Make Quilts Not War

by Arlene Sachitano

  Harriet put a paper filter in her single-cup filter holder and set it over a large mug. She scooped coffee into the filter and put the water kettle on to boil. Scooter was bouncing around Aiden’s feet as she worked. He picked the little dog up and examined the nearly healed wound on his back.

  “He’s almost better,” he said with approval.

  “I’m going to take him out real quick. If your water boils, pour it, okay?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. She crossed the kitchen and pulled Scooter’s sweater and leash from the broom closet and put them on him before carrying him outside.

  Aiden was sitting hunched over his cup of coffee at the kitchen table when she returned. She put a small scoop of food in Scooter’s dish and a larger scoop of Fred’s hypoallergenic cat food in his dish then turned to the man at her table.

  “Okay, why are you here?”

  “I don’t know. We need to talk, I guess.”

  “You guess?” She moved closer. “I think you said all that needs to be said the other night. Oh, that’s right, you didn’t say anything, because you weren’t there. That said everything that needed to be said.”

  “I’m so sorry for that. You have no idea. Let me make it up to you.”

  “You know, that might have meant something a couple of nights ago, but now is a little too late for a simple sorry.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I can. I do.”

  “You have to let me make it up to you,” he repeated. He ran his hands through his silky black hair.

  “No matter how many times you say it, it’s not about making up for our missed dinner—and we both know it.”

  “Then tell me what it’s about.”

  “Aiden,” Harriet took his hand in both of hers. “We’ve had this discussion…more than once. It’s really quite simple. You want a relationship, but you’re not available.”

  “What do you mean?” he challenged. “You think I’m seeing someone else?”

  “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean you’re available. We keep talking about this over and over again, but in the end nothing changes.”

  “It’s my sister, isn’t it?”

  “Do you think?”, Her frustration was clear in her voice. “This is what I mean. The fact that you have to ask says it all. A relationship is two people, not three.”

  “But everyone has family. You have your aunt. I would never stand in your way if your aunt needed you.”

  “My aunt would never try to keep me from being with you or anyone else.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Have I been replaced already?”

  “No! The point is, I don’t believe your sister hates me, not really. She hates sharing you with anyone. She’ll do this no matter who you’re seeing.”

  “But she’s my sister. What am I supposed to do? Our parents are dead. I’m all she’s got.”

  “See, that’s the trouble. You’re not all she has. She has another brother, and a husband and two children who need her.”

  “Her husband left her. That’s why she did what she did. And she and Marcel don’t get along.”

  Harriet took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Nothing’s changed, so why are you here?”

  “I want to fix things. How can we make this better? There must be some way to make it work. Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I’m not willing to be part of a triangle. You want two women in your life, and she will never accept that even if I could.”

  “It’s not her decision,” he protested, but Harriet could see from his face that even he knew it wasn’t true.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t like ultimatums. Having said that, I also can’t allow you to treat me the way you did the other night.”

  He started to protest, but Harriet let go of his hands and put her fingers against his lips.

  “Let me finish,” she said. “I know you believe your sister was having an authentic emergency. But even if she was, you didn’t call me. Not that night, not the next day. Not at all. Once she…” Harriet grasped for words that wouldn’t be offensive to him. “…did what she did, I ceased to exist for you.

  “And that is the problem. That’s the part of all this that you refuse to take responsibility for. Even now, you walked through the woods and sat on my steps freezing so she wouldn’t know you’d come here, didn’t you? You’re afraid of what she’ll do or say if she knows you’re talking to me.”

  Aiden’s chin dropped to his chest.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Grow up” comes to mind, Harriet thought, but instead of giving voice to it, she moved around to his side of the table and pulled him up. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

  “Only you can figure this out, Aiden. I can’t, and Michelle certainly won’t.”

  He bent his head down and grazed her lips with his. When she didn’t protest, he deepened the kiss. She threaded her hands under his shirt and stroked his back.

  “This has never been our problem,” she said when their lips finally parted.

  He hugged her, swaying slightly as he held her.

  “I’ve missed this,” he said. “Us. You.” He breathed in deeply. “I love the way your hair smells.” He held her silently. “Maybe we could run away somewhere,” he murmured into her hair.

  Harriet leaned back and looked into his face to be sure he didn’t seriously believe that was a viable solution.

  “Let me give you a ride home,” she said and turned away from him. “I promise I’ll drop you at the end of your road so your sister doesn’t know where you were.”

  “When can I see you again,” he asked.

  Harriet stopped and turned back to him.

  “I’m not going to play the other woman, sneaking around behind your sister’s back. You’ve got some decisions to make, and I’ve got my hands full with this festival and everything.”

  “Has something else happened? Everyone’s been talking about the murder, but it sounds like they suspect her husband.”

  She told him about the tire-slashing.

  “You should have called me,” he said automatically.

  “So you could ask Michelle’s permission to come out? I don’t think so.”

  “I want to see you again.”

  “I want to see you, too. But not until the festival’s over. We can talk, but, Aiden, there won’t be any point to it unless something changes.”

  “I guess that’s all I can ask,” he said and shrugged into his coat.

  “I wish you would talk to someone about your sister, someone who isn’t me. There must be a family counselor in Foggy Point, or maybe you could see Pastor Hafer.”

  He stood in silence, his lips clamped tight. She sighed and put her coat on, picked up her purse and keys and led the way to the garage.

  Chapter 17

  Harriet got up early the next morning and went straight to her studio. Connie had found a box of granny-style dresses made with small print floral cotton fabrics stored in her attic. She’d distributed them among her friends; but since she was shorter than anyone else in the Loose Threads, the dresses didn’t reach the ankle length they were intended to be but ended mid-calf.

  Harriet dug through her stash and found a similar piece of fabric in a coordinating print. She pulled out the hem on the dress and used her fabric to make a border, covering the seam with a piece of flat lace that was left over from another project. She held it up when she’d finished.

  “Well, boys,” she said to her two pets, “it’ll have to do.”

  Scooter wagged his tail, but Fred had no opinion.

  An hour later, she was showered, had eaten and was wearing her handiwork. She’d put gel in her short dark hair and blown it dry, fluffing it into her facsimile of an afro. She’d pulled on a pair of running tights under the dress and added hiking boots
to finish the look.

  “You boys behave yourselves,” she said to the dog and cat. “I’m going to be a little late, but Uncle Rod is going to come by twice just to be sure you’re okay.”

  With that, she picked up her purse, stitching bag and coat and headed for the garage.

  Jenny was standing by her quilt when Harriet came into the exhibit hall; she had done a more extensive makeover on her granny dress. In addition to adding wine-colored velveteen around the bottom, she’d sewn a velveteen panel up the front of both the skirt and bodice, trimming it with strips of small flat lace.

  “Far out,” Harriet said.

  “Groovy, isn’t it?” she said dryly.

  Harriet smiled.

  “Thank you for last night,” Jenny said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, not calling nine-one-one right away.”

  “I’m sure you were in shock,” Harriet said. “I hope it isn’t too much of a hassle.”

  “Actually, I’ve got my car back already. The tire store opens up at six am. They put on new tires and even delivered it before eight o’clock.”

  “At least that was nice, I just wish we knew who did it.”

  “It has to have been my brother. It’s the sort of thing he’d do.”

  It definitely wasn’t her brother, but Harriet couldn’t tell her that without confessing that Lauren’s friends were following him.

  “Are you going to the prom tonight?” she asked.

  “No. Since it’s Friday, the committee decided we should keep the quilt show open until the dance is over. My group is already down a person, and Sharon really wanted to go to the prom. She’s dating again for the first time since her husband died, so she needs to go. How about you? Have you and Aiden patched things up yet?”

  “You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure. His sister is a powerful influence. We talked about it again last night, but we never get anywhere. She doesn’t like me—or any other female, really—and she’s making him choose between us, with lots of dramatic gestures thrown in. He doesn’t want to have to decide, so here we are. I’ve suggested he talk to a professional about it, but so far he’s been resistant to that idea.”

  “What about Tom?”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to get more involved with him while things are still up in the air with Aiden. He’s so easy to be with I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

  “If you like him, and he’s easy to be with, maybe there’s a message there.” Jenny smiled at her. “He’s good-looking enough.”

  “Maybe,” Harriet said.

  “So, if you’re not going to the prom, what are you doing?”

  “I’ll be helping Lauren protest the war in front of the entrance.”

  “Really? Aren’t you going to freeze to death in that dress?”

  “I have a Vietnam-era army coat I found at the surplus store. But since the event is sanctioned by the festival committee, we will be inside the main entry doors in the foyer.”

  “Is there any chance you could swing by and give me a potty break partway through? I hate to ask, but I think the rest of the Threads are all going to the prom. It doesn’t seem right to take them from the dance, and the committee volunteers are stretched thin because they have so many events going on tonight.”

  “I’d be happy to help. I’m sure I’ll need a break from sitting down myself. We may be indoors, but it’ll still be a hard tile floor we’re sitting on.”

  “I’ve got a pillow I use for my back in the car. I can bring it in when I go to lunch. You’re welcome to sit on it for your protest.”

  “Thanks, that’ll be great. I better get on to my booth. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Jenny said.

  Harriet kept busy all morning with potential customers and even took two orders to stitch queen-sized tops. She was just finishing with a woman who had made her lay out every stitch sample she’d brought and then looked through both of her photo albums of past projects before announcing that she’d have to think about it before making a decision.

  “You have my permission to send Diane Frank packing if she comes back,” Aunt Beth said. “She pulls that nonsense every time we have a booth at any sort of show.”

  “And never once has it resulted in an order,” Mavis added.

  Harriet hadn’t seen the two women come into the opposite end of the booth while she was tending to Diane.

  “What are you two up to?”

  Mavis held up a brown paper bag.

  “Jorge made taco salads for today’s special. I hope you don’t mind, but we got three of them and thought we’d have lunch with you,” she said.

  “That’s great,” Harriet said. “Let me make a space on the table here.” She spent a moment packing her samples into plastic storage boxes and stowing them under one of her tables.

  “Have you heard anything more from Lauren?” Aunt Beth asked.

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  “Beth told me what Lauren found out last night,” Mavis said around a bite of salad, but she was interrupted before she could add her own thoughts on the matter by the wiry little man they had assumed was Colm Byrne’s manager.

  “I brought you ladies the extra backstage passes we talked about,” he said with an expression that landed halfway between a charming smile and a lecherous leer. “These are good for the dance tonight and the big concert on Saturday night.” He handed four large yellow cards and their lanyards to Aunt Beth and Mavis.

  “By the way, we haven’t been formally introduced,” he said to Harriet, “but they call me Skeeter. Your aunt and her friend helped us out when the refrigerator in our food truck went belly-up yesterday. Will four be enough?” he asked. “Colm wants you to be able to bring all your friends after you saved our bacon, literally,”

  “Don’t forget you already gave us three, the other day.”

  He smiled, and Harriet saw he was missing two bottom teeth. Apparently, only the onstage talent had to look beautiful.

  “Four should be plenty,” Harriet said. “Our friend missed the impromptu concert, but I’m sure she’d love to come.”

  Skeeter separated two more passes and began untangling their lanyards.

  “Yes,” Mavis said. “She’ll be the one in the Afro wig.”

  Skeeter dropped the passes and their lanyards. Harriet looked at her aunt as he bent down to pick them up. He yanked a pass out of the mess, thrust it into Mavis’s hand and turned abruptly and walked away.

  “Well, that was bit strange,” Harriet commented.

  “I’m sure a lot is strange in that little man’s life,” Aunt Beth said and turned back to her salad.

  “Did you notice that he has the same tattoo Jenny’s brother has?” Harriet asked. “That stylized peace symbol. They both have them as part of other images, but it’s the same tattoo.”

  “Oh, honey, everyone had peace symbols on everything back in those days. And that elongated variation was quite common,” Mavis said. “It’s a sign of the times, you might say.”

  “We better get going,” Aunt Beth said when everyone had finished their lunch. “We promised Marjory we’d help with the prom decorations.”

  “See you later,” Harriet said. “I’ll be the one with the ‘Make Love Not War’ sign.”

  Aunt Beth glared at her over the top of her glasses but didn’t say anything.

  “Love you, too,” Harriet said as they walked away.

  Lauren came by as Harriet was closing up for the day. The nature of her business meant she didn’t have to deal with a cashbox at the show, so shutting her booth down for the day consisted of putting her samples under the table and getting her purse and coat out. This time, she pulled her army jacket from a bag and put it on and picked up the pillow Jenny had brought during her lunch break.

  “I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” she announced.

  Lauren was dressed in hip-hugging wide bell bottoms
that had been embroidered with antiwar slogans, and an embroidered Mexican peasant blouse over a fitted navy blue long-sleeved T-shirt. She wore round-lensed granny-style eyeglasses to complete the look.

  “Where did you get the pants?” Harriet asked.

  “I hate to admit it, but I found them two years ago at a thrift store in Seattle. They were too classic to pass up. What’s with the pillow?”

  “Jenny had it in her car. She thought I might need it, especially if we have to sit the whole time. Will we be getting up to march, or will this be more of a sit-in?”

  “I think we’ll mostly sit there. Marjory wants us to get up and march when the mayor and the Chamber of Commerce president arrive. We do have to chant off and on, though.”

  “So, what are our chants?”

  “Most of them aren’t anything that can be said in polite company, so we’ll use ‘Hey-Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today,’ ‘Hell, no, we won’t go,’ and ‘Draft beer not boys.’”

  “Those are the tame ones? What happened to ‘make love not war,’ and ‘give peace a chance?’”

  “The first one is a slogan for a sign, not a chant, and the second is a song by John Lennon—again, not a chant.”

  “Okay, whatever you say,” Harriet said. “Lead the way.”

  Lauren’s group looked more like computer geeks from the two thousands than protesters from the nineteen-sixties, but to their credit, there were a lot of them, and they all carried signs with appropriate slogans.

  “You sit on this side,” Lauren directed Harriet when they’d all gathered in the foyer of the exhibit hall. “I’ll sit on the other side. When I get up, you make sure everyone between us does the same. Marjory will call on my cell when the mayor and the president are about to arrive.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Harriet said, and it was. The march went off without a hitch an hour later. The mayor and his faux-police escort had clearly been prepped ahead of time. Both Harriet and Lauren were “arrested” and restrained with toy handcuffs.

  “They didn’t tell me we were going to be arrested,” Lauren said when they’d been freed and were returning to their floor space inside the entrance.

  “At least it gave us a chance to get up and move around a little,” Harriet said and returned to her spot on the other side of the group.