Free Knit in Comfort by Isabel Sharpe

what else to say, because the things she did at Lolly’s age Megan undoubtedly didn’t want to know. “Is everything really okay with your father?”
    Megan pinched her lips together.
    Elizabeth wanted to smack herself. Why had she bothered asking? “I’m sorry. I speak before I think. None of my business.”
    Megan glanced at her, then hung the kitchen towel carefully back on a rack under the sink. “He’s moving again and called to tell me. That’s all.”
    â€œOkay.” An agonizing moment of awkwardness while Elizabeth thought of a million more questions she couldn’t ask.
    â€œSo…what’s up with David? Why is he so cranky?”
    â€œWhy don’t you ask him?”
    â€œBecause he doesn’t seem real cuddly?”
    Megan actually grinned. “Classic case of bark worse than bite. Though he does both.”
    â€œI gathered.” Elizabeth traced the edges of the beautiful lace doily under the peonies. She’d have to see someone knitting this stuff before she believed it possible. “He seems out of place here.”
    â€œHe grew up next door from teenager on. Raised by his great-aunt.”
    â€œNo parents?”
    â€œHis mother…couldn’t handle him. I don’t think his father was around much. You’ll have to ask him the rest. If he wants you to know he’ll tell you.”
    â€œIf not, he’ll tell me where to go.”
    â€œUndoubtedly.” Megan pulled the elastic from her hair and re-formed her ponytail. “If you talk to him, tell him hello. I’m going to see what Jeffrey and Deena are up to.”
    â€œSure. Okay. Thanks again for dinner.” Elizabeth let Megan precede her out of the kitchen before she allowed her smile to droop. Progress, but not much. Megan’s barriers were mighty.
    In the backyard, on her way again to get the sketchbook, she peered over the fence and saw David in the middle of his yard on one of two chairs with a table between, the rest of the patio set incomplete on the flagstone terrace next to the house. He wore a red T-shirt and black shorts and was scowling—the only way she’d seen him—a drink clutched in his hand. His shadow made an elongated human stripe across the ragged, patchy lawn, a study in spareness compared to Megan’s lush garden.
    â€œHello?” She spoke impulsively. “You okay?”
    â€œMs. Det -laff.” He turned and said her name slowly, savoring the syllables. “Nice to see you again.”
    â€œI heard you shouting.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œI thought you might need help.”
    He laughed bitterly. “The amount of help I need is beyond your ability.”
    â€œSquirrel issues?”
    â€œRat bastards.” He twisted to glare at the bird feeder on a pole next to the patio. “Outwit me every time. No one should have to feel inferior to a rodent. Join me in a cocktail?”
    His invitation took her aback; he positively radiated charm compared to their first meeting. “What are you drinking?”
    â€œAh.” He raised his glass to the setting sun, which sparkled appetizingly through the clear liquid. “‘The proper union of gin and vermouth is a great and sudden glory; it is one of the happiest marriages on earth, and one of the shortest lived.’”
    â€œYours?”
    â€œBernard DeVoto, American historian and author. Have one with me?”
    â€œWill you be nice to me this time?”
    â€œCross my heart.”
    â€œThen yes, I will. Thank you.”
    â€œI’ll meet you inside.” He got up and strode steadily enough toward his back door.
    Elizabeth hurried through Megan’s house, relieved when she didn’t see anyone. She felt guilty and surreptitious, as if she were about to consort with the enemy.
    Still no sign of Vera outside, so Elizabeth gave the rocker another push and headed to David’s bungalow. Maybe he was meant to teach her