Assault and Batting

by Rothery, Tess

  A knock on the backdoor redirected her energy. Taylor hustled back and found a grinning Hudson wearing a canvas tool belt over his rather tight jeans. His plaid flannel sleeves were rolled up revealing half of his muscly arms. “Is this a good morning to do some patchwork for you?”

  “I haven’t had pest control in yet…” How that had slipped her mind, she’d never be able to explain.

  “That’s okay. I can do something temporary for now.”

  His truck was stocked with plyboards and sawhorses, probably a saw too.

  “I’ll take all the help I can get. Come on in.” She opened the door for him.

  He strode in, his tall, muscular frame filling the room.

  “Morning, Mr. Baker.”

  Grandpa turned to face Hudson. He looked him up and down appraising him. “Morning.” The one word seemed to grant approval. Taylor wondered briefly if Grandpa would have approved of the less manly Clay Seldon.

  “I’ll just head up and take some measurements first.” Hudson took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps remarkably light.

  Grandpa harrumphed and made his way back to his chair. “He’s got his eye on you, young lady.”

  “I thought you liked Boggy’s grandson.”

  Grandpa frowned for a moment. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

  The front door jangled this time. Roxy wasn’t scheduled till afternoon, and they were still an hour from opening.

  A lady in her mid-forties stood at the door waving, shaking the handle, and mouthing something Taylor couldn’t make out. She had bobbed black hair, wore a denim jacket, jeans and cowboy boots.

  It couldn’t hurt to go to the door and tell her they weren’t open yet, but Taylor resented it. The hours were posted as clear as anything, and cute too, on a large chalkboard hanging in the front window.

  The second her hand turned the lock, the lady pushed her way in. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I’m so glad you let me in.” She brushed past Taylor heading straight toward the center of the shop, behind a long shelf of fabric bolts.

  “We’re not open. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Oh no, no. I’m not here to shop. I need to talk. I’m Gina Croyden.”

  “This isn’t a good time.” Taylor walked past Gina, hoping she could lead her back out the front door again. “Why don’t you call later and we can make an appointment.”

  “It’s just that you spoke with my mom last night.”

  “Yes….” Taylor wanted this woman out of the store, and not just because they weren’t open.

  Gina’s eyes were intense, fixed on Taylor’s face, and round in an unnatural way. Her shoulders leaned forward and her chin tilted out, like a hen that was about to lunge. “I couldn’t make it, but wanted to, badly. Mom…she isn’t well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Taylor stood between Gina and Grandpa at least. She stepped toward the unwanted guest, but it was ineffective.

  In fact, Gina made the gap between them smaller and Taylor found herself backing up. “See, you can’t really trust what Mom has to say. I assume she told you about the quilt.”

  “It sounds lovely.”

  Gina stopped and tilted her head. “Thank you?” It came out like a question.

  Taylor took a firmer step forward.

  Gina did back up this time.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, but I can meet you at Rueben’s Café at 12:30. We can have lunch and talk. Will that do?”

  Gina nodded, continuing to back up as Taylor marched forward. They were at the door now, so Taylor opened it wide for her.

  “See you down the street in a few hours.”

  “Okay, lunch. Yes. We’ll talk there.” Gina spun, heading down the sidewalk with the same intense energy she had come in with.

  Taylor exhaled and realized it had been very nice to know that Hudson was just upstairs during that scene.

  “You shouldn’t kick customers out,” Grandpa offered from his chair.

  “Yeah, sorry. I won’t do that again.”

  Taylor had intended on making sample projects for future videos this morning, but instead she went to her mom’s show and scrolled through the many YouTube comments trying to figure out who Gina Croyden was when she was online.

  It took most of an hour, but Taylor finally sussed her out.

  Gina also had a YouTube show, but no one seemed to watch it, despite the many links she had been peppering the comments of Laura Quinn’s show with. Taylor wanted to watch a few of Gina’s episodes, but a cluster of quilters were chatting at the door already. Taylor switched back over to her mom’s video feed and left it to auto play while she opened for the day.

  Hudson had made some noise upstairs, but he didn’t take long, and the sight of the tall, scruffy faced, plaid shirt clad handyman popping up and down stairs throughout the morning made her customers smile. Taylor wasn’t ashamed to admit it made her smile too.

  Roxy clocked in a little early, so Taylor was able to explain what Hudson was up to.

  “Now there’s an episode of Flour Sax…” Roxy’s eyes glittered. “Have Hudson on to tell them all how to…oh, anything really. You’d get plenty of hits.”

  Taylor laughed, which also felt good.

  Hudson himself was just coming down the stairs, so she put her fingers to her lips.

  Roxy winked.

  “Hey, Tay, you up for lunch?”

  “Oh man….” Taylor was absolutely more inclined to have lunch with him than with Gina Croyden, who, though she may have the answers to all of Taylor’s questions, happened to scare the crap out of her.

  He hoisted his hammer over his shoulder, nonchalantly. “It’s okay if you’re busy.”

  He had to notice that at the moment, the shop was empty.

  “It’s not that, it’s just this crazy lady wants me to meet her for lunch so she can tell me something about….” Taylor swallowed. “About the night Mom died. Actually, it’s Gina. She was there that weekend.”

  “Gina does have a weird energy.” He scratched his jaw. “If you’re uncomfortable at all, I’d be happy to eat with you both.”

  Taylor could feel the glow spread across her cheeks. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “What about me?” Grandpa asked.

  “We’ll bring you a meatloaf sandwich.” Taylor made her way to his chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “You gotta stay here, Ernie,” Roxy said. “I don’t like being in the shop alone.”

  He nodded, his own face flushing a nice pink. “Smart lady.”

  “Smart to meet Gina in public.” Hudson held the door open.

  “When you met her that morning,” Taylor swallowed hard, but kept going, “what kind of weird energy did she have?”

  “For someone who just happened to be there at the same time your mom was, I found her reaction to the death pretty dramatic. She didn’t faint, but there was a lot of face fanning, ‘woe is me’ crap. Nancy was a saint, but Gina was a pain.”

  They walked slowly along the sidewalk, side by side. It was a visceral relief not to be headed there alone. “Nancy implied Gina knew they’d all be there.”

  He paused a step. “Really?”

  “She said they had become friends.”

  “It puts Gina’s attitude in a different light.” He walked in silence. They were almost to the restaurant. “I’d still say she was attention seeking, though. Maybe because she needed it, but more likely because she thought she deserved it.”

  Gina was waiting at a booth near the front door. Her face fell when she saw Hudson. “I was really hoping we could speak alone.”

  The restaurant was bustling with lunchers, both locals and weekend visitors. It was hot inside, and heady with the addictive aroma of burgers on the grill and coffee freshly brewed.

  Taylor patted Hudson’s arm and let her hand linger, savoring the feel of soft flannel over his hard biceps. “Can you give us a few?”

  “Sure,” he agreed, but took a seat a
t the café counter while Taylor joined Gina.

  “He’s been doing some work for me at the shop. I owe him a meal.”

  Gina licked her lips and wrapped shaking hands around the coffee mug. “I know you talked to Mom.”

  “I did.”

  “You say she told you about my quilt.” Gina moved her hands nervously from cup to napkin rolled around silverware over and over again.

  “The log cabin one?”

  “No. Not that one.”

  “That’s the only one we spoke of.” Taylor couldn’t stop watching Gina’s hands, so much fidgeting.

  Gina pushed her sleeves up and rubbed her fingers over a recent scar on her forearm. Some kind of puncture wound.

  Taylor wanted to nudge her hand away so she wouldn’t scratch it and make it bleed.

  Gina pushed her sleeves back down and began unrolling her silverware and rolling it back up again. “I watch your mom’s show. I love her show. She’s amazing.”

  Taylor had to agree, though she didn’t think her mom was amazing in the “famous on the internet” kind of way.

  “She has that spark, you know? The je ne sais quoi. The undefinable it. She could have been a star, but she had a shop instead. Do you ever think about what that cost her?” Gina looked down at her silverware so tightly rolled, then up at Taylor.

  “I guess because she’s always been ‘Mom’ I never really worried about her lack of fame.”

  “I tried a YouTube show. Did you know that?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “You had time to look at it, I guess.”

  “Just a little. I was working.”

  “I was so mad she stole the pattern from me, I was really mad. I told her I wasn’t going to come to her weekend away.”

  “Ah.” Now Taylor’s hand was shaking. She felt like she should turn her phone on and record whatever Gina was about to say. She wished Hudson was closer so he could witness it too. She just knew she was about to have that moment you get in mystery shows where the murderer breaks down and confesses.

  “But then I felt awful about being mad, because she was so nice and always let me share my links in her comments. She could have deleted those, you know.”

  “Sure.” Taylor didn’t really know.

  “And she sent me some notes, not for my show, but for something we could do together. She was so amazing. She was going to help me.”

  “What was it you wanted to tell me about your mom?”

  Gina took a hearty drink of her coffee and straightened up as though fortifying herself. “She called me and left a panicked voicemail, asking what she was supposed to do, because Belle left that note at her house. She was scared, said you’d all find out what I had done. But Taylor, I didn’t do anything. I was as horrified as anyone that morning.”

  Taylor shifted in her seat. She wasn’t getting a good read on this woman. Gina had beads of cold sweat on her forehead and she was quivering like a scared mouse, but her eyes were direct when they looked up from her mug.

  They were interrupted by a waitress who took their order. Taylor found herself saying, “I’ll have that too,” without actually having heard what Gina had ordered.

  When she moved on, Taylor took a deep breath. “Let me clear the air for you.”

  Gina nodded rather like a child to a teacher.

  “Your mom told me what a good friend Mom had been to you. She said you reconnected over the videos. That and she told me about how lovely your log cabin quilt was.”

  “She didn’t mention our fight? Not at all?”

  “No. Nothing at all.”

  A natural color seeped back into Gina’s cheeks. “You can’t know what it is like to live with someone who has mental illness.”

  “I didn’t know you lived together.” Taylor frowned. “I thought you had lived quite far apart, actually.”

  “Yes, yes. I didn’t mean literally live with, but she calls constantly, and makes spontaneous trips to see me when I don’t expect her. She came to my work so often….”

  “Was that why you lost your job?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t angry with her about it. She can’t help it, so how could I blame her?”

  “And your husband?”

  “He says he just worries about her and the effect it has on me, but I wonder.”

  “Understandably. Listen, did you hear Mom and her friend Colleen fighting the night before she died?”

  “Just a little.” Gina began to fade again, her cheeks a sort of greyish white.

  “Don’t be scared. Do you think they were fighting about your mother?”

  “Yes.” Gina pushed her coffee mug away. “I was in the hall. At first the door was open a little, and I heard Colleen saying something about how Nancy had always been crazy. I think she asked how the girls were supposed to have a nice time with her there.”

  “Had mom invited you both to come?”

  “Your mother was a hard worker.”

  This seemed out of the blue, but Taylor didn’t interrupt.

  “We bonded, not only over quilts, but over how hard it can be when you’re caring for someone with mental health issues.”

  “Grandpa Ernie.” Taylor spoke under her breath, not sure how he fit into Gina’s story.

  “Yes. I used to live very near Mom, but it got to be too hard, so we moved up to the Portland area. My younger brother lives right around the block from Mom and Dad though. I didn’t just abandon her.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I told Laura all about how I go away with Mom once a year to give my Dad and my brother and sister-in-law a break. I invited Laura—I mean your mom—to come with my mother and me on our little get away. I told her to bring your grandpa with her.” She waited for a response.

  Taylor didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded.

  “Your mom had the idea of doing a girls’ weekend, instead. She invited me and told me that I could spend part of the visit just with the girls and leave Mom to read books or visit with Andrea or what have you. She booked the trip for my regular weekend.”

  Gina was almost relaxed as she recounted the story, so Taylor asked another question, in her most soothing tone. “Tell me about the fight you had with Mom.”

  “She did a video about foundation piecing.”

  Taylor’s breath caught in her throat, but she nodded for Gina to continue.

  “She used my pattern. I created it. I entered it in a contest, but it didn’t place.”

  “Copyright infringement is awful.”

  “It hurts, seeing your work uncredited.”

  “What did she say when you asked her about it?” Taylor had her doubts. There could only be so much truly original work in the world, and the foundation piecing video was merely scrappy windmills. Millions of women had done it through the decades.

  “She acted surprised, like she had forgotten, but I don’t think she had. When I was there last time, I showed her pictures of it and she told me how much she loved it.”

  “Do you have those pictures still?”

  “Yes!” Gina took out her phone and found the pictures on her Google drive.

  The quilt was similar, but the pinwheels were more literal, less organic. They looked purposeful instead of accidental, and they were dull. No vibrant spinning colors that looked like they were moving. Just tan and mauve and maroon over and over again. And yet, there was something satisfying about it, soothing even, in the steady stable design and the comforting secure colors. Taylor could see how this quilt could have inspired the one her mom made. And yet, it was also forgettable. If you had seen one quilt like this, you had seen a hundred. They had their place, but that place wasn’t in your memory.

  “I got so mad because she pretended she didn’t remember it.”

  “It’s a lovely quilt.”

  “Thank you. I made it for Father’s Day.”

  Taylor closed her eyes. A wave of disappointment rolled over her. Her mom had also given the pinwheel-like quilt to her father. It didn’t se
em like her, to use an idea without crediting it, but that’s what the story pointed to. “It’s lovely that you were able to forgive her, even though she wasn’t capable of apologizing.”

  “I just liked her. Really liked her. And when you like someone, sometimes you have to let go of things, things that hurt, you know? Her videos were always going to be more popular than mine. They were better. They just were. If she had credited me with that design, it could have helped me. Maybe. But it might not have. When I finally figured that out, I knew this pattern wasn’t worth losing my friend over.” The words spilled out, and Gina tripped over them, but she seemed sincere.

  “So you decided to have some girl time with some ladies from your high school and your mom.”

  “Yes.”

  “It must have stung when Colleen didn’t want you there.”

  Gina leaned forward and whispered, “I feel like I can trust you. Can I tell you something?”

  Taylor also leaned forward more than ever wishing she had a secret recording device.

  “Mom has never forgiven Colleen. She blames her for my older brother’s struggle with drugs, and even with his death.”

  Taylor’s breath caught and she choked. Words wouldn’t come out, so she took a drink of her icy cold water. “Your older brother?” She wracked her brain trying to remember who Colleen had said was Belle’s father.

  “Yes, Richard. We called him Brick. He’s just about ten years older than me. And Colleen too. That didn’t matter to Mom, she still blamed Colleen.”

  Taylor exhaled slowly, then asked, “What kind of trouble did Colleen and Brick have?”

  “Brick was my half-brother.” Gina’s jaw was trembling with emotion. “And his father was no good, that’s why Mom left him, and I think that’s why Colleen left Brick too. Brick was never any good.”

  “Did something dramatic happen?”

  “Oh, no. Colleen got tired of him and left. He went to jail sometime after that.”

  “Nothing else, nothing else remarkable at all happened that would make your mom and Colleen angry with each other?”

  “Only that Mom thought Brick was an angel when he wasn’t. That’s all. Colleen was wise to get away. I wanted to be friends with her, if I could. I don’t know if your mom knew about them. If she did, she wouldn’t have brought us all together, would she?”