Knitted Hearts: A Small Town Romance (Poplar Falls Book 6)

by Amber Kelly

  “I know, but this time, you don’t have to face it alone. If you take his hand, Foster will walk through this with you.”

  A beep sounds, and she stands.

  “That will be your lunch.”

  Dallas goes to pack our order just as the door chime goes off. George jumps up from her spot on the floor beside me and takes off for the customer.

  “George, no,” I shout as I grab her leash.

  “Hey, Georgie girl.”

  Truett bends and gives her a good rub-down. Much to her delight.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize.

  “She’s fine.”

  He stands and looks past me to Dallas. “Myer had me bring the car seat to you. I put it in the backseat of your truck.”

  “Oh, thank you. Sorry you had to make the trip,” she tells him.

  “No problem. I do it for the cupcakes.” He grins.

  Dallas sets my bags on the counter, walks over to the display case, chooses two, and places them in a bag for Truett.

  We both take our wares and say our good-byes. He opens the door for George and me as we exit.

  “Foster is finalizing his divorce today,” he says as we step out onto the sidewalk.

  “I thought that wasn’t going to be official until the end of the year?”

  “Wendy decided to stop holding things up. I guess pregnancy hormones have made her nice. It’s weird.”

  “Is Foster happy about it?” I ask.

  To be honest, I thought the baby news would halt the divorce, not speed it up. Don’t they need time to decide if they want to try to be a family?

  “Happy? My brother’s a wreck right now,” he says.

  “That’s a shame,” I answer, not knowing what else to say.

  “You should go talk to him,” he suggests.

  “I think he has more important things to worry about than me at the moment,” I tell him.

  “Are you shittin’ me? You’re the only thing he’s worried about. The other stuff will work itself out.”

  “I can’t …” I start before he holds up his hand.

  Truett shakes his head in disappointment. Disappointment in me?

  “I thought you were different,” he grumbles.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means, he had a wife who abandoned him the minute he came home, injured, and the plans she had for them changed. This time, I thought he’d found a woman who loved the man more than the plan. I guess I was wrong because at the first curveball, you bailed,” he bites.

  “It’s a baby, Truett. That’s a pretty big curveball, don’t you think?” I defend.

  He throws his arms in the air in frustration. “Aren’t they all? Life doesn’t promise you smooth sailing. There will be wind gusts and raging storms. That’s life. But if you loved my brother—really loved him—then no matter what it threw at you guys, you’d stand by him. He deserves that kind of love and loyalty. Hell, we all deserve that.”

  I hang my head. Since when does Truett Tomlin throw reason and truth in your face?

  “It’s a baby,” I whisper under my breath, but he hears me.

  “Yep. It’s a baby—a sweet, innocent piece of Foster. And the way I see it, anything that is a piece of my brother is going to be a blessing. So, why are you treating it like it’s a curse?” he asks.

  “I’m angry and hurt and—”

  He cuts me off again, “And scared. I get it. Do you think he’s not scared? I watched him fall apart the other night. He’s scared shitless, scared of being a father. Scared of losing you. Scared his life is taking another fucking turn into the gutter and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

  I sniffle. Trying to hold back tears.

  “Look, Sonia, I’ll admit, the timing sucks, but ask yourself this: if you’d met my brother and he was a divorced single father, raising a kid who looked just like him, would it have mattered? Do you hate kids? Or are you just knee-jerk reacting to the news?”

  The truth is, I don’t know.

  Sonia

  “Thank you for lunch,” Momma says as we finish our sandwiches.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Now, tell your mother what’s wrong.”

  “How do you know something’s wrong? Did one of the girls blab to you?” I ask.

  “No. I’m your mother. I just know. When you have children of your own, you’ll understand. You can read the silence.”

  Only the people who truly love you can hear you when you’re quiet.

  “If I have children of my own, not when. I’m beginning to think I’m cursed in love,” I mumble.

  The door chimes as a customer enters the consignment shop. It’s a mother and her little girl. She explains that she is looking for something to wear to a job interview.

  “I don’t have much to spend. My husband left us about a year ago, and it’s all I can do to keep food on the table. I want to look nice for this interview because it could be a blessing for us.”

  Momma smiles at her. “Oh, I’m sure we can find the perfect thing. You’re a size eight, right?”

  The lady nods as Momma leads her to the boutique side.

  I bend to speak to the girl who looks to be about four years old.

  Her thumb is in her mouth, and she is quiet as a mouse.

  “Would you like a cupcake? I have an extra one.”

  She shakes her head.

  “How about some lemonade?”

  She pops her thumb from her lips to answer, “Yes, please.”

  I go to pour her a glass and watch as she walks shyly around the consignment store, stopping at the section that holds used toys and books. She doesn’t touch anything, but her focus is on a fuzzy brown teddy bear with a yellow bow around its neck.

  “Do you want to know his name?” I ask as I walk back to her and set the plastic cup on the table beside her.

  She nods.

  “I call him Beary Potter,” I say as I pluck the stuffed animal from its spot on the shelf.

  “I used to have a teddy bear like him, but Buddy went and tore its head off,” she says.

  “Is Buddy your brother?” I ask.

  “No, he’s my neighbor’s dog. He’s big and scary.”

  “Well, that wasn’t polite. I think that Mr. Beary Potter here would love to go home with you. If you promise to keep him safe in your room and not let Buddy get him.”

  Her eyes light up. “I promise,” she squeals.

  I hand him to her, and she squeezes the toy tight to her chest.

  When her mother returns, we are sitting on the sofa chatting and drinking lemonade.

  Mom rings up the dress and heels that she helped the woman pick out, and I notice that she charges less than her cost for the items.

  “That’s too low. The sticker says—” the lady begins to correct, but Momma interrupts her.

  “No, no. These items were supposed to be on the consignment side of the store. My husband helped me with inventory last week, and he got everything all mixed up. I’ve been finding things on the wrong side for days. It’s a mess.”

  The woman gives her an appreciative smile as she pays for her purchase in cash.

  She and her daughter thank us profusely as they make their way out of the shop.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for your business, and good luck at that interview. I’ll be praying you get the job,” Momma replies.

  How could a father just walk away from his family like that?

  Once they are gone, Momma turns the Open sign to Closed and looks to me.

  “Now, let’s take a break and stretch our legs, and you can tell me all about what’s happening with you and Foster.”

  As we walk around downtown, I tell her about Wendy and the baby, about the advice the girls gave me over wine last night, about Truett scolding me outside of the bakery. I pour my heart out like a little girl who fell from her bike, hoping that her mother can kiss the scraped knee and make all the pain go away.

  “This too shall pass,�
� she says as I finish.

  It’s an odd thing to say in response to everything I just told her.

  “That’s not much help, Momma. I’m tired of waiting out the pain. I’m ready for things to be easy.”

  She chuckles. “Oh, baby, if that’s what you’re waiting for, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting forever. Life doesn’t give us easy.”

  “It sure seems to for everyone else. All my friends are happily married or about to be and having babies and building businesses, and here I am, divorced, living above your store, and picking up the pieces yet again.”

  “Don’t go comparing your planting season to someone else’s harvest. They don’t have a better life than you do. They’re just further along in the process—that’s all. You know that each one of them had obstacles to move in order to get to where they are. It’s not how you start that matters, but how you finish,” she explains.

  “What if I can’t get past this?”

  She takes my hand as we continue to stroll. “Only you can answer that, sweetheart.”

  We pass the pharmacy, and the door flies open and halts us.

  A woman comes bounding out, looking in her bag. When she notices that she almost toppled us, she looks up to apologize.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, and then she stops.

  Wendy Tomlin is standing before us.

  “Sonia, right?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “I wasn’t paying attention. The doctor sent me here for prenatal vitamins. I didn’t realize there’d be so many to choose from. How am I supposed to know which ones I need? Are they all the same? Do I need one with calcium or without? Are gummies as good as the pills? Should they be organic? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

  “Don’t get the gummies. They aren’t as good as the pills. Organic or not, as long as it’s a good multivitamin with folic acid, it should be what you and the baby need,” I tell her, the nurse in me coming to the surface.

  “Thanks.”

  I nod as we walk around her and back to the store. We spend the rest of the afternoon moving bookshelves in the shop and rearranging displays for the new winter items that will be trickling in the next few weeks.

  Around four, I kiss Momma good-bye, and George and I head to my apartment.

  Sonia

  My head is pounding, so George and I settle in for a quiet night at home. I curl up on the couch with a blanket and an assortment of junk food. Ice cream always helps me think. I keep going over and over everything in my mind, trying to sort out my feelings.

  I hear the buzzer, letting me know that I have a visitor. The last thing I feel like right now is company. I pull the cover over my head and pray they go away.

  The buzzer sounds again, followed by knocking. George hops up from her spot on the cool bathroom tiles and heads for the stairs like a rocket. Barking her disapproval at the person who has disrupted our solitude.

  I throw the blanket to the side and get up in a huff to follow the annoyed puppy, who has made it to the landing and is clawing at the door.

  “It’s okay, George. Calm down, girl,” I say as I reach down and give her a reassuring scratch behind the ear before I open the door to greet our guest.

  Wendy Tomlin is standing on my stoop.

  What the hell?

  I take George by the collar, so I can back her up. Wendy takes a step forward and places her hand on the doorframe.

  “Hey, Sonia. Please don’t shut the door,” she says.

  I look past her and around the sidewalk to see if she’s alone.

  “How did you know where I live?” I ask.

  She looks sheepish. “I followed you this afternoon.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk?” she asks.

  I shake my head. What could we possibly have to say to each other?

  “Please,” she adds.

  “Fine. Go ahead. Talk.”

  I let go of the puppy, and she squirms past me and sits at my feet between the two of us.

  She looks up into the stairway. “May I come in?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say as I fold my arms over my chest and wait.

  “Okay, look, I’ve made a mess of my life. I’ve been searching for something for so long, and I don’t even know what it is anymore. I’ve made myself miserable, and in the process, I’ve made Foster miserable too. The worst part is, I did it on purpose. I blamed him for my unhappiness, and all he’d ever done was try. Try to give me the life I wanted. Try to make it all better.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” I interrupt.

  She brings her eyes to mine. “Because I want you to know that I didn’t intentionally get pregnant. I was shocked and scared when I found out. I might be mean, but I’m not mean enough to drag a baby into my mess,” she explains.

  “Okay.” It’s the only response I can muster.

  “Foster is a good man, Sonia. A good man who will always try to do the right thing. And I’m done hurting him. I’m done, and I want you to know that I won’t use this baby as a weapon against him or you. I don’t know how any of this will work. I don’t know if I’ll stay in Poplar Falls and be a mom or if I’ll run. But I won’t use this baby to manipulate him or the life he builds for himself. I’m going to be the momma I never had.”

  She sniffles, and I can see the sincerity on her face.

  “I think you’ll do just fine,” I tell her because I know she needs to hear it.

  “You think so?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Sounds to me like that baby has already begun to change you for the good.”

  “Yeah,” she murmurs as she lays a hand on her stomach. “He loves you, you know.”

  “What?”

  “He looks at you in a way that he has never looked at me. Not even in the beginning. Like the sun rises and sets on you. I want someone to look at me that way someday.” She brings her eyes to mine. “Don’t let me get away with taking that from him. Don’t let me win.”

  With that, she turns to leave.

  “Wendy,” I call after her.

  She turns back to me.

  “You’re already the mother you never had.”

  She smiles. Then, she gets into her car and drives away.

  I return to my spot of sadness on the couch. George joins me, and I scratch her head.

  “Do you think I’m selfish?” I ask her.

  She barks.

  “Yeah, well, join the club.”

  I reach for the phone to call Foster and ask him to come over to talk because I can’t figure this out on my own and it’s time I listen.

  Before I can dial Foster’s number, the phone rings in my hand.

  I answer, and it’s Don calling to say he’s been trying to get in touch with Momma and find out what she wants for dinner, but she isn’t answering her phone or the shop’s.

  “I know she’s there. We had lunch with her this afternoon and stayed most of the day. When I left a couple of hours ago, she was going to finish up some embroidery orders. I was just about to take George for her last walk of the night, so I’ll pop in and tell her to call you.”

  “Thanks, Sonia. She’s probably just got her sewing machine going, and she didn’t hear the ring. It happens all the time.”

  I end the call and go in search of George, who is shredding yet another stuffed toy she dug out of her toy box.

  I attach her leash, and we walk out onto the sidewalk into the cool night air. George stops every couple of feet to sniff at something on the ground. Finally, she chooses the perfect spot and squats to do her business.

  “Come on. Let’s go see your maw-maw for a minute.” I coax her around the corner and toward the shop door.

  Once she realizes where we’re headed, she takes off running, no doubt looking for one of the treats Momma keeps for her behind the counter.

  “Slow down,” I say as I try to get her to walk with me.

  Leash training has been going about as well as no-chewing training. I mentally reconsider t
he two-week obedience school Bellamy suggested when we reach the shop.

  I try the door, but it’s locked. I knock a few times, but she doesn’t hear me. George is barking and scratching at the door, getting herself all tangled in her leash.

  “All right, hang on. You’re going to twist your leg and hurt it,” I say as I stoop down and pick her up.

  I reach in my pocket for the set of spare keys I keep for such occasions and try not to drop the puppy as I let us in.

  “Momma, you back there?” I call out as I let George down, and she takes off toward the counter.

  I walk over, open the treat canister, and toss a couple on the mat behind the counter for her. Then, I notice Momma’s cell phone sitting on the counter next to the register.

  That’s why she didn’t hear it.

  I pick it up and walk into the back.

  “Momma, Don’s been trying to reach you. You left your phone up—”

  When I round the corner to her sewing room, I see her legs and feet on the floor.

  “Momma!”

  When I make it to her, she is lying facedown. A pair of knitting needles is still clutched in her hand, and there is blood coming from her mouth.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I drop the phone and kneel beside her. “Momma, can you hear me?”

  She doesn’t respond, so I gently turn her over and check to see if she’s breathing. She’s not, so I clear her airway and start doing chest compressions.

  Her phone is on the ground beside me, and I pick it up and dial 911. I clasp it between my ear and shoulder while I continue administering CPR.

  George came running as soon as she heard my panicked cries, and she is circling us, barking and panting.

  “Please breathe, Momma,” I plead through a blur of tears.

  She finally begins to breathe, and I get a faint pulse, but I don’t stop the compressions until the EMTs and volunteer firefighters show up and take over.

  I give them all her information that I know, and they load her in the ambulance to take her to the hospital.