SAT ON the tailgate of the pickup and watched Tag clean the wound. He examined the cuts.
“You’re definitely going to need stitches. The tip of this finger is almost sliced clear through.”
Aidan repeated his earlier observation. “I can see why they’re called razor clams.”
Tag chuckled and applied some disinfectant. “Maybe—I’ve heard different accounts on that. On the east coast they’re longer and skinnier—more like a straight razor. They also call them jackknife clams back there. Our Pacific razors are a lot more oval-shaped, and bigger—fatter and meatier. Tastier, too, I think. Anyway, a lot people claim the shape is where the name comes from.”
Aidan shook his head. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”
Tag laughed. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“My fingers, they’re going to be—”
“Don’t worry. Dr. Grady is on today and he’s great. I’ve never seen a doctor who can sew better. It’ll barely even scar.”
Aidan watched as Tag wrapped his fingers in a length of soft white gauze. The blood seeped through and Tag kept wrapping. Aidan thought about the repercussions of an injured hand, but scars were the least of his concerns.
Emily examined Tag’s handiwork. “Aidan, what will you do? How are you going to work?”
“I’ll manage. They’re just lacerations, Em—they’ll heal.” Leave it to Emily to voice his concerns.
“But your boxes are arriving tomorrow, right?”
“That’s right,” Bering said as he began transferring clams into a cooler. “Your stuff. Don’t worry, we’ll help.”
Bering turned to address Janie, who had been hanging back silently. Aidan wondered what she was thinking. “Can I borrow the boys in the morning? To give Aidan a hand?”
“Yes, of course.”
Tag closed his first-aid kit and stood. “Hop in my pickup, Aidan. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“JANIE, THE RESPONSE to your ugly-Christmas-sweater column has been unbelievable. Mayor Cummings is talking about having an ugly-Christmas-sweater contest at this year’s Festival of Trees in December. People are asking if you’ll teach a class. We could print a summary in the paper the day after each one, so people who have taken your earlier classes can follow along in the paper. What do you think?”
Janie handed a plate of scrambled eggs over to Laurel, who had stopped by to discuss the matter since it was Sunday—the only day the paper was closed, although Laurel worked every day.
“But I don’t get it,” Claire said as she rinsed her plate in the sink. She and the boys had already eaten so she could drive Gareth and Reagan into town for the work party at Aidan’s. “Your sweaters aren’t ugly—they’re beautiful.”
Laurel tried to explain and Janie let her. She had been over this with her mom too many times to count. “That’s kind of the point, Claire. The silly design versus the quality of the knitting and the beauty of the yarn... That’s the appeal and no one does these better than Janie.”
Claire shook her head in confusion. “That’s what Janie says, too, Laurel. But I still don’t understand why you have to call them ugly.”
Janie and Laurel exchanged grins, as her mom continued her argument.
Janie had held basic knitting classes in the past, always with a great turnout. Students would complete the class with knowledge of basic stitches and a scarf or the start of a throw blanket. A sweater would entail much more detailed teaching, but knitting was her passion and she enjoyed teaching the skill hands-on.
“I would be happy to do a class.”
“Awesome.” Laurel beamed. “I’ll get it set up.”
Claire put on her coat. “We’re leaving now. Bering is bringing the boys home, right?”
“Yes, thanks, Mom.” Janie explained to Laurel, “Bering, Tag, Gareth and Reagan are helping Aidan Hollings move a bunch of his stuff in today.”
The boys appeared with their plates and stowed them in the dishwasher. They said their goodbyes and filed out the door. Janie poured herself and Laurel cups of coffee.
“Which reminds me,” Laurel said. “Emily said Aidan was really resistant to the idea of an interview, so I called his agent. He thinks Aidan will do an interview when he hears what the Insider’s Alaska column is all about...and we settle on terms.”
“Terms?”
“That’s actually pretty standard procedure with celebrity types. They’ll let you know right off the top what topics or questions are off-limits—most of the time they’ll even want a list of questions beforehand.”
Janie scoffed. “Celebrity types? Are you kidding me? Some guest shots on Here’s the Dirt and Flower Power make him a celebrity? I played Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady back in high school—maybe I should get an agent?”
Laurel chuckled. “And you were excellent. Did you know Here’s the Dirt is the most popular gardening show on cable television? And don’t forget about that film on endangered plant species. He cowrote, produced and directed that, you know? It’s already being considered a pretty important piece of work in the scientific community and it hasn’t even been released yet. The film is going to be shown in IMAX theaters all over the world. And they are having like a real film premiere later this summer. A bunch of movie stars and business people and politicians are attending. I was thinking our articles could coincide with that.”
Janie took a bite of toast. “Sounds great.”
“I know, and I want you to do the interview. Emily is right about this and you would be perfect—”
“Laurel, I’m sorry, but can you give this one to someone else? I don’t want to do it.”
“Of course you do. Don’t be nervous—you’ll be great. It’s a human interest story—you’re great at those.”
“I’m not nervous. It’s not that.” This wasn’t actually true—the thought of doing the interview made her stomach knot like the ball of yarn Crosby had gotten ahold of last night. The yarn had been hopelessly shredded and tangled, so she’d had to toss the expensive wad of mohair in the garbage. “I don’t want to interview him—Aidan Hollings.”
“What? But why?”
“I... We didn’t really click.”
Laurel peered at her intently. “You don’t like him?”
The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Not particularly.”
“Really? Why not? Everyone seems crazy about him.”
Everyone hadn’t heard him talking to Emily about everyone.
Laurel stared at her expectantly, waiting for more information. Janie should have known Laurel would push the subject and she knew better than to try and lie to her friend.
“He’s... We’re very different.”
“How?”
“How?” Janie repeated the word and heard the sharpness in her tone. She inhaled a breath, searching for calm.
“Yes, in what ways are you so different? What’s he like?”
“Not what I expected.”
“I have this impression of him as this nice, easygoing, laid-back kind of guy... Plus, he’s Emily’s brother.”