Last Chance Knit & Stitch Read online

  “You shouldn’t have felt like you needed to do it on your own.”

  “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I know I’m screwing up your life right now.”

  “Forget it, Beau. I’m here for you. I only wish Momma was here, too.”

  Beau closed his eyes and seemed to drift off. Molly looked up at her father and realized that she was still in a big mess of trouble.

  “Now is not the time,” he said quietly, “but imagine how Beau and Allen felt when they showed up here last night and you were out partying.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  Molly read the front of the postcard. It said “Greetings from San Sebastian” and showed a gigantic, white sand beach with a crescent of blue-green ocean. On the back, in Momma’s curly script, was a one-sentence message: “The Canary Islands rock, having a great time.”

  Molly stared down at the writing. Usually if Momma sent letters they closed with X’s and O’s, or at least a “Love, Momma.” She’d done nothing like that. And even though there was only a tiny space for writing on the back of the card, she still could have squeezed in a couple of X’s.

  But the postcard hadn’t been addressed to Molly, or Coach, or the twins. It was addressed to the Purly Girls in care of the Knit & Stitch. Ricki had picked it up at the post office and brought it right up the street to Molly at the Coca-Cola building.

  “Do you have any idea where the Canary Islands are?” Ricki asked.

  “They’re off the coast of Spain. Momma used to talk about going there all the time. I think it’s the place where Columbus started his trip across the Atlantic in 1492.”

  Molly swallowed back the knot that was forming in her throat. She didn’t know if that constriction was because she missed Momma or if she was incredibly ticked off at her.

  Momma should be home right now. She should have at least left a forwarding address. Beau needed her.

  Not that Molly wasn’t willing to take care of Beau. That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, Molly was so determined to take care of her younger brother that she’d used Momma’s recipe cards to plan a week’s worth of meals. She’d taken off her party clothes and gone grocery shopping and then made a meat loaf that was edible, even if Beau had only picked at the food. After dinner, Molly had sat down in the living room and read One Minute Meditations. And this morning, before she came to work, she’d spent fifteen minutes in the meditation corner in the spare bedroom where she worked doubly hard trying to get Simon out of her brain.

  Even so, a few things were much clearer now that she’d thought things through in a purposeful way.

  Molly handed the postcard back to Ricki and told her to post it on the corkboard behind the cash counter at the Knit & Stitch. “We’ll show it to the girls when they come tomorrow.” It was amazing how calm she felt—how resigned she’d become to Momma’s defection.

  Ricki went back to the shop, and Molly went back to welding some new sheet metal to a section of the Shelby’s front quarter panel that had been eaten away by rust.

  She didn’t hear Simon when he came into her cavernous work space. She didn’t need to hear him. The moment he arrived the atmosphere became charged, and gooseflesh prickled her arms and shoulders. She shut down the welder, removed her welding mask, and looked over her shoulder.

  Simon stood by the door that led to his studio looking sexy and debonair in his paint-smeared 49ers shirt. In his hands, he carried a pair of blue shoes and a matching clutch purse. “I thought you might want these back,” he said, lifting the items so she could see them.

  He gave her the most perfect smile, like he might be channeling some storybook swain. “Actually, Angel got them back for you. He said you were worried about them. Then he made a completely gratuitous remark about Cinderella and suggested that I come in here and demand that you try them on, just to be sure they belong to the woman I danced with on Saturday.”

  Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She’d kind of hoped he’d treat her like the one-night stand she’d been. That would have made everything so much easier.

  “They don’t belong to me,” she replied. “They belong to your cousin Rachel. I’ll just take my driver’s license and Lady Woolham’s jewelry out of the purse, and you can return the shoes directly to her yourself.”

  Something dimmed in those big brown eyes of his. “All right.” He paused a moment, managing for the first time to look slightly awkward. “Uh, I didn’t see you at church on Sunday.”

  “I didn’t go.” She resisted the urge to ask him if the entire town was gossiping about them. If they were, she’d hear about it soon enough, and that would be a big problem given the current situation at home. Maybe she should have thought about all that on Saturday night. But of course, she hadn’t known Beau was sick on Saturday night. It was darn annoying that half her family had been keeping secrets.

  “Is something wrong?” Simon deposited the shoes and purse on the board she’d put up between two sawhorses. It wasn’t the best shop bench in the world, but it was the best she could improvise on a temporary basis.

  Damn. Her whole life felt temporary. She wondered if Beau felt the same way, and her heart turned over in her chest.

  Simon took several steps toward her. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? You regret what happened on Saturday.”

  “No, I’m fine, and I have no regrets, but obviously it can’t happen again. My brother is really sick. I found out Sunday morning when I got home.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded, her whole jaw tight. “He’s got non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He’s lost twenty-five pounds, and his hair is coming out, and …” Her voice got thin and reedy, and she couldn’t pull enough air into her chest. She wanted to put the welding visor back over her eyes and get back to work. There was something kind of comforting about removing the layers of the car’s surface until the rust was exposed. If only she could do that with her own self, and her own family.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “Not a thing.” Her voice held steady, despite her raging emotions. Maybe those fifteen minutes she’d spent in Momma’s meditation corner had done some good after all. “Unless you can find Momma and bring her home. But that’s not going to happen. I see that now.”

  Simon sat down on the shop stool and opened his arms. “Come over here.” He was offering his wide, manly shoulder. She could find comfort there if she wanted to. It was a tempting offer. But she had to refuse it.

  “No, Simon, I can’t.”

  He cocked his head. “You can’t or you won’t?”

  “It’s the same thing. Look, Saturday night was fun. But that’s all it was. We both know that, so let’s not kid ourselves, okay? People in Last Chance do not have affairs. And you and I are not going to have one either. You were clear the other day down at the river, and I’m good with your rules. And besides, Coach thinks you’re too old for me, and he has his own set of rules. Coach and I have been known to argue about stuff like this, but now is not a good time. Not with Momma gone and Beau so sick.”

  “I understand,” he said, but for a second Molly had the feeling that she might have hurt his feelings or disappointed him or something.

  “So we’re good?” she asked.

  He nodded. “We’re good. I understand. You’re right, Beau needs you all pulling in the same direction right now.”

  Simon stood and retrieved the purse and shoes. He opened the evening bag and found Molly’s driver’s license, which he put on the makeshift table. “I’ll have Angel take all of these things back for you. It’s the least I can do. I’m so sorry about Beau.” And with that he turned his back on her and left her alone.

  It had only been a few days since Dash and Savannah’s wedding, but Ricki was starting to wonder if Les was destined to be a one-night stand.

  She probably ought to put him in that category. Not that she’d actually ever had a one-night stand before in he
r entire life. She’d been with Clay Rhodes, and then she’d dumped him for Randy, which in retrospect had been a real stupid move on her part.

  Randy had not deserved her.

  So, all in all, one-night stands were not something she was all that experienced in. And now that a few days had passed, and Les hadn’t called, she was starting to worry. Should she call him? What would he say if she called? Would he tell her she was too old? Would he tell her that he was carrying a torch for Molly?

  He probably was carrying a torch for Molly, but then Molly appeared to be carrying a torch for Angel, which was really sad because Angel was gay. And besides, everyone knew that Miriam had predicted that Molly belonged to someone local. So it couldn’t be Angel.

  Although it could be Angel’s boss. Molly had danced a few dances with Simon Wolfe, but the idea of Molly and Simon together was almost as absurd as Molly and Angel. Simon was way too old for her. And besides, how could a guy who dressed like Simon end up with a woman like Molly? No way.

  She gave Muffin a little pat on the head. The dog was sitting at attention by the Knit & Stitch’s front door as if she knew Angel would be there soon. It was Tuesday afternoon, almost time for the Purly Girls to show up. So naturally Muffin was standing by the door, waiting. Muffin had a hopeless doggy crush on Angel. If anyone in town was carrying a torch for that guy, it wasn’t Molly, it was Muffin.

  Which was annoying as hell because the dog hated Les. Muffin was getting in the way of Ricki’s love life, which was sort of amazing because, until recently, she’d been both dogless and love-life-less. And now she couldn’t imagine being without either.

  The bell above the door tinkled, and Muffin gave a little bark, but she was sadly disappointed. Because it wasn’t Angel who came through the door.

  It was Molly. Sort of.

  “Oh, my God, what have you done to yourself?” Ricki said. “Please don’t tell me Ruby did that to your hair.”

  Molly stood on the threshold, her hair cut off in a kind of spiky do around her head. She looked like a mangy dog. “Ruby had nothing to do with it. I took my sewing scissors to it.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I was tired of dealing with it. And I figured if Beau was losing his in patches, then I could cut mine in solidarity. I’ve been wanting to get rid of my hair for ages and ages. I kept putting it off for some reason. But this morning I meditated about it and decided cutting it was a way of simplifying my life. Short hair is light and cool, and I like it,” she said, although the expression on her face said otherwise. “It took no time to get it dry this morning. I’m thinking the boys have all the fun, Ricki. We need to remember that.”

  “But your hair, Molly, it was your best feature. And if you wanted to cut it, you should have gone to Ruby instead of going at it with your scissors.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, Ruby refused to cut my hair once so I had to take matters into my own hands. And if I’d walked into the barbershop, the tongues in this town would have been wagging faster than Muffin’s backside.” She gave the dog a pat on the head. Muffin ate up the attention like the little tramp she was.

  Ricki made no further comment about Molly’s hair, but she knew someone was going to have to make an intervention and get that girl down to the Cut ’n Curl to fix the damage. Without her beautiful curly hair, she looked kind of like a skinny little boy.

  Maybe Angel was bi and he liked his female lovers looking that way?

  Ricki pushed that thought way back in her head. No way.

  “And I’ve got another idea,” Molly said. “The hospital in Columbia where Beau had his treatment is looking for knitted hats for chemo patients. I’m thinking we should get the Purly Girls working on hats. And we can get the ladies of the book club who knit to work on some hats, too. In fact, a hat is the perfect project for you, now that you’ve got the basic stitches down.”

  Great. She was turning into a lonely old spinster with a gender-confused boss and a dog with a crush on a gay man. And now she was taking up knitting.

  This was not what Ricki had been hoping for when she’d given up her job at the Kountry Kitchen.

  Molly and Angel helped the Purly Girls cast on the knitting worsted they were using for their first set of Chemo Caps. Everyone was knitting a simple ribbed cap so it was easy to keep the girls on track while they reminisced about people they knew who had died of cancer.

  The talk was disturbing as hell, and Molly felt on the verge of tears the entire time until Miriam Randall, bless her heart, changed the subject.

  She turned her dark gaze on Angel, who had stopped knitting and was busy cuddling Muffin. “Who is Rodrigo?” Miriam asked.

  He continued to stroke the dog’s head. “Pardon me, ladies, I do not mean to shock anyone, but Rodrigo is my boyfriend.”

  “Ah,” Miriam nodded. “And, based on what you’ve said before, he’s not a veterinarian, or a dog trainer, or something like that, is he?”

  Angel gave Miriam the oddest look. “Sadly, no. I think I told you that Rodrigo is not a dog lover. And not a cat lover either. He is basically not a pet person. Not even goldfish.” He pulled Muffin closer to his chest and gave the dog a little kiss on her head.

  Muffin lapped up the attention.

  “That’s a shame,” Ricki snarked. It was pretty clear that Ricki was jealous of Angel’s relationship with Muffin. And Molly thought she had a complicated life.

  “It is.” He held the little dog up so he could look her in the eye and speak more baby talk to her. “It’s a very big shame, isn’t it my little angel?”

  “Ha!” Miriam said. “Angel’s angel. That’s amusing. But it’s not at all amusing that your Rodrigo doesn’t like dogs. It’s not amusing at all.”

  Luanne Howe piped up. “Miriam, are you saying that Angel needs to get rid of his current boyfriend?”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” Angel said.

  Miriam leaned forward and caught Angel by the upper arm. “Son, you listen to me. God did not put you on this earth to spend your life with someone like this Rodrigo.”

  “You do not even know him.”

  “Of course I don’t know him. But that’s not important. If he doesn’t love dogs, then he is not for you.”

  “Is that a forecast?” Ricki asked. There was such a yearning in Ricki’s voice. It was sort of pitiful.

  “A forecast?” Angel looked at the ladies around the table. All of them, even the senile ones, were leaning in. When Miriam started talking about relationships, everyone listened.

  “I have heard about this knack of yours,” Angel said. “But I am happy with my boyfriend.”

  “Angel, you know that isn’t true,” Miriam responded. “You need to get a dog and lose Rodrigo. And I promise you that everything will turn out right.”

  “A dog? Really? What kind?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one like Muffin.”

  He lifted up the pooch and spoke to her in a singsong voice. “You hear that, my little prima donna? I need to find a dog like you. But Miz Miriam does not realize that you are one of a kind.”

  The dog barked. She obviously loved being adored.

  Molly refrained from making any comment about this turn of events. Thank goodness Miriam’s matchmaking advice had distracted everyone. Otherwise she’d be hearing a lot of crap about her hair. And she didn’t want to hear any crap about it because, now that she’d whacked it off, she was having some major misgivings. It was lighter and cooler and all that, but it was hard to hide behind short hair. And until that hair was gone, she hadn’t realized how much hiding she’d been doing.

  She employed one of the techniques in One Minute Meditations and tried to clear her mind of everything but the knitting. And to her astonishment, the technique worked, and she felt kind of centered. Which was a good thing, because otherwise she might be obsessing about Beau, or Momma, or her hair, or that moment when Simon was going to walk in the door to pick up his mother. She didn’t want to see Simon. Telling him no
yesterday had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But it had been necessary.

  And now she wanted him to go back to California as quickly as possible. Because she was weak and God only knew how long her willpower could hold out in the face of such overwhelming temptation.

  The bell above the door jingled, and Molly almost jumped out of her skin. Time had moved on without her. She’d been so centered on the knitting. She looked up, bracing herself for another encounter with Simon.

  But it was Les. And he looked at her with this strange expression on his face. “Whoa, Mol, you look like you tangled with a buzz saw.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Don’t mention it. You look kinda cute, actually.”

  Ricki gave Les a look that was one part I’m so glad to see you and another part Go away and leave before you hurt me more than you already have. Molly, Angel, and Miz Miriam recognized this look and glanced at one another.

  “Why are you here?” Ricki asked. She sounded truly ticked off. And so did her little dog. Muffin, who had been happily lapping up Angel’s attention, suddenly turned into Cujo on a miniature scale. She crouched down on Angel’s lap and growled at Les.

  This only lasted for a couple of moments before Angel went into Cesar Millan mode. “Muffin,” he said in a calm, assertive voice. And that’s all it took. It was either the tone or the Spanish accent, but the dog turned her back on Les, looked up at Angel with adoration in her brown doggy eyes, and sat down on his lap.

  “How did you do that?” Ricki asked.

  Angel shrugged. “I do not know. She and I are sympatico.”

  Ricki turned back to Les, who was standing there looking more and more awkward by the minute. “Why are you here?” she repeated.

  “Uh, um …” He gave Molly a desperate look and then turned back toward Ricki. “Uh, can I talk to you a minute?”

  Ricki’s face turned the color of the red knitting worsted she was using. “Les, I’m working and …”