The Aloha Quilt (23 page)

How long had it been since a man had held her hand?

He peered toward the east, scanning the sky, and Bonnie tried to follow his line of
sight. The dark velvet sky was brilliant with stars, more than she had ever seen.
She remembered enough from her Girl Scout days to be able to locate the Big Dipper,
Orion, and Cassiopeia if the conditions were right, but she wouldn’t have recognized
the Pleiades without an astronomy handbook.

“There,” he said suddenly, pointing.

“Where? There?”

“No, this way.” From behind, he took her by the shoulders, turned her a bit to the
left, bent down so that his chin almost rested on her shoulder, and lifted her right
arm so that she was pointing into the sky. And then she saw it, a cluster of almost
bluish stars high above the tree line.

“I see it,” she said with a catch in her voice, conscious of his touch, his closeness.
She could feel his breath on her cheek. “Seven Sisters, or—what’s the Hawaiian name?”

“Makali‘i.” Abruptly he let go of her arm and stepped away. “It’ll be with us for
the rest of Ho‘o-ilo, and then, like you, little snowbird, it’ll disappear with the
coming of summer.”

Bonnie could not read his expression in the moonlight. “It won’t be going anywhere,”
she said, “you just won’t be able to see it because of the sunlight, because it’ll
rise in the morning instead of evening. It’s still there, it’s just—it’s just that
the timing is bad.”

“Right.” Hinano nodded, gazed up at the brilliant winter sky for a moment, but then
jerked his head to indicate that they should return to the party. “That’s what I meant.”

Bonnie followed half a pace behind. As soon as they reached the lanai, Hinano bade
her good-bye and went off to join the band.

For the rest of the night, until Eric and Claire found her in
the crowd and they walked wearily back to the car for the drive home, she saw Hinano
only from a distance.

The next morning after breakfast, Bonnie called Elm Creek Manor from her lanai, missing
her friends more than she had since their first days apart. Except for Summer, who
had remained at the University of Chicago for the holiday weekend, and Judy, who had
moved to Philadelphia with her family, the Elm Creek Quilters would gather at the
manor for their traditional daylong celebration of the Friday after Thanksgiving.
While other people were lining up early outside favorite stores to begin their Christmas
shopping, the Elm Creek Quilters would enjoy a day of quilting to mark what Diane
called the start of the “quilting season.”

Although most quilters pieced and sewed throughout the year, Bonnie understood why
Diane had bestowed that title upon the day. When the weather turned colder and forced
them indoors, a quilter found it especially appealing to layer a quilt sandwich in
a lap hoop, curl up on the sofa, and snuggle beneath the soft folds, enjoying the
warmth as she worked the needle up and down in a rocking motion, creating intricate
patterns in the soft fabric as the stitches united pieced top, fluffy batting, and
smooth lining. The arrival of Thanksgiving also meant that the Elm Creek Quilters
had about a month left to complete all the quilts, table runners, garments, and other
quilted items they intended to give as Christmas gifts—or in Diane’s case, to begin
several ambitious projects that she would race to finish by Christmas Eve.

As Bonnie waited for someone to answer her call, she thought wistfully of Thanksgiving
Fridays of years past—meeting at the manor in the formal parlor or around the
ballroom fireplace, quilting and chatting, sharing advice and suggestions, borrowing
thread and trading fabrics. At midday they would gather around the long wooden table
in the kitchen to enjoy a potluck lunch, with a special restriction placed upon their
contributions to the meal: Each dish had to be made with leftovers from their family
feasts the previous day. Sarah usually made a turkey Tetrazzini that couldn’t be beat,
and Summer always managed to whip up a tasty vegetarian dish that helped Bonnie, a
committed omnivore, to understand how it might be possible to refrain from eating
meat. Agnes called their dinner a “Patchwork Potluck” and said the meal befit quilters,
whose frugality inspired them to find creative uses for leftover turkey, stuffing,
and vegetables just as they created beautiful and useful works of art from scraps
of fabric.

But more important than the delicious feast—for just as a quilt was more than an assemblage
of scraps, so too was their potluck far more than reheated leftovers—and the projects
completed during their quilt marathon, was the time spent together with friends. The
conversation and company provided a respite from the holiday rush and filled them
with a sense of anticipation for the approaching holidays. Bonnie would miss that
this year most of all.

Andrew, Sylvia’s husband, answered the phone, and after chatting with him a bit, Bonnie
spoke with each of her friends in turn as they passed the phone around the circle
of quilters. When she found herself repeating the same story to each friend, they
put her on speakerphone so they could all talk at once, and when she closed her eyes
she could almost imagine herself back at Elm Creek Manor among them. She entertained
them with lively stories of the Thanksgiving luau, and they in turn told her about
a long-forgotten Bergstrom tradition they had revived. While cleaning out the kitchen
cabinets a few
weeks earlier, Sylvia and Anna had discovered an old woven cornucopia Sylvia’s sister
had made as a child. As the Bergstroms had done long ago, the Elm Creek Quilters used
the cornucopia as a centerpiece, and into it each placed a symbol of something she
was especially thankful for that year. Where the Bergstroms had used pictures, letters,
or small trinkets, the Elm Creek Quilters naturally used quilt blocks, each stitching
one that either by name or imagery represented something for which she wished to give
thanks.

Bonnie was glad to hear that they were having a wonderful time, despite a forecast
for heavy snows—but she couldn’t help feeling a bit left out that they had established
a new tradition without her. But why shouldn’t they? Life at Elm Creek Manor went
on without her, just as it had after Judy moved away and Summer left for graduate
school. The Elm Creek Manor she returned to would not be the same place she had left,
and the longer she stayed away, the greater the changes would be.

All the more reason to return home as soon as Aloha Quilt Camp was successfully launched,
Bonnie reflected as she hung up the phone and returned it to her purse. Elm Creek
Quilts would grow, change, and thrive, and she wanted to be among her friends at the
heart of it all.

Just as she was leaving her room, her cell phone rang. One of the Elm Creek Quilters
had forgotten to tell her something important, she guessed, hurrying back into the
room and snatching the phone from her purse to answer before the caller hung up. Or
maybe it was Barry, whom she had been unable to wish Happy Thanksgiving the day before.

“Hello there,” she said.

“Hello there,” mocked Craig.

Her heart thumped. “How did you get this number?”

“From my mother’s caller ID. Where else could I have gotten it now that you’ve turned
my children against me?”

Of course. She had been so foolish to call Linda, and more foolish yet to neglect
her own caller ID in her haste to answer the phone. “You know the rules, Craig,” she
said. “Contact me through my attorney or not at all. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait,” he barked, and instinctively she hesitated. “You want revenge. I get that.
You want to take every cent from me and ruin my life—”

“That’s not what I set out to do,” Bonnie broke in. “I only wanted what was right
and fair, and this was the only way we knew to get you to see reason.”

“Reason? Is that what you call spying and blackmail? Terri has kids, Bonnie. You’re
going to destroy their lives. Did you even consider that?”

“I’m not the one at fault here,” Bonnie snapped. “I didn’t make you cheat on me.”

“I should have left you years ago.”

“You did. In your heart you did. Now it’s time for us both to move on and we can start
by settling this divorce. The money you spent on those antiques was mine as well as
yours—”

“I earned that money.”

“I did too!”

“You want to divide up the marital assets? Fine. Let’s divide up all the marital assets,
yours as well as mine.”

“You know very well that there’s nothing left of Grandma’s Attic.”

“I’m not talking about the quilt shop.”

“Then what are you talking about? The insurance settlement? You agreed that it was
mine as long as I forfeited the profit on the condo. Or have you changed your mind
about that too?”

“That’s not it. You get a piece of my business assets, then I get a piece of yours.”

He wasn’t making any sense. “Just say it, Craig. What is it you want?”

“Elm Creek Quilts.”

Bonnie went cold. “You must be joking.”

“You’re a part owner of a successful business. I want my share of your part.”

“I’m not a part owner. Sylvia—”

“Sylvia divided the company among you and the rest of those quilters. Did you think
I could forget something like that?”

“Craig—”

“You founded that business while we were married. You built that business while we
were married. You earned money from that business while we were married. If your income
was included in the property settlement, why not the company itself? Why not the manor?
And what do you think the judge is going to say when he hears you’ve been holding
out on me? You’ve got that poor wronged woman act down pat, but after he finds out
about your secret fortune—”

“Craig, you can’t do this.”

“I can and I will. Just wait until I’m a shareholder in Elm Creek Quilts. Believe
me, I’ll be at every meeting. My vote will be counted. I’d like to make a few changes
too. Maybe—oh, just off the top of my head—maybe sell the manor. That’s what the old
lady had in mind before you talked her into making a quilt camp, right? Maybe if quilt
camp becomes less fun than when it was just you girls, she might be convinced to tear
the place down and put up some condos after all.”

“Craig, don’t,” she cried, but he had hung up.

Chapter Nine
 

He can’t do this.” Then Claire hesitated. “Can he?”

“I don’t know.” Bonnie folded her arms and rested her head upon the kitchen island.
Midori stroked her back comfortingly but it was all Bonnie could do not to weep. “I
don’t know the law well enough to know if I should worry or if this is just more idle
bluster.”

“He’ll say anything to hurt you,” said Midori scathingly. “You can’t trust a word
that comes out of his mouth. What does your lawyer think about all this?”

“He’s out of town for the holiday. I left a message on his voicemail, but I have no
idea when he’ll get it.” Until Darren Taylor returned her call, her stomach would
be in knots. “I can’t let Craig touch Elm Creek Quilts. I can’t. He’ll deliberately
destroy it just to hurt me.”

“You still have us,” Claire told her stoutly. “You’ll always have a place here. You
know that.”

“It’s not just me and my future at stake. My friends have put their hearts and souls
into that business. For some of them, Elm Creek Quilts is their only income.”

“They could all come to work here.”

In spite of everything, Bonnie had to smile at her impulsive friend’s generosity.
“You know that’s not practical.”

“I mean it,” said Claire resolutely. “We’ll find a way to make it happen.”

“We should focus on protecting Elm Creek Quilts from that horrible man,” said Midori.
“What does he know about the law? If he were entitled to any part of Elm Creek Quilts,
wouldn’t his lawyer have brought it up earlier? You haven’t been hiding that manor
under a pile of leaves. They all knew about it.”

“I don’t know,” said Bonnie, too heartsick to think clearly. “I—I remember we agreed
not to claim any part of each other’s future earnings or retirement accounts as long
as Craig kept our children on as the beneficiaries of his life insurance, but I don’t
know what that means for my share in the business. I swear, if I had ever imagined
that Craig could get his hands on Elm Creek Manor—”