Just gather as many stitch markers as you can—the ones you can’t pick up will help a knitter later. —E.C. Rig’s father gave a cheery wave, grinning like the five-year-old Milo who sat behind him. For God’s sake. His brother had brought the whole damn family. “Hey, you two.” Jake got out of the car and gave Naomi an assessing look. Then he turned to his brother and winked. “What’s wrong with your bike?” Apparently Jake had forgiven him for the argument about the photo album yesterday. Good. That was something. “You had to bring everyone?” said Rig. “Sure!” said Jake. “We were bored. Milo couldn’t sleep. Thought we’d come help Uncle Rig.” Rig’s father unfolded himself from the front passenger seat into the street, stretching and sighing as he did so. “Your car is cramped, Jake. You should get a new one the Keller men fit into.” The situation was turning even more embarrassing than Rig had imagined it would be to have his brother rescue him. Frank approached Naomi, who stood in place with a quizzical expression on her face.
