“Good. Keep going.” She consulted the pattern. “Fifty-four stitches.”
Holy shit, that would take him all night. Across the table, Wing coached Mad and Archer through the intricacies of casting-on. On Rose’s other side, Trace continued to struggle through his line of loops.
“The hat will not knit itself,” Rose prompted.
True. He cast on another stitch, and another.
Rose nodded her approval, then surprised him by asking, “How is Lilah?”
You signed up to stand in the middle, he reminded himself and held back a sigh. “Good.”
“Good tells me nothing.”
“It tells you she’s good. If you want to know more, you should—oh, here’s an idea—talk to her.”
Rose turned and stared a hole through the dark-paneled wall for a protracted moment, then uttered, “I am angry with her. She is angry with me. Talking would be futile.”
“You don’t know unless you try,” he countered, adding to his row of loops.
She turned back to him with her dark eyes ready for battle. “She doesn’t honor my wishes. All my cautions, all my efforts are like…” She made chattering motions with her hands. “My words are air to her. Life lessons I learned harshly, I tried to tell her, warn her. But no.” Her hands came up again, open and agitated. “Wasted. And now she is pregnant and alone, just like I was.”
“She’s not alone,” he said, automatically. “And neither are you.”
“You know what I mean.”
He concentrated on his loops and knots, because without eye contact, this would remain a conversation rather than escalating to a confrontation. “It takes a village, Rose. Always has. You found one here in Captivity, and it seems like you’ve done all right.” He risked a glance at her. “Some might say you’ve thrived. Maybe the wisdom you’re meant to offer Lilah isn’t so much about avoiding ending up like you. Maybe it’s about helping her figure out how to balance all her responsibilities as well as you’ve managed?”
Rose looked away again, found something fascinating about a grouping of old black-and-white photos of geese lazing around various points of interest in Captivity. Photos that had hung on the wall for at least half a century. “She doesn’t follow my wisdom. If she’d listened to me, obeyed my rules, she wouldn’t be in the situation she’s in today.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, “but today is where we have to live. You can keep looking back, keep your anger and disappointment over things you can’t change, or let it go and focus on today. Focus on things you can have an impact on.”
He felt her eyes on him but kept working the yarn. Finally, she sighed, sounding wearier and more defeated than he’d ever heard tough, suffer-no-fools Rose Iquat sound. “You don’t know. You’ve never been in my position.”
“Rose,” Wing called from down the table, “I’m all cast-on. I need help!”
She inspected Ford’s line of loops. “Very good. Keep going.”
When she stood to go around to Wing’s chair, Ford caught her arm, looked up, and waited for her to meet his eyes. “You’re right. I’ve never been in your position, but I’ve been in the vicinity. Just think about what I’ve said, okay?”
She gave him a brisk nod before moving past. “I am thinking I should buy some yarn, too, for my grandbaby’s sake. These projects might not turn out good.”
He looked away so she didn’t catch him grinning and instead caught Trace looking his way, wearing a grin of his own.