Mornings on Main

by Jodi Thomas

  “No. I need to get back. Gram had a rough day. She’s ready to be over her broken leg. Thinks she’s spent enough time taking it easy.”

  He put the car in Park but simply stared out at the empty street. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He took a deep breath. “I also wanted to say something and I don’t want you to comment. It’s just something I’ve got to get out before I explode.” He stared ahead, still not looking at her. “I’m in love with you, Jillian, and whether you stay or go won’t change that fact, not ever.”

  She fought back tears as thunder rattled over the sky. A storm was coming across the land and in her life. She could feel both rolling in.

  Connor stepped from the car and pulled her into the wind. With his arm around her, protecting her, they ran for the porch as the rain started. It pounded hard and fast in huge drops as though nature was suddenly furious.

  They took the steps at a run and instantly were out of the downpour. He held her close until her breathing slowed. “It’s going to be all right, Jillian. It’s only a storm. You’ll survive. I’ll survive.”

  She couldn’t answer. They both knew he was talking about far more than the storm.

  A moment later she was in Mrs. Kelly’s kitchen, cuddled in an afghan.

  While Mrs. Kelly fussed over her, Connor disappeared back into the storm without saying another word.

  He’d said what he came to say. He’d seen her safely home.

  The rest was up to her.

  31

  Sunnie decided her whole family had been taken over by aliens. Her dad, who always carried a book and quoted dead people, was now working like he really had a job. Gram was upset that she couldn’t go back to work, and Reese barely had time to speak to her because he seemed to be addicted to work like it was a drug.

  “Dad, pay attention,” Sunnie yelled across the tiny kitchen table. “Reese is MY boyfriend. Get it? He is not your assistant. He’s mine.”

  “Got it,” he answered without looking away from the papers now spread out next to his cereal bowl.

  “You’re not listening to me. Reese is ignoring me. I might as well be invisible. Maybe I’ll move to the Rockies and join a cult.”

  “Fine,” her father answered. “Let me know if you need money.”

  Sunnie stormed out of the house. Why couldn’t Dad be overprotective like everyone else’s father? At least they’d have to face each other to argue. She wasn’t sure her dad had looked at her in days. He’d made no comment that her hair was back to being light blond.

  Even Gram was acting strange. Every day that passed, more people came over to the house to sit with her, but she talked less and less. The bars in town were probably quieter than the dining room with a dozen ladies having afternoon tea, but Gram barely noticed. Even Joe had disappeared, though he did call hourly as if he didn’t want Gram to miss something happening in his new Toe Tent business.

  Looking toward the street, Sunnie noticed Reese as he pulled up in his old pickup full of tools and junk and rolled out of the seat at a run, as always.

  Sunnie met him at the kitchen door. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

  He smiled and she realized his face had almost healed. “Sorry, Button. I’ve been busy.”

  Sunnie blocked his path. “Don’t you dare call me Button. Joe’s called me that since I was born and I’ve hated it.”

  He grinned. “I kind of like it. The nickname is so not you.” He tried to step around her. “Can we argue about this later? Joe wanted me to bring these blueprints to your dad as soon as possible.”

  “I’m not invisible, Reese. I will not be ignored.”

  He lifted the tubes and added, “Five minutes, then we’ll talk, I promise.”

  “Sure.” She gave up. “If I’m still around. I don’t plan to wait for your next available appointment.”

  He nodded and ran inside, probably knowing she’d change her mind if he blinked.

  Ten minutes later, he found her on the back porch, pouting. She’d told herself she didn’t care if he took time out of his busy schedule to talk to her or not. She didn’t have time to be down the list of people he cared about.

  But he didn’t start explaining or apologizing; he simply walked up behind her and waited for the explosion.

  When she felt his hand brush her hair, she turned toward him, nose to nose, just in case he didn’t pay attention. “Look, Reese, if you’re going to be my boyfriend you got to...”

  He smiled and straightened. “So I’m still your boyfriend? After not seeing you since Thursday, I wasn’t sure.”

  “Of course you are. Where have you been at lunch?”

  “Doing homework mostly. I’ve been working in the district most nights this week.”

  “But you’re my boyfriend. You’re supposed to be around now and then.”

  “Then kiss me, Sunnie. Kiss me like you mean it.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but gave up. She kissed him hard, right on the mouth.

  “Again,” he said. “This time really kiss me. Not so hard.”

  She kissed him again. Longer, softer.

  His hand rested on her waist and the kiss continued. Reese wasn’t a good or bad kisser, but he was learning. In fact, by the time she finally leaned into him, he wasn’t bad.

  When he eventually pulled away, she asked, “Why’d you want to do that?”

  “Because if I’m your boyfriend, I’m your boyfriend for real. Not because you’re using me to get rid of Derrick or just think it might be interesting, or want to bug your dad. Understand?”

  “All right,” she answered. In truth Derrick had fallen out of her thoughts a long time ago, and she could be dating King Kong and her dad probably wouldn’t notice.

  “And if you’re my girlfriend that means we kiss now and then.”

  “All right.” After a little practice, she decided the idea wasn’t half-bad.

  He smiled. “And you don’t have to tell Brianna Baxter I’m a good kisser. She doesn’t need to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t plan on ever kissing her. I’ve got the girlfriend I want right here.”

  Sunnie smiled. Darn if he wasn’t cute. “You could still use some practice. Don’t go thinking you’re any good at it yet.”

  He jumped off the porch and headed for the corner of the house. “I’ll be back later, Button.”

  Then he was gone before she could cuss him out for calling her that again.

  “Hell,” she mumbled. “My name doesn’t fit me—why should my nickname?”

  32

  One week from the day he’d told Jillian he loved her, Connor brought Gram to the shop. He wanted his grandmother to see the place one more time in its glory, just like it had looked for all his life. Tomorrow the last of the quilts would be moved to the museum.

  But today, all the colorful quilts were still on the walls. The Singer Featherweight machines lining up as if waiting to be called in to duty. The dark mahogany counter waited, solid and warm.

  Jillian had finished all the logging, all the photos, all the stories. Tomorrow, they’d be in a new home, but he wanted Gram to take it all in one last time. Jillian would shoot pictures: of the shop, of Gram, of the people who visited this last day so no one would forget A Stitch in Time.

  It was early, only a little after seven, but Connor planned to get Gram all in and settled before anyone arrived. Her crutches were behind her chair so she could use them if she had to go to the restroom. Her sewing basket was within reach. Jillian made her favorite tea and put it in a special cup that fit in a holder attached to her wheelchair.

  Joe Dunaway followed them in with two bags of donut holes. Sunnie and Reese stopped in to wish her a great day on their way to school.

  Gram was beaming, happy to start the day. She even rolled a few feet to
one of the supply racks and refilled a spot. Connor kissed her cheek and reminded her he’d be just across the street.

  The hours passed as one long party. Everyone in town seemed to know this was the last day the shop would be open, and then next week they’d have the opening of Gram’s exhibit and she’d be the guest of honor.

  Jillian would be working with the curator to get everything right.

  While Connor moved to the door, his gaze scanned the shop for one more glance at Jillian. She hadn’t really spoken to him about anything but the store or Gram since the stormy night he’d told her he loved her.

  All week the evenings had been clear, warming into spring, but for Connor, twilight each day was the time he dreaded. He knew he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. All he saw was the expanse of forever without Jillian. Every time he tried to block out the nightmares, stormy eyes were crying in his dreams. Beautiful, almost-blue, almost-gray eyes.

  How could he let her walk away when he knew she’d have those dark times when storms came and there would be no one to hold her? When she left, she’d be alone, all alone.

  “You want a cup of coffee for the road? I made a pot for Joe,” she asked, as if they were little more than strangers.

  “No,” he managed to say, just as politely. “I’m headed over to the office to try to get a little work done. There are a few meetings scattered throughout my day. Mostly people wanting to rent one of the warehouses. But, Jillian, call me if you need me.”

  She nodded, but didn’t meet his gaze. He stepped out the door and made himself walk away. There was nothing more to say between them.

  He spent the morning working, but his mind was still across the street. He called a few times, and Joe told him to stop worrying. He called back half an hour later to see if Gram was ready to go home, but he could hear her saying no even though Joe was holding the phone.

  Today, they’d all agreed, she would stay as long as she wanted to. The last day.

  At lunch, Connor had chicken salad sandwiches brought over on a tray for all the ladies who were sitting around, not quilting today, but telling stories of all the great times they’d had in the shop.

  Midafternoon, Joe called Connor, saying he needed help with a mission that had to be done today.

  Connor walked across the street and asked Gram three times if she’d be all right until he or Joe got back.

  She shooed him away. “I’ll be fine. Jillian is doing all the work. I’m just relaxing. Besides, the girls at the Acres are planning a big dinner for me. When we leave here, I want to go back there. It’s time. I miss seeing them and I’d like to get out of your dining room and into my own bedroom. All my things are there. I swear you’re wasting your life worrying about me.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Jillian touched his arm.

  Connor’s muscles tensed and she moved away. All he wanted to do was pull her close, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Part of him wanted to demand that they spend one more night together, but he knew if they did, he’d never be able to watch Jillian James drive out of his life.

  Joe drew Jillian’s attention before Connor could say too much. If they parted now, without another word, maybe she’d have mostly good memories. Maybe he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. Maybe, one day, she’d walk back into his life.

  It could happen, he reassured himself. Even if he didn’t know where to find her, she’d always know where he was.

  Connor stepped out of the shop, telling Joe he’d be waiting in the truck.

  He had to be alone. He had to start getting used to not seeing Jillian.

  33

  Jillian was thankful for Joe Dunaway. He seemed to know the right times to step close. Being near Connor and not touching him was hard on her. She wanted him so badly in every way. Somehow, Joe saw through their polite manners. He didn’t say anything, but in little ways he offered comfort.

  “Look at this, Jillian.” Joe pointed to Gram’s quilt, pulling her from the window where she’d been staring across the street for several minutes. “See this light gray line that follows along beside Jeanie’s lifeline?” He lifted a corner of Gram’s quilt.

  “I see it.” She’d notice the line before.

  “It’s me. My lifeline is parallel to hers.”

  Jillian was amazed. Through growing up, marriage, and deaths, the one line moved with Gram’s life. Side by side. Never touching. “You’ve always been there, haven’t you, Joe?”

  He nodded. “I hope I always will.”

  Gram patted his wrinkled hand. “We used to dance in the sixties.”

  “That we did, Jeanie. Remember how Benjamin used to laugh at us every time we’d try one of the new dances. He made fun of us for weeks when we learned the twist, but the bump made him laugh so hard I feared he’d have a stroke.”

  Jillian swore she saw a fog in Gram’s eyes, but somehow Joe was still clear in her sight. When she focused on him, she came back. She was time traveling, just like Sunnie said Gram did sometimes.

  Joe kept talking. Gram settled, smiling, as her fingers moved over her quilt.

  “I better get going. Connor’s waiting.” Joe nodded at Jillian, silently asking her to watch over Gram.

  He left with the last of the lunch crowd.

  For the first time all day, it was quiet in the shop. Bits of dust danced in the sunshine slicing through the front windows. The sudden stillness seemed strange, like the pause between a dying man’s breaths.

  Jillian moved close to Gram, wondering if she felt it, too.

  Gram smiled at her. “I remember Jefferson James,” she said, as simply as if they were talking about the weather.

  Her thin, withered finger pointed to an embroidered lasso on her quilt. “Jefferson James got hurt. The girl with him got blood all over her pretty white blouse.”

  Jillian knew Gram’s memories were fragile now. She sat down carefully beside her as if the movement of the air might shatter her mind.

  “You saw my mother? You knew my dad?”

  Gram shook her head. “No, not him. I just thought his name was nice, but I heard folks talk about her.”

  Jillian knew she was walking on thin ice, but she had to ask. “What did folks say about her?”

  Gram leaned back as her fingers pulled at a thread. “She was visiting relatives that summer on a farm not far from where we used to live. She was younger than Jefferson James, much younger. Folks said she made such a show when he was hurt that she must care a great deal about him. She couldn’t stop crying that night at the rodeo after he got hurt.” Gram spread her hand over the material laced so beautifully together. “She liked the attention, that one.”

  Jillian was afraid to breathe. Gram was time traveling back thirty years. If someone came in? If the phone rang? This thread of conversation would snap.

  “What else did folks say?”

  “Some said she got pregnant and gave the baby away, but no one knew for sure. After that summer, she kept to herself on the farm, and then sometime after Christmas she was gone. I remember someone saying Jefferson James just walked away from his job about the same time.”

  The baby, Jillian almost shouted. Me.

  “Do you know why she left?” Jillian kept her words low. “Maybe she followed Jefferson?”

  Gram was busy, hand pressing the tiny wrinkles across her quilt. “No.”

  “She might have.” Jillian knew she was trying to rewrite a story...her story. “Why didn’t she follow him?”

  “Probably because she was already married. A neighbor told me her husband was off at med school up north somewhere. They said Jefferson was a drifter. Oil field trash. Some folks whispered that she would have divorced her husband and married Jefferson anyway, but her family made her see the light.”

  “Is she still alive? Did she ever come back to Laurel Springs?”

  Gram shoo
k her head. “No. Her relatives said she went to live with her husband and that wasn’t Jefferson even if folks claimed they acted like they were married for a while.”

  “Do you remember where the husband lived? His name?”

  “Someplace up north. She went by a funny first name. I don’t recall her husband’s name, if I ever knew it. The family she’d stayed with moved away soon after that.”

  Jillian wanted to run out of the shop. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. After all the years of wondering, of asking, or looking, she’d finally found a scrap of information. Her mother hadn’t wanted her. Not enough to stay with Jefferson. But her dad kept the baby—her, Jillian. Her dad, who never said he loved her, had cared enough to keep her.

  She couldn’t run outside. She needed to be here with Gram. No one else was in the store. Connor and Joe had already left for some mission Joe seemed to think had to happen today.

  “What did the girl look like?” she asked Gram.

  “Who?”

  “The woman who was with Jefferson James. The one with blood on her shirt.”

  Gram looked blank. “I’m sorry, dear, I don’t remember what we were talking about. Is it time to go home? I want to go back to the Acres and watch a movie. My friends are waiting for me.”

  “It won’t be long.” Jillian answered as she fought back tears. The time traveling was over. Gram might never go back again.

  An hour later when she asked a few of Gram’s friends if they remembered the rodeo, they both shook their heads and Gram looked blank again. Her mind was traveling somewhere else.

  Jillian tried to comfort her as the afternoon aged, but Gram was tired. She’d be polite and distant one moment and upset the next. The third time Jillian asked about the woman with blood on her shirt, Gram grew frustrated.

  As the last hour passed Jillian wished she hadn’t walked to work. She didn’t have a car to take Gram home, even if she wanted to.

  She tried calling Connor. No answer.

  People came in, distracting Gram. For a while, everything would be fine. But as the sky grew cloudy, fewer people dropped by.