Quilt As Desired (10 page)

"Come on, Fred,” she said. “We've got work to do."

A little over an hour later Harriet had found nine baby quilts. She called Marjory and agreed to bring the blankets to the store at seven. That gave her just enough time to eat. After the delicious Chinese lunch she'd had, she probably should march into the kitchen and make a big bowl of lettuce, but she didn't really feel like preparing food in there until she'd had a chance to scrub it from top to bottom, purging all signs of the break-in.

Aunt Beth had several large fabric tote bags that were perfect to carry the baby quilts in. Harriet bagged them and stashed them in the backseat of the Honda. She pulled on the fisherman knit sweater Aunt Beth had bought her and grabbed her purse and drove through a sputtering rain down the hill and onto Main Street. She parked in front of Pins and Needles.

The Sandwich Board didn't serve dinner, so she would have to explore downtown to find another option. When she'd lived with Aunt Beth as a child, she'd begged to eat at the Dairy Queen and McDonald's out on the highway. In those days, the ethnic food options in Foggy Point were limited to Chin's Chinese Food. She was glad to see things had changed. She passed a Thai restaurant and a sushi place but rejected them as being too similar to lunch. She was walking on tiptoe, leaning toward the street trying to see what was in the next block, when she hit a brick wall. Her purse fell to the sidewalk, spilling her cell phone and car keys in the process.

Warm hands grasped her by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry,” she said. “I was trying to look up the block and didn't see you."

She looked up into the pale eyes of Aiden Jalbert. Dark smudges now underscored them. She felt her face turned pink as she took in the dark purple bump on his forehead.

"Here.” He bent down and picked up her keys and handed them to her. “What were you looking for?” he asked, his voice flat.

"I was trying to find someplace to eat.” She looked at the sidewalk. “I'm sorry about your mom."

"Yeah,” he said. “I heard you were the one who found her. Thanks for telling me."

"That's not fair."

"I'm sorry,” he said. “You're right. I don't even know you."

"I wanted to tell you,” she said, feeling like a child telling tales. “Mavis said it wasn't my place."

"Right."

"I'm sorry."

Aiden sighed. “No, I'm sorry—really. Mavis is right. Finding my mom was bad enough for you. You didn't owe me anything."

Harriet didn't know what to say. When Steve died, she'd lashed out at everyone, and nothing anyone said helped.

"Look,” he said, “I was just on my way to Tico's Tacos. You want to eat there?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah.” He turned and stepped into the crosswalk. “It's right up there, around the corner.” He pointed at a small storefront that sported the flag of Mexico. She had to hustle to catch up to his long stride.

The restaurant had three booths and a similar number of tables surrounded with chairs. Aiden led her to the center booth. Harriet closed her eyes and breathed. Her senses were bathed in the scent of baked chilies and marinated beef. Her tensed muscles relaxed.

Aiden nudged her shoulder, breaking her reverie. “Where'd you go?” he asked.

She was spared having to answer when a cook in the back nodded at Aiden and appeared moments later with a stone bowl that overflowed with chunky guacamole.

"Grácias,” Aiden said.

"De nada,” the man replied.

"I take it they know you here?” Harriet said.

"I went to school with Jorge's son. We hung out here and did our homework and ate guacamole and chips."

"Does he still live around here?"

"No, Julio's an environmental lawyer in Seattle."

Jorge took their orders and refilled their basket of chips. They picked at them in silence until he came back with their dinners.

Harriet's enchiladas were perfect. The green tomatillo sauce was spicy but not hot, and the tortillas were handmade. Aiden's chile relleno was encrusted in a batter that was light and crisp. A clump of whole green beans had been batter-fried and shared a flat bowl that was lined with a cooked tomato sauce.

They ate in silence, a faded pink-and-green donkey piñata hanging from the ceiling, its crepe paper-fringed foot inches from Aiden's head. The music of Banda el Recodo played softly in the background. Harriet snuck a glance at Aiden. His face had aged in the three days she'd known him. New lines creased its tan surface. He absently pushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his face.

"Thank you for steering me to this place,” she said when she'd finished her meal. “I have to say, I'm a little surprised you aren't at your mom's. I would have thought the Loose Threads would be smothering you in hot dishes and sympathy."

"That would be the problem. That, and my family. My sister is there with her two kids. They're ten and twelve and spend most of their time fighting. Michelle actually tries to sort out what they're fighting about and ends up arguing with them both. Uncle Bertie is there greeting visitors like some kind of host with the most, and my brother Marcel is supposed to be arriving any time. I couldn't hack it."

"When my husband Steve died, I was so angry at his family I couldn't stand to be in the same room with them."

"I'm not angry. It's just weird. Five days ago I was in a cement hut with no running water and surrounded by poisonous snakes and hyenas. I haven't seen any family except my mom in more than three years. I'm having a little trouble relating to them right now."

It looked like anger to Harriet, but it was obvious he wasn't ready to deal with it. She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. Jorge was stacking menus by the front entry podium. He shook his head at her.

"Your money is no good,” he said in thickly accented English.

"Thank you,” she said and looked at Aiden.

"Jorge kind of took over the dad job when mine died. He's more like family than some of my blood relatives.” He stood up and stretched. “I don't feel like going home. You want to go for a drive?"

"I wish I could,” she said, mostly because she knew she couldn't. “I have to drop some quilts off at a meeting Marjory is having. I'm not sure how long it will take."

"I could go home and feed my dog and then meet you back there."

"Are you sure you want to be with me right now?"

His eyes searched her face.

"I guess you wouldn't have asked if it was an imposition,” she said, feeling a need to fill his silence. It was the least she could do for Avanell, she told herself, but admitted instantly this had nothing to do with Avanell.

Aiden walked her back to her car then strode off down the block toward the vet clinic.

The bags of baby quilts were undisturbed. She grabbed both, clicked the Honda's remote lock and entered the store.

A group of young women sat in a semicircle around an easel that held a flannel-board. Marjory had step-by-step samples of binding techniques pinned to it. Marjory, DeAnn and a woman Harriet didn't recognize were in the small room, cutting strips of fabric in pastel colors.

"Hi,” Marjory said. “Thanks for bringing the quilts. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now."

"I'm not sure I found all of them. I have nine. I had one more, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't part of this group."

"You did fine. We need six for the girls, and we did have a few more for general donation. I'll be able to recognize them by the fabric—our distributors donate bolts of overstock, and then people bring leftovers from their stash, and we take whatever else we need from the store. They usually have the distributor fabrics for backing. Let me take a quick look.” She pulled the quilts out of the bags. “These are them,” she said.

Now that Marjory pointed it out, Harriet could see that each of the quilts had one of two fabrics for its back.

"Come meet my girls,” Marjory said, and led her to the easel.

"This is Harriet Truman,” she said to the group. “Her aunt did the machine stitching on the quilts you just made.” She looked at Harriet then turned back to the girls. “We hope after you finish your own quilts and receiving blankets that you'll make at least one to donate to charity. When you do, Harriet here will quilt it for you.

"We're going to wait a few more minutes for a couple of people to arrive. You can come into the kitchen and get something to drink and have a treat before we start."

The girls got up as one and headed toward the food. Marjory stopped Harriet before she left the big room.

"I realized as I was saying it that I'm being a little presumptuous. Beth has always done the quilting for this project, but you are under no obligation to continue to do so."

"Don't give it another thought. Of course, I'll do their quilts.” She paused. For as long as I'm here, she thought. “Does that girl with the black hair work at the Vitamin Factory?"

"Yes, she does. She had her baby a couple of years ago, but she's been coming back and helping the others. Lately, she's been bringing another girl with her—Misty, I think, is her name. I've been stalling to give Misty time to get here. I put peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches and milk out with the cookies. Misty's one who needs to eat as much as she needs to stitch."

Harriet went into the kitchen.

"Carla?” she said. “Hi, I'm Harriet. We met the other day. I was having lunch with Mrs. Jalbert.” Carla's gaze was so firmly downcast Harriet had to crook her neck to make eye contact. Her body language screamed whipped puppy and made Harriet wonder what sort of abuse had left her like this—nobody this painfully shy came from a happy loving home.

Carla finally looked up. “Yeah, that was awful, what happened to Miz Avanell.” With her boarding school education, Harriet wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the West Coast custom of using first names, even in business situations. After all these years, it was still uncomfortable to her, even with the addition of “Miz."

"Yes, it was.” Harriet wasn't sure how widely known it was that she'd been the one to find Avanell, and decided now wasn't the time to share that piece of news. “She told me she was working overtime in shipping. Did she do that often?"

Carla looked at her feet. She hesitated so long, Harriet wondered if she was going to answer.

"She didn't used to, but lately, yeah."

"What made her start?"

"I don't know. It's crazy, but we been shipping vitamins hot and heavy for a couple years. We usually hire temps at the end of the month to try to make our goals. Then all of a sudden, they can't afford to hire temps no more. Tony said they lost money when we had a recall a couple months ago. He said we shipped bad product. They fired our lead guy, Mack, and since then, Miz Avanell helps us with the shipping after regular hours. It just seems weird."

"What seems weird?” Harriet asked, even though she could think of several possibilities.

"I been working there since I was in high school. One time back then we got a bad batch of potassium tablets. Something had leaked into the package and ruined them. Thousands of ‘em. Miz Avanell told us to throw ‘em all out. She said they was so cheap it wasn't worth the stamps to mail ‘em back. We threw ‘em out and just ordered replacements. Nobody got fired or nothing. It's hard to believe prices would have changed that much in a few years."

"That does sound strange."

Carla cast a furtive glance toward the door. “I wish Misty would get here,” she said.

"Isn't she the girl who was fired last week?” Harriet asked.

"Yeah, and now I can't find her."

"What do you mean?"

"She left Monday. Miz Avanell sent the sheriff home, but Mr. Tony still fired her. I talked to her Tuesday after work and she was talking about coming back to get something she left at work. I told her I didn't think that was such a good idea, but she wouldn't listen. And now I can't find her.” She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was a quarter after seven.

"Thanks,” Harriet said.

Carla turned and went back into the classroom.

"I'm going to take off,” Harriet told Marjory. “I'll come next week."

"Don't worry. You get your studio back together and take care of yourself a little. Then you can worry about charity work."

"Thanks.” She gathered her empty bags and went out the door.

Aiden was leaning on the windowsill of the print shop next door to Pins and Needles. He stood up and fell into step with Harriet. When she clicked the doorlock on the Honda, he opened the door. She tossed the bags in, and he shut the door again.

"My car is down the block,” he said. “That is, if you haven't changed your mind."

"No, if you're willing to get in a small enclosed space with the woman who clocked you with a sprinkler, how can I refuse? And, frankly, my house is a little depressing right now."

"Come on, then."

He turned. She was ready for his ground-eating pace this time and matched him stride for stride. He held open the passenger door on his rental car, and she climbed in. She wondered what she was doing driving off into the night with this unusual young man.

"Anywhere you want to go?” he asked.

She had mixed feelings about being back in Foggy Point. Without her time here with Aunt Beth she would have had no happy memories of childhood, but dropping in and out of a small community several times had not been without its own problems. The last time she left she'd promised herself it was for the last time.

"Not really. As long as it isn't my trashed studio, I'm good."

"Okay.” He pulled onto Main Street and headed for the strait. The route took them out of downtown Foggy Point and through an industrial section that included an area of docks. Foggy Point was not by any measure a major shipping port, but ships did dock; and that made this the kind of place you wouldn't want to get a flat tire in if you were alone.

Beyond the docks, the terrain changed to rocky beaches.

"You care if we stop?” Aiden asked.

"Whatever you want is fine."

"Don't ever say that to a guy,” he said, but Harriet could tell by the flatness in his voice his heart wasn't into teasing tonight.