when you need to.” I hear Nan say.

  I lift my fabric shoulder bag over my head and set it down next to my spot. Riffling through the mess of yarn in my bag, I pull out my leather case of needles and a hat that I had just finished the night before. I smooth the soft black wool out running a finger over the slanted cable that braids its way around the hat from the top to bottom in a spiral pattern.

  Marybeth snatches it right out of my hands and a pulse of nervous energy surges through me leaving dizziness in its wake. How did I not know she would be the first? She stretches the hat out then puts her hand inside, feeling the knits and purls, inspecting the cable by putting it up to the tip of her nose.

  “What’s this?” Her dark eyes never leave the hat.

  “It’s a hat,�
� I say. I sit down hard in my chair. My heart still hasn’t fully recovered from talking to Deacon and I’m exhausted from trying to keep the panic out.

  How does she not know it’s a hat?

  “It looks like a giant’s sock,” Marybeth passes the hat to Georgina who places the sock-hat onto her head and pulls it right down to her chin before the top of the hat touches the crown of her head.

  Anna, the next youngest Knitter at 40-something, looks over her glasses and smiles sympathetically. She’s a high school teacher. She gets it.

  “I don’t see how this is helpful?” Georgina’s shaky voice is muffled by the wool.

  I laugh despite my mood and move over to her, leaning on the arm of the old couch. I pull the hat up.

  “It’s a slouch hat, or a beanie some people call them,” I explain, readjusting the hat on Georgina so whisps of her short white hair stick out around her face and the excess material slouches down to her neck.

  “It doesn’t even completely cover my ears this way,” Georgina pulls the hat down around her ears and the excess wool stands straight up. Everyone laughs this time and I yank the hat from her head and put it on my own. I tuck the back half of my dark hair into the hat and let two big layered chunks of hair hang around my face to accompany my bangs.

  “It’s not really supposed to cover your ears. It’s just for looks.”

  I am met by six pairs of blank eyes.

  Anna just smiles to herself and shakes her head, keeping her eyes on her work, never breaking the rhythm of her clacking needles. I sigh and unroll my own knitting needles.

  Trying to introduce something new to a group of old ladies is like trying to untangle a knotted ball of yarn.

  “Start at the beginning and go slowly, yard by yard, and eventually you’ll get to the end. If you try to go too fast, you’ll just make it worse.” Nan told me when I first started with the Knitters and wanted to make gloves with no fingers. It was as if I said the Holocaust didn’t happen with the fuss they kicked up over it.

  Anna pours me a cup of lavender tea, and all the ladies commend me on my cookies, even though I know they all think Nan’s are better. Which they are.

  I feel lost here without Nan. She’s my safe place and without her I’m exposed. I don’t have my wall of strength but the knitting helps keep the panic away. It’s why I joined the club in the first place. So I focus on the knitting. I cast on and start to make a new hat.

  Georgina hums the same tune she does every week. She has the most beautiful voice. The soft vibration of her humming, along with the clicking needles and the odd slurp of tea and shifting of position, helps to ease my nerves. Next to Nan, Georgina is the only other Knitter I have been able to truly connect with. I always mean to ask her what song it is, but never want to interrupt.

  “So my grandson is picking me up today,” Georgina says throwing a glance my way. “But he’s going to be a bit late so I’m just going to knit until he gets here.”

  I scrunch up my nose. Why is she looking at me like that? No one cares if she stays late or leaves early, especially me.

  I’ve heard tons of stories about ‘her Lannie’, but I never met him, so I am unsure why her eyes are narrowed specifically at me.

  But I’ve seen this expression before.

  I see Marybeth watching me, too. She’s waiting for something.

  Here's the catch.

  “Talia, I’d like it if you could stay as well. We have to discuss the charity drive since you’re standing in for Florence.”

  My heart starts hammering in my chest. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come today. Standing in. I don’t want to stand in.

  How did I get this job anyway? Just because I’m blood related? This isn’t the monarchy. I tap my foot rapidly on the wooden floor.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay.” I try to continue knitting but my hands are shaking so bad I drop three stitches. I stop to crack my wrists and roll my shoulders before starting the row again.

  Slowly each of the ladies begins packing up their things and leaving. For the most part this is just like any other meeting, except Nan’s empty chair. Except for my rampant nerves having an epic battle inside me.

  She’ll be back next week, I think, Just get through today and she’ll be back next week.

  ~

  Everyone is gone except for Georgina and me. I sit in Nan’s chair leaning back to let my body sink into the cushions, just like I sink into her warm hugs. It helps. A little.

  Georgina moves to sit beside me and takes my hand in hers like only a grandmother can. The shaking slows.

  “We have to start planning the Christmas Charity Drive, dear. Florence always plans it, but if she can’t see her way to do it this year, I know for absolute certainty no one else will.

  I stare at her.

  “She’ll be back next week,” I say, unconvincingly, as I remember the way Nan averted her eyes when she told me it was ‘just a bug’.

  “Yes, yes,” Georgina pats my hand, “But if she can’t do it, Talia, we are the only ones. You and me.”

  Any control I may have gained over the shaking is gone. My hand vibrates inside Goergina’s.

  “But…” I can’t get past that look in Georgina’s eyes. It’s like Nan’s was. Like she knows more than she’s telling me.

  “But this event is the most important event of the year to your Nan. I think we owe it to her to help make it the best yet.”

  The annual Cozy Christmas Charity Drive is the Tight Knit Society’s only event. The Drive is the city’s biggest art and craft sale. It’s huge. Nan always blows everyone else out of the water with her booth designs and sales records.

  I grip the hem of my sweater. I feel the thoughts start to creep in from the edges of my mind. A surge of energy forces me to shift in my seat. I chew on my index finger.

  If I plan the show it means I’ll have to work with the Director, who happens to be Greta Finnley, Deacon’s grandma. I can’t commit to that. Mostly because I’m not sure I’m committed to Deacon. No. That would be a nightmare. What if Deacon and I broke up?

  There has to be someone else.

  “But what about Anna?” I protest.

  My heart speeds up. I do not want to do this.

  “She works full time and has a family to take care of. Her boy has Autism. You know that, Talia.”

  “Right, sorry. How about Marybeth?” I smile right after I say it, unable to hold in a laugh. It settles the nerves crackling under my skin for just a second.

  “Do you want Marybeth to help plan the Drive?”

  “No, no you’re right. But school starts this week and I’ll be busy.”

  “With what, dear? Are you in drama? Playing on the varsity basketball team? A mathlete?” She chuckles to herself as I shake my head to every one. She knows I’m the biggest social outcast at school. She knows I make myself invisible by choice. My hand drops from my mouth, and I pull at the hem of my sweater with more force now. I can’t do this. I’d have to talk to people. I’d have a panic attack a day. The Drive would be a disaster.

  “I can help with anything that needs to be done inside your school hours.” Georgina continues, “and my Lannie can help with any set up or lifting.”

  Georgina seems proud of herself.

  Thanks. Thanks for setting off a panic attack.

  I nervously adjust the hat on my head and pull headphones out of my bag, wrapping them around my neck. Music drowns out the thoughts. There are definitely too many thoughts right now.

  I fidget and want to slide the headphones over my ears and just pretend I'm not having this conversation. As if I can plan an event this huge if I can’t even handle talking about it.

  “I’ll think about it.” I already thought about it. No.

  “But Talia...”

  “I need to talk to Nan first.”

  Georgina opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by the jingling of the door. A guy around my age ducks slightly as he walks through the door and scans the room. I onl
y have to see his profile to recognize him.

  His dark eyes take in everything with an intensity that forces me to shift uncomfortably in my seat. It’s as if he’s memorizing every inch of the store. His thick eyebrows are pulled down low. He looks angry.

  He always looks angry.

  Everyone around here knows Lachlan McCreedy. He is the most dangerous guy at school and his life is as legendary as it is secretive.

  His black curls hang haphazardly like he hasn’t brushed them once in his life and he nods his head to move the strands from his pale, angular face.

  What really makes Lachlan recognizable are the tattoos spiralling down his right arm from his T-shirt to his wristband and continuing onto the back of his hand. From this distance they’re nothing but a burst of colour and shape. I’ve always wanted to know what they were, but never had the nerve to get close enough to see.

  I’m wondering why he would ever be in this place when his glare finds us. His eyes briefly pass over me, lingering for only a second, and then his face softens when he looks at Georgina.

  Lachlan… lan… Lannie…

  Lachlan can’t be Georgina’s grandson.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lachlan

  Gram is never late. When I drive her, which is almost never, she’s always waiting on the sidewalk but today the sidewalk in front of the small row of shops is empty.

  At first I am annoyed, but as the minutes pass I start to get worried. No one goes into or out of the shop for about 15 minutes. The worry turns into irritated concern. I cut the engine to Gram’s old four-door sedan and get out, slamming the door a little harder than I need to.

  I push through the front door of the Wool Shop. It smells of old ladies and dust. I scan the store, which is pretty much empty until I see her.

  Gram’s sitting on a couch in the middle of the store next to a girl who looks like she wants to disappear into the chair she’s in. The girl is watching me with big dark blue eyes. Her chocolate coloured bangs cut straight across her forehead covering her raised eyebrows. She has that wide doe-eyed fear that tells me she recognizes me, but I have no idea who she is. Not the type of girl I’d remember.