Wishes and Stitches (25 page)

Chapter Forty-three

M
other down!” yelled Anna. “Alert, alert!”

Naomi raced to help Maybelle, and she and Rig reached her at the same time. Buzz had caught her as she fainted and was lowering her to the ground.

“Easy there,” said Rig, reaching to roll Maybelle onto her back on the wooden deck. “Go slow.”

Naomi pushed his hands away. “I've got it,” she said. “Thanks.”

Maybelle's closed eyes twitched underneath her eyelids as Naomi tilted her mother's head back to make sure her breathing was even. She wouldn't
automatically
assume her mother was faking.

“She's fine,” said Anna in a bored voice. “She just didn't know I was pregnant and now she's trying to make it all about her.”

Maybelle's eyes twitched again. Naomi, now suspicious, raised her mother's hand so that it hovered above her face, an old ER trick. She released it, and instead of whacking herself in the face, which she'd do if she were unconscious, her hand fell to the side, slowly.

“You're awake, Mom. We know it.”

Maybelle's eyes flew open and she glared at Naomi.

“I can't believe you just faked fainting. In front of a doctor and all.” Naomi pointed at Rig, who knelt on the other side of Maybelle.

“I did not fake fainting. It was just a very fast, very sudden spell. Thank
goodness
it's over now.” Maybelle sat up and fanned herself as Buzz leaned over her, still looking concerned.

“Alert, alert!” Milo screamed the words as he raced between the oak tree and the old unused clothesline.

Naomi stood, her legs feeling rubbery. “I'd better sit . . .”

“Here.” Rig ushered her to a chair next to her sister. “Just sit here and rest. You want a soda? Something stronger?”

Naomi thought about her stomach. It felt better than it had in days, but she didn't want to test her system. “Water, please.”

“Me, too,” said Anna. “If you don't mind.”

“Me, too,” said Maybelle weakly.

“Three waters,” said Rig. He went inside the house.

“Mom,” hissed Anna. “Seriously?”

Maybelle pointed a finger at Anna. “Who
did
that to you?”

Jake and Frank shot a look at each other. “We'll help Rig,” they said, and the two men nearly tripped over themselves going through the screen door. Buzz looked up in the treetops, and then back slowly. “Yeah, maybe they need . . .” He, too, was gone.

Anna sat up, her back remarkably straight for a woman in her ninth month. “He doesn't matter.”

“Was it that firefighter? Jake? Is that little hellion his, too? Because if he's going to let you bring a bastard—”

“No!” Anna said the word loudly. Good. Naomi wanted to let them have it out. She didn't want to be part of this unless she had to be. Although Naomi had to admit that knowing Anna had kept the pregnancy from her mother made her feel a little bit better. She was the only one Anna had trusted. She was the one Anna had come to.

And then she'd chased her away.

“It's not Jake. Jake's just a nice guy.” Anna smiled. “A really nice guy.”

“How could you not
tell
me?” Maybelle pressed her hand against her chest. “Oh, Naomi, I think I'm having palpitations.”

“You are not,” said Anna. “And this is exactly why I didn't tell you. I'm doing this my way. On my terms. Neither you nor Naomi have any say in this.”

“Hey,” said Naomi. “I'm not like her.”

Anna's eyes were fierce. “Well, you kept acting like her, even when you were sick. Especially when you were sick. That's why I left.”

Naomi closed her eyes for a minute. The pain was intense, as bad as being sick had been. She was
not
like their mother.

Maybelle shook her head sharply. “What do you mean? How I act? I'm your mother. I get to act any way I want.”

“That's the problem, Mom,” said Anna. She held out her hand in a pleading gesture, then let it drop on top of her belly. “You
don't
get to. You have to be nice.”

“I'm always nice. Daddy calls me his spun sugar.” Maybelle's hand fluttered up to make sure her perfectly coiffed hair was still in place.

Anna spoke as if Maybelle hadn't. “I mean nice as in genuine. If you're not, I won't be around you. Naomi, that goes for you, too.”

Naomi turned in her seat so that she was facing Anna and pulled a curl forward so she couldn't see her mother at all. This was important. This mattered so much that her heart physically ached.

“Anna. I'm so sorry. I was completely wrong in what I said, and in the judgmental way I acted toward you. I want to be there for you in any way that you'll have me. I want you in the house, and in the office, and I can't wait to meet the person you're bringing us. As your sister, and as your friend, I'm so sorry.”

Anna dropped her eyes to her stomach and looked back up at Naomi. “If you ever tell me what to do again, like
that
, I'll—”

“You'll sock me in the arm and tell me to jump off a bridge. And move all my furniture and lose my gas and electric bill. And sock me again.”

“Will you listen?”

“If you hit me hard enough.” The words were light, the tone wasn't. Naomi held out a hand, and Anna squeezed it, hard.

“Okay, then,” said Anna.

Okay? Did Anna need more? She'd apologize all night if she had to.

Anna smiled.

Okay was all she needed. Naomi felt lighter as happiness swelled inside her throat, pushing tears to her eyes. She blinked fast, and then jumped as Milo hurtled himself into her lap.

“Hey, buddy.”

“That's your sister?” Milo demanded.

“Yep. And that's my mom.” Naomi pointed at Maybelle, who was squirming in her seat, obviously trying to look penitent.

“Where's
your
mom?” Milo asked Anna.

She gestured to Maybelle. “Right there. We have the same mom. Because we're sisters.”

Milo said, “You're luckier than me, I guess. With a mom and a sister and everything. But I have Spiderman!” With an accidental sharp elbowing to her ribs, Milo leaped off Naomi's lap and ran inside, with the rest of the men.

Maybelle wriggled forward and said, “Anna, honey, I'm sorry, too. It's just that you being pregnant means that . . .”

“You're old enough to be a grandmother?” Anna said.

Naomi couldn't help smiling at the way her mother's face crinkled in dismay.

“Maybe the baby can call me something else. Not Grandma.”

“How about Granny?” asked Naomi, keeping her voice neutral.

“Oh! Stop it, both of you. Anna, sugar, when we're at Naomi's tonight, I want to have a private talk with you. Just me and you, cozied up. I want to make sure you know—”

Anna sighed. “I'm not staying with Naomi anymore.”

Naomi felt her hopes fall.
Dammit
. Well, she'd work on a bigger, louder apology. She'd do just about anything so that her sister would know how sorry she was.

“It's not that.” Anna knew what she was thinking. “I'm just better here. And Jake likes having me here. I'm helping with Milo, so Frank can take it easier on Jake's workdays, and Jake worries less about them both when I'm here and he's at work. Maybe I'll come back and stay with you when he gets sick of me. But for now I'm good.”

The look on Anna's face was soft. Oh, God. This was worse than Naomi had thought.

“But come on, your room is all set up there. I'd love to have you back.”

Anna shook her head. “No, you wouldn't. You could barely stand having me there.”

“That wasn't the way it was . . . I was just confused. I'm not anymore. I want you with me. What about when the baby comes?”

Anna raised her gaze to the screen door. Jake stepped through, Rig, Frank, and Buzz behind him.

“I want her to stay. The baby, too,” said Jake. “For as long as she'll have us.” And something in his voice made chills run down Naomi's back. He looked at Anna as if she was something he couldn't believe, something he didn't deserve. Anna looked back, and a whole conversation flowed between them, in front of Naomi's eyes.

They were in love.

Oh, whoa.

“So,” Naomi said, as quickly as she could. “Enough about where people are staying. We can talk more about that later. So is it burgers or steak tonight?” She'd talk to Rig afterward about their siblings—neither of them could possibly know what they were getting into. It was way too fast, for either of them. Right? But the time for that wasn't now.

“Steak,” said Rig. His voice was distant. “I'll put them on now.”

Anna said, “Did Naomi see what you did at the clinic?”

“What you both did?” said Jake. “You worked
way
too hard on that. It could have been bad for the baby, Anna. You should take it easy for the next week or so. Keep your feet up.”

Anna shot him a look that was both tolerant and amused. A
loving
look.

“The clinic? What?” Naomi was confused. Her poor, unused health clinic that she hadn't even opened recently because she'd been sick? God, she still had to pull it together for the dance on Sunday. At least she had all week to do it. Hopefully she'd feel even better tomorrow.

“I guess she didn't see it,” said Rig. He kept his eyes on the grill.

“What did you do?”

Anna laughed. “You should take her there after dinner.”

Rig looked at Naomi, and as their eyes connected, Naomi felt a flutter of something she didn't want to name. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs.

“Yeah,” said Rig. “Maybe I will.”

And the tone in his voice made Naomi felt better than she had all week, and even though her mother was in town, Naomi felt a flicker of hope. She didn't even know what she hoped for. She just knew she did.

Chapter Forty-four

I
t was, of course, an uncomfortable dinner. How could it have been anything else? Frank cornered Naomi over by the roses, going on about how grateful he was for the nitroglycerin, and how he'd come see her soon, as soon as he had some time free. Then he'd begun to talk about Shirley, the waitress at Tillie's, which just served to confuse her, and she extricated herself and went back to the group again.

At the table, Rig also mentioned something about Shirley, about how they couldn't hope to serve dinner the same way she did at the diner, and Frank's eyebrows flew upward, but nothing more was said. It seemed as if everyone was talking about one thing, but meaning another. Maybelle talked about how difficult her first pregnancy was, and what a joy it had been to carry Anna, ten years later. Jake and Anna shot superheated looks at each other, as if only the company being present was keeping their hands off one another.

The second Buzz, the last one eating after three helpings of steak and potato salad, put his fork down, Naomi stood. No matter what Rig had to show her, she needed to go.

“Well, thanks a lot. Let's do it again sometime. Now, I'd better get going. Still recovering, you know . . . Mom, Buzz, I'll leave the back door unlocked, and you can just settle yourselves in—”

Rig stood. “Can I show you something before you go home?”

Feeling a sudden pang of worry, Naomi said, “What did you
do
at the clinic?”

He moved toward the front door. “Can't tell. Just gotta show you.”

Anna said, “Go on, it's cool. You'll like it.”

It was a way out of here, out of this sticky, uncomfortable dinner full of unexpected land mines, and soon she could go home and drag the shawl into her room and knit herself to sleep. Exhaustion was wearing on her, and her shoulders slumped as she left the house. She made a halfhearted attempt at pushing her shoulders back and standing up straight as she turned to look at Rig.

He was closer behind her than she'd known he was. He sure moved quietly for such a big guy.

“I have the bike,” he said, facing her. He lifted his hands and gently rubbed the tops of her shoulders, right where her muscles were most tense. “Or are you too tired? We can do this another night.”

She let her head go limp and rolled it from side to side. She pretended his were just any fingers, that he wasn't making her shake inside. “Can't we walk? It's not that far. I'll be fine.”

He leaned forward, and his voice was a low rumble that made Naomi nervous. “You're still just getting over being sick. Ride with me.”

The last three words were said in such a deep register she felt, more than heard, them. Had he meant to make them sound so sexual? Looking up into his face, she decided, yes. He had. For a second, oddly, she felt like she was about to sneeze, a delicious foreshadowing of something she didn't want to name.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling suddenly daring. “Okay. Yes.”

The ride was fast and short. Naomi, feeling like an old hand, wrapped her arms around Rig's waist, and felt his muscled back against her chest through their T-shirts. He'd given her his leather jacket to wear—it hung long and open on her, while he rode with his arms bared to the wind. He took one lap down Main, around the gazebo, and back up past the dunes. He rode up for a moment onto the sidewalk that led to the pier, and he paused, as if considering whether or not it was worth it. A
whoop-whoop
from the cop car in the parking lot convinced him to back the bike up. Naomi laughed, bringing her arms tighter around him.

“Let's go,” she called up to him, even though she felt as if she could ride all night. Unfortunately, her insides weren't agreeing with her, and she knew she'd probably have to walk home. But the discomfort had been worth the delicious butterflies the ride had given her. Or that he'd given her. How could she tell the difference?

He nodded, and a minute later, they pulled up in front of the health clinic.

“It looks the same,” she said, dismounting and shaking her hair out from the helmet. She tried not to notice how his eyes glowed as she did so. Running her fingers through her hopeless curls, she examined the building more closely. The same small stenciled sign in the window, but . . .

“Curtains! You hung curtains!”

“It's hard to tell in the dark, but they're green and sheer, so it lets in the light and kind of makes it looks softer inside. That was Bruno's idea.”

Naomi looked at him in surprise. “Bruno's been in on this?”

“Everyone was. We only had a few days while you were sick to pull it off.”

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Then she lost her breath.

The room had been transformed. The dance studio's old mirrors were still up, but now they were covered with a gauzelike orange fabric that moved and shifted subtly as air from the door changed the current in the room. The tables she'd had lined up along all the walls were gone, except for one at the back, which was covered with all the literature she'd compiled.

Rig said, “You can still do whatever you want. This is just a suggestion. Keep on looking around.”

Instead of the wooden chairs she'd bought from an office-furniture sale, two long brown leather couches were placed at opposing angles, with a large, sturdy coffee table between them. Two separate gathering areas were delineated by groupings of small, deep armchairs with tables set next to them.

It looked so inviting. So warm. How the hell had he done this? Naomi looked up and saw that the fluorescent tubes that had hung down, ugly in their brightness, had been replaced by simple track lighting. It was still light enough, but it felt softer. Everything felt gentler.

It was as if she'd laid out a plastic card table with some cubed cheese on it. Then he'd come along and made it a long wooden dining table, with a tablecloth, candles, and imported Camembert when she wasn't looking.

Naomi took a few steps and touched the back of one of the armchairs.

“I can't afford this,” she said.

“You don't have to. This is my donation to your center. My tax preparer assures me I'll be able to write it off somehow. She's magic.”

“But . . .” Naomi's words trailed off and she looked to the left and saw something that looked like . . . “Is that—that looks like a knitting circle.”

Rig slapped his thigh and laughed, a huge, rolling boom that filled the space. “I told her you'd like that.”

“Told who?”

“Anna. She helped set it up.”

“Anna?” But her sister had been furious with her when she'd been sick. She'd still done this? Naomi felt something hard and cold inside her start to melt.

“Come look.” He held out his hand, and too befuddled to do anything else, she took it.

“See,” he pointed. “Five armchairs, but I made sure they're lightweight, so you can drag them around and move them if you want to get more knitters in here. Special lights so it looks like you're knitting during the daytime even at night, like now. Racks,” he pointed to the wall, just under the window. “For knitting magazines. I bought as many as I could from Lucy at the Book Spire, but I got subscriptions to them, too. Empty baskets, here, so people can set their projects down and come back to them. And yarn to sample over there, with spare needles. I picked it all out at Abigail's shop. Anna gave me that idea, too.”

“But—” Naomi shook her head. “But there are already places in town for people to knit. Abigail's store. And they have knitting lessons sometimes at Lucy's bookstore, I've seen the fliers. How are we supposed to bring people in when—”

Rig cut her off. “You're bringing in a totally different market. You're targeting the woman in this town who's sick, who needs someplace to go where she can talk about being sick with other people who won't tell her to look on the bright side. As far as I can tell, this whole town is addicted to knitting. I saw some old men playing chess on the pier, and one of them was knitting while he did it. I've never seen such a knit-crazy place, and you should be able to harness that for healing.” He took Naomi's hands and looked right into her eyes. “I really think you could have something here. We just need to get the people who need it to come see what it is. And we'll be one step closer when we host the dance on the weekend. We can push the couches out of the way, and look, that can be where we put the band.”

She looked at him, feeling a huge space in her chest, not sure what to do with it. “But . . . how do we know . . . ?”

He held up a pair of needles. “Do you always know what you're making when you cast on?”

She nodded firmly. “Of course.”

He pulled out an arm's length of a green variegated wool. “What if you don't?” Using what looked like a modified long-tail cast on, he started moving the yarn over one of the needles, building stitches.

“You'll end up with something ugly. Something not useful,” Naomi said, fascinated by watching him. The move looked simple—the stitches loading onto his left needle as if he really did know what he was doing.

“How do you know that's what you'll get?” Rig asked.

“I just do.” Naomi perched on the edge of an armchair. “Without a plan, you end up floundering.”

“Not always,” said Rig. He started knitting across the stitches, fast, large loops of the yarn. He held the yarn in his left hand, and threw, so different from her own careful, tight stitches.

“Well, you're not like most people,” said Naomi.

“I never said I was.” He sat in the chair directly across from her. “Some people like different.”

He was, perhaps, the fastest knitter she'd ever seen. She stared, and within less than five minutes, five peaceful, quiet minutes, she watched him create no less than three inches of something flat and wide.

Finally breaking the silence, she said, “So you'll organize these knit-ins?”

“Sure,” said Rig. “But I don't think we'll have to worry. They'll set themselves up, I think. When I was at Abigail's, I told her about the idea, and two women in the store thought it was great, and could already think of people who were in recovery from different things who would want to come.”

“But Abigail doesn't . . . we're not friends.”

Rig gave her a confused look. “Why would you say that? Did someone tell you that? Did
she
?”

Naomi had the grace to blush. “We had a . . . an odd conversation one day. She thought she remembered me from down south. But . . . ”
I didn't tell her she was right.

“Do you routinely say hello to people in town? Smile at them in Tillie's?”

“I try. I really do. But sometimes . . .”

Rig didn't pull any punches. “Not saying hello looks stuck up.”

“I'm not. You
know
I'm not stuck up. I've just been so . . . worried.”

“I know that. But maybe they don't. We'll change that.”

The use of
we
? Did he mean it? Should she let him?

Rig went on, “I've set up two yoga classes a week, a beginners level and a level one. The rugs over there,” he pointed to the cheerful, colorful rugs that hadn't been in the room the last time she'd looked, just like all the other changes, “will roll up and move to the side. I figure we can fit about fifteen people in per session.”

“And you'll be teaching these classes?”

“Toots Harrison. She's already agreed.”

Naomi was torn between being furious that he'd set this up without consulting her and thrilled that someone would be using the space. “I told you, I'm not into alterna-medicine.” But her voice held no heat, she knew, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Yoga is good for the body. Most people don't consider it quackery anymore. You should try it sometime. You could use it.”

Naomi's voice was light. “Yeah, whatever.” She watched him knit for another minute. It must be almost five inches already.

For once, her hands felt fine being still. She didn't feel the need to have the needles in her hands, if she could see his. “Anything else you want to admit? While we're at it.”

Rig glanced at her and then back down at the knitting.

“What is it?” Naomi knew there was more.

“Acupuncture. Tuesday afternoons, drop in, drop out.”

Naomi took a deep breath. “You have an acupuncturist lined up for this? Let me guess, Toots?”

“She's only an amateur. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't fit under our liability insurance, although she did offer. No, it's her teacher, Herb Dansk, who's actually licensed. He's donating his time.”

“Wow.” Shouldn't Naomi be annoyed? This was what she'd said she didn't want, after all. She searched herself and found nothing but curiosity and a sudden, desperate warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

The knitting was longer yet. He was as fast with the needles as he was on his bike. “Is it a scarf?” Her fingers twitched to feel the fabric he was making.

“No idea.”

“It has to
be
something.”

Rig looked at her. “It already is. It's exactly what it's supposed to be.”

Naomi's head swam in a sudden wave of dizziness that felt different from the dizzy sickness she'd had all week. He was serious. He really meant it.

She moved before she thought, before she lost her nerve. She went to him, putting one knee to the outside of his, the other on his other side until she was straddling him. This time, she wasn't sure of herself. Last time she had been, and she hadn't gotten her way. She'd received something else, something she'd barely even processed yet.