The Fortune Quilt

by Lani Diane Rich

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  She checks the tag. “I ordered a dress through a catalog like six years ago, and they screwed up my order.” She gives a little squeal of excitement and holds it out to me. “It’s a petite.”

  “You kept it for six years?” I take it and check the size, then hand it back. “It’s too small.”

  She pushes it back at me. “Try it on.”

  “It’s. Too. Small.”

  The doorbell buzzes, and I hear Allegra yelp and curse. Brandy claps her hands together and giggles.

  “Showtime!” She runs past me, tossing out, “Just try it on!” over her shoulder as she darts down the stairs. I sigh and grab the dress, holding it up to my body and checking myself out in the sliver of real estate left on the mirror over Brandy’s dresser.

  It is pretty. It’ll look terrible on me, I know this as certainly as I know my own name, but I also know that Brandy won’t take no for an answer until I’ve at least tried it on. If then. I stomp into her bathroom and slam the door, dumping my jeans and sweatshirt and grumbling to myself as I step into it. I’ve barely got the side zipped when Brandy pushes into the bathroom without knocking.

  “Jesus, Brandy!” I say, but am silenced by her expression as she puts her hand over her mouth and her eyes moisten.

  “What? What happened? You okay?”

  She touches my shoulders and turns me toward the mirror. I stare at myself for a moment. In the last ten years, the only dresses I’ve worn have been bridesmaid dresses, which are designed to make the bride look good. The chocolate in this dress plays nicely off my hair, and the green in my eyes catch even my attention. The top leaves little to the imagination, and isn’t meant to be worn with a bra, but it’s pretty. I’m pretty.

  Wow. Who’da thunk it?

  “Why did you keep it?” I ask. “They sent it to you by accident.”

  “There are no accidents,” Brandy says, tugging a bit at the skirt to fluff it out. “Everything happens exactly how and when it’s supposed to, and we just say it’s accidental because we don’t have the patience to wait and find out why things happened that way. The universe sent this dress to me so I could hold it for you, Carly.” She turns me to face the mirror and stands behind me, her face aglow over my shoulder. “How could you imagine that’s not the case?”

  I have to admit, she makes a good argument. The dress is perfect, and I never would have bought it for myself in a million years.

  Brandy gives my shoulders a tender squeeze, then steps toward the door. “I’m going to get Allegra up here; she’s a genius with makeup.”

  “But…” I say. “I can’t wear this. I… I don’t have any shoes…”

  …and I’m half-naked, I add internally. I’m ready to admit that the dress is perfect. I’m not entirely convinced I’m ready to wear it in front of people.

  “You can go barefoot,” she says. “And lose the bra. Allegra will be up in a minute.”

  She shuts the door behind her and I stare at myself in the mirror for a minute before reaching back and unhooking my bra.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Allegra is finished with me. She has moussed my hair and given me a light makeup job and Brandy was right; Allegra’s a genius. My eyes are smoky and my lips and cheeks are sun-kissed and I look like a real girl.

  Allegra packs her makeup back into her purse and grabs for the bathroom door. “I’m gonna go. Count to twenty and then follow me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For your dramatic entrance, dummy. It’ll be fun.” She lets out a little snicker. “Will’s gonna totally die when he sees you.”

  I grab her arm. “What? Will? Will’s here?”

  She laughs. “Just count to twenty, okay?”

  “He’s supposed to be in Ottawa until Monday. What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. He showed up right before Brandy sent me up here.” She looks down at her arm. “Wow. For someone so tiny, you’ve got a hell of a grip.”

  I release her arm, and she laughs and opens the door. “Just count to twenty.”

  She disappears and I tentatively step out into Brandy’s loft. My stomach is full of butterflies and I feel light-headed. I adjust my halter top and feel totally exposed. My back is bare and my breasts are free range under the silk and…

  Something catches my eye, and the panic in my brain subsides. In the middle of the pile of quilts on Brandy’s dresser, I see a familiar pattern. I walk over to the pile and tentatively pull at my quilt, revealing the image of the box with the paintbrushes. I run my hand over it and hear Brandy’s voice in my head.

  There are no accidents.

  Allegra calls my name and I clench my breath in my lungs and start down the stairs as Aretha belts out “Until You Come Back To Me” in the background. I hear the catcalls before I can see who’s giving them - mostly, it’s Sebastian and James whistling and cheering, but Mack and Gladys from The Town Bookie are making some noise as well. Brandy and Allegra are laughing and sharing knowing looks. The only person who is perfectly still and silent is Will. He is standing at the back of the group with a glass of wine in his hand. He’s wearing a light green Aran sweater and a pair of dark jeans and he’s… beautiful. Our eyes meet, and slowly he smiles. My heart dances and I smile back, then on the last step my right big toe catches on the back of my left ankle and I stumble. James catches me and sets me up right, and I quickly check my breasts to make sure they’re still inside the dress. They are. Thank God.

  James tells me I’m gorgeous and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Sebastian grabs my hand and spins me twice. Allegra helps herself to a glass of wine and refills mine, handing it to me as Sebastian trades me for Brandy.

  “For a gay man, he really loves dancing with women,” Allegra says, linking her arm in mine as we watch Sebastian dip Brandy.

  “He can dance with me anytime,” I say, winking at Sebastian as I sip my wine. Sebastian winks back and laughs.

  “Oh, gross,” Allegra says, moving toward the kitchen. I glance up and catch Will’s eye. He takes a sip of his wine without losing eye contact with me and I feel my neck flush.

  The doorbell rings and Brandy opens it to more guests; Bernard, the bartender at the Miner’s Inn, and Valerie, who owns the flower shop on the edge of town. Someone swaps Aretha for Cole Porter and I find myself dancing around the room, flirting with everyone. Well, everyone except Will. I am sure that if anyone sees me looking at him, they’ll know how crazy I am about him. I’ve barely accepted it myself, so I avoid him. For the moment, I like to imagine it’s my little secret.

  The wine flows and the dinner is delicious and Will and I don’t say a word to each other, but we don’t take our eyes off each other much, either. I float about, trading jokes and compliments, refilling wine. At some point during the evening, someone tucks one of Valerie’s orchids behind my ear, and the fragrance follows me around the room. I feel like Cinderella, like the dress has magically changed me at my core. For the first time in my life, I am completely carefree, and it is a beautiful, beautiful feeling.

  Finally, toward the end of the night, Will and I end up in the kitchen together. I am wrapping up the remaining pumpkin pie and putting it in the refrigerator, and he’s donning an apron and moving toward the dishes. We exchange smiles, and he speaks first.

  “So,” he says, “it looks like you’re having a good time.”

  “I really am.” I shut the refrigerator door and lean against it. “Are you?”

  He simply smiles at me, his blue eyes twinkling at the edges. I reach for an apron as he fills the sink, but he puts his hand on my arm, and his touch sends shocks through me that immobilize me where I stand.

  “Brandy said you helped cook, which means no dishes for you.” He grins. “Them’s the rules, kiddo.”

  “Kiddo? Please,” I say. “I’m older than you.”

  His hand is still on my arm. “I’m thirty-one.”

  “And you dated my little sister?” I give
a mock-horrified gasp. “You dirty old man.”

  He quirks a brow at me. “You have no idea.”

  He releases my arm and turns toward the dishes. I step back and start to walk away.

  “Don’t go,” he says, so quietly that I can run away and pretend not to have heard him, which is probably what I would have done on any other night. Instead, I lean against the butcher block island and dip one finger in the bowl of whipped cream.

  “I can keep you company for a while, I guess.” I lick the cream off my finger. Will chuckles and shakes his head at me.

  “Now that’s just cruel,” he says.

  “Oh, sorry.” I pick up the bowl and hold it out to him. “You want some?”

  Will looks at me for a second, then laughs again. “No. Thanks.”

  Suddenly, I realize what he’s saying, and I flush madly and roll my eyes at myself. “Oh. Sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay.” He grabs a plate, dunks it in the soapy water and scrubs at it a little too hard. His neck is flushed and there’s a light smile on his face.

  “I thought you were supposed to be in Ottawa,” I say.

  “I was. I am. I’m catching a redeye back at 2 a.m.”

  I feel a rush of disappointment. “So you just came back for what, twelve hours?”

  He rinses the soapy plate and sets it in the wooden dish rack. “More like fourteen. But, yeah. I haven’t missed one of Brandy’s Thanksgivings since I moved here, so I put myself on a stand-by flight just in case. I didn’t say anything because I figured there was no way I’d get a flight, but… here I am.”

  “I guess it was meant to be.” My voice barely registers, it’s so low as I say this. Part of me hopes he didn’t hear me.

  But he did. He raises his eyes to mine. “I like to think so.”

  We stare at each other for a few moments, and then we are interrupted by Gladys and Valerie, who both flirt shamelessly with Will until Valerie pats his ass, at which point Brandy comes in and chases them off. I push away from the counter and am about to shuffle off with them when Will calls my name. I turn and look at him.

  “I’m gonna have to head back to Tucson within the hour or I’m gonna miss my flight.” He pauses for a moment. “If you’re leaving soon, I was thinking maybe I could walk you back to your cabin.”

  I look at the clock. Twenty minutes to midnight. Sounds about fitting for the Cinderella theme of the evening.

  “You finish up and I’ll go get my things,” I say.

  Will smiles. “Okay.”

  I make my rounds, give my goodbyes. The men all kiss me on the cheek and the women all hug me and I laugh and ham it up as I make my way upstairs, sprinkling kisses from my fingers like rose petals onto an adoring public. Once in the loft, I gather my clothes and put on my Keds. As I’m about to turn around and head back down the stairs, I notice my quilt poking out from the middle of the pile on the dresser. I stop for a moment, then walk over and touch it again. I pull it out of the stack and wrap it around my shoulders, then glide down the stairs, not stumbling at all, and Will meets me at the bottom. The group heckles us as we head out. I catch Brandy’s attention and touch the quilt with a questioning look. She grins and nods permission. Will puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me out. Just as we reach the stone path that winds around Brandy’s and back toward the cabins, I hear Valerie yell, “Send him back when you’re done with him, Carly!” out the window. Will and I laugh, and a moment later we are alone, walking down the path by moonlight.

  “I’m really glad you came back today,” I say.

  “Me, too.”

  We pass by his cabin and keep on down the path. My heart rate is kicking up, and I can feel an electric zing running up and down my legs. When we get to my cabin, I step up on the stoop and turn to face him. Even with the boost, he’s still a bit taller than me, but our eyes are level enough for me to see the way he’s looking at me, and I like it.

  “I know you have to get on your plane,” I say, “but do you want to come in for a few minutes?”

  “Yes,” he says quickly, then releases a deep breath and shakes his head. “But it’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Oh.” It must be midnight. I’m turning back into a pumpkin. “Okay. Well. Thanks for walking me. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  I’m about to turn and go inside when his hand grasps mine. The quilt slips from my grip and my shoulder is exposed to the chill night air but my skin is so flushed with wine and sexual tension that it feels good.

  “Don’t misunderstand,” he says, his voice quiet and his eyes locked on mine. “It’s just that if I go in there, I’ll probably miss my plane and I can’t afford to do that.”

  “Okay,” I say. His fingers are caressing my palm and I really, really, really want him to come inside.

  We are silent for a long moment. He is looking at me and I am looking at him and we’re not saying anything and we’re not moving closer together but we’re not moving further away.

  “Well…” His voice sounds strained. I make a tiny move forward, then go still. His hand travels up my arm and I realize with full certainty that if he doesn’t kiss me right this minute, my heart is going to burst from my chest and I’m going to die. His fingers blaze a slow trail up to my face, then slide around the back of my head and he pulls me to him, his lips gliding over mine like a whisper. Now, my entire body is zinging and his other arm wraps around my waist and pulls me up tight against him. My hands find his face and the kiss takes over my entire body until finally, our lips separate and we look at each other, our ragged breath mingling in hot bursts. I stumble back a bit and Will catches my arm and gives me balance, his eyes laughing.

  “Your feet don’t seem to like you much.”

  “Okay, this time is not my fault,” I say. “Tyra Banks would fall over after a kiss like that.”

  He smiles. “Tyra Banks, huh?”

  I don’t say anything, just stare into his eyes, trying to work a Jedi mind trick on him. Come inside, Will. Miss your plane, Will. You know you want to, Will.

  “I have to go,” he says finally. So much for Jedi mind tricks. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you on Tuesday then?”

  I nod. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  “Okay.” He takes a step back, releases a breath. “Whew. Okay.”

  I watch him as he takes a few steps away, then turns back to face me.

  “Is it just me, or was that kiss the kind of thing people write books about?”

  I can’t help but sink into a big fat smile. “It’s not just you.”

  “Good,” he says, nodding happily into the night. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets and heads down the path. I hug the quilt in my arms and stand with the cold air kissing my skin until he is out of sight.

  ***

  I float through the next few days. Will calls me twice, just to chat, and each call makes me extraordinarily happy. His job in Ottawa is for some catalogue of kitschy kitchen items - teapots shaped like cats, Statue of Liberty pepper grinders, that sort of thing. I spend Saturday night with Brandy, and I finish my brown turd scarf. It’s lumpy and a little off-looking, but I made it, and I can’t help but love it despite how ugly it is. Brandy wants to get me started on another project, but I beg off, wrap my scarf around my neck, and head home.

  On Sunday morning, I go to Mass at St. Cecilia’s, the cathedral on the edge of town. I don’t know why. I haven’t been to a church since Ella’s wedding, and before that I only went when Dad dragged me on holidays. As I step into the church, I wonder what Dad would think if he knew I was going of my own volition. Then I take a whiff of the incense and am suddenly overwhelmed with missing him. I cross myself and genuflect at a pew, then take a seat as the priest does the homily. I sit through the mass but pass on the communion since I can’t even remember the last time I confessed and I’m beyond lapsed. Still, after mass I go up to the shrine of candles, put five dollars in the box, and light five candles. One for Ella and
Greg. One for Five. One for Dad. One for Will’s safe travel home. The last one takes me a while to light, but finally I say a quick prayer for Mary and turn quickly to escape, smashing headfirst into the lady behind me. I blurt out a quick apology and race out the back of the church.

  ***

  Will is in my living room wearing only flannel lounge pants, drinking coffee and staring up at She Might Be Crying. I watch him from the doorway of my bedroom. I love the way he looks, his skin practically glowing in the morning light.

  He is beautiful.

  I try to take a step toward him, but my feet won’t move. I look down, trying to figure out what’s holding me back. There’s nothing on my feet, but they feel really heavy.

  And I realize I’m dreaming.

  “Oh, crap,” I say. “This was a good one.”

  Will laughs. “It had potential.”

  I stare at him, trying to will him to come to me and make this a really good dream, but there’s a knock at the door.

  “Are you gonna get that?” he asks.

  “No.” I stare harder, concentrate, furrow my brow. Maybe the Jedi mind trick will work in my dream world.

  Come to me, Dream Will, I think. You know you want to.

  Will laughs. “You have a funny look on your face.”

  “That’s not sweet talk.”

  He winks at me. “I’m coming back tomorrow. Can’t you wait one more day?”

  I hold his eye. “No.”

  There’s another knock. Will starts for the back door.

  “Wait, where are you going?” I still can’t move.

  “You need to get that,” he says. I whimper, and he laughs. He blows me a kiss from the back door, then leaves. I look down at my feet and curse.

  “Stupid feet,” I say.

  The knocking continues. I open one eye, and I am in bed. The sheets are wrapped around my ankles under the bedspread and quilt, which are bunched over me in such a strange jumble that it takes me a few moments of cursing and scrambling to extricate myself. I mutter to myself as I hobble out of bed, grabbing my robe off the top of the dresser on my way to the front door.