Knitting Bones by Monica Ferris

it roll by. A couple of weeks ago Betsy had come across it while cleaning out the linen closet and decided that she’d give it to Emma.
    “Where’s the ball?” Jill asked Emma.
    Emma looked around, then back at her mother and shrugged her baby shoulders.
    “It’s behind a pillow,” hinted Betsy.
    Emma studied Betsy as if waiting for further enlightenment, but Betsy merely winked and nodded. Emma looked around the room again and saw the brightly colored needlepoint pillow on the upholstered chair. With a glad cry, she ran to it and pulled the pillow away. But no ball was behind it.
    She looked accusingly at Betsy, her lower lip threatening to do its trick again—then saw how Betsy was moving her head against the big pillow on the couch. Emma laughed and ran to thrust a chubby hand behind the pillow, and pulled out the ball with a loud shriek of delight. She spent the next several minutes clumsily throwing and kicking the ball around the room while Jill and Betsy talked.
    “How’s the healing coming along?” Jill asked.
    “Oh, not too bad. There’s still some pain, of course. And the exercises are aggravating. I think it’s too soon to do all they’re asking me to do. Leg lifts really hurt.”
    “Do you think you’re reinjuring the bones?”
    “They say I’m not, that the plate they put in there will protect it against the movements I’m doing. But it hurts!” Betsy saw Emma look at her with alarm and closed her lips firmly over further whining. She said instead, “I just wish I didn’t feel so useless.”
    Jill said, “I think you need to give yourself some time. As the healing really takes hold, you’ll find plenty to do.” She stood. “And now I think it’s time we went away and left you to it. Emma Beth, what would you like for lunch?”
    “Mackincheeeeese!” crowed Emma immediately, dropping the ball and trotting to reach for her mother’s hand.
    “Bless you for coming,” said Betsy. “You really gave me a good idea. I wonder what other obvious thing I’m missing?”
    “Me, too,” said Jill, and she let the merest hint of a twinkle show in her eye. “Come on, baby, let’s go home.”

Nine
    B ETSY’S curious failure to think of something so obvious as calling Susan Lavery left her shaken. What was the matter with her? Was it the pain meds? Or was it simply that she had eaten only a dry piece of toast for breakfast this morning, and nothing since?
    She got to her good foot, grabbed her crutches and did the “dot and go one”—her father’s expression for anyone walking on crutches—into her galley kitchen to open a can of soup. She had very little appetite, which she would ordinarily consider a good thing, as she was generally in the middle of a fight between her waistline and her love of good food. On the other hand, the visiting nurse had warned her she needed to nourish her injured body so it could grow the new bone it needed to mend itself. She decided cream of chicken soup would be the easiest wise choice and balanced on one foot while pulling the tab that opened the can’s top. She used the last of her milk to make the soup and actually ate most of it. And did feel better.
    After lunch, she went to phone Susan Lavery at her home. She got Susan’s voice mail and left a brief message. Susan’s cell phone went directly to voice mail, too. Since she worked for a criminal defense attorney named Marvin Lebowski, Betsy called Marvin’s law firm and talked to Mr. Lebowski’s secretary.
    “Hi, Phyllis, is Susan there?” asked Betsy.
    “Oh, I’m sorry, she isn’t. She’s out all this week.”
    “Vacation or on a case?” Betsy had hired Mr. Lebowski to defend Godwin last year—which he did, very capably, with her help—and as a side effect of the case, Susan Lavery gave up her own position in a law firm to work for Lebowski as a PI.
    “A case. She’ll be gone at least all this week and possibly most of next week, too.”
    “Would it be possible to contact her