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“You are knitting again?” I asked, stopping before them. The sight brought me some relief. She only knitted when she felt most like herself.
The wooden needles in Mom’s hands froze when she heard my voice, and her eyes filled with joy the moment she saw me. Yet, tears also brimmed in them. “My baby…” Her arms stretched, calling me to her side. “I’m so sorry.”
Dropping my backpack on the floor, I sat beside her, letting her pull me in for a hug. “It’s okay, Mom. It doesn’t matter,” I assured, squeezing her tightly. I missed her so much.
“Yes, it does,” She pulled away enough to look into my eyes. “We were having such a nice time and I just—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I pressed. “I loved spending time with you that day, and I love being here with you today. Forget about the rest, okay?” Kissing her cheek, I gently wiped the tears that had escaped her and saw her smile, nodding.
“I love you, baby.”
“Love you too, Mom.” Pulling away to lean my back on the bench, I motioned to the yarn and needles on her lap. “What are you knitting?”
The gleam of a smile returned to her eyes. “I made you a scarf.”
Grinning, I watched her reach for something Grace held out for her, and Mom unfolded it, draping it around my neck. It was blue, gray, and pink. “It’s awesome, thank you.”
“Those were the only colors we had left, but I think even with the pink I made it manly enough.”
“You did. I don’t mind the pink.”
She clapped excitedly, and lifted the piece she had been finishing when I arrived. Tying off the end, she made sure the thread was secured and turned it around, showing it to me. “Here, I made a matching beanie for your girlfriend.”
My lips stretched into an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll save it for when I meet her.”
Blinking, she looked at me perplexed. “You don’t have a girlfriend??”
“Nope. I work too much, I have no interest or time for that.” Or at least that was what I always thought, until Evie came into my life. I would be with her in a second if she were here.
“I volunteer,” Grace added from her rocking chair, knitting something that looked like a sweater.
“You are too old for my son,” Mom huffed while I chuckled. “And not to mention, already married.”
“Oh, I can get rid of my husband real quick. You just wait and see.”
Mom’s laughter mixed with mine while Grace winked at me jokingly.
“Sorry. I love you, but I can’t approve a match I don’t believe in. My son’s too handsome and special,” she added, caressing my cheek. “He needs a strong young woman by his side.”
“Well, that’s just wrong,” her nurse complained. “Age is just a number. I’m sure Brax doesn’t mind an older woman. So who cares if I’m thirty years older than him? I’m sure he’ll appreciate an experienced woman by his side. Right Braxton?”
Mom shook her head, humor capturing her expression while she pulled a new thread of yarn to begin knitting something else.
“Oh, no. Don’t look at me,” I lifted both hands. “I’m not touching that conversation with a ten-foot pole.”
Chuckling, Grace continued knitting.
I glanced at my mother while she spun the needles slowly. Because of her injured right hand, she couldn’t knit as fast as she once did, but it still reminded me of every time she had done so as a hobby when I was a child.
Pausing for a moment, she glanced out into the horizon. “I’ll talk to Ezra and Sienna about their daughter. Only she will do. We discussed it long ago, but it’s time to make it formal. I’m certain Khayden will be pleased with that match, and it will—”
Mother’s words halted after she mentioned my father, and every inch of me became rigid. No, please. No.
“Keira?” Grace called, leaning closer. “The backpack, your son, the petunia garden,” she listed as some sort of chant.
Forcing herself to breathe, my mom searched for the things Grace had mentioned, glancing at my backpack on the floor, into my eyes, and at the purple flowers on the other side of the porch screen.
“The petunia garden, the backpack, my son,” Mom added, touching the beads on a bracelet she wore with each thing listed. “The petunia garden, the backpack, my son,” she recited two more times—like a prayer. When she was finished, she blinked, glancing back at me.
