Arlene Sachitano - Quilt By Association

"Thank you,” Phyllis said. “I'm so excited for DeAnn. I know she loves her boys, but she's so happy she's finally going to have a little girl. This is the part of my job I love most. It's just a win-win when we can place a precious orphaned child with such a deserving set of parents."

Phyllis Johnson was the owner and president of Little Lamb Adoption Services. Harriet had learned from DeAnn that Phyllis had started her agency more than thirty years ago and had provided adoptions to the citizens of Foggy Point ever since. Her agency specialized in international placements.

"I know DeAnn and her husband and the boys are excited."

"My quilt is on the front cutting table-I was choosing the binding fabric, but I've decided on one. You can take it with you now, if that's convenient, or I could drop it by after work if that's better."

"Now is fine. Do you have a bag for it?"

Phyllis produced a pillowcase that matched the quilt top and put the top and backing inside then handed it to Harriet. “Do you have bulk batting available like your aunt did?"

"Yes, just tell me which one you want."

After a brief discussion of batting, Phyllis chose wool and then went to the front checkout area to pay for her binding fabric.

"Are you ready?” Harriet asked her aunt.

"I suppose.” Beth had replaced the blues with greens but was still struggling with the backing.

"I don't think the dogs care what backing you use."

"I can walk back to your house if you're anxious to leave."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush you. Phyllis gave me a quilt she needs done right away. I told her I'd give it back to her at the shower."

"Have you used your emergency spot for the week?"

"No, but I was going to play with my idea for the auction quilt with that time."

"I'm about done here,” Beth said with a sigh. “Neither one of these bolts is going to change color, so I'm just going to choose one and be done with it."

"I'll go look at fat quarters for my dog block idea,” said Harriet, referring to the eighteen-by-twenty-two-inch quarter-yard cuts of fabric favored by quilters.

She was pawing through a basket of red-toned fat quarters set on an antique chair by the front door when a tall, slender black woman came in, a baby less than a year old perched on her left hip, its back to Harriet. The woman strode to the checkout counter, where Marjory was ringing up Aunt Beth's purchases.

"Do you know Aiden Jalbert?” she asked Marjory without waiting for her to finish with Aunt Beth. The woman's voice had a lilting accent Harriet couldn't place.

"Why do you ask?” Marjory countered.

"What business of yours is it if we do or we don't?” Aunt Beth asked.

"I need to find him, and I went to every veterinary office in town, and no one would say anything. Finally, a lady in the waiting room of the last one said to ask at the quilt store."

"We know him, but it's not going to do you much good.” Beth said.

"Let me be the judge of that."

The baby started fussing, and the woman jiggled her hip and at the same time reached into her pocket and pulled out a lint-covered pacifier she shoved into the child's mouth.

"He's working out of town,” Harriet said. “We don't know when he'll be back."

The woman's shoulders sagged briefly; then she squared them again.

"Can you recommend a good hotel nearby?"

Aunt Beth could have suggested The Fogg Victorian Hotel, which was located three streets over, or even The Harborside, which was, as the name implied, located at the waterfront. Instead, she gave her the name of two chain hotels out on the main highway. She sketched a simple map and wrote the names on a piece of paper provided by Marjory, and handed it to the young woman.

"If you see Aiden, tell him Neelie Obote is looking for him."

The woman turned to leave. The baby lifted her head from the woman's shoulder and smiled at Aunt Beth, her pale-blue eyes trained on the older woman.

The bells that hung on a ribbon from the front door tinkled then fell silent as Neelie and the baby left the store. No one moved.

"I think I'll go see how Carla is coming with that fabric,” Marjory said when the silence had stretched to the breaking point. She handed Aunt Beth her purchase and headed for the classroom.

"Okay,” Aunt Beth said. “I'll address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla that just left the room. That baby's eyes bear a passing resemblance to those of a certain veterinarian of our acquaintance."

"A passing resemblance?” Harriet said in a cold voice. “ Passing resemblance?” she repeated. “Aiden has an extremely rare eye-color. It sure looked like that baby does, too."

"That doesn't mean anything,” Aunt Beth said.

Harriet glared at her.

"Okay, it might mean something, but let's not jump to conclusions without hearing what he has to say about it."

"Are you ready to go?” Harriet asked.

"Let me go get my bag.” Aunt Beth went to the classroom and came back a moment later with her canvas tote on her arm and her purple nylon purse slung over her shoulder.

"Do we have time to stop at the grocery store on the way back to your place?” Aunt Beth asked as she climbed into the driver's seat. “It'll save me having to backtrack."

"Sure, if you don't mind a stop at the coffee shop, too. I need some hot chocolate to settle my nerves before I start working on someone else's quilt."

"Sounds good to me. Have you tried that new place yet?"

"The Steaming Cup? No, but it's in the right direction."

Beth circled the block then headed west.

The new coffee shop was decorated in dark wood and rich jewel-toned overstuffed upholstery. One wall was covered with artwork done by local people in response to a contest challenging artists to create the best interpretation of the shop's name, using the jewel-tone color pallet. The winning piece, a mosaic of a coffee cup made from shattered coffee cups, was displayed in the front window, its creator the happy recipient of a one-year free-coffee certificate.

Harriet ordered a large cherry hot chocolate while Aunt Beth went for a smaller mocha. The shop's only other customer was a slender young man seated at a small table near the wall, his laptop plugged into the nearby socket.

"Is this okay?” Aunt Beth asked as she led Harriet to a grouping of armchairs.

"Perfect."

Harriet carefully set her cup on the table between two of the chairs. Her cell phone began buzzing and played the first few notes of the ringtone she had assigned to Aiden's calls. She dropped her purse in the chair and pulled the phone out, streaking her finger across the touchscreen to answer the call.

"Aiden,” she said as she put the phone up to her ear.

"Hi. Sorry I couldn't call sooner. The cell reception is terrible out here."

"How are you?"

He replied, but she didn't hear what he said as her phone was ripped from her hand from behind. She whirled and found Neelie Obote holding the phone to her own ear, the baby on her opposite hip.

"This is Neelie Obote,” she said and paused, listening. “When will you be back here?…I have to see you. It's important…No, it can't wait."

Harriet came around behind the chair arrangement and grabbed for her phone. She had it for a brief moment before Neelie pulled it from her hand then lost her grip and dropped it. The phone skittered across the tile floor before landing screen-side-up, a large crack across its face.

"I'm so sorry,” Neelie said, and began bouncing the baby, who was now crying, in a futile attempt to calm the child.

"May I try?” Aunt Beth asked and held her hands out.

Neelie handed her the child, and Aunt Beth carried the baby to the art wall and began talking in a low voice. The baby quieted, listening to Beth's voice.