A Thread of Truth (7 page)

“Hey, everybody.” Garrett was standing in the doorway. “Where's Liza?”

“Hi, sweetheart. Did you have fun babysitting?”

He shrugged. “While it lasted. We were about ten minutes into a game of Candy Land when Ivy came home. So, Franklin and I went to the movies. I figured you'd all be done by the time it was over and then I could pick up Liza and take her out for a late dinner.”

He looked around the room. “Where is she, anyway?”

“She went out to look for you.”

“Well, why did you let her do that?” he asked. “How was she supposed to know I'd gone to the movies?” Garrett was the best of sons, but clearly he'd been looking forward to seeing Liza and was irritated to find her missing in action. He looked at the three of us, sitting around an open bottle of wine, drinking and laughing while one of our number was out wandering the dark streets of New Bern, with an expression of disgust. He dug his cell phone from his back pocket, put it to his ear, and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To find my girlfriend,” he answered in a tone that made it clear he felt that indeed there were such things as stupid questions and then left without saying good-bye.

Yep,
I thought.
Maternal guilt. It's yours for life.

M
onday dawned bright and clear. The weatherman said the high temperature would be in the mid-seventies, with low humidity. The kids ate their breakfast without any complaints. And when we got into the car for the drive to the day care center, the Toyota started up without any fuss. It should have been a great start to a great day.

But I knew it wouldn't be, not after the way things had ended on Friday night.

 

I was just putting on my coat and getting ready to leave for the day when I heard the sound of female voices and the hollow clatter of feet on the stairs, several pairs of them. For a moment I thought it must be quilters coming up to take a class, but then I remembered there weren't any Friday-night classes on the schedule.

The door opened. Evelyn, Abigail, and Margot entered carrying project bags and trays loaded down with platters of cheese, fruit, and other snacks, plus a bottle of wine. Liza brought up the rear carrying a tray with a collection of mismatched coffee mugs I recognized as coming from the break room.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I said, remembering what day it was. “I'd forgotten this was your quilt-circle night. I'll get out of your way.” I zipped my jacket and grabbed my purse.

“Not so fast!” Margot declared cheerfully. “Take off your coat and sit down. We have a surprise for you!”

“You do?”

“Evelyn, you tell her. After all, you're our official leader.”

“There's a dubious honor, but all right.” She cleared her throat as if about to make an important announcement. “Ivy, we are all here to tell you that, after about two seconds' deliberation, you have been voted into the membership of the Cobbled Court Quilt Circle.”

“Hear! Hear!” Margot said. Liza and Abigail put down the trays they were carrying and clapped.

I was stunned.

“Oh. Gosh. That's nice of you, really, but I can't. I've got to get home to my kids.”

“We've already taken care of that,” Abigail reported. “Franklin has volunteered to watch Bethany and Bobby on Friday nights so you can spend your evening with us.”

“He did?”

Franklin Spaulding was a very nice man. The kids were crazy about him, but…“You shouldn't have asked him to do that. It's sweet of Franklin, really it is, but watching my rascals every Friday night? It's too much to expect.”

“Nonsense!” Abigail injected, interrupting me again. “Franklin volunteered to do it, and besides, Bethany and Bobby aren't rascals, they're perfectly darling. Franklin loves being with them. After a week at his law office, dealing with the real rascals of the world—bankers, accountants, and, worst of all, other lawyers—your children are an absolute breath of fresh air.”

I tried another approach. “But…I'm not a very good quilter. I've only made that one log cabin quilt in Evelyn's class.”

Liza took one of the mismatched mugs from the tray and filled it. “Okay, now you're just making excuses. Except for Evelyn, none of us knew a presser foot from a pastrami sandwich this time two years ago. Trust me, our standards of membership are extremely low. I mean, look at us,” she said, raising her cup. “We're here drinking cheap wine out of cracked coffee mugs. This isn't exactly the Daughters of the American Revolution you'd be joining.”

“That wine was
not
cheap,” Abigail corrected. “It's a 2003 pinot gris. The last of a very good vintage from my personal wine cellar.”

“Well, we're still serving it out of coffee mugs. So, I don't see where Ivy is getting the impression we're such an exclusive club. Heck,” she said blandly, “we'll take anyone. We need the dues.”

Margot, who was very sharp when it came to marketing and business but was known for being gullible, furrowed her brow. “Liza, we don't charge any dues, do we?”

She turned to Evelyn. “When did we decide to start taking dues?”

“Liza's kidding,” Evelyn said.

Liza's eyes sparked mischief as she peered over the rim of the coffee mug. Margot, realizing she'd been duped again, gave her a good-natured nudge in the ribs.

“Ivy, we'd really love it if you'd join us.” Evelyn smiled, waiting for me to say yes.

A moment passed.

“If you're put off by the coffee cups, we can get some real glasses,” she joked.

I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with some excuse that they'd buy, but nothing came to mind.

They were all standing there, certain that I would never dream of refusing this gift of time and friendship they were offering me.

With all my heart, I wished I could accept it. But that was impossible.

I swallowed hard. “I'm sorry,” I said sincerely. “You're so kind to want to include me, but I really can't.”

Their faces fell.

“But, why not?” Margot asked. “You're just worried about leaving the children with someone else, aren't you? I've volunteered to watch them for you a dozen times, but you've never once taken me up on it. Don't worry, Ivy. Bethany and Bobby will be fine with Franklin.”

“Of course they will,” Evelyn affirmed. “But if you're that worried, we could even bring them over here. I'm sure Garrett wouldn't mind watching them at his apartment as long as Franklin was there to help. That way, if the kids needed you, you'd be right across the hall.”

I shook my head. “It's not that.”

“Well, then, what is it?”

“I can't. I just can't.”

The room was silent again. Four pairs of eyes looked at me; the smiles of the previous moment faded. They just stood there, waiting for me to offer some reasonable explanation for my behavior. None existed. At least, none that wasn't a complete lie, and I didn't want to lie to them. I was tired of lying.

From the moment I'd come to work at Cobbled Court Quilts, these women had been nothing but kind to me. For no reason other than their own goodness, certainly not because of anything I'd done, they'd accepted me into their community, given me a chance to create a safe home for my family, cared about my kids—even made quilts for them. I remembered how I had cried, actually cried, when Abigail gave Bethany the beautiful pinwheel quilt she'd made herself. No one had ever shown such kindness to my children or, by extension, to me. I was so touched.

But even so, I couldn't permit myself to be drawn further into their circle, opening myself up to the kinds of questions and confidences that would follow if I did. Evelyn might say there were no dues, but she was wrong. The price of membership was honesty and trust, and that was something I couldn't afford. They were good women, kind women, but even so…an inadvertent slip, a careless contradiction in my history accidentally passed from me, to one of them, to someone outside, could shred my story into confetti.

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't accept their friendship. But I couldn't lie to them either. They deserved better than that.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I just can't.”

Abigail, always insistent on cutting to the chase, pushed the issue. “Can't or won't?”

I took a breath.

“Won't.”

I picked up my purse and went to the door. Their eyes followed me, and the expressions on their faces felt like accusations. Margot and Liza looked confused, and Abigail looked offended, but it was the wounded look in Evelyn's eyes that stung me most. She was the last person I wanted to hurt.

But at least you didn't lie to her,
I thought.
That should count for something. Shouldn't it?

 

Maybe it should have, but it didn't seem to make my weekend any easier. When I left the shop, my guilty feelings trailed behind me like a chain. After I got back to the apartment, I thanked Franklin and Garrett for watching the kids but said I wouldn't be needing them anymore. I was so exhausted that I got into my pajamas right away, thinking that I'd just go to bed when the kids did.

I didn't want to think about Monday and what it would be like to go back to the shop and work side by side with Evelyn and Margot, whose feelings I had hurt. And come Monday morning, we truly would be working side by side. Earlier that day, Evelyn said she'd need my help getting ready for the second-anniversary sale that would take place the following weekend. There was inventory to be taken, displays to create, decorating to be done, door prizes and gift baskets to put together, new fabrics and notions to be cataloged and stocked. And this was in addition to all of our regular duties.

Come Monday, I couldn't just sneak in the back door, grab my stack of orders, and tiptoe up to the workroom unseen. I would have to be downstairs with everyone else, trying to do my job while avoiding making eye contact with my coworkers.

I sighed. Monday was going to be just awful. But I didn't have to think about that. Not yet.

I gave the kids a five-minute warning and went into the bathroom to draw water for their baths.

Bethany moaned, “But we're just getting to the good part! The sea witch is going to make Ariel into a real girl.”

“I mean it. Five minutes,” I repeated. Something in my tone must have told her I was in no mood for argument. She slumped into her beanbag chair and rested her pouty chin onto her hands, but turned off the television without comment when I called out that it was bathtime.

After I finished reading, probably my two-thousandth rendition of
Goodnight Moon,
and kissed Bobby, who was already asleep, Bethany asked if she could come sleep in my bed.

I said yes.

She scampered into my room, climbed in next to me and snuggled in, her skin still pink and warm after her bath. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of baby shampoo from her hair. I stroked her silky, baby-fine hair slowly. She sighed her contentment and was asleep even before I turned off the bedside lamp. After I did, I closed my eyes, wrung out from a long, emotional day, longing for the oblivion of deep and dreamless sleep.

It did not come.

In my dream, I was standing at the bus stop and the rain was coming down in torrents, like someone was standing on top of the bus shelter and pouring tub after tub of water down upon it. A car pulled up. Abigail's champagne-colored sedan.

The window rolled down, a loud and steady mechanical whine, like the sound of a garage door going up.

“Get in,” she said.

“No. That's all right. I'm just waiting for the bus. It'll be here soon.”

Abigail shook her head. “No, it won't. The storm is too strong. All the buses are broken down. No one is coming to get you, and you can't stay here. Get in the car.”

I didn't want to get in but when I looked up, I saw a crack in the Plexiglas ceiling of the bus shelter. It was already starting to leak and the crack was getting bigger, moving slowly from one side of the roof to the other. If I stood here any longer, it would split in two. All the water would come crashing down upon me, sweeping me away completely. There was no choice. I got into the car.

“You're soaked,” Abigail said. “Take this towel and dry off.”

I took the towel that was sitting on the seat next to me and dried my sodden hair.

“That's better,” Abigail said, glancing at me as she drove down the road. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a shiny black tube of lipstick, and thrust it toward me. “Here. Put this on.”

Compliantly, I flipped down the sunshade, peered into the mirror, and dutifully applied the bright red lipstick.

“That's better,” she said with a smile. “You'll want to fix yourself up a little. There's someone I want you to meet. I found him. It turns out he isn't dead after all.”

I looked into the mirror and saw him sitting in the backseat. Staring at me. He'd been there all along, waiting.

“Hello, Ivy.”

 

I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, my heart pounding. I felt a searing pain in my left hand, as if the heavy crystal vase had smashed down on it only moments before. I put my fingers in my mouth and tasted blood, metallic and sharp, where no blood was, using my hand to keep myself from crying out.

Bethany was in bed next to me, still sound asleep. I bit my lips to push away the nightmare, whispered to myself, repeating the words the trauma counselor had taught me to say when this happened, words I hadn't needed to say in weeks.

Everything is fine. It was just a dream. We are safe. No one can hurt us here.

But I didn't believe it. It was everything I could do not to wake Bethany and Bobby, pack our bags, and sneak off in the night.

But I didn't.

The image of Evelyn Dixon's face, her kind, understanding eyes, held me fast.

I forced myself to lie back down, pulling up the quilt that had slipped to the foot of the bed, the log cabin quilt with the brave red center squares that stood for my heart, my home, my children, and everything that mattered to me, tucking my daughter in tight under its sheltering warmth, hiding beneath the log cabin fortress that I had sewn to protect my baby.

It wasn't much, but it was all I had.