The Healing Quilt

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Tell me something you don't like.”

  He caught her by surprise. “Why…” She thought to the evening with Mrs. Spooner. “I don't like gardening, squishy things.” I dorit like feeling the way I do, I dorit like being here, I dont like—no that's not strong enough—/ hate who Fve become.

  Had she thought loud enough for him to hear?

  “Can you tell me when this sadness began?”

  Did I say that or did he surmise that?

  He reached across the space, a tissue in hand, making her realize that tears were sliding down her face.

  “After the baby died.”

  “That must have been terrible for you.”

  All she could do was nod and blow her nose.

  “And that was how long ago?”

  Two lifetimes. She glanced at Garth, who nodded for her to continue. “About seven months.”

  “And has there been another pregnancy?”

  She shook her head. “No.” One of the smallest words in the English language and the most deadly. A killer of dreams and a slayer of hope.

  “And you blame yourself?”

  “Wouldn't you?” The words lashed out before she could cut them off.

  “Most likely. We all have a tendency to do that. Its part of the grief cycle, but we can go beyond that when we are ready.”

  Maybe you do, but…

  “Have you ever taken any mood elevators, a simple drug that is nonaddictive but can help you deal with things more realistically?”

  She sent Garth an I-told-you-so look. “No, and I don't want to start that now or any time.”

  “What is it about medications that bothers you?”

  Beth stood and started for the door, catching both men by surprise.

  “Beth, wait.” Garth started after her.

  “It was just a suggestion, not an order.” Dr. Kaplan stood too. “Please, sit back down. Let me finish.”

  His voice plucked at her heart like gentle fingers plucking a melody from finely strung guitar strings.

  She returned to her seat, perched on the edge, ready to flee. Her heart pounded and she clenched her fingers in her lap, the thumb on top, kneading the other.

  “Are you eating?”

  She shrugged. “All right.”

  “No, she isn't.” Garth caught the explosive tone in his voice and replaced it with concern. “She's lost so much weight her clothes hang on her.”

  “I see. And sleeping, how is that?”

  “I have a lot of nightmares and then I'm tired all day. So tired.”

  “Are you getting any exercise?”

  She shook her head, knowing now that if she weren't honest, Garth would tell on her. “I used to walk.” I have a baby stroller so that we, or rather Garth, can even run with it. To get our baby out in the fresh air. Garth must have put it up in the garage, or perhaps he'd gotten rid of it like she'd asked.

  “I suggest you take up walking again. You know we have a good community center here. A group of women walk the track every day. Someone new is always welcome.”

  “Urn.” An almost nod. Now if that wasn't a noncommittal response…

  “Do you like to read?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a book here for parents who've lost a child. Perhaps reading it would be helpful for you, and then when we meet next week.

  “Next week?” She stared at Garth. “You said…” She sank back. Just agree, that doesn't mean you have to show up. After all, who knows what can happen in a week? “I'll see.”

  “We'll be here.” Garth stood and held out his right hand. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your fitting us in on such short notice.”

  Beth kept her hand by her side and nodded, until he held out the book and she had to reach for it. “Thank you.”

  God, sometimes I wish I were a drinking woman. She followed Garth into the elevator and stared up at the numbers as they ground down the four floors to the street.

  SEVENTEEN

  The calendar never lies.

  “We can't get in to Virginia Mason Hospital until the middle of August,” said Kit into the mouthpiece.

  “That will be fine, dear.” Teza sounded vague.

  “No, that will not be fine, but unless there is a cancellation, we're stuck with it.” Kit leaned back in her chair, staring at the calendar on the wall above her desk. Four weeks, almost five. Here, Fve been on the phone for an hour. Why do I feel such a sense of urgency and Teza doesnt at all? This makes no sense. After all it's her body, not mine.

  “Remember we're meeting Elaine at Myrna's at 2:00.”

  “Good. She has a new shipment in, some lovely shaded patterns that will go well with the prints.”

  When they hung up, Kit stared at the calendar again. Ryan would be home in about a month. Maybe Mark would come home then, at least for a few days. They could go to the Sound for Labor Day weekend. Well, not if Mark couldn't handle the memories. That place was rife with them. Kit stared at the family picture she had tacked to the corkboard on the wall of the built-in desk. Mark with his three teenagers, all in their swimsuits, the sun so bright on the water it sparkled in the picture. What a day that had been. She put her feet up on the desk and crossed her ankles. They'd had endless fun water-skiing back when they still had the boat. Mark had coached each of the children as they learned to ski. How Amber had loved water-skiing or anything connected with the water for that matter.

  She could hear them laughing.

  “Dad, you can't do it. You're too old to learn on a banana ski.” Jennifer played spotter sitting in the back of the sixteen-foot runabout.

  “Too old!” Mark and Kit yelped at the same time, he on the dock, Kit driving the boat.

  “Too old, too old.” Ryan and Amber chanted from their seats on the dock.

  “Give it up, Dad.” Jennifer could hardly talk for laughing.

  “Just because I've tried three times and your mother nearly drowned me, I shall never give up.”

  “You could take a break and give one of us a chance,” Ryan, always a mediator, suggested.

  “Don't mention the b word while I'm preparing to attempt this feat.” He raised his voice. “Hit it.”

  Kit gunned the engine. The boat groaned and took off, and Mark absorbed the shock to his arms. To everyone's surprise, he held his balance and was skiing.

  “Dad's up,” Jennifer yelled, taking her job as spotter seriously.

  “For how long?”

  “He's signaling faster.”

  “Is he nuts?” Kit looked back in time to see her husband cutting over the wake on the port side of the boat.

  “He's got it, Mom.” Jennifer yelled above the roar of the engine. “Go, Dad, go!”

  Looking in the rearview mirror, Kit could see her eldest daughter waving her arms and screaming her delight. Hair in a ponytail, her trim figure was shown to advantage by the black tank suit worn to gray on the rear. Kit looked over both shoulders before beginning the curve that would bring them back to the dock. “Signal your father to let go when we go by so one of you kids can take a turn.” She, too, had to shout to be heard above the sixty-five horsepower motor, water curling along the sides of the boat, the slap of the bow when they hit a wake. The wind tangled her hair, the sun burned her nose, even through the sunscreen she'd applied but most likely sweat off. Much to her surprise, she'd become the ski driver, thinking in the beginning that she'd be the perennial spotter. But she loved the power in the throttle, the blue of the water, and the joy of seeing her family have such fun learning and then perfecting their water-skiing.

  Kit eased back on the gas as she passed the floating dock, then cut way back and circled around to idle just off the end. Mark had skied right into the shore and stepped off without getting dunked.

  “Show off.”

  “Took me a bit but I made it. Who's next?”

  “Let Ryan go first, he's the baby.” Amber poked her little brother.

  “I should go first. I'm the oldest.” Jennifer reached
for a ski vest.

  “You can go. I don't mind waiting.” Ryan took the ski from his father and carried it out to the end of the short pontoon dock. “You want to go from here or start in the water?”

  “From the dock.” Jennifer threw a rope to the dock, and Amber pulled them close enough for Jennifer to climb out.

  Mark gave her the instruction, and typically, Jennifer started to argue with him until he threw up his hands and stepped back.

  “Do what you want, then.”

  She made it up on the first try.

  Leave it to Jennifer, Kit thought as she followed Amber's instructions to speed up. Towing Jennifer was far easier than Mark, just because she was lighter. But when she took one hand off the bar to wave at some guys in another boat, down she went.

  Kit cut the motor and slowly circled back until the tow rope came within Jennifer's reach.

  “She's not ready yet, Mom.” Amber flapped her hand at her mother.

  “I know. See, Jennifer, guys'll get you in trouble.” She didn't need to look to know that Jennifer wore a scowl on a face made red by something other than the sun.

  Okay, hit it.”

  Three failed tries later, Jennifer signaled them to pick her up. “I'll take two skis any day. That stupid thing just won't go straight coming up out of the water. The dock was a cinch.”

  She grabbed a beach towel and wrapped it around her. “That water's awful cold yet.”

  “I can tell. Your lips are blue.”

  By the end of the day, they'd had their fill of skiing, eaten all the fried chicken, potato salad, and Wacky cake, drank two gallons of pink lemonade, bought two six packs of soda, and finished those off too.

  Kit pulled her thoughts back, only to realize she had tears meandering down her cheeks. Even the good memories brought on the tears.

  “No wonder Mark doesn't want to be here. Maybe he's just tired of my tears.” Or maybe he needs to cry too—and can't. The small voice sounded wise beyond anything Kit could come up with.

  She glanced at the clock and propelled herself upright. She needed to wash, change, and make it to Myrna's Fabric Hut in twenty minutes.

  How could I have spent half an hour at the hke without leaving the house?

  Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Elaine waited to turn left at the light on Main. When the green arrow showed, she pulled out, staying in the center turn lane. She was just about through the intersection when a car that had been signaling a right turn, coming from the opposite direction, pulled out and swung too wide, clipping her right rear panel. The crash sounded like a demolition derby.

  She banged die wheel with the heel of her hand and yelled several imprecations that didn't suit her ladylike demeanor whatsoever. “Just what I need, another tie-up. Why does everything always happen to me? Minding my own business and now look.” She pulled over to the side of the street and stepped from her car, billfold in hand with all of her information. Striding back to assess the damage, she kept herself from screaming at the other driver only through a monumental force of will. Oh, great, an old geezer who most likely shouldn't even be driving anymore. Why didrit I take the SUV? Its got a bumper strong enough to stop a tank.

  “1… I'm so sorry.” The old man limped from his car and stood looking myopically at the damage. “I guess I hit the gas too hard.”

  “I guess you did all right. Do you have your insurance information?” She motioned him to the sidewalk so they were no longer in the road. With my luck, we'll get hit by a passing looky-loo. She glanced around. Where was a cop when you needed one?

  “Ah, yes, right here.” He fumbled in his back pocket and finally pulled out a leather wallet that should have been retired and interred years earlier. With shaky fingers he sorted through various cards and finally pulled out both his driver's license and an insurance card, laying them on the right front fender of his car.

  Elaine did the same and took out her notebook to write down what she needed. The man lived out in the country. Finally looking at him, she realized how shaky he was. “Are you all right? I mean, did you get hurt?”

  “No, no, I had my seatbelt on. And this blasted palsy, been suffering from it for the last couple of years. Getting old sure ain't for sissies, like that man said. Uh… Who was he? Famous comedian, you know who I'm talking about. Oh, pshaw, well, it'll come to me.”

  Elaine looked up from her writing. “You mean George Burns?”

  “Yeah, that's the one, the short guy.”

  The old man's hands shook so badly, she wondered how she'd ever read his writing. And why is he still driving with such a condition?

  “If you need a witness, ma'am, I saw what happened.” A young man dressed in running clothes stopped beside her.

  “Thanks.” She took his name and phone number just in case. Who knew what this old man would claim after he thought about it for a while?

  “Oh, and I called it in. The dispatcher said a patrol car should be here fairly soon.”

  Soon must mean one thing to the police and another to me. She checked her watch. They'd been standing around here at least fifteen minutes already.

  By the time the city police arrived, she was ready to chew someone's ear off.

  “Hey, Mrs. Giovanni, didn't realize it was you who got hit.” Officer Hendrickson had been in her Sunday-school class some years before. “How's Ramsey doing?” He pulled out his pad and flipped it open as he inspected the damage to her car.

  “Good, he's coming home for a long weekend.” Elaine swallowed her anger and faked a polite smile.

  “Good, good. Anyone get hurt here?”

  “No, at least that's the consensus right now.”

  The officer checked the damage to the old man's car. “Sir, can you tell me what happened?”

  Elaine listened as the man gave a totally truthful account of the accident. At least he was accepting blame for what had happened. Her insurance company would be glad to hear that.

  “You have anything to add?”

  “Not really. I know I was in my lane and had the right of way ” She handed him her insurance card so he could finish filling out the paperwork. “What a pain in the keister,” she muttered.

  The officer gave her a sympathetic glance and extended his notebook for her signature. “You both need to fill out accident forms within twenty-four hours. Get them at the station and notify your insurance agents immediately.” After getting the mans signature, he flipped his notebook closed. “That'll be all, folks.” He turned to the old man. “Unless you think you need to be seen at the emergency room?”

  “No, no, I just need to get about my business.” He climbed back in his car. “Oh, would you please look at that fender to make sure I can turn corners?”

  Elaine returned to her car and checked the rearview mirror to see Officer Hendrickson pulling the crumpled fender out from the wheel. She ran her fingers through both sides of her hair and let it fall back in place. One more thing to add to her to-do list, take the car in for an estimate.

  “I didn't need this now. Why me?” With my luck hell decide he's injured, probably have a heart attack and sue me.

  She pulled into the parking lot beside Myrnas Fabric Hut and looked once more at the damage on her way past. George will most likely think it was my fault Like I was speeding or something

  She straight-armed the door to the fabric store and entered as though she had a strong wind behind her.

  “My, you look ready to rip someone apart.” Myrna looked up from where she was cutting fabric.

  “An old man just hit me and crumpled the entire back side panel. Took almost an hour by the time the policeman finally got there and did his bit. Old geezer shouldn't be driving anymore, shaking like he does. What's this world coming to anyway?”

  “What was his name, the man who hit you?”

  “Donaldson, out on Lower River Road. You know him?”

  “Of course, his wife has been coming in here for years. You know her, Esther, makes those wonderful angels.
Has Parkinsons now and can't sew any longer. He takes care of her. Swears he won't put her in a nursing home like everyone tells him he should.”

  Elaine groaned. “Oh no. She made that angel for me one year, the one I hang above the fireplace. Now he'll probably lose his license.” She thought back to her brusqueness at the site. If only I'dput two and two together. She shook her head. “What a mess.”

  “So how can I help you today? Besides your order that's here, I got some new tapestries in. I think you might like some of them. Wild animal prints are getting more popular all the time.” Myrna led the way back to the upholstery fabrics.

  Elaine trailed her fingers over the velvets as they passed. She'd need more of those for the holiday projects.

  “Here we are.” Myrna pulled out one of the racked rolls so Elaine could see more of the print.

  “Gorgeous. Give me two yards of that one and the same on this. Oh, and look at this one with the roosters. Amazing how popular chickens have become all of a sudden. While you cut those, I'll go look for trims.”

  “I've got some to complement these. That red for the roosters was real hard to match. I saw something done with both sides ofthat one.” She flipped the rooster print to show how appealing the back side was too.

  “Good idea. Why don't you just give me your entire roll of quarter-inch cording?”

  “Figured you'd be wanting that again soon, so I ordered extra. There's some gold lamé that might work too.”

  By the time Elaine was writing the check, she had two large bags full on the counter.

  “Now is there anything else I can get you?” Myrna asked.

  “Yes, I'll take these out to the car, and then I'm meeting here with Kit Cooper and Teza Dennison. They're heading up that quilt project to purchase a new mammogram unit for the hospital.” She checked her watch. “Good thing they are running a bit late too.”

  “I heard about that. Was wishing I had time to take part in it.” Myrna left her cash register to help Elaine carry out the sacks. “We sure have been hit with a lot of breast cancer in this town. Every time I turn around I hear of someone else.” She stopped to look at the damaged quarter panel. “What a shame. Accidents happen so quickly”