Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series (8 page)

“Well, that worked out nicely then, didn’t it?” Elise purred, and Greg saw the look of triumph blaze in her eyes.

Tonight, thinking of that exchange between himself and his sister, Greg smiled at her ability to transform what some might see as manipulative into something serendipitous. Lily would have been delighted by the group considering her gratitude to
the NAMES Project Foundation for all it did to preserve and care for the quilt that they’d viewed in Syracuse, New York.

Originally, Greg hadn’t planned for his wife to join him at the Syracuse veterinary conference. But when she had her third miscarriage weeks before, Greg insisted she go with him. The second day there, Lily sent him a text asking him to meet her after his sessions at the Oncenter Convention Center. He found her sitting on a bench when he arrived, writing in the small leather-bound journal she carried in her purse. Though she smiled when she spotted him and her eyes were dry, he knew she’d been crying because of the faint, uneven black smudges under her lower lashes.

“I want to show you something,” was all she’d said when she’d reached for his hand and led him into the center where huge quilts rained from the ceiling. Lily could barely thread a needle, so he couldn’t understand what might have attracted her to a quilters’ convention display. Reading the question his face asked, Lily explained the quilts were all panels from the larger AIDS Memorial quilt, on display there because the first day in December was World AIDS Day.

Without offering any more in the way of explanation, she said, “Come see this,” and brought him through the exhibit to a quilt on the far right end. She pointed to a cotton-candy pink panel, edged in white lace and seeded all over with beads that looked like pearls. A buttercup yellow crocheted bonnet, a smocked dress that looked as if it had been dipped in the sky the blue was so delicate, a silver teething ring that bore the tiniest of indentations, and a lace bib that barely showed signs of use were all attached to the panel. In the center of the quilt, the name Tabitha was embroidered in white thread. Underneath, in the same embroidered script, was “Age: 5 months when she went to the Lord in peace.”

Continuing to stare at the panel, she said, “Do you know that about one thousand babies are born with HIV every day?”

“No. I didn’t know that,” he responded, sure that until today, Lily probably didn’t know that either. Greg looked down at his wife and wondered if this experience was healthy for a woman mourning another failed pregnancy.

She turned to him. “And half of them will die before their second birthday without treatment.”

“That’s a staggering number,” he said. Instead of unsure, Greg now felt uneasy. Lily’s plane was coming in for a landing, but he still couldn’t locate the runway. When she informed him that 90 percent of the world’s HIV infected children live in Africa, Greg knew the wheels had hit the ground. A year later, Greg and Lily traveled over eight thousand miles, and this time when the plane landed, they were the parents of a solemn-eyed baby girl.

Later, Lily would tell anyone with ears that losing three babies due to miscarriages brought them to another one. She never doubted that God meant for them to be Jazarah’s parents. And Greg never doubted Lily’s absolute conviction. He already felt blessed to be loved by Lily. Knowing their little daughter would be loved so fiercely and generously, how could he say anything but yes?

Tonight, that little girl was tucked into bed under her princess blanket, her head on her princess pillowcase, and slept unaware that 99 percent of the HIV in her body was undetectable. And while she slept, Greg and the rest of the support group he’d be meeting at the Fellowship Hall planned to put the finishing touches on the two quilts they would be donating for auction at the benefit.

Nina showed Aretha the email from Daisy. “What do you think this means?” In the time she waited for her roommate to return, Nina exhausted every possibility she could think of.

“You really want to know?” Aretha sipped her tea, set her cup down, and eyed Nina. “It means she’s fine, you’re not, and when she’s ready to tell you something, she will. Oh, and she’ll be back for Janie’s party.”

“Wow. What did you eat for dinner? Nails?” Nina closed her laptop.

“You asked me. So don’t start playing your mother by asking me questions that you already have the answer to.”

“That was harsh, too. What’s going on?” Nina regretted ever beginning the conversation.

Aretha tossed the rubber ball that Manny just nosed in her direction. “I’m telling you this because I care about you—”

“Stop right there. It’s late, and I’d rather you just get to the point instead of dancing all around whatever it is you want me to hear.”

“Then, here it is, girlie. Ever since Brady stopped calling and Janie announced her promotion, you’ve dragged your face around here. Then, when Daisy didn’t show up for work, your first thought wasn’t about her well-being. You dove into the conspiracy theory and barely came up for air. Now, you’re determined to break the political story of the year to get Elise’s attention.” Aretha added more hot water to her tea. “I guess if you believed that God had another plan for you, you might not be so bitter.”

Nina snickered. “God has another plan for me? Why? Did He finally figure out this one wasn’t working? Let’s see, my only brother died, I spent all of high school trying to make my lumpy self invisible, the only relationship my mother and I share is our mutual disappointment in me, and my father is buried so deep inside that shell of himself I don’t know if
there’s a shovel long enough to reach him.” Manny jumped on the chair and draped himself across her lap. “So, are you telling me God’s not in favor of my wanting to make a career move?”

“I don’t pretend to know what God knows. What I do know is that you see New York as some geographical cure for your life. Maybe God’s giving you what you need right here, but you just can’t see it.”

“Enlighten me,” said Nina, exasperation evident in her voice.

“Elise could have given those benefit tickets to someone else in the office. Really, how difficult is it to cover an “ooh-la-la” event with all the beautiful people? Someone could probably look up the one last year, change a few names, and—
voilà
—instant coverage. Maybe Elise wants to see what you’re going to do with something you believe is mundane.”

“Oh, so you’re thinking this is some kind of test? God’s or Elise’s?”

Aretha placed her cup and saucer in the sink. “That’s exactly what I think, and whose test it might be doesn’t matter. So far, you’ve not even shown up for it.”

Dr. Hernandez is here. Hide the cookies, Miss Martha.”

“You mean you haven’t eaten them all already?” Greg tousled Jacob’s hair on the way to the coffee pot in the Fellowship Hall. Not yet twelve, Jacob and his six-year-old sister Helen were adopted from Ethiopia four years ago. When his parents died, Jacob was seven and, until social workers came to their home, he had been taking care of his sister Helen by himself. Now the siblings live with their adoptive parents, Pam and Eli, and their three biological children. “Where’s your Mom?” Jacob pointed over Greg’s shoulder where Pam sat with three other women at a table bearing a mountain of fabrics.

“They told me to find more scissors. Guess they think I’m old enough to handle them.” Jacob shook his head. “I think they’re just tired of doing all the cutting themselves,” he observed, then shuffled off in the direction of the supply room.

Greg smiled and looked around for Martha, the group’s matriarch and founder. From the time he first met her, he felt an instant connection. She reminded him of Amelia, his neighbor in New Orleans who meant so much to both him and Jazarah. Martha walked out of the storeroom with a pair of scissors before Jacob even reached the door. “Here ya go,
baby,” she said as she handed him the scissors and another bag of fabric. Close to eighty, Martha told everyone she’d earned the right to call everyone else “baby.” No one dared disagree, mostly out of respect. Then again, at almost six feet tall, her silver hair cropped close to her face, she made quite the imposing figure.

“Hey, Doc,” she called out to Greg. She gave him a quick hug when she reached him. “Saved ya some cookies of your own to take home.” She winked, then asked him to give the two quilts they were donating a final look.

“I see you’re already starting on more,” Greg said. “Those for next year?”

She shrugged. “We thought we’d try to get a few ready for the county fair. Plus, Becca asked if we could make one for a patient of hers. And, I know we all like to have a say in the ones for the benefit every year, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to have some pieces ready. Crystal works at the Goodwill store, and she had the idea of bringing some clothes from there. We’re just cutting big squares and whatnots for now.”

Becca, a hospice nurse, joined the group a few months ago after seeing a quilt they’d made that belonged to one of her patients. “I may not be a seamstress,” she said when she introduced herself, “but I can operate a pair of scissors and thread a needle.”

Crystal and her mother Kelley were members of Living Faith church and helped the group secure the Fellowship Hall for their meetings. Crystal’s twin sister, Carlys, after several trips to rehab, still couldn’t stay clear of drugs. She died of AIDS when she was sixteen from a needle share. Kelley said the quilting group and just pushing a needle to create something good were all the therapy she needed since her daughter’s death more than five years ago.

Greg set his coffee down before walking to the tables where the finished quilts awaited final inspection. Last year, the group had decided to make one quilt for children and one for adults. The children’s quilt was designed using a pattern called Cupcake, but they nixed using a cupcake fabric. Greg thought it might be too limiting, and despite all the gender neutral talk, he didn’t think cupcakes would appeal to parents of boys. Instead, they used a fabric featuring apple green, orange, and aqua colored giraffes against a bright yellow background sprinkled with cherry red hearts. The quilt’s border was a polka dot fabric of complementary colors, and edging the border were strips of yellow gingham. Greg thought he might have to bid on this one himself because his daughter loved seeing the “stretchy” giraffes as she called them, and he could already picture her giggling and pointing to the diamonds of the happy-colored animals.

Greg flipped over the bottom right corner. “Aren’t we sewing one of the ‘Threads of Hope’ labels on the back?”

“Oops. See, you really are helpful. I’m on my way to get one, and I’ll be right back,” she said. She took a few steps then turned around. “Doc, best check the other one.”

“This one’s ready to go,” he said seeing the circle logo of their group carefully stitched to the back of the double pinwheel spin patterned quilt. Though the quilt used only five different fabrics, the nine pinwheels were all sewn over the same lime green firefly-designed diamonds, which were stitched over nine snow-white squares of fabric. Two of the pinwheel arms were sewn from a hot pink fabric with red-and-lime green paisley prints. The other fabric featured a white background with hot pink added to the paisley print. Greg thought the almost retro-colored fabric and design might attract some of the younger attendees at the benefit.

Martha returned with a threaded needle and a label. “We need to write Elise a thank you note for donating all this fabric,” she said as she held the quilt corner, her thumb holding the label straight while her needle flashed through the fabric.

“She doesn’t expect that,” Greg said.

Martha paused, cocked her head to one side, and narrowed her eyes. “Now, Doc, we’re not doing it because she expects us to. We’re doing it because we want to. And it’s the right thing to do, to tell people you appreciate them for helping you get somewhere you need to be.”

“Guess I needed to be reminded of that,” he said, thinking of the backlog of thank-you notes he should’ve written. Beginning with Nina who, all those years ago in high school, started him on his journey toward compassion. And Lily who traveled the road with him. And Jazarah for bringing it to life.