the contents. There were some odds and ends of yarn, a smaller container, along with a plastic bag with some papers stuck in it, a couple of small crocheted animals and a bunch of crocheted flowers attached to round pieces of felt. I picked one up and turned it over. “I think they’re supposed to be pins. If we hadn’t pushed her to give them to us, she probably would have finished them and put pin backs on.” I could hear Adele’s anxious breathing as I pulled out the plastic bag and examined one of the sheets. It had some diagrams and writing.
Adele took the opportunity to grab the container. “Now you know my Achilles’ heel,” she said with a few dramatic sighs thrown in.
“Achilles’ heel?” Dinah repeated. “What are you talking about?”
“This,” Adele picked up one of the flowers pins with one hand and put the back of her other hand against her forehead in a sign of distress. “I can’t do a bullion stitch.”
“A what stitch?” Dinah said, looking at the pin in Adele’s hand. I was right there with Dinah. I knew there were single and double crochets, shell stitches, puff stitches, and even picots. But I’d never even heard of a bullion stitch.
Adele pointed to the yellow long coil that made up one of the flower’s petals. “This is a bullion stitch. She leaned in closer to us. “You can’t tell CeeCee,” she said in a whisper.
I tried to hand the plastic bag with the yellow sheets I was holding to Adele. “Maybe this will help. It looks like it has some directions.”
“It’s a crocheter’s greatest nightmare. I know how to make the stitch; I just can’t do it with yarn—yet,” Adele said, pushing the bag back on me. “Go home and try to make one of these,” she said pointing at one of the coils again, “then we’ll talk.” When I didn’t do anything, Adele took the plastic bag from my arms and shoved it into the tote bag I was using as a carryall. “Subject closed.”
Then I got it, Adele was still vying with CeeCee to be the leader of the Hookers and having this stitch disability put her at a disadvantage. Well, anything to keep the peace. I agreed to let her leave the container in the bookstore for the time being. I gathered that the time being was how long it was going to take Adele to master the stitch.
Adele threw her arms around me. “Pink, thank you. You saved my reputation.” She was worn out from the emotional outburst and collapsed into a chair next to the worktable. She pulled a hook and some yarn out of her shoulder bag. She made a foundation chain and something to anchor the next row, then she began to wind the yarn around the hook. I watched for a moment as she tried to pull the strand of yarn through the coil but it came unraveled. And as it did Adele came unraveled with it. It was too much to watch so Dinah and I walked away.
As we did, I saw Mrs. Shedd look at me, then at her watch. I’d gotten so caught up in the fuss with Adele, I’d forgotten about the time. My workday had begun. Dinah had her own things to take care of so we walked as far as the customer service desk before parting company.
Though my official title was community relations and event coordinator, when I wasn’t planning events, I helped out on the floor of the bookstore. Lately, the “and More” in the name of the bookstore had taken on a new meaning. Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal were trying to move with the times and had expanded the stores offerings to include an assortment of e-readers, e-books, some toys, some items of clothing and a whole lot of chocolate.
Mr. Royal wanted the same policy with the e-readers that we had in the yarn department—try before you buy. Really, the idea was try and then you’ll buy. So the e-readers sat loose on a table. Mr. Royal had placed the table near the customer service station so we could keep tabs on the expensive items and so far it was working out.
I lost track of time as I helped customers find books, explained how to use the e-readers and gave an opinion on which graphic tee shirt would make the best fortieth birthday gift.
Mrs. Shedd came by the customer service booth. “Those kids are back. Could you