Sasha's Dad. Geri Krotow
“I don’t dress like that anymore, and my hair’s longer.” She’d abandoned her expensive coif the minute she’d left the press corps. She’d had a few trims in the past year, and her former chin-length bob had grown past her shoulders and was wavy now. No more blow-dried-straight haircuts. She wanted to be herself.
Whoever herself was.
“I gave Stormy an extra shot of anti-inflammatory. She’s doing okay, but I don’t like how swollen she still is.” Dutch’s deep voice interrupted them and Claire welcomed the reprieve.
Claire bit her lip. She wanted him and his daughter out of here. It was bad enough finally meeting Sasha, but to have Dutch observe the event…
This could’ve been our daughter.
She blew the thought out of her mind as quickly as it’d blown in. Life hadn’t worked out the way they’d expected. But it wasn’t fair to involve Sasha in any of it.
As Dutch went over to examine the crias, Sasha stared at her with unnerving intensity.
“Did someone make that hat for you?”
Claire’s hand jerked to her head. “It’s a beret.”
Sasha kept staring. “The ribbing’s messed up. That’s why it keeps slipping down past your eyes.”
Claire swiped the hat off her head and looked at it in the barn’s fluorescent light. The creation she’d planned to knit, modeled after a hat she’d seen in the local yarn store, didn’t measure up to her own expectations, either.
“It’s a blend of llama and merino wools. The hand-painted color is supposed to give it a variegated appearance.”
“You did make it, didn’t you?” Sasha was more effective than a lot of the journalists Claire had worked with. The kid wouldn’t let up.
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I did. I haven’t been knitting that long, and it’s my first finished project.”
“Where did you learn?”
“To knit?” Claire stalled. Now came the pathetic truth about her circumstances. “I taught myself.”
“From what?”
“A book. Internet videos.”
“Did you know knitters sometimes get together at bookstores? There’s a group that meets every Thursday at the store in Annapolis.”
Yes, Claire knew that knitters met in bookstores, and she knew about the Annapolis group in particular. She’d already been there. Once. They’d all but ignored her. There were members from all over Maryland, but the core group was from Dovetail. The women in this group remembered her as the girl who left. They remembered Natalie, too.
Another way this small town was keeping her at arm’s length. She didn’t want to resign herself to the status of “Natalie’s horrible best friend” so she abandoned the group after just one visit, along with any intention of trying it again. Victim wasn’t a role Claire had ever been fond of playing.
“I’m usually very busy with the llamas.”
Sasha smiled. “It’s fun. Or at least that’s what my friends’ moms say.”
“Maybe I’ll try it sometime.” Claire watched how Sasha kept looking at her hat.
“So, you knit?” Claire tossed the question at her.
“A little. My mom taught me, and Aunt Ginny tries to help me every now and then, but I’m better than she is.”
So Natalie had been a knitter. Claire remembered when they’d both gone through a brief crocheting phase, but had dropped that in favor of beading.
A wave of nostalgia overwhelmed her with memories she’d pushed down so far she thought she’d forgotten them. Staring at Natalie’s daughter certainly added to the poignancy of her recollections.
“Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” Claire shook her head and refocused her gaze on Sasha. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“You’re crushing your hat.”
Claire forced her hands to relax their grip. Sasha’s bold assessment should’ve made her laugh, since it was the same kind of attitude Natalie had possessed, an attitude that had made Claire laugh many times. But Claire felt her heart constrict. Sasha wasn’t Natalie, and Natalie wasn’t coming back.
“So, do you want to be a vet like your dad?”
Sasha wrinkled up her nose. “Not really. I don’t know. I love animals, of course, but I think I may want to be a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? My sister’s studying to be a lawyer.”
Sasha nodded. “She knows my aunt Ginny. They’re going to be in the same class. Aunt Ginny’s moving to Baltimore next week so she can take refresher courses or something.”
“I bet you’ll miss her.” It was common knowledge that Dutch’s sister had lived with him and Sasha since Natalie became too sick to care for herself. She’d stayed on after Natalie had passed away.
“Yeah, we’ll miss her. But Aunt Ginny needs to have her own life.”
Claire smiled. Sasha was obviously repeating what Dutch had told her, but she said it with such conviction, as if the words were her own.
“Hey, look!” Sasha’s joy-filled squeal startled Claire. Sasha pointed at the twin crias, who’d decided to jump around their pen as though it was seven in the morning and not evening.
“They’re a pair, all right,” Claire said. “The little one’s obviously improving. They’ve started to play together.”
“I want to get their picture.” Sasha reached into one jacket pocket, then the other, and frowned.
“Dad, I forgot my camera!”
Dutch looked at her from the side bench. He’d finished his exams and was packing up his kit.
“Sorry, kiddo. Better luck next time.”
Sasha giggled. “So I’ll come out with you tomorrow on your evening rounds, right? And we can bring Rascal with us?”
Claire stifled the laugh that rolled up her throat at Dutch’s pained expression. Clearly, Sasha’s spending time at Llama Fiber Haven was not in his game plan.
Dutch lowered his eyebrows and looked at Sasha. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Okay.” Sasha turned back to Claire. “What are their names?”
“I have no idea. I keep trying to come up with something. So far nothing’s stuck.” She didn’t want to tell Sasha that she wasn’t completely sure the younger cria was going to make it, and with Stormy still at risk, naming the twins wasn’t a priority.
“Why don’t you name them now?” Sasha watched the baby llamas, her eyes full of sparkle and life. Claire wondered if her own eyes had ever been that young.
“Well…” Claire hedged. Dutch was almost done—maybe she could put off the naming until Sasha came back. She’d be ready for both of them next time, perhaps even have a treat for Sasha. Especially with Ginny moving, Sasha might enjoy some pampering. Claire knew Sasha probably had more than enough attention from Dutch’s parents, but now that Sasha had identified Claire as one of her mother’s childhood friends, it would be nice to offer Sasha some comfort.
“Look! He keeps nipping at her side, to get her to play.” Sasha giggled again. “And she tucks her head in and hides from him.”
“Until she decides to give him a kick—she did earlier today.” Claire laughed at Sasha’s infectious enthusiasm.
“Why don’t you call them Nip and Tuck?” the girl suggested.
“Sounds