A Single Thread (Cobbled Court)

by Marie Bostwick

  “Before I had Howard, I miscarried six times. I wanted a baby so bad. So did my husband, Donny. We kept trying, but every time I’d get about five months along, far enough so everybody’d know I was pregnant and start congratulating us, I’d lose the baby. The first couple of times, people would even send presents and cards. By the third time, they’d just stop me in the store or at church with this concerned look on their faces and say they were praying for us. I knew they meant well, but I wanted to slap them just the same.” She picked up the broken-heart quilt by the edges and gave it a couple of good shakes, sending a luminous flutter of dust motes into the sun-drenched room before laying it on top of the bed. She didn’t look at me as she worked, methodically smoothing out the wrinkles on the quilt.

  “After the sixth time, the doctors said we should give up, that there was no hope and these continued miscarriages weren’t good for my health. Donny and I talked it over and decided to listen to the doctors, to try adopting instead, but every time we’d get close to getting a baby, something would happen and we’d get our hearts broken again. Donny wanted a son so badly. One day I came home and found him in the back bedroom crying his eyes out, holding a letter saying that the adoptive mother had changed her mind and decided to keep the baby we’d thought was going to be ours. I was thirty-six years old, but we decided to try having a baby on our own one more time.”

  “Howard,” I said.

  She nodded and began fluffing up the bed pillows. “Howard. Other than Donny and the doctors, I didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant. I started wearing big clothes right off and griping about my weight, so people would think I was just putting on a few pounds. But when we passed that six-month mark and I realized that, this time, we really were going to have a baby, I was so excited! Donny too. We had all kinds of plans for him. I decided he was going to play the piano, design bridges, find the cure for cancer, and then be president of the United States, just as a sideline. Donny wanted him to play quarterback for the Cowboys.” She smiled briefly as she gave the pillowcase a final pat, then straightened up and put her hands on her hips as she looked over her work, her expression serious and appraising.

  “Then Howard was born, and the doctors said he had Down’s syndrome. In a way, it was like miscarrying all over again. We’d lost the child we’d been expecting, the boy who was supposed to build bridges, and call plays in the Super Bowl, and fly in Air Force One. That child had never existed, except in our imaginations, but we grieved his loss just the same. I sat in the rocking chair in the nursery and sobbed myself dry, and Donny went out for a quart of milk and never came back.

  “Inside of a week, I lost my husband, my marriage, and my dream child. I had no money, no job, and no idea how I was going to raise a child with special needs all by myself. I’d lost so much, so fast, and was feeling so sorry and so confused about what I’d done to bring this on myself, that I couldn’t see what I had left. For the longest time, I just sat in that rocking chair and cried. But the thing about Howard is that when he was a baby, he could cry louder than I could. He wasn’t at all worried about the answers to the meaning of life, or how unfair everything was, he just wanted something to eat and a clean diaper, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. So I got up out of the chair. I had to.”

  “Howard is great,” I whispered.

  “He is. When he was born, the doctor told me he’d never be able to read or tie his own shoes, and now here he is, on the threshold of becoming a television star—and me along with him. And you know that could never have happened if I didn’t have Howard. If Howard wasn’t picking out the colors and fabrics, I’d have spent my life sewing the best-constructed and ugliest quilts in Texas.”

  She grinned. “And the best part is, Howard doesn’t seem to be fazed by any of it. It’s like he always knew this was bound to happen eventually and was just waiting for the rest of us to wake up and smell the coffee.” Mary Dell laughed, and I did too. The sound coming from my throat was raspy, and I realized how long it had been since I’d laughed.

  “You know, it might have been nice, having a president for a son, the perfect family, a husband by my side as our child grew up and I grew old.” She shrugged. “Well, it worked out that way for plenty of folks; some of them seem pretty happy and others don’t. I used to wonder about that a lot, but after a while I gave up wondering. There’s never an answer to those kinds of questions.”

  She walked to the closed door, where a white terry-cloth robe was hanging, and took it off the hook. “If you or I were running things, we’d arrange life so it came with a money-back guarantee, but we’re not. And probably that’s for the best. Maybe I didn’t get the life I’d planned on, but I can tell you now, and mean it, that if I had the chance to take the life I have and trade it in for what I thought was best for me then, I’d pass. But I’d never have found that out if I’d have kept my butt glued to that rocker.”

  She walked behind me and held open the robe so I could put my arms in the sleeves, then came around front to tighten the belt around my waist. The job done, she looked up and smiled that wide Mary Dell smile, big white teeth ringed with bright red lipstick. “Like my old granny used to say, ‘When your dreams turn to dust, maybe it’s time to vacuum.’”

  With tears in my eyes, I laughed and put an arm around my friend’s waist as, together, we walked through the bedroom door.

  32

  Abigail Burgess Wynne

  Standing in my dressing room, trying to figure out which of my jackets, the camel or the houndstooth, made me look more like a solid citizen, I paused to marvel that so much could happen in the course of a year.

  Thirteen months had passed since the day Judge Gulden’s ruling saddled me with my unwelcome and unwilling houseguest. How much had changed since that day, for me and for Liza. We were neither of us the same people. As if to prove my point, Liza walked into my dressing room wearing a navy blue wrap dress with a chunky cobalt and silver bead necklace, high heels with narrow ankle straps tied in a bow and, most astonishing of all, stockings.

  “How do I look?” she asked and twirled in a circle, making the skirt of the dress flare. “Reformed? Rehabilitated? Ready to be released into society?”

  I stood for a moment, speechless in the face of this transformation. I remembered another day, so long ago, the tap-tap of a pair of heels clamoring down the stairs, Susan’s breathless excitement and shining eyes as she spun in a circle, showing off her first party dress, a face and voice so like Liza’s, wanting to know how she looked.

  “You look beautiful,” I said. She was.

  Liza smiled. “I found it in that new boutique that opened around the corner from the Grill. I thought I should dress up a little for Judge Gulden.”

  “Good idea.”

  “It’s the newest style,” Liza reported, running her hands down her sides to smooth the jersey fabric of the skirt. “Just simple and comfortable and modern.”

  “Wonderful,” I murmured, deciding there wasn’t any point in telling her that’s what Diane von Furstenburg had said too, when she introduced the wrap dress to the fashion world in 1973. “Blue is a good color for you. It sets off your eyes.” It was true, but frankly, I’d have said the same thing if she’d waltzed into my room wearing bright red, pumpkin, seafoam green, or puce—anything but black.

  “The necklace is nice too. Where did you get it?”

  “I made it.”

  “Really? Well, it’s very pretty.”

  “Thanks. The lady who owns the boutique liked it too. She said if I could make some more, she’d buy them for the shop.”

  That was an interesting idea, I mused. Starting a jewelry business might be a good way for Liza to use her talents. Working in the quilt store was fine for now, but Liza needed to expand her horizons. With a little encouragement, financial backing from me, and introductions to the right people—also courtesy of me—who knew? Before long, Liza Burgess originals might be available in the jewelry departments of Barney’s in Manhattan, Neiman-Marc
us in Dallas, and Harrod’s in London—a worldwide jewelry empire! And the whole thing headquartered right here in New Bern, Liza’s home, where she lived with me. Of course, when she decided to marry and perhaps have a family—which might happen sooner than later; I’d noticed how Garrett Dixon had been looking at her lately—then the whole family, Liza, Garrett, and their children (girls, I decided, two of them), could live right here on Proctor Street. The Hudsons had been grumbling about the Connecticut winters for years, always swearing that this year they were selling and moving to Florida. I wondered if they were serious. Their house would be perfect! The gardens were large, perfect for children, though the kitchen needed updating badly, and we’d have to build some kind of office so Liza could run the business out of the house and still spend time with the children. Maybe we’d have to add a nanny or housekeeper suite as well. If the business really took off, Liza would need some extra help around the house. Hmmm. Maybe I should hire an architect? No, I decided, better just to call Dominic D’Rosa, the contractor who’d remodeled my bedroom suite three years before. He did good work and would understand exactly what I wanted. Yes! That would be perfect! After the hearing, I’d ask Franklin to call the Hudsons and see if they were willing to sell. Of course, if I came to them first they’d probably be stubborn about price, but what did that matter? Money was nothing compared to family. All that mattered was that Liza was happy.

  “Abigail?”

  I shook myself out of my reverie and saw Liza staring at me with a quizzical look on her face.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh. Yes. I was just thinking.” I grabbed the camel jacket from off the hanger. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing important. I’ll tell you about it later.” I patted her on the arm and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Harry Gulden was pleased.

  Liza, Franklin, Mr. Corey, and I—the same cast of characters who had stood in the judge’s chambers a year before—sat quietly as Judge Gulden flipped through the sheaf of papers that made up Liza’s file, peering through the reading glasses that were perched on the end of his nose and nodding approvingly.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Very good. No arrests; not so much as a parking ticket. It says here that you’ve been participating in a grief-recovery workshop at the church. Has that helped you?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. A lot.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. And you’re still working at the quilt-shop part time?” Liza nodded. “Well, this character reference from the owner, Ms. Dixon, is excellent. She says you’re a hard worker and have matured greatly in the last year. Looking over your file, I’d have to agree. Good for you, Liza.”

  Liza blushed a little. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  The judge cleared his throat, gathered up the papers, and tapped them on his desk to straighten them.

  “Mr. Corey,” he said, peering over the tops of his glasses at the young attorney. “I take it that, given Miss Burgess’s excellent record during the last year, the district attorney’s office will agree wholeheartedly that she can be released to her own recognizance and that any record of this unfortunate incident can be safely expunged? It is always so much better to resolve these little problems without resorting to unnecessary and unneeded bureaucracy, don’t you agree?”

  It was a statement phrased as a question; the judge had clearly made up his mind. But Mr. Corey still seemed slightly begrudging in his assent.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Excellent!” The judge beamed. “Very sensible of you.”

  “In that case…” He picked up his gavel ceremoniously and banged it down once. “Miss Burgess, you are free to go. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “You’re welcome. Now that you’re out from under your aunt’s benevolent and watchful eye, do you know what do you plan to do with your life?” Harry winked at me.

  I took a step forward, ready to explain the exciting plans I’d made for Liza’s future, but Liza spoke first.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve decided to go back to school.”

  She had? When? She’d never discussed it with me.

  “But,” I protested, so surprised by this revelation that I didn’t stop to think out what I was saying, “the administration asked you to leave. You can’t be thinking of going back to that place!”

  Liza drew her brows together and shot me a look, clearly irritated by my interruption and my impolitic reminder of her past academic failure. “No,” she hissed, her cheeks flushing, “I’m not going back to Rhode Island, but there are other art schools, you know. During the last year I’ve come to realize how much I really love being an artist; it’s my calling.

  “And,” she continued, straightening her shoulders, “I’ve also come to realize that, no matter what my old professors said, I do have talent. But I need to develop it. I just need to find the right school. Probably in New York. I’ve been talking with Evelyn, and she says—”

  “Evelyn!” I shouted, ignoring the elbow that Franklin shoved into my ribs. “What does Evelyn have to do with it? Why would you be discussing this with her?”

  Liza tilted her head and looked at me curiously, as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “Because Evelyn’s my friend, that’s why. She knows me, and cares about me, and wants me to be happy. Just like you do, Abigail.”

  It was raining. The three of us, Liza, Franklin, and I, stood clumped together under the overhanging eve of the courthouse in a fruitless attempt at staying dry.

  “Well, of course I understood that you couldn’t live at my house forever,” I said, thinking about the Hudson place down the block. I just don’t see why you’re in such a rush to go. You could go to school and still live in New Bern. The community college has art classes.”

  Liza rolled her eyes, and Franklin grinned. Even I knew that wasn’t a real option. Liza’s talents were far too advanced for some beginner’s watercolor classes taught by some part-time associate professor, but I was grasping at straws.

  It had been a long time in coming, and the road had been rough—make that cratered with sinkholes big enough to swallow a Buick—but over the course of the previous year I had come to care about Liza. I liked having her around, liked coming home and hearing her clattering around in the kitchen, or walking into a room and discovering she’d decided to rearrange all the furniture without asking, then arguing with her about it. Before Liza came into my life, I hadn’t realized how lonely I was. I didn’t want to go back to being that way again.

  “Abbie,” Franklin said as rainwater dripped from the edge of his hat and onto his shoes, “there comes a time when every fledgling has to leave the nest. You’ve done a good job helping her through a hard time, and I’m sure she appreciates it.” Liza nodded earnestly. “But it’s time for her to go out and try her wings.”

  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “What a beautiful illustration, Franklin. So original. Did you think that up just now?”

  Franklin laughed, and Liza smiled. “Franklin is right. Clichéd, but right. I love New Bern, and, though I never thought I would have said it, I love living with you. But it’s time for me to leave. At least for a while. Who knows? When I’ve finished school, maybe I’ll come back.”

  “But,” I protested, “what about Garrett? You two have been seeing quite a lot of each other. How does he feel about your leaving?”

  “He’s fine with it because he knows this is what will make me happy. Sure, we care about each other, a lot. But it isn’t like he’s asked me to marry him. Even if he had, I’d still want to go to finish my education. It’s like Evelyn says, falling in love shouldn’t mean letting your dreams fall by the wayside. Any man who truly loves you won’t just love who you are; he’ll love who you’re capable of being.”

  Evelyn again, I thought. She was certainly generous in doling out pearls of wisdom. The trouble was, she happened to
be right.

  I exhaled a deep breath of resignation. “All right. I see your point.” Liza smiled and put out her arms to embrace me, but I held out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait! You’ve got to promise me two things. First, that you will work hard, have confidence in your talent, and won’t ever let anyone talk you out of being everything you can be.”

  “Done.”

  “Second, that you’ll come back home during school vacations.”

  She frowned. “Well, I don’t know. There are these cool spring-break parties in Aruba I was looking forward to,” she said, and then, before I could start to tell her exactly what I thought of that plan, her face split into a grin. “Just kidding, Abigail. Of course I’ll come back for vacations. Where else would I go? This is my home.”

  My conditions being met, I submitted to Liza’s embrace, reaching carefully around her shoulder to dab at my eyes before she released me.

  “Glad that’s all settled,” Franklin said. “I saw Charlie on my way here, and he said they’ve got a halibut special that is out of this world. So come on, you two. Lunch is on me.”

  Liza wrinkled her nose, remembering something. “Sorry, but I can’t. Garrett and I are driving to Massachusetts to check out the new art exhibit at Williams College.”

  This was news to me. “That far? You won’t be back in time for Evelyn’s surprise party tonight. Besides, I thought Garrett was going to take Evelyn to her doctor’s appointment and then lure her back to the shop for the party.”

  “Change of plans. Rob volunteered to do it instead, and Margot said she’d handle everything else.”

  “Well,” I said, “I still don’t think this is the best time for you two to be running off to Williamstown. Don’t forget, the party starts at seven and everyone has to be in hiding before she gets there. Otherwise it’ll ruin the whole thing.”