The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

“You have no idea how much he cares. His whole world revolves around raising you two. He’s so afraid he’s going to mess up, that’s probably what makes him mess up half the time.”

  Tamara appeared to be mulling that one over seriously.

  “So, time for your two choices,” Perrin informed her.

  “Am I going to like either one of them?”

  “Not a chance.”

  It took some negotiation, before they ended up with a compromise. Perrin would call to break the ice, then hand it off to Tamara.

  She dialed Bill’s cell and put it on speaker phone. Only after she did so, did she think that maybe dialing his number from memory hadn’t been the best choice. Thankfully, Tamara appeared too miserable to notice. With each ring, Tamara cringed down further on the stool.

  “Hi Perrin. I have to be quick. I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. I miss you so much!”

  Tamara heard that one loud and clear. Her head shot up and she faced Perrin rather than continuing to study the chips in her nail polish.

  “Uh, Bill. I think I may have just messed up. I have you on speakerphone.”

  There was a pause, “Who else is there?”

  Perrin nodded to Tamara to go ahead. She had to repeat the gesture to get some action.

  “Uh, hi Dad.”

  “What?!” His voice roared out of the phone and echoed about Perrin’s design space. If his daughter had needed any proof of what Perrin had told her, his tone said it all. She positively cowered, in shame rather than fear, Perrin was glad to see.

  “Bill,” Perrin cut him off. “Before you lay in, I’ve already done a good job of making her feel like completely awful. She understands what she did wrong. How about giving her a one-time ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card?”

  There was a long silence. So long that Tamara started cringing again.

  “Is she okay there with you? I could probably find someone to come and—” His voice was tight, but he was holding onto control. Barely.

  “She’s fine with me, Bill. I won’t let her out of my sight. You have Jaspar?”

  “Yeah. The little thug just shook me down for a buck for the soda machine but I’ll bet he’s getting a candy bar instead.”

  Tamara nodded her agreement.

  “His sister agrees, candy it is. Take as long as you need, Bill.”

  “Thanks, Perrin, you’re absolutely wonderf— Aw, man! Explaining this is another problem I’ve left in your lap. Tamara, give her a chance. Sorry about that, gotta run.” And he was gone before she could even reach out to cut the connection.

  Tamara was eyeing her carefully.

  “Look, girl, I got you off the hook this one time. You gonna throw me to the wolves?”

  Tamara considered that for a while and then shrugged that maybe, just maybe they had a fair trade.

  Perrin could see the next question building, but was not at all ready for it when it finally arrived.

  “You going to marry my dad?”

  Perrin managed a laugh. “Whoa there! I’ve only kissed him twice, wait, three times. We’re barely dating. We haven’t even gone out to dinner together, if you don’t count the time you guys were here for pizza.”

  “Is he good?”

  Perrin rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her palm and inspected her interrogator. How did you deal with a kid? A kid who has probably spent the last four years doing her best to be mother to a young boy and a comfort to her own father? Truth, she decided. She hadn’t any basis to go on, so she would simply always tell the truth. It was the only option she could think of that had any chance of success.

  “I mean, is he like you said, ‘the right boy’?” Tamara added another question over Perrin’s silence.

  “Tamara, honey. You’ve gotta make a promise to Perrin.”

  “What?”

  “Stop asking such hard questions, please?”

  It earned her a tentative smile but no promises. Guess that would have to do.

  “Is he good? He’s almost as good a kisser as he is a dad, which is pretty incredible. Is he the right boy? I have no idea in the world. The other question I have to ask, ‘Am I the right girl?’ I can’t believe that I am.”

  Tamara did another of her deep thought things before responding. “I don’t know the answer either, but I can kinda see how you might be.”

  Man oh man. And she’d thought the questions were tough.

  “Look at these. Maybe you can tell me what’s missing.” Perrin had enjoyed teaching Tamara through the quiet afternoon, she was an apt student. She quickly understood right and wrong sides of fabric, seam allowances, and pinning. Cutting on the bias had tripped her up, but she was getting a handle on it. She also successfully threaded the Featherweight several times as well as jamming it up once royally.

  But the unfinished costume designs had lain there on the cutting table the whole time and beckoned silently. And she was no closer to solving them.

  “There’s a lineage missing.” Perrin had set out blank pages of paper with the role titles on them: Princess (arranged marriage), Maid-servant Companion, Queen Mother (of Princess), and True Love (same lineage?). She’d set small snips of different fabric possibilities on each, but they all looked like a scrap heap.

  Tamara stopped in her efforts to undo the latest snarl she’d made by catching a fold in the machine. Only way to learn stuff like that was do it wrong enough times.

  She came over to lean on the table beside Perrin. Close, if not quite rubbing elbows. A good sign that she wasn’t too uncomfortable about Perrin and her dad.

  For a long time, they looked at the blank pages in silence. Then Tamara turned to face the room. She started doing all of the things that Perrin had done. She’d walked slowly about the room, running her fingers over a red velvet, a blue chiffon, and some black corduroy. Occasionally Tamara’s hand hesitated and Perrin noted which fabrics they were, just in case she couldn’t come up with any other ideas.

  The girl dug through the patches bag under the table for a bit, asked a couple questions about the crazy-patch embroidery Perrin had rammed back into the bag in frustration. Next Tamara would be walking through the whole store and find nothing to help her. And then Perrin would call Bill and admit that he’d been right all along, that she was a clothing designer and not a costume designer. But she really didn’t want to let him down.

  Tamara was passing the rack where Perrin hung works in progress, and also some of her own clothes in case the weather changed, or she suddenly felt cold.

  She stopped there, and Perrin twisted around to see what she took down.

  The electric-blue knit sweater Perrin had worn to lunch last week.

  “You getting cold, honey?”

  Tamara took it off the hangar and brought it back to the table. She folded it up and set it on the Princess’ blank sheet. Stepping back, she tipped her head sideways to inspect it.

  Perrin waited for it. Let her eyes drift over the texture and color. The knits were soft, following lines and curves, a sharp contrast to the rest of the highly structured costumes. They’d be able to accentuate or diminish based on how they were knit: ribbed, stockinette, cabled… And the blue. It was close. So close. Not electric-blue, but…

  “Jewel tones,” she let it out as little more than a sigh. Then she squealed. That was it! That was so it! Knit jewel tones.

  She swept Tamara into a hug and then leapt up to waltz about the room with her. Both giggling madly as they went. When they passed her computer, she tapped the play button. Fleetwood Mac Second Hand News came roaring out of the speakers. And she did a shimmy that Tamara did a good job of imitating. They’d circled the cutting table twice, even doing an impromptu two-woman conga to totally the wrong rhythm when Tamara shouted something to her.

  Perrin leaned down to hear.

  “You and Dad will be perfect for each other.”

  “Why?” she shouted back.

  “You both have the same lame taste in music.” Then Tamara did a shimmy-d
ip-twirl that Perrin did her best to copy as they danced a full circle about the cutting table. Arriving back at the computer, she stopped Stevie Nicks in mid-throaty growl.

  “Come on, kid,” Perrin grabbed Tamara’s hand. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “But Dad thinks I’ll be here.”

  “You own a cell phone?”

  She held it up. “But only for emergencies.”

  “Fine, as soon as we’re in the car, you text him. Say, ‘Perrin had clothing emergency. I’m with her.’ Make sure you put ‘Hugs’ or a smiley face or something at the end. He did a real hard thing letting you off the hook before. He deserves something nice.”

  They dashed out the door, Raquel and Kirstin barely having time to wave. They piled into Perrin’s mini-van and pulled out onto the streets of Belltown.

  Tamara dutifully punched out a text. “Is ‘love you’ too mushy?”

  “For your dad, you can never be too mushy.”

  She finished the text, with a somewhat evil grin.

  “What?”

  Tamara looked out the window, watching downtown Seattle unfold and carefully avoiding Perrin’s question, but obviously terribly pleased with herself. “Do you always drive so slow?”

  Perrin looked down to check as they drove up the Mercer Street ramp and merged onto I-5 northbound, “I’m going the speed limit.”

  “But like everyone is passing us. Even Dad doesn’t go the speed limit.”

  “Well, first, I have someone else’s kid in the car, which is kind of freaking me out. Second, yeah, I usually go the speed limit in self defense. I know how easily I get distracted, so moving slower helps. Now give, or am I going to have to pull over and wrestle you to the ground for your cell phone.”

  Tamara studied the slowly moving landscape and gave out a long sigh of exasperation at their lack of progress. But her smile hadn’t gone away.

  “I just included a P.S.”

  “Sewing machine privileges,” Perrin threatened.

  “I only said, ‘Perrin wants her fourth kiss soon.’” At Perrin’s strangled sound the kid just laughed. “Think it got a reaction?”

  Perrin just imagined Bill’s reaction and hoped he didn’t drop her then and there for telling such a thing to his teenage daughter. Then she imagined the look on his face and wished she could be there to see it.

  “Where’s Tam?” Jaspar had to tug on his dad’s sleeve to get his attention. He was sitting in his office and glaring at his phone as if it had just bitten him, like that gerbil did to Tommy Hancock in Mr. Melk’s class.

  “She’s with Ms. Williams today.”

  The costume lady. Wait. Hadn’t she told him she’d be at Gretchen’s? She never lied to him. Sometimes she got his help when she needed to tell one, but she’d always told him the truth. Or had she? What was going on all of a sudden?

  “When’s she getting back? I’m stuck on homew—”

  “Not for a while, buddy. Look, I’m jammed up in this meeting for maybe another hour. Then I’ll help you. Okay? Can you work on something else until I’m free?”

  Jaspar looked at the other men in his dad’s office. They had a lot of papers and drawings and notes and stuff spread all over the table. They were all looking at him, waiting for his dad.

  He also had his phone out and was looking sorta pissed, like when he was trying not to scream at him or Tam for doing something dumb. He didn’t scream except when they’d really earned it, but he had that look.

  “Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

  Jaspar went back to the cubicle across the hall from his dad’s office where he usually did his homework. The problem was that he didn’t have any other homework except this lame book report on stupid Captains Courageous.

  Tam usually helped him, even on books she hadn’t read. She’d make a game of it, just asking so many dumb questions that eventually he’d figure out what he wanted to say.

  Now she was off with the costume lady doing girl clothes stuff. She’d gone all gaga over those dresses at the store. Bor-ring. Though getting to be in the opera was kinda cool. He’d liked that at first, even if the backstage stuff was way cooler, but they never let him work on any of that. Like he was still eight or something.

  For some stupid reason he’d thought that being in the opera meant they’d all be spending more time together.

  He turned to scowl at the book sitting on his desk. A story about a kid brain dead enough to fall off a ship in the middle of an ocean. Maybe he should have just drowned. Not that any dumb sister would ever notice.

  Bill stared back at the phone message. The meeting continued around him, but what had been a fascinating snarl of problems to unravel just moments before had turned into a meaningless buzz.

  Clothing emergency was cute and funny. He could hear Perrin’s voice declaring it like a national crisis or an incoming missile attack. It had made him smile until he scrolled the message enough to see the last line.

  P.S. Perrin wants her fourth kiss soon.

  His daughter had just told him that a woman, who he’d met less than two weeks before, had told his teenage daughter that she’d kissed him three times. And wanted to do it again.

  What kind of a game was Perrin Williams playing at?

  There was no possible way this could be happening. Perrin was right. Not about being toxic, but about how he should be much more cautious about letting his kids come in contact with her. What if things didn’t work out? What if she was an awful parental figure? Which the present message sure pointed to.

  And this sure wasn’t his definition of slow. She was bonding faster with his daughter than she was with him. How was he supposed to trust someone who did that?

  What if she hurt the kids somehow? Not intentionally. She’d never do that, there wasn’t a mean bone in her body.

  And it wasn’t helping matters in the slightest how much he couldn’t stop thinking about her body. The way she had responded to him for that one stolen hour. It had been incredible, as if every touch not only seared him, but her as well. He’d never responded so strongly in his life, maybe not even to… Blast it all! He really had to cut that out. Adira was only diminished by the fading of memories over time. That’s all that was happening. Whereas Perrin Williams was so vibrant, so alive, she shone like one of her costumes.

  “Everything okay, Bill?”

  He looked up at Timothy Winters, the Opera’s Production Manager.

  “Uh, don’t know yet. Give me a sec.”

  He read the message again.

  I’m with her.

  He wondered if that was Tammy’s voice or Perrin’s? Perrin’s. She’d been making sure that he knew she was keeping Tammy close and safe, no matter what else was going on. Maybe she was being an okay authority figure after all? She had been the one who made sure Tammy called him within minutes of entering her shop. She’d also made it clear that she’d already straightened his daughter out on lying about where she was. That was actually far above and beyond the call of duty for a girlfriend.

  It was only the last line that was pure Tammy. Somehow, Perrin had decided that telling his daughter that they had kissed each other was the best option. Then, instead of any emotional storm Tammy had signed with a Love you. That was something he hadn’t seen in far too long. Then he understood, Tammy was teasing him about Perrin. Not something she’d do if she was mad or overly shocked.

  For a moment, he wondered if Perrin knew about the last line. Bill had to smile. If she didn’t, he’d bet that Tammy would find a way to tell her. Kids never missed an opportunity to get back at adults.

  Welcome to my world, Perrin Williams.

  “What do you think, Bill? Do we have time to get these plates punched or do we need to spend the extra to get them drilled?”

  Bill keyed an answer into the phone, hit send, and began juggling the production schedule versus the painting and staging schedules so they could save the money with punching.

  Perrin and Tamara had ridden in silence for several minutes. T
amara fiddled with the radio but no one had music, all ads at the moment. They were both just killing time to see what Bill Cullen’s response would be.

  At long last the phone buzzed back and gave a cheerful ping as Perrin was pulling into the steep, narrow parking lot.

  “What does he say?”

  Tamara looked at it. Then appeared a little puzzled. “He just sent a one-letter response, ‘K.’ Which is short for ‘Okay’ when he’s in a real hurry. Maybe he didn’t read the P.S. part of it.”

  Or, Perrin could hope, he’d decided that the single response covered both messages in the text. They continued in silence, each thinking their own thoughts until reaching the store.

  “What is this place?” Tamara climbed out and glared at the building.

  Perrin looked up at the aged two-story, concrete-block building, with peeling taupe-blah paint. To one side was a vacant lot, some old apartments towered over it from behind.

  “A knitting store, Tamara.”

  “But it says, The Weaving Works?”

  “Don’t you trust anything I tell you?”

  Tamara considered, “I guess I trust you.”

  “Good, the moon is made of green cheese and Justin Bieber has a poster of you on his wall.”

  “Eww!” But Tamara was smiling as they arrived at the door. “Hey, that’s cool.”

  Knitting in a bright sock yarn wrapped about the door handle.

  “There’s more of it,” Perrin pointed to the bike rack in front of the store. The galvanized steel had been knit over in a succession of the colors of the rainbow. “The Weaving Works” had been boldly knit right into the fabric.

  “It’s called yarn bombing.”

  “That is just so cool!”

  “You’ve been hanging out with Jaspar too much. You’re using his adjectives.”

  “He’s my kid brother, I don’t get a whole lot of choice on who I hang out with. I would have filed a request for a girl, but I was only three when they had the punk. He’s mostly okay except for being a boy. Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “Deal.” Perrin pulled open the glass-and-steel door. “Welcome to knitting heaven, Tamara.”