“No, you’re going to learn how to sew a quilt.”
For a few seconds, I was speechless. I blinked at her, incredulously. “Me? Learn how to sew?”
She tilted her head to the left and pressed her hand against her forehead.
I wasn’t going to argue with her, not on treatment day. However, the fact was I didn’t need to know how to sew. I was a surveyor. Furthermore, I didn’t want to learn how to make a quilt. My granny made quilts. You bought quilts at church bazaars from little old ladies raising money for foreign missions. Learn how to sew? Me? Preposterous. I had enough to do getting ready for our trip.
Sometimes, Liza didn’t crash for a nap until a couple of hours after her treatment, and today seemed to be one of those days. She insisted we stop at Piggly Wiggly and hauled out the Treasured Memories Cookbook of New England from the plastic bag.
As we stood in the baking aisle in front of the bags of shredded coconut, my wife flipped the pages to the middle of the cookbook. “I’m going to show you the top secret recipe for my coconut cake.”
“I thought you said this was your top-secret recipe.” I pointed to the top of the page. “It says here, this is Alice Huntington of Nantucket, Massachusetts’s special coconut cake. I can’t believe you went and claimed this woman’s recipe as your own. You told me your Great-Grandmother Willoughby had given you that recipe.”
“Surprise. I lied,” Liza said as she placed baking soda into the cart. “You’ve had more than your share of helpings over the years, so don’t start complaining about the source now.” She tiptoed over and whispered in my ear, “My secret is to add extra vanilla.”
Stunned, I said, “Next you’re going to tell me that your chicken-and-broccoli casserole isn’t your special creation.”
I loved her chicken-and-broccoli casserole.
“I hate to disillusion you, but your favorite casserole is a concoction derived from desperation. I developed it one night to clear out leftovers from the refrigerator.”
Stunned by my wife’s cooking confessions, I gazed at the flour, sugar, and three bags of shredded coconut in the cart. “Are you going to make a cake when Anna comes home?”
“No, you are.”
Inevitably, exhaustion caught up with Liza. She laid down for a nap after we got back from our errands.
When I went to check on her a couple of hours later, she was sitting up in bed and writing in her new journal. Funny, I hadn’t noticed the very dark circles underneath her eyes earlier today. In the afternoon light, it looked as if someone had punched her, and she had two black eyes as a result.
“Just wanted to let you know I got the casserole in the oven,” I said. “I’ll let you write.”
“Disney, don’t leave.” She patted the space on the bed beside her. “We need to talk.”
“Sure thing. What’re you writing? All the stops you want to make out West, all the beaches you want to walk along? I’m glad to see you’re finally getting into the spirit of the trip.”
“Let’s stop focusing on the trip for a minute. I’m writing out the list of books I want you to buy for Mickey. I haven’t had time to get them all together. So, you’ll need to . . . “
I pulled the journal from her hands; the ink had smeared on the pages. “Quit talking like that. You’re going to beat the cancer. You’re going to be fine.”
“Disney, I want you to listen to me. I want you to go up to the attic and bring down the ‘the keepers’.”
My heart hammered in my chest. I stared at her. The ‘keepers’ were what we called the blue Rubbermaid boxes that contained our children’s special clothes. Each child’s newborn outfit, Anna’s graduation dress, and Mickey’s skateboarding competition tee-shirts, had been lovingly stored: a chronicle of their lives in cloth. For years, Liza’s intention was to make a special quilt each for Anna and Mickey from the cloth in these outfits and present it to them at their marriages in the faraway future.
I stood, and then walked over to the other side of the room. I pointed my finger at her. “This pessimistic thinking of yours has got to stop. You’re going to get better. I bought that RV for you.”
“How dare you say you bought that RV for me? Every time I look at it, it’s a reminder of my death and a reminder of all the things we said we would do as soon as the business slowed down.” She threw the covers off the bed and slowly stood up. She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. “Isn’t that what you always said to me? Soon as it slows down, honey, we’re going to go see the U.S. of A. Guess what? Life doesn’t slow down, Disney. You have to slow down for it.” She sat back down on the bed. “You bought the RV for you, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the cancer or me.”
Icy cold fingers of despair clutched at my throat as she continued, “I’ve been trying to talk to you, and I don’t have the energy or the time to argue. I need your help to finish one last project.” Coughing, she reached for the Wal-Mart bag from the side of the bed. She pulled out the blue material. She gently unfolded the material and spread it out over her lap. Dolphins leaping playfully over foamy waves lay against the blue ocean of the material.
“You will sew the last pieces for the quilts from this material, but only after you’ve sprinkled my ashes in the ocean among a pod of dolphins.”
I had to get out of our bedroom. I had to get away from her. I had to get away from the reality creeping in my mind that my Liza was dying.
Anger welled up in me. How dare she give up? “That’s it, Liza. That’s it. I’m not gonna put up with this anymore.”
“Put up with what? I’m the one dying. I’m the one who’s wanted to talk about arrangements. I’m the one who’s wanted to hold onto you at night. I’m the one who’s cried herself to sleep wanting comfort. But you’ve denied me that with your fantasy that I’m going to live.”
Her words wove around my heart like a barbed wire fence snaring me with despair and fear.
Liza pulled her kerchief off her head revealing her bald scalp. “You are my best friend, and after all these years together, you’ve turned away from me. I need you now. I need your help to make the quilts.”
I grabbed the Winnebago keys off the dresser. “You are not dying. You’re giving up. And I am not making any damn quilt. You’re going to live long enough to take this trip out West like we talked about all these years, and then you’re going to live long enough to make my life a living hell. You hear me?”
I stormed out of the house. I shoved the keys into the switch. I cranked the Winnebago and drove away. As I turned out onto the highway something slid in between my feet and the gas pedal—The Fool’s Guide to Sewing a Patchwork Quilt.
Entering Moonheart’s Natural Living, I inhaled the aroma of vanilla and remembered Liza’s secret about her coconut cake. Damn, maybe coming here was a mistake. After the ‘living hell’ remark, she would serve nothing but coconut cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next six months until I was sick of it.
On the checkout counter, several white candle flames danced like fiery ballerinas upon a stage of wax.
“Disney. What a nice surprise,” Maggie Moonheart said. “What can I help you with?”
Though fifty, Maggie’s skin glowed with a vitality that I hadn’t seen in Liza in months.
“Hey.” said Tag, her boyfriend, who sat on a wooden stool behind the counter.
I watched as Maggie gazed lovingly at him. Having just discovered love, they were beginning a new chapter in their lives. I had known that joy for twenty-five years ago and many other joys since.
“I need some of those special high potency multi-vitamins for Liza.”
She frowned. “Sorry, but I’m out. I should have more in a couple of weeks.”
My stomach churned with a mixture of uneasiness and dread. Would the hands of fate hold the UPS truck back from delivering them until it was too late
? I peered around the store looking for something that would make Liza well. I often came here to research natural remedies and buy bottles of herbs to fuel my hope of improving her odds against the leukemia. Today, my hope was gone. The specter of death had followed me here to Moonheart’s Natural Living.
I could feel Maggie watching me, so I turned around and pretended to admire a display of beeswax candles as I blinked back tears.
“I have some special soap I’d like to recommend. A lot of customers who go through chemo love it. One girl drives up here from Atlanta to buy it for her mother,” she said as she walked to a wooden shelf filled with willow baskets brimming over with fragrant bars. “The folks who use it say it’s gentle on their skin. I make it with coconut oil, vitamin E oil and aloe. It’s very nourishing for fragile skin.”
“If you made it, then it’s got to be as soft as an angel’s wing. Liza will love it.”
Maggie rang up my soap, and my hands trembled as I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. She grabbed my hand in hers. Her grasp forced me to gaze into her eyes. “How is Liza?”
“Tired, but she’s looking forward to the trip.” I couldn’t admit to Maggie how truly delicate Liza was at this moment. When I reached for the soap, my wallet slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, I hit my head on the edge of the wooden counter, stumbled backwards into a small display of homemade teas, and several stainless steel tea diffusers clattered onto the hardwood floor.
Maggie and Tag came over and helped me stack everything back in place. She placed a box of tea in my hand. “Take this ginger-peach tea as a gift from me. Have a cup with Liza and talk to her. It’ll make you both feel better.”
I held the tea in my hands and inhaled the comforting scent. Tag placed his hand on my shoulder. “You need to come over to the studio with me. Liza’s sculpture is ready.”
“Sculpture?” This ought to be interesting. When had she ordered a work of art and how much was it going to cost me?
I followed Tag inside his art studio. I liked him. Here he was, a former Atlanta Falcon, but in middle age had rediscovered a talent for sculpture. He even expressed his creativity with a blue streak in his hair. I wonder what Liza would say if I came home with purple highlights in my curls.
He walked into a back room and returned with a blue velvet covered lump. Placing it on the counter, he smiled at me. I hoped it wasn’t some New Age-fangly piece of modern art.
“What is it?”
Like a magician upon a stage conjuring his beautiful assistant from thin air, he removed the velvet hood. Numb, I could only stare at the bronze statue of a young woman riding the back of a dolphin. I touched the delicate features of the girl, and I recognized her.
“Normally, I don’t do this type of work, but Liza brought me a photo of her when she was younger and asked. I hope you like it,” said Tag.
I nodded. Finally, words came to me. “You’ve captured her spirit. You’ve captured the essence of my Liza.”
I drove to the desolate parking lot of my surveying business and surveyed my life. Had I dedicated too much time to my business and not enough time to the kids and Liza? Was my life going to be like this asphalt lot without her? Empty?
The setting sun turned the clouds a golden-pink color as I sat there. I listened to the ticking of the clock hanging over the stove in the galley of the Winnebago. I kicked myself for all the moments I’d lost, was even now losing. I picked up The Fool’s Guide to Sewing a Patchwork Quilt, opened it to page one, then quickly flipped the pages to the back of the book.
My marriage to Liza had started on page one, and we were supposed to stay together until the end. Never did I dream that I’d read the last chapter by myself. A tear spattered on the page, but it didn’t smear the ink as I read through “Chapter One: The Basics of Gathering the Cloth for Your Quilt.”
When I walked into the living room, Liza slowly raised herself from the sofa. She had one of her mother’s quilts draped over her legs; she wore a new kerchief made from the dolphin printed material.
“Look what Mickey made for me.”
“He did a great job. You look beautiful. Hey, I saw Tag while I was at Moonheart’s.
She smiled.
I sat down beside her and handed her the book. “I can’t do this quilt or anything else by myself, Liza. I can’t make it without my wife or my best friend. I can’t imagine life without you.”
She patted my hand reassuringly. “I never intended for you to go through this by yourself. Making the quilts will help you, it’ll help me, and it’ll help the kids. It’ll keep us together when I’m gone. When you need a hug from me, all you’ll have to do is wrap up in the quilt, and touch the patches. You’ll remember all the good times we had as a family and all the love we shared. And when you think you can’t go on, just look at the statue and remember that our souls are threaded together even when one of us has gone ahead.”
I gently held her in my arms, never wanting to let her go, I wanted to stitch our souls together so that she wouldn’t leave me.
In our embrace, I could feel the truth in her bones, so delicate, so fragile. I would be strong for her and not let her hear my heart break. Tilting her face toward mine, I kissed her gently on the lips. “Liza, Tag’s statue is beautiful.” I ran my finger down her cheek. “You’re beautiful. When did you commission Tag to do it?”
“The same day you ordered that damn Winnebago.”
I laughed, glad that I still could. “Maggie suggested some new soap, and gave us a box of her special ginger-peach tea. I’ll run out and get them and the statue. Where do you want me to put it?”
“Leave the statue in the camper where it belongs. It will go with you to the Grand Canyon. Send Mickey out for the tea and soap. You need to go on up to the attic.”
I pulled down the rickety attic ladder. The brackets holding it weren’t very stable; it was always a challenge every Christmas when I had to climb up for the box of ornaments. This time it didn’t buck or sway with me. I found Anna’s box, and brought it down. Then came Mickey’s. I climbed up once more, and in a far corner surrounded by cast off Halloween costumes was Kelly’s container. It was lighter than the others. Dust coated the lid.
When I had all the boxes gathered in the living room around Liza, she looked up at me. “I need to rest. We’ll start in the morning. As I carried her upstairs to our bedroom, she whispered to me, “Hold me tight, Disney. Hold me tight tonight, and don’t let go.”
I held my wife in my arms late into the night, listening to her rattled breathing. With each inhalation, I savored her life. With each exhalation, I feared it was her last. I promised myself that I wouldn’t sleep to make up for the time I lost this afternoon. I would memorize every last detail of her face from the elegant arch of her eyebrows to the small scar underneath her chin.
When a warm kiss touched my lips; I opened my eyes to Liza smiling down at me.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
After a breakfast of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and ginger-peach tea, we began our journey of memories with Anna’s box. We laughed as we pulled out small dresses remembering what a tomboy our little girl had been. We discovered Easter dresses, tee shirts, and the homecoming gown of our oldest daughter.
I reverently opened Kelly’s box. Liza leaned over and lifted out the small pink Carter nightgowns. She uncovered a pink crocheted baby blanket and held it against her cheek. I wrapped my arms around my wife, just like the day she held our little baby in her arms when we learned Kelly had a congenital heart disease. Our little girl died on the operating table at three months. I think that’s when I started working more and more to fill up the loss I felt at Kelly’s death.
For a few moments, as I closed my eyes, I envisioned a younger version of my wife holding a baby wrapped in a pink crocheted blanket. I watched as she smoothed the fuzzy down
of the baby’s head. Would Liza rock Kelly in heaven?
Then we came to Mickey’s box. Our son had been a robust nine-pound baby, and the boy had the lungs to match his vitality. He’d kept us awake at night for several months with his howls. Liza laughed as she shook out the Oshkosh overalls. We laughed at the memory of our son’s first overnight camp at Zoo Atlanta when we held up his “I’m a Wild Thing” tee shirt. He’d taken a flashlight and a net just in case the snakes got loose. Finally, we smiled as we both remembered the day he’d worn his Wheelin’ On the Concrete shirt and won first place in an X-games competition.
As I started cutting six and a half-inch by six and a half-inch squares from several of Anna’s Easter dresses, the phone rang, and I answered it.
“Hey, Dad, how’s Mom?”
What did I tell my daughter? I guess I could no longer deny reality. I looked over at Liza, who had fallen asleep. I could see the blue veins underneath her translucent skin as the late morning sun shone through the bay window. Admitting to Anna she might want to come home early so she could see her mother made me feel like I was losing grip on life. And I was. I was losing my life with Liza.
“She’s hanging in there. But you need to come home. As soon as possible.”
“Oh no. Daddy. Please no.”
“I’m sorry. Your Mom and I are making the quilts from the keepers.”
My daughter sobbed over the phone.
“Do you want me to come and get you, sweetie?” I asked her.
“No. Stay with Mom. I can have a friend bring me home. I have someone I want you to meet.”
“Be careful, Anna.”
“Bye, Daddy. Love you.”
Mickey came into the living room, and his eyes widened at the explosion of baby clothes, dresses, and tee shirts. His eyes wandered over to his mother.
“You did a good job on that scarf, son. She’s real happy with it.”
“Thanks. Guess I’d better move the sewing machine in here. That way Mom can tell us how she wants things.”
On Grandma's Porch Page 16