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When her brain went fuzzy, she rolled it back, started it again. She had to focus, concentrate, and with hook and yarn created a very precise run of chain stitches.
Because she had to listen, watch, count, it kept her mind engaged. After a painstaking hour she had the beginnings of a Christmas-red scarf.
She rewarded herself with a Pepsi.
“Okay, Mop, I can do this. I’m not sure I actually want to do it, but I can. I’m going to consider it occupational therapy. Now we’re going to walk again, then do another round with weights. I’m going to make myself eat some fruit or cheese or something, then we’ll get back to this.”
Before her parents got home that evening, she’d had to log another nap, but she offset that with more steps, more reps, and what by her measurements equaled about a quarter of a very simple red scarf.
Elsie looked at the yarn basket, the length—about a third now—of completed scarf, then at her daughter.
“When did you learn to crochet?”
“This afternoon.”
Elsie picked up the work in progress, studied it front and back. “This is very nice work. How many times did I try to teach you?”
“You always gave up because you said I wouldn’t sit still long enough.” She heard the sound of the snowblower roar to life, which meant her father cleared paths.
And Mop would be joyfully leaping into the blowing snow.
“I know I kind of have to now. Occupational therapy. You really have to think.”
“Good for you? A scarf?”
“Yeah, and when I finish, you have to wear it. The cost of being a mom.”
“The reward of being one. How about some hot chocolate, and you can tell me how you did today?”
“How about some wine, and we can tell each other about our day?”
“Even better.” Elsie laid a hand on Sloan’s cheek. “You look better.”
“I do?”
“In those magic eyes of yours, yes.”
Sloan felt tears burn at the back of them because she knew her mother wouldn’t lie.
“Today was Day One. I made a spreadsheet.”
“Of course you did. It’s our loss you didn’t come into the family business, Ms. Organized.”
“I came by that naturally,” she said as they walked to the kitchen. “But it’s good for me to track my progress. And we’ll get to that. You start first because Dad’s going to want to know what I did today when he comes in.”
“We got another three inches today, so he’s hell-bent to clear that before the next two or three fall overnight. Red okay? I still have plenty of sauce frozen from tomato season. We’re having pasta tonight.”
“Red’s great.”
“Let’s see. We rented about a dozen sleds and toboggans, and sold about half that many. I’ve got an order in for more. Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
Sloan settled at the counter. “I do.”
“We’re booked solid for December and January, and damn close to full for February. Drea’s Winter Wonders campaign did the job. Long-range forecast says the lake will freeze by mid-January, so we’ll have the ice-fishing tournament the first week of February. And we’re already half-booked for that.”
Elsie took a sip of wine, studied the glass. “Now, this was a fine idea.”
“I still got ’em.”