The Fortune Quilt (21 page)

“Is that why you don’t really paint much anymore? Because things didn’t work out in New York?”

He shrugs, and his voice takes on a hint of defensiveness. “I paint. I just… you know, I had to make a living. You can’t spend all your life chasing down some stupid dream that’s never gonna pan out. There comes a point where you have to grow up.”

I put my hand on his arm. “It’s not stupid. You’re an amazing artist.”

He lets out a derisive snort. “Well. That’s all a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” He stares into his wineglass for a moment more, and then a cringe takes over his face. “I’m acting like such an asshole. I’m sorry.” He raises his eyes to mine. “I guess it’s still a bit of a sore spot.”

“No, I totally understand,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he says, lifting up my fingers and putting them to his lips for a quick kiss, “but it’s nice of you to say. And, to answer your question, what happened is this: I had a showing in Tucson, and a moderately successful Broadway actress saw it and loved it. A week later, I got a call from New York from someone she knew, and they asked me to do a showing at a gallery in SoHo.” He takes a sip of his wine, his eyes still on my fingers which rest lazily in his hand. “Which is not the real Big big-time, but it was a hell of a lot bigger than Tucson. So, like an idiot I packed up everything I could fit in a suitcase, sold everything else, and went out there like a big, dumb dog. In about three weeks, I ran out of money and the gallery showed my stuff and I sold exactly one painting, and got exactly one horrible review in a very small but exceedingly nasty weekly paper. And that was my big New York debut.”

He lets out a self-deprecatory laugh and turns to look at me. I smile and entwine my fingers in his.

“The people of New York obviously have no taste,” I say.

He laughs, a real one this time, and stares at me with this amazed look on his face. We hold the gaze for a while, each of our smiles widening as the moment passes. It’s a good moment, and I think we’re about to kiss again when his eyes suddenly widen and he snaps his fingers at me.

“I almost forgot. I got you something in Ottawa.”

He hops up off the couch like a kid on Christmas and I follow him toward his bed, where he grabs a white box out of a paper bag and hands it to me. “I would have wrapped it up nicely, but I didn’t have a whole lot of time.”

I take the box and open it to find the ugliest ceramic frog I’ve ever seen. It’s a shade of greenish-brown that is not flattering on any animal, and the back is huge and fat and hunched, while the head is disproportionately small.

“Oh. Wow. It’s a hunchback frog.” I turn it over and look at the lettering on the bottom, then raise one eyebrow at him. “
Quasitoado
? Are you serious?”

Will laughs. “Took me forever to get a shot of that damn thing that made it look good. I’m not sure I ever did.”

I hold Quasitoado up, looking into the tiny face. “Is he smirking at me?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was more an evil-plot-to-take-over-the-world kind of expression.”

I tilt my head to take the frog in from another angle. “Yeah. I think you’re right.” I turn it over in my hands again, fascinated. “What exactly is it?”

“Ah, that’s the best part.” Will lifts the hunchback off to reveal a bowl underneath. “Sugar dish.”

I laugh and take the top from him. My fingers graze over his and our eyes lock for a beat.

Finally, I get the presence of mind to say something. “So, you saw the ugly hunchback frog and thought of me, is that what you’re trying to say?”

His smile fades a touch. “I saw everything and thought of you.”

I let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Oh, man, that’s a bad line.”

He chuckles. “It sounded better in my head.” He takes a step toward me and runs one hand down my arm. “It’s true, though. I was really looking forward to getting back here to see you.”

“What a coincidence. I was really looking forward to being seen.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then takes in a sharp breath and lowers his hand.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I’ve burned that sauce. How do you feel about ordering pizza?”

“I feel great,” I say. He heads over to the spaghetti and tosses it in the sink, then keeps his eyes on me as he calls for pizza. I tuck Quasitoado back in his box and set it carefully by my purse where it won’t get stepped on. It’s positively the ugliest gift I’ve ever received, but already I love it with all my heart.

***

“Oh, my god,” Janesse says the next day, leaning over the counter of Art’s Desire and looking Quasitoado in the face. “That is the fugliest thing I have ever seen.”

Allegra hands Janesse the coffee we’ve just brought over from the Café, then grabs Quasitoado and turns him to face her.

“It’s not that bad,” she says. “It’s kinda gone so far to ugly that it’s circled back to cute.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I think he’s cute.”

Janesse raises an eyebrow at me. “Would you eat sugar out of that thing?”

“Um…” I stare dubiously at the frog. “Probably not. But it doesn’t have to be a sugar dish. It could be a paper clip holder or something.”

Allegra hops up on the counter. “Forget the damn frog. How was Will? You know, in the purely sexual sense.”

Janesse doesn’t encourage Allegra, but she does raise one eyebrow indicating that she wouldn’t be averse to hearing the details. I scoff.

“Oh, please,” I say. “I don’t know.”

“So, what?” Janesse says. “You just ate pizza and talked?”

“Well, no,” I say. “Not
 
just
. But mostly, yeah. It was nice.”

“Oh, man,” Allegra says. “What are you waiting for? You need to hit that.”

I stare at her. “
Hit that
? Are you kidding?”

“Beta males, I’m telling you. They’ll make you scream.”

I put one hand gently on her face. “Allegra, I love you. I do. But you have to stop. You are the same age as my little baby sister, and when you talk like that, it skeeves me out.”

One side of Janesse’s mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Don’t be skeeved. She’s just a virgin who reads too many trashy magazines and likes to talk out her ass.”

I laugh, then notice that neither Allegra nor Janesse are laughing with me. I look at Allegra. “You’re a virgin?”

Allegra raises one eyebrow at me. “I’m a seventeen-year-old girl who was home-schooled in Bilby, Arizona. Not exactly the land of opportunity.” She motions toward Janesse with her coffee cup. “Hell, the best-looking man in town is a woman.”

Janesse’s face is stony for a moment as she decides how she feels about that comment, then breaks out in a smile. “Thanks.”

Allegra grins at her. “No problem, sugar.”

“But…” I stammer. “The way you talk…”

“I was raised by two gay men who taught me to not be afraid of my sexuality, and I’m not. I’m also not going to be pressured out of my virginity by a culture so obsessed with sex that no one cares if it’s any good or not. These knickers are staying in place until I’m sure I’ve found a man who’ll knock my socks off on his first at bat.”

I blink. Wow. That was good. I decide that I definitely want Allegra and Five to hang out.

Allegra stands up straighter, obviously proud of herself. “And, for the record, I never said I wasn’t a virgin.”

“You never said you were,” I counter lamely.

“I never said I was a Pisces, either. That doesn’t make me not a Pisces.”

“You knew about this?” I say to Janesse, who shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee, then sputters. “What the hell is this?”

“Orange coconut cappuccino,” Allegra says. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s vile.” Janesse looks at me. “You let her make you drink this stuff?”

“She gives me what I order on Fridays,” I say, taking another sip. It’s not
 
that
 
bad.

Janesse walks around the counter, grabs Allegra by the hand, and starts toward the door. “Watch the store for a minute, okay, Carly? I’m gonna get me a real cappuccino.”

“You hit that!” Allegra calls over her shoulder with a giggle as Janesse pulls her out of the store. They’re gone for maybe two minutes when Mr. Trimble walks in. I stand awkwardly behind the counter trying to ignore him as he goes to the charcoals and picks out his regular box then makes his way to the counter. I manage to ring him up and am giving him his change when I accidentally make eye contact. His eyes widen as though I’ve slapped him. I freeze with my hand holding the change over his open palm. He freezes as well.

Well. In for a penny…

“What’s up with the charcoal?” I say before I can stop myself. “No paper. Just the charcoal. What’s up with that, Mr. Trimble?”

“Fuck off,” he says.

“Okay, then.” I drop the change into his open palm, and he stuffs it in his pocket, snatches the bag with the charcoal off the countertop and stalks out of the store.

“Have a nice day,” I call out after him. “Come again!”

“Fuck off!” He pushes the door open and is gone from sight before the little bells stop jingling.

***

Something is ringing. Something is ringing. Something…

I open one eye, and see only a sheen of moonlight glancing off my lace curtains. The ringing stops. I am about to fall back asleep when a shot of panic causes me to open my eyes. I glance at the clock: 3:12. My mind starts piecing it together. People don’t call to chat at 3:12 in the morning. It’s probably an emergency. If there’s an emergency, I need to get up. With some effort, I reach over and flick on my light, then grab my cell phone off the nightstand, where it’s been charging. I am just about to check my missed calls list when it rings again, and I see Dad’s name on the caller ID panel. I take a deep breath and flip it open.

“Is she there?” he says before I get a chance to say hello.

“Dad? What? Is who here? Ella? No.”

“Not Ella. Five.”

It feels like someone has stabbed a hypodermic of adrenaline into my heart, and I bolt upright in bed. “No. She’s not there? Where is she? What happened?”

“There was an argument. We all went to bed, but when your mother went in to check on Five, she wasn’t in her room.”

I am off the bed in a shot, grabbing a pair of jeans from my dresser and dashing into them. “Where is she? How long has she been gone? Did you call Rebecca? Is she over there?”

“We called Rebecca.” There is mumbling in the background; I can hear Mary’s voice, and then Dad is back on the line. “We just wanted to see if she’d called you or ended up there. Will you call us if she contacts you?”

I freeze where I am. “What? Will I call you? Yeah, Dad. I’ll be there in two hours. An hour and a half if I drive like a maniac.”

“Go back to sleep.” There’s a tightness in his voice, and it stops me where I stand. “Just let us know if you hear from her, okay?”

He hangs up. I stare at the phone in my hand. Five is gone. Five is missing. Five is seventeen and God only knows where she is. Horrible images race through my head. As soon as I banish one, there’s another in its place. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts and my breathing is coming really fast.

Five is missing.

I finish getting dressed, grab my keys and purse and head over to Will’s, where I bang on the door until the lights come on and it opens, revealing Will in a rumpled t-shirt and boxer shorts.

“Five is missing,” I say, staring into the Miner’s Inn logo on the center of the t-shirt. “Five is missing and I’m freaking out.”

Will blinks once and looks instantly awake. “She’s missing? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say. He touches me on the arm and guides me inside as I babble. “Dad just called and they had a fight and she ran off and no one knows where she is and she’s only seventeen and she’s book smart but she’s really street-stupid and do you know what happens to street-stupid girls out on the streets in Tucson? Not good things. I used to work at a news station. These are exactly the kinds of things we used to freak people out about during sweeps.”

He puts both hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. His face is serious and calm and in charge and I love him for that.

“I’m going to throw on some jeans and we’ll go to Tucson and find her, okay?” He leans down a bit and looks me in the eye. “We’ll find her.”

I feel my eyes start to heat up, but I blink it away. “She’s alone somewhere.”

He tightens his hold on my shoulders, and his strength calms me. “I’m gonna go throw on a pair of jeans and we’re on our way, okay?”

“Okay.” I nod. “Okay.”

He darts over to his bed and I wrap my arms around myself and swallow hard, chanting internally
. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.
 
But the images in my head are graphic and horrible and I curse the day that I ever decided to work in television.

Just then, my phone rings. I jump about a half a foot and scramble to grab it out of my purse.