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“My novice skills are no doubt an insult to your granny, but yeah.” She reached in the basket, held up the crocheted red wool.
“Well, son of a bitch.”
“Occupational therapy, that’s how I see it. This afternoon, I’ll help make pies.” She set the scarf back in the basket and laughed at herself. “God, Joel, I need to get back to work.”
“You’ll get there, sis. I gotta get back to it myself, but I wanted to see your face. Glad I did, because you don’t look half bad. Do I get that scarf?”
“My mother’s getting this one. If I don’t bore myself to death, I’ll make you a manly one.”
“I’ll count on it. You take care of my partner, and have a good Thanksgiving.”
“Doing my best. Love to Sari, Mama Dee, and the rest.”
“Same to you and yours. I’ll check in later.”
She missed him, the work, the life she’d led the minute she put the phone down. So she picked up the yarn.
“Occupational therapy,” she muttered.
She nodded off over it, but pushed back annoyance when she surfaced. She made progress on the scarf, and had only been under about twenty minutes.
After bundling up, she set out with Mop for another walk.
She spotted the two men standing together maybe a hundred yards or so ahead of her finish line.
About six feet, both of them, she judged, maybe a hundred sixty for the one on the left, one-fifty for the one on the right. Brown hair under ski caps—darker on the left male. She couldn’t see their faces well enough with the distance, and both wore sunglasses against the glare off the lake, off the snow.
Black parka for the left, blue for the right. Jeans and boots for both.
Details, it always paid to notice details.
Relatives, probably, she thought, given the similarity in build, coloring, even how they stood. Maybe brothers.
She reached the end of that morning’s line, and stopped to catch her breath, give her legs a chance to rest. “Five more, Mop. I can do five more steps.”
When she had, she turned back. The house seemed so far away this trip, and her breathing already labored.
“It’s okay, one step at a time. Slow and steady. We’ll have a mile in, and one more walk to go today. Progress. Jesus, I feel like I’ve run up a mountain.”
She had to stop again, wait until she felt she could manage that slow and steady.
Nash watched her walk, pause, walk.
“Nice-looking blonde,” Theo commented. “At least I think so. Hard to be sure from this far away. The way she’s walking, maybe she started her day with a few drinks.”
“I don’t think so. Looks more out of shape and tired, maybe sickor injured, than drunk.” A little shaky, Nash thought, and decided to keep an eye on her as long as he could.
“Look at that dog!” On a laugh, Theo pointed as Mop leaped into a snowbank and rolled. “Likes his winter sports. Hey! We should get a dog.”
Nash shifted his gaze long enough to look at Theo. “What would we do with a dog?”
“Enjoy. They never let us have one. Then, you know, New York and putting in the hours we both did. Not fair to close a dog in an apartment all day.”
She’d stopped and started again, and now appeared to aim for a house up the slope. Good-looking house, great views, sturdy with style.
“And it’s fair to have a dog hanging out all day while we’re tearing the house up, working—we hope—outside jobs.”
“Sure. Job dog.” Theo’s naturally sunny side shined brighter at the thought. “He hangs with us.”