Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(56)

“Wouldn’t you rather make a sweater or a hat?”

“That would ruin it. It would have to be perfect. I’d have to think and count stitches. This way if I make a mistake, it’s all part of the beauty of it. My thing isn’t perfect because it’s a reflection of life. Life isn’t perfect. Besides, a sweater or a hat would come to an end. It would be done. My thing can go on for as long as I want. I could knit this forever.”

It was easy to take my mom for granted. She’d accepted the role of being the sane, sensible, adult member of the family. She made sure the bills were paid, the house was clean, food was on the table, and she did damage control as best she could for her crazy daughter and mother. Truth is, it was a convenience for us to convince ourselves that this was all she wanted, that she had no other needs. And then, bang, she knocks me over by discovering something as simple as knitting and turns it into her own art form, her own therapy for getting through the day, her own life philosophy. She’s making a thing because it checks a bunch of her boxes. I was jealous. I didn’t have a thing.

“Maybe I should try knitting,” I said.

“Really? You’d really like to try? I can get you started. I have extra needles and yarn,” my mom said. “You can pick out any color you want from my basket.”

A half hour later, I was back in the Focus with blue yarn, two knitting needles, and three inches of Thing2. I called Ranger and asked about Melvin and Charlotte.

“They spend most of their time in their rooms,” Ranger said. “That’s to be expected. We don’t have much common area. They come out to eat and they look happy. No attempt to leave. They’re quiet. Not engaging with my crew. I’ll assign someone to socialize with them a little tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I owe you.”

“Babe,” Ranger said, and he disconnected.



* * *




Rex was running on his wheel when I walked into the kitchen at nine o’clock. I said hello and gave him a corn chip. He stuffed it into his cheek, deposited it in his soup can, and returned to the wheel. This was one of the good things about a hamster. They were polite, and you never really knew what they were thinking. He didn’t give me attitude because I gave him a crappy corn chip instead of a delicious Cheez Doodle. The other good thing about hamsters was that they had very small poop. The bad part was that they seemed to produce a lot of it.

I poured myself a glass of wine and took it into the living room along with my knitting. Diesel was slouched in a chair, talking on the phone. He nodded at me, flicked a look at my yarn and needles, and continued to listen to the person on the other end. He finally hung up and turned to me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m knitting,” I said.

“Why?”

“It’s something to do,” I said. “It’s Zen. It’s the new yoga. And it’s a way to express myself.”

“It looks boring.”

“That’s the wonderful part. You don’t have to think. You just knit. You become one with the yarn.”

“Darlin’, it seems a tad repetitive.”

“That’s because I only know how to do one kind of stitch. I can only knit. I don’t remember how to purl.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It turns out that purling isn’t necessary. I’m making good progress just knitting.”

“I imagine the wine helps.”

“Wine is essential.”

“We’ll be sleeping together on the couch, so feel free to get a little drunk.”

“Are you suggesting you would take advantage?”

“In a heartbeat, but only if you wanted me to take advantage.”

Oh boy.

I went back to my knitting, concentrating on my stitches.

“It’s not as easy as you would think,” I said. “You have to get the needle into one of the loops on the other needle, and then you have to snag the yarn and pull it through.”

Diesel watched me struggle to get the needle into the loop. “My standards aren’t always that high for romantic partners, but you’re on the borderline of not making the grade,” he said.

“You don’t understand the nuances of knitting. It can be a reflection of life.”

Diesel was slouched back in his chair, grinning. “I take it all back. You’re incredibly lovable when you’re earnest. What are you knitting?”

“I’m knitting a thing. It’s like a scarf but it’s longer. I could knit it forever if I wanted.”

“So, you aren’t knitting anything?”

“I’m knitting something. It just doesn’t happen to be anything.”

“I’m getting turned on,” Diesel said. “What would it take to get you to knit naked?”

“Ick!”

“Give me a break,” Diesel said. “The soccer match doesn’t come on until ten o’clock. I’ve got an hour to kill.”

“You’re going to have to kill it by yourself.”

“That’s not as much fun.”

Diesel sat up a little straighter. “What’s that sound?”

“It’s Lula snoring.”