“Crutches might be worse.” Bea chuckled and took a big bite of Peg’s salad, then set her plate down and picked up her bag. “Who’s ready to knit some knockers?”
Erma glanced at Riley, who was sitting on the opposite side of the room between Bea and Viola. She held a pair of knitting needles and a ball of soft, white pima cotton yarn in her lap. Erma had always preferred crochet, so Bea had taught Riley how to knit.
Erma tried not to frown at the lost look on her granddaughter’s face—a look she was all too familiar with. How many times had she seen it during Riley’s teenage years? Her heart had ached back then as she wished she could help Riley feel more at ease and make friends. That familiar pain filled her heart now.At least she’s here. That’s something.
“Here, sweet pea, let me give you a refresher.” Bea angled her large body toward Riley and began to show her how to use the needles again. As Erma had suspected, Riley picked the knitting back up right away, and soon she was concentrating on the copy of the pattern in front of her on the coffee table.
“How long do you think she’ll stay?” Madge whispered, leaning close to Erma as the rest of the women buzzed with conversation and laughter.
Erma shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Hopefully she doesn’t have her mother’s wandering genes.” Madge, who enjoyed knitting and crocheting, sat back and primly slipped a knot of light-pink yarn on her crochet hook.
Erma held her tongue, a task that always involved a great deal of difficulty. Not only was Madge the youngest in the group, but she was also the newest member, even though she’d been attending Bosom Buddy nights for over two years, at the insistence of Erma herself. More than once Erma had questioned the wisdom of her decision. Overall, Madge Wilson was a good woman, but there were times when her words held a sharp edge, and Erma sometimes thought she was being hurtful on purpose.
She ignored Madge and the urge to put the youngster in her place and focused on crocheting. She’d made so many knockers that by now she could crochet them without looking, which freed her up to visit with her friends, forget about both the pain in her leg and the pain in her behind sitting next to her, and most of all, keep a surreptitious eye on Riley. She hoped her granddaughter could relax enough to enjoy herself tonight. She deserved to have a good time. Erma had a gut feeling that didn’t happen much in New York.
***
Riley was surprised she was able to halfway complete one knocker—and stunned that it didn’t look horrible. Nevertheless, she would unravel it later and start again, this time focusing on her tension instead of remembering how to do the stitches, so the project would be as close to perfect as possible. She refused to donate something that wasn’t her best work.
She was also surprised at how knitting again helped her forget about her concern for Mimi. More than ever, Riley believed she would have to convince her stubborn grandmother to sell the shop. It had become more of a burden than a joy—anyone could see that. Except for tonight, perhaps. Riley had to admit it was nice to be around a group of people who were enjoying themselves, even if they were decades older than her.
Before she realized it, Bosom Buddy night was over, and Riley helped Mimi’s friends pack up their leftover food—because, of course, everyone had made too much. They wouldn’t be Southern cooks if they hadn’t. Erma bade each of her friends goodbye with a hug and a smile. When the last woman left, Riley turned to her grandmother. She was still smiling, but lines of weariness had appeared on her face. When she moved her wheelchair and winced, Riley hurried over to her.
“Time to go home,” she said.
“But we need to tidy things up here first.”
Riley scoffed. “Since when have you been eager to tidy up anything?”
Mimi nodded. “True, even though it makes me sound neglectful.”
Crouching in front of Mimi’s wheelchair and making sure she didn’t bump her leg, Riley looked her grandmother straight in the eye and smiled. “You’re never neglectful.” She patted Mimi’s hand, then stood. “But you are stubborn, and I can tell you’re hurting. When was the last time you took a pain pill?”
“I hate those things.” Mimi averted her gaze and drummed her fingers against her knee.
“Do they help you?”
After a pause, Mimi nodded, rubbing her thumb over her short fingernails.
“Then you need to take them.”
“I left them at home.” She looked up at Riley. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
Now it was Riley’s turn to pause, although she shouldn’t have been surprised at the question. Mimi always wanted to know how she was feeling, especially when Riley was a teenager. At the end of every school day, the first thing she would say when Riley walked into Knots and Tangles was, “Did you have a good day today?” Most of the time Riley had nodded, even though it wasn’t the truth.
This time when she nodded she was being honest. “I did. I forgot how relaxing knitting can be. Except for those first few stitches.”
“Everyone tenses up when they’re new.” Erma smiled, then winced again and sighed. “I have to admit, I am a little tired.
“That’s it. Home we go.”
An hour later, after driving Mimi home in her twenty-five-year-old Lincoln Town Car that still had less than 100,000 miles on it, then helping her grandmother get dressed for bed and extracting a promise that she would stay there and sleep, Riley stepped out onto the front porch. The air wasn’t as muggy as last night, and a faint, almost cool breeze ruffled her bangs. She leaned on the banister and looked at Mimi’s front yard. The light from the streetlamp at the end of the driveway illuminated the disaster.
The grass needed mowing, weeds had taken over the flower beds, and the Burford holly bushes could use a good pruning. She’d seen the backyard this morning, and it was in even worse shape than the front. Riley had never been a fan of yard work, but after almost a decade of not having a yard, she found herself itching to pull the lawn mower from the shed and attack the overgrown grass.
She sat on the front porch step and propped her elbows on her knees. There was so much work to do—the shop, the house, the yard... Everything was unkempt and disorganized. Why hadn’t anyone helped take care of these things? Riley knew the answer before she finished the question—stubbornness. Even if someone had offered to help, her grandmother would have turned them down. It was clear that she did need assistance, even before the accident.Things wouldn’t be such a mess if I had stayed here.
