by Jodi Thomas
When she collected her things and stepped back outside, he was waiting. All the little stores on Main were closing, and the sun’s glow seemed to be pulling any warmth with it. Now the smell of coffee drifted from the bakery as low clouds hugged the horizon and the few people left on the street seemed to be in a hurry.
He fell into step with her as she turned toward the bed-and-breakfast. Her long strides seemed to match his in an easy gait. “How’d it go today?” he asked without looking at her.
“Fine. She thinks you and I are friends.”
“That’s all right. Just log your hours. Give me the report at the end of the week, and I’ll write you a check. She can think you’re just helping out, if it doesn’t bother you and it makes her happy.”
“I will.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before she added, “You don’t have to walk me home.”
“I’m not. This is my way home.” Without any hint of a smile, he added, “I thought you were trying to walk me home. I was starting to get a bit freaked out about it. Thought you might be after the other bag of popcorn.” He patted the stuffed pocket of his raincoat.
Jillian smiled. He was as hard to read as his grandmother. Shy one minute, funny the next. In an odd way she found it cute. She usually had to fend off at least a few advances from men she worked with. Even the married, do-it-by-the-book bosses sometimes took casual flirting too far.
Somehow, this good-looking man who carried a book under one arm didn’t frighten her.
Trying to kid him into smiling, she said, “I don’t like caramel, but if it had been cheesy flavored, you might have needed to worry. I could easily mug you for nacho-cheesy popcorn.”
He didn’t respond. Just nodded as if logging her comment to think about later. No jokes. No flirting. She wasn’t sure Connor Larady even knew how.
Jillian matched his steps and his mood. “Your grandmother doesn’t have a home to go to besides Autumn Acres, does she?”
“No. She moved to the Acres last spring right after it opened the first wing. My grandfather, Benjamin, died when I was a kid. She lived as a widow for years, ran the shop, walked home, and claimed she enjoyed her quiet time. Then one day she just decided Benjamin wasn’t dead—he simply forgot to come home.” Connor grinned suddenly, but there was no humor reflected in his eyes. “She’s been mad at him ever since. I used to think it was just a game she played with herself, but lately I think she forgets that she moved to the Acres and just thinks she’s spending a night out with the girls. Strange thing is, she’s never asked to go back to her house, not once. So, I’m thinking somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she’s where she needs to be.”
“What about your parents?” Maybe because she had no family, Jillian felt a need to know about other families.
“My folks died in a car crash my last year of college. My dad was Gram’s only living son. I came home and finished my studies online while I took over his newspaper business. My brother went the other direction. We hear from him now and then. The conversation is usually about how busy he is, but he hasn’t been home since our folks died.”
“Gram mentioned her boys were grown?” Jillian was trying to make the pieces fit.
“She did have two sons. My uncle died before he started school.”
He offered no more explanation and she didn’t want to ask. She knew the story would be sad.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The streetlights blinked on, making the shabby old homes on the block with the bed-and-breakfast look quaint, charming. The lights on an old refinery across the creek morphed the ugly pipes into the towers of a castle.
“On the days I can’t come get Gram for lunch, I’ll have something for you and her delivered from Mamma Bee’s Pastries.” He looked straight ahead, not seeming to see the beauty around them. “I just don’t want Gram left alone. She knows not to leave until I come, but I’d feel better if you were with her.”
“I’m not a nurse.” Jillian wondered exactly what she was getting into. There was far more to this job than she thought. She could handle museum-quality logging, but she wasn’t prepared for taking care of anyone.
“I’m not asking you to be. Just sit down and eat with her.” His voice was still low, but frozen now.
“Fair enough.” Jillian stopped at the gate of Flancher’s Folly Bed-and-Breakfast. “I eat a big breakfast. If you order her a meal, just make it soup for me. I’ll eat with her, but if you take her out as she said you do when it’s not a quilting day, I’ll stay and work. I can take care of myself. Feeding me is not your problem, and those days I can log another hour.”
He nodded. “Understood. Just a job, right? Don’t want to get too involved.”
“Right.” She answered without looking up at him. He might read her lie in her eyes. She needed the job, but she was in town hoping to find a tiny piece of her dad’s life. She hadn’t been surprised when he first vanished, but as the years passed she wished for one thing, one thread, to hang on to.
Part of her still looked for him in a crowd. Still thought about what she would have said, or asked, if she’d known he’d be disappearing the last time he’d walked away so casually.
For the first few years she’d thought he’d appear just to check on her. The fact he didn’t told her more than she wanted to admit about the man who raised her.
She knew so little about Jefferson James. Nothing about her mother. It was like she’d found a hole in her mind and had nothing to fill it with. His journal had noted this zip code in one of the margins. Maybe there was something or someone he’d cared about here.
Connor nodded a silent goodbye and she did the same. But she turned when she reached the shadows of the porch and watched him until he disappeared into the night.
An interesting man, this Connor Larady. Cold at times, like he had a heavy load to carry. Formal, almost, at other times. Yet Gram loved him dearly. Jillian suspected he was a man with a great deal on his mind, and she didn’t plan to know him well enough to ever find out what that entailed.
They were polite strangers. Nothing more. Maybe he was too shy to get closer. Maybe she was too afraid of being hurt. It didn’t matter. She’d be on her way in three months.
His wrinkled raincoat had flapped in the wind, almost like wings. Then, as he’d turned the corner, he’d vanished. Or flew away. She grinned, letting her imagination run. For as long as she could remember, she’d longed to see a real hero, or even a villain, but people were just people. Interesting, but not worth getting too close to.
Strange, she thought. She had no one who’d claim her body if she died tonight. Yet she’d just met a man who probably knew the whole town, and she had a feeling he was more alone than she was.
The next morning, when Jillian ventured into the sunroom that doubled as guest dining, Mrs. Kelly had Jillian’s place set. In summer this room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, would be an oven, but on this cloudy, winter day, it seemed to draw bits of light without bringing any warmth along.
Dozens of crystals hung in circles like wind chimes. Now and then, one caught a ray that escaped from the clouds and splashed rainbows along the one pale yellow wall.
A dusty old piano stood in the corner of the room, out of place and looking abandoned. Mrs. Kelly must have tried to camouflage the eyesore with a huge arrangement of plastic sunflowers.
Jillian almost giggled aloud. Staying in the bed-and-breakfast was almost like being in a real house. Of course it was just a business, but she could pretend. Even the banging coming from the kitchen added atmosphere.
For her father, old trailers or two-bedroom apartments furnished with the bare bones for living had been enough. But she liked having pictures on the walls, rugs on the floors and curtains on the windows. The two semesters she’d lived in a dorm she’d spent more than she should have at the dollar store buying all kinds of decorations for her room.
Then, she realized she couldn’t take any of them.
Only necessities travel.
As she sat down, she winked at the old upright piano in the far corner. If she could take anything extra packed away in the trunk of her car, it would be a piano. Impractical. Far too big. Impossible.
“Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Kelly’s words came so fast as she stepped into the room, they almost sounded like a hiccup. “Look at the beams of light coming in. If a crystal beam shines on your face, you’re blessed by the angels today. I just saw two on your cheek, dear.”
Jillian rubbed her face. “I don’t believe in crystals or angels, but it’s a nice thought.”
“Don’t worry, they believe in you.”
Papa’s rule: Stay away from the crazies. Insanity spreads like the plague.
Mrs. Kelly laughed as if she’d only been kidding, and Jillian relaxed as breakfast was delivered on a silver tray.
A Dallas Cowboys football player couldn’t have finished all the meal. Pecan pancakes, sage sausage, fresh fruit, and a cinnamon roll for dessert. Who has dessert for breakfast?
While Jillian ate, the tiny woman circled the room, talking as if even one guest needed a floor show to go along with her meal. “I heard from Stella, one of the quilters at the shop yesterday, that you’re working in Miss Eugenia’s shop. It’s been there forever, and I’ve never known her to hire help.”
“I’m logging and photographing all the quilts for the county museum. Miss Eugenia is telling me the history of each one.”
“That’s a very brave and honorable thing you’re doing,” the little lady said as if Jillian had joined Special Forces. “Are you planning on staying with me while you’re in town?”
“I’d hoped to. The job will only last a few months, then I’ll be moving on.”
Mrs. Kelly rocked her head back and forth as if sloshing an idea around in her mind. Finally, she said, “If you don’t mind cleaning your own room, you can have the two rooms up there for a hundred a week, breakfast included. Those rooms are never rented in the winter anyway, and you could use the small one as a living area or study. It only has a half bed in it, so I’ll toss pillows along the wall side and make it look like a couch. There’s also a desk if you’re one of those ‘work into the night’ people.”
“That’s a very fair price.”
Mrs. K grinned. “Oh, I forget to add that I sometimes have to leave town for a night now and then. You would have to fend for yourself and watch over the house and the ghost while I’m gone.”
“I could manage that.” Jillian hoped Mrs. K’s wink meant that she was only kidding about keeping up with the ghost.
Jillian frowned, fearing this setup might be too good to be true. People usually weren’t so nice. Most folks only trusted family and longtime friends. Strangers they kept at arm’s length. She knew this because she was always the stranger. Even in grade school she was usually still being called the new girl when her father pulled her out to move. After a while she quit even trying to make friends. It hurt too much to leave them.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. K. I’ll try to be quiet. The other guests won’t even know I’m upstairs.”
Mrs. Kelly laughed that fully rounded laugh that shook her whole body. “Oh, don’t be that, dear. I’ll enjoy the company. Being alone in this old place always makes me a little sad.”
Jillian looked up from her breakfast. Mrs. Kelly’s apron read I’m not short. I’m just compacted.
Jillian couldn’t hide her grin. Crazy and kind, she could live with. “You’ve got yourself a deal. A hundred a week. I clean my own rooms and house-sit when you need me. But when I’m the only guest for breakfast, we go light. Toast, one egg and coffee.”
Mrs. Kelly widened her stance as if preparing for a fight. “All right, with one exception. We add a muffin and sausage to the light breakfast. I feed that crow, who thinks he lives on my back fence, more than one egg and toast every morning.”
“Deal.” Jillian glanced out the window and was surprised to see a huge old crow propped on the dog-eared fence that had been painted red. He reminded her of the black ravens around the Tower of London. Rumor was, six ravens had to guard the tower at all times or the monarchy would fall. Maybe one crow was all that was needed to stand guard here.
Mrs. Kelly had disappeared when Jillian turned back to the table. She finished her grand meal, thinking this must be her lucky day. Maybe there was something to that crystal thing.
As she walked the block to the quilt shop, she planned. If she worked eight hours a day, five days a week, she’d bring in over seven hundred a week after taxes. A hundred a week for the room, maybe twenty for the car, fifty or sixty for meals on weekends and essentials. If she watched her money she could pocket five hundred a week easily. Two thousand a month. Even allowing for emergencies during the three months in Laurel Springs, she’d walk away with five thousand dollars.
Enough money to move to a big city, rent a nice apartment, find a real job. Disappear into the crowds.
Her good mood lasted until she opened the shop door and saw trouble perched on the old mahogany counter like a six-foot-tall buzzard.
4
A long slice of light shone into the dark shadows of the quilt shop. For a moment, Jillian thought she was in the wrong place. No soft ribbons of fluorescent bulbs twenty feet above. No laughter from the quilter’s corner. No smell of coffee drifting from the tiny kitchen.
Only a long-legged girl dressed in black, staring at her as if Jillian had just interrupted a demonic ritual.
The backward lettering of A Stitch in Time circled across the front window. Right place. Jillian was in the quilt shop. Squaring her shoulders, she moved forward.
“Hi,” Jillian managed as she widened the opening of the door. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to see the invader better or simply wanted to enlarge her escape route.
The strange girl swung one leg so it bumped against the side of the counter in a heartbeat rhythm. Her hair was so light it appeared white, and hung straight past her shoulders. A dozen bracelets, all appearing to be made out of rusty bolts, clanked on her arms as she turned toward the back of the store.
“Dad!” the intruder yelled. “Someone’s drifted in.”
Rows of lights began to click on, starting from the back and finally reaching the front. All the beautiful colors of the store returned, but the escapee from the Addams Family remained. Her black peacoat, with batwing shoulder pads, was ripped in several places. Black eyeliner extended almost to her ears and charcoal, lace gloves covered her hands.
Jillian studied the girl carefully. On the bright side, the coat and leggings matched. Both black and ragged. She appeared to be wearing three blouses, the last one a lace nightgown. Silk, holey as if moth-eaten, and spotted with what looked like bloodstains. Her skirt, with several chains hanging off it, reminded Jillian of a midnight plaid kilt.
They both turned as footsteps stormed from the back. “Sorry,” Connor Larady shouted. “I usually have the place all opened up by this time.”
He didn’t seem to notice the girl still perched on the counter. “I’ll have a key made for you so you won’t have to wait for me if I’m running late.”
When Jillian turned her gaze to the girl, Connor finally acknowledged the goth in the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jillian, this is my daughter. Sunnie, this is the lady who is helping Gram organize the shop.”
Jillian offered her hand, hoping the strange girl wouldn’t try to suck her blood. She was so thin and pale she probably hadn’t eaten in days.
The girl reluctantly took Jillian’s offered hand, but her handshake was limp.
If there was a prize for someone born with the wrong name, Sunnie Larady would win. Stormy might be better. Or Scary.
She slid off the counter. Six feet of pure adolescent rebellion. “I need to get to school, Connor.” She said her
father’s name louder than the rest of the sentence.
“Right.” Connor turned to Jillian. “Will you be all right here? Gram should be dropped off any minute.”
“I’m fine. I’ll watch for her.” Jillian smiled at Sunnie. “Nice to meet you.”
The girl shrugged and walked out.
“I’m sorry about that.” Connor sounded as if he’d said the same thing often lately. “She’s just going through a stage. The doctor says it’s normal for kids who lose a parent in their teens. He claims Sunnie is mad her mom died, and I’m the only one left to take it out on. Hating me keeps her mind off death.”
“When did your wife die?”
“Three years ago. Sunnie was thirteen.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy pants and rounded his shoulders forward as if trying to seem smaller, or maybe hold his grief inside. “Sunnie wanted to meet you. I don’t think she’d ever admit it, but she’s protective of Gram. I told her she could maybe help out after school now and then. But don’t look for her until she’s at the door.”
Jillian thought of screaming No!, but she simply smiled and said, “I’d appreciate the help.”
He nodded, then hurried out.
Jillian stood by the front window, watching the town come alive. This street reminded her of a beehive. Everyone seemed to have their job and all were working frantically to get the day started. She almost wanted to tell them all that it didn’t matter how many flags or sandwich boards the shops put out—this one street would never draw much of a crowd.
The old warehouse buildings across the creek hung over the cute main street like death’s shadow. The stillness just across the water was a constant reminder that a few blocks away, half of the town had been abandoned. Jillian wondered if the people who lived here even saw the crumbling buildings anymore.
When the Autumn Acres bus pulled up, she went outside and waited for Gram to come down the steps.
The lady, still tall for her age even though her shoulders had rounded, was dressed in a very proper wool suit with lace on her white collar. Her shoes might be rounded and rubber, but she hadn’t forgotten her pearls.
