Free The Sisterhood of the Dropped Stitches by Janet Tronstad

after wearing my crown, either. I wanted to savor the good feelings I’d had with the others that evening, and I was afraid if I slept, the feelings would be gone when I awoke.
    I went to sleep last night knowing that this feeling that all was well for me would not last until the morning, either.
    I have no doubt we will find Carly’s cat. In fact, the cat is probably curled up in front of the massive door to Carly’s house even as we speak, meowing for the maid to bring her breakfast on a silver tray. Once that happens—and Becca gets the acceptance letter she’s expecting and Lizabett performs in her ballet—I will be the only one who will not have met my goal.
    The solution of last night will not work in the cold light of morning today.
    I know Quinn will see to it that I get my three dates if that’s what I want. And that’s nice of him. But I have to acknowledge that they’re not real dates. He’s just so used to taking care of Lizabett that hisgoodness overflows to me a little. I hate to meet my goal like that—with “pity dates.”
    The only thing for me to do is to actually get some real dates from a guy who doesn’t feel obligated to ask me out. Of course, I don’t know anyone who might be a prospect for a date like that unless Becca is right and the grill guy does remember me.
    Actually, I hope he doesn’t recall me too well. Maybe he will remember that he liked me enough to ask me out without remembering that I turned him down.
    Yes, that would work.
    I fluff up my hair and snip off a few rough edges before I pull out my old curling iron from the back of my closet. I’m not sure the iron will work, but the red light goes on, so it must. While I wait for the curling iron to heat, I put on some makeup—I actually found some eye shadow in a drawer by the bathroom sink.
    It’s ten o’clock in the morning when I get back to The Pews. That’s my usual time to check in for work. Uncle Lou is the one who opens up the diner at six o’clock in the morning and handles the breakfast crowd.
    I’ve always thought that Uncle Lou likes those four hours best of all the hours in the day because, at least in the first hour or so, he’s alone in the diner and can remember the way things used to be. He plays old fifties music on the radio and I’ve noticedhe puts the old salt and pepper shakers out for breakfast. He’s muttered more than once that he’s glad breakfast stays the same and hasn’t gone all trendy on him. I haven’t had the heart to tell him that some restaurants are adding cream cheese to their scrambled eggs and turkey sausage to their selections of meats.
    Anyway, I have to park my car in a big, concrete parking structure a few blocks away from The Pews and walk to the diner. Since I have eyeliner on, I feel better about everything. It’s a good morning for a walk. It is winter in Pasadena and the morning is bright and sunny. We get a lot of days like this in February. It’s weather to make a person glad they are alive.
    In the strong light of day like this, I feel ready for anything. On the way to the diner, I make my decision; I will find some real dates and let Quinn off the hook. Not that I won’t still go to church with him, but I’ll do that for a different reason.
    As long as I’m doing things the right way, it’s time I stopped being so superstitious about going to church. That’s really what it is. I’m afraid that if I go to church once, Dad will somehow know and think I’ve gone over to Mom’s side. And, if that doesn’t happen, I’m nervous that Mom will know and start to hope I’ll become a Christian.
    But nothing will automatically happen just because I go to church. The roof will not cave in and the sky will not collapse. There is no bad luck thatwill automatically come to me. Neither one of my parents will even know I’ve been to church