Last Chance Knit & Stitch (15 page)

“The shop doesn’t open until ten,” she said. She knew
it was bitchy, but for some reason she wanted to lash out at him, even though he was merely an innocent bystander in the train wreck that had become her life.

He gave her a wink. A wink! Wow. “Do you carry Jamieson’s Spindrift?” he asked in a voice that had just a little Latin lilt to it. “Please say that you do. I ran out of one of the colors for a sweater I am knitting. And I have been driving across the country and didn’t have time to find a good-quality yarn shop.”

He winked at people, and he was a knitter. Double wow.

“Uh, yeah, we carry a limited supply of Jamieson’s wool.” She opened the door. “What color are you looking for?”

“Just one moment. I will go get my bag. I don’t know the color exactly, but maybe we can match it.” He jogged up the street and returned a moment later carrying a magnificent brown leather satchel that may have actually been made by Coach. He dropped the bag on the table in the center of the store and pulled out a spectacular intarsia crew-necked sweater in a very large size. It was knitted in the round and only lacked an inch or so of cuff on one sleeve to be finished.

“Wow. That’s amazing. You knitted that?”

“Well, I have been knitting since I was very little. My aunt taught me, and now she says I am a yarn whisperer.”

Molly stared at him. “That’s what people say about me.”

“Then you know how it is.” He pointed to the unfinished cuff. “I do not remember what color I need for this.”

“Let me get a couple of skeins and see if we can match.” She headed off to the specialty yarn area. Jamieson’s
yarns had a zillion colors. She picked up several skeins of various shades of gray and brought them back to the counter.

“Well, let’s see, it looks like slate to me.”

“Ah, yes, that matches. Thank God.”

“You’re in luck. We don’t carry all of Jamieson’s colors.”

“You have saved my life. Rodrigo’s birthday is next week, and he is already unhappy that I am not going to be home for it.”

“Rodrigo?”

“He is my boyfriend. Let me introduce myself. I am Angel Menendez. I work for Simon Wolfe.”

“So your boyfriend is
Rodrigo
?” she found herself asking. She left off the rest of the question.

“I guess you do not have many gay men who have come out here in South Carolina.”

“Uh, no, but I’m okay with it.”

“And you are the pretty girl who works at the yarn shop?” It was his way of asking for her name.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Molly Canaday, and I don’t work here. My momma owns the place but she’s out of town. I work at the … Crap.” Pain knifed through her.

“You work where?”

She let go of a gigantic breath, and her shoulders sagged. “I guess I do work here since this morning, when I lost my job at the Grease Pit.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Oh, I am so sorry. The Grease Pit? What kind of place is that?”

“The auto repair place down the street.”

He grinned, showing off a set of straight, pearly white teeth that could not be entirely natural. “So, you are a mechanic and a yarn whisperer?”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m here selling yarn.”

“And that is not so bad, is it?”

Molly headed toward the cash register. “So you only need one skein?” she asked, changing the subject.

He nodded, then dug his wallet out of his back pocket. He continued to examine the shop while she rang up the sale. “I am so happy there is a real yarn store here. I did not think there would be one. I’m very fussy about my yarns.”

“Who isn’t,” she said. He was completely sweet and engaging. And his boyfriend wasn’t Simon, but some big dude named Rodrigo. For some reason, that knowledge gave her a lift in what was otherwise starting out as a terrible day.

“So you brought Simon’s things, then?” She found herself asking, hoping to lure Angel into a little bit of harmless gossip.

“I did. It took more than a week to drive across the country. I ran out of yarn in Kansas City and could not find a shop that carried Jamieson’s anywhere.”

“So you’re staying for a while?”

“Until Simon has taken care of his father’s affairs. Actually, I think getting away from California will be good for him. He is basically on the rebound, and I think his current painting is not his best work. Maybe a couple of months.”

“On the rebound? Really?”

Angel leaned in closer and dropped his voice, as if he were imparting the choicest morsels of gossip, which was precisely what Molly had hoped for. “His girlfriend, Gillian, dumped him about a month ago. He says he is not heartbroken, but he lies. He also thinks he can fool me
into believing that he is perfectly fine. But he is not. He wears all of his emotions right there for anyone to see if you look carefully. And the painting does not go well.”

“His girlfriend dumped him?” Why was her heart suddenly pinging around her chest?

Angel laughed. “You thought he was gay, didn’t you? Everyone thinks that, and I can see why. The man is so particular about his clothes. He drives me crazy. He is almost as fussy and demanding as Rodrigo.” Angel picked up the calendar flyer that listed all of the shop’s special events, classes, and meetings. “Ah, the Purly Girls. I think Mrs. Wolfe is a member.”

“She is. The old ladies come from the senior center on Tuesdays. We’ll be having a meeting this afternoon.”

“I hope it is not limited to old ladies.”

“You want to join the Purly Girls?”

“I love charity knitting.” He grinned. “And Simon wants me to accompany his mother.”

She handed him his purchase. “Well, I guess I’ll see you this afternoon. We’re starting prayer blankets now that we’ve finished our Memorial Day poppies.”

“I will see you then. Thank you very much for opening the store early for me.”

He turned to go.

“Wait, are you staying at Charlotte’s house?” she asked.

“Oh, no. Simon says Mrs. Wolfe is kind of scared about strangers. For now, I have a room at the Peach Blossom Motor Court.” He made a face.

“Oh, my God, you slept there last night?”

“And the night before that.”

“I can’t believe Simon told you to get a room there.
The place is roach-infested. You should be staying with him in his mother’s gigantic house.”

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Well, that is not possible. And there is no other place in town to stay.”

“Wait, I have an idea.”

She pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. “Hello, Ruby, is the apartment above the Cut ’n Curl available?”

T
he studio space was much larger than Simon needed and much dirtier than he expected. He and Angel lost a whole morning running up to Lovett’s hardware for mops and detergent and window squeegees. By lunchtime, they had the front windows cleaned, the concrete floors mopped, and the bathroom bearable.

Even so, it was a relief to be here doing something productive instead of puttering around the house, waiting for Daddy’s will to be probated and getting the house ready to put on the market, while simultaneously keeping an eye on Mother, who usually didn’t have a clue who he was.

Today was the first day she would be spending at the senior day care facility in Allenberg. Since it was Tuesday, he’d pick her up later this evening at the Knit & Stitch, after the Purly Girls meeting, which is where he wanted Angel to befriend her.

He was counting on Angel to be her combination chauffeur, nursemaid, and knitting buddy, while Simon concentrated on getting the Harrison commission finished
and dealing with the business of winding up his father’s affairs. It was a truly lucky thing that his assistant was gifted with a set of knitting needles.

Angel would be fine with that. Simon had never met a person who made friends quicker than Angel Menendez. In fact, it had taken him almost no time at all to score an apartment above the Cut ’n Curl, where Simon was sure he’d fit right in.

Simon was just putting up his big easel when Lark Chaikin came strolling through the door. She was accompanied by a little girl of eight or nine with a bright blond ponytail, wearing pink shorts and a One Direction T-shirt.

“So,” Lark said, taking in the space, “I see you’ve dusted a bit. Haley and I were in town, and we thought we’d come over and see how you’re settling in.”

Lark made it sound very neighborly, but he was certain she was here to talk him into something he didn’t want to do. And besides, he didn’t want or need distractions right now.

“I’m fine,” he said without elaboration.

“And so, apparently, is your assistant. He’s made quite an impression on my mother-in-law.”

He frowned trying to figure out who Lark’s mother-in-law was. It had been a long time since he’d lived here. The relationships among people were still a little vague.

“Ruby Rhodes,” Lark supplied in answer to his unasked question. “The owner of the Cut ’n Curl? Stone’s mother?”

“Ah.” He nodded and finished tightening the last screw on the easel.

The little girl had wandered over to the wood crate
holding the Harrison canvas. “What’s in there?” she asked, turning to give Simon an adorable, wide-eyed look out of a pair of dark brown eyes.

And, once again, the past came out of nowhere and hit him upside the head. The girl had to be Sharon McKee Rhodes’s daughter. She looked just like her late mother.

“Your mother was Sharon McKee,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Funny how he still remembered Sharon. She’d been pretty and blond and always on Stone’s arm, when she wasn’t organizing something. The whole graduating class of 1990 had been utterly blown away when Stone had run off with Sharon the year she was the Watermelon Festival queen.

“She’s in Heaven,” Haley said.

“I heard about that. My daddy’s in Heaven, too,” he said.

“And I heard about that, too. I’m really, really sorry. But I’m sure he’s happy in Heaven.” She turned and looked at the crate. “What’s in there?”

“A painting.”

“Really? It’s big.”

The canvas was five feet by seven feet—intended to hang above the massive fireplace in Rory Harrison’s new Northern California retreat.

“Can I see it?” the kid asked.

“It’s not finished.”

“Are you painting it?”

“Yes, I’m painting it.” He checked his watch, then realized that it was a rude thing to do. Gillian had scolded him on any number of occasions for that little nervous tic. He really didn’t want to be rude to Sharon and Stone’s daughter. She was a cute little thing.

“I can see you’re busy,” Lark said. “We didn’t mean to keep you from your work. We just came to see how you were doing and to welcome you to Palmetto Avenue. You’re likely to get hit up by the merchants’ association.”

“I’m not a merchant.”

Lark turned her back and cast her gaze over the space. “But you could be.” She turned her attention to the little girl. “C’mon Haley, it’s lunchtime. Let’s go get that milk shake you wanted.”

She reached out her hand, and Haley skipped across the floor and took it. Lark draped her arm across the little girl’s shoulder. There was something about the way Lark embraced the child. It made his insides go liquid. Lark had come to this child late in her life, and the girl clearly adored her. What was this longing inside of him? It wasn’t for the past. Not at all. But somehow Last Chance and all these connections had unlocked it.

And suddenly he wanted this moment to last just a little longer, before he had to face the painting that was giving him such trouble.

“Wait,” he said.

They both turned.

He squatted down, the better to be on Haley’s level and spoke directly to the little girl. “If you like, you can help me take the painting out of its shipping crate.”

“Really?” The little girl’s face lit up, and that made Simon feel ever so much better about himself.

“Sure.”

He stood and picked up the crowbar sitting beside the crate. He loosened a couple of nails and popped off the end piece.

He let Haley help him slide the canvas out on its edge.
Lark stepped forward, took a corner, and helped him carry it to the large easel.

Once it had been secured, all three of them stood back and regarded the work-in-progress. “Wow, very southwestern,” Lark said. Simon read the disappointment in her voice. He wanted to reiterate that it wasn’t finished. But she already knew that.

Haley stared at it for a long time. “It looks kind of like where Wile E. Coyote lives.”

The child had hit the nail right on the head. No matter how many times Simon tried to re-create the Painted Desert, it always ended up looking like a cartoon backdrop.

“I guess,” he muttered. “It’s a painting of the desert.”

“Why are you painting deserts?” Haley asked.

“Because Mr. Harrison wants a painting of a desert.”

“Mr. Harrison?”

“He’s the man who is going to buy the painting when it’s finished.”

“Oh.” Haley paused and continued to study the painting. “Mr. Harrison must have a mighty big house for a picture that humongous.”

“He does.”

“Well, if I ever get a big house, I’m going to buy pictures of other things. You know, like birds in the swamp. Sorta like Lark’s pictures. Did you know her pictures are so good they made a whole book of them? I reckon selling a book of pictures is better than selling just one big one.” There was no mistaking Haley’s pride in her stepmother. And Simon had to agree. Lark’s book,
Rural Scenes
, was a masterwork of photography. In his opinion, some of her work rivaled that of Ansel Adams.

He looked over at Lark. She didn’t seem at all
embarrassed about what Haley had just said. Judging by the spark of amusement in her dark eyes, Lark knew the Harrison commission was god-awful. “Don’t let Haley fool you,” she said. “She is way more perceptive than you might expect.”

Lark turned and took Haley by the hand. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s leave Mr. Wolfe to his work.”

The two of them left him to stand there contemplating the disaster that was the biggest commission of his life.

Angel found him there ten minutes later. “You know, boss, standing there looking at it will not make it any better.” Angel handed him a can of soda and a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.