“Grams, what is the correct length for the foundation chain?” Catia inquired.

Her grandmother rocked rhythmically in the colonial wooden chair. The chair emitted a soothing ‘squeak-squeak’ sound with each forward rock, creating a mesmerizing metronome-like effect.

“Grams?” Her grandmother had been lost in her thoughts. She turned to face Catia, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Catia exhaled in relief.

“Pardon me, I drifted off. Can you please repeat your question?” her grandmother asked, politely as ever.

“How many chains do I need for the baby blanket?” Catia rephrased.

Her grandmother rocked gently in her chair, the familiar squeak-squeak accompanying her words. “First, make a swatch, a sample” she advised. “You’re doing the chevron pattern with double crochet stitches, right?”

Catia nodded.

“Start with a chain that’s a multiple of 12 plus 2. Let’s say 24 plus 2 extra stitches. Crochet two rows. Once you’re done, measure your swatch to determine how many chains you need for the full blanket.” Catia nodded and jotted down the 12 + 2 rule.

Once she finished the swatch, Catia lifted her head to show her progress. Her stomach clenched as she saw her grandmother’s eyes rest on her face, fear evident. Her grandmother gripped the chair handles, her knuckles white. “Who are you?” she exclaimed in panic.

Catia quickly regained her composure. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Valle. Your husband Ricardo asked me to keep you company while he’s at work. He’ll be back shortly. I was just about to fetch the lemonade you always prepare for him. It’s on the top shelf of the fridge, right?”

Her grandmother relaxed at the mention of her familiar routine. “Yes, Miss, that would be nice.”

Fighting back tears, Catia went to the kitchen. Perhaps tomorrow there would be another opportunity for a crochet class.

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