“Apparently, Michelle drove to Aiden’s, parked at the end of the driveway, took a bottle of pills and then, before she passed out, called Aiden and told him what she’d done.”
“I guess that explains why he didn’t make it to dinner,” Mavis said, and before Harriet could protest, added, “But it doesn’t explain why he couldn’t call you after he called nine-one-one.”
“Or after the ambulance came,” Connie said.
“Or even from the hospital,” Aunt Beth finished.
Harriet sagged back into her chair.
“So, you all can see it. Why can’t he?”
“That girl is a master manipulator,” Mavis said. “This is a little extreme even for her, though.”
“If it was just one incident, I could get past it. Yes, he left me in a restaurant full of people who all saw me arrive in a chauffeur-driven limo and then be dumped or stood up or whatever it was that happened, but it isn’t the first time we’ve had to cancel our plans so he could run to his sister’s side. And usually, it’s yet another scheme for her to get money from him. He says he can see it, and that I’d understand if I had a sister, but it doesn’t change his behavior.”
“He needs to see a counselor,” Connie said. “That’s not a natural brother-sister relationship. She’s using him, and he’s letting her.”
“He and I have had that discussion, too. He doesn’t think their relationship is unusual, so he rejects the idea of talking to anyone. I suggested we talk to Pastor Hafer, but he won’t even do that.”
“Him leaving you without a call or anything is not acceptable,” Aunt Beth said. “I don’t care who or what that snake Michelle is to him. Or what new game she’s up to.”
Mavis got up from the table.
“This calls for something stronger than tea,” she announced. “Anyone want a cup of coffee?” She took the carafe from the coffee machine and started filling it with water.
“Sure,” Connie said. “We’re not going to sleep anytime soon, so why not?”
Aunt Beth and Harriet agreed. Connie collected the empty tea cups and took them to the sink to rinse.
The phone rang, and Harriet jumped, spilling hot coffee on her hand.
“Here, honey,” Mavis said, handing over her napkin and getting up to fetch another from the holder on the kitchen bar.
“Let the machine pick it up,” Beth ordered and went to stand by the phone. When she heard Carla’s voice, she picked up the receiver. “What’s happening?…Uh-huh…” She said several more times as Carla related her update. “Well, keep us posted, and we’ll see you tomorrow at the show.”
“What?” Harriet asked, seeing the look on her face. “Whatever it is can’t be any worse than being stood up in such a flamboyant way.”
“Anyone need a refill?” Mavis asked, allowing Beth time to get seated. Beth waited while she picked up the coffee pot and topped everyone’s drink then sat down again.
“Apparently,” she began, “this was all a ploy to get Aiden to let Michelle and her kids move in.”
“That’s what Carla said?” Harriet asked.
“Well, not in so many words, but that’s the obvious conclusion. She had her kids in the car, and it turns out she’d only taken six sleeping pills—two is the normal dose. In other words, she took just enough to be real sleepy.”
“So, she was never in any danger,” Harriet stated.
“No, she wasn’t,” her aunt confirmed. “She wanted Aiden to think she was. Carla said the kids told her their dad kicked their mom out. A nurse Aiden knows was just getting off work and offered to bring the kids back to his house. She left when Carla got back home, and the kids immediately called their dad in Seattle and asked him to come get them.”
“Diós mio,” Connie exclaimed. “What a mess.”
“It’s embarrassing, but I’ll live,” Harriet said. “You ladies have been very kind, helping me lick my wounds, but it’s really not necessary for you to stay any longer. An emergency happened, and as a result, I was stood up. Yes, it hurts that Aiden couldn’t spare two minutes to call and let me know, but I’ll live to date another day.”
“Well, aren’t we just being a grownup about all this,” Aunt Beth said in a teasing tone.
“I’m just tired,” Harriet said. “I don’t do drama well.”
“Are you going to talk to him tomorrow?” Connie asked.
“I think the real question is am I going to talk to him ever,” Harriet replied.
“That’s my girl,” Mavis said. “I was getting worried there for a minute.”
“I’m angry and hurt, and more than a little embarrassed, but I’m not going to let him keep hurting me by dwelling on it. We have a quilt show to set up tomorrow, and I’m going to concentrate on that.”
“That sounds like a plan. We’ve got a busy week coming up,” Mavis said. “Shall we meet here around one and drive over to the exhibit hall together?”
“Sure,” Harriet said. “Parking close to the building is probably going to be tight. If we take my car, we can all fit.”
“I’ll call Lauren and see if she wants to come with us,” Connie volunteered. “Robin and DeAnn are going together, and I think I heard them making arrangements with Jenny, too. I can talk to Carla tomorrow when she picks up Wendy.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay if we leave?” Aunt Beth asked. “I can stay, if you want.”
“I’m fine, really. I appreciate the support, but I’m okay. I think I’ll read my book and then go to bed and try to pretend this day never happened.”
“I’m really sorry your big date ended the way it did,” Aunt Beth said.
“You know, it would be a little easier if you didn’t phrase it that way,” Harriet said with a tired sigh. She got up and began carrying empty cups to the sink.
Connie got her purse and coat then went to Harriet and pulled her into a warm hug.
“Just remember, we all love you,” she said.
Mavis joined them, patting Harriet on the back.
“If there’s anything I can do, I’m just a phone call away,” she said.
“That goes for me, too,” Aunt Beth added. “I know you’re tough, but even the strong need support sometimes.”
Chapter 7
Harriet woke up early the next morning. She’d actually slept well the night before, probably because her dog had slept over at Connie’s. Scooter usually got up at least once each night to go outside, and he woke crying in the night several times a week. She could only imagine what sort of treatment had left him with nightmares.
“Hey, Fred,” she said when she’d come downstairs and scooped some of the rubbery glop Aiden had prescribed into her cat’s ceramic bowl at the end of the kitchen bar. “I know this isn’t your favorite, but you have to admit your dandruff has improved.”
It hurt to think of Aiden, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Today was a new day, and she’d need all her concentration to be on quilts and the upcoming festival.
She went into the quilt studio and unlocked the door to the outside. No one, including the paper delivery man, used the formal front door to her stately Victorian home. The paper man generally slowed and pitched her paper out without coming close to a full stop, leaving it anywhere from the flower boxes on either side of the small porch to the bushes on the opposite side of her driveway. She opened the door this morning and was surprised to find it lying neatly on the steps beside a white box with a gold bow. She bent to pick it up as a car pulled into her driveway.
“I see I’m not the first one to think of leaving a present on your doorstep,” the driver called through the open window of his car.
Tom Bainbridge parked and got out, a flower vase in one hand. Three red roses surrounded a single origami flower that matched a bouquet he had made for her when he was stuck in Foggy Point by the storm.
“Tom?” Harriet met him at the bottom step. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you, too,” he countered and handed
her the vase.
“What are these for? Have you been talking to the Loose Threads?”
“No, I haven’t. You want to invite me in for coffee and tell me what they would have told me if I had talked to them?”
“Would you like to come in for coffee?” Harriet asked with a mock bow. “But, no, I don’t want to talk about the Threads.” She turned and went back up the steps.
“Don’t forget this,” Tom said and picked the white box up off the porch where she’d set it when she’d taken his flowers. He followed her into the house.
Harriet tried to appear casual as she flicked the small card on top of the box open to see if Aiden had sent a peace offering, but her expression gave her away as she read the name inside. Not Aiden.
“Have I come at a bad time?” Tom asked. “Whatever’s on that card clearly wasn’t what you were expecting.”
For one fleeting moment, she’d allowed herself to believe Aiden had acknowledged what he’d done the night before—but he hadn’t. James had sent her a box of his handmade chocolate truffles. In case you need some chocolate to drown your sorrows in, the note read.
“You’re wrong,” she lied. “This box is full of handmade chocolates personally crafted by the owner of the place where I went to dinner last night. He sent them in appreciation of my patronage.”
“Do I have another rival for your affections? Someone who knows how to make truffles? That will be a hard act to compete with.”
“James is just a friend. He’s actually a friend of a friend.”
“Who clearly wants to be more if that’s what he gives you after you eat at his place.”
“Could we just drop it?” Harriet asked as she led the way back into the kitchen and filled the coffeemaker carafe with water.
“Sure, whatever you say.” Tom sat down at the bar and watched as she emptied the water into the tank of the coffee machine.
“What brings you to our fair town?” Harriet asked, trying for a light tone and falling just short.
“The sixties festival committee asked me to bring some stuff from Mom’s school,” he said, referring to the folk art school his mother had operated in Angel Harbor. “One of the ladies had taken pottery classes there and knew Mom had a collection of pots from when she first opened the place. They offered me a table in the vendor area to advertise the school in exchange for bringing them, so I agreed.”
“So, you’ll be around for the whole festival?” she asked.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He sounded hurt.
“No!” She reached across the bar and put her hand on his arm. “I like having you around. Don’t mind me, I’m just in a bad mood.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Tom took her other hand, drawing her toward him. When his face was inches from hers, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. “Let me make it better.”
“You already have.” Harriet smiled and pulled her hand from his. She poured coffee into two mugs and gave him one. “Do you have a costume?” she asked, changing the subject.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Mom was a bit of a hoarder when it came to clothes—she had plenty of storage space at the school, so I guess she figured ‘Why not?’ Lucky for me, she saved choice items from my dad’s wardrobe, too. I’ve got several pairs of bell bottoms, a white patent leather boot-and-belt combo, and a sweet baby-blue leisure suit.”
“I see you’ve been growing your hair out, too.”
“It’s driving me crazy. Enjoy my luscious locks while you can,” he said and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m getting it buzzed as soon as this is all over.”
“Buzzed? Really?”
“Well, maybe not that short, but the locks are leaving.” He took a sip of coffee. “You sure make a mean cup of coffee, for someone who drinks so much tea.”
“Thank you, I think,” Harriet said and then proceeded to fill him in on all the plans her community had made for the festival.
“Can we meet for lunch or dinner while I’m here?” he asked when they’d exhausted the topic.
Harriet paused.
“Forget I asked. I told you I wouldn’t pressure you about our relationship, and I won’t.”
“It’s not you,” she said.
“Aiden’s making this way too easy. Maybe you’ll decide you can tell me about whatever it is that’s got you so upset. And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing. I can see something’s happened, and it doesn’t take a psychic to figure out Aiden was involved.”
“I’m not talking about Aiden with you, but we can do lunch. I have to figure out what all my work shifts are going to be at the show. I’ll have to let you know.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve got to go deliver my pots.” He stood up, and she joined him. “Enjoy the flowers.”
“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I’m being rude. It was very kind of you to bring them to me.”
“You’re very welcome.” He leaned in and gave her another quick kiss before turning and going out the door.
“Well, Fred,” she said when the door had closed behind Tom. “He’s good for your mama’s bruised ego.”
Chapter 8
“Let me get this straight,” Harriet said as she drove her carload of Loose Threads to the exhibit. “We have to hang some of the quilts in the auditorium where the music and other entertainment will be going on?”
“And a few brave volunteers are allowing their quilts to be hung outside on the walkway where the food vendors are,” Aunt Beth added.
“Is anyone besides me worried about how well the quilts will be protected in those two places?” Harriet pressed. “What about the white glove people?”
She meant the volunteers who wear cotton gloves to protect the quilts from body oils when they turned the edges of displayed quilts up to reveal the back side for anyone who asked.
“I suppose they’ll have a group of volunteers willing to tolerate loud music,” Aunt Beth speculated.
“I know Marjory asked for utilitarian quilts to hang in the food area,” Mavis said from the back seat. “I brought her one that Curley chewed when she first came to live with me. I cleaned it and repaired the corner. Marjory said that was fine.”
Curly was the rescue dog Mavis had adopted.
“There’s Robin’s car,” Connie said and pointed out the side window as Harriet turned into the Foggy Point Exhibition Center parking lot. She found a spot two spaces away from Robin’s minivan. DeAnn and Robin got out of the van when Harriet’s car stopped.
“Hi, everyone,” Robin called out. “We weren’t sure where to go, so we decided to wait for you all to arrive.”
“Where’s Jenny?” Harriet asked.
“She called and said she’d drive herself,” DeAnn said. “I guess she has somewhere to go afterward.” She shrugged.
“That’s weird,” Mavis said. “She told me her husband was on a trip with her son, and she was looking forward to having no obligations for the next week.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t going to plan anything until he got back,” Aunt Beth said. “She just doesn’t have to serve scheduled meals.”
“Oh, she gets to live like you and me, huh?” Mavis said, and the two friends laughed in a knowing way.
“Popcorn and pickles,” Harriet added.
Carla looked confused.
“What’s that mean?” she asked and blushed.
“When I was growing up and was sent to stay with my aunt, we would have popcorn and pickles for dinner at least once each time my uncle Hank was away on a business trip.”
“Why would you do that on purpose?” Carla asked, still obviously confused. “My mom and I ate combos like that just before we ran out of food.”
No one knew what to say. Carla’s face got redder as she realized she’d said something wrong, but still didn’t understand what.
Aunt Beth put her arm around the young woman.
“They wouldn’t, sweetie. It’s a poor joke by two people who’ve never
wanted for food in their lives. We should be more sensitive.”
“So, did you eat that or not?” Carla pressed, still confused.
“Yes, we did,” Harriet said. “Not because we had to, though. I’ll tell you all about it later. You want to help me unload a couple quilts from the back of my car? When they put out the call for quilts for the food area, I got to be one of the drop-off points.”
“Did I miss anything?” Jenny asked as she walked up to the back of Harriet’s car, her quilt held tightly in her arms.
“We just got here,” Harriet said. “These are some of the quilts Marjory rounded up for the food court.”
“I’m supposed to meet with the two volunteers who are going to stand with my quilt when I’m not there. They’re also helping hang quilts, so we thought we’d meet here.” Jenny said.
“We better go inside,” Aunt Beth called with a glance at the darkening sky. “It looks like it’s about to start raining.”
Harriet and the Threads joined the women assembled in the exhibit hall, where they were divided into groups and given instructions on how to hang their assigned quilts. Jenny took hers and followed the two volunteers and another woman from the show committee.
Her quilt would be hanging in a place of honor in an alcove created from black curtains and with a raised plywood platform. Jenny or one of the other volunteers would stay with it and answer questions about not only about her quilt but pieced quilts in the sixties in general.
“Hey,” Lauren said to Harriet an hour later. She’d just come into the building, shaking the rain from her jacket as she took it off. “I had to work with my client,” she explained. “Did you know Colm Byrne is setting up in the next building? Not his flunkies, the man himself.”
“Really?” Carla said.
“Would I lie to you?” Lauren shot back.
“Can we go see?”
“It’s your lucky day, honey,” Mavis said. “Marjory’s bringing a cart full of quilts for us to take to the auditorium and hang.”
Make Quilts Not War Page 4