Kate Jacobs (39 page)

* * *

After the next session of chemo about two weeks
later, Georgia didn't pause to check on the shop; she went home to sleep and
fight the nausea.
"It's killing me," she wheezed to James, as she lay on the couch and he
unpacked some takeout cashew chicken, prompting a run to the bathroom.
"That's the idea, babe," he said. "We'll knock any stray cancer
cells right out of there."
"Yeah, but the rest of me is hurting too," she said, crying as he
wiped away her tears. "Let me get it all out before Dakota comes upstairs
from club. I don't want to freak her out."
"I'm here, baby. Just you and me. It'll be okay." He rocked her in
his arms.
"At least my hair isn't coming out," she said. "I've hated it
for years and now I'm just happy to have it around."
She patted her head, then burst into another round of tears and
hyperventilated.
"And my fingers are all thumbs; I can't even knit anymore or do up my
buttons very well."
"I know, Georgia, but it's temporary. Just a chemo side effect." Dr.
Ramirez had gone over all the possible changes that chemo could bring, but it's
one thing to see a list on a piece of paper, quite another to suddenly find
yourself with a peripheral neuropathy that leaves you numb. James sat there,
holding her, wishing he could make it all go away.
"I know, James, this is hard on you," she said. "But I'm going
to get better."
He'd always known, in the back of his mind, how strong Georgia was, raising
Dakota, running her business. But he'd never really known the core of her
strength until now, as she sat, tears streaming down her face, her body
battered but her spirit intact. Her faith in herself was undiminished.
She was still crying when there was a knock on the apartment door. James went
to open it, came back.
"It's Lucie," he said. "I told her you probably didn't want to
see anybody."
"No, let her in."
"Georgia?" Lucie was huge, that compact little figure overshadowed by
a big round belly.
"Have you suddenly had a major expansion?"
"It's the last month and I am desperate—absolutely begging—to have them
rip this baby out of there," Lucie said. "I hardly got up the stairs
to here, and that's after sitting around in the shop for an hour after climbing
the first steps from the street."
James excused himself to the bedroom so Georgia would have some time to hang
with Lucie.
"Did you tell your mom about the impending arrival yet?" asked
Georgia.
"I sent her an e-mail."
"Have you heard back from her then?"
"Um, no. She only checks her computer if you call and say you sent a
message," admitted Lucie. "She'll get it the next time one of my
brothers is there—they always clear out the spam."
"I think this is what Cat's psychology books call 'avoidance.' She's been
reading nonstop lately." Georgia laughed, then grimaced. "It's a bad
night for me. The chemo didn't sit well today."
"Want me to go?"
"Nah. I've been waiting to hear about the how-to videos—Darwin told
Peri
who told Dakota that you were almost done."
"That's why I came up—I edited all the footage we had and came up with
some basic skills videos, and then one based on making the sweater."
"Tell me you didn't include anything by Darwin or K.C.?"
"I made sure that all shots of them were above the hands!" Lucie
giggled. "I feel bad. Just a little."
She attached some cables and did some plugging in, and the videos were on the
screen.
"They're great, really informative," said Georgia, after watching a
segment of the first few how-to lessons. It's true, they were good. Lucie was
skilled with a camera; in some shots, Georgia's hair looked almost as if it had
been styled.
"I wanted to show you something else, though," said Lucie, switching
a tape. "I had hours and hours of extra footage and I just put together a
bit of a short film about the club. I figured I could show it at a meeting or
something."
Georgia watched as everyday scenes from the shop appeared in front of her, the
stand-ups from May, then shots of
Peri's
purse
assembly line from June, when Georgia was away, to the newer appearances on-camera
of Cat (spouting what she likely imagined were homespun wisdoms), and then
seeing the birthday cake that K.C. had brought in for Dakota, the entire club
singing off-key, and on and on, right up until last week, when Darwin and Anita
had engaged in a mock duel, using their knitting needles as swords and giggling
like maniacs.
"
Omigod
," said Georgia. "We're all
completely nuts."
"Pretty much."
"It's fantastic, Luce. Real slice-of-life stuff. Should make everyone want
to start a knitting club with a bunch of complete strangers."
"I guess it's just a little fun something."
"You know what you could do? Kind of polish it up, put in a little
narration or something. Call it 'The Secret Lives of New Yorkers.'"
"What do you mean?"
"No, on second thought, you need to have 'sex' in the title. That's what
sells these days." Georgia was starting to wheeze again, this time from
too much amusement.
"Do those drugs make you high or something?"
"I wish," said Georgia. "No, they just make you able to see
things very clearly. Luce, you've got a little something there. I daresay a bit
of an eye."
"Aw, you're just like my college professor from film school."
"You went to film school? No wonder," Georgia said. "Well, that
clinches it. Lucie Brennan, you go home and turn this little production into a
documentary. A real one. The how-to videos are great, but I say take the extra
footage and use it. On one condition: cut out any scene in which my hair is
more than this"—she held up her hands—"high off my head."

* * *

The suggestion was preposterous. Really, Anita
knew she'd been out of her mind to say she'd consider it. Moving in with Marty?
How would they figure out expenses, split things fifty-fifty or do that modern
thing and each portion out according to a percentage of their income? (That
could be a real disaster, thought Anita.) Would he expect her to do all the
cooking? And how much baseball would she really have to watch?
Oh, there was no shortage of reasons against it. But there was still something
enticing about the idea of waking up beside Marty morning after morning,
hearing him sing Bobby Darin hits in the shower. She had to admit, there was
something darn nice about spending time with someone from the same generation.
It saved a lot of time on translation.
She decided to float the idea by Georgia. They'd settled into a new rhythm,
with Anita covering the shop in the mornings, then going upstairs to have a cup
of tea and help Georgia get ready, as needed, before the two of them returned
downstairs for a few hours in the shop.
Peri
had
taken over the noon-to-eight-P.M. shift with ease, and had even found a morning
class at FIT that she could fit into her schedule.
"So it's stupid, of course, for people our age to move in together,"
finished Anita. "My mother would have been aghast."
"When was she born? Nineteen hundred? And it's not like she's here to
really know about it," said Georgia. "I think it's a great idea. But
then I'm partial to this love thing these days."
"But what about my apartment at the San Remo? We can't live there—it's my
home with Stan," said Anita. "And I don't even know if the board
allows subletting."
She helped Georgia ease into a shirt, did up the buttons.
"And the San Remo apartment has so many memories, the kids would all be
upset," continued Anita. "Well, really just Nathan. I don't think the
other boys would care so much."
"You could get a house-sitter."
"How would you find someone you could trust?"
Georgia paused for a moment, then grinned fiendishly.
"Oh, I know how," she said. "Let's go talk to the blond beauty
sleeping late on the
Aerobed
in Dakota's room."

sewing it all together

It's always easier to knit a sweater in
sections: the front, the back, the sleeves. The benefit is that if one section
is frustrating you, it can be put aside and you can move on to something else
until you're ready to finish. That's not the same as giving up: that's being
smart. Just work at it little by little until each and every part is ready, and
then you'll be able to match it up. Stitch together with a large-eyed needle
and thin thread of yarn of matching color, sewing through every second stitch.
(Remember: if one side appears longer than the other, then stitch just every
other stitch and fudge it. Wool is very pliable and you can make all the pieces
sew together quite easily. Trust me.) And it's never a mistake to block your
piece, to lay it on a board and let the wrinkles steam out so that it has a
smooth, finished look. Sometimes you just want to gaze on things awhile, to
keep them fresh and perfect as long as you can.

thirty-two

The warm days were all but gone; it was
definitely jacket
weather. There were changes in the apartment above Walker and Daughter,
too: the big new air-conditioner was removed from the window (to keep the heat
in), James had splurged on a new blue microfiber sofa to replace the faded old
peach-and-yellow one, and Cat had finally deflated her
Aerobed
.
"It's a happy October," she said, a set of matching luggage at her
feet in the living room. "Cat Phillips is out of the building."
"I'm not pushing you out," replied Georgia. "It's more of a
pinch to get you going."
Cat's full wardrobe—a rather substantial collection—had been shipped from
storage, along with a few framed photographs of her parents, to the San Remo.
Anita had assured Cat that she was, of course, much more than a simple
house-sitter.
"I want you to take care of all my treasures," Anita told her as she
opened the door to her exquisitely bright living room, filled with antiques,
the sunlight streaming in. Large picture windows overlooked the park, framing
the leafy trees that were changing to orange and gold.
Still, Cat felt awkward as she moved into the roomy bedroom that had once been
home to Anita's son David. Even though it had been remodeled into a second
master suite in the twenty-odd years since he left for college. Even though
Anita had emptied the closet of the boxes of vests she had made since Stan
passed on, had sent a selection of her favorite creations to her boys, and
donated the remainder to a men's shelter. Even though Cat was grateful to have
a home.
It felt a little bit more comfortable after she threw a bit of a dinner
party—just the Walkers and the Foster—and made the meal herself, a plain
risotto (the bottom of the pan was a mess!) and grilled salmon (a tad
overcooked but still edible). It had taken her all day, of course, but then
that just changed things up from her usual dallying around the shop. Dakota
brought dessert, a selection of squares from several recent rounds in the kitchen.
Georgia, still feeling nauseated, ate a little bit of soup that Cat had warmed,
took a few bites of risotto.
After dinner, they all went into the kitchen, a group cleanup effort. Dakota
cleared, while James volunteered to scrub the bottom of the saucepan; Georgia
watched, perched on a chair by the counter and holding a dish towel, but not
really doing much.
"Finally, I've found the excuse to get out of all the world's
drudgery," she joked. She was tolerating the chemo well and Dr. Ramirez
was encouraging, but she was still tired and had been extra nauseated lately.
But lots of sleep and some new medication, and she was doing a-okay. Of course,
she'd skipped the wine, leaving Cat and James to split a bottle, which they
were still polishing off as they tidied up.
Cat was doing her part, trying to clean the spillover on the stove from her
cooking extravaganza; she
spritzed
delicately with a
bottle of blue cleaner. ("Hey," said Georgia in a stage whisper.
"That's for windows. Try the other bottle in the cupboard.") Turning
too quickly, the blonde knocked over her glass of cabernet, the red wine
rapidly soaking into her pale green blouse. She began rummaging through drawers
for napkins or towels, not remembering what was where. She came upon drawers of
cooking utensils, flatware, oven mitts, spices, and, to her surprise, the
ubiquitous junk drawer, stuffed with takeout menus and manuals for running the
microwave and the coffeemaker.
"Anita has a junk drawer!" exclaimed Cat, as though she'd just
uncovered the older woman's most shameful secret. "I never would have
pegged her for a junk-drawer person."
Georgia eased off her chair to come take a gander as Dakota rushed in carrying
the last dirty glass from the dining room.
"Let me see," said her daughter.
"You guys are spying," admonished James, loading up the dishwasher a
few feet away.
"I know," said Cat, pulling out papers and twist ties and an old
orange-handled screwdriver, absentmindedly dabbing at her blouse with Georgia's
dish towel.
"Not much to see," added Georgia, looking over her shoulder.
"Except this," mused Cat, showing Dakota a stack of old, faded
postcards held together with a rubber band. Cat pulled them loose and began
flipping through, a collection of mountains and monuments. Turning over the
first one, she began to read out loud.
"You can't do that!" said Georgia.
"It's simply addressed to Anita," said Cat. "There's no message.
A total blank."
"I think Stan did some traveling with the boys," ventured Georgia.
"I know Anita is afraid to get on a plane."
Curious, they sorted through postcards of Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, the Great
Sphinx, the Coliseum.
At that one, Cat frowned.
"What is it?" asked Georgia.
"Just made me think of Rome," she said. "I spent my junior year
in Italy for my art history degree. I had this fantasy that I would become a
curator dealing with antiquities. And now look at me! I'm a divorcee who
house-sits."
"Well, maybe you could…" Georgia trailed off, thinking. Could what?
"Oh, please, Georgia," said Cat, sighing. "I don't think I can
bust into the business of ancient artifacts after being out of school for years
and never working in between. The best I could do is take a chunk of that money
from Adam and become an antiques dealer, surround myself with things I love and
pass them on to others who will do them right."
"For the right price," added James.
Cat laughed. "Exactly. Hang up my shingle and away I go."
"Exactly," echoed Georgia. Cat bunched up the postcards again and put
them away in the drawer, shaking her head.
"I'm serious," insisted Georgia. "You can do this."
"Like Manhattan needs a new antiques dealer on the scene? Come on."
"Okay, where else?"
"I just got settled into Anita's place and I promised I'd stay put so she
doesn't get cold feet at Marty's."
"Okay, okay, I get it. Quit looking for problems," said Georgia.
"So where could you open up shop but not have to move?"
"I don't know. Westchester? The Hudson Valley?"
Georgia threw Cat a look of challenge. "I think you could do it," she
said.
"I think you're insane," answered Cat.
"I think the two of you," said James, "make a frighteningly
brilliant little team. I only wish I could read some of those old issues of the
Harrisburg High
Gazette
."
"Oh, I have every copy," said Georgia and Cat in unison, beaming at
each other.