Page 102 of Against All Odds

“Again, no thanks needed. You’ve come to my aid more than once.”

We walk into the barn, and I am absolutely blown away. When he said he built her a home, he wasn’t kidding.

This place is absolutely stunning. The front entryway leads to a beautiful open floor plan with a vaulted ceiling in the living room area. There is a television mounted on the wall where Mrs. Finnegan’s old recliner from when we were kids sits.

The kitchen boasts stunning two-tone cabinets, and there is a hallway toward the back.

“Her bedroom and the bathroom are back down there.” He points to the hallway. “There is plenty of food in the fridge. The front door is automated to close if it’s left open more than fifteen minutes, so don’t be alarmed if you hear something shut.”

“Anything else I should know?”

Everett nods. “She can’t remember things. I know I told you that, but she won’t know if she did something, and she may forget why you’re here or that she saw you recently. I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t ask this if?—”

I lift my hand. “Stop, it’s fine. I love your mom.”

He’s done so much for me. This is not even a favor.

“Okay,” he says, the resignation causing my heart to ache. “Mom! Can you come to the living room?”

She comes shuffling out. “Everett.” She smiles as though the sun has just risen. “Hi, sweetheart.” Then Mrs. Finnegan smiles at me. “Hi, Violet.”

“Hi, Mrs. F.”

Everett steps forward. “Mom, I have to go to work for a little bit. I know I wrote down that we were going to spend time together, and I’m sorry.”

Her eyes go to the board that’s on the wall. “Now? You have to go now?”

“Yes, there’s an emergency, so I need to go, but Violet is going to hang out with you for a little while.” Everett walks over and wipes off the timing that he would be there now and writes that she’s going to spend time with me.

I can see the concern in her eyes. “It’s so late, Everett. You can’t drive now.”

“I promise I’ll be okay, and I’ll come right here when I’m done.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s dark out.”

Everett looks to me. “I have to go.”

“Go, it’s fine. I got this.”

While Mrs. Finnegan is not the equivalent of a child, Everett said sometimes that’s what it feels like, so I do what I would do if one of my students didn’t want to do something.

Distraction.

“Mrs. Finnegan,” I say quickly. “Everett said that you are really good at knitting? I’ve never done it before, and I would really love to learn. Do you think you’d ... be willing?”

Her eyes light up. “I am very good at knitting, dear.”

Everett winks at me and mouths,Thank you.

I smile at him and then turn back to Mrs. Finnegan.

We spend the first thirty minutes with her explaining all the different things about knitting. I had no idea there were different ways to hold the needles or loops or patterns.

Once she determines that I am now knowledgeable enough to attempt it, she starts me off with a row and hands it to me.

I thought that I was pretty crafty and smart.

I realize now—I am not.

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