Paradise Lots 6 Zen of Yarn
Busy hands clear the mind
After they’d cleared the tea things, Bridget set Lurleen to cleaning some of her dried mint, crumbling the leaves and putting the stems in a pile. It was easy work, done sitting, and required no actual talking.
The smell of the mint calmed her, letting her relax as she did the simple work. She let her mind be quiet, just focusing on stripping the dry leaves,
Bridget started some water heating on her wood stove while she chopped onions, potatoes, and carrots. She hummed a soft melody, one Lurleen did not recognize, once she was aware of it. It was almost like a chant, repetitive but soothing.
Bridget brought her a ziplock for the mint leaves and another for the stems. Lurleen packed them away, squeezing out the air to keep a strong seal on the bags.
“How do you use the stems?” Lurleen asked. “I thought just the leaves.”
“The stems are good for making a syrup, stronger flavored than leaves.” Bridget said, taking the bags and writing on them with a Sharpie. She put them in a pantry on the other side of the kitchen. “The stems tend to be bitter, but they are great if you are not chewing on them.”
Bridget went back to the stove, adding things to the simmering water—grains, spices, veggies. “Give me a minute. I’ve got something else for you to do.”
Bridget went into the back and brought out a wicker clothes basket full of tangled yarn. “This was given to me, but I can’t use it until it’s untangled. The kids at the high school put on CATS, and this is how things ended up.” She laughed. “They did a good job of singing though.”
Lurleen reached in to pick a semi-recognizable skein. “I would have thought you had magic birds or something to do this for you.” She searched for a thread to start pulling.
“I do. You don’t.” Bridget patted her shoulder. “I’m not Baba Yaga. I won’t eat you if you don’t do it.”
“What would you do?” Lurleen dropped the stringy mess in her lap. She didn’t feel safe anywhere.
“I might send you back to your mom.” Bridget smiled. “But I won’t. This is just something to keep your hands busy. If you look for the Zen of untangling, you might find some threads of your mind you can unravel too.”
“Plenty of tangles there,” Lurleen said. She pushed the memory of the fight with Dean away from her consciousness. How had she not seen what he was? What the pack was—addicted, lazy, abusive, and always, always ravenous.
Why had they not turned her? She’d expected to turn each of the last two months, even expected to on the way to Paradise Lots, with the full moon rising. But here she was, not a coyote bitch.
Had Dean tossed her out to keep her from being turned?
The soup was beginning to smell good, and Lurleen’s stomach growled, not in protest for once.
Bridget pushed the soup pot to the back of the stove and added a couple more sticks to the fire. She put a small cast-iron frying pan in the oven and poured in a bit of oil.
The kitchen was very warm, even with a side window open. Bridget mixed up a pan of cornbread. She pulled out the frying pan, poured in the batter, and put it in the oven.
The skein in Lurleen’s hands was losing its battle as she pulled a thread here, unwound a thread there, and wrapped up the loose end in a ball. Maybe Dean did care about her, despite everything. But the pack didn’t. She untied the biggest snarl.
Bridget set the table with bowls, spoons, molasses, and butter. She got another tangle of yarn and sat across from Lurleen. “Ready to share some of what’s on your mind?”
“Why am I not a shifter?” She tossed the finished ball back into the basket. “Why didn’t they turn me?”
“What do you think?” Bridget didn’t look at her but only down at the tangle in her hands.
Lurleen grabbed another tangle. “I’m not special. I was like their nanny.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to give that up.” The yarn in Bridget’s fingers looked like a cat’s cradle.
Lurleen stopped detangling. “Maybe Dean stopped them? He cares about me?”
“With his fists, right?” Her tone was sympathetic, quiet. Bridget’s fingers unwove the tangles, and the snarl fell apart. She started wrapping the ball.
Lurleen sighed. No simple answer, just more tangled questions.
Bridget tossed her yarn ball in the basket. She got the cornbread out of the oven and turned it onto a plate. She dipped soup into the bowls. “Eat up now, and think later.”
The soup soaked into Lurleen’s body, warming her from the inside as the stove did outside. She mixed butter and molasses to smear on her cornbread, bringing memories of better time.
No bruises, no crashes, no strung out cravings.
How would it be no to go to bed or wake up in fear?
How long would it take for Dean to come looking for her?