Kate Jacobs (19 page)

knit and purl

These stitches are the fundamentals of knitting
and are the basis of every garment. The knit stitch is a series of flat,
vertical loops that produces a knitted fabric face and the purl stitch is its
reverse. One side is smooth, the other bumpy. Knit is what you show the world;
purl is the soft,
nubbly
underside you keep close to
the skin.

eleven

Two popcorns, a soda, and a bottle of water.
Should he
ask
for butter? What if it was that awful, greasy, golden topping? Surely Anita
wouldn't enjoy that. No, he'd skip the topping but add a pack of M&M's in
case she liked chocolate.
Goodness, he'd known her for ten years and he didn't even know what she liked
to eat.
Marty entered the theater, arms full, blinded by the darkness for a moment
before seeing Anita, looking back toward him. He walked over to their row.
"There was a big line," he told her, handing her a large popcorn and
a large soda.
"Oh, Marty, I don't think I can eat all this, let alone hold it in my
hands."
He knew what he'd been thinking—sharing one popcorn would be just too presumptuous
for a first date. But he should have chosen a smaller size. He just didn't want
her to think he was being chintzy. He felt his face redden—he couldn't even get
their food order right!—and pivoted ever so slightly, trying to hide the bag of
candy in the pocket of his sports coat. He stood there, the second large
popcorn in his hands, looking sheepish.
"Well, I'm glad you did!" Anita was beaming. "I haven't eaten
popcorn in years. I love it." She put a fluffy piece in her mouth,
enjoying the squeak and crunch.
Marty got himself straightened out (he always hated those fold-up seats) and
sat down to enjoy the show. If it had been 1953, he would have spent the entire
time worrying about when to put his arm around Anita. Age brings wisdom, he
told himself, and women like you to take things slowly. So he settled in to
enjoy the show, planning to offer his arm as the lights went up.
"Let's stroll off that popcorn," he suggested.
"Yes, let's do that," she answered, easing into her cardigan and
letting him help her up, hold out her spring coat. She slid her hand into the
crook of his arm quite naturally—it felt good to hold on to a strong male arm,
one that belonged to a man who saw her as a woman and not as a frail senior. He
guided her through the hordes of moviegoers talking about this performance and
that. Anita didn't have a clue what all those kids were talking about; she
hadn't watched a minute of the show. No, she'd spent the entire evening
watching Marty out of the corner of her eye, admiring his profile, the clean
lines of his jaw, privately wishing, just a little, that he might reach out and
take her hand.

* * *

The phone began to ring as she was changing
into her nightgown, her hand caught in her blouse because she'd tried to be
clever and pull it through the sleeve without unbuttoning the cuff. She gave a
quick tug, then grabbed her robe to cover herself, in case it was Marty
calling. "Hello?" She kept her voice low, a little bit of flirt on
the edges.
"Mother? Do you have a cold? You sound funny." It was Nathan, calling
from Atlanta. He'd been phoning often since he brought his family down for
Passover, always trying to convince her that she was looking strained. His
words.
"No, Nathan, I'm fine."
"Well, I've been trying to call you all night and I kept getting the
machine. Is your phone not ringing?"
"I wouldn't know, Nathan. I was out this evening."
"Mother, you really need to take some time for yourself. You can't always
be running out to solve all of Georgia's problems."
"I wasn't—"
"I know, I know, you love that Georgia and Dakota." Nathan was
working himself up into a rant, just as he used to do when he was a kid and her
middle son, David, always the cool operator, would hide one of his baseball
cards and then try to sell it back to him for his share of the allowance. Oh,
how Stan would give it to those two, knowing full well that David took the card
not for the money but for the pure fun of making Nathan squirm by disturbing
his exquisitely organized collection. Now they were all grown up, David working
for the World Health Organization in Zurich and Nathan married to a Southern
girl and practicing law in Atlanta. It was surprising, really, how they'd all
grown up before she was ready for them to be men.
"It was obvious just how much she has her hooks into you when you ran over
there during our visit," Nathan continued. "You know, you really hurt
Rhea's feelings, Mother, by leaving dinner."
Anita grimaced at the mention of the daughter-in-law who tried her patience
above all others.
"Nathan, I would never want to hurt you. But I chose to attend my regular
knitting club meeting that night; it had nothing to do with Georgia and
certainly was no criticism of Rhea." Anita caught sight of herself in the
mirror, wagged her finger at her reflection. Okay, it had been a little
criticism of Rhea. A tiny one.
"Well, at any rate, I've discussed this situation with David and
Benjamin"—Anita smiled at the mention of Ben, the most easygoing of all
her sons; she couldn't imagine him actually listening to Nathan's
"concerns" at all, since he was too busy with his various businesses
in Israel—"and we've all agreed that you're working too hard. It was one
thing right after Dad died, keeping busy and all that, but now you're
completely mixed up with this single mother and her daughter to the exclusion
of your own grandchildren, Mother."
"I hardly ever see them, Nathan, except when I travel to see any of
you."
"That's just it. That's the problem. So Rhea and I have decided you should
move in here with us."
"I beg your pardon? You've just decided this, have you?"
"Not just me, Mother. David and Benjamin, too. There's no point in you
staying in New York anymore."
"No point for whom? I'm just supposed to up and move to Atlanta? Become
the old lady in the basement?"
"Mother. Mother, Mother, Mother." His tone had turned placating, as
though he was talking to a two-year-old. "No one is trying to warehouse
you. Besides, we don't even have a basement—you'll be happily ensconced in the
guesthouse by the pool. Or you can stay in the main house with us. We'd love to
have you."
Ensconced. Patted down and powdered and hustled out only for weddings and bar
mitzvahs. She'd finally be the gray-haired old lady, just as her mother had
been. Of course, whose example was Nathan following but her own? It was karma.
"I don't think so, Nathan—"
"No, Mother, I've already purchased you a train ticket for the Memorial
Day weekend later this month. You'll come down, check it out, spend some time.
There's even a few New Yorkers; you'll be right at home."
Anita had had enough of her son's presumptions about her empty life and her
supposed exhaustion. In truth, tonight's evening at the movies had made her
feel more alive than she had felt in years. She recalled the end of their
evening, when she said it was time to go home and Marty had flagged a cab for
her. He'd opened the door to help her inside, and as she turned to say her
good-byes, Marty had hesitated. He leaned in, then made a last-minute switch to
cheek from lip. She'd found herself reddening at the memory.
"So, what, you've decided not to ship me off to Florida but to let me come
live with you. I see. Well, I'm not ready to pack it in!" Then her tone
softened. "Let's get one thing straight here, Nathan. You may be
forty-nine years old, but I am still your mother. And that means that I am
still in charge of me. End of discussion."
"So you won't even consider it?" She could hear the hurt in his
voice, the slight whine.
Anita loved all of her sons, still marveled at how three boys raised with the
same rules and the same parents could turn out to be so different in their
personalities. Nathan the worrier, David the risk-taker, and Benjamin, who just
wanted to go his own way in the world. But there it was.
"Of course I'll come down to visit you, Nathan. I'm touched that you would
buy me a ticket and I'd love to see the kids." Anita paused. "But
next time, check in with me before you make a plan. I have more going on than
you seem to realize."
She heard the beep of call waiting, the feature her sons had insisted she
install but that she'd never had cause to use.
"Nathan? I have a call coming in."
"Just let it go to voicemail, Mother."
"I can't use voicemail! Oh, hold on." Beep. Beep. Beep. Which dratted
button was it? She pressed this one and that until finally she heard a familiar
voice on the end of the line.
"Anita? Are you there? It's Georgia. What's that beeping?" Anita
explained her little technical problem and got some help toggling between phone
lines from her good friend.
"Go back to Nathan, but then call me back right away. I have to talk to
you—something crazy has happened." Georgia's voice was breathless. "I
kissed James."

* * *

Wow. James was walking so quickly back to his
apartment, he was practically running. The night air was cool, but he didn't
notice. His heart was racing. He'd kissed her, just reached out and pulled
Georgia to him and planted one on her. And then another. It had just been so
intense, like some animal pull between them. And so fantastic. God, she tasted
so good. Better than he remembered. It had all happened so naturally, returning
Dakota from their afternoon of bike riding. (He was finally getting the hang of
all those hills in the park.) And there was Georgia, casually dressed in a pair
of shorts, her legs toned and smooth, sitting on the couch—that same
peach-colored 1980s sofa he'd helped her find at the Salvation Army the year
Dakota was conceived—and he sat down, wanting to talk about his idea to bring
the little girl out to Baltimore but instead being distracted by those legs.
She'd noticed.
"Earth to womanizer," Georgia said, Dakota having wandered off to
change out of her sweaty clothes. "Those legs belong to me. You know, the
one you left behind." Georgia made a face at him.
"So, James, some reason you're sitting on my couch?"
"Uh, yeah, I'd, uh, well, work is going well—we scouted out a location for
a V hotel in Park Slope."
"I wouldn't expect Brooklyn to be the logical choice."
"It's booming out there—you should leave the island sometime. All you
Manhattanites
, afraid you'll explode if you leave."
"Yeah, well maybe I'll trek there when I don't have to work so hard to
manage my business." She leaned in closer. "Hey, Dakota's off in the
shower. We don't have to pretend to like each other anymore. Scram."
"But I do like you."
"One-way street. And you're driving the wrong way. Beep
beep
. Get off the road."
She fell back against the cushions. From the easy chair she picked up a long
tube of pink ribbon on bendy needles, knitted into the smallest of stitches.
Georgia began knitting again, paying close attention to her stitches, not
looking at him.
He was on the verge of overstaying his welcome, but he didn't move to go.
"So what's that you've got there?"
"A gown for Cat Phillips." She didn't look up. "This is me, on a
deadline, working hard. You can let yourself out—the door will lock behind you.
I need to get this done for Cat."
Cat. Yes, she was a piece of work. Had even called him a few days after the
party, asking to get together. He'd met her out of politeness, even though he
no longer dallied with married ladies. She was pretty, in a much-studied kind
of way, her hair, makeup, and clothes only the most fashionable shade and
style. Georgia, though, she could have been the original
Breck
girl. If the
Breck
girl had had a wild mane of curls,
of course, corkscrewing off her head in all directions. And a laugh that made
you want to be in on the fun.
He'd assumed, of course, that Cat was going to make him an offer.
That
kind of offer. But it never happened; the only item on her agenda had been to
talk about Georgia. How had they met? Why weren't they married? How long had
Georgia had her shop? It had been strange, being asked so many questions when
he had very few answers himself. Uncomfortable, he'd made excuses and left,
wondering, as he so often did these days, just why he wasn't with Georgia,
anyway.
And tonight she'd just been there, pushing back at his attitude, unfazed.
Then she'd knocked over that box holding the shiny, silky pink yarn, all over
the floor and they'd both bent down, scooping it up, Georgia exclaiming that it
was worth an absolute fortune. That's when he'd kissed her. Good and proper.

* * *

She was practically hopping around the kitchen,
anxious for Anita to call her back. Why did Nathan have to talk so long?
Georgia couldn't believe it. She had grabbed James and kissed him. God only
knew what had gotten into her. Maybe it was the decade of celibacy that made
her lose all sense of reason.
This is the type of thing that happened when she let him return Dakota to the
apartment, instead of meeting at the shop. It had all seemed so natural, so
like the old days that she'd momentarily forgotten herself. She was even
dressed in an old pair of shorts that predated Dakota. He'd come in looking so
fit, still perspiring a bit from racing bikes with Dakota, toned but a little
softer than he used to be around the middle.
"Go have a shower," she told Dakota, who bounced off to clean up. She
could see that James was looking at her and it made her feel powerful.
Georgia said something that she hoped was sassy. That would make him realize
she was off-limits.
Then James had sat on the sofa—the one he'd helped schlep over from the
Salvation Army, by the way—and started yakking away about his latest work
project. Still staring at her, though. She'd taken up her knitting, trying to
look busy, avoiding his gaze. But it felt so surreal, sitting on furniture that
had once been
theirs
.
She caught his eye as they both remembered, in the same instant, the nights
they'd made love on this very couch. He leaned forward, as if to kiss her, and
she'd jerked her leg, panicked, knocking over the box holding all of the
luxurious, astronomically priced silk yarns she was using for Cat's powder-puff
gown. James had leaped onto the floor, right away, helping collect everything.
And she saw
him,
the old James, right there in front of her.
That's when she kissed him. Again and again. Until she heard the bathroom door
creak and she froze, telling him with a look that it was time to go.
Now, standing in the kitchen, Georgia Walker wrapped her arms around herself in
a big hug, unable to stifle a giggle.
She couldn't wait to tell Anita.