The Quilt Before the Storm

by Arlene Sachitano

  “Of course not. I told her I was sorry she had money troubles, but I was going to follow our mother’s instructions.”

  “So, why is she coming here?”

  “I’m not really sure. I guess she’s hoping if she comes in person, she can convince me to change my mind.”

  “Sounds like Aiden’s sister. She’s back in town working himover.”

  “It’s hard to imagine how Avanell could have had such different children,” Marjory said. “That Michelle was a problem right from the start. Aiden and his brother were always well-behaved and hard workers. Avanell and her husband made the kids work for their allowance, so the boys ran a lawn-mowing service. Aiden worked for his brother then took over when Marcel went off to college. To my knowledge, Avanell never got a lick of work out of Michelle.”

  “Was it like that with your sister?”

  “No, Pat was never a go-getter, but she did babysit to make money for school clothes and spending money. She started changing after she married Richard. They had to have a big house they could barely afford, and then Richard started making money and they were too good for the rest of us.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I’m not sure. One minute they were going to the country club, and the next thing I know she’s calling and wanting all of Mom’s estate and claiming all their money is gone.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “No, that’s what so weird. I’m hoping she’s coming here to tell me in person whatever it is that’s so horrible it justifies her getting all of Mom’s money. Frankly I can’t imagine what she could say that would change my mind.” She paused a moment. “I suppose if one of them is deathly ill and needs an expensive transplant of some sort I might be swayed. I don’t think she’d keep that a secret, though.”

  “Well, I don’t envy you the upcoming confrontation.” Harriet reached across the table to pat Marjory’s hand. She’d noticed that Mavis did a lot of hand patting when people were troubled and it seemed to bring comfort, so she was trying it out. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Do you need a neutral witness or anything?”

  “That’s sweet of you to offer. You’ve been a great help already, just by listening. I’ve been dealing with my sister my whole life. This is just one more round in an ongoing battle. Besides, if Michelle is in town, Aiden’s going to need your help.”

  “Well, the offer stands. If you think of anything, let me know, and I’ll come running.”

  “Thank you, honey. Your aunt raised you right. Now, how about we forget family troubles for a while and look at fabric. If you’re not tired of the charity quilts, I got some more flannel donated by a distributor, and if you are, some late additions to one of the Christmas collections is in the back waiting to be unwrapped. You can have the first chance at it.”

  “That sounds good. I do have a few last-minute Christmas gifts to make.”

  Harriet managed to use up most of her remaining time choosing fabric and a pattern to make three holiday table runners.

  “I’ve got a few more minutes, if you want to cut me some of the charity fabric,” she said to Marjory when she finished paying for her purchase.

  “Let’s just load the bolts into your car. I’ve got to drive my mom’s car to Seattle tomorrow to be serviced and detailed so I can sell it. If all goes well, I’ll be leaving it at a dealership.”

  “How will you get home?”

  “I can do a one-way car rental—I checked.”

  “Do you want me to drive you?” Harriet asked, mentally reviewing her next day’s schedule.

  “That’s sweet of you, honey, but you’ve got quilting to do, and frankly, I could use the time alone to ponder this situation with my sister.”

  “If you change your mind, just call.”

  “Let’s get this new flannel into your car,” Marjory said, ending the discussion.

  Chapter 4

  Hail began to fall as Harriet pulled into the parking lot of The Steaming Cup and turned her car off. She sat for a moment, hoping the icy precipitation would pass, but realized the parking lot was only going to be more treacherous to walk on as the hail accumulated, so she got out and dashed for the door.

  “Boy, it’s nasty out there,” Tom said as he joined her in line at the coffee counter. He shuddered, and little ice balls fell to the floor from the shoulders of his jacket.

  “I’m glad I’m not going to be weathering this storm in the homeless camp.”

  “You and me both. It’s becoming clear our local homeless people are a pretty diverse bunch. The group at the church was different yet from the ones you met. They’d obviously been living outside for a long time and are skilled in acquiring hot meals and services.”

  “I’d like to know Joyce’s story.” Harriet paused while she ordered her latte and waited while Tom ordered a mocha. “I mean, she doesn’t seem like a typical homeless camp resident by anyone’s measure.”

  “That was my thought, too. I asked the group at the church, but they’re a close-mouthed bunch. One guy told me that if Joyce wanted her story known, she’d tell us.”

  “Well, all right, then.” Harriet was quiet for a moment; then, she and Tom both laughed.

  “So, how have you been since I last saw you?” he asked, watching her carefully.

  “Good,” she said. “Things have been good.”

  “And Aiden?”

  “What about Aiden?”

  “Are things good with Aiden?”

  She paused to consider her answer.

  “That’s all I need to know,” Tom said.

  “Things are fine with Aiden,” she said in a rush.

  “Protest all you want, but your hesitation said it all. That and the fact that it’s been more than half a year since we met and you and Aiden have progressed to…what? Dating?”

  Harriet turned to leave, but he put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business, but back when we first met, I told Aiden I wouldn’t interfere with your relationship. I also told him that my largess came with an expiration date.”

  “I’m not some kind of prize in your juvenile competition.” Harriet’s eyes stung with angry tears. Her drink was called, followed by Tom’s, and she grabbed them both.

  He led the way to a table away from the other coffee shop patrons, pulled out a chair for her and, when she was seated, sat opposite her.

  “I’m making a mess of this,” he said. He put his head in his hands and looked down at the table for a moment. “What I’m trying to say is this. If you and Aiden are progressing toward a lasting relationship, say the word, and while I hope we can be friends, I’ll back off. On the other hand, I’m checking in. If things are merely convenient and not moving toward a more meaningful relationship, I’d like to offer an alternative.”

  Harriet sat back in her chair.

  “I can see I’ve taken you by surprise,” Tom continued. “And, hey, I’m not proposing marriage or anything. But we connected. I know you felt it, too. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Just dinner.”

  “Wow,” Harriet finally said. “I wasn’t expecting this.” She looked into his clear hazel eyes.

  “I know, and it’s probably not fair for me to spring it on you. I see some of your Loose Threads at the Folk Art School, and I’ll admit—I ask them about you. I came here knowing a little about where things stood with you and Aiden. At least as far as your fellow stitchers know.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?” Harriet asked, outraged.

  “No, I’m not spying. Your fellow quilters are full of stories about the recent murders in Foggy Point and your part in solving them. They invariably mention that handsome young vet you’re seeing. But always in those terms—‘that young vet she’s seeing.’ Not your lover or fiancé or anything else that would indicate a deepening of the relationship.”

  Harriet’s face had gone from pink to red.

  “If our relationship had advanced to that poin
t, the Loose Threads would be the last people I’d tell.”

  “So you admit things aren’t progressing?” Tom said with a smile.

  Harriet groaned, but she couldn’t suppress a smile.

  “How about this,” he said. “Let’s put dinner on hold for now. Let’s just have simple coffee between two friends. How did your visit to the homeless camp go?”

  “Okay,” Harriet said and paused. “My tour of the camp was eye-opening, to say the least. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Joyce and company.”

  “I hear you. I wasn’t sure what the homeless camp would be like, but I was thinking more along the lines of the drunks you see sleeping in doorways in Seattle.”

  “How many do you think will be helped by the project you’re working on?”

  “I’m rethinking my whole plan after talking to all three groups of people. There appear to be several subsets within the population, and I think my design needs to reflect that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our group has one person with obvious substance-abuse problems. For her, a simple, indestructible cell-like structure is probably appropriate. She has little capacity to take care of an apartment.

  “On the other end of the spectrum are Joyce, Ronald and probably Duane. They’re organized, capable of taking care of themselves and their surroundings and probably permanently located in our community. The group I met at the church are similar except for the permanency. They describe themselves as nomadic. They have no ties to the community and highly prize their lack of possessions and ability to move on without notice.”

  “Wow, you’ve already thought a lot about this.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I did read up on homelessness in America before I accepted the project.”

  “Can you design something that will meet such diverse needs?”

  “I know we started badly, but there’s no need to be insulting.”

  Harriet blushed again.

  “Hey, I’m kidding.” He reached across the table and took her hand. He was a touch person, and she was surprised to discover she didn’t mind.

  “I’ll have to think about it some, but I’m sure I can come up with a solution that will work. In the meantime, I’m sure Joyce and company are going to appreciate the quilts and tarps your group made them.”

  Harriet looked out the window at the rain, which was again sheeting down from dark clouds.

  “If this coming storm is as bad as everyone’s predicting, our blankets and tarps aren’t going to help much.”

  “I heard Pastor Hafer telling the people at the church they were setting up cots and would welcome all comers, so hopefully, they’ll take advantage.”

  “I think I heard my aunt and her friend Mavis saying something about using the church bus to pick people up, too.”

  Tom joined her in watching out the window.

  “I better get going. I don’t like to drive after dark when there’s some likelihood of encountering slides on the road between here and Angel Harbor.”

  “I don’t blame you. Thanks for coffee,” Harriet said. “I think,” she added with a smile.

  “Maybe we can do it again. I’ll be back and forth on this project for a while.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, and was pretty sure she meant it.

  Chapter 5

  Harriet drove past the vet clinic on her way home, and when she saw Connie’s car alongside Lauren’s in the parking lot, she turned around and pulled in. The rain beat a steady rhythm on her car’s roof as she parked, pulled her jacket’s hood up and made the run for the door.

  “You here to see Scooter?” the receptionist asked.

  Harriet nodded and went through the door to the back recesses of the clinic. Aiden had set up a socialization area in an unused storeroom with rocking chairs, a CD player and a coffee and tea setup for the volunteers. Most of the canine victims had spent their entire life in cramped cages stacked one on top of the other.

  “Hey,” Lauren said as Harriet entered the room. “How’d the date go?”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “Aiden was here all day,” Connie said. “Wasn’t he?”

  “As you both know,” Harriet said pointedly, “I had coffee with Tom Bainbridge. Just coffee. He wanted to compare our impressions of the homeless camp, if you must know. He has some interesting ideas for the new housing project he’s working on.”

  “That Tom Bainbridge wants more than a coffee date with you. You mark my words,” Connie told her.

  “What if he does?” Lauren said, apparently for the sake of argument.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Harriet said. “With either of you. Before I went to coffee, I stopped by Pins and Needles and talked to Marjory. Things sound kind of crazy—her sister and brother-in-law are coming to visit even though Marjory told them not to.”

  “In this weather?” Connie asked.

  “Clearly they want something,” Lauren said. She adjusted the position of the small dog in her lap. “Ouch. This one’s got sharp little feet.”

  “For once, I agree with Lauren,” Harriet said. “It sounds like her sister is trying to talk Marjory out of their mother’s estate.”

  “Sounds familiar,” said Aiden.

  Harriet hadn’t noticed him enter the room while she was talking. He reached over her shoulder and set Scooter in her lap. The little dog stood up and licked her face.

  “I have to go,” Connie said. She looked at her watch. “My goodness, I’ve been here almost an hour.”

  Aiden started to take the black dog she was holding.

  “I can take her back,” she said. “Lauren, don’t you want to take yours back, too?”

  “I’ve only been here…” Then, noticing Connie’s glare, she stood up. “Uh, yeah, I have to leave, too.”

  When the two women were gone, Aiden sat down.

  “I missed you this morning,” Harriet told him.

  “I was busy,” he said without looking at her.

  “How’d it go with your sister last night?”

  “About how you’d expect.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” He was shredding the edge of the disposable puddle pad that had been in Connie’s lap when she was holding her charge. He still refused to look at Harriet.

  “Are you free for dinner?” She leaned toward him, trying but failing to make eye contact.

  “I have to meet with Michelle again. We’re going to go through some of my mom’s old papers. It will probably take all night,” he added before she could ask.

  Harriet sat in silence, not sure what was going on.

  “Look, I have to go back to work. I’ll come get Scooter in twenty minutes, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” she mumbled and watched him go out the door.

  “He’s acting like a jerk,” Lauren said, reentering the room a moment later.

  “Were you outside listening?”

  “Not on purpose,” she said, crossing the room and picking her scarf up from the floor where it had fallen beside the chair she had occupied earlier. “I didn’t want to barge in until you were finished, and there aren’t a lot of other places to wait.”

  “Thanks for that,” Harriet said.

  “I’m free.”

  “What?”

  “For dinner—I’m free. Want to go to Tico’s?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, Lauren. Yes, I would like to go to dinner with you. What time?”

  “I need to go check my computer. Can we meet there in two hours?”

  “Sure. That’ll give me time to finish here and unload the new batch of flannel from Marjory.”

  Fred was meowing at the studio door when Harriet came inside.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked him. “I fed you both canned and dry food before I left.”

  A gust of wind rattled the window behind her, and Fred
made a plaintive yowl.

  “I see. You’re not liking the storm.” She picked the cat up and cuddled him then carried him into the kitchen.

  “Don’t expect this on a regular basis,” she said as she set him on the floor.

  She took a can of people tuna out of her kitchen cupboard and scooped a spoonful onto his dish then put the rest in a plastic container in the refrigerator.

  “There, that will help with your stress,” she said.

  Fred only had eyes for his tuna.

  She knew she should use the time she had left cutting fabric, but the pounding of the rain and wind was making her feel as restless as Fred. In the end, she went upstairs to the attic to look for the oil lamps she remembered being stored there.

  Aunt Beth, who had given her the house when she passed along the quilt studio, had accumulated a variety of the lamps, both decorative and purely functional, over the years. Harriet chose two small models with hand-thrown pottery bases and put them in a bag. She and Lauren were eating early enough she could deliver the lamps to Aunt Beth afterward. Harriet had no intention of allowing her to stay in her cottage, located on the Strait of Juan de Fuca, if the storm did worsen, but she also was aware her aunt might have other ideas, so it was best to make sure she was prepared.

  The thighs of Harriet’s jeans were soaked by the time she made it from her car to the entrance of Tico’s Tacos. Jorge held the door for her then handed her a clean bar towel to wipe her face with.

  “Come in, mi’ja,” he said. “Your friend is waiting for you. And your aunt is in the back room.”

  “My aunt is here?” Harriet asked, a little too loud. “What for?”

  “What do you think I’m here for?” Aunt Beth shot back as she approached from the rear of the restaurant. “And lower your voice. I didn’t raise you to screech like a banshee.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought I had heard you say you were going to Connie’s for dinner tonight. I was surprised.”

  “I am going to Connie’s. I’m here gathering intel from Jorge.” She exchanged a glance with the man.

  Harriet held her hands up.

  “Never mind, it’s clearly none of my business.”