Chapter Six
Knit Happens
Mom: Text me when you’re here. I’ll come out.
Me: Funny how you can suddenly see the screen. It’s a miracle.
Mom: Selective vision, sweetheart. Same way you thought I never saw the crunchy socks under your bed growing up.
Me: I’m leaving.
Kicking one ankle over the other, I cross my arms and lean against the warmth of my truck, taking in downtown Heart Springs to the soundtrack of snores.
The puppy’s curled up on my bench seat like he belongs there, nose tucked under one paw, breathing slow and easy. I opened the windows to air out the stench, but he hasn’t moved since we pulled in, sprawled out like a cowboy after one too many beers.
Downtown is quiet. Quieter than I remember.
I haven’t really been here since before the army. Not more than I have to. Mom and I meet at The Buttered Biscuit sometimes. We say our goodbyes in the parking lot, and I head straight back to Wildwood.
But standing here now, it feels like I’ve been gone a hell of a lot longer than ten years.
Some of the buildings are still going strong and look just how I remember them from childhood—brick and old wood with fresh paint. Others are worn and tattered, like the town’s run out of money or people who care.
Moms favorite place in the world, Thread & Thimble is still on the corner, next to Between the Pages, the old bookstore that used to host summer reading challenges when I was a kid.
I won once. Got a free cone from The Frozen Spoon down the block, which is still here, barely bigger than a walk-in closet.
Today the door’s propped open, and I can smell freshly baked waffle cones from here.
Across the street, The Shed , Heart Spring’s general store, looks like a barn someone forgot to paint. Only place you can find live bait in the back next to winter socks, and a weird as hell display of collectable rooster figurines up front.
The streets aren’t busy like they used to be. Back when you couldn’t come downtown without running into half your classmates or someone’s grandma who knew you when you were in diapers.
Now it feels like the town’s just trying to hang on.
I glance toward Pine Street. If I turned right, I’d hit The Twisted Saddle, the country bar where I used to waste time during leave. Cheap beer, loud music, and old friends who stayed put while I went and got my ass shot at in someone else’s desert.
A newer coffee shop called Snug As a Mug snags my attention.
White shiplap front, gold lettering on the windows.
Looks out of place next to all the brick and weathered wood, but not in a bad way.
Just newer—and cleaner. The kind of place that probably does fancy drinks with names I don’t recognize and charges an arm and leg because it’s sugar, dairy, and flavor free.
I smirk. Bet the city-girl social worker would love a place like that. Probably drinks twelve-buck lattes in her Beamer while listening to a podcast about irrelevant celebrity drama.
A shrill bark jolts me from my thoughts.
The feral dog’s on his feet, front paws pressed against the dash, tail thumping the door wildly, his attention riveted to the storefront.
Following his gaze, I spot my mom through the front window, grinning like I just got back from war as she hustles to the door.
Shoving off the hood, I head across the sidewalk and prepare to open it for her like the gentleman she dragged me up to be, but before I can, it flies open.
From one blink to the next, my mom’s standing an inch before me and Thread and Thimble’s front door is banging shut, the sound ricocheting though my ears.
Stumbling back a step, I gape down at her. “The hell, Mom?”
“What?” She presses her back to the aged wood and blinks innocently at me. “Can’t a mother be happy to see her only son?”
I wait for her to reach out, to hug me, smack a wet kiss to my cheek, or push me aside so she can see the dog, but she doesn’t move at all. In fact, she seems to melt further into the door, eyes shifting all over the place.
My brows furrow.
Is it just me, or does she look guilty as fuck right now?
“What are you doing?” I murmur, my gaze flicking to the window of the only craft shop in Heart Springs. The same place she’s gone for her weekly knitting club since I was a teenager.
She ignores me. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever. Are you sleeping? Eating? Dating anyone?”
My jaw ticks.
Beatrice Archer is a strong, bold woman.
She takes shit from no one, including her kids.
My entire life, she’s been the heartbeat of our family.
Best friends with my dad since the moment they met, and stayed that way until the day he passed.
She’s a force to be reckoned with—all five and a half feet of her.
But she’s also transparent as hell.
I see through her scheming, her intentional avoidance. I also know when she’s lying, and right now, Beatrice Archer is hiding something.
“I’ll answer your questions,” I hedge, not missing the way her blue eyes light up. “After you get the demon dog smelling up my truck.”
Her gaze lands somewhere over my shoulder, and she swallows hard, but forces a quick smile. “It’s nice seeing his truck back on these old streets.”
Guilt claws at my throat followed by a rush of panic.
I get through my days by avoiding the ugly truths. It’s not healthy, or smart, but it works for me.
Every time I climb into my dad’s old truck, though, it’s like his ghost is sitting right next to me, making it damn near impossible to ignore the ugliest truth of them all.
He’s gone.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asks softly, blinking back tears as she pats my cheek. “Have you found a way to talk to him yet?”
The world sways, and I drop my eyes to my boots.
She’s always asking me if I’ve talked to my dad. Gone out to his grave on the edge of our land. He’s buried under his favorite oak tree by the pond where we all grew up fishing, right next to his parents and older brother. No gravestones, just flowers—the way every Archer before him wanted it.
I went once for the funeral on emergency leave. Haven’t been back since. Haven’t said a word to him since, either. But I want to.
Fuck, do I want to.
“You know I haven’t,” I say, my voice rough as gravel. “Feels like shouting into the void. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”
She makes a soft, sad sound and slips her hand into mine, squeezing once before letting go.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she murmurs.
“For me… it helps. I still talk to him. I lay down the heavy things, the good and the bad, and sometimes… sometimes I swear I hear his answer in the breeze. Maybe it’s not about where you go, or even what you say—just that you try to let him in, however you can. ”
She sighs, eyes distant, the hint of a wistful smile on her lips.
“We all find our own way to carry people we love, Kade. Doesn’t matter if it’s a grave, the wind or water, or on the back of a horse. One day, you’ll figure out how to reach him. You just have to want to.”
If only it were that damn easy.
Mom lets out a breath and straightens, smoothing away her sadness in a way I envy. “Anyway. How’s your life, hmm? Anything new?”
I deflect her question, and change the subject. “Your dog shit on the floorboard.”
I’d cleaned it up the second I parked, but the stench remained.
“Poor thing’s probably just stressed. He did have to ride with you , after all.”
“Wouldn’t have had to ride with me if you’d caged him properly.” I narrow my eyes and jerk my chin at the door she’s become one with. “Seriously. What are you hiding in there?”
“I don’t think it’s my dog.” Mom tosses her hair over her shoulder, the brown and gray strands sticking to her Carhartt vest. “And I’m not hiding anything. Why would you say that?”
“You haven’t even met the damn thing yet,” I hiss, jamming a finger at the door. “And you’re blocking the entrance.”
“No. I’m resting on it.” She smirks and sinks her weight back with a casual shrug. “Big difference.”
“ Mom .”
“ Son .”
My mind races, trying to figure out her game. Her hands are tucked behind her body now, right booted foot tapping a restless tune. She’s shifting like she has to pee, reminding me of my three year old nephew.
It’s suspicious and shady, and I don’t like it one bit. The hell would my own mother have to hide from me?
A deep laugh bounces around from inside the shop, and she jolts like she’s been struck.
Then it clicks.
“ Mother ,” I choke out. “Do you—do you—” I press a hand to my chest and drop my voice. “Do you have a man in there?”
Her eyes flash, a glint of wickedness I hate. “And what if I do?”
“I— what ?” My soul leaves my body. “No. No, you do not.”
“I might.”
“You don’t.”
She huffs, the sound so indigent, it’s like she’s been studying with my teenage sisters. “Why the hell not? I’m a grown woman, Kade.”
“Because—” I flail a hand at the door like that explains anything. “Because you’re supposed to be in knitting club !”
“So?”
“So,” I splutter. “You can’t be dating! You’re my mother.”
“Oh, Kade. Handsome as can be, but dumb as a rock.” She sighs, real tragic-like. “Who says I’m dating?” Her mouth tilts up in a slow, devious smirk as she leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “Last I checked, you don’t need to be on a date to get some .”
“Get…” I jolt backward, my hands flying through the air in a hell no motion repeatedly, like I can erase the last five minutes of my life. This can’t be happening. “Get some? Why—who—”
“Is that not the right terminology?” Little lines pop up around her eyes as she squints and snaps. “Ah! Netflix and chill!”
I gape at her, reeling, my childhood flashing before my eyes like a tornado of casseroles and PTA meetings and Mom swatting Dad with a dish towel when he tried to steal food off the stove.
“Jesus Christ.” I gag, dragging a hand down my face. “Who the fuck corrupted you?”
“The internet.”
“Someone needs to take your phone.” I hold my palm out. “In fact, give it to me now. I’m deleting everything.”