Real Men Knit(19)

Val paused in her work and looked up at Kerry with a shocked expression. “Jesse? Lazy Jesse?”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean ‘lazy.’ How’s this: ‘fine as hell but chronically without gainful employment’ Jesse?”

“He keeps a job!”

“Not a steady one. How did he convince them to keep the shop open? Now, I know you’ve been pining for him since you’ve been old enough to get your pine on, but come on. Let’s get real. Doesn’t he seem like the most unlikely candidate? He is the one who’s always fluttering from this project to that, not to mention from this woman to that. He doesn’t seem the type to want to settle down with the running of a knitting shop. How did he convince his brothers?” Val asked.

Kerry let out a long breath and gave Val a hard look. With anyone else she probably could have argued Jesse’s case, but she knew she couldn’t bullshit Val. Might as well just get it out. Besides, she could hear the kids getting closer. “He told them he’d be able to make a go of it as long as he had some help,” Kerry said with as much conviction as she could muster.

Right then the class started to file in and take their seats. Kerry smiled as she pointedly ignored Val. She gave the kids directions to not start drawing until they were properly advised of today’s assignment—which was a waste, since three were already at it.

She was just about to admonish one but practically jumped out of her skin when Val suddenly appeared behind her with a hard tap on her shoulder, causing her to turn around and face her friend eye to eye.

“Help, huh?” Val arched her left brow high.

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Kerry said, wanting to look anywhere except for into her friend’s shrewd eyes. She watched as those eyes narrowed.

“Just like I said, each one of them finer than they ought to be. You’d better watch out, Kerry Girl.”

Kerry rolled her eyes. How was “Kerry Girl” suddenly taking off as the catchphrase of the day when she was a good and grown-assed woman?





5




Jesse was once again left alone with nothing but the silence of the shop, and it terrified him. He took a swig from his beer and noted the taste was more bitter than smooth. Why did he even open his big mouth about keeping the shop going in the first place? He looked around, taking in the dream, the legacy that was everything Mama Joy. Floor-to-ceiling wood shelves overflowing with colorful yarn, sourced from where, he didn’t know, but he did know that it was from all over and it would now be his job trying to figure out the wheres, the hows and the whys.

Shit. Where would he even begin?

He looked up at the loft where the patterns were kept and hanks of wool were spun into balls and thought of all the times he’d run up there as a kid to hide out when he’d done something wrong. He laughed at the thought but coughed on it as it got stuck halfway. Not that his hiding ever worked. Mama Joy knew every nook and cranny of this old building. And there wasn’t a spot in it where he or his brothers could hide if she really wanted to find them. Sure, sometimes she’d humor them. Let them have their moments thinking they’d gotten away with something, but really it was only time enough for them to sweat and stew about what they’d done and possibly get hungry enough to smell whatever deliciousness she had conjured up for dinner. More times than not, they’d come out on their own and take their punishment, whatever that may be, knowing it was well deserved and somehow grateful that she cared enough to dish it out anyway. There were plenty of others who wouldn’t waste the time or, worse, would take the swift route with a hard smack or a quick kick.

Jesse pulled out his phone and stared. He thought of calling one of his brothers but quickly changed his mind. He wasn’t in the mood for more conversation with or confrontation from any of them at the moment. Better to quit while he was—Jesse paused, stuck on what to think. “Ahead” was not a word he’d use for what he was. Idling, maybe? At the starting gate. Damian had gone back to his place downtown and Noah to his in Brooklyn. Lucas was on call tonight at the firehouse so he’d be staying there. The silence in the shop, despite the cars roaring outside, the people, the music, still felt overwhelming.

He glanced at the loft again as a vision of a young Kerry came to his mind. So many times in the past he’d longed for this type of quiet. He guessed she did too. To be alone but not quite lonely. He’d often find her up there in the loft having beaten him to just the place he was going to go and hide out. She’d be quietly sitting in the corner, her back against the large wardrobe, knitting without a sound as if she had somehow sprouted there in that very spot. Like a girl-shaped bush with big round eyes behind her even bigger glasses and her multiple braids twisted in opposite directions.

She’d give him an annoyed look but never much more. Then she’d move over and quietly make space for him to sit and knit beside her, as if he was some puppy or a cat that didn’t need much by way of acknowledgment, only space to just be. Those were the good days, the peaceful days. The other days he’d bound up, still get that same look from Kerry and, though he knew she’d not say a word, he’d put his fingers to his lips and give a “shh” gesture as he’d hide out behind the cupboard until the shock of his report card had worn off and Mama Joy had turned her ranting down to a low roar.