Karen was mortified. “Oh, no. That isn’t necessary. He’s all right.”
“Really. I’d be happy to.”
“Well—” Karen thought quickly. “Okay. Here he is.”
Thrilled, Ethan held the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who’s this?” A pause. “Oh, I thought you were Daddy.” He looked up at Karen. “Efan.” A slight pause. “No, not Efan. E-Fan,” he said, emphasizing each syllable. “My baby brother’s name is Lucas. I use the big boy potty but Lucas still goes in his diaper. Once after his bath Mommy couldn’t get his diaper on fast enough and he peed on the rug.”
“Okay, honey, thank you, that’s enough.” Karen snatched back the phone and took a quick, deep breath before putting it to her ear. “Hi. Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. Sometimes it’s easier to just give them what they want, so long as it won’t hurt them.”
“That’s the truth. Do you have kids?”
“No, but I know many childish adults. Back to the job—if you’re still interested, we’d like to invite you to Elm Creek Manor for an interview.”
“I’m definitely still interested.” Karen ducked as a blob of oatmeal sailed past her ear. Lucas crowed for joy as she scrambled for a pen and paper to take down the date and time of the interview.
“One more thing,” said Sarah after Karen assured her she knew the way to the manor. “We’re asking all of the applicants to create an original block design and bring it to the interview.”
“What sort of design?” Karen’s heart sank a little. Somehow Sarah made “all of the applicants” sound as if there were hundreds.
“A new logo for Elm Creek Quilts. Use whatever techniques showcase your talents best.”
“Any particular size or colors?”
“You know, you’re the first person to ask. Let’s make it a twelve-inch block, and use whatever colors you prefer. I suppose I should call everyone else back and let them know.”
Or not, Karen thought. Then the other two hundred applicants might get it wrong and be disqualified.
After they hung up, Karen gripped the counter, exultant and yet slightly queasy. She had an interview. Even Ethan’s interruption and potty talk had not scared away Sarah McClure from Elm Creek Quilts. She had an interview. Not only that, she had but one week, two days, and four hours from the time she hung up the phone in which to design and make an original quilt block.
Karen knew this quilt block would be the most important pattern she ever designed. She had never taught quilting, published a pattern, or won a ribbon in a national quilt show. It was something of a miracle that Sarah McClure had requested the interview at all, considering how many expert quilters would give their entire fabric stashes for an opportunity to become an Elm Creek Quilter.
Still, Karen knew from her stay at Elm Creek Quilt Camp that the women who worked there were more than close friends. They were a family, and selecting someone to join a family was a far more complex and difficult matter than selecting an employee. They surely had any number of qualified instructors from which to choose, but they would be seeking something more, someone who understood what Elm Creek Quilt Camp meant to quilters worldwide, someone who would cherish Elm Creek Quilts as much as they did.
Karen knew this single quilt block could be her best opportunity to prove she was that person.
She chose bright, cheerful cottons from her fabric stash and stacked them on the kitchen counter for inspiration, hoping a passing glance as she cooked or hauled laundry upstairs from the basement would encourage an idea to spring forth from her subconscious. As she took the children through their daily routine, a part of her thoughts were elsewhere, sketching, considering, revising. With two days to go, she stayed up late into the night armed with a pencil, a ruler, graph paper, and a pot of coffee. The kitchen table was covered in eraser crumbs by the time she finally went upstairs to bed, but her pattern was finished and, unlike her portfolio, she thought it was well done.
The next morning, she dragged herself from bed for Lucas’s second feeding, deeply regretting her decision to forego sleep the night before. Lucas dozed as he nursed but became suddenly alert as soon as she tried to return him to his crib, so she put on her slippers and carried him downstairs to the kitchen, where Nate was reading a Dr. Seuss book to Ethan over breakfast.
She asked Nate to hold Lucas so she could shower, and as she handed him off, she glanced at the kitchen counter. “Where’s my block?”
“Your what?” asked Nate, settling Lucas on his lap.
“My quilt block.” Karen searched through the pile of mail, glanced at the floor, and opened the dishwasher to check the trashcan. “I left the pattern right here last night.”
“Daddy spilled coffee,” volunteered Ethan, spooning cereal into his mouth.
Karen turned an inquiring look upon Nate, who shook his head. “There weren’t any quilt blocks there, just some papers and junk mail.” His mouth twisted into a sour frown around the last two words. A forest of credit card applications filled their mailbox every week despite Nate’s attempts to remove their address from mailing lists.
“Those papers were my quilt patterns.” Karen checked the trashcan a second time and noticed that a new white plastic bag lined it. “Did you take out the trash?”
“It’s at the curb,” he said, but, having guessed the answer, she was already hurrying past him to the front door. Grass clippings stuck to her bare feet as she padded down the driveway and lifted the lid of the nearest garbage can, recoiling at the stench. Grimacing, Karen pulled out one bag, unfastened the tie, and peered inside. A man passed walking a pair of black labs, who sniffed the trash and then Karen before continuing on. The man deliberately averted his eyes, and Karen suddenly remembered she wore nothing but panties and Nate’s extra-large Cornhuskers T-shirt, shrunken and faded from many washings. She tugged the shirt down as far as it would stretch and continued digging through the bag with her free hand. After a while she abandoned the first bag and tried the second, then frantically reached for the third when she heard the garbage truck shifting gears down the block. She had almost given up hope when she spotted a few pieces of paper, now wadded into a ball and soaked through with coffee. She shook off an orange peel and a few soggy Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies only to discover that she held a crumpled piece of waxed paper. Her drawings were nowhere to be found.
She returned the trash bags to the can just as the garbage truck came into view. A low whistle followed her as she scurried up the driveway back to the house. It occurred to her that, aside from Sarah’s praise for her portfolio, it was the first compliment she had received in months.
Nate was feeding Lucas in his highchair when Karen entered, trailing grass clippings and coffee grounds. “I couldn’t find them, and now the garbage truck has come and gone, so that’s that.”
Nate looked as if he knew that whatever he said next was bound to get him in trouble, but he had no choice. “Did you check the recycling bin?”
“The recycling bin?”
“It was paper,” he explained carefully. “I always recycle paper.”
She knew that, but somehow coffee-soaked paper did not seem to qualify for recycling. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I dug through the trash on the curb?”
“I thought you were going upstairs to shower. I didn’t think you’d go outside dressed like that.”
Karen yanked open the dishwasher and found her drawings buried under bottles and cans in the recycling bin. “Great,” she said, as the pages dripped coffee.
“I’m sorry,” said Nate. “I thought they were your rough drafts or I wouldn’t have thrown them away.”
Karen spread paper towels on the counter and lay the ruined pages upon them. She would have to do them over, but at least she could refer to her original drawings rather than working from memory. Sighing, she went to the sink and scrubbed her arms from fingertips to biceps using hot water and antibacterial soap. “I suppose once they absorbed all that coffee, they probably did l
ook like rough drafts.”
“I really am sorry.”
“He’s sorry, Mommy,” said Ethan, and Lucas babbled out a few earnest syllables in agreement.
“Okay. Fine. He’s sorry.” Relenting, Karen added, “I’ll just do them over after supper. You’re still planning to take the boys to the park, right?”
Nate took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “I can’t. I have a meeting at five-thirty.”
“But you said you’d be home at five so we could eat early and I could have the evening to sew my quilt block.”
“I’m sorry, honey. The department chair dropped a curriculum review on us at the last minute.”
Karen shut off the water and snatched up a towel. “But I was counting on you. I need the time more than ever now that I also have to redo my drawings.”
“Can you wait until Saturday? I’m sorry, Karen, but I can’t come home early. I don’t have a choice. You remember what it’s like to work.”
Karen stiffened. “Yes, actually, I do.”
“Mommy’s mad at Daddy,” observed Ethan to no one in particular.
“I’m not mad,” said Karen, though she was.
“I’ll redo the drawings for you this weekend,” offered Nate.
“No, you can’t.” Karen flung the towel onto the counter, but picked it up, folded it, and hung it on its usual wall hook when she remembered Ethan watching her. “It’s a test for the job interview. I have to do it myself.”
Just like everything else around here, she thought.
On the morning of her interview, Karen showered and tried on some of her suits from her Office of University Development days. With some effort, she managed to fit into her loosest, most forgiving suit. The skirt was a bit too snug around the hips and thighs and the jacket was surprisingly snug at the bosom, thanks to Lucas’s sustained nursing. If she got the job and convinced Lucas to wean, she would shrink back to B cups in a matter of days. She studied her transiently ample profile in the mirror and decided the suit fit well enough for the interview. It had to, since her only other options were yoga pants or maternity jeans.
She hung up the suit, making a mental note to iron it later, pulled on her sweats, and went downstairs to have breakfast and kiss Nate before he bicycled off to work. “I have to leave by two,” she reminded him, following him out to the garage with Lucas riding her hip.
“I’ll leave campus no later than twelve-thirty,” he promised, strapping on his helmet.
“Can you make it noon, so you can watch the boys while I get ready?”
“Sorry, I can’t. I have a meeting. I’ll leave as soon as it’s over.”
“Twelve-fifteen?”
“The second the meeting’s over, I’ll be on my way home. Promise.” He gave her a reassuring wave good-bye as he pedaled down the driveway and out into the street, his overloaded backpack giving him the appearance of a precariously balanced turtle.
Karen had time for a quick cup of coffee and bagel before taking Ethan to nursery school. Lucas fell asleep in the car on the way home, so once she had him settled in his crib, she gathered her maps and directions, the quilt block and pattern, and a copy of her portfolio. She packed all the papers into her briefcase and put everything in the car, just in case Nate came home later than anticipated and she had to rush out the door at the last minute. Lucas thoughtfully slept longer than usual, so she had time to iron her suit and find a pair of nylons without any runs. She rehearsed the interview in her mind, posing questions to herself and answering them aloud.
Lucas woke as soon as she lay down on her bed to rest so she would be fresh for the interview. Sometimes she suspected a device hidden in her bedsprings triggered an alarm in the children’s rooms, because somehow they always knew as soon as her head touched the pillow. She took Lucas from his crib and tried to persuade him to nurse lying beside her on the bed so she could grab a few minutes of rest, but he fussed and complained until she took him to the rocking chair.
Afterward, Karen and Lucas played with blocks and stuffed animals until it was time to pick up Ethan from school. Although she had warned him they would need to leave right away, Ethan begged to stay and play with his friends, and since Lucas was squirming in her arms and gesturing desperately toward the playground, she agreed. She chatted with the other parents and kept careful track of the time, remembering to give the boys a ten-minute warning, and then five, and then two. Somehow Ethan still managed to be astonished when she told him that it was five minutes past noon and they needed to leave. Lucas did not want to leave, either, but he was still small enough to be carried against his will—unlike Ethan, who retreated to the farthest corner of the climbing structure and refused to budge. Mindful of the teachers and the other parents observing her, Karen projected loving sympathy as she reasoned, coaxed, and finally begged him to come down, all to no avail. After ten minutes, another mother offered to hold Lucas while she climbed the ladder, pried Ethan’s fingers from the monkey bars, and took him down the slide on her lap, since she knew there was no way she could wrestle him down the ladder.
“Say good-bye to your teachers,” she said cheerily when his feet finally touched pea gravel. She took Lucas back from the helpful mother and reached for Ethan’s hand. Instead of taking hold, Ethan burst into tears and reached for her with both arms.
“Someone’s tired,” remarked the other mother. Karen replied with a tight smile and a nod. She bent down and hefted Ethan onto her right hip, and, balancing Lucas on her left, she managed to shuffle across the playground and out the gate.
Once out of sight of the playground, she abruptly set Ethan on the sidewalk. “Okay, that’s enough. I need lots of cooperation today.”
Tearfully, he sniffled, “Please pick me up.”
“Honey, I know you’re tired, but I can’t carry both of you all the way to the car.” She took his hand, and he reluctantly held hers. He dragged his feet, but he came. Suddenly she felt overwhelmingly weary. They went through this at least twice a week. Almost every other child in Ethan’s class spotted their mother at the gate, cried out “Mommy!” and went running for a hug. Only Ethan acted as if a stranger had come to drag him off to the deepest circle of hell. Karen could only imagine what the teachers and other parents thought went on in the Wise home to evoke such a reaction.
As soon as she buckled Ethan into his car seat, he brightened and began chattering about his day at school as if nothing had happened. His mood could turn on a dime, leaving her dazed in the wake of his emotions. Lucas fell asleep again, which surprised her considering how long his morning nap had lasted, but he woke as soon as they pulled into the garage. She had hoped to find Nate waiting for her, but had not really expected him to be able to leave so early.
She fixed the boys their lunch—peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sliced bananas—and stood at the counter while they ate, too nervous to swallow a bite herself. She had not been on a job interview in eight years. She had not had a sustained conversation with any adult other than Nate, Janice, or her mother in more than four. What if she had forgotten how to talk about anything but her children?
At a quarter to one, she began glancing out the window, watching for Nate on his bike. Ethan finished eating and went into the living room to play, but Lucas pushed the pieces of his sandwich around on his plate and mashed his bananas into a sticky paste. At ten minutes to one, she phoned Nate’s office. He did not answer, so she left a message on his voice mail and decided to take his absence as a good sign; he must already be on his way home. She did not try his cell, knowing that he could not answer it while riding his bike.
“Sweetie, are you going to eat your lunch?” she asked Lucas absently, standing at the window. In response, Lucas picked up a peanut butter and jelly triangle and dropped it disdainfully on the floor.
Sighing, she unbuckled him from his booster seat and washed his face and hands. When he toddled off to join his brother, she cleared the table and wiped up the mess on the floor, keeping one eye on the clock. I
t was one o’clock. If he had left campus at twelve-thirty, the latest he promised her he would leave, he should have arrived home already. Even in bad weather, he never needed more than a half hour to bike home from the office.
She called his office again, and then tried the cell. After five rings, he answered in a low voice. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m stuck in this meeting,” he griped in an undertone.
“You mean you haven’t even left campus yet?”
“Honey, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“But”
“I’m sorry, but I have to hang up. Bye.”
She fumed as the line went dead. She hung up the phone and began pacing. At a quarter past, Lucas ran back into the kitchen and reached for her with his head tilted to one side, his sign that he wanted to nurse. She carried him back to the living room, settled on the recliner, and nursed him, glancing at the clock on the mantel and starting a slow burn.
At half past she knew she could not wait any longer. “I’m going upstairs to get dressed,” she told Ethan, and carried Lucas, still nursing, to her bedroom. Lucas stomped his feet and wailed in protest when she set him down on the floor, and he would not be consoled with cheerful talk and smiles as she hastily showered, blew her hair dry, and squeezed into her suit. He clung to her legs as she put on her makeup, so she picked him up and fixed her hair as best she could with only one hand. At one-thirty she returned downstairs. Nate was nowhere to be seen.
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, setting Lucas down on the kitchen floor. Instead of searching out his brother, he opened the pantry door and began taking out the boxes and cans on the bottom shelf and lining them up on the floor. She called Nate’s cell phone again, hanging up with a bang when he did not answer. Maybe he was on his way. He had said he would call first, but maybe he had run for his bike as soon as the meeting ended rather than wasting time on the phone.
He was more than an hour late. He had better be on his way.
“Mama?” Lucas held up the familiar yellow box hopefully. “Chee-woes?”
Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters Page 8