their feet. Dazed, Gia blinked at the people assembled in the waiting area. Many familiar faces. Grammy’s friends from her quilting group, the Quilting Divas. Mike’s sister, Anna Drury, who ran the Moonglow Bakery across the street from the inn. Their mailman. The beach cop who patrolled the beach in front of the Moonglow Inn.
Word had spread.
“What is it?” Madison took hold of Gia’s arm and eased her into the seat she’d just vacated. “What’s wrong?”
In as few words as she could, Gia relayed Dr. Hollingway’s message.
For a brief second, panic crossed her older sister’s face, but Madison quickly regained her composure. “All right then. I’ll get us organized. We’ll draw up a vigil chart and take shifts.”
“But we need to finish the quilt together,” Gia protested. “How will we juggle the hospital and quilting—”
“Sweetie,” said one of Grammy’s oldest friends, a petite little gnome of a woman named Erma. “That’s why we’re here. Darynda already called us in.”
“That’s a lot to ask of you ladies,” Gia said.
“We’re retired.” Erma waved at Madison, who was already setting up a spreadsheet on a phone app. “Write my name down, Maddie; I’ll take the first shift. I’ll stay here right now while you girls go home and have that lunch Darynda’s cooking up for you. I’ll do a three-hour shift.”
“I’ll take a spot,” Anna said.
“Put me on the list too,” Mike added.
Within minutes, they filled the empty slots for the next three days. Then they all spent the next couple of hours telling lively stories of Grammy.
Gia couldn’t believe the outpouring of generosity. Her heart overflowed, and it was all she could do not to cry as she thanked every volunteer.
Darynda texted that lunch was ready. Mike ushered them to his truck. They swung by the dry cleaners to pick up the quilt and arrived back at the inn just as Darynda took the last pieces of chicken from the fryer. They washed up and the five of them enjoyed the delicious meal on the back porch. To keep everyone’s spirits up, Gia redirected the conversation whenever it started turning tense or gloomy.
When they finished eating, Darynda and Mike insisted the sisters relax while they did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.
“We should begin quilting,” Gia said.
“Now?” Shelley groaned and patted her belly. “I’m sooo full. I haven’t eaten like that in five years.”
“I think . . . um . . .” Gia stammered. “It would be a good idea to get started . . . I mean, since . . .”
“Yes,” Madison said, getting up and going for the quilt Mike had left on the porch swing when he’d brought it in out of his truck. “Shelley, go in the sewing room and grab the quilting supplies.”
Shelley made a noise like a tire going flat. “On it, General Patton.” She scooted into the house while Gia and Maddie rolled the quilt into the frame.
“Is it too early for wine?” Madison muttered.
“Should we drink while we’re quilting?” Gia asked.
“Shelley says she hasn’t had a drink in five years.”
“No kidding?” Gia pulled a rocking chair up to the frame.
“She says she stopped vaping, too.” Madison grabbed a second rocker.
“She’s changed.” Gia positioned the third chair at the frame.
“I’m unconvinced.”
They both turned. The fourth rocker loomed like a ghost. Grammy had sat in that rocking chair when they worked on the quilt five years earlier.
“She will pull through,” Madison said.
“I know.”
But the look they gave each other said otherwise.
“Here we are.” The screen door slammed behind Shelley, who toted the wooden decoupaged sewing box.
They set everything up and took their places at the quilting frame. It was awkward at first. No one said much. Through the screen door they could hear Darynda and Mike talking in hushed whispers.
“Should we invite Darynda to quilt with us?” Gia glanced over her shoulder at the door.
“Grammy’s letter said she wanted us to finish it,” Madison said, taking tight, small stitches, and mumbled, “This’d be easier on a sewing machine.”
“It’s not the same.” Shelley made stitches the same way she walked, with a loose-hipped, looping gait. “And you know it.”
“Yes, forget modern efficiency. Let’s take an eternity to sew a quilt. It’s why we didn’t get it finished in time for . . .” Madison trailed off, kneaded her shoulder with one hand. “I should book a massage after this.”
“Still,” Gia said. “Maybe we should ask Darynda, anyway? It’s weird not having anyone on Grammy’s side of the quilt. It feels unbalanced.”