The Sisterhood of the Dropped Stitches (11 page)

The only clue as to whether something is a date or not, that I have noticed, is that both people turn their cell phones off when they are on a real date. If they are just friends going out, each of them will take calls from everyone else.

I see Quinn walking toward me now. Of course, I can't see whether or not his cell phone is on. And, unless someone calls him, I will never know whether it is on or off.

Anyway, I have to go. I'll write more after the coffee. Wish me luck.

Oh. Lizabett has joined Quinn as he's walking toward me. I love Lizabett like a sister—well, she is my sister in a way. But I hope I can have some time alone with Quinn just to see if this having coffee together even feels like a date. I wouldn't hurt Lizabett's feelings for the world, but I wonder if she'd like to write some in the journal while Quinn and I have coffee. She seems to like doing that. That doesn't sound as if I'm putting her off, does it? I hope not.

 

Hi, this is Lizabett. It seems that everybody has been folding back their pages in this journal for a while now. Pretty soon you will be the only one able to read it. It's for sure no one in the Sisterhood will be
able to read the whole thing. Of course, I can't complain because I'm going to fold my pages back, too.

I'm sitting at a table in this coffee shop in Altadena called the Coffee Gallery. They call it a gallery because they have paintings on the walls that are for sale and they serve Italian sodas as well as tea and coffee. I'm sitting at a table at one end of the coffee place and Quinn and Marilee are sitting at the other end. There are lots of plants around and the tables are old wood ones. I told Quinn and Marilee I wanted some space to think and write in the journal. They bought it, so I'm back here trying to look literary.

You already know I am excited that the two of them seem to be hitting it off. I can hear them laughing now. Quinn needs to laugh more.

I should apologize about what I wrote about Quinn before—about him hovering over me and condemning that theater in Sierra Madre just so I wouldn't perform and worry him. He wasn't the one who closed the place—you might know that by now. Marilee's father is going to ask his general manager if we can put the production on in their car showroom.

My life is actually going pretty well since it looks as if the ballet production will go on. I'm going to try to look a little tormented, though, just in case Marilee glances back here and wonders why I'm
not writing anything down in the journal. When everything is good, there's not much to say. Oh, Quinn is laughing again—a belly laugh this time.

I would love to have Marilee as a sister-in-law. I'm going to keep my cool and not presume too much on what will happen, but they do seem to be getting along quite well. I wish you could see them. Ah, there's another laugh.

W
e knew we were recovering from our cancers when we started to long for the sun and the sand. Becca brought in a boom box and a CD with the sounds of the ocean when she brought in this quote. Too much sunshine might cause cancer, but to us, that night, sunshine meant life. We all talked about our favorite places to go to the beach around here. Becca liked the Santa Monica pier. Carly talked about Dana Point. Lizabett voted for Malibu. I liked them all.

The next week Rose brought us each a large conch shell—the ones that make a sound like the ocean when you put them to your ear. We spent most of the
meeting just listening to those sounds and wondering if we'd ever feel the beach sun on our skin in the same way again.

 

I hadn't thought about those shells for a long time. What made them so special for me was that I had been thinking about death and the shells seemed so alive. You might think that someone with cancer would automatically think about death, but being afraid of death and thinking about it are not the same things.

No part of me wanted to die—I'd seen enough to know dying is a messy business—but I couldn't help but wonder what being dead would be like. I wondered if there really could be a heaven. I didn't want to think about whether there could also be a hell so I didn't even ask myself that question.

But I did wonder about heaven. Would everything be all white—maybe we'd be dropped in a desert with nothing but white sand for as far as we could see and even the sky would be bleached white? Wouldn't there at least be color in heaven? And grass and trees? And rain?

And what would we be when we were in heaven? Would we be bodies or would we be something all vague and wispy, like the ghosts I'd seen waltzing in the ballroom at the Haunted House in Disneyland? Would we be able to eat? Would we find anything to laugh about? I couldn't imagine living forever with no good jokes or trees or clouds in the sky.

I had been tempted to go to church with Mom just to see if anyone talked about heaven. I must admit that, as I got dressed to go to church on Sunday with Quinn, I was hoping someone would talk about heaven even though the urgency of knowing about it had lessened since it appeared I'd live a good, long life before I needed to worry about it all.

I drove to The Pews around ten o'clock so I would have time to do a few things there before Quinn picked me up to go to church.

That's where I am now. You should see me. I have a black swirly skirt on and one of those tops with the filmy material that bunches along the center seam—you probably need to see this to know what I mean, but, trust me, it looks good, especially in the raspberry sorbet color I have. I squirted mousse on my hair and used my curling iron so my hair looks as cute as it gets. I have makeup and some cool shoes on.

I already figure my dad won't be joining us for church despite what he said, but I'm surprised when Uncle Lou says my father is sick.

“Well, at least he called,” I say. I notice a guilty look on Uncle Lou's face. “He did call, didn't he?”

“Well, he was going to call,” Uncle Lou says. “I just beat him to it.”

I nod. I wonder how Uncle Lou can keep making excuses for him. “I hope he at least has called his
general manager to ask about using the main display floor for the ballet performance.”

Uncle Lou shrugs. “I can put in a call to my VFW hall.” That's the Veterans of Foreign Wars—Uncle Lou fought in Vietnam. “That floor there might be big enough.”

“That place reeks of cigarette smoke—these are little girls in pink leotards. I don't think—”

Uncle Lou nods slowly. “I guess you're right.”

If grass were smooth, I would suggest they just have an outdoor production at the park where we were yesterday. But I doubt anyone can pirouette on grass. Besides, it might be cold by then. February weather around here ranges from fairly warm to fairly chilly. We're in a warm spell now, but that won't necessarily last.

“We're going to need to tell Lizabett pretty soon if my dad doesn't arrange anything,” I say. I'm not looking forward to that conversation.

Uncle Lou sighs. “Your dad wants to help.”

I don't even answer that. If he really wanted to, he would. Isn't it that simple?

The door opens and Quinn comes in, so Uncle Lou and I stop talking about my dad.

Wow. I thought Quinn looked good in his fireman's uniform, but he looks even better in his church clothes. He's wearing tan Dockers and a white shirt that's open at the neck. The reason it all looks so good is that you can really tell Quinn has a tan. I
know, I know, tans shouldn't be attractive because we shouldn't encourage people to spend that much time in the sun, but tell that to my eyeballs.

“My dad won't be coming with us,” I say just so I get it said up front. I don't say he's sick.

“Oh,” Quinn says. “I was hoping to talk to him about the performance.”

“I'm going to call some more places,” I say.

I remember the Pasadena City Hall. If they have finished the remodeling on their building, I think we could hold a performance there after business hours. They have a very small rental fee, and the floors in the courtyard are marble.

I notice out of the corner of my eye that Uncle Lou heads back into the kitchen. We don't have any customers in The Pews, which is unusual, but maybe Uncle Lou needs to stir the soup or something.

“Don't worry. We'll think of a place,” I say.

Usually, the sun would be pouring in the windows facing Colorado Boulevard. But I had closed some of the blinds when I first got here, so there's a very mellow light here now—sort of a twilight feeling with enough light to see the shine on the brass rack over the counter and the gleam of the wood all around. The Pews always seems to have atmosphere and it's not letting me down now. “It's too bad this place isn't bigger.”

“I'm not worried about finding a place,” Quinn says as his eyes crinkle up. I barely have time to
register that The Old Mother Hen isn't worried before he continues. “And you look very nice.”

Well, I hadn't seen that coming. It's nice to get a compliment.

“I thought I should dress up for church,” I say. I'm not going to pretend with Quinn that I've been to church often—only those few times with my mom before dad left—but I don't want him to think I'm a complete heathen who doesn't know that going to church is different than hunting for a runaway cat. “By the way, you look good, too.”

I don't know how long we stand there and look at each other until Quinn takes a step closer to me and reaches up to touch my hair. “I like this.”

“I decided not to wear a cap.” I'm not sure I can breathe right.

Quinn takes his hand and cups my face. “I can see that.”

I could say that I didn't see the kiss coming either, but I would be lying. I wanted it to come enough to see it coming even if it wasn't—if that makes any sense. It probably doesn't. I can't think straight enough to make sense.

Quinn's lips are soft, but there is nothing soft about his kiss. I swear my heart is beating so fast Uncle Lou must be able to hear it in the kitchen.

And then, the kiss is over. Quinn still has his arms around me, though, which is nice.

“Is that—I mean should we do that before we go
to church?” I say. Maybe heaven won't be the only question I have when I go to church this morning.

Quinn chuckles. “I think God's good with it.”

I hear the phone ringing in the kitchen and Uncle Lou answering it. Quinn is still holding me in the circle of his arms and I think I've forgotten how to move.

“Marilee—phone,” Uncle Lou calls from the kitchen.

I'm tempted to tell Uncle Lou to have them call me back, but it might be Carly. Or Lizabett. Or Becca. I guess I need to move whether I want to or not. “Sorry.”

Quinn steps back a little so I'm not inside his arms any longer. “We need to be going pretty soon anyway.”

I nod. I guess we can't stand in The Pews all day and kiss even if there are no customers around.

I manage to walk into the kitchen and even register the fact that Uncle Lou is making his famous chili.

“Hello,” I say into the phone.

“Marilee?” a guy's voice asks.

“Yes.”

“This is Randy—Randy Parker.”

I'm expecting one of the Sisters, so I'm surprised and don't answer right away.

“You know, the guy who's going to do the grill for your uncle?”

“Of course, I know. Hi, Randy.”

I stop myself from asking if Carly is okay. I can't think of any other reason for the grill guy to call me.

“Did you find Carly's cat?”

Randy grunts. “That cat doesn't have sense enough to come down out of that tree no matter what.”

Randy doesn't sound too happy with the cat.

“Oh. Well, I hope for Carly's sake it does.”

Randy grunts again.

Randy doesn't sound too happy about anything this morning, but I don't know what it has to do with me.

“Say, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a cup of coffee with me tonight,” Randy finally says.

“Oh. Sure.” He has caught me by surprise.

“There's that coffee place in De Lacey Alley.”

“I know the one.”

“It's a good place to talk,” Randy says. “How does eight o'clock work?”

“Fine. It works fine.”

I hang up the phone before I can ask myself if I've just agreed to go on a date with the grill guy. I always thought if I ever had another chance to go out with the grill guy, my life would burst into celebratory fireworks. I'd finally be able to meet my destiny. I'd be ecstatic. Time would swirl around me and I wouldn't notice it.

What I notice now is that my feet hurt. I guess my destiny isn't as much fun as I always thought it
would be. My only consolation is that a date is rather hard to define these days.

“It's not really a date,” I find myself telling Quinn when I go back out into the main room of The Pews and tell him about the conversation. I wouldn't have even told him about the conversation if I hadn't been so rattled and he wasn't so easy to talk to.

“Not a date?” Quinn grunts. “I wouldn't count on that.”

“He probably just wants to talk about Carly's cat,” I say. I don't know which one of us—me or Quinn—that I am reassuring.

Quinn grunts even louder at this one. “That guy doesn't care about some cat in a tree.”

“But the cat's lost,” I say. I notice The Pews isn't as warm and cozy as it was a few minutes ago. Quinn isn't as friendly, either.

“And she's having the time of her life now that she's getting four cans of tuna delivered to her doorstep every night.”

Quinn isn't even smiling at me now.

“Well, maybe he wants to talk about the cat's diet then. I'm not sure a cat should eat that much tuna. It's not tuna in water, either—it's the oil kind. The poor thing will get fat.”

I can see Quinn starting to smile. He moves his lips, but his eyes don't warm up and crinkle as they did earlier. “Well, in that case, maybe it is the cat's diet he wants to talk about. We wouldn't want ‘the
poor thing' falling out of a tree because of her weight.”

I nod my head. I suddenly hope I am right and that Randy does want to talk about the cat. “Besides, I'm sure he'll leave his cell phone on. He wouldn't want to miss any calls.”

Quinn shrugs. “Eight o'clock, you say? Maybe I should call him around then.”

I smile at that. “That'd be okay if you did. You won't be interrupting anything but a talk about tuna.”

Now I see Quinn's real smile. “Maybe I'll remind him that it's supposed to be colder tonight and that the cat should be inside. Maybe he'll leave early to go get it down out of that tree once and for all.”

We drive to church in Quinn's car. I saw his car the other day when he came to Carly's house and the policeman was writing us tickets for littering. Quinn has a nice sound system in his car and a classical CD plays for us.

I'll admit I am a little nervous about going to church, but I am comfortable with Quinn beside me. He greets a few people in front of the church and then we go inside.

I don't know what to expect, but the church is nice.

It doesn't have any of those fancy stained-glass windows, and I'm a little disappointed about that, but there is a beautiful wooden cross in the front of the church and the windows along the side of the
church are made out of a coated glass so that light shines through but no one can see through the window. There are long pews made out of wood and a maroon carpet that covers the entire floor even the area up by the pulpit and where the organ is.

I only have a minute to take it all in before people come over to where Quinn and I are standing. Quinn introduces me to everyone. I won't remember half of their names, but I will remember how friendly everyone is.

The church service starts with a hymn, and I am surprised that I can follow along pretty well because they have a screen up front with all of the words to the song. Quinn has a nice bass voice, and it's kind of fun to sing. The song we sing has the word
Hallelujah
in it a lot and so it has a happy sound to it.

Actually, the whole service is happy. The minister talks about the faith that led Moses to cross the Red Sea and I have to admit I am impressed. I'm not sure I would have the nerve to cross the wet ground where the sea used to be, especially when the sea walls were high above my head, but I've got to admire Moses for doing it. It would be kind of like doing Splash Mountain at Disneyland, only without the cart. Moses was some man.

I'm disappointed because there is no mention of heaven, but all in all, it wasn't bad. I wonder if my mother's church is as happy as this one is and I hope it is. It's been so long since I've been there that I
can't remember. I'd like to picture her in a place like this when she goes off on Sunday.