Anita and Marty’s wedding planning resumed with full vigor, and Anita was well on her way to putting together a beautiful knitted wedding coat for the event they’d scheduled for the following spring. The ceremony would be outdoors, followed by a reception at the Pierre. Nathan agreed to walk her to the huppah, much happier since he’d reconnected with Rhea. And Anita, who once said she’d never move away from the city, now wanted to spend large chunks of the year in Italy to be near Sarah.
For her part, Sarah agreed to return to New York for a visit soon, and Marco promised to bring her. He hoped to buy the painting of Catherine wearing the Phoenix, though he was intuitive enough not to tell her so. The dress was back in its glass case now, more beautiful than ever. Catherine occasionally worked on her revenge novel from time to time, but only because it made her giggle. Instead, she hung out at her store most days and began writing a new story. A better one. About two best friends who met at a high school in Pennsylvania.
It was a crisp and clean September day; the scent of autumn was fresh in the New York City air.
“This is our fifth walk,” said Anita, wearing the pink sweatpants she put on only once a year. “We’ve viewed a lot of scenery along the way.”
“Look at us,” said Darwin, pushing Cady and Stanton in the stroller she’d gotten at her shower. The babies wore the cardigans Anita had knit for them, although they were getting snug, and striped socks their mother had made. “At how far we’ve come.”
“Far?” said KC, her hair pulled up in a scrunchie she’d knitted herself and that Peri had even complimented. “We only go a few miles each year.”
“But at least we’re moving,” replied Catherine, zipping up a red hoodie. “At least we’re not standing still.”
Dakota nodded as the grand marshal announced the start of the charity walk, bouncing on her heels in her navy blue tracksuit, raring to get started. All around them, mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends of survivors and fallen fighters darted forward.
And arm in arm, the members of the Friday Night Knitting Club marched on.
acknowledgments
Thank you.
To each and every reader who e-mailed me at katejacobs.com, who approached me at book signings, and who invited me to telephone your book group and then asked the question, when was I going to write a sequel? Your enthusiasm about the club was tremendous and much appreciated. And you know what? I never stopped thinking about Dakota and Catherine and Anita and the entire group, and sitting down to type out my thoughts was a delightful reunion with some old friends. So your encouragement was a wonderful gift.
My gratitude to everyone at Putnam and at Berkley, including Ivan Held, Leslie Gelbman, Shannon Jamieson Vasquez, Rachel Holtzman, and everyone in sales, marketing, publicity, editorial, production, and design. But above all, my sincere thanks to my brilliant editor, Rachel Kahan, whose good humor and support are particularly essential, and whose keen eye makes my books much, much better.
As always, I rely heavily on the support of my smart-cookie agent, Dorian Karchmar, of the William Morris Agency, who knows the answers I need before I even think to ask the questions, and to Dorian’s assistant Adam Schear, because he happily handles all tasks, large and small.
Like the members of the club, I am fortunate to be surrounded by smart, independent women who come through for me whenever I need a helping hand. Much praise is deserved by my super crew of pals who are always on board to read early drafts, including Rhonda Hilario-Caguiat, Kim Jacobs, Shawneen Jacobs, Tina Kaiser, Alissa MacMillan, Robin Moore, and Sara-Lynne Levine. Thanks also to Dani McVeigh and Olga Jakim for keeping my websites up-to-date and looking spiffy.
And I couldn’t forget my mother, who calls often to ask how many pages I’ve written (ummm . . . thanks, Mom?) but who also cleared off her desk so I could set up shop and finish up revisions while visiting my hometown. And to my father, who took over walking my dog, Baxter, so I could keep at it uninterrupted; my sister, Deenee Jacobs, who likes to talk knitting; and the folks who offered to adjust and taste the recipes, including Jackie Blonarowitz, my sister-in-law Shawneen (pulling double duty reading and baking), and my husband, Jonathan Bieley, who tastes all goodies to ensure their deliciousness.
You see, it’s one thing to write about community and connection in my novels, but it’s quite another to be surrounded by the same in my own life. I know that I am very fortunate indeed.
Kate Jacobs, Knit Two
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