"Thanks," I said. "I can use these to cut some poster board and make a CLOSED FOR REMODELING sign."
"No, you cannot," Eleanor snapped. "Cutting paper will dull those scissors, and fabric scissors need to be very, very sharp."
"Sorry," I said, and placed the scissors at the top of the box. "I'll get the hang of all the quilting rules one of these days."
Nancy and I took as many boxes out to Eleanor's car as could fit, and then filled up the back of her car. But the shop still had a dozen or more boxes left to go, as well as the quilts that hung on the back wall and the junk in the office.
"I'll take a trip over to your place, Eleanor," Nancy said. "Then if you two set up the shop there, I'll come back for a second load."
On the drive to her house, Eleanor hummed to herself cheerily.
"What's up with you?" I finally asked.
"I'm just amazed at how easy this has been so far," she said.
"Of course it's easy," I said. "You'll be happy to be back running the shop, even if it is in your dining room. And Nancy will be happy to be working with you. And I can have some peace and quiet overseeing things at the shop."
"You enjoy being right," she said dryly.
"Wait-I'm right about something?" I laughed. "This has to be a first."
"I'm just saying that it was a good idea to expand the shop, that's all. And I'm glad you'll be there to make sure it all turns out right." Her smile made me suspicious, but it left me no room to keep arguing. She was like that, innocence and manipulation with a smile, and I admired the hell out of it.
At the request of all of the members of the Friday Night Quilt Club, my grandmother agreed to open the shop for one last meeting in the old space. We had done a pretty good job of pulling the place apart the last few days, and no one had bothered to sweep up. On Friday morning I walked over to make sure that the place would be clean and safe. One broken leg was all I could handle.
As I got to the door I passed a flustered Carrie on her way out.
She looked embarrassed to see me. "Forgot the shop was closed?" I asked her.
"No, no, of course not. I just wanted to talk with Marc. See what kind of work he was doing."
"Why?"
"I wanted to see, that's all," she said defensively. "I was passing and I thought I'd stop in. I might open my own place one of these days. I miss being in business, you know."
I nodded, but I didn't know. I'd never thought about owning my own business, or even running anyone else's. These last few days did have a certain element of fun to them, I had to admit, but I was riding this bike with my grandmother grasping the seat firmly. I had no interest in seeing if I could pedal all on my own.
I wanted to ask her why, if she wanted her own business so much, she didn't just open one. But I realized I probably knew the answer. I'd been saying I wanted to be an artist since I was a kid, and so far I had nothing to show for it. So instead I said good-bye and watched Carrie walk down the street. She walked quickly, looking around to see who else she might run into, but when she disappeared around the corner, I opened the door to the shop.
Inside the place was almost empty, aside from a few boxes Nancy hadn't been able to fit in her car. Marc was alone drawing an arch on the wall that divided the shop and diner.
"Is that the opening? It seems small," I said.
"In order to maintain the structural integrity of the place, I have to keep the arch pretty small, but it's big enough for two people to walk through." He grabbed me and we leaned up against the wall, both fitting into the space outlined for the arch. "See?" he said. I saw. "Maybe it's too much room. Maybe I should make it smaller." He pulled me closer. I couldn't tell if he was flirting with me because he liked me or making fun of me because maybe I liked him, so I just moved away to another section of the wall.
"If you're not tearing the whole wall down, you'll need to take care of that." I pointed to a hole in the wall near the corner.
"That mouse hole?"
"If that's a mouse hole, then he has a glandular problem. I could put my fist in it."
"I never saw it before." Marc leaned down to examine it.
"It had shelves in front of it, and piles of fabric."
"I'll fix it, boss," he said, smiling. He was excited to be there, I could tell. And maybe even excited to see me every day. Or maybe that was just my wishful thinking.
"Why don't I get some coffee?" I suggested.
"I could use the caffeine," he nodded.
"Late night?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
He blushed slightly. "I was up late, going over the plans for this place."
"Oh, please. I've heard about your reputation."
"I've heard it too. I wish I got laid as often as people say, but I actually I spent my night alone." He smiled briefly, then looked down. "I better get back to work."
"I better get that coffee." I had to get out of there because I knew I was smiling and I couldn't stop. I was almost out the door when I heard a banging.
"We're closed," I called back. There was a sign on the door that said CLOSED in big black letters, but some people must need more than that to take a hint. The banging started again.
Prepared to be polite and firm to whatever fanatical quilter I would find on the other side of the door, I pulled it open. Ryan was standing there.
"Hi," he said as he stood just outside the door. "Your grandmother said you were here." He looked toward Marc but didn't acknowledge him. Marc even waved hello but got no response. Ryan started to take a step inside with the same angry expression he'd had on the sidewalk in New York, but I put my hand on his stomach to stop him.
"What do you want?"
"I came to see you. I thought we could talk."
I looked back at Marc, who was watching the scene with a big grin on his face. I wanted to stay and figure out what was so funny to him, but I knew it was better to get Ryan out of there. "Let's go for a walk," I said.
"I'll start knocking down the wall," Marc called after me.
"Tomorrow," I shouted back. "Tonight is the club and I don't want any plaster or nails falling on anyone's head. And don't get any dust on that pile of quilts by the cash register. Nancy will kill me if the quilts get dirty."
"Whatever you want," Marc said. The grin even wider. Ryan moved toward him, but I pushed him out the door.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"What am I doing? What is it with you and that guy?"
"That guy? The guy who is renovating my grandmother's shop?" Ryan wasn't even the jealous type, or hadn't been until he dumped me and Marc came along. Of course, until he broke off the engagement I had been one of those in-love saps who didn't notice any other men on the planet. But if I was noticing one now, it wasn't really any of Ryan's business. "I don't want to have this conversation standing on the street," I said.
"So let's walk," he said as he took my hand. Since I had no choice, I followed as he led me down the street. We turned toward the river, walking two blocks to the edge of town. The river was looking gray and still, reflecting an unusually dark midmorning sky. It was about to storm. "How long have you known that guy?"
"Oh my God, Ryan. I met him the day after you broke up with me. I told you already. He's my grandmother's handyman."
"I don't like him. I don't think you should."
I thought for a second, but only for a second. "Well, I do like him. He's nice. He's funny. He's really into old buildings and making furniture." Ryan rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. He hasn't hurt me, and I like that in a man."
"Sleep with him, then," Ryan spat.
"Maybe I will," I shouted. At that moment I would have slept with Marc just for the revenge.
Ryan walked away from me, back in the direction we came from. The sky opened up and rain started falling on my head, but I couldn't move. What was I doing? I loved Ryan. I wanted to marry him, didn't I? Maybe he'd had a change of heart and I didn't give him the chance to tell me. Marc was a nice distraction, but was a flirta
tion with him really worth putting a future with Ryan in jeopardy?
I headed up the street toward him. I would catch up and we would talk. I would listen, without being angry or hurt or defensive, and whatever he told me I could deal with. I hoped.
CHAPTER 19
I hurried back toward Ryan, but I couldn't find him. Hoping he was looking for me, with the same need to clear the air, I went back toward the shop. And I was right. When I turned the corner I saw Ryan outside the shop. But I had gotten his intention all wrong. He was standing over Marc, who was flat on his back on the sidewalk.
"Stay away from her," Ryan shouted and stormed off.
I ran over to Marc.
"Are you okay?" I helped him to his feet.
"Fine. Nice guy, your fiance."
"Ex-fiance," I said as I watched Ryan get in his car a few blocks down and drive away. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."
"Don't apologize, for starters," Marc said as he gingerly touched his jaw and winced.
"Why would he hit you? Did he say?"
"No. But he didn't have to," he laughed. "He sure takes it badly when somebody gets in his way."
I was as much embarrassed by Ryan's behavior as I was touched by Marc's reaction. A few seconds ago I was running after Ryan, and now I was watching him walk away while I stood by Marc. The whole situation seemed to be getting out of hand.
Marc didn't seem to need bandages, and I wanted to do something for him, so I headed to the local grocery and grabbed a six-pack of imported beer. Maybe it wouldn't make up for Ryan's behavior, but it was something. And I'd have something fattening to calm my nerves.
When I got back Marc was sitting on the floor, leaning against the checkout counter. There was the box of quilting tools left in the shop for tonight's meeting on the counter, next to a pile of neatly folded quilts that had been hanging on the back wall. I took the box of tools and set it on the floor between us, hoping that the rotary cutters and scissors would ensure my chasteness.
It worked, at least for a few minutes. We both quietly drank a beer and I wondered if he noticed how awkward I felt.
"He's never been like that before." I finally brought up the elephant in the room.
"Don't worry about it. I tend to bring out the best in people." As he smiled, he winced.
"I don't know. You've made me feel pretty good." The words popped out of my mouth before I'd decided if it was really the right thing to say.
Marc took my hand and held it in his. "Thanks. I don't know what it is about you, Nell. You make me want to be the guy you think I am."
I watched how his fingers stroked mine. It felt dangerous and sexy, and I leaned in closer. He looked up at me. He looked as if he might kiss me, but he was taking his time about it. So I leaned in farther. I pressed my lips against his lightly, waiting for permission. Just when I was sure none was coming, he suddenly put his hand behind my head and pulled me in closer.
The rain was pouring down when I left Marc at the shop. We had sat like two teenagers and made out on the floor of the quilt shop. While the storm had kept most of the foot traffic off the street, it was still daytime and we were sitting in full view of a picture window and hadn't noticed or cared. It wasn't until Marc waved to me through the shop window that I realized that our private moment was actually open to anyone walking past.
I was a block from the shop when I saw Ryan's car parked at the curb. Clearly our conversation wasn't over, and I figured now was as good a time as any to continue it, but he wasn't in the car. I realized I was relieved. Being with Marc had put me in a good mood, and I had a feeling a conversation with Ryan would bring it to an end. Still, I walked the rest of the way home knowing I had to deal with my feelings for both men, and the sooner the better.
When I got to the house my grandmother and Nancy were helping Natalie pick out some flannel fabrics for a quilt she was making for her son. Barney was too engrossed in the fabric selections to do anything but lift his head toward me and wag a little.
"Marc at the shop?" Eleanor asked.
I held my breath, wondering if somehow word had reached her about my afternoon. Then, as innocently as possible, I answered. "Yeah, he's dying to knock down the wall between the stores. I told him to wait until tomorrow, but who knows if he'll listen."
"We don't want debris all over the place tonight for the club meeting."
"That's what I told him."
"Hopefully he'll listen." She picked up a bolt of blue cowboy fabric and showed it to Natalie. "Ryan was here."
"At the house?"
"Yes. He seemed upset."
"I saw him, at the shop," I said. "He must have come here afterward."
"Did you talk?"
"Shouted, actually."
"Well, at least you're communicating." Her voice was so monotone I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic, but I let the comment pass.
"Everything's ready for tonight," I said as I left the dining room. "I'm just going to lay down for a bit, and we'll head back at six-thirty."
The three women smiled, then turned back to the fabric Natalie held in her hands. I took it as my cue to head upstairs and try, at least for a little while, to pretend I wasn't making a mess of my life.
CHAPTER 20
At precisely six-thirty I started the car and pulled it as close to the front door as possible. It was still raining and I had nightmares of my grandmother sliding on the pavement, but she managed to get to the car with me on one side and Barney on the other.
"Be careful," she said at least six times in the six minutes it took to drive to the shop.
"You want to drive, Bigfoot?"
"Didn't your mother teach you to be nice to your elders?"
"I don't believe she mentioned it," I smirked. "Maybe she wasn't raised right."
"Don't have too much fun or I'll tell the girls you want to make a quilt."
We pulled up in front of the store before I could come up with a ripping response. Outside the shop Bernie, Maggie, Susanne, Natalie and Carrie were all huddled under umbrellas.
"Get inside," Eleanor shouted.
"I have the key," I reminded her.
"Then hurry and open the door."
I left Natalie and Carrie to help Eleanor out of the car and ran to the front door of the shop. I tried the key. Strangely, the door wasn't locked, just difficult to open. Marc must have forgotten to lock it and now something was jammed up against the other side.
"Help me push," I said to Bernie, and we shoved ourselves against the door.
I stepped inside and reached for the light, nearly tripping on whatever had blocked the door. Eleanor was now standing just outside and getting wet. I turned on the switch and looked around to help her inside.
"Oh my God," I heard her say.
I looked down. There was a man lying at my feet. It was another second before I realized it was Marc.
"Call 911."
"See if he's breathing."
"There's blood everywhere."
One after another the women of the quilt club took action, checking Marc's pulse, calling for an ambulance, helping my grandmother to a seat. Bernie, a fan of crime shows, advised everyone not to touch anything. I stood there staring at Marc's body. He was on his stomach, with a pool of blood coagulating around him.
Sirens were wailing in the distance, then drew closer and stopped in front of the shop. Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and raced in. They were frantic for only seconds before deciding there was nothing for them to do. A police car pulled up, and Barney's friend, Officer Jesse Dewalt, got out. Dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, and looking even less like a cop than the night we met, he stood talking with a officer who had also just arrived. He wasn't wearing a jacket, a foolhardy move on a rainy September evening, but he didn't seem cold. Or in much of a hurry. He talked with the paramedics. He made a phone call. Finally, he hung up and walked through the door into the shop.
He glanced down at the body.
"His name is Marc…
," I started to say.
"We went to high school together," he interrupted without looking up at me. "You okay, ladies?"
"Jesse, dear, what happened?" asked Maggie.
Jesse put on latex gloves and moved closer, being careful not to step in the blood. He leaned over Marc. He seemed to be studying his face and hands. I could see there was a dark bruise on the side of Marc's jaw from where Ryan had hit him. But there was also a fresh cut on his cheek and scratches on his hands. The scratches had drawn blood, but they hardly seemed enough to cause death or create the pool beneath the body. Jesse grabbed Marc's shoulder and pulled it toward him. The source of the blood was immediately clear. A large pair of scissors lay under Marc's body and there was a dark wet hole in his chest. Near his body was Eleanor's favorite quilt, stained with blood.
"I think I'm going to throw up," I heard myself say. I ran down the stairs to the bathroom.
I leaned my head over the sink and waited. I waited to faint, to throw up, to burst into tears, but nothing happened. I just stood there.
Marc was dead. Not two feet from where we had been kissing, he was lying in a pool of blood.
Upstairs I heard footsteps. I heard my grandmother talking. She sounded strong and in charge. I heard her say my name. She wasn't calling to me, though. She was talking about me. But I couldn't quite hear what she was saying. As much as I didn't want to go back upstairs, I didn't want to be fragile and fall apart while my grandmother was upstairs handling things like a grown-up. I took one last deep breath and headed for the stairs.
CHAPTER 21
When I walked upstairs, Marc's body was still there, only now it was being photographed. Half a dozen uniformed people were milling about, looking busy and official. In the corner, all the women of the Friday Night Quilt Club were huddled around talking with Officer Jesse. My grandmother had her hand on Natalie's arm, but Natalie didn't seem to notice. She stared straight forward as if no one else was there. Maggie and Bernie sat on either side of Susanne. Only Carrie was standing, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Marc. I walked over to the women, nearly tripping on a hammer that lay in the middle of the floor, several feet from Marc's toolbox.
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