Clare O’Donohue - The Lover’s Knot

"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 flirtation with him really worth putting a future with Ryan in jeopardy?