Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As Desired

Jenny arrived and joined them. The women spoke only when they needed to discuss the disposition of an item. Aiden picked up all the thread then started on scissors, pins, cutters and other small tools. A sense of calm returned to the room.

"Anyone want coffee or tea?” he asked as he discovered the electric hot water pot. “The cups in here are toast, but I could go look in the kitchen."

"I think that's a splendid idea, honey,” Mavis said. She looked at Harriet.

"Sure,” she said. “Cups are to the right of the sink, or at least they used to be. I'll come with you.” She folded Connie's quilt and set it on the pile that had come through the night's ordeal unscathed. She followed Aiden into the kitchen.

He had found the coffee mugs and was opening cabinets looking for coffee and tea when she came in.

"The coffee is in the refrigerator,” she said. “And the tea is in the cabinet to the left.” She pointed. “I'm going to look for a tray in the hall closet."

She stepped into the hall just as a streak of grey flashed down from the bookcase and raced up the stairs.

"Fred,” she called. “Here, kitty.” She headed for the stairs.

"He'll probably do better if you just leave him alone for a while,” Aiden said from the kitchen doorway. “Cats don't usually like help with their problems."

Harriet resented the implication that an outsider might know more about Fred than she did. 0n the other hand, she had to admit that most of the emotional support in her relationship with Fred had been one-way. She turned back, got a tray from the closet and went back into the kitchen.

"He'll probably be fine tomorrow,” Aiden offered.

"No, he won't,” she said. “He will never be fine again. His sense of security, which wasn't very good after the move anyway, will be gone. And he'll blame me."

Aiden looked at her. He grabbed a handful of teabags and put them on the tray along with six mugs. “I have a headache where I got clubbed, thanks for asking,” he said.

Harriet took the tray and headed for the studio. “You'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"Dios mio!” Connie said as Harriet walked over to the cutting table and set the tray down. “What happened?"

"A rival gang of quilters wanted to insure a win,” Aiden said, and tipped the piecrust table back onto its feet. He put the electric kettle on it and plugged it in. “Tea anyone?"

Connie ignored him. “What do you think happened?” she asked Harriet.

"I wish I knew. I can't imagine my aunt having enemies, and I don't think enough people even know I'm here for me to be a target. So far, it doesn't look like anything big has been stolen. The sewing machines are here, the TV, VCR and computer are all here. It really does look like the quilts were the target."

Connie raised her eyebrows, “Maybe Lauren really does want to insure a win."

"Come on,” Mavis said. “Let's not start any rumors."

"Okay, so what do we have here?” Connie asked.

"Harriet and I are sorting quilts,” Mavis said. “I think we've found all the show entries. The two piles on the cutting table are the barely damaged and the really hurting. Jenny is dividing the damaged ones into categories according to type of repair. The ones in the chair seem to be okay. They need to be checked a second time and dusted off if they were on the floor."

"I'll work on reattaching binding. Those quilts have a chance of making it.” With that, Connie grabbed a pastel floral-blended quilt and started pinning the binding back into place.

DeAnn arrived, and the women settled in to some serious stitching. Aiden stayed another hour picking up tools, spools and broken glass.

"Before I forget, I've got my mom's quilt in my car. Should I bring it in?” he asked.

Harriet nodded.

The dry cleaners had gotten most of the bloodstains out, and where they hadn't it looked like part of the dye pattern.

"At least one person in the group will have a repair-free entry,” DeAnn said.

Aiden shot a panicked glance at Harriet, and then looked relieved when she kept silent.

"Is there anything else you ladies would like me to do before I go?"

"Unless you can sew binding with an invisible stitch, I guess not,” Mavis said.

Harriet walked him to the door. “Thanks for your help tonight. And I am sorry about your head. I'll pay if you want to go to the doctor."

"I am the doctor. Besides, I've been in Africa, remember? This is just a scratch.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and looked intently at her with those big pale eyes. “Thanks for your help with my mom's quilt.” He held her gaze a moment longer then turned and walked out the door and got in his car.

Harriet took a deep breath and shut the door behind him. A slight flutter awakened in her stomach, but she pushed it down as quickly as it had appeared.

The women stitched for two more hours, fixing everything that could be salvaged without extensive reworking. DeAnn's quilt was a total loss, but she said she had one she'd made for her sister but had not yet mailed off she could substitute. Harriet agreed to pick it up on her way to Tacoma.

Mavis stood up and stretched. “I think we've done all we can here,” she said. “Try to get some sleep before you leave."

"You want me to stay here with you?” Connie asked. “Give me a pillow and a quilt, and I'm good to go."

Harriet was touched.

"No, but thanks. The police are going to drive by every hour. And Darcy gave me a door alarm to hang on my bedroom doorknob. She uses it when she travels."

After crawling into bed late one night when she'd returned from girl's night at the movies and rubbing her foot up Steve's cold dead shin, she'd needed several years of therapy just to be able to sleep in a bed again. Several more years with the shrink, and she'd learned that sleep is a great way to escape anything and everything. Probably not Dr. Weber's idea of a successful outcome, but the net result was the same.

The women left, and Harriet turned off the lights in the studio and went upstairs. When she came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, Fred was lying on her pillow. She set her alarm and crawled into the flannel sheets. In spite of everything, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

A furry head butt woke Harriet up a half-hour before her alarm would have gone off at the ungodly hour of five-thirty a.m. Four hours of sleep had left her feeling as though wet sweatsocks had been stuffed into her head. Her eyes felt swollen, and her mouth was dry.

The night's excitement had apparently had the opposite affect on Fred. He was hungry and ready to start his day. She pushed him off the bed, but he jumped right back onto her chest and started licking her eyelids.

"Can't you be a normal cat and hole up somewhere for hours if not days to recover from your trauma?” she asked him. “Food is not the answer to everything.” She wasn't sure how well she could sell that one, since she tended toward chocolate ice cream and M &M's in a crisis. “Come on, let's go see if we can find your food."

She pulled the plaid flannel robe Aunt Beth had loaned her on over the Oakland A's T-shirt that doubled as a nightshirt in her wardrobe. Fred wove in and out of her legs as she headed for the stairs.

He was in luck-the food cabinets in the kitchen were untouched. His bowl proved a little harder to find. There was a puddle on the placemat where his water dish had been.

She finally found the dishes under the dining room table. She could imagine her thief kicking them in frustration. Good, she thought. I hope he was real frustrated.

Now that she'd had a little rest, she was mad. The beautiful quilts her friends had made for the show had been vandalized for no apparent reason, and her aunt's studio- her studio-had been trashed. And she hadn't done anything to deserve it.