Snowed in with the Single Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  “Dad.” Gabby gestured toward her face. “Look at me. No way am I going out in public like this.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Those are your choices.”

  “Remind me never to cross you, Counselor.” Laurel set a tea mug down on the check-in desk and came into the apartment to carefully draw Gabby into her arms. “You can come with me and test the waters with Odette.”

  Gabby said something that sounded like thanks.

  Laurel patted her back. “You’ll live through this, Gabby. And someday, we’ll see your pretty face again, smiling and everything.”

  Gabby broke free of her embrace and fled to the bathroom. “Nobody’s on my side!”

  “I feel exactly the same way,” Mitch murmured, turning to Laurel.

  But she was gone, too.

  * * *

  “WHY DO I have to come with you?” Gabby sniffed, snowshoeing next to Laurel to Odette’s house. She wore orange snow pants, a knit cap pulled down low and a purple jacket zipped up to her neck. None of it hid the damage to her face, especially not in daylight.

  The sun was out, and Second Chance looked picture-perfect. It just didn’t feel picture-perfect. It felt like a postcard Laurel could only admire, not someplace she belonged, not someplace she’d settle into forever. Mitch would always see Laurel as a Monroe. Legally, he couldn’t be anything more to her than a tenant. That gag order her grandfather had imposed made certain of it. If she was going to stay here, it would only be a temporary stop until she decided where to raise her babies.

  Trudging beside her, Gabby made a teenage sound of angst that reminded Laurel of eye rolls and claims of “not fair.”

  Laurel sighed. “Your dad gave you a choice, you know. You can go to the diner and see all your school friends, if you’d rather.”

  Without deviating from their course, Gabby pulled her knit cap lower around her ears. “I haven’t even finished my first scarf and you’ve almost finished two.” The retainer lisp was back, making her sound younger.

  “Maybe you were behind on your knitting because you were spending too much time on that phone you used to have.”

  Gabby made a strangled noise in her throat. “You’re just like my dad.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The babies got all snuggly at the mention of Mitch, much the same way Laurel had snuggled into Mitch’s arms after her fall. The babies believed in happily-ever-afters. Laurel tried to remember she knew better.

  “You know,” Laurel said, trying to be helpful, “it’s not just an apology that your dad wants to hear. He misses the Gabby I met when I first came to Second Chance. She was awesome, by the way.” Fussing with her teal scarf, Laurel climbed the steps to Odette’s front door. When she realized Gabby hadn’t followed her, she turned.

  Gabby’s cheeks were pale, a stark contrast to her dark bruises. “I hate my life.”

  Laurel came back down the steps. “And whose fault is that? You lied to your dad. You disobeyed him. And then you walked yourself right into a wall.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Gabby’s eyes pooled with tears. “I get mean for no reason. And I say things...” She wiped her wet cheeks. “Sometimes, I don’t even like myself.”

  “Look up teenage hormones. You’re not alone.” Laurel put her arm around Gabby’s shoulders and gentled her voice. “The good news is you have nowhere to go but up, my friend.” She hoped the same applied to herself.

  Gabby sniffed. “I’m still your friend?”

  “You are, indeed.” Antsy to see Odette at work and more than a bit cold, Laurel moved them up the stairs, silently admitting snow pants had their advantages.

  “I thought everyone hated me. Dad is so mad, and you made fun of me this morning.” Her words were choked with remorse.

  “Your dad takes everything very seriously. And I try to lighten things up.” She gazed down at Gabby, at purplish eyes and a bruised nose. “Maybe I teased you too much this time. Do you forgive me?”

  “I suppose I have to.” Gabby tried to smile. “You’re going to marry my dad after all.”

  Before Laurel could deny it, Odette opened her door without her knit cap on. Her porcupine gray hair stood at attention. “Are you going to lollygag all day or come inside?” She peered at Gabby’s face. “Huh. Those bruises are no excuse for slow productivity, so don’t even try to use it as one unless you want to hear about the time I had cellulitis on my fingers—the pus-filled kind.” She opened the door wider, beckoning them inside. “And I have pictures.”

  “Please don’t ask to see them.” Laurel shivered.

  “I walked into a wall,” Gabby admitted in a small, tear-filled voice.

  Odette waved a hand. “I didn’t ask.” She dragged a kitchen chair beneath the window. “Sit here and get to work on that scarf of yours in the sunlight. I’m sure there are people in town who need it to keep warm.”

  The teen didn’t budge. “There are?”

  Odette scoffed. “Don’t you ever look beyond the bend in the road?”

  “I’m not allowed to go beyond the bend in the road.” Gabby’s words wound up into a wail.

  “There’s no crying in the sewing circle.” Odette scoffed louder and tossed her hands. “If you need to cry, you’d best skedaddle.”

  During their exchange, Laurel stood silent, taking in the colors and craftsmanship inside Odette’s cabin.

  The cabin was open concept and comprised of a large living room, a sewing nook and galley kitchen. Two doors were closed, perhaps leading to a bedroom and bathroom. A framed baby quilt hung on the wall above the fireplace. The crazy quilt had been pieced together with various hand stitches around irregular-shaped blocks of faded fabric. When Sophie had seen it and tried to buy it, Odette hadn’t taken it well.

  There were knit items everywhere. A standing hat rack was draped in scarves of every color and knit caps—tiny blue baby caps, larger black adult caps, colorful caps with yarn braids and yarn tassels. A cream-colored poncho hung there, as well.

  Knitting always takes the shape of its owner.

  Odette’s knitting was as tightly wound as Odette herself, but it was also whimsical.

  Laurel’s teal scarf was bland and amateurish. But the chunky coppery scarf... That had Laurel’s imprint. A bit of sparkle.

  A cross-stitched Christmas stocking hung from a hook in the kitchen instead of a frying pan. There was a pink-and-red friendship quilt stretched out on a frame. Finished quilts of all colors and patterns stacked on deep bookshelves. The colors spoke to Laurel of artistry and passion.

  Laurel was envious, but she was also in heaven. She bet everything in this cabin gave Odette joy.

  “We don’t have all day for me to repeat myself,” Odette huffed, because apparently Laurel hadn’t heard her. “I said, come over here.” She rattled a chair next to her worktable.

  Laurel drifted over, drawn more by the brightly colored fabric stored in a large wicker basket than Odette’s words. “What are you making?”

  “A baby quilt.” Odette sneaked a sly glance at Laurel. “Know anyone having a baby?”

  “I know someone having two babies,” Gabby piped up, sounding more like her chipper self than she had in over a week. “Laurel’s having twins.”

  “Two babies?” Odette clucked. “Then we’ll each have to make a quilt.”

  Laurel’s palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her leggings.

  “First off, we have to pick out a design.” Odette stared at her expectantly.

  “I saw a quilt the last time I was here.” Laurel glanced around.

  “Do you mean the one above the hearth?” The old woman twisted to look at it. “It was your grandfather’s.” She jerked back around, fingering the red-and-pink fabric on her quilt frame as her cheeks filled with a similar color. “Ignore me.” Because she’d signed the same paper
work Mitch had.

  “My lips are sealed,” Gabby said pertly.

  Odette made a growling noise deep in her chest that had Gabby ducking her head.

  Laurel looked at the crazy quilt. There was no order, no pattern, to the pieces. Unpredictable. That was a good metaphor for Grandpa Harlan’s life. Although faded, the colors had once been vibrant. Dark browns. Rich burgundies. Deep purples. “That quilt means something to you?”

  “It does.” Odette finger combed her unruly hair. “I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  “New Year’s Day,” Laurel said under her breath. The day all the nondisclosure agreements expired.

  Odette nodded. “Might kick the bucket before then. I’m old and there’s no doctor in town.”

  Shane would have pursued the conversation further. More than anything, he wanted to unravel Grandpa Harlan’s past, unwilling to wait until the end of the year.

  Having a different agenda, Laurel cleared her throat. “That wasn’t the quilt I was thinking of. It had a flower pattern, but the petals were elongated. The fabrics you chose were teals and—”

  “That was a sea glass quilt.” Odette rummaged through a pile of finished quilts stacked on a chair. “A traditional sea glass quilt. Nowadays the pastels of sea glass are used in any pattern—a log cabin or a sunflower design—and they call it a sea glass quilt.”

  “I’ve never seen sea glass,” Gabby said wistfully. “Or the ocean. Or Hollywood.”

  The adults ignored her.

  Odette shook out the quilt Laurel remembered. It had been made for a twin bed and had one very large block in the middle. “You’ll want to make the main pattern smaller, with lots of sea glass blocks. Four or six inches square.”

  Laurel nodded automatically, but said, “No.” Because suddenly, she saw the quilt clearly and it sparked something inside of her—an excitement to make her vision a reality. “I want to make one big piece, like yours.”

  “That would be copying,” Odette said, clearly horrified.

  Gabby laughed.

  “I don’t want to copy,” Laurel grumbled. “I want to use yours as inspiration. The drama. The largesse.”

  Gabby laughed again. “Sounds like copying to me.”

  “Best focus on your own problems, Rocky,” Odette cautioned, tapping her nose. “And get those stitches done.” The old woman gave Laurel a rare grin. “I can’t say I agree with your choice of design—one big piece of sea glass for a small project—but it’s your quilt.”

  “When will you teach me how to quilt?” Gabby squeezed her ball of yarn like a stress ball.

  “When you finish that scarf,” Odette said sternly.

  Gabby gasped and snatched up her knitting needles. “Promise?”

  Odette walked over to the girl and offered her finger. They made a pact on a pinky swear. “Now, the teal family...” The old woman hunted through stack after stack of cotton quilt quarters, rolled into manageable sizes. Finally, Odette laid out ten colors. “This should work.”

  Laurel stared at the collection of fabrics without saying anything, wishing she didn’t want to say anything because Odette was the expert here. But she couldn’t stand not saying anything. “These two don’t go.” She pulled two of the fabrics aside. “The patterns on those are too large and the colors too washed out.”

  “That’s exactly why they go.” Odette arranged the fabric as if each one was a petal. “Small patterns and bright colors here in the center transitioning to bigger patterns and lighter colors on the outer edge.” She raised her brows, daring Laurel to contradict her.

  Laurel took that dare. “But the color spectrum goes from teal to a sandy brown. It’s not a true ombré.”

  “It’s a traditional sea glass color scheme.” Odette’s gaze narrowed. “Are you arguing with me?”

  “No. We’re having a discussion.”

  “But you said you—” Odette pointed at Laurel “—wanted to learn from me.” She tapped her chest.

  “I did. I do.”

  Odette touched each colored quarter of fabric from the teal down to the sandy brown. “And you said you’d do anything to make a quilt with me.”

  Did I?

  She had.

  Laurel studied the discarded fabrics, but reality was she couldn’t live with them. Not without a fight. “What I meant was—”

  “You wanted me to approve of you making a quilt based off mine, so you’d feel safe doing it. Let me tell you, that pink dress you made was a risk. You didn’t use fabric to achieve an ombré effect. You used silver thread and rhinestones.”

  “I did.” Laurel nodded slowly.

  “Don’t play it safe. Safe is lonely.” Odette removed the lightest colors on the worktable. “You don’t like sand. Fine. Let’s go with something different.” She chose two predominantly black prints and laid them where the sand had been so that the center color was teal, moving to softer teal, and then black. “Now, this...this will be a masterpiece.”

  Black on a baby quilt? Even if it was only an accent? Laurel wasn’t so sure.

  Odette’s door was flung open and Flip entered. She looked around with a sour expression. “What is this? A sewing circle? A quilting bee?” Her gaze stuck on Gabby’s face. She knelt in front of the preteen, hands on her knees. “Whoever did this to you will pay, I swear.” She stood and fixed Laurel with a hard stare. “Who did this to her?”

  Laurel leaned around Flip to catch the bruised preteen’s eye. “Gabby?”

  “It was self-inflicted.” The smallest of small answers. Gabby sniffed as if she might cry. “I’m the one responsible.” And then she recaptured some of her spunk because she said, “And I’m on the mend. Just gotta take it one day at a time.”

  Flip made a noise that conveyed disbelief and impatience all in the same breath. “When my husband was alive—mind you, he was the sheriff—he wouldn’t have believed you.” The collection of fabric they’d been arguing over caught Flip’s eye. She stomped over to the worktable and studied their choices.

  “We’re making a sea glass baby quilt,” Odette said.

  Flip huffed and rearranged the fat quarters. “They’ll never expect this.”

  She’d arranged the colors in a kaleidoscope of light, dark, light, dark. There was less teal and more black.

  “That’s an old trick.” Odette moved the fabric around again, this time removing half the fabric choices—the black prints. “How about this one? A floral and a geometric pattern of the same size print and teal color palette complemented by a similar color fabric in a larger print on the outer edges.”

  “Why do what’s been done before?” Flip rummaged through the basket of choices with paint-stained hands. She laid out a flowery teal, a flowery brown and a shiny taupe.

  It was Odette’s turn to huff. “That’s so five years ago.”

  While the two older women tried to one-up each other on a color scheme, Laurel backed up until she stood next to Gabby. “Who is Flip?”

  “Odette’s sister,” Gabby whispered back.

  Flip pulled fabric from the bottom of the basket. “This is what you need to do. Black. Deep rose. Vibrant purple. Asparagus green.”

  The inspiration for Flip’s colors was clear—Gabby’s bruised face.

  Laurel moved closer, taking in the colors and the powerful way they worked together, but also feeling uncomfortable. “It’s supposed to be a baby quilt.”

  “Fine. Be predictable. Go with a fish pattern.” Flip picked three different fabrics, set them on the worktable and then marched to the door. “Milky white. Pale lavender. Dusty rose.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Softies don’t deserve my mercantile.” She slammed the door on her way out.

  Shades of my mother.

  Through the window, Laurel watched Flip march up the hill on a well-worn trail in the snow.

  Soft. Understated. The col
ors Flip had chosen were just that. And a fish quilt was so...expected.

  “I hate to admit it.” Odette stared at the three colors. “But both color combinations are better than what we chose.”

  Laurel fingered the crisp, cool fabric with the washed-out colors. Although there was a place for soft, she didn’t want to be seen as delicate. “Does Flip help you choose fabrics for every quilt?”

  “Yes.” Odette looked sheepish as she spread out the washed-out fabric quarters. “Do you still believe you can learn something from me?”

  “Yes.” There was something here to be gained beyond a handmade baby quilt.

  No matter what color or style quilt she made, she’d have to prove to Flip she wasn’t a softy.

  An image popped into her head.

  An image of the brick mercantile filled with color and texture and light, paintings and quilts and knit goods, and two chubby babies sitting on a bold quilt on the floor, playing with noisy rattles.

  A boutique filled with beautiful things and artistic expression. Items that would delight people. A boutique curated by Laurel. It wasn’t a fashion house in New York. It didn’t come with Hollywood cache.

  Mom would have a fit. And Ashley...

  Laurel didn’t care whose boat she rocked.

  Her vision filled her with joy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I PINNED YOUR quilt pieces.” Odette ushered Laurel to the worktable later that afternoon. “If you’d taken any longer, I would’ve started stitching. I tacked down my friendship quilt top, which freed up my frame.” Odette’s baby quilt was now mounted on the quilting frame, ready for permanent stitches.

  “You did all that? And you pinned mine?” Laurel had been gone less than three hours. She’d had lunch and napped. Clearly, Odette had done neither.

  “It’s amazing what you can do with a fancy quilt machine. Besides, yours is just a baby quilt.” The old woman lowered herself into the rocking chair and closed her eyes. “Tuckered me out, though. If there’s more to life than crafting, I don’t know what it is.”