Page 55 of Seale the Deal

She grins. Pretty much the same as now. Remi was loud, bossy, and full of imagination. Ruger was quiet and observant. He always had Remi’s back. Anyone’s, really, if they mattered to him.

My heart tightens because, yeah, that tracks.

Audrey glances at the packets in my hands. That’s everything?

Oh! Yes.

She leads me back to the checkout counter, and I watch as she rings things in, blowing a stray curl from her face.

Six fifty, she says. Need a bag?

I’m good. I tuck the packages of pins and needles into my jacket pocket.

I’d love to keep chatting, but I’ve got to get back to this nightmare of a project. She gestures behind the partition.

What are you working on? I ask, genuinely curious.

Just a coat for the high school’s A Christmas Carol production, she sighs. But my machine hates me.

Mind if I take a look?

Sure.

I follow Audrey behind the partition to where a coat lies half-finished beside her sewing machine.

It keeps skipping stitches, she says. I’ve tried everything.

I gently touch the tip of her machine needle. It’s dull.

Exactly! I must have changed that needle a million times.

I run the scratchy wool between my fingers. This needle looks like a 90/14?

Yes. It’s standard for most fabrics.

I smile. Not for wool. You’d be better using a 100/16. I spot her stash of needles and immediately see the one I want. Mind if I switch it out?

Go for it.

I replace the needle, rethread the machine, and test a few stitches. The needle glides through the wool like butter.

Behind me, Audrey gasps. You’re a genius. How long have you been sewing?

Since I was a kid, I say. I even worked in fashion back in Vancouver.

Her eyebrows lift. No kidding. You want to take this project off my hands?

I smile. You’re doing just fine.

I’m a better quilter than tailor, she confesses. My mom owns the shop, and honestly, she’s the real talent. Well, she was. Chemo and arthritis don’t exactly pair well with precision work. Now she just does small projects when she’s up to it.

I’m sorry, I say softly, flexing my fingers in silent gratitude for what mine can still do.

It’s been tough, Audrey admits. But every time the school needs something, I can’t say no. So I do what I can.

She must be proud of you.

Just then, the door chimes again.