The Fortune Quilt

by Lani Diane Rich

  “They ran out to get some whipped cream for the pie,” she says. “I was going to whip my own, but then the beater broke, so…” She trails off. “Well.”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a long silence, then Mary lifts up the bottle. “I’m going to open this and let it breathe a bit.” She motions vaguely toward Dad’s office door. “Your father is in there. Maybe you could…?”

  She lets the question hang in the air. My heart clutches in my chest.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder, gives a small squeeze, and then heads for the kitchen. I swallow hard and will my feet to carry me to Dad’s office. They resist for a while, but finally give in. I knock gently on the door.

  “Dad?”

  There’s a long pause, then a gruff, “Come in.”

  I push the door open to find Dad sitting on his brown leather sofa, staring into a glass of scotch. I step inside and close the door gently behind me, leaning against it. My heart is beating wildly against my chest and my face is hot and I know that neither one of us is leaving this room until this whole thing between us is resolved. Which, when you consider the fact that we’re both Irish, could take a while.

  He clears his throat, holds up the scotch and glances in my direction, but not directly at me.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He nods, continues to stare into his scotch. It’s a long time before he starts talking, but when he does, his voice is strong and clear.

  “When your mother left…” There is a long pause. I can see that this is hard for him, so I wait silently until he starts up again. “When all that happened, I was a lost man. My life had been pulled out from under me, and I was left flat on my back, thinking, ‘What the hell just happened?’” He pauses again and I wonder if I’m supposed to say something. I hope not, because I have no idea what I should say. Eventually, he starts talking again. “I felt like I had failed, because I didn’t know how badly she was hurting. I thought it was just a phase, just a typical postpartum thing, she’d snap out of it. I didn’t know. A better husband, he would have known.”

  He takes a drink, and we both breathe for a bit before he goes on.

  “My whole life, I’ve only ever loved one woman. I know you think I shouldn’t forgive her, that I should turn her away. Maybe you’re right. Maybe, because of you kids, maybe that’s my responsibility, that’s what I should do to protect you.” He raises his eyes to mine. They look tired, and sad, but at the same time there’s something new, some brand of contentment that wasn’t there before. “But the fact is, Carly, if she left tomorrow, I’d wait another seventeen years for her to come back, and when she did, I’d be glad to have her. You can call me stupid, and you’d be right, but that’s what I’d do. I can’t explain it, and I can’t justify it. It’s just the way it is. I’d forgive her anything and if that makes me a stupid man, then I guess I’m a stupid man.”

  I take a deep breath to clear the emotion choking me before I speak. “You’re not stupid.”

  He makes a dismissive sound, waves his hand at me and looks at the wall.

  “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast. I’m sorry that I put you through that and I’m sorry that I can’t make this easy and choose between you.” He turns his face to me and his voice grows hoarse. “But I can’t.”

  I can feel myself in the eye of a hurricane of emotion. I know that I have a choice. I can either stay where I am and remain in the middle of it, calm and strong and unbowed, or I can step into it and let the storm hit. I take one step toward my father and I feel a sob punch through me, but I keep walking.

  “You don’t have to choose,” I squeak out. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t want to make you choose.”

  “You have always been such a strong little thing,” he says quietly. “I always wondered where you got that from.”

  “I think,” I say slowly, “it was my dad.”

  He raises his eyes to mine, and I can see the hurt and sadness there, and I realize that he has no idea what kind of man he really is. He thinks he’s weak, and merely human, like the rest of us.

  He has no idea.

  “Remember when Aunt Kathy wanted to move in?”

  He looks at me, his eyebrows quirking a bit. “No.”

  I laugh. “I do. It was right after Mom left, and she came down and gave you this big speech about how we needed a woman in the house and you couldn’t do it alone. And you said, ‘These are my girls.’” I swallow hard and smile at him. “That’s it. ‘These are my girls.’ And when you said that, I knew that you would jump in front of a train before you’d ever let anyone take us from you.”

  I am unable to say anything else. I am unable to tell him how much that one moment meant to me, how the certainty of his devotion to us made it so much easier to go on without her. He reaches out for my hand, and I give it to him, settling next to him on the couch. I understand now that he’s not mad at me. He was never mad at me. He was just confused and hurt, like the rest of us.

  “I love you, Angel,” he says. “You know that. Always.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  He pulls me into a hug and I smoosh my face against his strong shoulder, the way I did when I was a little girl. There’s a light knock on the door, and we break apart, both of us swiping at our faces. Mary steps in, and her eyes widen when she sees us.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, starting to back out.

  “It’s okay,” I say. She steps back into the room and looks at me questioningly, then smiles at my father. There’s more than kindness there, more than guilt or a desire for redemption. There’s some kind of connection in their eyes as they look at each other that I don’t understand, but I think I’d very much like to.

  Someday.

  “The roast ready?” I ask.

  She turns her smile on me. “When you are. Five and Ella are back. But we can wait…”

  “No.” I smile at Dad. “We’re ready.”

  We follow out behind her, arm in arm, and find Ella and Five in the dining room. When Five sees me, she jumps up from the table and gives me a hug.

  “I dumped Botox,” she says.

  I pull back from the hug. “Really?”

  She nods and rolls her eyes. “He was a jerk anyway.”

  I smile. “I’ll get that story later?”

  She nods, and we all take our seats. Dad is at the head of the table, Mary next to him, and me next to Mary. We are just finished saying grace when I shoot a look across the table to Ella.

  “So, where’s Greg tonight?” I ask casually.

  She smiles. “He had an emergency.”

  Five raises an eyebrow as she passes the potatoes to Ella. “They have emergency eye-lifts?”

  “No.” Ella gives Five an unamused look. “It’s a pro-bono thing. He’s on call this week for Tucson General, there was a woman who got in a car accident and he’s helping put her face back all nice and pretty.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Good for him.”

  “Yeah, but…” She pauses, bites her lip, and smiles. “We had something we wanted to tell you tonight.”

  Mary claps her hands together. “You’re buying that house down the street!” She puts her hand on Dad’s arm. “I told you they were going to buy it.”

  Ella opens her mouth, but Dad holds up his hand. “No. It’s that Greg’s finally opening up his own practice, isn’t it? He was asking me about potential office space last week.”

  Five and I exchange a glance and she pushes back from the table. “I’ll get the kitty.”

  Dad reaches into his pocket and puts a ten on the table. Mary gets up.

  “My purse is in the hallway,” she says, calling behind her, “Don’t say a word until I get back.”

  Ella lets out a big sigh. “Telling this family anything is never a simple process.”

  “Yeah,” I say, forking a slice of roast, “but it’s always lucrative.”

  Five a
nd Mary return to the table. Dad sticks his ten in the kitty and hands it to Mary, who puts a twenty in. I reach into my pocket and pull out a five.

  “You’re knocked up,” I say.

  Ella stares at me into total disbelief and I laugh.

  “Holy shit,” I say. “You’re knocked up?”

  “Don’t say ‘holy shit’ at the table,” Dad admonishes.

  “Goddamnit,” Five says, tossing a handful of ones on the table. “I didn’t even get a chance to guess!”

  Dad turns to Mary. “I swear, I didn’t raise them to talk like that at the table.”

  I reach over and grab Ella’s wineglass. “What are you doing drinking wine, Preggo Girl?”

  “I didn’t drink any, but if I didn’t let Mom pour it, you all would have gotten suspicious and I wanted it to be a surprise, which it would have been if Carly hadn’t ruined it!”

  “I didn’t ruin anything,” I say. “I was totally kidding. What happened to your whole ‘at least a year before babies’ thing?”

  Ella rolls her eyes and sips her water. “You know. Things… happen. And it’s still early. I peed on the stick this morning and it was just barely two lines but…” A grin takes over her face. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Wow,” I say, and we all fall into silence.

  Then Dad raises his glass.

  “Well,” he says, “I think this calls for a toast.”

  Four hours later, I say goodbye to my family with a promise to come back the following week for Christmas, and the following month to help Ella shop for baby things. As I head toward my car, my winnings tucked in my pocket, I feel happy and at peace.

  There’s going to be a new generation. God help the little monkey.

  Eleven

  The independent station in Tucson is a small outfit, tucked in the middle of a nondescript industrial park on the north side. The interior is nice - pink walls, funky plants in the corners and sconces lighting the hallway down which Robert Jenkins leads me to his office, which is a mess. Which is good. I learned a long time ago that anyone with a neat office was not to be trusted. He clears off some space on his desk to put a notepad, and I sit across from him. He explains that the position is freelance at this time, but they’re working on securing a grant to produce a regular show covering all of Arizona. He tells me that the current working title is Inside Arizona, and I get a tingle when he says it. I spontaneously start talking about Bilby, about the artists, and the concept of being Towered, and how the whole town was Towered when the mines dried up, and it rebuilt itself into this thriving artist community. He leans forward with animation as I talk, and he says it’s exactly the kind of thing they’re looking for. He takes my resume and my tape and tells me he’ll give me a call soon.

  I head down the hall after our interview with a huge smile on my face. I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I need to be, exactly when I need to be there. I like the feeling. It’s peaceful, yet slightly buzzy.

  “Carly!”

  My hand is on the front door when I hear my name, and I turn to see Christopher heading toward me. I am surprised by how happy I am to see him, and I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck as he lifts me up into a big hug.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as he lands me on my feet again.

  “I started last week. Had to take a pay cut, but it beats news by a mile.” We share an eye roll: News. “Rob told me you’d be coming in today. I’m glad I didn’t miss you.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Me, too. How are you?”

  He thinks on this for a second, then gives me a smiling nod. “I’m good. You?”

  I smile back. “I’m good.”

  “Good.” He raises one eyebrow. “How about hungry? You hungry?”

  ***

  Going to The Taco Shack with Christopher is both so familiar and so surreal that as I sit at the white outdoor picnic bench waiting for him to return with my carne asada, I almost feel as though we’ve gone back in time, as if nothing ever happened or changed between us.

  Christopher puts our food on the table and sits down across from me.

  “So,” he says. “Word on the street is you’ve got someone now. Someone you’re seeing.”

  There’s no tension or conflict in his face, so I pretend it is six months ago.

  “Don’t mess around, Christopher,” I say, smiling. “Get right to it, there’s no need for small talk.”

  He laughs and picks at his burrito, then looks up at me.

  “No, it’s good. I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He shrugs and casually sips his soda. “Besides, I’m totally over you.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, good.”

  “Yeah. I’m lying.”

  I give him an exasperated look, and he laughs.

  “I’m getting over it,” he says. “I’m moving past it. I’ll admit, when I found out you were coming in for an interview, I had a minor freak out. Then I thought, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth not being friends with you. So, I’m thinking: do-over.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Do-over?”

  He raises his eyes to mine. “Yeah. You know. Like in kickball when you’re a kid. You kick at the ball, you miss or break a window or something, you call do-over, and it’s like it never happened. Everything goes back to the way it was.” He squints in the sunlight and cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. “So, you know, if you’re up for it, I’m thinking do-over.”

  I feel a smile spread over my face. “Yeah. I’m up for it.”

  “Good.” He smiles and holds up his index finger. “But not yet. I have something to take care of first.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out the Jane Eyre. He sets it on the table, takes a deep breath, and slides it across the table at me. “You should have this. I know it’s weird, I know I’ve put seven years of angst and meaning into it, but I want it to just be… you know. A present. A little token. No big deal.”

  I put my hand on the book and draw it toward me, my mind suddenly flashing back to that first day at Brandy’s. I see her kneeling over my quilt, hear her voice in my head.

  Accept the book with the amber spine.

  “Wow,” I whisper. I can feel tears forming in my eyes, but I don’t bother blinking them away. “Thank you.”

  “Okay.” He holds up his wrist, checking his watch. “All right. The do-over officially starts… now.”

  He puts his wrist down.

  “So, Car, that’s a very cool book. Where’d you get it?”

  I run my fingers over the cover, then look up and smile at him. “My best friend gave it to me.”

  He raises his eyebrows and takes a bite of his burrito.

  “You’re a lucky girl,” he says, his mouth full.

  I laugh. “That depends on who you talk to.”

  He swallows and laughs. “Ba-doo-boom-chaaa.”

  “Ba-doo-boom-chaaa,” I say back.

  On the drive back to Bilby, I am feeling strong and happy. I feel like even though things aren’t perfect, they’re right. Exactly how they’re supposed to be. I am full of this feeling when my phone rings, and it’s Rob Jenkins asking me if I’m interested in taking on an assignment about a herpetologist from the U of A who’s doing a study on bullfrogs.

  “Then when that’s done, I think we should sit down and talk about that Bilby idea,” he says.

  ***

  “And I was thinking, that maybe I could feature you in the piece, you know, if we move forward with it?”

  Will and I are naked, lying in my bed. My head is resting on his shoulder and we’re both staring up at the ceiling.

  “Why would you want to do that?” he asks. “I mean, isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  “Not really,” I say. “We could do a disclosure or something. Somehow. Anyway.” I roll over and push up on my elbows and look down at him. “I think people should see your work. See what you do. It’s so amazing. You’re so talented. Maybe it’ll open something up for you.”

/>   Will’s eyebrows knit. “Like what?”

  “Like… I don’t know. Maybe get you a showing in a gallery, or something.”

  He sighs and pushes up off the bed, reaching around on the floor for his boxers. “I don’t think so.”

  I sit up in bed, still giddy from the job and the day and the good sex. “But you’re so good. Your work should be somewhere else, somewhere aside from the Café. Somewhere where people can see it, you know?”

  Will shrugs and pulls on his jeans. “I’m not really into that anymore.”

  “But… why not? I mean, the exposure could be great. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

  He runs his hand through his hair. I can see the tension on his face, but I don’t understand it until he speaks.

  “Because I had that, Carly. I had it, and I failed, and that’s it. It’s done. I’m a photographer who paints a bit, not the other way around, and I’d like to just drop it if that’s okay?”

  He says it less like a question and more like a command. I deflate back onto the bed.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Okay. I’m sorry.”

  He sits quietly for a moment, then releases a long sigh. “No.” He walks around to my side of the bed and sits next to me. “I’m sorry. And thank you. I love that you see all that potential in me.” He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m really happy for you, that you’re getting this job. It’s great to see you so excited about something.”

  He smiles, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his eyes. I take his hand in mine.

  “Am I missing something? Does one of us have cancer? What’s with the gloom?”

  “Nothing. I just… I’ll miss you when you go back.”

  I feel my stomach wrench into a knot. I hadn’t brought that up yet.

  Will looks at his hands. “So, you are going.”

  “Well,” I say. “It’s a lot of work, a lot of long days. It’s just… it’s a really long commute. And Christopher told me about one of the girls in traffic who has an extra room in her house she’d rent me for a while. And, you know, Christmas is a week from Thursday and I’d kind of like to be with my family for that.”