She nodded, her heart sinking as his frown deepened.
“But you know I have plans for this Saturday.”
“I thought maybe you’d be willing to change them.”
He shook his head and helped himself to more mashed potatoes. “We can go out to dinner any night. The Blue-White Game is only once a year.”
“But it’ll just be one half of the team playing the other half, right? Wouldn’t it just be like watching a practice?”
“It’s much more than a practice and you know it. It’s the first time we get to see next year’s starting lineup in action.”
“Can’t you tape it?”
“No, I can’t tape it.” His voice was rising, growing more agitated. “They might show it on local TV in State College, but we won’t get it around here. It’s not a Big Ten game.”
Bonnie heard herself speak, and her voice sounded as if it were coming from someplace very far away. “Please don’t go to Penn State this weekend. Please stay here and go dancing with me instead.”
His face was hard. “I’ve already paid for my ticket, and I’ve been planning this a long time. We’ll go out next weekend, all right?”
He was adamant, and she knew it. All the nervous energy drained from her. “All right.”
She watched him eat, cutting into the tender chicken with his fork, chewing angrily on a slice of buttered bread. She was seized, suddenly, by the urge to dump the bowl of corn over his head. “I think I left the oven on,” she said, and rushed back to the kitchen, where she waited for the urge to subside before returning to the table.
She slept poorly that night and woke, numb and confused, to the sound of the keyboard clattering in the other room.
Gwen was right.
A new hairstyle and makeup wouldn’t keep him. The promise of a trim, healthier Bonnie wouldn’t keep him. Neither would a romantic night on the town or a lovely new light blue dress that seemed to take five pounds off her hips.
If she wanted to win him back, it would have to be with her brain. She was over fifty, and although she had treated her body kindly throughout the years, it could do only so much for her. But although her beauty wasn’t as great as it had been when she and Craig first met, her mind was better than ever. Years of managing a household, running her business, interacting with her wonderful, creative, intelligent friends had sharpened her mind and developed her soul. She had accomplished so much in her life; she was a partner worthy of any man. She would make Craig remember that.
Filled with new resolve, Bonnie kicked off the covers and started her day. By the time she had showered and had styled her newly cut hair, she knew what she had to do. She dressed in her favorite blue slacks and the quilted jacket she had made over the course of many months at meetings of the Elm Creek Quilters. Wearing it now, she felt as if her friends were with her, silent but encouraging, supportive, lending her their strength. She took a deep breath and strode into the family room to announce her intentions.
Craig was still at the computer, naturally, sipping coffee and munching buttered toast. On any other morning she would have scolded him gently and warned him about cholesterol, but today she was tempted to load the toast with as much butter as it would hold and force-feed it to him, along with a few slices of bacon and a cup of lard.
“I have a great idea,” she declared.
Craig jumped in his chair. “Oh? What’s that?” With a swift movement of the mouse, he turned on the screen saver. A school of fish appeared where an email message had been.
“Since you can’t change your plans for Saturday, I’ll change mine.” Bonnie smiled brightly as he swiveled around to face her. “I’ll come with you to Penn State.”
Craig’s face went from furious red to queasy pale more swiftly than she would have imagined possible. “What? What do you mean? You can’t.”
She deliberately misunderstood him. “Well, sure I can, honey. I’m not too busy.”
“But—you have—” He gulped air. “What about the shop? Saturday’s your busiest day. You can’t afford to close on a Saturday, not when business has been so bad.”
“Summer’s working, and Diane offered to help her.” Bonnie hadn’t asked her yet, but she knew she would agree.
“What about quilt camp? I won’t be back until Sunday afternoon. You’ll miss registration.”
“They can manage without me just this once.”
Craig’s mouth worked silently for a moment. “Ticket,” he said, relief replacing his sickly cast. “You don’t have a ticket to the game. You can’t go.”
“Oh, that.” Bonnie dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “You and your friend can watch from Beaver Stadium, as you planned, and I’ll find a nice sports bar downtown and watch the game on TV. You said it would be broadcast locally, right?” He nodded weakly. “Then it’s all settled. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. It’s been so long since I’ve seen campus.”
“We could go together some other weekend—”
“And have you miss the Blue-White Game? I wouldn’t dream of it.” She crossed the room to where he sat limp and dazed before his computer, then squeezed his shoulders affectionately and kissed him. “Do you think we’ll run into any of our friends? I’m sure we will. I bet if you had gone by yourself, you would have run into everyone from the old gang. They would have been asking where I was and promising to call me as soon as they got home.” His eyes widened slightly; that had not occurred to him. She kissed him again, this time to say good-bye. “I’ll see you tonight. I’m going to work.”
“So early?” he asked in a hollow voice.
“Diane’s coming by to plan for the exemption hearing,” she lied. She shrugged helplessly and hurried out the door.
In the stairwell, her legs felt so weak that she had to clutch the handrail and lean against the wall. She had done it. She had never been more nervous in her life, but she had done it. She had not backed down, and he had not suspected a thing.
When she had composed herself, she continued down the stairs to Grandma’s Attic.
All that week she planned and prepared, enlisting the help of her friends. Diane came over one afternoon and helped her choose an outfit for the day of the game. Bonnie had planned to wear jeans, thinking they would make her look younger, but Diane convinced her to wear a more flattering pair of casual slacks instead. She would also wear a white knit top under the blue Penn State cardigan Tim had given her for her birthday. She modeled the outfit, relieved to see Diane nod in satisfaction. “You look great,” Diane said. “I just hope little Miss Terri asks you where you got the sweater.”
Bonnie managed a smile as she pictured Terri’s jealousy. She hoped Craig had never given Terri any gifts.
Judy had her husband, Steve, look up articles on Penn State football, and he also collected amusing anecdotes from his sportswriter friends, stories that had not made it into print. Every evening Bonnie doted on Craig as if they were newlyweds. He seemed perpetually bewildered, as if he didn’t know what to make of her. On Friday evening he asked her if she still meant to accompany him; when she assured him she did, his shoulders slumped and he went off to his computer, dejected.
Bonnie’s heart leapt in alarm. He was going to tell Terri not to come, and that would ruin everything. They would make arrangements for another time, another place, an occasion when it might be impossible for Bonnie to intervene.
As night fell, Bonnie lay in bed in the dark, unable to sleep. Finally, Craig climbed in beside her. When she was certain he had drifted off, she stole from the bed, tiptoed into the family room, and switched on the computer. It let out a chord when it started up, and the melodic chime shattered the silence. Bonnie held her breath, listening, but not a sound came from the bedroom. Slowly she let out the breath. She would have to hurry.
After turning the volume all the way down, she opened the email program. A quick check of Craig’s most recent outgoing messages confirmed her fears. He had written to Terri to tell her not to come to Pe
nn State the next day.
“I don’t understand,” Terri had written back. “Are you having second thoughts or what?”
“Just don’t come,” he had responded.
Barely a minute had passed between his message and Terri’s reply. “I’m not your wife. You can’t tell me what to do. I have my own ticket and a babysitter and I’m going to this game with you or without you.”
It was the last message they had exchanged.
Bonnie chewed on her lower lip, staring at the screen and wondering what to do.
She typed in Craig’s password and double-clicked the mouse. Her heart pounded as the computer announced the results of her query: two new messages were downloading into the computer. Terri had sent them both.
The first said, “Are you still there?”
The second had been sent ten minutes later. “I’m sorry I got mad,” Terri had written. “I just don’t understand why you’re backing out like this. If you would just tell me why, I could accept it. What’s wrong? Please write back.”
Bonnie took a deep breath and slowly, slowly reached for the keyboard.
“I’m sorry,” she wrote. “I guess I just got nervous. Forget I said anything. Let’s meet at the Corner Room at ten as we had planned. I’ll see you then.”
She signed Craig’s name and sent the message on its way. Then she erased the note from the outgoing messages file and disabled the internal modem. She shut down the computer and returned to bed.
The alarm woke her early Saturday morning. She shut it off quickly—Craig stirred but didn’t open his eyes. She bounded out of bed and raced to the shower, but she didn’t finish as quickly as she had hoped. By the time she had fixed her hair and dressed, Craig was out of bed and at the computer. He did not look pleased.
“Is something wrong with the computer?” she asked.
“Something is, but I’ll be darned if I know what,” he said. “I can’t get online.”
“Do you want to try the one downstairs?” She hoped with all her heart he’d say no.
He glanced at the clock on the screen. “No, I don’t have time.” Still scowling, he shut down the computer and stomped off to the shower. Bonnie hid her satisfaction. If there were any new messages from Terri telling him how pleased she was that he had changed his mind, Craig wouldn’t see them.
She put on a pot of coffee and made him his favorite breakfast—cinnamon apple waffles. When he returned to the kitchen, his anger had faded and he seemed his usual self again. “Do I smell cinnamon?” he asked.
“You certainly do, so sit down and eat before it gets cold.” She gave him a warm smile and carried their plates to the table.
After breakfast, they locked up the house and carried their overnight bags to the car. At first Craig responded to her attempts at conversation with brief phrases or shrugs, but as the two-hour drive progressed, he relaxed and began to chat comfortably with her. They talked about the NFL draft that had taken place earlier that month; Bonnie knew from the articles Steve had given her that the graduating Nittany Lions had had an excellent year. The conversation turned to their kids, and then to their favorite memories from their student years at Penn State. By the time they turned off Route 322 and were driving down Atherton Street toward campus, they were chatting and laughing and enjoying themselves.
At a quarter to ten, they checked into the Hotel State College on the corner of Allen Street, right across College Avenue from the main gates to the campus. They were given a pleasant room with a queen-size bed and a large window overlooking Allen Street. As Craig unpacked, Bonnie went to the bathroom to freshen up. She scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and the new hairstyle looked fresh and pretty. She was ready to face the enemy.
She summoned up her courage and put the next stage of her plan into motion.
In the other room, Craig was sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through the local newspaper. “So, when and where are we meeting your friend?” Bonnie asked him.
“Oh. There’s been a change of plans. My friend isn’t coming.”
“Why not?” she asked, putting all the disappointment she could muster into her voice.
“Something came up.” He set the paper aside and rose. “Do you feel like a cup of coffee before the game?”
“I’d love one.” Bonnie smiled at him. “Why don’t we go to the Corner Room?”
Craig agreed—and why not? It had been their favorite restaurant when they were students. As they went downstairs to the lobby, Bonnie slipped her hand into his, her thoughts racing. Since the restaurant was affiliated with the hotel, she and Craig could reach it without going outside—but what about Terri? Would she wait inside or outside? Terri expected to share Craig’s room, so she had not needed to enter the hotel to register. Bonnie cursed herself for not being more specific. Even if Terri were waiting just outside, they wouldn’t run into her, not that Bonnie would recognize her if they did. All Bonnie had was the description Terri had sent Craig months ago, and how accurate would that be?
She needn’t have worried.
They restaurant foyer was filled with other Penn State fans. A smiling hostess with a clipboard was walking down the line taking customers’ names and apologizing for the wait. When she reached Craig, he said, “Markham, two, nonsmoking, please.”
The hostess smiled in recognition. “Craig Markham?”
“Why, yes.”
“The other member of your party is already here.” The hostess took them out of line, picked up two menus, and motioned for them to follow her. “I thought she said table for two, but I guess she meant she was waiting for two. That’s okay, though; you have a booth, so there’s plenty of room.” And with that, she placed their menus in a booth already occupied by a wide-eyed woman with shoulder-length blond hair held back in a barrette.
“Craig?” the woman said. Her eyes flicked from Craig to Bonnie.
“Enjoy your meal,” the hostess chirped, and left.
“Well, hello,” Bonnie declared, sliding into the high-backed seat. “You must be Terri. Craig told me you had to cancel. I’m so delighted you came after all.”
Terri’s mouth opened and shut.
“I’m Bonnie, of course.” She extended her hand, and Terri limply shook it. Craig stood rooted in place. “Well, come on, honey, sit down.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the booth, then smiled again at Terri. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s … it’s nice to meet you, too.” Terri held out her hand for Craig to shake and shot him a look of pained bewilderment, which Bonnie pretended not to see.
“I thought Craig told me he would be meeting a friend from his old fraternity, but obviously I misunderstood.” Bonnie interlaced her fingers and rested them on the table. “So tell me—how do you two know each other?”
Terri swallowed. “Um, well—” She looked to Craig for help. “Why don’t you tell her?”
“No, no, you go ahead.” Craig sounded as if he were being strangled. “I’m not much of a storyteller.”
Betrayal and annoyance flashed in Terri’s eyes. Craig didn’t see them since he had buried his face in the menu, but Bonnie did.
“We met on the internet,” Terri said.
“Oh, well, that explains it,” Bonnie said. “No wonder I got mixed up. It’s so hard to keep track of all Craig’s internet friends. He has so many.”
Terri’s mouth pinched into a hard line. “Is that so?”
“Oh, yes. He writes to people all over the world—men, women—”
“Not so many women,” Craig interrupted. Terri just looked at him.
They ordered coffee, and while they waited, Bonnie summoned up all that was good and loving in herself so that she could stop hating the woman on the other side of the table, this woman who was trying to steal her husband and ruin her life. She imagined they were in Grandma’s Attic and that Terri was a newcomer to Waterford, charmed inside by a bright quilt hanging in the shop window, unsure and unc
omfortable, hovering nearby and listening wistfully to the laughter of the Elm Creek Quilters. There had to be something, something in this woman that Bonnie could love.
The shape of her face reminded her of Sarah. Her hair was the same shade of blond as Diane’s. Her husband had left her for another woman and she was raising two children alone.
There. That did it. Her hatred faded.
This time when she smiled at Terri, she felt genuine kindness. “So tell me about yourself,” she said.
Terri glanced at Craig, but he had not yet recovered his wits and was clearly of no use to anyone. So she began. When she mentioned her children, Bonnie asked if she had any photos. Hesitantly, Terri took a small album from her purse and passed it to her. Bonnie admired each picture and begged for the story behind them, and soon Terri was smiling shyly and talking almost as if they were friends. Craig looked on; by the time the server came by to refill their coffee cups, he had composed himself enough to join in the conversation, which shifted from family to work. Terri was working as an office manager in Harrisburg, but she dreamed of owning her own business someday.
Bonnie knew this; she had read the email. “I run my own business,” she said.
Again Terri glanced at Craig. “I thought you worked in a fabric store.”
Bonnie burst out laughing. “Oh, don’t I often wish it were that simple. No, I own a quilt shop, a place for specialty fabrics and notions and books, and just about everything else a quilter needs. I also teach quilting classes there, though I’ve cut back since I started teaching for Elm Creek Quilts.”
“That name sounds familiar,” Terri said. “Weren’t you on America’s Back Roads a few months ago?”
“That’s right.”
“I remember it now.” Terri’s eyes grew misty and she sighed. “That manor is so beautiful. You really get to work there? That must be so great. And the people seemed so nice.”
“They’re the best people I’ve ever known,” Bonnie said, and she meant it. “You should come to quilt camp sometime.”
“Oh, no, not me.” Terri flashed her a quick smile and shook her head. “I don’t know how to quilt.”
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 39