Kate Jacobs - The Friday night knitting club

The Friday Night Knitting Club
KateJacobs

BERKLEY BOOKS,
New York

Contents

one

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either arethe product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and anyresemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any controlover and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websitesor their content.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactlyas written. The publisher and author are not responsible for your specifichealth or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher andauthor are not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes containedin this book.
Copyright 2007 by Kathleen Jacobs.
Readers Guide copyright 2007 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printedor electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in orencourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The "B" design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 1-4295-9711-9
The Library of Congress has catalogued the G. P. Putnam's Sons edition asfollows:
Jacobs, Kate, date.
The Friday night knitting club / Kate Jacobs.
1. Mother and daughtersFiction. 2. Female friendshipFiction. 3. Knitters(persons)Fiction. 4. KnittingFiction. 5. New York (N.Y.)Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.J336F75 2007 2006037337
813. 6dcc22

"Knitterswill enjoy seeing the healing power of stitching put into words. Its simplicityand soothing repetition leave room for conversation, laughter, revelations, andfriendshipjust like the beauty shop in Steel Magnolias."

DetroitFree Press

"[A]winning first novel."

Booklist

"Ifyou like to write or read or knit, your first reaction to The Friday NightKnitting Club may be pure jealousyReaders will come to root for nearlyeveryone in the sweetly diverse cast of characters."

Concord(NH) Monitor

"Whatbegins as an unlikely hodgepodge of women soon evolves into an unbreakablesisterhood as the characters learn from each other's differences and bond overtheir love of knitting."

VogueKnitting

"A SteelMagnolias for the twenty-first century."

Kirkus Reviews

"Poignanttwists propel the plot and help the pacing find a pleas ant rhythm."

PublishersWeekly

"Areally great story."

MarieClaire

"Celebratesthe power of women's independence and is essentially an urban counterpart to Howto Make an American Quilt."

New Statesman

Choosing your wool is dizzying with potential:The waves of colors and textures tempt with visions of a sweater or cap (andall the accompanying compliments you hope to receive) but don't reveal the hardwork required to get there. Patience and attention to detail make all thedifference. Also willingness. Challenge keeps it interesting, but don't selecta pattern that is too far beyond you. Always select the best yarn you canafford. And use the type of needle that feels best in your hand; I always usedbamboo. Even now, it still seems unbelievable to me that by pulling together amotley collectionthe soft yarn, the sharp needles, the scripted pattern, thesmoothing hook, the intangibles of creativity, humanity, and imaginationyoucan create something that will hold a piece of your soul. But you can.

Open Tuesday to Saturday,
10 A.M.8 P.M. No exceptions!

The hours of WALKER AND DAUGHTER: KNITTERS wereclearly displayed in multicolored letters on a white sandwich board placed justso at the top of the stair landing. Though Georgia Walkerusually preoccupiedwith closing out the till and picking up the strays of yarn on the floorrarelymade a move to turn the lock until at least eight fifteenor later.
Instead, she sat on her stool at the counter, tuning out the traffic noise fromNew York's busy Broadway below, reflecting on the day's sales or prepping forthe beginner's knitting class she taught every afternoon to the stay-at-homeslooking for some seeming stamp of authentic motherliness. She crunched thenumbers with a pencil and paper, and sighed. Business was good, but it couldalways be better. She tugged at her long chestnut curls. It was a habit fromyears ago she'd never quite grown out of and by the end of each day her bangsoften stood straight up. Once the bookkeeping was in order, she'd smooth outher hair, brush off any bits of eraser from her jeans and soft jersey top, herface a bit pale from concentration and lack of sun, and stand up to her fullsix feet (thanks to the three-inch heels on her well-worn brown leather cowboyboots).
Slowly she would walk around the shop, running her hands lightly over the pilesof yarn that were meticulously sorted by colorfrom lime to Kelly green, rustto strawberry, cobalt to Wedgwood blue, sunburst to amber, and rows and rows ofgrays and creams and blacks and whites. The yarn went from exquisitely plushand smooth to itchy and nubbly , and all of it washers. And Dakota's too, of course. Dakota, who at twelve frequently ignored hermother's instructions, loved to cross her dark eyes and savor the fuzzed-outlook of the colors all merging, a rainbow blending together.
Dakota was the store mascot, one of its chief color consultants (moresparkles!), and frankly, a pretty damn good knitter already. Georgia noticedhow quickly her daughter was making her projects, how particular she wasbecoming about the tautness of her stitches. More than once she'd beensurprised to see her not-so-little-anymore girl approach a waiting customer andsay with confidence: "Oh, I can help you with that. Here, we'll take thiscrochet hook and fix that mistake" The shop was a work in progress;Dakota was the one thing she knew she'd done exactly right.
And yet when Georgia finally went to turn out the lights of her shop, she wouldoften be met by a potential customer, all furrowed brow and breathless fromdashing up the steep stairs to the second-floor shop, the seemingly innocuous"Can I just pop in, for a quick minute?" out of her mouth beforeGeorgia could even insist they were done for the night. She'd open the door alittle wider, knowing all too well what it was like to juggle work and kids andstill try to sneak in a little something for herself on the side: reading abook, coloring her hair in the bathroom sink, taking a nap. Come in, get whatyou need, she'd say, putting off the short climb to her sparsely decoratedapartment on the floor above. She never let any straggler stay past nine on aschool night, though, because she needed to shoo her Dakota from the cornerdesk where she did her homework. But Georgia would never turn away a potentialsale.