Free Blossom Street Brides by Debbie Macomber

medication.”
    Lydia was beginning to get a picture of this small child with the thick glasses with a quirky smile who needed attention.
    “I took his hand and told him I’d take him over to where the other second-graders were,” Casey continued. “But he stopped me. He said there was more, and he looked so serious I stopped and waited.”
    “More?” Lydia asked.
    “Oh, yes. Brian wanted me to know he hadn’t taken his medication that morning. He wasn’t sure what would happen without his medication.”
    Lydia smiled, and so did her mother.
    “Did you laugh?” Mary Lou said.
    “No, but it was a struggle not to,” Casey said. “And even without his pills, Brian did fine. He made a friend with Alice, who wears glasses, too, only her glasses aren’t as thick as Brian’s.”
    “I’m glad Brian has a friend,” Lydia’s mother added.
    “He said he would be back tomorrow, and he promised to take his medication this time.”
    “So you had at least one smile for the day,” Lydia’s mother reminded Casey. “And one smile cancels out three reasons to frown, right?”
    “Right.”
    Lydia stood and checked her purse for her car keys. “I better get home. Dad will pick you up around eight,” she reminded her daughter.
    Casey nodded.
    “I’ll save dinner for you.”
    “If Dad’s cooking, it’s probably spaghetti.”
    “Probably.” Unfortunately, Brad’s doctored bottled sauce wasn’t Casey’s favorite. She liked spaghetti, especially from her favorite restaurant, but she was picky when it came to sauce, and for Casey the bottled variety didn’t measure up to her standards.
    “I’ll have peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches later. Okay?”
    “Sure.”
    “See ya, Mom.”
    Lydia’s mother glanced up. “Margaret, you’re leaving so soon?”
    “It’s Lydia,” Casey gently reminded her grandmother, placing her hand over the older woman’s.
    “Oh, yes, sorry. You already told me that once, didn’t you?”
    “It’s fine, Mom.” Lydia bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. Casey looked up and smiled, content and at peace after her truly terrible day. It did Lydia’s heart good to see the consternation leave her daughter’s face as she sat at her grandmother’s side.
    “Bring me my knitting,” Mary Lou said, as Lydia quietly left the apartment. Her mother rarely knit any longer, and following even the simplest instructions seemed beyond her. While grateful that her mother was alive, Lydia worried about Mary Lou’s quality of life. It distressed her to watch her mother’s physical and mental health decline. Arthritis made movement difficult, and she spent a good portion of her day in her chair in front of the television. The assisted-living complex scheduled a variety of events to keep the residents’ bodies and minds active. When her mother had first moved into the complex she’d participated in a few of the social gatherings, but no longer.
    Lydia walked to the elevator and pushed the button. An aide joined her. “You’re Mrs. Hoffman’s daughter, aren’t you?”
    “Yes,” Lydia responded with an automatic smile. The aide’s badge said her name was Marie.
    “The one who owns the yarn store.”
    “Yes,” Lydia confirmed.
    “I wanted you to know I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing.”
    “Thank you.” Lydia had a number of charity projects going at A Good Yarn. Early on she’d discovered that knitters were, by nature, generous. With little encouragement on Lydia’s part, many of her regular customers volunteered knitted items for a variety of charities. Several knit hats or sweaters for World Vision’s Knit for Kids program, and then there were others who contributed knitted squares to Warm Up America! from yarn left over from their projects. And of course there were the tiny caps the shop collected for the area’s hospital preemies.
    “I found the knitting basket at the bowling alley where my husband is in a league,” Marie added.
    “The bowling