The Fortune Quilt

by Lani Diane Rich

  “Yeah. It makes sense.” Will pulls on a smile and looks at me, his blue eyes digging into mine, looking for something and apparently not finding it. “I’m happy for you, you know. I think it’s great that you’re working things out with your family, and you’re back together with your friend.”

  There’s something strange in his expression, and I grab his hand. “Wait. Christopher and I aren’t together together. You know it’s not like that, right?”

  “I know.” He leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “I’m beat. It was a long weekend. I think I’m gonna go back to my place and get some sleep, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

  I watch him as he puts on his t-shirt and jacket. Before he leaves, he leans over me and gives me a sweet, long, lingering kiss and even though I try not to read too much into it, it feels a lot like a goodbye kiss.

  ***

  The next morning, I call the girl in traffic and she says I can move in on Friday. I call Rob Jenkins, and we decide I’ll report to the station first thing Monday morning for a quick confab before the holiday. He asks if I have a preference for a photog, and I say that Christopher and I always made a good team. When I hang up the phone, I feel weird. Conflicted. I’m happy to be getting my life back, but the thought of telling Will makes me tense and nervous and stressed.

  So, I don’t tell Will. I head straight to Janesse’s and give her my notice, effective immediately. She closes the store and takes me to the Café, where Allegra allows us to order whatever we want. James and Sebastian hug me and order me to come back and visit. They invite me to Brandy’s New Year’s Eve party, and I say I’ll try to make it. Allegra hugs me, and Janesse tears up a bit. I get in my car and watch as Janesse heads back over to the shop. A few moments later, I see the hand-painted “Help Wanted” sign go back up in the window. I stare at it for a few moments, then drive back to the cabin. I knock on Brandy’s door, but she’s not home, so I sneak past Will’s back to my cabin, where I settle on the couch in depressed silence. I sit back and rest my head against the back of the couch, closing my eyes. I’ve been sitting there for a few minutes when there’s a knock at my door.

  “Hey, there, stranger,” I say, stepping back to let Will in. My heart is racing, and I feel a cool sheen of sweat forming on the back of my neck. “I was just going to come see you.”

  He smiles, but it’s weak.

  “I hear you’re leaving on Friday,” he says. “That true?”

  “Yeah.” News travels fast in Bilby, I guess. “I was just going to tell you. Um, Maya, the girl with the extra room? She said I could move in. How did you…? I mean, I was just going to come tell you—”

  “James,” he says. “He just called me to tell me to lock you in your cabin so you couldn’t leave.”

  “Oh.” I am awash with guilt. “Yeah. I was there this morning, with Janesse. I had to give her notice and then Allegra was there…”

  I trail off. Even to my own ears, I sound lame. I should have told him first. I should have and I didn’t and I’m just going to have to suck it up and face the consequences.

  “Yeah. No. I understand,” he says. “When do you start your job?”

  “We’re gonna meet on Monday, and then I start work after the holidays. I was actually hoping that we could spend some time together—”

  “I have that job in San Diego,” he says, motioning vaguely in the direction of his cabin. “I’m leaving tonight.”

  “Oh.” This is goodbye, I think, and even while part of me tries to deny it, I can feel it falling over me like a heavy blanket. “When will you be back?”

  His eyes meet mine. “Saturday.”

  “Oh.”

  Yep. This is definitely goodbye. I can smell it, like the stench of death. Here’s another potentially good thing you’ve managed to squash into the ground, Car. Go you.

  “Is there anything…?” He trails off, looks to the door, then looks back at me. “Is there anything else we should say here?”

  I think about that. Is there anything I can say here to salvage this train wreck? Should I say anything? I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do, what I should say. I don’t know how normal, emotionally functional people handle situations like this. I feel like I’m in a wheelchair and he’s asking me to walk and I just don’t know how.

  “Okay,” he says after a moment. But I’m not ready for him to say okay. I’m still trying to figure out how to walk. He leans over and kisses me on the forehead, then turns and leaves. I stand where I am, staring at my feet, for what feels like hours before I finally go into my room and fall into my bed and cry until I fall asleep.

  ***

  When I wake up, it’s dusk. Or, possibly, dawn. I look at my clock; it reads 5:39.

  Dusk.

  I push myself up on my elbows and stare at my yellow walls. I start to cry again.

  I love my yellow walls. If I could pick up this cabin and relocate it in Tucson, everything would be perfect. If I could take Brandy and Allegra and Janesse and James and Sebastian with me, I would.

  And Will… But that’s over. Will has broken up with me. At least I think he has. I’m pretty sure he has. And who can blame him? He gave me a chance to tell him I still wanted this, wanted us, and I didn’t do it.

  “He’s better off,” I mutter to myself, but then my lower lip starts to tremble and I stare at my yellow walls. I wonder if Maya will let me paint the walls yellow in her extra room?

  I sniffle and get up, wandering randomly through the cabin. Today is Tuesday. I’m leaving in three days. Is it too early to pack? Maybe I should just leave now, save myself the misery of extending the pain. I stop at my tiny little sink with my regular-sized dishes in it and weep for a few minutes. Then I swipe at my face and go to my tiny baby refrigerator and grab my big bottle of wine. I pull the cork out with my teeth and spit it onto the counter. I pour a very full glass and start drinking. Tonight is definitely an occasion for drinking alone.

  Accept the book with the amber spine. Brandy’s voice is so clear in my head that I actually look around the cabin for her. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m just remembering what she said in the reading.

  “Oh, my God,” I say out loud. The reading. The tape. I have that tape somewhere. Maybe there’s something there, some instruction, some magical answer that will tell me what I’m supposed to do. I put the wine glass down and head into my room, diving into the closet. I pull out the stool and climb up until I can reach the big cardboard box I packed the night I left Dad’s. I haven’t looked in it since I moved in, as most of the stuff is totally random and useless. I dump it on my bed and start pawing through it. A sample of items include a mouse from my old computer, an ugly yellow monkey that Seth won for me at the U of A Spring Fling a few years back, and a package of six toothbrushes that I got at Price Club once, and which I always forget I have when I need a new toothbrush. Finally, at the bottom of the pile, I find the tape that Brandy made for me the day she gave me the reading. I pull it out and jam it into my tape player. I hit rewind, wait impatiently for a few seconds, and just hit play. I catch Brandy in mid-sentence, her voice hushed and low.

  “… emotional center is jagged. You keep everything in separate boxes.”

  I glance over at the quilt, with all the pretty images kept separate from each other, in the boxes. I don’t know why, but this makes me incredibly sad.

  “Pay attention to the paintbrushes.”

  I can hear my own snicker in the background, and I’m so annoyed with myself that I wish I could go back in time and smack that girl.

  “Return the frog.”

  All my muscles go stiff.

  “Um, what?” I hear myself saying on the tape.

  “Accept the book with—”

  I hit stop, rewind, play.

  “Return the frog.”

  “Um, what?”

  “Accept the book with the amber spine. Take the cab.”

  “No,” I say, over my old self saying, “
Is that like ‘leave the gun, take the cannoli’?”

  I hit stop on the tape machine.

  Rewind. Play.

  “Return the frog.”

  “No.” I glance over at Quasitoado, sitting on my dresser, and I feel a tear track down my cheek. “No.”

  “Is that like ‘leave the gun, take the cannoli’?”

  That can’t be what I’m supposed to do. I can’t give back Quasitoado. I might have to go through the rest of my life without Will, but I’m not giving up Quasitoado.

  “No,” I say, my voice all high-pitched and cracking. “I love him.”

  “Everything’s about to change,” Brandy’s voice says. I reach out and shut off the tape, then settle back down on my bed.

  No, I think. I don’t want to give up Quasitoado. I love Quasitoado. Quasitoado makes me happy. He understands me. He doesn’t judge me.

  He’s already gone, says a voice in my head. You’ve blown it. It’s too late. He’s gone.

  “Maybe he hasn’t left yet,” I say out loud. “Maybe…”

  That’s it. That’s my answer. I’ll go over to Will’s. If he’s still there, then we’re meant to be, and I can keep Quasitoado. If he’s not, then…

  But he’s there. He has to be. We’re meant to be together, I know it. I know it as I stuff my feet into my sneakers. I know it as I shrug into my jacket. I know it as I run to Will’s cabin, as sure as I’ve ever been about anything. I’m finally getting up out of that stupid fucking wheelchair. I’m walking.

  I’m walking.

  ***

  He’s not in his cabin. It takes my jiggling the chintzy back door lock free and entering his cabin before I accept that he’s gone. He’s not in the shower, where he can’t hear me knocking. He’s not in the bundle of blankets on his unmade bed where I thought he might be taking a post break-up nap of his own. He is gone, on his way to where ever.

  He’s gone. I could call him on his cell phone but what would be the point? He’s gone. Fate has spoken.

  It’s over.

  I don’t even realize I’m going to Brandy’s until I find myself at her door. I ring the doorbell. It zaps me, but I don’t care.

  “Come in,” she calls, and I open the door and step inside. It’s dark, and I start talking as my eyes adjust.

  “Will’s back door lock is broken. I’ll pay for it. But I’m moving out, so I can’t fix it myself, or I would. But I’ll pay for it. And I’ll pay next month’s rent, too, so you have thirty days notice. I just won’t be here for it. I hope that’s okay. I got a job in Tucson. I’m leaving Friday.”

  I stop rambling and look up to see Brandy sitting on her living room floor, kneeling before a tremendous quilt made of vibrant colors swirling over a dark purple background. It looks almost like one of those hurricane graphics they put on the Weather Channel, except prettier.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “It’s done,” she says, and looks up at me. Her hair’s a mess, and it looks like she hasn’t slept in a while. “Will you go get him for me?”

  “Sure,” I say quietly. “Yeah. Of course. Right now?”

  She nods and swipes at her face. “I might lose my nerve if it’s not now.”

  “Okay.” I turn around and head out the door, fumbling in my pocket for my keys.

  ***

  “So, she’s really got a quilt for me?” Janesse says as I pull the car to a stop in front of Brandy’s house. I remove the keys from the ignition, but she doesn’t move, just stares out the window at Brandy’s house.

  “We bought this place together,” she says, but stops there, reliving her memories on her own. I wait for a minute, then follow her lead as she unhooks her seat belt and gets out of the car.

  Brandy is exactly as I left her, kneeling before the quilt on the floor.

  “Brandy?” I say. “I’ve got Janesse here.”

  Brandy’s eyes lock on me, then drift upwards and to my left. I step aside and sit on the stairs, trying to be present but out of the way at the same time.

  Janesse stands frozen in the doorway for a long moment, then finally steps in and closes the door behind her. They stare at each other for a long moment. Brandy’s eyes glisten with tears in the low light, and Janesse gives a small nod. Then Brandy smiles and holds out her hand. Janesse walks over and takes it, sitting next to Brandy. Brandy smiles, and a tear bops down her cheek as she hits the record button on the tape player at her side.

  “This,” she says, motioning with her free hand while still holding Janesse’s hand in the other, “represents your emotional center. It’s vibrant, and powerful. And beautiful.”

  Janesse sniffles and swipes at her face. Brandy watches her, waiting, and when Janesse looks at her again, Brandy smiles before turning her eyes back to the quilt. “You are a person who brings others to their paths. You have a heart that loves unconditionally. You are…”

  I stay because Brandy asked me to stay, but I stare at my feet and let Brandy’s words fade out under a blanket of my own thoughts. The reading takes about thirty minutes, and when it’s over, the three of us break out a bottle of wine and toast the upcoming new year.

  ***

  Allegra, Janesse and Brandy are sitting on my couch. I’m in the orange easy chair. The packing party lasted all of two hours. I really didn’t have that much stuff. On the coffee table before us are two items: She Might Be Crying, and Quasitoado.

  “I really said, ‘Return the frog’?” Brandy asks. “Maybe I didn’t mean this frog. Besides, isn’t this technically a toad?”

  “Technically, it’s ceramic,” I say. “And I’ve listened to the tape. You said it. ‘Accept the book with the amber spine. Return the frog.’”

  Janesse sighs. “Then you need to return the frog.”

  Allegra hits Janesse. “No, she doesn’t. It was a stupid reading. It doesn’t mean anything.” She leans forward and smiles at Brandy. “No offense, Bran.”

  “None taken.” Brandy looks at me and sighs. “Well, what do you want to do?”

  I stare at the coffee table. “I want to wrap them both up and bring them with me. I want to find Will and tell him that I want to make this work. I want to do a lot of things, but if it’s not the right thing…” I flash back to Seth at Ella’s wedding. “I don’t want to put him through that.”

  Allegra sighs. “At least keep the painting. You paid for it. It’s yours. If you don’t keep that, it’ll hurt his feelings.”

  I nod, still staring at the painting. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Out of the corner of my vision, I see Brandy nudge Janesse, who grabs the painting in one hand and Allegra’s arm in the other.

  “We’ll go wrap it up for you at Brandy’s and get it in your car.”

  I sit back, wait for them to leave, and then lock eyes on Brandy. “Okay. What’s up?”

  Brandy leans forward. “I’m really proud of you.”

  I can’t stop myself from snorting in derision. “Yeah. I’m a real prize.”

  “You are. Look at you. I’m amazed by you, by your faith.”

  My head jerks up at this. “My what?”

  “When I first met you, I didn’t think you were that kind of girl. I thought you were one of those people who forced life to be what they thought they wanted, instead of embracing what it was meant to be.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “That’s supposed to be a compliment, right? Supposed to make me feel better?”

  She smiles. “It takes a tremendous amount of courage to do what you know is right, even when it’s not what you want. Even when you can rationally explain why you shouldn’t. And, you know, sometimes you get what you really want by doing the very thing you don’t want to do.”

  I rub my eyes. “Will it lower your opinion of me at all if I tell you I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about?”

  “Not in the least.” She kneels in front of the frog. “Goodbye, Quasitoado.” She stands up and brushes her knees off. “I’ll wait for you at the house. You come in and say goodbye before you leave,
okay?”

  I nod, still staring at the frog as she leaves.

  “So, this is about faith, is it?” I ask Quasitoado. “So, what? If I give you back to Will, you’ll bring him back to me? Do you think you can do that?”

  Quasitoado stares back at me, his mutantish, tiny face giving me no answers. I close my eyes and sit back in the chair, letting the silence wash over me. I’m so tired that my mind goes instantly blank, and I’m grateful for it.

  And then, like an almost imperceptible breeze, I feel a surge of certainty pulse through me, and I open my eyes.

  I know what to do. I grab Quasitoado and hold him in my arms, heading out of the cabin. I start down the path, hitching a left at Will’s cabin. I set Quasi down on the little outdoor table on his porch, and I give the ugly ceramic frog a quick kiss on the nose.

  I step back, swipe my face, and turn my back, knowing I’ve done the right thing despite the fact that I hate every minute of it.

  I now know why I never had any faith before. It’s because faith sucks.

  Twelve

  My father’s annual New Year’s Eve party is as crazy this year as it always is. The house is filled wall-to-wall with co-workers from his architecture firm, old friends we only see at New Year’s, and, of course, our screwed-up but lovable little family. After much hesitation, I wear the brown chiffon dress to the party, and I get hit on by the guy who does Dad’s payroll and the guy who delivers the champagne. They’re both cute, and I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.

  They’re not Will.

  It’s been almost two weeks since I left Bilby, and Will still hasn’t called. Part of me was hoping that the purpose of leaving Quasitoado behind was so that Will would realize how much I meant to him and chase me to Tucson. But that didn’t happen. I’ve given myself until New Year’s Eve to finally accept that it’s over, and midnight is mere hours away, so it’s time to start accepting.

  We’re just not meant to be.

  The party is fun, but as it turns out I’m in no mood for a fun party. At nine-thirty, I make my escape to the backyard, where it’s cold and quiet and matching my mood.