Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As Desired

"When my husband Steve died, I was so angry at his family I couldn't stand to be in the same room with them."

"I'm not angry. It's just weird. Five days ago I was in a cement hut with no running water and surrounded by poisonous snakes and hyenas. I haven't seen any family except my mom in more than three years. I'm having a little trouble relating to them right now."

It looked like anger to Harriet, but it was obvious he wasn't ready to deal with it. She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. Jorge was stacking menus by the front entry podium. He shook his head at her.

"Your money is no good,” he said in thickly accented English.

"Thank you,” she said and looked at Aiden.

"Jorge kind of took over the dad job when mine died. He's more like family than some of my blood relatives.” He stood up and stretched. “I don't feel like going home. You want to go for a drive?"

"I wish I could,” she said, mostly because she knew she couldn't. “I have to drop some quilts off at a meeting Marjory is having. I'm not sure how long it will take."

"I could go home and feed my dog and then meet you back there."

"Are you sure you want to be with me right now?"

His eyes searched her face.

"I guess you wouldn't have asked if it was an imposition,” she said, feeling a need to fill his silence. It was the least she could do for Avanell, she told herself, but admitted instantly this had nothing to do with Avanell.

Aiden walked her back to her car then strode off down the block toward the vet clinic.

The bags of baby quilts were undisturbed. She grabbed both, clicked the Honda's remote lock and entered the store.

A group of young women sat in a semicircle around an easel that held a flannel-board. Marjory had step-by-step samples of binding techniques pinned to it. Marjory, DeAnn and a woman Harriet didn't recognize were in the small room, cutting strips of fabric in pastel colors.

"Hi,” Marjory said. “Thanks for bringing the quilts. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now."

"I'm not sure I found all of them. I have nine. I had one more, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't part of this group."

"You did fine. We need six for the girls, and we did have a few more for general donation. I'll be able to recognize them by the fabric-our distributors donate bolts of overstock, and then people bring leftovers from their stash, and we take whatever else we need from the store. They usually have the distributor fabrics for backing. Let me take a quick look.” She pulled the quilts out of the bags. “These are them,” she said.

Now that Marjory pointed it out, Harriet could see that each of the quilts had one of two fabrics for its back.

"Come meet my girls,” Marjory said, and led her to the easel.

"This is Harriet Truman,” she said to the group. “Her aunt did the machine stitching on the quilts you just made.” She looked at Harriet then turned back to the girls. “We hope after you finish your own quilts and receiving blankets that you'll make at least one to donate to charity. When you do, Harriet here will quilt it for you.

"We're going to wait a few more minutes for a couple of people to arrive. You can come into the kitchen and get something to drink and have a treat before we start."

The girls got up as one and headed toward the food. Marjory stopped Harriet before she left the big room.

"I realized as I was saying it that I'm being a little presumptuous. Beth has always done the quilting for this project, but you are under no obligation to continue to do so."

"Don't give it another thought. Of course, I'll do their quilts.” She paused. For as long as I'm here, she thought. “Does that girl with the black hair work at the Vitamin Factory?"

"Yes, she does. She had her baby a couple of years ago, but she's been coming back and helping the others. Lately, she's been bringing another girl with her-Misty, I think, is her name. I've been stalling to give Misty time to get here. I put peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches and milk out with the cookies. Misty's one who needs to eat as much as she needs to stitch."

Harriet went into the kitchen.

"Carla?” she said. “Hi, I'm Harriet. We met the other day. I was having lunch with Mrs. Jalbert.” Carla's gaze was so firmly downcast Harriet had to crook her neck to make eye contact. Her body language screamed whipped puppy and made Harriet wonder what sort of abuse had left her like this-nobody this painfully shy came from a happy loving home.

Carla finally looked up. “Yeah, that was awful, what happened to Miz Avanell.” With her boarding school education, Harriet wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the West Coast custom of using first names, even in business situations. After all these years, it was still uncomfortable to her, even with the addition of “Miz."

"Yes, it was.” Harriet wasn't sure how widely known it was that she'd been the one to find Avanell, and decided now wasn't the time to share that piece of news. “She told me she was working overtime in shipping. Did she do that often?"

Carla looked at her feet. She hesitated so long, Harriet wondered if she was going to answer.

"She didn't used to, but lately, yeah."

"What made her start?"

"I don't know. It's crazy, but we been shipping vitamins hot and heavy for a couple years. We usually hire temps at the end of the month to try to make our goals. Then all of a sudden, they can't afford to hire temps no more. Tony said they lost money when we had a recall a couple months ago. He said we shipped bad product. They fired our lead guy, Mack, and since then, Miz Avanell helps us with the shipping after regular hours. It just seems weird."

"What seems weird?” Harriet asked, even though she could think of several possibilities.

"I been working there since I was in high school. One time back then we got a bad batch of potassium tablets. Something had leaked into the package and ruined them. Thousands of ‘em. Miz Avanell told us to throw ‘em all out. She said they was so cheap it wasn't worth the stamps to mail ‘em back. We threw ‘em out and just ordered replacements. Nobody got fired or nothing. It's hard to believe prices would have changed that much in a few years."

"That does sound strange."

Carla cast a furtive glance toward the door. “I wish Misty would get here,” she said.

"Isn't she the girl who was fired last week?” Harriet asked.

"Yeah, and now I can't find her."

"What do you mean?"

"She left Monday. Miz Avanell sent the sheriff home, but Mr. Tony still fired her. I talked to her Tuesday after work and she was talking about coming back to get something she left at work. I told her I didn't think that was such a good idea, but she wouldn't listen. And now I can't find her.” She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was a quarter after seven.

"Thanks,” Harriet said.

Carla turned and went back into the classroom.

"I'm going to take off,” Harriet told Marjory. “I'll come next week."

"Don't worry. You get your studio back together and take care of yourself a little. Then you can worry about charity work."

"Thanks.” She gathered her empty bags and went out the door.

Aiden was leaning on the windowsill of the print shop next door to Pins and Needles. He stood up and fell into step with Harriet. When she clicked the doorlock on the Honda, he opened the door. She tossed the bags in, and he shut the door again.

"My car is down the block,” he said. “That is, if you haven't changed your mind."

"No, if you're willing to get in a small enclosed space with the woman who clocked you with a sprinkler, how can I refuse? And, frankly, my house is a little depressing right now."

"Come on, then."