Authors: Marie Bostwick

Threading the Needle (25 page)

BOOK: Threading the Needle

12.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

“I know what it is like, my dear, to be married to a difficult man. A man who is hard to love and who, perhaps, you never loved, and then to suddenly lose him. We've led strange lives, Madelyn. We know about regrets and private grief that others will never understand. But you mustn't blame yourself or look backânot any longer than it takes to learn what you must learn. After that, let it go. The past is past, Madelyn. But you're still here,” she whispered urgently and exerted a gentle pressure on my arm. “And I'm glad. You be glad too.”

Tessa

I
glanced at my watch and decided we'd killed enough time. I tried to extricate Madelyn from the center of the Cobbled Court welcoming committee but couldn't. Not before Abigail pulled Madelyn close and whispered something that made tears well in her eyes and not before Evelyn remembered she had an old sewing machine upstairs that Madelyn might want to borrow.

“It's nothing fancy,” Evelyn said. “But it was just tuned up and it has a nice, even, straight stitch. Perfect for sewing curtains.”

“You have nice friends,” Madelyn said as we loaded the machine into the trunk of my car.

It's just a short drive from the quilt shop to Beecher Cottage, but Madelyn was jiggling her foot anxiously as I drove, as though it was all she could do to keep herself from stretching her leg over to my side of the car and stomping on the gas pedal. She was so impatient to get home.

When we pulled up in front of Beecher Cottage, Madelyn's jaw dropped and her hand flew to cover her surprise. I was glad I'd kept the secret.

She got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk for a good minute before finding her voice. “It's . . . the tarps . . . they're gone! Did someone?”

“Fix the roof?” I asked. “Yes, they did. Looks a lot better now, doesn't it?”

She turned to stare at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “But how did you do it?”

I laughed. “I didn't, Madelyn. I'm scared of heights, remember?”

“Then who did it?”

As if in answer to her question, Jake Kaminski appeared from around the corner, whistling and carrying an armload of torn-up blue tarps, the tarps that had covered the roof of Beecher Cottage for many months.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Looks a lot better now, huh?”

He turned to look at me without waiting for Madelyn's response. “Thanks for stalling. I just put away the ladders. I'm going to toss these in the back of my truck and put them in the Dumpster over at the hardware store.”

Madelyn blinked a couple of times and her cheeks flushed. She didn't look as pleased as I thought she would, but maybe I was imagining it. It was a lot to take in.

“You didn't have to do this,” she said.

“I know.”

“You've got a business to run. You don't have time to roof someone else's house.”

“Really?” he asked, crinkling his brow in mock confusion. “That's weird because I think I just did.”

“This is too much, Jake. Especially after I . . . I can't let you replace my roof!”

“Oh,” he replied with studied obtuseness. “Well. Do you want me to take it off?”

Jake glanced over at me with a “has she lost her mind?” sort of expression. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

“You know what I mean!” Madelyn answered in an exasperated tone. She threw up her hands. “I have to pay you for all this!”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “You don't. When I heard you got your estimate from Dwight Sparks, I decided I needed to get up there and check the job out for myself. Just because somebody calls their business A-1 Affordable doesn't mean it is, Madelyn. Dwight's a cheat. And a liar. You didn't need a new roof. You will in about five years, but right now, all you needed to do was get rid of the moss and replace some of the shingles.”

“What? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I'm sure. I worked on a roofing crew after I got back from Vietnam. I know what I'm talking about. You just needed a few shingles, and since I used the ones you already had stored up in the attic, it was almost free.”

“No,” she argued. “Your time isn't free. I've got to pay you, Jake. I'm going to.” She planted her feet and crossed her arms, a stance that I recognized as immoveable. Apparently, Jake recognized it too.

He opened his mouth wide, almost as wide as a yawn, scratched his beard, and narrowed his eyes, thinking.

“All right, then. How about a trade? My sister Mia's twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up. I want to give her something nice. A weekend at the inn?”

“A long weekend,” Madelyn countered. “Four days, three nights. My best room. With flowers and a bottle of champagne on arrival. And for you, a basket of muffins delivered to the hardware store on the first Tuesday of every month for a year. Deal?”

Jake tilted his chin and eyes upward, considered her proposal. “One more thing,” he added. “You let me take you to dinner.”

Madelyn let out a short exhalation of frustration, shimmied her head from side to side. For a moment, I wondered if Jake had overplayed his hand.

“No, Jake. Thank you but no. My husband just died. I'm not ready for that.”

From where I stood it looked like that was that, but Jake regrouped and soldiered on. He certainly didn't give up easily. I wondered if Madelyn realized how much she and Jake had in common.

“Why not? I said I want to take you to dinner, Madelyn, not to bed.”

“Jake!” Madelyn protested and shifted her eyes toward me with obvious embarrassment. Determined not to show how much I was enjoying this, I kept my face blank.

Jake shrugged innocently. “Well, that's what you were thinking, wasn't it?”

Madelyn said nothing.

“Look, Madelyn, I'm not asking you to trade your virtue for a roofing job. I just enjoy your company. And I hate eating alone. Don't you?”

Madelyn nodded, but barely.

“Then let's eat together. Nothing fancy. Pizza. How about that?”

“Too many carbohydrates.”

“Fine. Mexican.”

She made a face. “Sushi,” she offered.

“Sushi,” Jake agreed. “But I'm not eating raw fish. I want to state that up front.”

“And we go dutch. That's the deal. Take it or leave it.”

He gripped her outstretched hand. “Guess I'll take it.”

Jake smiled, looking like he'd just won a hand of high-stakes poker. I couldn't blame him. I doubted there was another man on the face of the earth who could have moved the Immoveable Madelyn. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from giving him a high five.

For a moment, Madelyn looked confused, as if she, too, was surprised that he'd gotten around her, but the bargain was sealed and Madelyn wasn't one to go back on her word. She gave a short nod and quickly changed the subject.

“The roof looks great, Jake. Really great.” She took a couple of steps backward to take it all in.

“What are those?” She pointed to the flowerbeds in front of the porch and the mounds of mulch with silvery sage stalks poking out at odd angles.

I smiled. I was beginning to wonder when she'd notice. “Lavender. I had too much, so I did a little transplanting. It doesn't look like much now, but come summer the purple flowers will be pretty against the yellow.”

“Oh, Tessa!” She gave me a squeeze and I knew how pleased she was. Madelyn is not a hugger. Never was.

I hugged her back. “I planted a little culinary garden in the back, too, near the kitchen. Rosemary, thyme, sage, and mint. And did you see Lee's present?”

I looked toward the street, next to the sidewalk. Her gaze followed mine and she laughed when she saw the sign Lee had made to match the house. The background was yellow and the borders and lettering were in blue.

“Beecher Cottage Inn. Established 2009. No Vacancy.” She clapped her hands to her chest. “Oh, I love it! Tell Lee I said so.”

“Did you see this?” I asked, walking to the sign so I could demonstrate. “He drilled a hole in the âNo' and hung it on a nail so you can remove it when you do have a vacancy.”

“Never going to happen,” Jake said. “Once the word gets out, everybody is going to want to stay here.”

Madelyn turned to face us both and I could see she was fighting back tears, but that was all right. These were good tears, I could tell.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know what to say. It just looks like I could open for business tomorrow!”

“Not quite,” Jake said. “There's plenty to do inside yet. But I did get Barry over here to install the cabinets while you were gone.”

Jake's face split into a grin. “Somebody pushed a microphone into his face and started asking him about you, and Barry just about shoved it down the reporter's throat. I had to pull him off the guy. But your bathrooms are done. . . .”

Madelyn frowned and started to say something, but Jake cut her off.

He raised his hands, anticipating her protest. “Except for tiling the floors. I thought you'd want to do those yourself.”

Madelyn crossed her arms again and gave him a challenging look. “You thought right.”

Madelyn

J
ake's left eyebrow rose to a skeptical angle as I picked up my chopsticks and dipped a piece of yellowtail into a saucer of wasabi and soy sauce.

“Looks like bait to me.”

“It's tuna and it's delicious. You should try it,” I said with a deliberate smile before putting the fish into my mouth.

Jake shuddered in disgust. I chewed. My mouth turned to flame and my sinuses cleared from my nostrils to my toenails. My eyes poured tears like water from a spigot. I lunged for my water glass, downed the contents, and coughed.

Apparently thinking I was choking, Jake pounded my back. I waved him off.

“Wasabi,” I gasped. “Too spicy.”

Jake pushed his water glass toward me and then turned around to find our waitress, miming a pouring motion to indicate our glasses were empty.

“You okay?”

Blinking back tears, I nodded. “Yeah. I forgot how potent that stuff is. It really is good, though.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Think I'll stick with my tempura. Thanks anyway, Maddie,” he said and then stopped himself. “Oh. Sorry. I'm not supposed to call you that, am I?”

“That's all right. I don't mind.”

The waitress approached with the water pitcher and refilled our glasses. I watched her in silence, mentally rehearsing my speech.

After she moved on I took a breath and plunged in. “Listen. Jake. There's something I've been meaning to say to you about that night, after the funeral. I was fairly awful to you. I'm sorry.”

Jake was tentatively poking a piece of tempura with his chopstick, as if worried that it might suddenly begin moving. “That's okay. Hey, what is this anyway?”

The light in the restaurant was dim. I had to squint to see his plate. “Eggplant.”

“That's what I thought.” Jake pushed the offending vegetable to the side. “But this is shrimp, right? And it's cooked?” With surprising dexterity, he picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and took a bite.

“I mean it,” I said earnestly. “I'm really sorry. I had no right to be so angry with you, especially since I asked for your opinion.”

“It's all right. Apology accepted. Can you pass the soy sauce?”

I handed him a small ceramic carafe and watched as he poured a stream of soy sauce onto his steamed rice. It was nice of Jake to extend his pardon so readily, but his offhand manner left me feeling unsatisfied. I felt the need to explain myself.

“I wasn't quite myself that night. . . .”

Jake's mouth was full, but he interrupted me with a shake of his head. “Actually, I disagree. I thought you were entirely yourself. At least initially. Though you kind of backed off as the evening wore on. And I probably could have done without the part where you told me to go to hell but, all in all, I thought it was a worthwhile discussion, didn't you?”

He looked up with a teasing smile, daring me to contradict him. I couldn't.

“It was, I admit it. And I'll go even further. You were right.”

I quickly took a bite of my dinner, hoping that would be the end of it, but Jake looked at me with an expression that invited elaboration. Fair enough. After all the things I'd said to him that night in the van, I owed him that.

“I've done a lot of thinking about what you said about me being selfish and self-absorbed. You're right. I am. It's all about me, isn't it? It always has been. My comfort, my needs, my desperate compulsion to gather up enough, and more than enough, of anythingâthings, men, money, possessions. . . .”

Jake didn't contradict me, but his teasing expression was replaced by sympathy. “There were reasons for that. As a kid, you had to be selfish to just survive. Nobody was watching out for you. Edna sure didn't. And you had no one to teach you differently.”

“Not entirely,” I said. “I had my dad, for a while anyway. He taught me about love, and loyalty, and selflessness. But after he died, I forgot.

“However,” I said with a rueful smile, “your somewhat blunt assessment of my character made me start to think about him and wonder if he'd have thought you were right about me. I decided he probably would have. That made me feel even worse than I had before, which I honestly hadn't imagined was possible. But you know what they say about hitting rock bottom. . . .”

Jake winked. “You've got nowhere to go but up?”

“That's right. So, the long and short of it is, I decided to give your advice a try. The next morning I got up and started looking around for ways to make other people happy. You know something? It worked.

“Seeing Tessa's face light up when I embellished her quilt, or how something as simple as cooking dinner can encourage someone who has had a hard day, made me feel better than I had in a long while. And it made me think that . . . maybe I have something to offer the world.”

I ducked my head, feeling a little funny about saying that out loud. “Nothing huge, you know. I know I'm no Rhodes Scholar or anything. . . .”

“So what?” he said. “Neither am I. But everybody can do something for somebody else.”

“Like fixing their roof?”

Jake didn't say anything to that, just dipped his head slightly. “Or baking some muffins. Or making a quilt. Or whatever. The point is, everybody has something to offer. Even broken-down, recovering, one-eyed hardware guys.”

I dipped another piece of tuna into my soy sauce, being careful not to overdo it this time.

“You know something? I'm really excited about the inn. I mean, it's still an economic necessity for me, a way to make a living. But I'm starting to think it could also be a new beginning.

“I want to bring new people, and a new history, to that old house. Think about all the different kinds of people who might show up at my door! Honeymooners, exhausted parents, empty-nesters trying to rekindle romance, girlfriends looking for a weekend away, people who just want to sit on my front porch and do absolutely nothingâI might have an opportunity to do some real good in this town!”

“You could,” Jake agreed.

Jake sorted through the rest of his tempura, kept the shrimp, carrots, and sweet potatoes, and then, after looking at me with raised brows to gauge my interest, placed the eggplant and mushrooms on my plate.

I ate a mushroom and then another piece of tuna. My eyes began to fill again and my nose started to run. I sniffled. Jake looked up and shoved his water glass toward me.

“Too much wasabi?”

I wiped my eyes with my napkin and shook my head.

“Jake, why are you so nice to me?”

He grinned and shrugged. “I'm a hardware guy. When I see something broken, I fix it. Can't help myself.”

BOOK: Threading the Needle

12.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads