Kate Jacobs (41 page)

* * *

James rushed down the hall, Dakota in tow. He
could barely remember getting Anita's call and leaving the hotel building site
in Brooklyn, making his way to Dakota's school and arriving at the hospital.
Georgia was resting comfortably, Anita said, as he peered through the window in
the door and saw her sleeping, an IV in place and an oxygen tube under her
nose.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Anita looked at Dakota.
"Should we step away for a moment?"
James shook his head. "It's happening to Dakota, too. You can tell us
both."

* * *

By nine o'clock that night Darwin was sweaty
and exhausted. And she wasn't even the one having the baby. Lucie had been in
labor eight hours, and it looked as though they had several more to go.
"First babies can take a while," the obstetrician explained when she
came to check in on her patient.
"But she's so tired," fretted Darwin, taking the doctor aside.
"Why don't you just call it a day and do a C-section?" The doctor
smiled kindly. "She's doing great. This is how the system works."
Lucie motioned Darwin to come back. "Get my cell phone," she said.
"I want to call my mother."
Darwin fished around in the backpack, taking the phone out of a little knitted
cell-phone sock (Lucie was always sneaking in little projects, she thought with
a bit of envy) and handing it to her friend.
"I'll step outside so you can have some privacy," she said.
"Okay." Lucie smiled. "Go call the shop and tell everyone how
it's going. We
kinda
left in a flash."

* * *

An obstructed bowel was causing the problems,
the doctor had explained to Anita and Cat after the first round of tests.
They'd put Georgia on fluids and massive doses of antibiotics, but it was going
to be touch and go as they waited it out, hoping to prevent a perforation and
stem any infection from moving into her bloodstream.
"I think we'll find a way," said Cat. Her voice was quiet and
assured.
"Yes, there's always a chance," added Anita.
Georgia's breathing was becoming labored, but her right hand was still grasping
tightly onto Dakota's fingers, while Anita held the left tenderly.
"I'm open to second chances," rasped Georgia. "But I may have
had more than my fair share already."

* * *

She slept for most of the afternoon and into
the evening, not even stirring as medical staff poked and prodded. Georgia woke
up briefly around ten P.M. for a while, then dozed until well after midnight.
Shortly thereafter, Anita noticed a figure at the door, looking into the
window.
"It's Darwin," she said aloud, surprised. She'd forgotten all about
that.
"Did Lucie have the baby?" mumbled Georgia, barely awake.
Anita took the few steps to the door and ushered Darwin inside.
"It's a girl," said Darwin quietly. "Ginger."
"Good," Georgia said, breathing. "Good job."
Darwin stayed for a few moments, then gently touched Anita's shoulder to let
her know she'd make her way out. In the doorway she passed James, returning
from talking to Dr. Ramirez again. The latest test results were in.
His bottom lip was trembling, but he held his voice steady: "Hey, Walker,
how are you doing?"
Georgia nodded, weak from the complications and not getting any better from the
medication. Her face was pale, but her green eyes shone brightly; she seemed
completely aware. He came over to stand by Dakota, one arm around his daughter
and the other hand stroking Georgia's curls.
Cat stood by the bedside, her arms dangling at her side, her face blank.
"Come on over here,
CathyCat
," whispered
Georgia. "I may have only two hands, but surely you can grab on to a
finger."
Cat inched closer to the bed; Anita reached out and pulled her hand forward.
"Oh, Georgia," blurted Cat. "What's going to happen now?"
Lying on her hospital bed, Georgia attempted a smile.
"I'm not about to stop talking, you know," she said. "Guess
we'll just have to carry on our conversation in a different way."
"I just wish…" interjected James, stepping over his words. "That
it had been different."
"Maybe," said Georgia. "But then it wouldn't be the same, would
it?"
They kept up a banter for several minutes, talking, just talking. About
nothing. About everything.
Then, with great effort, Georgia turned her head and stared lovingly at Dakota,
and though Cat and James and Anita surrounded the two of them, she focused
every ounce of her energy on her beautiful little girl.
"You," she said to Dakota, pressing her daughter's fingers to her
lips. "It'll always be you."
"I'll be good," answered her daughter, her voice rising in fear.
"No," said Georgia, in her strongest voice of the entire night.
"Just be yourself."
Her eyes began to flutter as though she was struggling to stay awake.
"I'm sleepy," she said, triggering Anita to rush in and begin wiping
her forehead with a cloth.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay," her dear old mentor
repeated, as if unable to stop the words.
"It is," said Georgia, bringing up her left hand to quell Anita from
her fevered motions and motioning for everyone to come in closer.
"It really is," she repeated, drifting off to sleep in the arms of
the ones she loved the most.

* * *

There was a moment, a hiccup of time, as they
all held their breath and waited for her to wake up. But then the machines
stopped their monitoring beat and it was clear.
Georgia Walker was gone.

wearing what you've made

This can be the most fun: to show off some
funky scarf that reveals your inner cool. And other times it's just so hard to
wear something that seems less than perfect or didn't turn out the way you
wanted it to. But just put it on anyway; celebrate your hard work and your
talent. And your love. Every knitter stitches with love, even when they're just
starting, all red-faced and frustrated. Why else would we create? Especially in
a world that doesn't need homemade anything. That's when we need homemade
everything. It never matters if things don't end up just the way you planned.
Every moment is a work in progress; every stitch is one stitch closer. There
may be worse, but there is always better. When you wear something you've made
with your own hands, you surround yourself with love, and all the love that
came before you. The real achievement, you see, is being proud of what you've
made. I know that I am.

thirty-five

Walker and Daughter stayed closed, of course,
in the long,
empty October Wednesday that followed. James and Dakota bunked in the other
guest rooms at the San Remo apartment but couldn't sleep. Instead they wandered
around its big rooms, like Cat, shocked and bleary-eyed. Marty stayed up all
the next night as Anita sat in the living room, stunned, also unable to rest.
By Friday she and James were busy with all the to-dos that come afterward, all
the stray ends that need to be tucked in. And she talked to
Peri
,
who felt strong enough to open the shop.
"Georgia wouldn't want Walker and Daughter to sit empty," said Anita.
"Let's just figure out some shifts and keep things going until we can
figure out what's what."
"I think K.C. wants to come by," said
Peri
.
"And
Lucie's
out of the hospital."
"Yes, call everyone and tell them we'll be open this evening," agreed
Anita. "If they want to stop in."
No one had given a second thought, since Tuesday afternoon, to the posters
advertising
Lucie's
film. Nor had anyone taken them
down.

* * *

And so
Peri
waited in
the shop, not able to say anything as she rang up purchases for customers who
were casually browsing, buying wools and needles and patterns. She held it all
in until K.C. arrived, and then the two sobbed and held on to each other for a
time.
"I didn't know it would be the last time in the cab," cried K.C.
"I don't want her to not be here."
It didn't seem real, especially when the rental equipment arrived; no one had
remembered to cancel Georgia's order. Then the tears burst again as Darwin came
into the shop, with Lucie, a newborn Ginger in her arms, and
Lucie's
mother, Rosie, at her side. Anita showed up too,
leaning heavily on Marty, and so did Cat, holding one of Dakota's hands as
James grasped the other.
It was a somber group, some sitting, some standing, repeating the same phrases
over and over again, recounting everything that had happened, trying to make
some sense of it all. But they held on to Ginger, too, and K.C. helped Lucie
dress her in the little baby sweater it had taken her months to make, and that
felt a little bit better, even as everyone's hearts squeezed tightly with grief.

* * *

And then it happened. A few of the more
frequent customers—and then some complete strangers, including a certain
megawatt movie star in town to be in a play—began to walk through the doorway
of Walker and Daughter. At first Anita thought they had heard about Georgia's
passing. But then it became clear they wanted to see
Lucie's
film. She turned to the new mom.
"Uh, I think there's a copy still in the box we brought in on
Tuesday," said Lucie, her eyes red. "I guess we could play it."
"We'll play it," said Dakota. "My mom liked that movie. She said
her hair looked good."
Lucie's
taped voice-over boomed through the shop.
"This is the story of the Friday Night Knitting Club…" she was
narrating, over images of the outside of Marty's building and the shop sign on
the landing, before the camera settled on an image of Georgia sitting at the
center table with the entire club, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle and
then giving in to a great burst of laughter, her chestnut curls shaking all
around. "And this is the story of a gutsy New Yorker named Georgia Walker
who led the way."

* * *

It had been a tough night, thought Darwin, as
she entered her dark apartment. Lucie had offered her a spot on the couch, but
Darwin wanted to give her some time with Rosie.
Instead, she opened up her laptop, knowing very well that she wasn't about to
get any sleep. She tapped the keys, surfed the Internet, tracked her sweater
package on UPS—it had been delivered—and checked her e-mail. Nothing.
Then she opened up a Word document and sat there.
One word. That's how Darwin finally started her thesis. With one word.
Knitting.
Does this skill have validity for the modern woman?
Yes.
There is tremendous power when women hold on to—or reclaim, in the case of many
young women today—the traditional skills of women who went before us. In the
developed world, knitting is at once a reminder and a connection to the
struggles of our collective past, when warm clothing was a necessity that could
be made only by hand, and a joyous celebration of the ingenuity and creativity
of our mothers and grandmothers.
Darwin looked up from the screen. And, she thought, it's just plain fun.

* * *

A noise in the hallway startled her awake.
Darwin was splayed out on her couch, the laptop—with several pages of
text—resting on her stomach. It was eight A.M. and light outside the window.
"Ugh," she said, her neck sore from her awkward nap, her mouth dry.
She heard the sound again. A jingling at the door.
With a dash she was looking out the peephole, then unlocking the two deadbolts
and the chain.
Standing there—wearing the ill-fitting gray sweater with one sleeve three
inches too short, the other two inches too long—was her husband. Dan.
And he was smiling.

thirty-six

It had been a difficult winter. For everyone.
But they'd
made it through. And somehow, improbably, spring had come. Just as it did every
year.
Walker and Daughter had remained open, with
Peri
keeping up her schedule, making room for a larger display of purses and hiring
a part-timer to help out. It was decided that she should take over the upstairs
apartment. She'd cleaned and repainted all of it after Dakota agreed it was
time. K.C. had rented a car and taken a road trip—she'd always been so focused
on New York that she realized she'd never really visited her own country; it
was her last gasp of freedom before starting law school in the fall. Darwin had
worked day and night to complete the first draft of her dissertation, just in
time to find a new apartment in the city near the hospital. Dan was coming
back, had found a way to transfer his residency, had been able to forgive. And
Lucie, at home with Ginger and getting too little sleep, used the
middle-of-the-night hours to plan a new cut of her documentary and submit it to
the
Tribeca
Film Festival.

* * *

Dakota's grades had slipped, for a bit, but
James took immediate action, asking for a leave of absence to be with his
heartbroken little girl. There had been no confusion over rights and wishes;
Georgia Walker had made sure she was always ready for whatever might come her
way. It was a challenging transition, to become a full-time parent as he
mourned his loss. But he was making it work: James had taken Dakota to
Baltimore for Thanksgiving, then to Pennsylvania for the annual Christmas
dinner, braving the Walkers over eggnog and shortbread. They were somber
holidays, to be sure, but he was at his daughter's side through it all, had
pledged to take her to Gran in Scotland when school ended.
His East Side apartment was empty now; James located a new home for the two of
them, around the corner from the shop and close to both Anita and Cat. Dakota
helped in the store on Saturdays. Marty rewrote the lease: For as long as he
owned the building, Walker and Daughter would never pay rent again.