The Fortune Quilt (25 page)

“This is amazing,” I say, pointing behind me to the wall. “How long have you been working on it?”

He stares at me for a while, his eyes boring into mine, as if evaluating whether I’m worth talking to or not. Then, finally, he snatches the box of charcoals from my hand.

“Fuck off!” He turns around, hobbles back into what I presume to be his bedroom and slams the door, leaving me speechless in his living room, clutching his four dollars and eighty-six cents in my hand.

“Well,” I say to myself as I turn to leave. “Might have to be a documentary for a cable network.”

***

When I get home that night, Will is at his car, loading his trunk with a duffle bag and his photography equipment. I sigh, and step out of my car.

“Going somewhere?” I call out to him as I shut my door.

He smiles, slams his trunk shut and walks over to me.

“Hey,” he says. “I was waiting for you to come home.”

I raise an eyebrow toward his packed car. “So you could leave?”

He throws a regretful glance back at his car, then reaches for my hand. “So I could talk to you before I leave. I didn’t want you to come home to a note on your door. Not after this morning.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I got a call from an old friend who needs me to do her wedding. She’s getting married up in Flagstaff on Saturday and her photographer punked out on her and she’s freaking out, so I’m going up there for the weekend.”

“Oh, so it’s not that this morning was so terrifying that you’re running away, then?”

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on mine. “No. It’s not that at all.”

“Good to know.”

He leans down and gives me a sweet, lingering kiss, and when he pulls back, he looks a little nervous.

“Actually…” he begins, then laughs. “It might be too early for this, so feel free to say no if you’re not comfortable, but I was thinking it might be fun if you came with me. Esther is putting me up at her bed and breakfast, and it’s beautiful up there—”

I quirk a brow at him. “Esther? Esther’s the bride?”

“She’s sixty-seven. Used to be run the restaurant where I worked when I was going to NAU. It’s her fourth wedding.” He reaches up and tucks a bit of hair behind my ear. “So, what do you think?”

“I’m not going to judge her,” I say. “I hear the fourth time’s a charm.”

“No, I mean… I was trying to ask you if you’d come with me. For the weekend.”

I stare at him for a moment. A long moment. I can’t say anything, I’m totally frozen, although I don’t know why. Part of me is screaming, “Hell, yes!” and the rest of me is hesitant and all that shows is the hesitation. Will smiles and squeezes my hand.

“You’re right. It’s too early. I totally understand.”

“No,” I say finally. “It’s just that… my mother invited me to dinner with the family on Sunday, and I kind of think I should go to that.”

That’s not the real reason I’m hesitating, but since I don’t know what the real reason is, I figure this will do. Will’s face washes over with understanding, and he reaches up to touch my face.

“Wow,” he says. “That’s a big deal. Yeah, you should definitely do that.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, his fingers cradling my face, gives me a soft kiss, then rests his forehead against mine.

“So, I’ll see you again when? Monday?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll probably stay overnight in Tucson and come back Monday.”

He pulls back and looks in my eyes. “Let’s do something Monday, then. I have a job next week, leaving Tuesday afternoon, so we’ll have to make the most of Monday.”

He kisses me again, a kiss with intent, a kiss that means there will be many, many more where this one came from, then pulls back.

“I have to go,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

He gives me one more swift kiss, and then heads to his car. I watch him drive off, waving as he turns out of sight just in case he’s looking back in his rear view at me. Then I head down the path to my cabin, find the paper with the name and phone number of the guy from the independent station. To my surprise, he’s there. To my greater surprise, he books an interview with me for Monday morning.

***

My alarm goes off on Saturday morning, and I get up and trudge out to the coffee maker, just like every other morning. What’s not like every other morning is the movement on my couch which I catch out of the corner of my eye. I scream and my heart does a break dance as I lose my footing and fall backwards, knocking over my hall table and sending the Cochise County phone book skidding across the room.

Brandy on my couch, staring at me, patiently waiting for me to be done with my little display.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Good… good… good
 
morning
?” I say, pushing myself up from the floor. “Hey, Brandy, do you even
 
have
 
boundaries, because—”

“I’m going to forgive him.” She takes a deep breath and meets my eyes and I can see how serious she is, that this is a big moment for her, and I give her a gentle smile.

“I’ll make some coffee.” I set the hall table upright, put the phone book back, and continue on to the coffee maker. We are silent for a few moments while I putter, and then I settle into my ugly orange easy chair, and Brandy starts talking.

“I woke up last night,” she says, her eyes still on her hands. “It was, I don’t know. Two, maybe? And I couldn’t get back to sleep. I had this pattern in my head. It was kind of wild, all these bright colors, waving around like ribbons over a deep purple background. Weird. So, I started to sketch it and as I was sketching it, I started to get these impressions. Images. And I realized.” She raises her head. “It’s for him.”

“Oh.” I am unsure of what to say, so I continue with the equally insightful, “Wow.”

“I’ve never had a quilt come to me for anyone I already knew,” she says. “It’s always strangers. Always. I can’t do one for myself or anyone I love because I’m too close. But this was so clear. I don’t want it to be for him, but it is.” She blinks hard. “And I think maybe it’s a little for me, too.”

“Wow,” I say again. “Okay. Brandy, I think that’s great. Maybe you should call her and tell her?”

“No.” She stands up. “I have a process. I have to go with that. You probably won’t be seeing me much in the next week. I’m going to try and push through this as fast as I can. But I was wondering if…” She pauses, staring at some point in space for a moment before returning her eyes to me. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind being there? When I do the reading for him?”

I stand up and walk with her to the door. “Um. Yeah. Sure, Brandy. If you need me. But… isn’t that kind of personal? Shouldn’t you two be alone, so you can talk?”

She shakes her head, then shrugs. “Maybe. But I don’t know if I can do this without someone there to make me see it through, you know?”

“Yep.” I smile and reach out to squeeze her hand. “I’ll be there.”

Brandy starts for the door, then turns back to me. “Don’t say anything to him.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “
Her
. I still might chicken out, and if I do…”

“You got it.”

She smiles and then goes out the door. My coffee maker gurgles in the background as I poke my head out of my cabin and watch her make her way along the rock path, then disappear into the foliage.

***

I almost turn around and go back to Bilby four times on my way to Tucson. After I check into the hotel, I twice pick up the phone to call my family and cancel. And twice I hang up without dialing. It occurs to me that it’s probably situations like these that turn regular people into Mr. Trimbles, and if I didn’t face it head on, I would just be a hop, skip and a shack away from being some small town’s “fuck off” lady. This motivation gets me all the way to my father’s front door. I’m deciding between knocking on the door and running away when it opens, and Mary smiles down at me.

“Your car’s been out there for a while,” she says. “I thought you might be getting cold.”

“No, I’m fine,” I say, although my voice is a little shaky and I feel just a bit like I’m going to fall over.

“Well, as long as you’re here, why don’t you come inside?”

She steps back to allow me passage. I hand her the bottle of wine I’ve been clutching in my hand. She takes it and smiles.

“This will go perfectly with the roast,” she says. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I clear my throat. “So. Where are Ella and Five?”

“They ran out to get some whipped cream for the pie,” she says. “I was going to whip my own, but then the beater broke, so…” She trails off. “Well.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long silence, then Mary lifts up the bottle. “I’m going to open this and let it breathe a bit.” She motions vaguely toward Dad’s office door. “Your father is in there. Maybe you could…?”

She lets the question hang in the air. My heart clutches in my chest.

“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder, gives a small squeeze, and then heads for the kitchen. I swallow hard and will my feet to carry me to Dad’s office. They resist for a while, but finally give in. I knock gently on the door.

“Dad?”

There’s a long pause, then a gruff, “Come in.”

I push the door open to find Dad sitting on his brown leather sofa, staring into a glass of scotch. I step inside and close the door gently behind me, leaning against it. My heart is beating wildly against my chest and my face is hot and I know that neither one of us is leaving this room until this whole thing between us is resolved. Which, when you consider the fact that we’re both Irish, could take a while.

He clears his throat, holds up the scotch and glances in my direction, but not directly at me.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

He nods, continues to stare into his scotch. It’s a long time before he starts talking, but when he does, his voice is strong and clear.

“When your mother left…” There is a long pause. I can see that this is hard for him, so I wait silently until he starts up again. “When all that happened, I was a lost man. My life had been pulled out from under me, and I was left flat on my back, thinking, ‘What the hell just happened?’” He pauses again and I wonder if I’m supposed to say something. I hope not, because I have no idea what I should say. Eventually, he starts talking again. “I felt like I had failed, because I didn’t know how badly she was hurting. I thought it was just a phase, just a typical postpartum thing, she’d snap out of it. I didn’t know. A better husband, he would have known.”

He takes a drink, and we both breathe for a bit before he goes on.

“My whole life, I’ve only ever loved one woman. I know you think I shouldn’t forgive her, that I should turn her away. Maybe you’re right. Maybe, because of you kids, maybe that’s my responsibility, that’s what I should do to protect you.” He raises his eyes to mine. They look tired, and sad, but at the same time there’s something new, some brand of contentment that wasn’t there before. “But the fact is, Carly, if she left tomorrow, I’d wait another seventeen years for her to come back, and when she did, I’d be glad to have her. You can call me stupid, and you’d be right, but that’s what I’d do. I can’t explain it, and I can’t justify it. It’s just the way it is. I’d forgive her anything and if that makes me a stupid man, then I guess I’m a stupid man.”

I take a deep breath to clear the emotion choking me before I speak. “You’re not stupid.”

He makes a dismissive sound, waves his hand at me and looks at the wall.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast. I’m sorry that I put you through that and I’m sorry that I can’t make this easy and choose between you.” He turns his face to me and his voice grows hoarse. “But I can’t.”

I can feel myself in the eye of a hurricane of emotion. I know that I have a choice. I can either stay where I am and remain in the middle of it, calm and strong and unbowed, or I can step into it and let the storm hit. I take one step toward my father and I feel a sob punch through me, but I keep walking.

“You don’t have to choose,” I squeak out. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t want to make you choose.”

“You have always been such a strong little thing,” he says quietly. “I always wondered where you got that from.”

“I think,” I say slowly, “it was my dad.”

He raises his eyes to mine, and I can see the hurt and sadness there, and I realize that he has no idea what kind of man he really is. He thinks he’s weak, and merely human, like the rest of us.

He has no idea.

“Remember when Aunt Kathy wanted to move in?”

He looks at me, his eyebrows quirking a bit. “No.”

I laugh. “I do. It was right after Mom left, and she came down and gave you this big speech about how we needed a woman in the house and you couldn’t do it alone. And you said, ‘These are my girls.’” I swallow hard and smile at him. “That’s it. ‘These are my girls.’ And when you said that, I knew that you would jump in front of a train before you’d ever let anyone take us from you.”