The Healing Quilt

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You have a customer.”

  “I know.” Teza rose and headed for the door. “You want some more apricots?”

  “No thanks, unless you need help.”

  “I think I'll sell all the rest.”

  Kit followed Teza out the door, hugged her, and after quick goodbyes, got in her van. Too much, things were getting to be too much, and there was nothing she could do about it. About the time you thought you had life under control, something would broadside you and send you spinning back into panic mode.

  Life changes in an instant. Oh, to be back in the times of bliss when a major problem was a ten-dolhr error or even a hundred-dolhr error in the checkbook, or getting caught by a fender bender in the grocery parking lot. Or someone came home late.

  Ah, those were the days.

  In her own driveway, she leaned her forehead on her crossed hands at the top of the steering wheel. “Okay, God, so do I take a chance on you again? Do I pray and trust you to take care of Teza, to take care of Mark, as if I could do anything about him right now, my two children, this quilt project, those others with cancer in this town, my marriage— if you can call this strange limbo I'm in a marriage—so what next? What do I do?”

  She waited, wishing for a skywriter, or perhaps the rhododendron by the garage to burst into flames, or an angel to appear. Evidence that God did indeed hear her and, even more importantly, that he cared. And that he could be trusted.

  A knock on the car door snapped her out of wherever she'd been. She looked out to see Thomas standing there, concern wrinkling his forehead, nearly hidden under his Mariners cap.

  She smiled. At least she hoped that's what it looked like and opened the door.

  “You okay?”

  “I guess, how about you?”

  “I thought maybe you was crying.”

  “Nope. Just thinking.”

  “Missy was crying when I knocked on the door. When you didn't come, I was going home, but then I saw you drive in. I thought Missy might want to play.”

  “I'm sure she does.” Kit grabbed her purse and keys and got out. “Where've you been lately?”

  “We went to visit my aunt in Tacoma.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  He shrugged, both hands buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “My dad said we might go to a baseball game, but we didn't.”

  Kit unlocked the front door and stood back so Missy and Thomas could greet each other. They followed her inside and directly through the house to the back door.

  “Can we go out?” Thomas leaned over for an enthusiastic doggy kiss.

  “Of course.” Kit picked up the mail that had been scattered by Missy's broad dancing feet.

  An envelope with Mark's handwriting caught her attention. She checked the postage cancellation. Salt Lake City. When had he gone there? Or, better question, how long had he been there? Or, even better, was he still there?

  She slit the envelope open with a fingernail and pulled out a card. “Thinking of you” was the caption arched over a bouquet of roses. Inside he'd written, “Busy as ever but I saw this card and thought of you. Please understand, Kit…”

  She lowered the card and stared at the wall. How can I understand anything from you? That you would just walk out and not let me know where you are or whan happening with you. Mark, you do not make sense. She returned to reading the card.

  “Please understand that it is not you I am running from, but, oh, I guess I cannot even explain it to myself. I am trying to find the time to come home for a visit when Ryan is there, but don't count on it. Thanks for the e-mails. Mark.”

  “Not love Mark’ or ‘as ever Mark’ or yours Mark.’ ” She glared in the hall mirror and started to crumple the card, but stopped. He had thought about her. He was not filing for divorce or shacking up with someone. Well, at least not that she knew. He could be and this was just a cover.

  She wandered into the kitchen to hear Missy's woofs of delight and Thomas's giggles, sounds of home and happiness, all the things Mark was missing.

  Sometimes the rage at what he'd done burned hot and fierce. Other times she just questioned without ever receiving answers. Which was best? Was she growing indifferent? Should she just divorce him and get on with her life? Was that what he wanted? Was that what she wanted?

  “No, and a thousand times no. I do not want a divorce. I signed on for the long haul, and one of us better believe in our wedding vows. For richer, for poorer, been through both of those, in sickness and in health, been there, too, but where does desertion come in?

  “Ah, Amber, if you can see all this, it must just be breaking your heart.” At that, the tears gushed, and she headed for the bathroom to drown a washcloth.

  When she could talk without sniffing again, she fetched Popsicles out of the freezer, puppy treats out of the pantry, and ambled outside to the deck.

  “Hey, you two rollers, treats.”

  “Thanks.” Thomas sat down on the cedar steps beside her, and Missy caught her tossed treat to lie down to munch it.

  “You missing Amber?”

  “What makes you think that?” She nibbled on the yellow ice stick.

  “Your eyes are red and…” He made signs to show puffed up.

  “Sometimes I just start to cry.”

  “Oh. Where's your dad?”

  “My husband, Mark?”

  He nodded.

  “Away on business.”

  “He sure stays gone a long time.”

  She almost asked, “Where's your mother?” but kept her question to herself. Thomas would tell her when he was ready.

  “My dad goes on business trips. He went to Alaska one time.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. He likes baseball, too.”

  “I've been thinking. I used to pitch for the kids. I could get out the pitchback, and we could give you some batting practice.”

  “Old ladies pitch baseball?”

  Out of the mouths of babes. She licked the last of the ice off the stick. “Well, if you think I'm too old.

  “Guess we could try.”

  Kit thought about the work waiting for her. “I got a deal for you. We play ball for half an hour, and then you help me weed the garden.”

  “I don't know what weeds are.”

  “I'll show you.” She looked sideways at him. “You on?”

  “I guess. I dont got my mitt, though.”

  “You dont need one. You'Ll hold the bat. I'll get the pitchback down and we can set it up, then I need to warm up a bit.” Oh, crumb, how hng since I pitched? Four years? When did Ryan get beyond me? How long since Amber played softball?

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.” She stood and turned to the garage. “The pitchback is hanging up in the rafters, so I need the stepladder. Good thing I didn't put it in the garage sale.”

  “You pitch pretty good for a lady.” Half an hour had worn them both out. Kit was sure her arm and shoulder would be screaming at her in the morning, if they waited that long.

  Missy had retrieved most of the balls and lined them up on the steps. She lay on her belly in the grass, both back legs stretched straight back.

  “Thanks. Now to the weeding. I'll get the trowels.”

  “Can I have something to drink?”

  “Like water?” She pointed to the fountain Mark had installed when the kids were little to keep them from running in and out all the time.

  “Sure. Does that work?”

  “I think so.” She got up, stifled a groan—pitching used leg muscles, too—and crossed to turn the handle. Nothing.

  “Oh well, come on in. I think there is some lemonade in the fridge.” One more thing that Mark wasn't here to fix. “Maybe it got turned off last winter so it wouldn't freeze and just never got turned back on.” Or was it the winter before? Time passing, again that sense of a freight train bearing down on her. Or maybe she'd already been run over and just didn't know it yet.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Bootsie did not a
lmost bleed to death. You tell me if you think Doodlebug could grab that fat bulldog by the throat. He couldn't get near the neck, let alone tear the jugular. There was blood on the dogs face, maybe a bite on the ear or cheek. One chomp and he'd have killed Doodlebug.” Elaine propped the receiver on her shoulder. “No, Frederick, I didn't see the whole thing, but then neither did she. She was coming out the door when I got out there. Bootsie was crying loud enough to wake the dead. That's what brought her outside. Besides, that dog was in our yard, and we, including our dog, have a right to defend our yard.”

  “I hear you, Elaine, but I also have to let you know what is happening. She, Mrs. Smyth-with-a-Y, alleges that your Vicious dog,’ I am using her words, attacked her precious Bootsie’ without provocation.”

  “He was doing his business in our yard Tor heaven's sake!”

  “Take it easy. I'm on your side, remember?”

  Elaine raked her hair back with quivering fingers. The absolute nerve ofthat woman. And here all these years she'd done no more than ask politely if they would keep Bootsie home. “I swear that woman will drive me to desperate measures.” She didn't mention the kill word, but she had thought it plenty of times. No, she didn't really want to kill anyone, just get even. But how, short of dumping a truckload of manure on their front yard, did one get even for years of scooping dog poop out of the yard? “I think it is malicious intent.”

  “What is?”

  “She trained Bootsie to poop in our yard. I know she did. She most likely gave him treats every time he unloaded before coming home.”

  “Elaine.” Frederick was laughing now.

  “So did we complain, file a legal complaint? No, we cleaned it up—a lot of it, mind you—in the interest of keeping peace in the neighborhood. Well, from now on, we will throw all of it back in her yard, and if it accidentally hits the house, so be it. And if you want to continue as our attorney, I would suggest you quiet that boisterous laughter immediately if not before.” She felt the edge of her mouth twitch but crushed the incipient smile with firm resolve. “So, revered lawyer, what do you suggest we do over this latest altercation? Other than burn them out, that is. Or buy them out is my suggestion, but George has always put the kibosh on that. But then perhaps we should make him do the poop-scoop detail for a few weeks and see what he thinks then.”

  “In scrubs no less.” Frederick went off on another fit of laughter.

  The thought of George in green scrubs, even to mask in place, out in the yard with scooper shovel and the rake she had bought specifically for this terribly unpleasant job made her smile and then chuckle. “Stop it, stop laughing, or I shall report you to whatever august body polices the rank and file of attorneys.”

  “No one polices attorneys. We litigate that away.”

  “Frederick, you are now laughing at your own jokes. There should be a law against that, too.”

  “Oh, I'm sure there is, somewhere on the books in some obscure little town.” He took a deep breath and his voice returned to normal.

  “I can just see this, the case of Chihuahua v. English Bull Dog. No judge in his or her right mind would take that one on.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Offer to pay the vet bills.”

  “Vet bills, for a little scratch like that? I swear I'm taking this to one of those TV judges.”

  “Yeah, it's about dumb enough to do that with, but this all comes back to the fire. Mrs. Smyth is out to get you over the power lines accident.”

  “But the insurance paid for the entire thing. What in heavens name is she suing for?”

  “Pain and suffering, of course.”

  “There was no pain, only inconvenience. And that woman would suffer over a hangnail.”

  “Especially if you caused it.” He answered someone else. “I gotta go. Thanks for the good laugh, and now you know what is happening. I'll keep you in the loop.”

  “Thanks, I guess. If you can figure out some way to put a lid on that woman, I would gladly double your already astronomical fees.”

  “I'm a miracle worker at times, dear Elaine, but I am not God.”

  She hung up, chuckling along with him. Doodlebug leaped up into her lap as soon as she sat down and, after a quick chin kiss, turned around twice and lay down with a sigh.

  “You know, you're the cause of this latest fracas. But you sure put that stupid Bootsie on the run.” She lifted his chin and looked in his eyes. “You know what, though? He could have eaten you with one gulp. Don't you go doing that again. You hear me?”

  He blinked once and yawned, pink tongue with one brown spot on the tip curling and uncurling. Laying his head back on her thigh, he sighed again.

  If only life were so easy. How in the world do I get even with that fool next door? Something that will shut her down for good, or make her move out. There must be a way before something terrible happens.

  Elaine spent the next hour on the phone before getting ready to meet Winston Henry Jefferson IV for lunch. While she showered, she thought about her presentation. What was the best way to get him to think her dream was his, that he came up with the idea of a major cancer center in Jefferson City first?

  She was still mulling the ideas over as she drove to the restaurant.

  She arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early and asked to be shown to their table. Long before, she'd learned the efficacy of being the first to arrive for any business presentation to establish her territory. She took the side of the booth facing the door so she could see him enter, pulled a small wrapped package out of her briefcase, and set it in the middle of the table. She thanked the waiter for bringing water and set the menus in place. Glancing around the room, she smiled at two women she knew, took a sip of water, and thought again about how to introduce her subject.

  Winston Henry Jefferson IV entered the front door wearing his politicians smile and firm stride. The maitre d’ showed him back to the table and left him with a smile.

  “Hello, Elaine, so good to see you.” He took her hand in a courtly manner, so reminiscent of an earlier time that she was sure she heard his heels click. “I hope I'm not late.”

  “No, not at all.” She indicated the seat with one hand. “Sit and make yourself comfortable. I thought you might enjoy a booth more than the chairs.” In fact, she had asked the maitre d’ as to her guest's preference. Anything to make him as comfortable as possible.

  “Oh, I do. You must be a mind reader.” Winston took his seat, unbuttoning his natural linen sports coat as he sat. “Nice day, isn't it?”

  She nodded and pushed the package toward him. “I thought of you when I saw this.”

  “How nice of you.” He unwrapped the silver box and held up a clear paperweight with a saying embossed in gold: You can if you think you can. “So very true.” His wide smile showed perfect orthodontic work. “Thank you.” He set the paperweight down on the table and leaned back, hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Have you decided yet what you will have?”

  Elaine nodded. “I always have the chicken Caesar salad. Best I've had anywhere.”

  “That sounds good. Think I'll do the same.” He set his menu off to the side, squaring the corner up with that of the table.

  The waiter stopped at their table, and they gave their orders. Winston ordered a glass of wine, but Elaine declined, knowing that she needed the clearest head possible to put her plan into action.

  Over the salad they talked about their families, hospital gossip, and the ubiquitous weather. When the waiter took their plates and refilled her iced tea, she leaned forward.

  “Winston, you've done such an excellent job on the refurbishing of our hospital that I wondered if you've thought of other avenues to make Jefferson Memorial of more service for our community.”

  “You didn't invite me to lunch to talk about the mammogram unit, did you?”

  “No. We've already discussed that, and while I understand your position, I and the other women of the town will take care ofthat. I've been
thinking of something more far reaching than one machine.”

  “Really. And what might that be?”

  Here we go. She took another sip of her iced tea, keeping her gaze locked on his all the while. “Have you ever thought what an ideal place Jefferson City might be for a cancer center? Done right, I believe it could put our town on the map. We've been getting a lot of bad press regarding the transmission lines, so why not turn that to our advantage?”

  “So why not?” He sat up straight and leaned slightly forward. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A bigger hospital, oncology specialists, cooperation with alternative treatments, a place where one could come for total healing. We could be a teaching hospital. Perhaps one of the universities would have a satellite here. Bring new blood into town that would revitalize our entire area. We live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, and everyone knows that natural beauty helps restore peace and wholeness. We could call it the Angela Jefferson Women's Oncology Center, in honor of your mother, who did so much for this hospital in her lifetime.”

  His eyes had brightened and he nodded repeatedly. “Perhaps if we'd had something like this here back then, she might still be alive today.”

  “Perhaps so. Saving lives is what our hospital is all about.”

  “That and improving the quality of life.” He took his glasses off and polished them with the table napkin. “A major cancer center, eh? My word, Elaine Giovanni, you do dream big. Have you mentioned this to George yet?”

  She shook her head. “I thought as head of the board and benefactor, you would be the place to start.” She could tell by the cock of his head her words had pleased him.

  “Something like this would take major doing, a lifetime perhaps.”

  “But a worthy lifetime. What a difference it could make in people's lives, far beyond our scope to dream.”

  “And it would be a solid investment also. State-of-the-art diagnostic equipment, the latest in medications, what about even a research wing? Perhaps a pharmaceutical involvement. We could offer stock as an investment opportunity. What if our scientists came up with a viable cure?”