When the tea pot whistled, Anne poured a cup and set it aside to steep while she changed her clothes and settled in for the night. Normally, she spent her evenings reading one of the various quilting publications the shop sold, scanning them for projects to recommend to customers or items she could make for displays. Sometimes, she read sewing magazines, too, in order to keep up with fashion trends and new products on the market. But tonight, she had other reading waiting for her.
The library had held a big sale over the weekend, and Anne had visited it on the final day when the organizers were eager to clear the tables. For just a dollar, she’d been able to fill an entire paper grocery sack with novels by several of her favorite romance authors. The treasure trove, now neatly arranged on a bookshelf in her bedroom, would keep her entertained for several months. The woman working at the sale had encouraged Anne to apply for a library card, but Anne had firmly declined. She avoided having her name on accounts of any kind… even one as seemingly innocent as a library membership.
Accounts left paper trails. Trails Jeffrey, with his connections, might be able to use one day to find her. She realized she was being paranoid, but she refused to lower her guard. Experience had taught her it was too dangerous to ever lessen her vigilance. She’d take every necessary precaution to avoid being located. If it meant she had to pay cash for everything and live her life with a packed suitcase in her closet, so be it. She accessed the Internet only on the store’s computer, refused to create a personal email account even on one of the “free” Internet providers. She had no bank accounts and no bills. Her rent included her utilities, and she paid it in cash on the first of every month. Myra had agreed to give Anne her wages in cash, too, once Anne confided in her about the situation. The kindly shop owner had recorded Anne’s social security number for tax purposes but assured Anne no one else would have access to the information as she did her own bookkeeping.
For almost two years now, this had been Anne’s reality. She lived quietly in Grandville and kept to herself. She still blessed the stroke of providence which had brought her to The Stitching Post. When she’d left Jeffrey, she’d fled to the Grand Rapids area, hoping to lose herself in the thriving city. Wanting to lay low, she’d needed to find a temporary shelter off the beaten path while she checked out living and employment opportunities. Renting a room by the week at a small bed and breakfast in Grandville, she’d been able to avoid showing her ID and could pay cash for the room. Her first day in town, she’d spotted the quilt shop on her way to lunch.
The Stitching Post had reminded Anne of similar places she’d visited with her grandmother over the years. Suddenly overwhelmed by nostalgia, she’d gone inside and wandered through the displays of folded fabric, bolts of colorful calico, and shelves filled with every sort of quilting accessory imaginable. Somehow, she’d gotten into a conversation about quilting and quilt shows with the owner. At the end of the chat, Myra had offered her a job. It had been an unexpected blessing, and Anne had quickly accepted the offer.
Since then, The Post had become almost her whole world. Anne often pretended the quilters, who came on Tuesdays, were actually her friends and not merely customers. She felt safe with them, and they offered some normalcy to her life for the short period she was with them each week. With them, she could sew, chat, and listen to the stories they shared about their homes and their families.
Home and family. Those were the two things Anne knew she could never have while living “under the radar.” Watching other people actually get to live their lives was the absolute pits.
Well, there’s no sense wishing for things that can’t be changed, she thought as she went to pour a bubble bath in the old-fashioned, claw-footed tub. She was alive and safe. She had her cozy apartment, her job, and enough money stashed in a shoebox in the bottom of the closet to take off at a moment’s notice if she had to do so. Until the day came, she’d relax in a nice, warm bubble bath with one of the romances she’d bought and soak until she became tired enough to sleep.
However, even after climbing into her cozy four-poster bed later that night, Anne couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the adorable little girl she’d met the week before and the child’s attractive father. Jennie and Brad Carmichael.
She certainly hoped she’d see more of them.
Chapter Six
Another typical morning in the Carmichael household, Brad thought as he faced his closet in frustration. He was ready to bang his head against a wall. No clean shirts—not a one—and none of his socks seemed to have a mate. He’d forgotten to do the laundry over the weekend, and now, Tuesday morning, he had no clean clothes to wear to work.
How on earth could he have been so careless?
It was bad enough to have forgotten to do the laundry over the weekend, but he should have noticed he was getting low on shirts and socks when he’d gotten dressed for work the previous morning. He grimaced and plopped down on the edge of his mattress. Sarah would never have let such a thing happen. When she’d been alive, the laundry had always been done, and the house had been showroom perfect. Now, he realized how much work it must have taken to do it and make it seem so effortless. He wondered if he’d ever thanked her for it. He doubted he had, because truthfully, he had never appreciated how much work it took. His and Jennie’s needs had always been met, and he’d just taken it for granted they always would be. Then a drunk driver had broadsided Sarah’s car the previous winter and changed all their lives.
“Daddy, do you have another headache?”
Brad turned to find his daughter standing in his bedroom doorway. Jennie was dressed in one of her frilly, Sunday outfits complete with white tights and shiny patent leather shoes. She reminded him of an adorable blond-haired doll come to life; however, the fancy outfit wasn’t suitable to wear for school and playground activities.
“Princess, you look beautiful. But today isn’t Sunday. We’re going to school not church.”
“I know today is Tuesday, Daddy,” the solemn little girl informed him. “But I don’t have any clean shirts or socks in my drawer. So I put on one of my dresses. I have lots of them in the closet. Tights, too.”
His daughter’s innocent acceptance of the laundry situation made Brad feel worse about it than he had before.
“I’m very sorry, honey. I should have done the laundry over the weekend, but I got too busy. I’ll make sure to do it tonight. Right after dinner.”
“I can help. I know what button to press to make the dryer start, and afterwards, I can match the pairs of socks. Mommy showed me how to fold them together so they don’t get lost in our drawers. I used to do it when she had to talk to her friend on the phone.”
For a moment, her eyes darkened, and Brad suspected, like him, she was thinking of her mother and missing her. He quickly summoned a smile to cheer her up. “You’re a pretty smart young lady. You know how to help with the laundry, and you figured out what to wear all by yourself this morning. I wish I were half as clever as you because all my shirts and matching socks seem to be in the dirty clothes hamper, too.”
Jennie’s little face scrunched in concentration. “Well, Daddy, you could wear the sweater Grandma Barb gave you for your birthday. You haven’t worn it yet.”
He’d never been the sweater type, so the stylish cable knit his mother had given him two months earlier had remained in its gift box on the closet shelf. Brad weighed the merits of the idea for a moment. A sweater? Oh well, desperate times call for desperate measures.
He crossed to the closet, pulled down the box and peered inside. A navy, V-neck sweater. “This might work, Princess. Now, let me figure out what I have in the closet to wear under the sweater.”
Jennie reached for the box and showed him the shirt nestled beneath the sweater. “Don’t you remember, Daddy? Grandma Barb bought you a shirt, too. And a pair of those socks with the funny diamonds on them like Grandpa wears.”
Sure enough, his mom had sent along a pale blue oxford shirt with a button-down collar a
nd navy socks with a pale blue-and-gray argyle pattern. The clothes were a bit more preppy than what he usually wore – okay, a lot more preppy—and the shirt would be creased, but everything was clean. By far, that was the most important factor this morning. Besides, the creases wouldn’t show beneath the heavy sweater anyway.
“My dear Princess,” he said, giving her a courtly bow, “you are a genius as well as being beautiful.” He took the shirt out of the package, poking himself on one of the straight pins in the process. “Has Her Royal Highness eaten her cereal yet?”
Jennie’s lips quirked at the silly title, but she shook her head. “There isn’t any milk for cereal, Daddy.”
Good grief! He hadn’t done grocery shopping over the weekend either.
“Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I’ll pick up milk on my way home from work tonight. Let’s see,” he said, trying to remember the contents of their refrigerator. “We have leftover Chinese food from our dinners last night. I could warm some of it for an upside-down-day breakfast.”
His daughter wrinkled her button nose. “I don’t feel like eating Chinese food this morning, Daddy. Can I just have some crackers and peanut butter instead?”
Brad considered for a moment. Peanut butter was a protein, and crackers were almost like toast. Close enough, problem solved. “Okay, peanut butter and crackers for breakfast it is. I wonder if there’s enough for both of us. Do you need me to get things down from the cupboard for you?”
“I think there’s plenty for us both, but I can go and check. You don’t need to help me. You put the jar and the crackers in the snack drawer so I can reach them.”
“Then you go ahead and start eating while I finish getting dressed.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, heading for the door. As she skipped down the hall to the kitchen, she called back, “I love you.”
The three little words brought a big lump to Brad’s throat. He swallowed hard. His daughter might love him, but he felt as if he was the top contender for the “Worst Father of the Year” title.
****
Anne climbed from bed early on Tuesday morning and hummed as she got ready for work. Mario’s delicious meal, combined with the leisurely evening spent reading and relaxing in a bubble bath, had done her a world of good. She’d slept like a contented baby. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a person. She felt rested and energized, eager to get to the shop and start on the many tasks on her To Do list for the day.
On Tuesdays, their part-time clerk worked, so Anne decided to take full advantage of the opportunity for a little free time. If she headed to The Stitching Post right after breakfast, she’d have time to calculate some costs for Mario before the store opened. Later, when Courtney arrived, Anne planned to slip away and head down to Falcone’s to measure the restaurant windows and show Mario some fabric choices. Making the curtains for him would be a wonderful way for her to repay his many kindnesses. With the thought uppermost in her mind, she wanted to find the perfect colorful but unusual print to make the practical, washable curtains he wanted. She’d include a swatch of traditional red-and-white check material for his consideration, even though she personally found it much too clichéd. Surely, there would be a better choice among the hundreds of bolts in the shop. If not, she’d start browsing fabric catalogues until she found one.
Anne opened her closet door and considered what to wear. Nowadays, her choices were much better than they’d been when she’d arrived in Grandville. All she’d had then were the clothes on her back and the few things she had stuffed in her backpack. Thanks to the generous discount she got on sewing supplies from Myra’s suppliers—and the use of the shop’s sewing machines—Anne had managed to expand her wardrobe quite nicely. Now, her choices included a few skirts and slacks she’d made and an array of oversize blouses and sweaters she’d found in second-hand stores. She also had a couple of dresses for Sundays and two pairs of jeans. A warm coat she’d purchased at a sale last winter also hung in the closet beside her fleece jacket. Since she’d be climbing around to measure Mario’s windows later, Anne chose her favorite jeans and a pink chenille sweater. The sweater’s color flattered her complexion, but its bulk made her feel safely hidden from prying eyes.
After dressing, she quickly made her bed and tidied the room. Her cozy apartment served her needs perfectly. It was small enough to require little cleaning and well within her budget. Best of all, living this close to the shop, Anne didn’t have to worry about how to get to work. She simply crossed the street. A variety of area restaurants and shops, also within walking distance, met most of her needs. When she wanted to go to the mall or to one of the large supermarkets, Anne sometimes borrowed Myra’s car, but most of the time, she caught the bus. Riding the bus might take a little longer to get places, but it was convenient and affordable. Yes, all in all, Anne enjoyed her quiet and content new life.
Carrying the paperback book she’d started the night before, Anne headed for the kitchen. She popped a bagel into the toaster oven then brewed enough coffee to fill a large mug. When the bagel was lightly browned, she put it on a plate and slathered it with a bit of strawberry-flavored cream cheese. The little luxury had been on sale when she’d made her last trip to Meijer, so she’d indulged her sweet tooth. Now, paired with her coffee, the treat made a filling breakfast before the busy day ahead of her. She settled at the table and managed to read another chapter of the romance while she ate.
When she finished her breakfast, she washed her plate and cup then slipped on her jacket and gloves. As always, she paused on the landing outside to lock her door then double-checked it to be certain the deadbolt had engaged. Satisfied the door was secure, Anne carefully made her way down the outside steps. The night’s cool temperatures had again created a thin layer of frost on the wood. She frowned, remembering how slippery they had been in the mornings last winter. So far, the area hadn’t had any snowfall, but their luck couldn’t last, not in Michigan. She made a mental note to add rock salt to the grocery list she’d been compiling for her next trip to the store.
It took next to no time for her to cross from her apartment to The Stitching Post’s back door. Anne unlocked the shop then quickly re-locked the back entrance behind her since customers weren’t allowed to enter that way. Tucking her gloves and keys in her pockets as she walked, she switched on the bright overhead lights then headed to the office to turn on the computer. While it ran its startup protocol, she hung her jacket on the coat hook beside the desk then went back into the shop to open the blinds on the display windows.
Humming a little tune, she lifted the blind on the front door then gasped and jumped back, clutching her throat. A man stood on the doorstep, nose pressed against the glass, trying to peer inside The Stitching Post.
Chapter Seven
Behind his wire-framed glasses, the man’s eyes blinked in surprise, telling Anne he was as startled by the sight of her as she had been to see him. The coffee he held in a leather-gloved hand had sloshed over the edge of his cup when he’d jerked back in surprise. Some of it had splashed his elegant, caramel-colored overcoat, but the stranger didn’t seem to notice. His shocked expression turned to concern when he saw her clutching the front of her sweater.
“Are you okay, Miss?” he asked in a voice muffled by the window glass.
Anne nodded, slowly regaining her composure from the shock of finding someone who resembled her ex-husband on the door stoop. Once her heart stopped racing, she realized that although this man shared Jeffrey’s coloring and height, he was a bit heavier than her ex-husband. He wasn’t exactly fat, but he had the soft appearance of someone who sat behind a desk most of the day. His eyes were sky blue, too, not the intense steely blue color which haunted her dreams most nights. Right now, the man’s eyes radiated concern. After a couple more beats, Anne’s heart returned to a normal tempo, and she had the presence of mind to unlock the front door and open it.
“I’m very sorry,” the stranger quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle y
ou, Miss. I was trying to read the store’s hours of operation on your door sign.”
“Well, it certainly woke me up better than my morning coffee did,” Anne replied with a nervous little chuckle. “Do you need something from the shop? We aren’t usually open this early, but after the nasty shock we gave each other, I’ll be glad to make an exception for you.”
The man shook his head. “No. My wife saw your shop the other day and wondered if you were open on the weekends. She works during the week, so I told her I’d check out your hours on my way to work.” He glanced around the shop. “Are you the owner?”
For some reason, the question made Anne uncomfortable. “I’m just an employee. The owner… hasn’t arrived yet. I’m opening the shop today.”
“Well, it’s a nice little place,” he said. He cast a final glance around the interior then saluted her with his coffee cup and bid her good day.
Anne watched him cross the street and go into a building housing a big accounting firm. Taking a deep breath of the cool morning air, she scolded herself for being so jumpy. She needed to calm down and not be scared by every shadow. Her check of OTIS the night before should have assured her Jeffrey was still safely incarcerated in Jackson. Still, this morning’s encounter had set her nerves in edge. Jeffrey’s indulgent parents had deep pockets. Their powerful connections had helped to get their darling son elected to office. An office he’d abused almost as thoroughly as he’d abused her. She needed to make sure they weren’t looking for her.
Since the shop usually wasn’t very busy early on weekday mornings, Anne decided to put her mind at ease and check further on her former in-laws’ whereabouts. She hurried back to the office but made sure she had a clear view of the front entrance from Myra’s desk. Once Courtney arrived, Anne wouldn’t need to watch for customers coming into the shop, but she might have her search done by then. Before she started her Internet search, Anne pulled up the email for her StitchPost1 email ID to check for any mail from the account Myra used. The shop owner hadn’t written in a couple of days, and Anne hoped her silence meant Myra and Ed were having a good time. Maybe, if they relaxed and had a good enough time, Myra would reconsider her decision to sell the shop when she returned. The very thought of it being sold worried Anne. Would she be able to maintain her low profile under a new owner? For that matter, would a new owner even keep her on? Anne pushed aside the thought. No use fretting about it until the time came.
The Friendship Star Quilt Page 5