Real Men Knit(60)

He gave Kerry a smile and an easy shrug, but his look of panic was clearly evident. And she thought she picked up on an edge of relief.

They weren’t due to open again for at least another week or two. What were these women doing here, knitting and crocheting among the half-cleared shelves and chaos as if it was a normal day?

“Oh, stop with the looks, you two,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “We know we’re being intrusive—taking liberties comes with age and all. Stop acting like it’s so big a deal and get comfortable.” She gave Kerry a wide smile then, softening her expression and making her already round face that much rounder. “I was about to head over to B’s place,” she said, talking about Ms. June, who was often referred to as Junie B. Her full name, Kerry had yet to catch in all the years she’d known her. Mrs. Hamilton continued, “When I passed by here and saw that Jesse wasn’t doing much of anything but shifting boxes back and forth.”

Jesse raised a finger. “Um, I was doing a little more than that, Mrs. Hamilton.”

She raised her brow at him. “Were you now, dear?”

He tilted his head. “Okay, maybe not that much more.”

She turned back to Kerry as if he’d hardly spoken. Jesse would learn quickly that he’d gotten off lightly with that little exchange. “And,” she said exaggeratedly, “when I asked Jesse what he was up to, he said he was making plans for some sort of big reopening.” She made a pfft sound. “Making plans. Well, I figured while he was making plans, we could still have our usual circle here. B’s place is the only spot big enough to hold us all, but her elevators are iffy at best, and you know Elena can’t do stairs.”

“That’s the truth. My arthritis stays working on me,” Ms. Diaz said. She was a petite older women who, though she said she couldn’t do stairs, Kerry had seen elbow and just about tackle more formidable women for the best whiting at the fish market. Their excuse was dubious at best and if questioned on cross-examination would easily crumble. Not that she—or Jesse, from the looks of him—was up to questioning this crew.

“Plus, I brought my carrot cake,” Ms. June added with a wide grin, as if that would make the intrusion all better.

Kerry looked down at the carrot cake. Maybe it kind of would. As far as placations went, a person could do worse than Ms. June’s carrot cake. Her baking was out of this world. She actually sold her cakes by the slice to some of the local businesses and made some decent extra money on the side. Kerry swallowed, suddenly hungry.

“We won’t stay in your way long,” Ms. June continued.

“It’s no bother at all,” Kerry said, and Jesse coughed. She shot him a look.

“No, you’re not in the way at all. You ladies make yourselves comfortable,” he added as he handed the cups around.

“Thank you, and we will, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton said as her eyes shifted between her friends. “Besides, we were thinking that although you’re closed and renovating”—she looked around at the boxes on the floor—“as it is, we thought it would still be good for folks to see some things going on in the shop every once in a while. Let the hawks know you may be down but you’re definitely not out. Don’t want the vultures to start circling.”

“What, have you been talking to my brother?” Jesse mumbled.

There was a chuckle at that from Ms. Cherry. She paused in her knitting. “No, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t heard things. About vultures and all.”

Kerry was going in on the carrot cake but now gave full attention to Ms. Cherry. What was really going on here?

Jesse suddenly looked more serious. Ms. Cherry smiled. “Don’t look so worried, Jesse. I’m sure you and your brothers can handle a little bank loan. You’ll be just fine.” Ms. Cherry was a tall woman with chestnut brown skin and closely cropped, dyed honey-blond hair. As a retired corrections officer, she came off at first brush as abrasive, but always surprised with her unexpected sweetness. Her tone was no nonsense, and when she spoke one was inclined to believe her. But what was this about a loan, and why did the OKG know about it and Kerry did not? Kerry frowned and was about to ask when Ms. Cherry turned to her, switching away from the loan subject altogether. “So, what is this we hear about you staying here?” she asked suddenly.

And with that sweet came a bit of spice.

Kerry paused in her chewing. Dang it. Just when the cake was getting good too. She swallowed. “I, um, ran into a problem at my place.”

Ms. Cherry nodded. “We heard.” She took a sip of her coffee. Black with extra sugar. “You stay on that landlord of yours. I don’t trust that management company.”

“Or any company, for that matter,” Ms. June chimed in.

“Why should I?” Ms. Cherry said. “I haven’t found one yet that can be trusted. Bunch of thieving bastards. The lot of them if you ask me.” She picked up the cute little knitted hedgehog she was finishing off and scrunched her nose up at it. She sucked her teeth, then gave it a smile. Kerry shook her head. That was Ms. Cherry. The queen of contradictions. The little hedgehog would end up in a Christmas gift bag this season along with a pair of the crochet slippers that the women would all make for their annual Angel Tree drive for some of the children whose parents were incarcerated. Kerry usually helped too and knew she would once again, now hoping she’d be able to knit faster to make up for Mama Joy’s allotted pieces. It was surprisingly sad how the number of requested gifts never seemed to go down each year, only up, and even though Ms. Cherry had been retired for the past five years, she hadn’t slowed in her mission of bringing awareness to this cause.