Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  “Trips to the Caribbean.”

  Brittany dropped her hamburger and stared. “Trips…plural?”

  “No, only one to the islands. I believe Soren is sending them to Chicago, to see a show and visit the art museums.”

  “Cheapskate.”

  “No, that would be me,” Eleanor said. “I wasn’t planning to give them a gift at all.”

  Brittany picked up her hamburger. “So, what are you going to give them?”

  “Not a clue. A dozen roses might be in my budget. Maybe.”

  “How about making them something?”

  “Like what?” Eleanor asked. “I’m not real crafty. I could look on Pinterest, but really… it’s hard to compete with sandy beaches. Not that I want to compete,” she added hastily. “I just don’t want to look like an idiot or an ungrateful, rebellious daughter.”

  “Can you paint? How about photography? You could take a nice picture of scenery or something from your mom’s childhood and have it framed.”

  “I don’t have a camera.” Eleanor picked up her phone. “This takes pretty good pictures, but I’m not sure I could print anything really big.”

  “How about a quilt? Your aunt could help you. Or you could knit or crochet an afghan if you don’t want to do a quilt.”

  “Knitting and crocheting were not included in my extensive education. In fact,” Eleanor said, “I don’t think I had any really creative classes. Academic classes, some music and sports. I can play volleyball and the piano. Soccer and basketball, too, but I went to school on a volleyball scholarship.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Brittany leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “Where did you go to college?”

  “Rockland University.”

  “Oh, I know where that is! It’s a big engineering school, isn’t it?”

  “That and education. Guess which one I went to.” Eleanor smiled tightly. “After a few months here, I’m beginning to think I should have gone into engineering. Doing take-offs isn’t the same thing as engineering, of course, but it’s related, and I think I’m better at that than I am at teaching.”

  “Did you have a boyfriend down there?”

  “A boyfriend? No.”

  “No? None at all?”

  Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “Like you said, it was a lot of engineering. Penny’s absolutely right about them. Have you ever dated an engineer or scientist?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Brittany said. “I think Brian’s the only engineer I know.”

  “Well—except for Brian, of course—they aren’t the most romantic men on earth. I went out to the theater with one guy, and he whispered through the whole performance, telling me which color lights were being used and why. I mean the whole performance—not just a few comments. Not only was it annoying, but our neighbors were furious. I can’t remember the last time I was so embarrassed. Then he asked me to go to a concert the following weekend. I figured that would be okay, since it was outdoors—no lights. But then he just talked about sound waves, through the whole thing.”

  Brittany grinned. “Did you go out with him again?”

  “No, but he kept trying. He said he’d really enjoyed our time together.”

  “So, don’t date an engineer.”

  “Actually,” Eleanor said, “the scientists were just as bad. My roommate set me up with her boyfriend’s roommate, thinking that would be convenient for them. He was a good-looking guy, and I thought a zoologist would be interesting, but he spent the entire date talking about the life cycle of the dung beetle. Not kidding. I didn’t ask about dung beetles. We didn’t see a bug that inspired conversation. We sat down at the restaurant, got our water, and Heath said, ‘Have you ever seen a dung beetle?’ I thought it was a joke at first, so I said no and waited for the punch line. There wasn’t one.”

  “A dung beetle? What’s a dung beetle?”

  “Just what you’d expect. He started at conception and worked his way through the beetle’s life until the poor thing died and dried up. Seriously, the entire meal. It was like he couldn’t help himself. He just kept talking. I could tell he was miserable when he said goodbye and dropped me off.”

  Brittany laughed. “Poor guy. He was probably nervous.”

  “I hope he became a professor, because he was a good lecturer. To this day, I remember most of what he told me. I didn’t have a lot of time for dating, though. Like I said, I was there on a volleyball scholarship, and we practiced off-season, too. I had a heavy class load, because I wanted to get through my double master’s degree in five years, and my sorority activities, too. I didn’t have time for other socializing.”

  “I only went to the community college,” Brittany said. “It was fun. I got an associate’s degree in marketing and business by the time I was 19, and I’ve been doing this ever since. I worked for the newspaper for a while, but now I’m keeping busy and making more money freelancing. I like it.” She held out the carton. “Want some more fries? I got the large one, to share, and then I ate almost all of them myself.”

  “No thanks. Where did you meet your fiancé?”

  “At school. He works at the car dealership south of town, in the shop.”

  “When are you getting married?”

  “No hurry.” Brittany popped the last fry in her mouth and rolled up her garbage. “We haven’t set a date. We were planning on Christmas—this coming Christmas—but not a specific day. That’s how I met Penny. I took my wedding dress designs to her, and she asked me to do her social media and marketing. Where should I put this?”

  Eleanor pointed to the garbage can. “So, you have a dress but not a wedding date?”

  “Well, I told Penny to hold off on the dress, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Brittany sat and looked at her. “My sister just got a divorce. It made me take a good look at what I wanted in a man—in marriage. I asked Andy if we could go to premarital counseling, and he laughed. He wouldn’t do it.” She shrugged. “I decided I wanted a man who was willing to go to premarital counseling. Our pastor says that it’s an investment in marriage, and if a man isn’t willing to make that small investment ahead of time, he might not be willing to invest much later—to do whatever it takes to fix things if there’s a problem. When Andy made a joke of it and said it would be a waste of time… well, that was a red flag. I’m not breaking off the engagement—at least, not now—but I’m praying for wisdom. And maybe some courage.

  “Well, that stinks.” Eleanor sat in the hard chair next to the bed. “I mean, I understand they have to have a deadline, but it was a big project, and your bid was good. All that time wasted!”

  “You did a good job on it,” Gary said, “and it wasn’t a waste of time, because you learned while you worked. Each project is more practice, like playing the piano.”

  She laughed. “Like playing the piano?”

  “Yeah. You play the piano, don’t you? I seem to remember your mother talking about your recitals when I was down there for her fortieth birthday party.”

  “I haven’t done it in a while, but yes, I can play. Why?”

  He plucked at the blanket. “I have a favor to ask. Don’t be afraid to say no.” He paused. “Well, if you say no, you’ll have to explain it to Aunt Violet, but if you’d really rather not, I’ll figure something else out.”

  “What?”

  “On Tuesdays, over at the nursing home where Uncle Olof is…” He stopped. “Actually, it’s a rehabilitation center, and I’ll be there, too, while this leg heals up. So, on Tuesday mornings, they have sing-alongs. They sing old songs, from when they were younger.”

  “Okay.” She waited. Did he want her to play accompaniment?

  “Well, I’m not going to be able to play for a while, with this shoulder, and I’d very much appreciate it if you’d fill in for me.” The last few words came out in a rush.

  “You mean, you play the piano for their sing-alongs?”

  “Yeah. It’s not hard. I can’t do conce
rtos, but Cheryl had a piano, and she taught me how to bang out a few songs. They aren’t a picky audience.”

  She smiled at him, amused and a little surprised by the affection she felt for this uncle she hadn’t known until a few months ago. “And you want me to do it?”

  “I’d be grateful if you would. I’d still pay you for 8 hours on Tuesdays, plus all the overtime you’ll be collecting for the next few weeks. If you have an early lunch, you could be at the office by 12:30.”

  “Well, what songs would I have to play?” Did she really want to do this? Did she have a choice? “I haven’t played in a while.”

  “I have songbooks. It’s old stuff—’When Irish Eyes are Smiling’, ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, ‘When You Wore a Tulip’, ‘Yellow Rose of Texas’…. “

  “I don’t know any of those,” Eleanor objected.

  “You will,” Gary said darkly. “They’re the kind of songs that get stuck in your head, and the next thing you know, you’re humming ‘A Bicycle Built for Two’ on the job site.”

  “Good morning!” Cheryl rolled a wheelchair ahead of her as she entered. “Hi, Eleanor. No need to leave. I just want to see him get in and out of the wheelchair.”

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to do that.” Gary sat up, pivoting to dangle his legs over the side of the bed. “I thought I had to wait for assistance.”

  “That is correct. Both here and at the nursing home, you must wait for a CNA or nurse to assist you in or out of your chair or bed.”

  “Then why do you want me to do it now?”

  His exaggerated patience didn’t put a dent in her cheerful demeanor. “Because, Gary, you are going to do it anyhow, and I want to make sure you know how to do it without injuring yourself all over again.”

  Eleanor giggled. No wonder Aunt Violet liked this woman.

  Gary grinned ruefully. “Oh, no. I’m going to follow every rule to the T, so I can get out of that place and back to work.”

  “I don’t think so. Have you seen the CNA’s at the nursing home? You’re going to have to call them when you want to use the bathroom, Gary, or just to get out of bed in the morning.”

  He scowled at her. “Would you please stop calling it a nursing home? It’s a rehabilitation center.”

  Cheryl pursed her lips and tilted her head, considering. “No, I don’t think so. I like calling it a nursing home.”

  “You could call it a rehab clinic, Uncle Gary,” Eleanor said, “but then people would think you were there to break a drug habit.”

  “In and out of the chair, Gary. I’m not signing off on your discharge until I see you do it.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Did you come back here just to torment me?”

  “No,” Cheryl said, “that’s not why I came back. It is a nice little bonus, though. Just wait until we get to the nursing home, where we’ll have more time together.” She smiled with all her teeth. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

  Later that afternoon, as she drove out to the office, Eleanor realized she was humming “A Bicycle Built for Two” and burst into laughter. All those years of piano lessons were finally going to be put to good use. What would her mother think?

  “Your mother will be pleased.” Violet beamed at Eleanor she set a cup and saucer on the table. “You remember, I told you how fond of him she was. They sang songs together, possibly some of the same ones you’ll be playing on Tuesdays.”

  Eleanor still had trouble believing in that relationship. If her mother had ever mentioned Olof, it was only in passing or in connection with the rest of the family.

  “And she read to him. He’d work while she read, or sometimes he’d sit with her and look at the pages as if he could read, too. He couldn’t, you know. He has dyslexia, like Penny, but no one ever knew that back then. Teachers just thought he was lazy. It wasn’t until Penny was diagnosed that the doctors tested him.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Your mother—as far as I know—never asked him to read to her. She read and he listened.” Violet tipped her head and looked at Eleanor. “Does anyone else in your family have dyslexia?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “No, not that I know of. The twins are just three. Of course, they’ll be starting preschool soon, and Laurie will want them reading by the time they’re four, so I guess we’ll find out. Dyslexia is hereditary, isn’t it? I wonder if Mom worried about that.”

  Violet spread butter on her roll. “It’s hereditary, at least a bit, but it’s hard to tell how much, because when you go back a generation or two, we didn’t know about it. We just thought people weren’t smart enough to learn. They were just labeled illiterate.”

  “That’s sad.” Eleanor stirred sugar into her coffee. She might as well take advantage of her aunt’s good mood. “Speaking of my mother… are you going to my parents’ anniversary party?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Violet said. “I’ll send them a card.”

  That seemed an appropriate response to a 35th anniversary. Eleanor wished she could do the same. “Laurie, Zack’s wife, thinks we should give them gifts. Us kids, I mean.”

  “What kind of gifts?”

  “Expensive gifts. Soren’s giving them a weekend in Chicago, to see a show. Zack and Laurie are giving them a vacation in the Caribbean.” Eleanor blew out a sigh. “I don’t know what to give them.”

  Violet sat upright. “A vacation in the Caribbean! What will you give them for their fiftieth—a new car?”

  “Thank you. I agree, but I’m stuck. I can’t afford something like that. Brittany suggested making a quilt for them, but I don’t know how to do it, and from what I’ve seen here, it requires a lot of tools I don’t have. Would you be willing to help me make one, if it’s even possible to get one made by Valentine’s Day?”

  Would this be a good time to start humming “A Bicycle Built for Two”?

  “Do you think they would like a quilt?” Violet asked.

  “I think so. Mom likes handcrafted things as long as they aren’t too hokey. I saw some quilts on Pinterest that looked kind of modern. Is fabric expensive?”

  “Sometimes,” Violet said. “We can find a sale and coupons. I’ll help you if you’re sure you want to do it. And I’ll show you how to use the quilting machine.”

  “That’s a little intimidating!” Relieved, Eleanor leaned back in her chair. “I appreciate it. It won’t be as nice as the other gifts, but at least it’s better than a bouquet of flowers or a gift certificate to a restaurant they could afford better than I can.”

  “I’m sure she’ll like it. They both will. Do you have time to look at patterns after work today?”

  “Yes, I can do that.” She picked up her phone and navigated to Pinterest. “Let me show you what I found. I’m completely open to suggestions, though.”

  “Can you get my reading glasses from my nightstand for me? I can’t see those little screens.”

  When Eleanor returned, her aunt was reading her text messages—apparently without the aid of her readers. She looked up without a trace of embarrassment. “Brittany wants to know how your date went. Were you on a date? I didn’t know you have a young man here.”

  “I didn’t go on a date.” Not yet. Eleanor reached for the phone.

  Violet released it. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me. I’m not your chaperon. At your age, you ought to be dating. You’re even older than Penny.”

  Amusement swept away Eleanor’s irritation. “I’m not that old.”

  “You’re not that young, either,” the woman said tartly. “You don’t want to be my age and still have kids underfoot.”

  The idea staggered the imagination. Eleanor couldn’t help laughing. “No, I don’t. But I still have a few good childbearing years left.” She tapped in a quick message to Brittany and closed the text window. “Here’s the first quilt I saw. It’s called a double wedding ring, so it seemed appropriate.”

  “It would take six months and a lot of skill,” Violet said. “You need one t
hat can be rotary cut and machine pieced quickly.”

  “I don’t know which ones those would be. How about this one?”

  “We could do that one.” Her aunt took the phone and scrolled down the page. “Do you have certain colors in mind?”

  “The house is pretty neutral. A lot of white now that us kids are all gone. I thought maybe I could make it for Valentine’s Day, but not too country-style.”

  “The style won’t matter as much as the fabrics you choose,” her aunt said absently. “Since you said seasonal, are you talking about a wall hanging or a lap quilt instead of a bed quilt?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to interfere with their bedroom decor.” Eleanor fought the urge to snatch her phone back. “Something for the couch or to hang on the wall somewhere.”

  “How about this? It looks like Swedish paper baskets.” Aunt Violet turned the phone so Eleanor could see it but didn’t let go. “It has hearts, so it would work for Valentine’s Day or a wedding anniversary. We could look at different fabrics, but I like the moderate contrast here.”

  Eleanor looked up at the suddenly authoritative voice. Aunt Violet knew what she was doing.

  “Not beige, since you said their house is white, but maybe in grays? With some pink or blue?” She handed the phone to Eleanor. “I’ll draft it out, and we can go shopping tomorrow.”

  Now that she’d given her spare room to Eleanor, there wasn’t space to dedicate to this project. Violet dragged the last tote into the middle of the quilting room. The annex, with four bedrooms, should have been more than enough space for her, but after years of living in other people’s houses, she reveled in being able to spread out.

  “Hey! I can do that!” Eleanor sounded more alarmed than the circumstances warranted. Violet appreciated help; she didn’t like being treated like a frail old lady.

  “Thank you, Nellie.” She pulled off the lid of the tote and straightened, rubbing her hip. “I thought maybe you could use this room for the transcriptions and editing. We can bring in a desk and chair for you.”