N. Walters: Embroidered Fantasies

The woman smiled. “If you’re sure. There are no refunds.”

“Positive.” Roxanne picked up her shopping bag and headed toward the woman.

“How much?”

The elderly lady chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and Roxanne prayed she had enough money left in her purse. “Ten dollars.” Roxanne felt like celebrating, but a year of bargaining at flea markets and tag sales had taught her not to show her emotions. The price went up whenever a seller knew how badly you wanted something. Usually, she haggled. Today, she dug into her purse and drew out a rumpled ten-dollar bill. “Here you go.” She handed the money to the woman and stuffed the tapestry into her bag. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Concern was etched on the woman’s face. “Are you certain you want that particular one?”

Roxanne nodded and hurried away before the woman changed her mind. As she flowed back into the crowd, she thought she heard the woman whisper “good luck”.

Clouds continued to roll in, obscuring the sun. Roxanne shivered and decided to call it a day. She’d gotten a few items for her apartment. She’d come back again next week and try again.

That was part of the fun. The search for buried treasure. The never knowing when you’d find something you absolutely loved.

She walked to the edge of the grounds and was lucky enough to catch a bus almost immediately. She had to transfer once, but in record time she was exiting the second bus and starting the ten-minute walk to her apartment. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she didn’t think it was due to the pretzel she’d eaten. She couldn’t wait to get home and examine her newest finds, especially the tapestry.

The first raindrops hit her face just as she reached her destination. The four-story building was faded pink stucco with white trim. It had probably been beautiful once.

Today, it just looked worn and more than a little tired. But it was home.

She hurried up the short set of stairs and opened the door to the lobby, ignoring the chipped tiles and the peeling paint. The elevator was out of order—again—so she took the stairs. Thankfully, she only lived on the second floor. She pitied the folks who lived on the fourth.

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she pushed her way inside. It always gave her a small rush of pleasure no matter how many times she entered. She could see the entire place at a glance. A small table was situated to the left just inside the door and it was there she dumped her keys and purse. To the right sat the davenport, which was facing a bookshelf that was pushed up against the wall. A coffee table sat in front of the davenport and a small chair sat on the far end of what she called her living room.

Barely five feet from the end of her davenport, her bistro table and two chairs sat beneath the only window in the place. The kitchenette was off to the left. It was tiny, but she’d painted the entire room a cheerful yellow that made it seem brighter.

The only other room in the place was the bathroom. It was big enough for a bathtub, sink and toilet, with barely enough room to turn around. It was snuggled between the kitchen and the front door.

Roxanne kicked off her shoes and went straight to the kitchen table, carefully setting down her shopping bag. She drew out the newspaper-wrapped glassware first, unwrapping the purple vase and the Depression glass bowl, admiring the way the light caught the colors.

“Gorgeous.” She set the glassware next to the sink. She’d wash them later. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the tapestry, almost afraid to look at it. She’d been so drawn to it at the flea market. She hoped it was as good as she remembered and she didn’t end up with buyer’s remorse.

She unrolled the fabric slowly and the picture came into view. The warriors were still there, standing stoically in front of their castle. The colors were muted and she nibbled her bottom lip as she examined the tapestry. The edges were strong. The threads weren’t frayed or unraveling. Should she take the risk and try to clean it?

She really didn’t have a choice. There was no way she could hang it on her wall like it was. Decided, she ran some water into the sink and added a dash of laundry detergent. It was mild and she prayed it wouldn’t damage the fabric. She dipped the bottom corner into the soapy water and rubbed the cloth lightly.

“Yes!” Pleasure filled her as the dirt flowed away, leaving several shades of green in its place instead of muddy brown.

Excited, she continued to clean the tapestry, taking her time so as not to damage it.

There was no telling how fragile it was and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin it.

She changed the water several times, letting the dirt and grime flow down the drain.

Her thumbs rubbed over the design. She paused when she realized her thumbs were caressing the chests of the two warriors. Her cheeks got hot and she released the tapestry. It fell into the water with a heavy plop, sending a splash of soapy water over her shirt. “Damn.” She ignored the spatters down her front and plucked the fabric out of the sink. She squeezed out most of the water before holding it up to the light.

The colors were vivid, the scene almost alive. Birds and several animals were visibly cavorting in the forest where previously they’d been hidden by dirt and grime.

The stones of the castle were still gray, but a shade lighter than she’d originally thought.

The mountains were still tall and forbidding.

An icy shiver raced down her spine as a sense of foreboding swamped her. A second later, the phone rang. Roxanne gave a small shriek, slapping her wet hand against her chest. Her heart jumped and began to beat faster. She took a deep, calming breath as the phone rang again.

She set the tapestry on the counter and rubbed her right hand over her jeans to dry it before reaching for the ringing phone. It was probably just her boss wondering if she could come in early. She told herself that even as a sense of dread washed over her. She picked up the phone and tentatively spoke. “Hello.”

“Roxanne, it’s Stacy Emerson. I was hoping you were home. I didn’t want to leave a message.”

Her heart stopped. When it resumed beating it was a heavy throbbing in her chest.

She hadn’t heard this voice in almost six months. Stacy had been the prosecuting attorney in the trial that had landed her ex-husband behind bars. They’d kept in touch for a few months after the trial ended, their calls dwindling as they both went on with their busy lives. Roxanne’s fingers tightened around the receiver and her throat got tight, making it almost impossible to talk.

“Are you there, Roxanne?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m here, Stacy.” Maybe it wasn’t bad news. Maybe it had nothing to do with her ex. Yeah, and maybe she’d win the lottery tomorrow too.

Stacy sighed. “I just got some news and I thought you should know.” She paused and Roxanne’s stomach tightened, the pretzel she’d eaten earlier threatening to come back up. “Michael Talbot was released from prison today. Overcrowding in the facility and good behavior on his part. This was his first offense and that went in his favor as well.”

Bitterness swamped Roxanne. His first convicted offense, but not the first offense.

Michael Talbot was used to getting his own way and didn’t mind using his fists to get it. It had taken her two long years to get the courage to leave him. It had taken him half killing her to finally get her to press charges. In spite of all her pain and suffering, here he was, a free man after only a year behind bars.

“Roxanne?”

She realized she hadn’t said anything to Stacy. “Umm, thanks for letting me know.”