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A Thread So Thin

Page 30

by Marie Bostwick


  That’s why I wanted to get out of the house today. I want to talk to somebody about this, somebody trustworthy, somebody who is close enough to the situation to understand it but who isn’t wrapped up in it emotionally. Somebody who won’t think I’m crazy for asking questions and, most importantly, somebody who won’t say anything to anybody else. Reverend Tucker is the only person I can think of who fits the bill.

  I know some people would say I should be talking this over with Garrett, but I don’t want him to think I’m getting cold feet. I just want to sort some stuff out in my mind.

  Also, I don’t want to talk to Garrett about the other thing that’s been on my mind: the eight e-mails and five phone messages I’ve gotten from Professor Williams, wanting to know if I’m coming to Chicago or not. I should answer her. If she were in New York instead of Chicago right now, I’d have to. But she had some vacation time coming and was able to hand over her classes to somebody else in the department for a couple of weeks, until graduation.

  I should call her back. Eventually, I’ll have to. I should call her up and say, “Sorry, Professor, it was a really great offer, a once-in-a-lifetime offer. But I’m going to get married and live happily ever after and learn to make something besides ramen to serve on my Big Bang Bronze dinnerware when Garrett and I give dinner parties in our house with the dining room and all, so I guess I’ll have to pass on Chicago.”

  That was a joke, okay? I was being funny. I won’t say that.

  But I’ll have to say something. Whatever I say, it’ll mean the same thing. I hate the idea of doing that, of closing the door forever. Sure, eventually it’s going to close itself, but it won’t be because of me, you know what I mean?

  It’s like all the wedding stuff. If I just lie back and let things happen, let somebody else take the lead, eventually all the decisions will take care of themselves.

  Zoe kept nagging me about talking to Garrett, so I finally just told her I had. I don’t like lying, but I had to get her off my back. I’ve intended to talk to Garrett. A couple of times I almost did. But then I chickened out.

  Garrett is the best thing in my life, more important to me than any job could ever be. One half of my brain says that he’d be fine with the Chicago thing, that Garrett is an incredible, enlightened man who would want me to have everything I want. But another part of my brain remembers all the things my roommates said about even enlightened men being threatened by women who have powerful careers. I don’t know which half of my brain to listen to.

  If there’s even a small chance that Garrett isn’t as enlightened as I think he is, that this whole Chicago thing could end up coming between us, then why risk it? Especially over a job that I’m not certain I want, anyway?

  A couple more weeks and it’ll all be decided. The wedding will be over and my future will be set, so why take a chance on ruining everything?

  Still, and despite my tendency to tune her out, too, Abigail’s constant drumbeat on the importance of communication must be seeping into my consciousness. I should be talking all this over with Garrett, but I can’t. It’s too risky, especially so close to the wedding.

  So this morning, after not being able to sleep again, even though I took my anti-anxiety meds, I’ve decided to talk things over with Reverend Tucker. It’s the first real decision I’ve made for a long time. And as I’m walking up the street toward the church, under the shadowy canopy of spring green leaves, I feel pretty good about this.

  When I turn the corner I can see that the second service is just letting out. Reverend Tucker is standing at the door, shaking hands with everybody as they leave. He waves at me and, for a minute, I feel like I’m going to throw up. My heart is pounding again, just like it did that day in New York.

  I can’t do it. I want to, but I can’t.

  And so, with sweat beading on my forehead and my pulse racing, I wave back, take a left at the corner, walk two more blocks, take another left, and end up back at the house, where I eat a turkey sandwich, stare at the seating chart, and tell Abigail that her arrangements look just great and we should go with that.

  34

  Evelyn Dixon

  After figuring out that turning Liza’s microwave sideways would leave enough room for her sewing machine, I pulled my head out of the trunk just in time to see my mother come out the front door of Liza’s apartment building carrying a big cardboard box.

  “Mom! For heaven’s sake! Put that down! Are you trying to hurt yourself?” I ran over to her and tried to take the box away, but she sidestepped me and made a face.

  “Evelyn, quit clucking. It’s not heavy. The whole thing is filled with those microwave noodle thingies.” Mom shook her head in disbelief. “Liza must have fifty packages of the stuff in her cupboards. No wonder she’s so skinny.”

  Garrett came out the door, lugging two boxes with some loose items piled on top. He was sweating. Clearly his load was heavy.

  Mom moved out of the way so Garrett could carry his burden to the car. She turned to me. “Maybe I ought to get Liza some cooking lessons as a wedding present.”

  “I heard that!” Grunting, Garrett put the boxes down on the sidewalk with a thud, then stood up and wiped the sweat from his face.

  “I’m just saying,” Virginia replied. “You’re both too thin as it is. If all Liza knows how to cook is noodles in the microwave, then maybe a few cooking lessons would be a good idea.”

  “Grandma, Liza knows how to cook things besides ramen. She also makes a mean plate of French toast. Besides, I’ve been cooking for myself for the last four years. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I expect her to suddenly don an apron and start making meat loaf. This isn’t the fifties, you know.”

  “I’m just saying…” Virginia muttered again.

  Garrett chuckled and looked at me with a “what can you do?” expression on his face. “We are in no danger of starving, Grandma. I promise. And, if it turns out we are, then I’ll just invite you over for the afternoon and you can whip up a meat loaf, and maybe one of those strawberry-rhubarb cobblers you made for me last week. That’d pack on the pounds.”

  “Oh no,” Mom said, completely missing the teasing tone in her grandson’s voice, “I can’t do that. As soon as this wedding’s over, I’m going back to Wisconsin. I’ve been here too long as it is.”

  Garrett shot me a questioning look. I gave a quick shake of my head, signaling him to just let it lie. There is no point in talking about it; every time I do, Mom and I just end up arguing. She’s made up her mind, and nothing I say seems to make any difference. I quickly changed the subject.

  “Is that the last of it?” I asked, nodding to the boxes. “Where’s Liza?”

  “She’ll be down in a minute,” Garrett said.

  He took the loose items off the boxes and laid them on the top of the car before wedging first one box and then the other into the backseat. “She’s up doing the checkout with the super. The place looks pretty good. Thanks for helping with the cleanup. Liza shouldn’t have any trouble getting her deposit back.”

  After shifting a few things to squeeze in the final box, Garrett slammed the car door hard to make sure the lock would catch.

  “Good thing you two decided to stay in town for lunch and take the train home later. There’s no more room. How was she able to fit this much stuff in a six-hundred-square-foot apartment split between four girls?” he said, scratching his head. “Thirty-eight pairs of shoes. Who needs thirty-eight pairs of shoes? I have three. Why do I have the feeling I’m about to be ejected from my own closet?”

  Mom and I looked at each other and grinned. “Oh, Garrett,” Mom said, “you don’t know the half of it.”

  I walked over to my darling son and patted him sympathetically. “Wait until the wedding presents are all unpacked. You won’t have room to change your mind.”

  Garrett frowned as he peered through the windows of the packed car. “Huh. Maybe we’d better give Wendy Perkins a call after we get back from Hawaii. We mi
ght need to buy a house sooner than I thought.”

  “Maybe. But, in the meantime, I can consolidate some stuff in the workroom cabinets. That should keep you in storage space for a while.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He smiled gratefully. “Well, looks like we’re all set here. Now I just need my bride.”

  “What about that?” Mom asked, pointing to the top of the car.

  “Oh! Thanks, Grandma. I can’t forget Liza’s quilt. She’d kill me. I’ll lay it on the front seat so it doesn’t get wrinkled. We’re going to hang it in the living room.”

  Garrett carefully took the folded quilt off the top of the car and unfurled it, holding tight to the top two corners so he could see the full quilt. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Personally, I think she should have won first place.”

  Personally, I agreed with him.

  Garrett stood quietly for a moment, a crease of concentration etched between his brows, looking at the quilted figure, the long-legged girl with the flowing hair and the transparent hands reaching out fruitlessly trying to catch hold of the thin silver threads before it was too late, before the flock flew past and the skies emptied.

  “Mom? What do you think it means?”

  Before I could say anything, a voice called out, “Hey! You there!”

  We turned to see a woman with an angry expression and a head full of unruly curls that bounced as she trotted toward us, her arms pumping like a long-distance runner on the home stretch of a race.

  “You! Who are you?” the woman demanded. “Where did you get that quilt?”

  “It belongs to my fiancée,” Garrett said, startled by this strange stranger. “She just graduated. I’m helping her move out of her apartment.”

  Garrett’s explanation did nothing to mollify the woman. She marched up to him, practically nose to nose, and put her hands on her hips, glaring at my flabbergasted son.

  “So! You’re the fiancé.” She shook her head, curls swishing left and right, and let out a harrumph. “So you’re the Neanderthal who’s ruining Liza’s life! Forcing her to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so she can iron your boxer shorts and cook your meals!”

  “Oh, but Liza really can’t cook,” Mom said. She gave me a look and then shrugged, completely confused by this situation. That made three of us.

  “Lady,” Garrett said, annoyance beginning to creep into his voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Liza hasn’t said anything about—”

  The woman puffed and held up her hand, waggling her fingers at him contemptuously. “Oh, don’t give me that. If you insist on being a misogynistic jerk, at least don’t be a lying misogynistic jerk. Liza told you about the job I offered her. She must have.” She rose up on her toes so her face was even closer to Garrett’s.

  “Do you have any idea, any idea, what this could mean for her? She’ll never get another chance like this. She could be one of the youngest curators in the country. You’re a computer guy, aren’t you? How hard would it be for you to do that from Chicago? Do you know how often an opportunity like this comes along in the art world? Do you? Never! That’s how often. Especially for a woman. Believe me,” she sneered, “I know what I’m talking about. And guys like you are the reason.”

  Garrett took a step back and folded up Liza’s quilt. He was angry, I could tell, but he was working hard to keep it under control.

  “Ma’am,” he said evenly, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish helping my girlfriend move.”

  The woman didn’t budge. “You remind me of my old boyfriend. Calm and collected when there are people around, acting the part. But once the room clears you’re all bullying and manipulation, controlling, forcing a woman to choose between love and a career. Well, I chose career, mister! And I’ve never regretted it. Not once!”

  Lips pressed together, determined to ignore the woman’s tirade or even look at her, Garrett opened the passenger door and carefully laid the folded quilt on the seat. Frustrated with his lack of response, the woman stomped her foot and then marched down the sidewalk and around the corner, but not before lobbing one final grenade at my son.

  “Tell Liza that I wish she’d had the courage to call me up and actually refuse the job instead of avoiding my calls, but I understand. You can also tell her I hope she’ll be very happy with you. But somehow I doubt it.”

  She marched down the sidewalk and turned the corner. Garrett shut the car door, locked it, and walked back toward the apartment building, saying nothing.

  “Honey, what was that about? Who is that woman? Do you have any idea?”

  “No,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”

  Grim faced, he kissed me on the cheek and Mom on the top of her head. “You two go on and enjoy your lunch. See you later.”

  I followed him to the door and stood on the stoop, watching as he walked through the lobby and up the stairs. I felt a hand on my elbow and turned around. Mom was standing on the step below, looking at me.

  “Come on. Let’s go eat lunch.”

  “But…don’t you think we should wait here for a bit? To make sure everything is all right? Maybe I should go up there.”

  Mom shook her head. “No, Evelyn. Absolutely not. Garrett is a grown man. He and Liza are going to have to work this out on their own. I can’t imagine it’s the first argument they’ve ever had. And even if it is, it won’t be the last.”

  I didn’t move.

  Mom’s hand gripped me tighter. “Evelyn,” she said in a warning voice. “Evelyn, don’t. This doesn’t concern you.”

  She was right. Garrett was an adult. He had to deal with this himself. I turned my back to the door.

  “All right.” I sighed. “I guess we should go. Charlie made a reservation for us at some new French place, not far from here. He said it’s gotten wonderful reviews. It’s about five blocks away. Shall we walk?”

  Mom wrinkled her nose, rejecting this plan. “I don’t want French food. Those rich sauces upset my stomach.”

  “No? What would you like instead?”

  “A hot dog,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “From one of those vendors in Central Park. Mary Flynn had one when she visited New York City with her daughter, and she said it was the best dog she ever had. I want mine with sauerkraut and plenty of mustard. And afterward, let’s have ice cream. Come on.”

  Before I could say anything, Mom walked to the curb and hailed a passing cab like a seasoned city dweller.

  “Central Park,” she told the driver. I got in after her, but not before looking up at a third-story window and wondering what was going on behind the glass.

  35

  Liza Burgess

  “That’s ridiculous!” I countered. “The place is perfect. Cleaner than when I moved in. Why should I have to wait sixty days before getting my deposit back?”

  Rick shrugged and scratched the side of his neck, slowly, which was how he’d done everything during the two years I’d lived in this apartment.

  “Hey, whattaya gripin’ at me for, huh? I’m just the super. I don’t make the rules. You wanna gripe, call up the management company and gripe. I got a toilet to unclog.”

  He turned around and walked out of the empty apartment without saying good-bye, turning sideways to get past Garrett, who was just coming through the door.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “There goes the laziest building super in New York. But I’ll get back at him. I’ll have Abigail call him and his management company. It’d serve him right.” I smiled at Garrett but he didn’t say anything. He had a funny look on his face.

  “Don’t be mad, babe. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll get the check eventually. Let’s go. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Liza, we need to talk about something.”

  His voice was low and serious. My stomach knotted, knowing something bad was about to happen but not knowing what.

  “I was loading the last of the stuff into the car and this craz
y woman saw me holding your quilt and she started going off about some big job offer in Chicago and how it was all my fault that you’d turned it down.”

  Professor Williams.

  I’d expected to see her at graduation yesterday. Part of me had been relieved that we’d missed each other, but another part of me had been disappointed. I mean, she was my favorite professor. It seemed weird to leave without saying good-bye and also—well, there was no use thinking about that anymore.

  The door was closed; my course was set. In a week, I was going to marry Garrett, go to Hawaii on my honeymoon, then come back to New Bern and start working in the quilt shop again.

  Wasn’t I?

  Looking at Garrett’s face, I started to feel scared. I’d never seen him mad before, not really mad. Even mad, he was still handsome but…Crap! I should have talked to him before. I should have! But I hadn’t. And there was nothing to do about it now. I’d let it go too long.

  “Liza, who was that lady?”

  “Professor Williams. My art history teacher. The one I researched that paper for, the one who put my name on the article. I told you about her, remember?”

  “Yeah,” he said in that strange voice. “I remember. What I don’t remember is you telling me about any job offer, not here and definitely not in Chicago. So, is it true? Did she offer you a job in Chicago?”

  I nodded.

  “Doing what?”

  I looked at the wooden floor, keeping my eyes fixed on a black, quarter-sized knothole in one of the boards. “As an assistant curator at the Pinkham Museum. In the decorative arts division. She applied to be the new executive director, and the article I helped research kind of clinched the deal. She said I’d have to go to school at night, start working on a master’s in art history, but that if I wanted it, the job was mine. I told her I needed to think about it.”

 

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