A Farewell to Yarns

husband? Doing a little Christmas shopping or something?“
    “Probably so. She’s coming by way of New York; I guess she was there for a few days. She’s probably dropped a couple million already. But I do find this trip odd. She and Chet have always been inseparable. In her last letter there was the merest hint of trouble in paradise. I’d hate to see her marriage go bad. She doesn’t deserve that kind of unhappiness and—I guess it’s selfish of me, but I don’t think I could stand hours of talk about a disintegrating marriage.“
    “And you think it is? Disintegrating?“
    “I hope not.“
    “How long is she staying?“
    “She didn’t say. I imagine two or three days. Well, we can get her busy on the bazaar. She’ll like that, unless she’s changed a lot. She was always making some little ornamental something. She’s another of those damned born knitters, and she’s the only person I’ve ever met of our generation who knows how to do tatting.“
    “Tatting! I thought it was a lost art.
    “The year we lived in the apartment she made Christmas tree ornaments for everybody in the building with styrofoam balls and sequins with all this starched, tatted lace. Sounds tacky, but they were beautiful. All those lonely old people in the building were very touched. So was I. I still have mine.“
    “Then she’ll fit right in with the church bazaar crowd. They’ll think you imported her especially for their use.
    Jane was quiet for a moment. They were approaching the airport, and the sky was full of planes. “Say—the bazaar reminds me of something else. Phyllis was madly in love with Richie Divine. She’ll be interested in meeting Fiona—the famous widow. Phyllis has a scrapbook of her favorite stars and another one just for Richie. I thought that was strange, but sort of endearing, that a grown—well, married woman would keep fan scrapbooks.”
    Shelley didn’t say anything, just rolled her eyes. Jane looked sideways at her, and added, “She also did jigsaw puzzles, pictures of puppies and kittens, and poured glue over them so she could hang them up on the walls.“
    “Good God, Jane! You can’t mean that!“ Jane giggled. “No, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.“
    “What terminal are we going to?“ Shelley asked repressively.
    “Damn it, Shelley! I’ve crocheted the door handle into my afghan!”
     
    Jane didn’t recognize the slim, expensively dressed woman who waved at her as she moved forward with the crowd at the arrivals gate. “Is that her?“ Shelley asked.
    “I guess it must be,“ Jane said through the side of her mouth. She glanced around to see if perhaps the woman was gesturing to someone standing behind her. But no one was reacting. Jane assumed a smile that was welcoming but not committed enough to embarrass her if this wasn’t Phyllis.
    The crowd got backed up behind a little girl who had tripped and was screaming bloody murder. Jane had time to study the woman she assumed was little Phyllis all grown up and rich. The Phyllis she remembered had mousy brown hair and an air of perpetual disarray just short of sloppiness. This woman was exquisite; expensively frosted hair swirled around a face that could have graced a magazine cover. This was the sort of beautiful, mature woman who was shown in the high fashion fur ads in magazines Jane flipped through at the bookstore but couldn’t afford to buy. Tanned. Gorgeous teeth. Gorgeous teeth? Phyllis had disgraceful teeth back in the old Chicago apartment days. It was the one real drawback to her appearance.
    As Jane watched, the woman turned to a young man standing slightly behind her. She said something and pointed to Jane. The young man, blond, tanned, smashingly handsome, and unquestionably the most sulky individual in the whole airport, glared.
    “Who is that with her?“ Shelley asked.
    “Dear God! I hope it’s somebody she met on the plane,“ Jane said. She could feel her plaster smile crumbling.
    “He couldn’t be one of her husband’s sons, could he?“ Shelley asked.
    “Too young. They’d be in their late twenties. That one’s not more than eighteen or nineteen. He’s probably some flunky of Chet’s who was sent along to see her on and off planes.”
    The woman who might be Phyllis had shifted her carry-on case and several lumpy plastic bags to her left arm and slipped her right arm around the boy in a clearly intimate gesture. He looked like he was straining to get away.
    Shelley