“I always wanted to be able to make a gourmet meal,” said Sarah.
“Let me guess,” said Anna. “You’re too busy to cook.”
“No, I just don’t have the skills. Or the terminology. What’s the difference between folding and braising and blending? When I see so many unfamiliar terms in a recipe, I panic and slam the cookbook shut.” Sarah shook her head. “I wish I had a talent like yours. Ledgers I understand. Payroll taxes give me no trouble. Food? Forget it. It’s a wonder I haven’t starved to death or poisoned myself.”
“You can’t be that bad,” said Anna.
“No, she really is,” interjected the pretty blonde woman Sarah had called Diane.
“I could teach you a few things,” said Anna, quickly adding, “I mean, if I get the job. Not that I wouldn’t anyway, but if I get the job, I’ll be around. Not that I would take time away from teaching quilting to cook.”
Summer came to her rescue. “Did you bring your Elm Creek Quilts block to show us?”
Anna reached for her tote bag, and the sight of the plastic container reminded her of the cookies. “I brought these, too,” she said, removing the lid. She handed the cookies to Sarah and placed the quilt block flat upon the coffee table. She told them about the evolution of her design as they passed the cookies around. Each Elm Creek Quilter took one, except for Gwen, who took two, and Diane, who handed off the container without looking inside to admire the cookies as the others had done. Anna did not take offense, guessing from Diane’s trim figure that she had not allowed sweets to pass her lips in more than twenty years.
“These are elm leaves drifting on the breeze,” continued Anna after describing her raw-edged appliqué method. “This is Elm Creek splashing over some pebbles, and this is the sun, or the warmth of sisterhood, or the light of illumination teachers pass on to their students. I thought I would leave that open to your interpretation.”
Most of the Elm Creek Quilters chuckled, but Diane frowned and leaned closer for a better look. “It looks like a tossed salad.”
“Diane,” admonished Sylvia.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” said Gwen. “She has absolutely no appreciation for anything other than traditional blocks pieced by hand.”
“I see the elm leaves,” said Summer. “And that’s definitely a creek.”
“No, she’s right,” said Anna, suddenly seeing it. “It looks exactly like a tossed salad.”
Diane gave Anna a sharp look, and Anna suddenly realized that the last thing Diane had expected was for her to agree.
“It’s a lovely block,” said the dark-haired woman who had seemed so engrossed by Anna’s stories of her aunt’s quilt shop.
Diane had composed herself as she paged through Anna’s portfolio. “Looking through your material, I wondered … Have you ever taught quilting?”
Anna had been expecting the question. “No, I haven’t.”
“I see.” Diane made a check mark on her notes. “You realize, of course, that all of the other applicants have taught at least a few classes.”
“Not all of them,” said Summer.
“I’ve never led a quilt class, but I have taught,” said Anna. “In my current job, I’ve taught many student workers how to prepare food, how to follow safe kitchen practices, and other things. Years ago, I also assisted my aunt in classes at her quilt shop.”
“But it’s not the same, wouldn’t you agree?” said Diane.
Anna hesitated. “It’s not exactly the same, but I think it’s relevant.”
Diane’s slight frown deepened. “I’m reluctant to suggest that the only reason you were granted this interview was because you’re Summer’s boyfriend’s neighbor—”
“That is absolutely not true,” said Summer.
“That’s reassuring,” said Diane. She studied Anna’s résumé and shook her head. “I’m curious. When did you decide to become a quilting teacher? Based upon your education and employment history, I never would have guessed you were interested in quilting as a career.”
“Well, actually …” Anna knew she would stumble if she wriggled out of the question with an evasive lie, so she decided to give Diane the truth. “Someday I want to own my own restaurant. That’s why I’m looking for a second job, so I can save up the money faster.”
“So this would be your second priority, not your first,” said Diane, with a glance at Sylvia.
“I said second job, not second priority.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Anna taking on teaching responsibilities here as a second job,” said Summer. “Our ad did mention that seasonal work and flexible hours were available. In fact, Anna’s schedule could work to our advantage.”
“We can discuss that later,” said Sarah, meaning not in front of Anna. “Let’s move along. Anna, I was intrigued by your lesson plan for the machine appliqué class. Would you tell us more about how you would run the class?”
Anna did, eager to switch to a safer topic. She answered the Elm Creek Quilters’ other questions as best she could, but it was still a relief when Sarah rose and thanked her for coming.
“Thanks for the cookies, too,” added Gwen.
“Yes, indeed,” said Sylvia. “They were scrumptious.”
“Here, have some more,” said Anna, passing around the container again. “So I have fewer to carry home.”
All but Diane gladly helped themselves to more cookies. Sarah offered to give her a tour of the grounds, but Anna assured her that she had already shown herself around.
The metal folding chairs were empty as Anna crossed the foyer, and the white-haired woman had left the veranda. Anna walked down the front drive toward the woods, going over the interview in her mind just as she always ran through the highlights and missteps of a banquet as she cleaned the kitchen afterward. She wished she had responded more articulately to Diane’s queries. With just a few, pointed questions, Diane had dug out Anna’s weaknesses for the position, and Anna had not defended herself well. She should have said more about the teaching role she assumed with her student workers in the kitchen, her experience helping shoppers at her aunt’s quilt shop, her creative inspiration. Thanks to Diane, the Elm Creek Quilters probably had no idea how badly Anna really wanted the job, not just as a source of revenue for her restaurant fund.
She made her way back down the gravel road to the main highway, arriving twenty minutes before the bus was due. She leaned against a small wooden sign and set her tote bag and cookie container on the ground at her feet, looking up every time a car passed. A blue midsized four-door car, so shiny it had to be nearly new, passed her once, disappeared around a bend, then returned and stopped on the shoulder, motor idling.
“Excuse me,” the driver called. His dark hair and beard were sprinkled with gray, and he looked to be in his midforties, handsome except for a deep sadness in his eyes. He did not look like a salesman, at least not a prosperous one; his blue suit seemed a few years too old and his hair, though neatly trimmed, lacked the shiny, coiffed appearance Anna associated with salesmen. Likely he was one of the Elm Creek Quilters’ husbands.
“I’m looking for the road to Elm Creek Manor,” the man said, disproving her theory. “Do you know where it is?”
Guiltily, Anna jumped away from the sign and pointed into the woods. “It’s that way. Sorry for blocking the sign.”
The man smiled, and all trace of sadness disappeared. “It’s not your fault. This isn’t the first time I’ve missed it. Thanks.”
He waved, turned onto the gravel road, and drove off into the woods. Anna watched his car disappear into the trees. What a novelty, she thought. A man who asks for directions.
While she was gone, Gordon had left a message on her answering machine. Anna changed out of her suit and called him back.
“Where were you?” he asked. “I stopped by after my eleven o’clock class but you weren’t home. You said you were taking the day off.”
“I took the day off to go to a job interview.”
“Oh.
Right.” He paused. “I walked all the way over there and had to settle for calling your answering machine on my cell.”
Anna wanted to point out that he could have used that same cell phone to call before dropping by if the walk was too much for him, but when that petulant, spoiled child tone crept into his voice, she had to handle him carefully. “I’m sorry. I should have reminded you.”
“Or left a note on the counter.”
“Or that.” She was suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of Gordon wandering about her apartment when she was not home. She had given him a key so he could let himself in when she was expecting him, and it had never occurred to her that he might use it at other times. But that was unfair; she had never told him the key came with restrictions. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“I guess it’s all right.”
“My interview went well,” she said, wishing he had asked. “Maybe we could do something to celebrate.”
“Should we invite Theresa and Jeremy to join us? Theresa enjoyed meeting Jeremy. She’s considering asking him out.”
“That’s nice,” said Anna, wondering if she should warn him. “But I meant just the two of us.”
“In that case, I can’t make it tonight. What’s your schedule like for the rest of the week?”
“Um, well, let me see.” Anna took her pocket calendar from her purse and checked. “I have the usual weekday things, a dinner Saturday evening, and a brunch on Sunday.”
“I’m busy every night next week. How about the next Saturday?”
“I’m free.”
“Let’s do something special a week from Saturday, then. Just the two of us.”
“Great,” she said, pleased. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You know I’m the spontaneous type. Surprise me.”
“Oh.” Her pleasure vanished. “Okay.”
“So it’s a date?”
“Sure. A week from Saturday.”
Anna hung up the phone with a sigh. At least he wanted to have a special evening, just the two of them. It didn’t matter who planned it.
By Tuesday evening she still had not decided how to spend their Saturday evening date. She was in the kitchen making a mug of cocoa and pondering her options when Jeremy knocked on the door. She was glad to see him, since they had hardly spoken since the double date. “I’m making some cocoa,” she said, inviting him inside. “Want some?”
“Hot cocoa in summer?”
“People drink hot coffee in summer,” she said, a little defensive. She shouldn’t have to explain her chocolate addiction to someone who loved it almost as much as she did.
He shrugged. “Good point. Sure.”
She cleared the kitchen table of her sewing machine and fabric while the kettle boiled, then fixed two mugs of cocoa and carried them to the table. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” Jeremy sat down and took a sip. “This is great. How did you make it?”
“Are you serious? It’s the powdered mix from the grocery store.”
“You don’t put anything extra in it?”
“No.”
“It never tastes this way when I make it.” Jeremy took another drink, then set down his mug. “Have you heard anything from Elm Creek Quilts?”
“Not yet. Why? Should I have heard something by now? Did Summer mention something?”
“She hasn’t said a word. That’s why I’m curious.” He took another sip, and she had the sudden impression that he was stalling for time. “I also wanted to see how things were going with you since the date with Theresa wasn’t exactly a resounding success.”
“Things are fine,” said Anna, stirring her cocoa. “In fact, Gordon suggested we go out Saturday and celebrate my job interview.”
“You mean the job interview you had last week?”
“He’s been busy. And that’s just as well because I’m having trouble thinking of where we should go.”
“You’re having trouble.” He mulled it over. “If he wants to celebrate your successful job interview, why doesn’t he just take you out? Why should you have to plan everything?”
“That’s the way we like it,” said Anna. “Gordon says it’s sexist if he makes all the decisions.”
“I see,” said Jeremy. “When’s the last time he made any decisions of this type?”
“Well—”
“When’s the last time he did anything special for you?”
Anna took a sip, but the cocoa felt like chalk in her mouth. She set down the mug and met Jeremy’s skeptical gaze evenly. “He wrote me a poem a few weeks ago. A sonnet.”
“A sonnet?” echoed Jeremy. “I thought Theresa was the poet.”
“She is,” said Anna, hiding her sudden distress. “But Gordon knows a lot about poetry, too. Don’t forget he’s working on a Ph.D. in English literature. Anyway, why are you so upset about this? It’s not any of your business.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Jeremy stood up and pushed in his chair. “None of my business. But I still can’t stand to watch him use you.”
He left the apartment without another word.
Anna watched him go, heart constricting. Jeremy didn’t know what he was talking about. He was completely out of line to insinuate that Gordon had not written the sonnet himself. Theresa never would have written a romantic poem for Gordon to give to Anna.
She knew it was a flimsy bit of evidence on which to place her trust.
Something about Jeremy’s strange visit made her resolve to make her special date with Gordon a romantic evening at home. She would prepare for him the most elegant meal in her repertoire—at least, the most elegant meal that he would like, she could afford, and her minuscule kitchen could handle. She would adorn the table with fresh flowers and tall candles and play his favorite classical music in the background. Afterward they would go for a starlit stroll, observing the beauties of late summer on the campus grounds and sharing intimate conversation. When they returned they would curl up on the sofa with cappuccino and biscotti, and she would ask Gordon to tell her about his latest discoveries in the library and his progress on his thesis. He would love it.
She planned the menu and went well over her budget shopping at the organic market on Campus Drive. Hoping to appeal to Gordon’s spontaneous side, she told him only that he should arrive around seven o’clock on Saturday.
All that day she worked, baking and preparing, cleaning and arranging, until she was satisfied. An hour before Gordon was due to arrive, she set the table and changed into her dressy black capris and a pink silk blouse. At seven, she lit the candles, turned on the CD player, and admired the scene. It was perfect. Gordon would be overwhelmed.
She jumped at a knock on the door, even though she had been expecting Gordon and he was right on time. She hurried to answer, struck by a sudden wild fear that he had brought Theresa along, and a second fear that Jeremy would happen to step out into the hallway just in time to witness everything. She flung open the door, eager to usher Gordon inside before Jeremy saw them.
Gordon stood in the hallway, entirely alone and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt from a Canadian Shakespeare festival he had attended five years before.
He looked her up and down. “You dressed up. I didn’t think you wanted me to dress up.”
“That’s okay,” Anna said, waving him inside. “It doesn’t matter.” She led him into the apartment and gestured to the beautiful table. “What do you think?”
He took in the flowers, the candles, the music, and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchenette. “Anna, kitten, you did all this for me?”
“No, I called a caterer. Of course I did it.”
Gordon shook his head. “You must have worked all afternoon on this.”
She shrugged, smiling, and went to the oven. “Everything’s about ready. Five more minutes for the entrée and then we can eat. Do you want to pour the wine?”
He followed her into the kitchenette and took her hands in his. “Anna, you shouldn�
��t have done all this.”
“Of course I should have.” She freed one hand and touched his face, delighted with his reaction, which was even stronger than she had hoped. “We wanted to have a special date, right?”
He took her hand again and for the first time she noticed the regret and concern in his expression. “I know, but I feel tremendously uncomfortable about this.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Anna, I can’t bear to think that you feel I’m shoving you into some traditional gender role. I don’t want you to conform to a stereotype of womanhood out of some misguided belief that it’s what I want for you.”
“I just thought you might want a nice dinner.”
“I do. But I don’t think you should have to cook it.”
“But I’m a chef. I don’t understand what’s wrong about me cooking for you. You’re a literature student and you wrote me a poem.”
“It’s not the same thing.” He steered her out of the kitchenette. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll cook for you.”
“But—”
He raised her hands to his lips. “Please. Let me do this for you.”
She thought about the days of planning and preparation, and about the delicious meal going to waste in the kitchen. She remembered Jeremy’s criticism. What would he think now, with Gordon at last offering to do something special for her?
“Please?” he implored.
“All right,” she said in a small voice. “Let me turn off the oven and clean up first. Will you wait for me outside?”
Gordon agreed and kissed her swiftly, grinning with relief. “Sure, okay. I’ll be out front. Don’t be long.”
After he left, Anna stood fixed in place until the oven alarm roused her. She took the beef tenderloin en croûte from the oven, turned off the burners beneath the sautéed vegetables and the wild rice soup, and covered the chocolate mousse cake. She shouldered her purse, blew out the candles, and went across the hall to knock on Jeremy’s door. Jeremy looked surprised to see her, but Anna didn’t give him a chance to ask questions. “I made supper for me and Gordon, but we had a change of plans. We’re going to his place. You should come over and eat so it doesn’t go to waste. Or take it to your place and I’ll get the dishes later. Maybe you can call Summer over, too. Wait—better not. It’s beef.”
Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters Page 16