Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series (16 page)

It wasn’t until Nina opened her car door that afternoon and saw the large box on her back seat that she remembered the day had started with the quilt delivery from Greg Hernandez.

Her original knee-jerk reaction plan—to find out where Greg lived, then march to his door with all the righteous indignation she could gather and her checkbook, demand that he either take it back or take a check in payment—required revisiting. Telling the brother of your editor that you refused to keep the very item you used as the centerpiece of your pitch was likely a prelude to her assigning you obituaries and weddings.

Still, she didn’t feel comfortable giving Aretha a gift that she didn’t buy, and it would be dishonest of her to not tell her it came from Greg. So, she needed to figure out a way to contact him without involving Elise because that would take uncomfortable to an entirely new level. She could explain why she wanted to reimburse him, and if he wouldn’t tell her what he paid for it, there might be a way for her to contact the benefit organizers.
Really, Nina, what kind of journalist are you if you can’t get someone’s address or find out what that quilt sold for?

Her rumbling stomach interrupted her. She’d been occupied with scenarios in her head and neglected the ones involving food. At the traffic light, she called Aretha thinking they might not mind if she joined them. Brazen, but how intimate does dinner have to be when they’d just started dating? When Aretha answered, she told Nina they wouldn’t have minded at all except they were already on their way to Kemah.

“You’re driving almost an hour across Houston to Galveston Bay for dinner?”

“It’s not that far.” She stopped to tell Luke who she was talking to. “We felt like eating seafood, and the weather’s so nice, we thought when we got to Kemah, we’d spend some time on the Boardwalk.”

“Okay, then. I’ll go to Plan B.”

“Sorry. If you get desperate, there’s still a pizza in the freezer.”
I’m becoming Plan B
. Nina heard the distraction in her voice. She imagined Aretha talking to her while she pointed out places to Luke along the way or that shrug and partial eye-roll while she mouthed, “Sorry . . . won’t be long” to him. “That would be Plan W. I’ll figure something out. See you later.”

A few blocks away from home, she pulled over for gas, and considered calling Brady. But he told her when they were both outside Elise’s office that he’d call her. Making the first move toward anything resembling a date could send the wrong message to Brady. A small voice within her tapped on the shoulder of her conscience and whispered, “But what if it’s the right message?” She hushed it as she settled in her seat and closed the car door. “Guess we’ll both have to live with no message,” she said to the steering wheel and started the drive home.

At least she knew one male who’d be excited to see her. Nina just wished he didn’t have four legs and a cold nose.

After gaining no satisfaction from a round of sniffing to determine if the large box Nina set on the coffee table was edible and paw slapping it to elicit a squeak, Manny ignored it and returned to his rawhide bone.

“Well, since Aretha abandoned us both, at least I can look at this without having to sneak around, right?” Manny didn’t
even bother to stop chewing. “You’re going to have to be better company than that if we’re going to be spending more time alone, mister.”

She opened the box, carefully lifted the quilt, and spread it out on the sofa. Removed from the other quilts on display that night, its explosion of color and sophisticated, bold design were more evident. And made it all the more perfect a gift for her friend. On one corner, an attached, hand-stamped card read, on one side: Threads of HOPE, stitched by people of FAITH, for those we LOVE. On the other was a thank-you for purchasing the quilt and a telephone number. A label sewn on another corner simply had the words: Threads of Hope, Jeremiah 29:11.

Nina entered the number in her phone and set a reminder to herself to call it in the morning. If she asked the cost of making one like it, she’d have an idea of what to offer Greg. And then, pulling a Brady, she could show up unannounced and drop it off. If she called him, he’d probably tell her he didn’t want the money.

She placed the quilt back in the box then shoved it under her bed where Aretha would be least likely to look. Or vacuum.

By nine o’clock, Brady hadn’t called, texted, or attempted any other form of communication. Nina surprised herself by not being surprised. Not following through was behavior more typical of the Brady she knew.

Now that Elise had assigned her the feature, Nina dragged out her laptop to continue researching. Manny, seeing her stretched out on the sofa, jumped up and wiggled next to her, resting his head on her knee. She started with the history of The AIDS Memorial Quilt, which went back to 1985, when the idea of the quilt sprang from the way placards of those who died with AIDS were placed against the wall of the San Francisco Federal Building. The first quilt, created in June of
1987, was displayed on the National Mall in October of the same year.

Nina thought about that first small group that met in a San Francisco storefront, afraid the names of those they loved would be lost forever, and so they created a quilt as a way to document their lives. Twenty-five years later, groups like the ones whose quilts were auctioned at the benefit, met to carry on that mission, to memorialize those who died of AIDS. Except that, and sadly, over the years, the names of women and children were added. From 1985 until the year 2000, the number of AIDS-related deaths in a year increased by 429 percent. Little wonder, with those statistics, why the quilt weighed fifty-four tons today.

Hours later, Nina still hadn’t arrived at the end of her research, and Aretha still hadn’t arrived home.

Greg checked his cell phone again. Nothing from Elise. By late afternoon, when Greg still hadn’t received any messages or phone calls, he wondered if the quilt had even been delivered.

He contacted the delivery service and was told the package had been signed for early that morning. Two patients later, he sent Elise a text. Maybe Nina wasn’t at work, so there wasn’t any reason for Elise to contact him. Four patients later, she sent a text in response: “Nina here. No mention. Call me on your way home.”

No mention of the quilt? The Saturday night episode? Both? Maybe he attached more importance to both than did Nina. Bypassing the drama was a relief, but bypassing any mention of having received the quilt seemed, well, like bad manners. And he’d already dealt with his quota of the discourteous by the time the clinic closed. Like the couple whose Lab used the waiting room as his bathroom, then expected the desk staff to do potty patrol. And the little boy about his daughter’s age who entertained himself rearranging the food and supplies merchandise on display while his father lifted his head from his e-reader every few minutes and said, “Stop that.” He closed his car door, leaned his head against the steering wheel, and
said a prayer of gratitude for his family. Compared to that gift from God, what did his receiving or not receiving a thank-you note matter?

Seeing the gridlock on Highway 290, Greg contemplated abandoning his car and walking the forty or so miles home. He should have brought along
Anna Karenina
, the 976-page novel Lily always wanted him to read. With this traffic, he’d stand a good chance of getting halfway through it. He still needed to call Elise, but he called home first. He talked to Paloma and affirmed that he wouldn’t make it there until after Jazarah’s bedtime. He could barely hear her for his daughter’s chanting in the background. “Talk to Daddy. Talk to Daddy.” Paloma excused herself, and Greg heard her calm, soft voice, “We must wait and be kind, and not speak when someone else is speaking.”

When she returned, Greg expressed his appreciation for her making sure Jazarah wouldn’t grow up to be what Elise labeled an “S.B.K.,” spoiled brat kid.

“You are welcome. It is my opinion that the two of you together in public will attract attention even if both of you say nothing. Her behavior will be scrutinized more so than other children’s. This, I know.”

And that was another reason she made the perfect nanny for his daughter. Like Jazarah, she, too, was adopted from Africa, an HIV-positive preteen, into a blue-eyed, blonde-haired, and freckle-skinned family. The attention was sometimes cruel, but Paloma learned grace and, as she said, “to stand on God’s promises.”

“One message before you speak to your sweet daughter. A lady, Amelia, called to say she and her husband will be in Houston next month, and they would like to visit. Now, here is Jazarah.”

Amelia and Dale were traveling here? Thinking of them brightened his otherwise gray day. A train of questions rumbled through his head, but his daughter’s lyrical chatter ran them off the track. Greg inserted a few “Really?” and “That’s great” responses as she recalled what sounded like her itinerary for the day. Then, in the middle of a discussion of flowers and peanut butter, she announced, “Bye, Daddy!” and the conversation ended. He smiled imagining that Paloma setting the table for dinner diverted her attention.

His conversation with his sister didn’t require many more responses than those he’d just used with his daughter. On her way home herself, Elise said she only had time to hit the highlights. Essentially, Nina pitched a feature series around the AIDS quilt and the local benefit that excited Elise. Their time together was focused on those details, so his name or Saturday night never came up.

“I have to say, Nina’s passion for this project was unexpected. I called her in to tell her she was off the human-interest story hook, but she didn’t want to let it go,” said Elise.

“Yes, that surprises me, too,” Greg said, too late realizing he just played a card his sister didn’t know he held. He could picture her narrowed eyes as her brain whirled around what he’d said.

“Why would it surprise you?” The emphasis in her question fell on
you
.

How was he going to extricate himself from this one without revealing his conversation with Nina that night at the benefit before Elise arrived on the scene? He didn’t want to tell her Nina complained about having to write a feature story and cooperated only because his dragon lady sister of a boss wanted her to. Something must have changed for her between then and today, and the last thing he wanted to do was something that would, once again, sabotage Nina. But, he couldn’t
lie to her either.
Good thing traffic’s moving three miles a minute or I’d be too distracted to think
.

“When we first started talking, I didn’t even know she was on the
Trends
staff. She mentioned how much she enjoyed hard-hitting news stories,” he shared with Elise.

But Greg continued to wonder, for most of his journey home, what caused such a radical change of heart in Nina.

When Nina left for work, a fully-dressed Aretha was snoring, curled up on the sofa, the dog wrapped around her bare feet. Nina had finally dragged herself upstairs not long after midnight, so Aretha didn’t make it back until after that. She checked Aretha’s work schedule that she always left on the refrigerator to make sure she’d be safe not waking her up. She was off, and she didn’t have any classes, so Nina skipped making breakfast and eased herself out as quietly as possible.

Michelle hadn’t arrived yet, so Nina left the blueberry scone she’d bought for her on her desk. She wrote, “to M, from N, and I’m still sorry.”

Shannon was already hovering around Nina’s desk. “Do you need some help?” She looked like she wasn’t sure what to grab first.

Her coffee in one hand, her oatmeal in the other, her purse, her iPad case, and her messenger bag slung over her shoulders, Nina perpetually had that pack-mule look about her. “Believe it or not, everything balances, so if you take just one item, I might topple over.” She looked at Shannon as she placed her breakfast on her desk. “Did you eat? Need to get coffee or anything before we talk?”

“No, I’m good. I ate at home and brought coffee,” she pointed to the petite stainless steel Thermos on her desk.

Nina peeled off her bags. “Another good reason to have your cell number. Next time I can call you on the way in.” She sat down, stirred her oatmeal, and told Shannon to pull up a chair. “Since you’re good to go, let’s get started.”