Arlene Sachitano - The Quilt Before The Storm

“Did she say anything else?”

“No, that’s what so weird. I’m hoping she’s coming here to tell me in person whatever it is that’s so horrible it justifies her getting all of Mom’s money. Frankly I can’t imagine what she could say that would change my mind.” She paused a moment. “I suppose if one of them is deathly ill and needs an expensive transplant of some sort I might be swayed. I don’t think she’d keep that a secret, though.”

“Well, I don’t envy you the upcoming confrontation.” Harriet reached across the table to pat Marjory’s hand. She’d noticed that Mavis did a lot of hand patting when people were troubled and it seemed to bring comfort, so she was trying it out. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Do you need a neutral witness or anything?”

“That’s sweet of you to offer. You’ve been a great help already, just by listening. I’ve been dealing with my sister my whole life. This is just one more round in an ongoing battle. Besides, if Michelle is in town, Aiden’s going to need your help.”

“Well, the offer stands. If you think of anything, let me know, and I’ll come running.”

“Thank you, honey. Your aunt raised you right. Now, how about we forget family troubles for a while and look at fabric. If you’re not tired of the charity quilts, I got some more flannel donated by a distributor, and if you are, some late additions to one of the Christmas collections is in the back waiting to be unwrapped. You can have the first chance at it.”

“That sounds good. I do have a few last-minute Christmas gifts to make.”

Harriet managed to use up most of her remaining time choosing fabric and a pattern to make three holiday table runners.

“I’ve got a few more minutes, if you want to cut me some of the charity fabric,” she said to Marjory when she finished paying for her purchase.

“Let’s just load the bolts into your car. I’ve got to drive my mom’s car to Seattle tomorrow to be serviced and detailed so I can sell it. If all goes well, I’ll be leaving it at a dealership.”

“How will you get home?”

“I can do a one-way car rental-I checked.”

“Do you want me to drive you?” Harriet asked, mentally reviewing her next day’s schedule.

“That’s sweet of you, honey, but you’ve got quilting to do, and frankly, I could use the time alone to ponder this situation with my sister.”

“If you change your mind, just call.”

“Let’s get this new flannel into your car,” Marjory said, ending the discussion.

Hail began to fall as Harriet pulled into the parking lot of The Steaming Cup and turned her car off. She sat for a moment, hoping the icy precipitation would pass, but realized the parking lot was only going to be more treacherous to walk on as the hail accumulated, so she got out and dashed for the door.

“Boy, it’s nasty out there,” Tom said as he joined her in line at the coffee counter. He shuddered, and little ice balls fell to the floor from the shoulders of his jacket.

“I’m glad I’m not going to be weathering this storm in the homeless camp.”

“You and me both. It’s becoming clear our local homeless people are a pretty diverse bunch. The group at the church was different yet from the ones you met. They’d obviously been living outside for a long time and are skilled in acquiring hot meals and services.”

“I’d like to know Joyce’s story.” Harriet paused while she ordered her latte and waited while Tom ordered a mocha. “I mean, she doesn’t seem like a typical homeless camp resident by anyone’s measure.”

“That was my thought, too. I asked the group at the church, but they’re a close-mouthed bunch. One guy told me that if Joyce wanted her story known, she’d tell us.”

“Well, all right, then.” Harriet was quiet for a moment; then, she and Tom both laughed.

“So, how have you been since I last saw you?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“Good,” she said. “Things have been good.”

“And Aiden?”

“What about Aiden?”

“Are things good with Aiden?”

She paused to consider her answer.

“That’s all I need to know,” Tom said.

“Things are fine with Aiden,” she said in a rush.

“Protest all you want, but your hesitation said it all. That and the fact that it’s been more than half a year since we met and you and Aiden have progressed to…what? Dating?”

Harriet turned to leave, but he put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business, but back when we first met, I told Aiden I wouldn’t interfere with your relationship. I also told him that my largess came with an expiration date.”

“I’m not some kind of prize in your juvenile competition.” Harriet’s eyes stung with angry tears. Her drink was called, followed by Tom’s, and she grabbed them both.

He led the way to a table away from the other coffee shop patrons, pulled out a chair for her and, when she was seated, sat opposite her.

“I’m making a mess of this,” he said. He put his head in his hands and looked down at the table for a moment. “What I’m trying to say is this. If you and Aiden are progressing toward a lasting relationship, say the word, and while I hope we can be friends, I’ll back off. On the other hand, I’m checking in. If things are merely convenient and not moving toward a more meaningful relationship, I’d like to offer an alternative.”

Harriet sat back in her chair.

“I can see I’ve taken you by surprise,” Tom continued. “And, hey, I’m not proposing marriage or anything. But we connected. I know you felt it, too. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Just dinner.”

“Wow,” Harriet finally said. “I wasn’t expecting this.” She looked into his clear hazel eyes.

“I know, and it’s probably not fair for me to spring it on you. I see some of your Loose Threads at the Folk Art School, and I’ll admit-I ask them about you. I came here knowing a little about where things stood with you and Aiden. At least as far as your fellow stitchers know.”

“You’ve been spying on me?” Harriet asked, outraged.

“No, I’m not spying. Your fellow quilters are full of stories about the recent murders in Foggy Point and your part in solving them. They invariably mention that handsome young vet you’re seeing. But always in those terms-‘that young vet she’s seeing.’ Not your lover or fiancé or anything else that would indicate a deepening of the relationship.”

Harriet’s face had gone from pink to red.

“If our relationship had advanced to that point, the Loose Threads would be the last people I’d tell.”

“So you admit things aren’t progressing?” Tom said with a smile.

Harriet groaned, but she couldn’t suppress a smile.

“How about this,” he said. “Let’s put dinner on hold for now. Let’s just have simple coffee between two friends. How did your visit to the homeless camp go?”

“Okay,” Harriet said and paused. “My tour of the camp was eye-opening, to say the least. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Joyce and company.”

“I hear you. I wasn’t sure what the homeless camp would be like, but I was thinking more along the lines of the drunks you see sleeping in doorways in Seattle.”

“How many do you think will be helped by the project you’re working on?”

“I’m rethinking my whole plan after talking to all three groups of people. There appear to be several subsets within the population, and I think my design needs to reflect that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our group has one person with obvious substance-abuse problems. For her, a simple, indestructible cell-like structure is probably appropriate. She has little capacity to take care of an apartment.