She had just finished pressing the completed block when her cell phone vibrated, buzzing loudly on the folding chair where she had left it. Jeremy had sent her a text: “Maybe one of these years, Santa could bring La Befana a good map.”
He was the only person she knew who texted with perfect grammar and spelling. “Don’t text and drive!” she fired back, smiling as she returned the phone to her back pocket. She put away her sewing things and returned to the kitchen, where Sarah, Gretchen, and Sarah’s mother, Carol, were busily preparing their dishes for the potluck feast. Anna thanked Sarah for keeping an eye on her ginger pumpkin bisque, which had simmered to perfection in her absence.
Sometimes it was okay to let things simmer untended. Some flavors took time to develop and rushing a dish to completion would ruin it. The best chefs, like the best quilters, cultivated creativity and patience—even when they didn’t want to.
• • •
BEFORE LONG GWENarrived, and her cheerful announcement that the storm might worsen so much that they would all have to spend the night in the manor did nothing to lessen Anna’s fears about what Jeremy might face on the turnpike. Soon Sylvia, Diane, and Agnes joined them, and Anna tried to put visions of car accidents out of her mind as the Elm Creek Quilters settled down in the ballroom to spend the rest of the morning quilting. She had finished half of the six-pointed stars she planned for Jeremy’s gift when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket again. “Brrr!!!!” Jeremy had texted.
Fortunately, she was at the ironing board with her back to her friends, so she could discreetly slip out of their conversation and text him a reply: “I told you not to text and drive!”
“I’m not driving,” he promptly texted back. “I stopped for gas and a cup of coffee. It’s brutal out here.”
She felt a pang of worry, but she breezily replied, “I warned you but you went anyway. Don’t complain to me. Tell it to Summer if you want some sympathy.”
She didn’t know why she wrote it and she regretted it the moment she pushed Send. But it was too late. The message had been sent. She waited an anxious few minutes for his reply, and when it came, her heart thudded in her chest.
“I’d rather tell it to you,” he had written.
After a moment’s pause, she sent back a single question mark, their code for a request for further explanation. When twenty minutes passed without a reply, she decided he had left the gas station and was on the road again, for once taking her advice and keeping his hands on the wheel instead of his phone.
All through the morning and potluck lunch, Anna wondered what Jeremy had meant by his last, cryptic text. Why would he rather write to Anna than to Summer? Did he mean that he preferred Anna on this specific occasion because she could always tease him out of a bad mood? Or did he mean that Anna was the more sympathetic of the two, since she was just a friend and not as demanding as a girlfriend might be?
Or did he mean that she was the person he preferred to talk to just as a general rule?
Could that be it?
Had he, too, finally realized what had slowly dawned upon her in recent days, that even though they had never talked about it, they had become very close, closer than mere friends, and that the day hadn’t begun until they greeted each other with a text across the hallway that separated their two apartments, that the day didn’t feel properly concluded until that last, late-night goodnight phone call? Had he finally noticed that he spent more of his time and attention upon the friend who happened to be a girl than his girlfriend, and had he begun to ask himself what that meant? Was he really so unaware of what Anna felt when they sat at her kitchen table sampling a new dessert she had created, when they rode side by side in his car cracking jokes about corrupt politicians and so-bad-they-were-good movies? Had he not figured out that she repeatedly turned down Sylvia’s invitations to move into a comfortable suite in the manor, with no rent to pay and easy access to the kitchen of her dreams, because she would miss him if he weren’t living right across the hall? Did he not suspect, as she did, that he had begun describing them as “good friends” so often and so emphatically because he was afraid that he had begun to feel more for her than that?
She didn’t know. At that moment he was on his way to see Summer despite the storm, and that said a lot. But, as he himself had admitted, he would rather talk to her.
He was concerned about hurting Summer. So was Anna. She didn’t like to think of herself as someone who would steal a friend’s boyfriend, but Summer had been pulling away from Jeremy for months, beginning with the day last spring when she had moved out of his apartment and into the manor. Moving to Chicago and discouraging him from visiting too often seemed, to Anna at least, another way to distance herself. But Jeremy was determined to make it work, even though he surely had feelings for Anna, feelings that she only now could admit that she shared.
Didn’t he?
Maybe he did, Anna thought as she sat at the sewing machine feeding blue and gold pieces of fabric beneath the blur of the needle, trying unsuccessfully to drown out the voices in her head with its industrious clatter. Maybe he did have feelings for her, but his feelings for Summer were stronger. Maybe he did, but he doubted Anna felt the same. Maybe he did, but he cherished their friendship so much that he wouldn’t jeopardize it for anything, even the chance for something more, something deeper.
Anna would never know unless they talked about it, and Jeremy was probably halfway to Chicago and his girlfriend, as inconveniently out of reach as he could possibly be. A heartto-heart talk would have to wait for his return.
Resigned, Anna resolved not to think about Jeremy and to instead lose herself in the enjoyment of her friends’ company. It was difficult not to think of him, though, when every stitch she put into her quilt was another stitch for him.
Later Bonnie called from Hawaii to wish her fellow Elm Creek Quilters a happy Thanksgiving and to share in their celebration of their quilter’s holiday. Then Diane abruptly announced that she intended to head for home before the storm worsened, rushing off before any of them could convince her to stay. Everyone wanted to be with the people they loved at the holidays, Anna thought wistfully as she heard the distant, muffled sound of Diane’s car starting in the parking lot behind the manor. She wondered if anyone would ever love her so much that he would brave a snowstorm to be by her side. If anyone did, she suddenly realized, she wouldn’t want him to take the risk. She would want him to stay where he was safe and warm and happy, even if that meant greater loneliness for herself.
Jeremy loved Summer, and Anna knew it. She should hide her feelings and let them sort things out on their own. If Jeremy and Summer weren’t meant to be, they would figure it out eventually and part ways, but Anna couldn’t be the wedge that drove them apart.
Jeremy probably thought of her as no more than a friend anyway.
She deliberately shoved all thoughts of him out of her mind and rejoined the quilting party chat—just as her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket, startling her so much that she almost leapt out of her chair. She stammered an apology to her friends and read Jeremy’s text: “This was a bad idea.”
“What?” she quickly texted back. “Driving in a blizzard? Texting while driving?”
A pause, and then a reply: “Are you saying you don’t want any more texts from me?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” she texted back. “And don’t dodge the question.”
Again she waited, but he didn’t write back.
He confounded her thoughts. He made her happy and anxious, content and worried, at peace and yet embattled with her own feelings. With a sudden rush of dismay, she realized that she had quite accidentally fallen in love with him—and in the worst fashion, unrequited and unwanted. Unless … unless it wasn’t.
As the afternoon passed, Anna moved from sewing machine to fireside to cutting table, joining in her friends’ discussion of pregnancy symptoms, the Christmas Boutique at Sylvia’s church, and the best layout for the Master Quilter’
s lovely Star of the Magi blocks. All the while her thoughts were on Jeremy, wondering if she should tell him how she felt, and if so, what she would say, or if pouring out her heart to him would only make things worse.
The phone rang on the fireplace mantel. Instinctively Anna reached for her cell even though the manor’s cordless phone sounded nothing like hers, which was on silent in her pocket. She shook her head, exasperated with herself. Could she be any more of a mess, jumping at the ringing of a phone, analyzing Jeremy’s every casual phrase for deeper meaning?
Summer was on the line, calling to wish everyone a belated happy Thanksgiving and an enjoyable quilter’s holiday, although it sounded as if she had been too busy to celebrate with any quilting that day. She wouldn’t find any more time once Jeremy arrived, Anna thought with a sudden jolt of jealous misery. As Gwen cheerfully took the phone to the other side of the ballroom to enjoy a private chat with her daughter, Anna settled back down at the sewing machine, wishing that she had caught a ride home with Diane. She no longer wanted to finish Jeremy’s gift or share the company of her friends but to hide away in her own small apartment with a good book, a comforting quilt, and a pan of dark-chocolate cappuccino brownies.
Her back to her friends as she worked at the sewing machine, she blocked out the rest of the party as well as she could, but she couldn’t help noticing when Sylvia took the phone from Gwen. She hoped they wouldn’t pass the phone around or put Summer on speaker as they had done with Bonnie when she had called from Hawaii. Anna liked Summer and hated herself for envying a friend who had never been anything but thoughtful and generous to her, but she couldn’t bear to hear Summer tell one and all how happy she was, awaiting her boyfriend’s arrival.
She tried to close her ears to Sylvia’s voice, but suddenly a telling phrase cut through: “I’m so sorry. I’ve clearly ruined Jeremy’s surprise.”
Anna brought her sewing machine to an abrupt halt and turned in her chair to find Sylvia shooting her a look of utter dismay. Sylvia shook her head and shrugged, and baffled, Anna mirrored the gesture. Jeremy’s surprise? What surprise? Hadn’t Jeremy— Had he really gone to Chicago without—
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to see him,” Sylvia continued, her voice suggesting a profound lack of certainty. She offered a few hesitant pleasantries about how Summer and Jeremy would surely have a lovely weekend, even if all they did was study, but Anna barely heard a word of it. Mechanically, she rose and left the ballroom for the grand foyer, crossing the black marble floor as she took her cell phone from her pocket, coming to a stop at one of the two tall windows flanking the front double doors, pressing her free hand and forehead to the cold glass, the sound of wind filling her ears.
She waited, but before common sense could catch up with her whirling thoughts, she dialed Jeremy’s number.
He picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Anna. Did you call to scold me about texting while driving or to entertain me with another holiday story?”
“Neither,” she said numbly. “I know why you called me instead of Summer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t prefer to talk to me. You just couldn’t call Summer without her figuring out that you’re on your way.”
Jeremy was silent so long Anna thought the connection had broken. “Anna, I wouldn’t call you if I didn’t like to talk to you. You’re my best friend in Waterford. Maybe my best friend anywhere.”
She laughed shortly, tearfully. Yes, that’s what she was, a friend. It’s all she would ever be to him. “Why didn’t you tell Summer you were coming to see her?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Maybe the other Elm Creek Quilters would believe that, but Anna didn’t, and she doubted Summer would either. “This is me, Jeremy. Are you sure that’s the story you want to go with?”
“If you know why I didn’t tell her,” said Jeremy, his voice rising in agitation, “why ask?”
“Because I want to hear it from you.”
“I didn’t tell her because I thought she’d ask me not to come.”
“Then why would you go to her? Why would you drive hundreds of miles through a storm to be with someone who doesn’t want you, when someone who does want you is right here?”
She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them.
“Anna.” Jeremy’s voice was almost drowned out by the storm just beyond the windowpane. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” said Anna quickly, and again regretted her words. “No, wait. There’s something. When you come back—”
“What?”
“I can’t be your fallback girl anymore.”
“My what? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t be that girl you call and text and spend time with because you can’t be with your girlfriend. I can’t be that loyal best friend you ditch when the woman you prefer decides to pay attention to you. I was okay with that for a long time, but now it hurts too much, and I need to back off.”
“Anna, that’s not fair. I’ve never ditched you for Summer. Ever. If anything, I spend more time with you than with her.”
“Exactly.” Anna shivered in the cold and stepped away from the window. “Shouldn’t that be telling you something?”
“It tells me that you’re my friend and I care about you. I don’t understand why you want to bail on our entire friendship just because—” He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know, because you think I’m keeping you in reserve in case it doesn’t work out with Summer. Is that what you think?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“What does that say about me, that you think I treat people like that? That I would treat you, of all people, like that?”
“That’s not really the issue. I’m not questioning your character.”
“Actually, you kind of are.”
Anna sat down heavily on one of the marble steps. “Jeremy, don’t turn this around. This isn’t about your insult and injury.”
“Then what is it about? I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You don’t want to be my friend anymore because I have a girlfriend? That doesn’t make any sense. If one of your women friends had a boyfriend, would you stop being her friend?”
“It’s not the same.”
“How is it not the same?”
“I’m not in love with any of my women friends.”
There was a long pause. Anna frantically searched for something to say to put a different spin on her words so they would mean anything other than what she had all too clearly said, but nothing, nothing came to mind.
“Anna—”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, rising from the step.
“Anna, wait—”
“Drive safely, okay? Good-bye, Jeremy.”
She hung up the phone, flooded with a painful sense of loss. She had ended the most important, fulfilling friendship of her life, all because she didn’t think she could bear being a friend and nothing more. How would she feel in the weeks and months and years to come, when she would be even less than that?
She pressed a hand to her lips, blinking back tears. He’d expected a scolding and had hoped for a holiday story, and instead she’d blindsided him. It had felt necessary, but was it right? Couldn’t she have learned to accept her limited place in his life—and was it really limited, considering all they shared? Why reject what they could have because it couldn’t be everything she wanted?
She took a deep, shaky breath. It didn’t matter. If she called him back to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake, that she’d spoken without thinking, that she wanted to be friends, he might forgive her and agree, but he would still know how she truly felt. Awkwardness would fill the spaces between them, the discrepancy in their feelings obliging them to tread carefully and measure their words. The days of their easy companionability were behind them, and she did not know what, if anything, they could move toward.
Jeremy had wanted another holiday tale. She could have told him a d
ifferent version of the legend of La Befana, a variation on the charming children’s tale Nonna had saved until Anna had grown old enough to fully grasp it. In that other, starker account, La Befana was a young mother who lived in Judea in the days of King Herod. When the Three Wise Men’s search for the infant Jesus led them to Bethlehem and they told the king of their quest, Herod ordered the execution of all children under the age of two rather than risk losing his throne to the newborn usurper. La Befana’s son was among the holy innocents murdered. Devastated, she could not accept that her son was dead but gathered his belongings in a sack and went out in search of him. Grief aged her overnight, stooping her back, graying her hair, wrinkling her skin. At last she found a baby boy so poor he slept in a manger, and to Him, the infant Jesus, she gave her son’s possessions. Every year since, the grief-stricken woman would resume her journey, offering gifts to other children, caring for them as she longed to care for her own lost child.
The merriment of every holiday story seemed tempered by loss. The miracle of Hanukkah had followed war and the defilement of the Temple; the gifts of La Befana had begun as the outpouring of nurturing love from a grieving mother. Anna’s loss was not as great as these and some good would yet come of it, though she ached when she thought of the void Jeremy’s absence from her life would leave.
Heavy hearted, she turned away from the entrance to the ballroom and sat down on the bottom step of the oak staircase, trying to will her sadness away, to compose herself before returning to the gathering of friends. Their warmth and laughter suddenly seemed as remote to her as Jeremy had become, thanks to a single decision that she already regretted. Every minute that passed put more than miles between them.
A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Page 12
