"All the best handmade gifts do." I demonstrated the next stitch on my own potholder. "The imperfections prove you made it yourself. That's what makes it special."
Poppy nodded, returning to her work with renewed determination. We crocheted in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
"Were you really scared?" Poppy asked suddenly, her voice small. "When Teddy attacked you?"
I set down my crochet hook, giving her question the weight it deserved. "Yes. I was terrified."
"What did it feel like?"
"Like the whole world had narrowed down to just survival. Nothing else mattered except getting away." I touched the spot on my head where the bump had finally gone down. "My heart was beating so hard I thought it might explode."
Poppy's eyes filled with tears. She dropped her potholder on the table and lunged across the space between us, wrapping her thin arms around my neck. "I'm so glad you're okay," she sobbed into my shoulder. "When Mom told me what happened, I couldn't stop crying. I thought—I thought—"
"Hey, hey." I hugged her back, feeling my own throat tighten. "I'm fine. Really." I rubbed circles on her back until her breathing steadied. When she finally pulled away, her freckled face was blotchy and wet.
"Sorry," she mumbled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I didn't mean to be a baby about it."
"You're not a baby. You're a good friend who was worried. That's different."
She picked up her potholder again, studying it as if the uneven stitches held answers to bigger questions. "How come you're okay? I mean, Teddy was really strong and mean."
"Someone else was there. Someone who helped me when I couldn't help myself."
"Like a hero?"
I thought about Boyd Biggs. I still had lots of questions and mixed feelings about him, but the man had stepped in to save me. "Yes," I said finally. "Like a hero."
Poppy beamed, her crisis averted. She returned to her crocheting with the resilience of twelve-year-olds everywhere, able to shift from tears to cheerfulness in seconds.
"I'm worried about Marilyn," she said after a moment, her voice casual but her eyes serious. "Nobody's seen her since Teddy got arrested. What if he hurt her too?"
"I don't think he did. The night of the attack he wanted to know where she was, he thought I knew. So I think she got away and she's somewhere safer now."
Poppy considered this, her hook moving through the yarn with increasing confidence. "I hope you're right. I hope she's okay."
I hope so too, I thought, but didn't say aloud.
December 12, Friday
batch bottlingbottling bourbon that has been blended from multiple barrels for consistency
THE TOURbus idled in the rest stop parking lot, engine rumbling softly while my group of retirees from Ohio took their time in the facilities and browsed the tired vending machines. I sat in the seat behind Jett's empty driver's chair, phone in hand, watching the minutes tick by on the dashboard clock.
Friendship.
The word had been circling my mind since yesterday's craft session with Poppy. That unconditional acceptance, the way she'd hugged me and cried because she'd been worried. The way Lou and Tracy had welcomed me into their family orbit without expecting anything in return. Even Jett, who'd become something more than just a coworker—someone who showed up, consistently, without needing to be asked.
When had I last reached out to someone from my past? When had I last tried to maintain a connection beyond the immediate necessity of survival?
I opened my phone's browser, hesitating only briefly before typing "Anna Kowalski" into LinkedIn's search bar. My high school buddy, the girl who'd smuggled snacks into study sessions and who'd once covered for me when I'd overslept and missed first period.
There she was. Anna's professional headshot showed a woman in her late twenties with the same warm smile I remembered, though her hair was shorter now and styled in a sleek bob. The title under her name read:Director of Operations, Chattanooga Memorial Hospital.
Director. At twenty-seven.
I clicked through to her profile, reading about her MBA from Vanderbilt, her rapid advancement through hospital administration, her volunteer work with healthcare nonprofits. The kind of trajectory that happened when you stayed in one place long enough to build something.
My finger hovered over the "Connect" button. What would I even say?Hey, remember me? I'm the friend who disappeared after graduation. I'm currently living in a van and giving bourbon tours. How's your hospital directorship going?
