A Farewell to Yarns

climate.“
    “Screw the snow,“ Bobby mumbled.
    “Oh, no, Bobby darling! You can’t fool me,“ Phyllis said with ponderous jollity. “You’re happy to be back. You’d miss a Chicago Christmas as much as I have.“
    “There’s nothing about Chicago I’d miss.“
    “Are you from Chicago?“ Jane asked him, desperate to get the conversation on a friendlier footing.
    This wasn’t the way to do it.
    “You mean Phyl didn’t tell you all about Mommy’s Little Bastard?“ he asked.
    “Bobby, I’ve told you that you mustn’t say things like that,“ Phyllis said.
    “Why not? It’s the truth.“
    “Phyllis, I was telling Shelley about the beautiful Christmas ornaments you made when we lived in that apartment—“ Jane broke in franti- cally. “Remember the one with the starched lace you gave me? I still have it.“
    “You don’t! Oh, Jane, how sweet of you.“
    “You’ll have to show me how you did it. We’re putting together a church bazaar right now, and we need all the help we can get.
    Maybe we can run over to the craft store after you’ve unpacked—“
    “Oh, I’d love that!“ Phyllis said. “A Christmas bazaar! You can’t know how much I miss such things. We live such an isolated life on the island.“ She paused, perhaps sensing that she was wandering right back into the same territory Jane was trying to save her from. “Yes, I think I remember how to do those ornaments. Tatting, wasn’t it?“
    “Maybe you can show my daughter. Katie, how to tat. I’m hopeless, but she’s pretty good at that sort of thing,“ Jane said.
    “Is that knitting you have in your bag there?“ Phyllis asked.
    “Crocheting, actually. Is that knitting you have along with you?“
    “Just some little hats and mittens I’m making for charity. It gives me something to do with my hands. And I’m working on a sweater for Bobby, too. A sort of crimson; his color, I think.”
    Bobby had sunk into some silent reverie of his own. He was glaring out the window at the snow as if he could stop it by sheer disapproval. Shelley was no longer driving as if she were looking for a cliff to plunge them all over. The rest of the ride home was taken up with pleasant talk about crafts. Jane dragged out her afghan and showed it to Phyllis, who admired it enormously and reciprocated by hauling forth an elaborately designed sweater.
    Eventually Jane started breathing normally, but in the back of her mind, she was turning over the problem of what to about her guests. Phyllis apparently believed that the invitation to visit was open-ended. Jane supposed a monthlong visit wasn’t odd at all in the lifestyle Phyllis was accustomed to. After all, if you had a whole hotel to put your guests up in, they could stay for years without being a nuisance. Jane was certain Phyllis had no idea she was being an imposition.
    A month with Phyllis—with any stranger underfoot in the house—would be bad enough. But a month with Bobby Bryant? Impossible. Within a week somebody, most likely Jane herself, would kill that boy.
     

Four
     
    Shelley pulled into Jane’s driveway. She unlocked and opened the back doors of the minivan, then stood aside and watched while Jane and Phyllis sorted suitcases from church bazaar cartons and unloaded the luggage. “I don’t suppose it’s crossed your mind to help?”
    Shelley said to Bobby, who smirked and said nothing.
    Overhearing this, Jane handed him a suitcase with such force that it nearly knocked his breath out. “We’ve got it all sorted out. You can carry them in now, Bobby.“
    “What an adorable house, Jane!“ Phyllis said.
    “Thanks, Phyllis,“ Jane said, miffed. “Adorable“ had cute, cosy connotations to her. As if it were merely a summer cottage. Well, from Phyllis’s viewpoint, it probably was. She reminded herself that Phyllis had meant it well.
    “Here, let me help you with those, Bobby!”
    Phyllis was saying. Jane was tempted to break her arm.
    Shelley was closing the sliding side door, and Jane went to get her bag of crocheting off the floor of the front seat. “Shelley, I can’t tell you how sorry I am—“ she said quietly.
    “Jane, my dear, you’re going to be much sorrier before you get rid of them. I don’t know who I dislike most—Bobby for being such a jerk or your friend, Phyllis, for not knowing it.“
    “Do you think she doesn’t know? Or is she just not willing to admit it?“
    “The subtleties don’t interest me. Whatever it is, it comes to the