Clare O’Donohue - The Lover’s Knot

I headed up the street toward him. I would catch up and we would talk. I would listen, without being angry or hurt or defensive, and whatever he told me I could deal with. I hoped.

I hurried back toward Ryan, but I couldn't find him. Hoping he was looking for me, with the same need to clear the air, I went back toward the shop. And I was right. When I turned the corner I saw Ryan outside the shop. But I had gotten his intention all wrong. He was standing over Marc, who was flat on his back on the sidewalk.

"Stay away from her," Ryan shouted and stormed off.

I ran over to Marc.

"Are you okay?" I helped him to his feet.

"Fine. Nice guy, your fiance."

"Ex-fiance," I said as I watched Ryan get in his car a few blocks down and drive away. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Don't apologize, for starters," Marc said as he gingerly touched his jaw and winced.

"Why would he hit you? Did he say?"

"No. But he didn't have to," he laughed. "He sure takes it badly when somebody gets in his way."

I was as much embarrassed by Ryan's behavior as I was touched by Marc's reaction. A few seconds ago I was running after Ryan, and now I was watching him walk away while I stood by Marc. The whole situation seemed to be getting out of hand.

Marc didn't seem to need bandages, and I wanted to do something for him, so I headed to the local grocery and grabbed a six-pack of imported beer. Maybe it wouldn't make up for Ryan's behavior, but it was something. And I'd have something fattening to calm my nerves.

When I got back Marc was sitting on the floor, leaning against the checkout counter. There was the box of quilting tools left in the shop for tonight's meeting on the counter, next to a pile of neatly folded quilts that had been hanging on the back wall. I took the box of tools and set it on the floor between us, hoping that the rotary cutters and scissors would ensure my chasteness.

It worked, at least for a few minutes. We both quietly drank a beer and I wondered if he noticed how awkward I felt.

"He's never been like that before." I finally brought up the elephant in the room.

"Don't worry about it. I tend to bring out the best in people." As he smiled, he winced.

"I don't know. You've made me feel pretty good." The words popped out of my mouth before I'd decided if it was really the right thing to say.

Marc took my hand and held it in his. "Thanks. I don't know what it is about you, Nell. You make me want to be the guy you think I am."

I watched how his fingers stroked mine. It felt dangerous and sexy, and I leaned in closer. He looked up at me. He looked as if he might kiss me, but he was taking his time about it. So I leaned in farther. I pressed my lips against his lightly, waiting for permission. Just when I was sure none was coming, he suddenly put his hand behind my head and pulled me in closer.

The rain was pouring down when I left Marc at the shop. We had sat like two teenagers and made out on the floor of the quilt shop. While the storm had kept most of the foot traffic off the street, it was still daytime and we were sitting in full view of a picture window and hadn't noticed or cared. It wasn't until Marc waved to me through the shop window that I realized that our private moment was actually open to anyone walking past.

I was a block from the shop when I saw Ryan's car parked at the curb. Clearly our conversation wasn't over, and I figured now was as good a time as any to continue it, but he wasn't in the car. I realized I was relieved. Being with Marc had put me in a good mood, and I had a feeling a conversation with Ryan would bring it to an end. Still, I walked the rest of the way home knowing I had to deal with my feelings for both men, and the sooner the better.

When I got to the house my grandmother and Nancy were helping Natalie pick out some flannel fabrics for a quilt she was making for her son. Barney was too engrossed in the fabric selections to do anything but lift his head toward me and wag a little.

"Marc at the shop?" Eleanor asked.

I held my breath, wondering if somehow word had reached her about my afternoon. Then, as innocently as possible, I answered. "Yeah, he's dying to knock down the wall between the stores. I told him to wait until tomorrow, but who knows if he'll listen."

"We don't want debris all over the place tonight for the club meeting."

"That's what I told him."

"Hopefully he'll listen." She picked up a bolt of blue cowboy fabric and showed it to Natalie. "Ryan was here."

"At the house?"

"Yes. He seemed upset."

"I saw him, at the shop," I said. "He must have come here afterward."

"Did you talk?"

"Shouted, actually."

"Well, at least you're communicating." Her voice was so monotone I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic, but I let the comment pass.

"Everything's ready for tonight," I said as I left the dining room. "I'm just going to lay down for a bit, and we'll head back at six-thirty."

The three women smiled, then turned back to the fabric Natalie held in her hands. I took it as my cue to head upstairs and try, at least for a little while, to pretend I wasn't making a mess of my life.

At precisely six-thirty I started the car and pulled it as close to the front door as possible. It was still raining and I had nightmares of my grandmother sliding on the pavement, but she managed to get to the car with me on one side and Barney on the other.

"Be careful," she said at least six times in the six minutes it took to drive to the shop.

"You want to drive, Bigfoot?"

"Didn't your mother teach you to be nice to your elders?"

"I don't believe she mentioned it," I smirked. "Maybe she wasn't raised right."

"Don't have too much fun or I'll tell the girls you want to make a quilt."

We pulled up in front of the store before I could come up with a ripping response. Outside the shop Bernie, Maggie, Susanne, Natalie and Carrie were all huddled under umbrellas.

"Get inside," Eleanor shouted.

"I have the key," I reminded her.

"Then hurry and open the door."

I left Natalie and Carrie to help Eleanor out of the car and ran to the front door of the shop. I tried the key. Strangely, the door wasn't locked, just difficult to open. Marc must have forgotten to lock it and now something was jammed up against the other side.

"Help me push," I said to Bernie, and we shoved ourselves against the door.

I stepped inside and reached for the light, nearly tripping on whatever had blocked the door. Eleanor was now standing just outside and getting wet. I turned on the switch and looked around to help her inside.

"Oh my God," I heard her say.

I looked down. There was a man lying at my feet. It was another second before I realized it was Marc.

"Call 911."

"See if he's breathing."

"There's blood everywhere."

One after another the women of the quilt club took action, checking Marc's pulse, calling for an ambulance, helping my grandmother to a seat. Bernie, a fan of crime shows, advised everyone not to touch anything. I stood there staring at Marc's body. He was on his stomach, with a pool of blood coagulating around him.

Sirens were wailing in the distance, then drew closer and stopped in front of the shop. Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and raced in. They were frantic for only seconds before deciding there was nothing for them to do. A police car pulled up, and Barney's friend, Officer Jesse Dewalt, got out. Dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, and looking even less like a cop than the night we met, he stood talking with a officer who had also just arrived. He wasn't wearing a jacket, a foolhardy move on a rainy September evening, but he didn't seem cold. Or in much of a hurry. He talked with the paramedics. He made a phone call. Finally, he hung up and walked through the door into the shop.