clasped her hands, tucked them under her chin, tilted her head, and in a swoony, moony voice said, “My hero.”
A collective “aww” went up from the group.
“He is a keeper,” Erma said. “I’m glad you finally realized that, Gia.”
“She sure took her sweet time, didn’t she, Mike?” Viv asked.
“A man who’s good with his hands and puts up with old ladies is a treasure,” Mrs. Turner called from the dining room. “Hold on to him tight.”
Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Mike strolled over to where Gia had set up the ironing board on the other side of the kitchen island. “Hear that? I have a fan club.”
“Should I be worried you’ll leave me for one of these quilting whizzes?”
“I’ll take him off your hands,” Erma chirped. “Just saying.”
Mike chuckled and wrapped his arm around Gia’s waist. Gia set the iron upright on the ironing board and smiled at him through a cloud of steam. “Sorry, Erma, I’m true blue. Gia’s the one for me.”
“Rats,” Erma mumbled with a grin. “Fifty years too late. Story of my life.”
Mike nuzzled Gia’s neck, putting on a show for the ladies. “It’s been a long time since the place has been this much fun,” he murmured.
“Thanks to you.”
“No, I’m not the special ingredient. It’s because the Moonglow sisters all came home.”
“You’re pretty special to me,” she said. “And all this”—she flapped her hand at the group—“happened because of you. Without you, I couldn’t have gotten my sisters on the same page.”
“Okay.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’re the dream team.”
“Yes,” she whispered, and in that moment, she wished with all her heart that their engagement was real.
* * *
THE QUILTING BEE was a stunning success. In three days, twenty-six quilting wizards made seventy-eight quilts. Adding that number to the quilts they’d already collected as donations, they had one hundred and ten quilts to sell in the pop-up store. The stash-buster quilts would sell for one hundred and fifty dollars apiece, while the more artistic and handsewn quilts would be priced accordingly.
The most prized? Darynda’s masterpiece, a tumbling blocks quilt, designed as wall art, and estimated by the Quilting Divas as worth fifteen hundred dollars.
If they sold every quilt for its sticker price, they’d bring in over twenty-five thousand dollars. Minus the amount Maddie had already paid to keep the inn out of foreclosure, they were still left with a sixteen-thousand-dollar shortfall to pay off the mortgage. But then there were Gia’s kites, Madison’s wreaths, Shelley’s yoga classes, and the furniture Mike had donated to fill in the gap.
For the first time, Gia felt optimistic that they could actually pull this off and save the Moonglow Inn.
On Monday morning, June 8, the three sisters headed for the hospital to check on Grammy and Darynda, whom they hadn’t seen in four days.
Gia entered the room first.
Grammy was sitting up in bed. The bandage on her head had been removed, revealing her head shaved bald and the vivid surgical suture line. In her lap lay a photo album. Darynda had put the bed rail down on her side and was leaning over to look at the album with Grammy. The minute Grammy spied Gia, her eyes lit up.
“Morning, Grammy.” Gia smiled and zoomed across the room to swallow her grandmother in a big hug. She felt so thin and frail in Gia’s arms.
Darynda pulled back to let Gia get closer.
Grammy’s hand fluttered up to touch Gia’s shoulder, but she was too weak to hold her hand aloft for long and it dropped to the photo album. Gia glanced down to see a photograph of their mother at eighteen on some ski slope somewhere with an intrepid smile on her face, and the bright sun shining on her golden hair flowing from underneath a blue toboggan cap. She looked like a coquettish angel full of daring innocence.
Gia ached for the woman she’d never known, wishing she’d had more time to find out who her mother was. She knew her only by pictures and other people’s memories. Sassy, they said. Outspoken. Stubborn. Knew her own mind. Beth Chapman Clark sounded a whole lot like Madison.
Although Madison might have their mother’s personality, Shelley was the one who most resembled her.
“Has she spoken?” Madison asked Darynda as she waited behind Gia to give Grammy a hug.
“No.” Darynda’s voice was strong. “But she nods or shakes her head in response to questions.” Darynda reached over to squeeze Grammy’s hand. “We’re getting there.”