Ann Hood - The Knitting Circle - The uplifting and heartwarming novel you need to read this year

Mary scrawled a note to Dylan, Gone knittin ’, and left it on the kitchen table. At ten after six, Scarlet pulled up in front of Mary’s house. A new friend, Mary thought as she carefully locked the front door. Just that day Jodie had finally called and said, “I don’t know what to say. Should I ask how you are? Should I mention Stella or not? God, Mary, I am so sorry to let you down.” And Mary had said, “No, no, I’m fine. Really.” The lie had burned in her throat for the rest of the afternoon.

Eddie had called and Mary had lied to him too. “You know,” she’d said, “I’m doing so much better. Really I am. Maybe I’m ready to come back to work.” “Uh-huh,” Eddie had said, knowing better.

As she approached Scarlet’s car, she saw that someone else was already in the front seat beside Scarlet.

“You remember Lulu?” Scarlet said after Mary slid into the backseat.

“Of course,” Mary said, trying to hide her disappointment.

Lulu’s platinum blonde hair was newly razor cut in uneven chunks, shiny from some expensive hair care product like wax or mud that kept it looking slightly dirty. She had on black again: a leather motorcycle jacket, turtleneck, skinny pants, and boots.

Mary settled back into the seat, wishing she hadn’t come.

“Lulu’s loft is right beneath mine,” Scarlet said. “She’s a glass sculptor.”

“Really?” Mary said.

“You moved here from where?” Lulu said. Her voice sounded like she’d been smoking and drinking whiskey her entire life.

“San Francisco,” Mary said.

“Have you noticed,” Lulu said, turning slightly, “that everyone in this city is from somewhere else?”

Despite herself, Mary relaxed. Lulu wasn’t so bad. It was Mary herself who couldn’t relate to anyone.

“A glass sculptor,” Mary said. “That seems so … I don’t know, to work with such a fragile material seems impossible.”

“The beauty of glass,” Lulu said almost dreamily, “is that it’s remained unchanged for hundreds of years.”

“She trained in Venice,” Scarlet said.

“Maybe you’ll show me your things sometime,” Mary said.

“Maybe,” Lulu said unconvincingly, looking straight ahead.

“Wait!” Beth said. “I brought pictures.”

She pulled a set of glossy photographs from a large envelope. Four children—two boys standing behind two girls—smiled stiffly out from them, all wearing matching red and green sweaters. Did she get her kids’ picture taken every fucking week? Mary thought.

“Have you ever seen such perfect children?” Harriet said softly.

Yes , Mary thought. Yes, I have .

Mary hated the way Harriet looked at Beth, as if she were the only person who’d ever had children. She watched Harriet watching Beth’s proud face. No, Mary decided, she looks at her as if she might disappear.

Scarlet glanced at the picture politely, then passed it on to Lulu. “Nice,” Scarlet said without much conviction.

“What a brood!” Lulu said.

Beth laughed. “I always wanted a lot of children.”

“She graduated magna cum laude, you know,” Harriet said.

Beth shrugged off the boasting. “In early childhood education. It wasn’t too challenging. It was just what I loved.”

“She loves kids,” Harriet said, her voice so tender that Beth flushed with embarrassment. “Of course, I worry about her,” Harriet added. “She does too much.”

Mary rolled her eyes and lost track of what she was doing.

“Did I just knit?” she said. “Or purl?”

Scarlet leaned over to help and locked her eyes with Mary’s. She wants to take that picture and tear it to shreds too, Mary thought.

“The knit stitches look like little Vs,” Scarlet said. “See? And the purls look like bumps.”

“Like pearls,” Harriet said.

“So I just purled?” Mary said.

Scarlet grinned. “No, you just knit.”

Mary settled back and concentrated. Purl two . Knit two . Beth’s voice swirled around her. Purl two. Knit two .

“Chris is my comedian. And Nate is my athlete. He plays three sports …”

Purl two. Knit two. Purl two .

“… Caroline is the scholar. She always has her nose in a book. I don’t know where she got that …”

Knit two. Purl two .

“… And what can I say? Stella’s my baby. We named her after my grandmother, you know, and believe me, she’s the only Stella in her nursery school.”

Mary stared at the yarn in her hands and gulped. It looked unfamiliar suddenly, and she wasn’t even sure what she should be doing with it.

“If I could only keep her four forever,” Beth said with a sigh.

Scarlet kneeled in front of Mary. “Do you need help?” she said softly.

“I, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Mary said.

“You just purled two stitches,” Scarlet said, her voice calm and even. “Now you’re going to knit two stitches. Then purl two.” She didn’t move until Mary finally knit two stitches. “Now knit two,” Scarlet said softly. “Now purl two. Now knit.”

“Come with us for martinis,” Scarlet said as they drove back to Providence.

Exhausted, Mary said, “Maybe another time. I didn’t even tell my husband I was going out.”

“See?” Lulu said. “Husbands are a grand liability, Scarlet. They keep you away from martinis.” Lulu pointed out the window. “Look!”

The moon hung full and orange in the sky ahead.

“ Blue moon ,” Lulu said.

“Looks red to me,” Scarlet said.

“No, no,” Lulu laughed. “A blue moon is the second full moon in the same month.”

“Lulu knows more fun facts than anybody I know,” Scarlet said.

“Correction. More useless facts,” Lulu said, her gaze focused out the window.

Two hundred and twenty-eight thousand children and young adults die every year. Sixty thousand children a year under the age of six die. Two thousand children a year die from bacterial meningitis. The children who live often lose limbs or hearing or eyesight.

“You know,” Mary said, her voice quivering, “a martini sounds like a great idea.”

The bar was downtown, on a block of deserted buildings, tucked away without a sign or awning. Inside, it was crowded and smoky and the three women had to stand crushed close together at the bar.

Two oversized martinis later, a small table opened and Lulu pushed her way to claim it. Mary was starting to like Lulu. She reminded Mary of her old self, the one who had something to say about everything.

Sitting with a fresh round of drinks in front of them, Mary said to Lulu, “I can’t believe you ever left the city. It seems like a perfect fit for you.”

Lulu fished an olive out of her drink and popped it in her mouth. She ordered her martinis dirty, extra olives and their juice.

Mary frowned, wondering what she had said wrong.

“Beth can be a bit much,” Scarlet said, breaking the awkward silence. “The matching sweaters. The pictures.”

“Always with the fucking pictures,” Lulu said.

Mary’s stomach tumbled, remembering Beth’s voice. What can I say? Stella’s my baby …

“Mary?” Scarlet was saying, her hand resting tenderly on Mary’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“I should get home,” Mary managed.

“Sadie, Sadie, married lady,” Lulu said.

Later, standing in her bedroom doorway, dizzy and melancholy, Mary studied her husband’s sleeping face. It had become topographical from grief. Even in sleep he wore his sadness plainly. CNN blared from the television, talk of wars and distant tragedies. Mary walked over to the television and turned it off, sending the room into darkness except for the blue moon that lit up the sky.