Apart at the Seams

by Marie Bostwick

  “Actually, I think you’re pretty tough,” Madelyn said. “Much tougher than I was in your shoes. My late husband, Sterling, was a serial adulterer. I knew about it, but I put up with it because I didn’t think I could survive without him. Talk about spineless.” She rolled her eyes. “I let him treat me like a doormat. But you’ve made a declaration about what you will and won’t put up with, and you’ve stated, very clearly, that you’re ready to walk away if he can’t change his ways. That takes some guts, especially if you really love him.”

  “But I feel like such an idiot,” Gayla said, taking a sip from her wineglass, which had been sitting untouched. “How could I not have known what was going on? How could I have ignored the signs? I keep thinking that I should have—”

  “Don’t!” Tessa said. “Don’t beat yourself up like that. It happens. A lot more often than people think.”

  Tessa’s sentences were clipped, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. Everyone turned to look at her. She pressed her lips together into a thin line before speaking again.

  “Nobody knows about this,” she said. “So I’m going to remind everyone of our rule: What’s said in the circle stays in the circle. About twenty years ago, Lee had an affair.”

  My eyes went wide and my hand flew to my mouth, covering my shock. Lee Woodruff had cheated? I couldn’t believe it! Lee and Tessa seemed so happy together. They still held hands when they went walking. I’ve seen them, watched them cross Cobbled Court hand in hand when they thought no one was looking. He brings her coffee in bed every morning, and every year on her birthday, Lee buys an entire truckload of manure and spreads it over Tessa’s lavender patch. Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound romantic, but shoveling manure requires a lot more effort than buying a present or making dinner reservations, and Tessa, feeling the way she does about her lavender, appreciates it a lot more. I completely get that.

  When I was a little girl, I used to daydream about a man who’d bring me flowers or buy me jewelry. Nothing against candy and flowers, but these days, the man who’d really make me swoon would be the man who’d mow the grass or do the dishes or fold the laundry. Funny how your ideas of romance change as you get older.

  But Lee Woodruff was that man, the solid and steady kind, the kind who’d do anything for his wife, who’d never cheat. That’s what I’d always believed.

  “It didn’t last long, but I found out about it while it was still going on,” Tessa said, her eyes fixed on Gayla’s. “I was completely crushed. I couldn’t eat or sleep or work. I lost nine pounds in two weeks.

  “Lee ended the relationship immediately,” Tessa went on. “He apologized, said he’d been a fool, and promised it would never happen again, but I threw him out of the house and changed the locks on the doors anyway. A few days later, he showed up on the doorstep and begged me to give him another chance, and I did.”

  There was a murmuring of sympathy throughout the room. Tessa was always so cheerful. Even when she had to close her shop, For the Love of Lavender, because she and Lee were teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, she’d kept up a brave face. It was impossible to imagine her falling apart.

  Madelyn frowned. “You never told me any of that. I’m your best friend, and you never told me. How could you keep that from me all this time?”

  “Because it was over and done with by the time you and I renewed our friendship,” Tessa said with a shrug. “So why bring it up? I wouldn’t want you to think badly of Lee. He did a bad thing, but he isn’t a bad man. He bent over backward to regain my trust. It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. It took a long, long time before I felt able to trust him again. If I didn’t know where he was every minute of every day, I’d panic.”

  Gayla nodded, as if she understood exactly what Tessa was talking about. So did Evelyn.

  Tessa brought her empty glass to the table and refilled it before carrying the bottle around to the rest of us.

  “I think this kind of thing happens a lot more than people realize. If a couple decides to stay together and work through the pain of infidelity, the affair becomes a secret. If the marriage is to survive, it almost has to.”

  She stopped in front of Gayla and topped off her glass. “The only reason I’m talking about this now is because I want you to know that you’re not alone. If the person who did the cheating is genuinely repentant, and the couple is willing to make a serious effort to reconcile their relationship, people can get through this, Gayla. It’s not easy, but they can. Sometimes,” she said, lifting her own glass to her lips, “they even come out better on the other side. It’s possible.”

  Gayla forced a smile. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Can I call you tomorrow?” Tessa asked.

  “That would be nice. Thanks. Anyway,” Gayla said, and slapped her palms against her thighs, indicating she had said all she was willing to say for the moment. “I didn’t intend to hijack the conversation. Did anybody else make progress on their sabbatical project?”

  “Well,” I said slowly, “I wasn’t really planning on talking about this—not yet—but since Gayla opened the door . . . I went on a date this weekend too. My first ever.”

  “You did! Who with?”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, Ivy! Good for you!”

  My cheeks felt hot in the face of their enthusiasm, but I couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Actually, I ended up going on four dates. The first three were absolute nightmares. But the fourth . . .”

  Amid much laughter, I told them all about Kieran, Captain Smythe-Jones, Trace, and even poor, frustrated Mandy. Then, amid much oohing and awing, I told them about Dan.

  “Oh, Ivy! That’s just wonderful!” Margot exclaimed, jumping up from her chair to give me a big hug. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “Don’t get carried away,” I laughed. “It was a milk shake, not a proposal. Dan and I are just friends. But dating turned out to be a lot more fun than I figured it would be. I’ve decided to take another leap of faith too. I’m going to apply for that job at New Beginnings. I probably won’t get it, but I’ve got nothing to lose by trying, right? Dan says you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

  Evelyn frowned. “Wait a minute. I thought that’s what I said. And what Donna Walsh said. And what all of us have said to you at one time or another.” She chuckled and picked up her stitching. “I guess it just sounds more convincing from Dan Kelleher.”

  “I’ve been making a little progress on the sabbatical front too,” Evelyn said as she fashioned a length of red silk ribbon into a tiny rose to embellish her crazy quilt. “Ever since I moved to New England, I’ve wanted to learn to sail. I kept telling myself I’d get around to it one of these days, but of course, I never did.”

  She paused, squinting to make sure her needle was piercing the ribbon at the perfect spot. “But this week, I thought, ‘What the heck. If I don’t do it now, when will I?’ I found a sailing school that offers a weekend course that’s just for women and signed up. Charlie is grumbling because he thinks we should do it together, but it would make me nervous if he were there. I told him he can come with me to Newport for the weekend, but he has to stay on shore until I get my certification. Then we can sail together. As long as he lets me have the tiller.”

  I laughed, and so did everyone else. Knowing Charlie, we could just imagine how that conversation went.

  “The only problem is it’s the same weekend as our Midsummer Madness sale. Can you manage without me?” Evelyn asked, looking at Margot and me.

  “Absolutely. Not a problem. You and Charlie deserve some time off,” I said.

  Virginia, who had been quiet for several minutes, intent on embroidering a line of perfectly sized French knots on her crazy quilt, sat up a little straighter in her chair and cleared her throat.

  “Evelyn’s not the only one who made progress on her sabbatical project, you know.” She lifted her eyes from her work and peered over the tops of her reading glasses momentarily before returning to her
sewing.

  “Two Sundays from now, I will turn eighty-five. I’ve decided to give myself a little birthday party, and I’d like all of you to come. No gifts, please. There’s only going to be one present at this party, and I’m giving it to myself.”

  “But, Mom,” Evelyn said, “Charlie and I were planning to throw you a party. He’s already worked out the menu.”

  “Yes, I know. He accidentally left it sitting on the countertop at your house. I saw it when I came over for breakfast last week. Honey,” she said, giving Evelyn a pointed look, “osso buco with porcini mushrooms and lemon zest? I don’t even know what osso buco is! Baked Alaska for dessert? What’s wrong with a nice piece of cake and some ice cream? I just can’t stomach all that rich food anymore.”

  Evelyn began to protest, but Virginia shook her head.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I know Charlie means well, but I’ve made up my mind. This birthday, I want to have things my own way. I’ve already made all the arrangements. I’ve even talked Garrett into coming in from the city to cover the shop. Wendy said she’d help, too, so you’ll all be able to come. You, too, Gayla. You’re part of the circle now. We’ll meet at church,” she informed us, “right after the first service. Plan on being gone the whole day. I’ve got a lot of activities planned.”

  “Such as?” Evelyn asked, drawing her brows together.

  “Not going to tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I did,” Virginia said, snipping off the end of her thread, “you’d try to talk me out of it.”

  23

  Gayla

  The July sun was high and hot. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my neck. I should have remembered to bring my hat outside, but I didn’t want to bother going back into the house to get it; I was nearly finished.

  I grabbed the last weed by its prickly leaves, grateful for my new gardening gloves, and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge. I tried again with the same results, then pulled a trowel from the pocket of my gardening apron.

  By this time, I had all the equipment. Hats, hoes, rakes, trowels, watering cans, baskets, shears, nippers, and even a thick, waterproof foam kneeler to cushion my poor knees while I was weeding. Best twenty dollars I ever spent. Gardening can be an expensive hobby, I’ve found. I calculated the price for one of my lavender stalks at about a buck each. And that wasn’t even counting the money I paid Dan for the installation.

  But, I thought, as I shifted back onto my haunches and looked around at a stand of bright-faced Shasta daisies and the rose of Sharon bush I’d planted in the corner, which was just beginning to bloom, it was worth every dime I’d spent and would spend in the future.

  This year, I’d planted a few flowering shrubs and other perennials, but also annuals, pansies, and geraniums and the like, so I would have color in my garden from the first. But the annuals were just placeholders for the perennials I intended to plant in the fall: lupine, daffodils, tulips, and coreopsis, which wouldn’t come up until the following spring. I’d spent many afternoons at White Flower Farms since that first field trip, picking the brains of the staff and adding new flowers to my wish list, and had become a regular customer. The peace and quietness of mind I discovered while digging in the dirt, the pleasure I derived from the daily discovery of each new bud and bloom, the lessons I had learned about the value of slowing down, paying attention, and taking time to enjoy the small things, were worth the price of admission twice over.

  I shifted my weight forward, thrust my trowel into the dirt four times, rocking the blade back and forth to loosen the soil around the weed, and then grasped it again and gave a good, hard tug.

  “Aha!” I cried, holding the culprit in the air. “Trying to choke out my echinacea, were you? That’ll teach you!”

  “Gayla? Do you always talk to the weeds?”

  “Ack!” I gasped and jumped, then turned around, squinting up into the sun. “Dan. I didn’t hear you come up. You scared me!”

  “Sorry. But really. Do you always talk to the weeds?”

  “Not usually. Mostly I just talk to the plants. I heard that it helps them grow faster. But you should know that, being a landscaper.”

  “Uh-huh. Think I’ve heard that somewhere once or twice too. But since I’ve never met a plant that had ears . . .”

  He smirked and rubbed his nose. I got to my feet.

  “I was just finishing up,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Care to come inside for a glass of iced tea?”

  “No, thanks. I wanted to come over and see how things are going. See if those tomato cages I brought you were working out all right.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, giving him a bemused look. “I told you that yesterday, when I saw you and Ivy at the Fourth of July parade, remember?”

  “Oh. Right,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I forgot. Good. That’s good.”

  “Say, how is Ivy anyway? We didn’t have quilt circle this week because of the holiday, so I haven’t talked to her. How did her interview go? I forgot to ask.”

  “It’s not till tomorrow. She’s nervous, but I’m sure she’ll do fine. She keeps telling me that her chances of getting the job are infinitesimal, but I keep telling her that a tiny chance is better than none at all. Can’t hurt to try, can it?”

  “No, it can’t,” I said with a smile, thinking what a good man he was. Just the sort that Ivy needed. It didn’t hurt that he was good-looking either.

  “You and Ivy have been seeing a lot of each other, haven’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. But we’re taking it slow. With her husband coming back to New Bern soon and the kids and all . . .” He shrugged. “She’s got a lot on her plate. I don’t want to push her too fast.”

  Dan sniffed and scratched the side of his face. “Well. I guess I should let you get going. You’re probably ready to get in out of the heat,” he said, looking down at his feet and bobbing his head without moving one inch from where he stood.

  “Dan,” I said, laughing, “is there something I can do for you?”

  He lifted his eyes from his shoes to my face and nodded quickly.

  “There is. I hate to ask. I know you’re up here on vacation, but . . . Drew just got the results of his SAT test. They were pretty bad,” he said.

  “How bad?”

  He told me the number.

  I winced. “Well, that’s not the worst score I’ve ever heard, but it’s not very good,” I admitted. “But, listen, it’ll be all right. A lot of kids choke on their first go-round. Tell him not to worry. I’m sure he’ll do better next time.”

  “That’s the problem,” Dan said. “He says there won’t be a next time.

  “He’s been saving up since he was fourteen to go to college. Every dime that you paid him for watching your place, the money from every babysitting job he’s ever had, every lawn he’s ever mowed—it’s all gone into the bank. He’s got close to six thousand dollars saved. Now he says he’s going to take the money and buy a truck.”

  Dan shook his head and kicked at the ground with the toe of his work boot. “Stupid, stubborn kid. I’ve tried talking to him, but he says there’s no point in doing it again, that he’s just no good at tests.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “He’s just not used to this kind of test—that’s all. Did he take any preparation classes beforehand?”

  “No. I got him a book, and he read it, but that was about it.”

  “Right,” I said. “Listen, that’s not an uncommon experience. I’ve spent enough time around Drew to know that he’s smart and can do much better on these tests. He just needs a little coaching. You tell him that I’m going to be his coach, that I’ve helped plenty of kids bring up their scores. He’ll do much better next time—I promise. In fact, if he’s willing to work with me, tell him I’ll bet him twenty bucks against a set of mud flaps for this truck he says he’s going to buy that he’ll add at least two hundred points to his score.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, relief written clearly on h
is face. “But are you sure you don’t mind? You’re supposed to be on sabbatical.”

  “Dan, over the last five weeks I’ve taken up Zumba, guitar, quilting, gardening, pottery, Chinese cookery, kayaking, and watercolor painting. I even tried juggling. Some of my experiments have been successful. Others, not so much. I’ve enjoyed it all—well, almost all of it. But sometimes, it’s nice to do something you already know you’re good at.

  “I know I can help Drew,” I said. “And I’m happy to do it. Tell him I’d like to see him for two hours, twice a week, until the next test. What days do you think would be good for him?”

  “Between helping me with my landscaping clients and babysitting for Ivy, he’s pretty booked,” Dan said, pulling on his nose again, thinking. “Would Tuesday nights be okay? And maybe Saturday afternoons?”

  “That’ll be fine.” I bent down to pick up my discarded trowel and placed it back in the pocket of my apron. “As long as we’re finished before four on Saturday. I like to have a little extra time to get ready before Brian arrives.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I almost forgot. You two go out every Saturday, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said with a smile. “Saturday night is date night.”

  24

  Ivy

  I should have worn a longer skirt.

  When I sat down, my skirt hiked halfway up my thighs. I had to keep squeezing my knees together to avoid giving the panel more insight into my personal life than they’d bargained for. But from the way that Brad Boyle kept staring at my knees, I’d have sworn he was hoping I’d do exactly that.

  Whoever decided that a guy like that should serve on the board of an organization that serves women—many of them survivors of domestic violence? If, by some miracle, I did manage to get the job, my first act as director of New Beginnings would be to boot Boyle from the board. The second would be to abolish the practice of conducting panel interviews. Or making the job applicant answer questions while sitting on a metal folding chair in the middle of a room with six sets of eyes staring at her. Talk about feeling exposed.