The Calico Heart

by Patricia Kiyono

  A part of Dave was proud that Sylvia still had the power to turn men’s heads, but a larger part of him didn’t like it. He knew it was now increasingly acceptable for older women to attract younger men, but not when the woman was his wife. Those young jocks could just go and find someone else.

  "Hey, guy, how ya doin'?" a cheery male voice interrupted Dave’s thoughts and a beefy hand clapped him on the shoulder. He winced slightly, but pasted a smile on his face and turned to greet his vice president.

  Roger Bentley was a former football player who towered several inches over Dave’s own six-foot-two height. He was always friendly and outgoing, but that afternoon, he seemed a shade too loud and overly effusive.

  "How you doin’, Dave?" he asked again. "Are you enjoying the picnic?"

  "I'm doing fine, thanks. How about you? Is your family having a good time?"

  The VP shrugged, took a big sip of his can of cola then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Dave smelled the alcohol on the man’s breath when Bentley leaned closer. "Don't know," he confided in a loud stage whisper. "They up and left me last week."

  "Did they go on a trip for the long weekend?"

  "No, they left me. Joyce took them back to Atlanta. Said she couldn't take the cold anymore. She wanted me to go with them, but how could I just up and leave?" He sipped his drink and stared morosely in the distance. "Doesn’t she realize this is my job? This is what pays for our homes and cars and tuition for the girls’ fancy schools."

  Dave stared at his boss, at a loss for words. How was he supposed to respond to that? Should he say he was sorry or agree with his rant? He wished Sylvie were at his side. She’d know what to say.

  ****

  Sylvia sat on her picnic blanket, pretending to watch the softball game but wishing she were almost anywhere else. Usually, she enjoyed Dave’s company outings, mingling with the other couples she’d come to know over the years. She always felt so proud to be at Dave’s side. You could tell by the way people behaved around him that his co-workers really liked him and respected his opinions.

  Funny how Dave never saw that. If it were up to him, he’d probably skip these functions, but she always convinced him to attend. She knew Davis Andrews liked their management team to attend all the company events, so it was good for his career. But she also had a selfish motive for making him attend: she like being at his side.

  However, Dave had barely been around today. For most of the picnic, he’d been with the managers and big wigs, and had pretty much ignored her. Now, watching the slimmer, younger women play softball, Sylvia remembered Anne’s comment that Dave probably wondered what happened to the girl he married. She hated to admit it, but she knew she had changed. She’d like to believe that she could still run around like the kids out on the field, but she knew if she did, she’d pay the price for it the next day.

  It took her longer to get over the aches and pains, too. Sylvia frowned. She didn’t know if Dave missed the girl he’d married, but she sure did. She hadn’t really let herself go, but she’d also made only a token effort to counteract the signs of aging. Was Dave ashamed of the gray in her hair and the wrinkles around her eyes? She glanced down at her hands, noticing the wrinkles there, too.

  "Look out!"

  Sylvia glanced up at the sudden shout to find a monstrous, white sphere racing at her. There was no time to get out of the way or even to duck before the line drive connected with her forehead. The force of the hit knocked off her sunglasses and drove her backward, flattening her to the ground.

  "Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

  Sylvia lay on the blanket and blinked her eyes against a sudden brightness that nearly blinded her. Her head hurt, too, especially with all these strangers leaning over her and talking at the same time. Who were they, and what was she doing laying here on the ground? For a minute, she panicked, unable to remember.

  "Syl, honey! Are you okay?"

  She recognized that voice, but why were Dave and all these other people hovering around her and looking so worried?

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. After a moment, she recalled a shouted warning and a ball flying toward her face. She opened her eyes, nodded at the people around her, then winced at the sudden pain the motion caused.

  "I’m okay. Really I am," she replied, scraping up a shaky smile. "I just don’t think I’ll be posing for any close-up photos for a while."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sylvia could hardly contain her excitement as she boarded the Traveling Solo bus three weeks later. She was finally on her way to visit historic Mackinac Island.

  After quickly greeting the bus driver and Deanna, their tour guide, she scooted into an empty row of seats and slid to the window so she could wave goodbye to Dave. A twinge of disappointment dampened her excitement when she looked out and saw an empty spot where he’d been parked. Apparently, her husband hadn’t felt the need to stick around and see her off. Still, her enthusiasm quickly reasserted itself as more of the group entered the bus. They ranged in age from mid-twenties to late-seventies, but everyone was cordial. Even people she hadn’t met at the group meetings gave her a friendly smile as they found seats. Everyone seemed as excited as she was, too.

  The travel company certainly hadn’t skimped on any of the amenities when they’d outfitted the bus, she thought, contrasting it to Dave's gloomy predictions.

  The seats were plush and roomy with various controls built into the wide arm rests. A large button, much like the control on her van, moved her whole seat back and forth, another adjusted the angle of the backrest. There was a button to raise and lower the built-in footrest, and one that operated an overhead air vent. A compartment in the armrest flipped up to reveal a small, goose-necked reading light coiled inside. The lamp could be used at night or in gloomy weather without interfering with the driver’s vision.

  Her friend, Marcia, hadn’t signed up for this trip – due to Eric’s condition, she only made a few trips a year and always picked places she’d never been before. However, she’d encouraged Sylvia to take the excursion to the historic island, assuring her it would be everything she expected and more.

  When everyone was on board, Deanna gave a slightly over–the-top welcome speech then laid out the day’s itinerary. They’d make two stops on the way to Mackinaw City: one to pick up a few passengers in Mt. Pleasant, and another for lunch around noon. Finally, she settled in a seat behind the driver and the bus took off. Sylvia pulled the newest issue of Quilting World from her tote bag, intending to read for a bit, but was too excited to focus on the articles. She set the magazine on the empty seat beside her and leaned back to enjoy the scenery.

  The last three weeks had been hectic ones. She’d taken on several extra students who just needed a little help catching up after their summer vacation. Most of them would be gone after a few weeks of coaching, but Sylvia enjoyed being able to tuck the additional money into her travel account. She’d also been walking every day on the new trails at the community park. Besides being good exercise, doctors said daily walks also helped to prevent osteoporosis. Retirement gave her the time to finally make the commitment to start walking.

  What a surprise it had been to learn the daily walks also toned her up. She’d discovered how much just the night before when she was packing for her trip. Looking for slacks to wear, she’d come across her favorite pair of jeans shoved in the back of the closet where she’d put them months before when they’d become a little too snug to wear. On a whim, she decided to try them on. Not only did they fit, they were actually a shade loose. She was so excited she hurried down to the den to see if Dave noticed, but, sadly, he hadn’t even looked up from his paper.

  Determined not to let the memory ruin her excitement, Sylvia reached for her tote bag and took out an old recipe box that was held shut with a thick rubber band. Removing the band, she lifted the lid. Small one-and-a-half-inch squares of fabric filled the container. Stripes, plaids, ginghams, and florals. Each square was in
some shade of cranberry, mauve, or burgundy. The tiny squares would be used to make a six-inch quilt block, following the Calico Heart pattern Sylvia loved.

  Originally, she’d planned to make one block for every place she and Dave visited together. His refusal to travel with her had temporarily derailed the plans. But no more. She would still make the travel quilt, even if she had to do her traveling by herself. As the bus sped north, Sylvia had fun flipping through the colorful squares, picking out her favorites, and trying various combinations to make the first block of this special quilt. With her hands occupied, the miles passed quickly.

  Four women and two men joined the group in Mt. Pleasant. Sylvia was prepared to put away her quilt supplies to make room for the newcomers, but there were plenty of other empty seats. Once the bus headed out again, she continued to hand sew the various squares together to form a heart.

  Shortly before noon, the bus stopped at a small café near Gaylord. A handful of dusty pickup trucks and older cars were in the lot; a shiny, black Mercedes parked near the restaurant door. A muscular blond in a dark shirt and pants leaned casually against the driver’s door with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

  Fluffing out her hair, Deanna leaned toward the women sitting across from her and winked. "I sure wouldn’t mind getting me some of that!"

  The tour leader made a show of descending from the bus first and calling back instructions to their driver in a sultry voice designed to be heard across the lot. However, her little performance seemed to miss its mark. The driver of the luxury car didn’t even glance in her direction. Sylvia smothered a chuckle as the group leader called a few additional instructions to the group members with the same result. Finally, with a derisive sniff and a toss of her long brown curls, the young woman stalked into the restaurant, leaving the others to follow her.

  Sylvia fished a pair of sunglasses from her purse and put them on before leaving the bus. The September day was nice and sunny, but the temperature was a good deal colder than it had been in Grand Rapids. It was bound to be even cooler at night on the island. As she crossed the lot to the restaurant door, she went over the list of things she’d packed and wondered if the clothes would be warm enough. Busy with her thoughts, she ran right into a tall, dark-haired man, who was exiting the café just as she reached for the door. Juggling his phone and a take-out bag, the stranger reached out a hand to steady her. "Pardonnez-moi.”

  "Not at all. It was my fault," Sylvia apologized. "I was worried about the weather and wasn’t paying attention."

  "But the weather is lovely, is eet not?" he asked. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark, wraparound sunglasses, but his smile was nearly as charming as his French accent.

  "It is now, but it is bound to be much colder when we get to the island."

  "We?" He looked past her to the parking lot then nodded when he saw the big tour bus. He gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled again. "Traveling Solo?" he read. "You are with the group, non?"

  "I am with the group, yes." She laughed and freed her hand from his grasp. "And if I don’t get inside and order, they’ll be leaving without me."

  "I am sure they would not be so heartless as to abandon such a lovely female."

  Sylvia laughed again, amused at the handsome stranger’s charm. "Nonetheless, I don’t want to keep them waiting. If you’ll excuse me?"

  "But, of course," he said, bowing slightly as he opened the door for her. "Have a most pleasant lunch."

  Sylvia thanked him then scooted into the café. Most of the others were already seated at small tables for four or six. She glanced around, looking for an empty chair, and spotted Deanna motioning to a spot at her table.

  "Who is that?" the group leader asked as soon as Sylvia was seated.

  Sylvia turned her head to see who the woman was pointing to and saw the man she’d bumped into standing by the tour bus, talking to their driver. She shrugged and turned back to study the menu. "We bumped into one another in the doorway and exchanged apologies, but that was it."

  "You should have gotten his number."

  "Deanna." Sylvia chuckled. "If I got the number of every person I’ve bumped into, I’d have a book as thick as the New York City phone directory."

  The younger woman didn’t seem to agree, but the waitress arrived at their table, so they dropped the subject and ordered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mackinac Bridge.

  Sylvia could hardly believe her eyes when they reached Mackinaw City and she got her first glimpse of the bridge. The five-mile-long structure connecting Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas was the longest suspension bridge in the entire Western Hemisphere. It contained more than forty-two thousand miles of cables that sparkled in the sunlight.

  Photos simply couldn’t do justice to the mammoth structure. She wished Dave was there to see it, too. It would be incredible to drive over the bridge to St. Ignace and catch a ferry to the island from there. However, they’d save tolls by boarding on this side of the strait.

  She gathered up her belongings when they reached the ferry dock, where they’d board a three-story catamaran for a fifteen-minute trip to the island. While their bus driver transferred their luggage to a flat cart, she and the others followed Deanna inside, where she purchased their tickets.

  As soon as she had her ticket, Sylvia hurried over to the terminal windows, where she could watch the seamen move luggage and cargo on board and prepare for the next leg of her trip. Around her, the other group members chatted happily and appeared to take all the hustle and bustle for granted. None of them seemed quite as excited or awed by the sights and sounds of the busy ferry dock. Maybe, they were so used to traveling they weren’t impressed by the sight of the picturesque lakefront town or the symphony of calling seagulls and ringing ship bells. But for Sylvia, everything she saw and experienced was an exciting first.

  When things were ready, she boarded the ferry with the others and followed Deanna to a huge enclosed sitting area on the second-level deck. Large windows gave a nice view of the scenery, but Sylvia would have liked to go topside to sit. Unfortunately, despite the sunshine, there was already a biting wind coming off the water, and it would be intensified by the boat’s speed once they took off. Since her jacket was in her luggage, Sylvia knew she’d get too cold to enjoy the ride. Instead, she settled for a seat by the window where she’d be able to get some good pictures.

  No one else appeared interested in taking photos. In fact, most of her traveling companions headed for inside seats, well away from the windows. The sound of their happy conversation mingled pleasantly with the thrum of the ferry’s engines. For a moment, Sylvia wished she had someone to chat with and share the excitement. If Dave hadn't been so silly, they could have been enjoying the boat ride together on this beautiful fall day.

  But here she was all alone. Just her and her digital camera. She refused to waste this breathtaking scenery by engaging in a pity party. Although no one was there to share the experience now, she would take some photos to share with her friends later. She turned to face the window and leaned her hip against one of the seat backs to brace herself, snapping pictures of the dock and shoreline. A ferry from a different transit line passed by, and Sylvia took a couple pictures of it, too. That was the beauty of a digital camera. She could snap shots all day then sort through them later and simply delete the lousy ones.

  Sylvia caught a whiff of pleasant, spicy cologne a split-second before a deep baritone spoke behind her. "Is this seat taken?"

  Startled, she nearly dropped her camera as she spun around to stare into the most gorgeous eyes she'd ever seen. Smoky gray and fringed with long, sooty black lashes.

  "Women would kill for lashes like those."

  Oh my! Had she really just said that out loud?

  Cheeks blazing, she quickly averted her gaze away and busied herself gathering up her purse and tote bag. "No. Nobody is sitting here. Just me. Oh my! Let me gather up this mess."

  Good grief! Now I�
��m babbling like an idiot. The guy is going to think I’m certifiable.

  She snuck a peek at the stranger beneath her lashes and was relieved to find him smiling. Suddenly, recognition hit her. "You’re the man from the restaurant. What are you doing here?"

  "I am part of the bus tour. Traveling Solo, non?"

  "No. I mean, yes. I mean, you weren’t on the bus earlier."

  "I was not," he agreed. "I talked to your driver and joined the tour here."

  "But why?"

  He gave a shrug. "I am here on the business. But have been, how do you say eet, touring the sights? I heard about this island and wished to visit."

  "Me, too," Sylvia admitted. "I've read so much about it, but never got a chance to visit it before."

  "Tres bien. We can tour eet together, non?" He held out his hand and smiled. "I am Etienne Dumas."

  "And I’m Sylvia... Sylvia Miller."

  As they sat down and started to chat about the island’s history, Sylvia briefly wondered how Dave would react if he saw her not only talking to a strange man, but also agreeing to tour the island with him. It was perfectly harmless. They were on a tour, and the man merely wanted company for sightseeing. Surely, Dave couldn’t object to that.

  At least, she hoped not.

  By the time the ferry landed, Sylvia had learned Etienne was from Quebec and a recent widower. He hadn’t really dwelled on that except to explain he’d started traveling more frequently for his company since his wife’s death as it kept him busy. Etienne had kept up a flow of entertaining conversation, and Sylvia hadn’t had to do much more than smile and nod. At one point, she’d glanced over at the rest of the group and saw Deanna watching them. She didn’t know if she should be flattered or embarrassed when the tour director had winked and given her a thumbs-up sign. Surely, Deanna didn’t think the man meant anything by his attention. He was just lonely, and — good grief — she was a married woman.