The Moonglow Sisters - Lori Wilde Page 0,15
calendar to May. Grammy still kept a physical reservation book as well as computer booking software. No reservations for the entire month. “Nope, I’m assuming since Gram knew about the surgery, she proactively shut things down.”
Without speaking, Madison lurched stiff-legged out onto the porch. Shelley exchanged glances with Gia, who shrugged and trailed after Madison.
Shelley went too. What else could she do?
Madison plunked down on the right side of the porch swing, her usual spot, and Gia took the middle, settling in beside her.
Shelley did not sit with them as she once would have.
Instead, she shrugged off her backpack, dropped it to the porch, and settled into Grammy’s Adirondack chair several feet from her sisters. So many times, Grammy had sat in this chair, hand sewing quilt squares or snapping black-eyed peas or peeling Moonglow pears, watching over them while they rocked on the porch swing.
No one said anything.
Finally, Gia cleared her throat. “There’s something you guys need to see.”
“What is it?” Madison asked.
Gia reached into the pocket of her lightweight cover-up and pulled out a letter. She passed it to Madison, who opened it with a well-manicured fingernail.
Shelley stared down at her own fingernails, broken and jagged from physical labor. Her hair was messy as well. Dry and frizzy with split ends. Where she’d been, there wasn’t a beauty salon within fifty miles, and her hair hadn’t seen scissors in five years. Mindlessly, she dragged a strand of hair up through her fingers to stare at the split ends in the dappled sunlight.
Silently, Madison read the letter, and then looked up, her face impassive, before handing it to Shelley.
As Shelley read, her heartbeat jumped in her chest.
The letter was a plea to Gia. Grammy’s last request. Finish the quilt. Repair the rift. Sew. Heal. Bloom. Grow.
The words seemed to swell, expanding until they floated off the page above the rest of the text, flooding Shelley with emotional waves so big she could hardly breathe. The letter was clear. Grammy was dying, and she knew it.
“This isn’t right,” Madison said. “She should have addressed the letter to me. I’m the oldest.”
“Says here . . .” Shelley held up the letter and tried her best not to smirk. “That only Gia can mend things.”
Madison glowered and toyed with the crystal pendant she wore, dragging it back and forth across the chain.
It was all Shelley could do not to stick out her tongue. What was it about being home that made her feel so childish?
“We’ve got to finish the quilt,” Gia said. “To honor Grammy and straighten things out between us.”
“Good grief.” Madison shot Shelley a scathing glance. “As if sewing a quilt together could solve anything.”
“So you won’t do it?” Gia shifted on the swing, angling her body away from Madison.
“I don’t see the point.” Maddie drummed her glossy pink fingernails on the arm of the swing slow and controlled—thump, thump, thumpity, thump.
The repetitive noise set Shelley’s teeth on edge.
“But it’s Grammy’s last request.” Gia looked distressed and speared her fingers through her hair.
“You can’t force people to do things, Gia,” Shelley said. “If Madison doesn’t want to finish the quilt, she doesn’t want to finish the quilt. You and I can finish it.”
“I don’t need you defending me, Shelley,” Madison snapped.
“Stop it.” Gia hopped to her feet. At five three, she was the shortest, but with her shadow growing long in the gathering dusk, she looked bigger than them both. “I ask very little from you two. I believe in live and let live. I don’t get mixed up in your business. But Grammy is dying. She might never wake from the coma.”
“If Grammy dies, then there’s no point to finishing the quilt. She wouldn’t know whether we completed it or not.” Shelley chuffed.
“I’d know.” Gia narrowed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.
“Grammy will pull through.” Madison smacked a fist against her thigh and glared lasers at Shelley.
“We have to finish the quilt,” Gia said. “For Grammy.”
“Look.” Madison hooked one hand around the porch swing chain. “The world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. It’ll keep turning without you taking on everyone else’s burdens.”
“What are you saying?” Gia paced in a tight circle around the Adirondack chairs, stepping over Shelley’s feet each time she passed.
Shelley crossed her ankles, tucked her feet underneath the chair.
“Grammy can’t expect us to drop our lives to sew a quilt. I have responsibilities. I’m on TV.”
Oh yeah, rub our noses in it. Shelley rolled her eyes.
Gia stopped directly in front of Madison, arms