“At least stay for dinner.”
Megan tried to picture the contents of her pantry, wondering if she had enough energy for something as simple as pasta from a box and sauce from a jar. Then she thought of her mother’s homemade bread and baked chicken, and vegetables fresh from her parents’ garden. “We’d love to.”
When Megan and Robby returned home early in the evening, Megan knew before she leafed through the mail that Keith’s child support check would not be there. The day had gone too badly to end on such a high note.
That’s why she assumed the envelope from Contemporary Quilting magazine was a subscription renewal notice and didn’t bother opening it until two days later, when she paid her other bills. She would have opened it immediately if she had known that the renewal notice was in fact a letter informing her that her watercolor charm quilt had taken first prize in the magazine’s annual contest, and that she had won a week’s vacation at the famous quilting retreat, Elm Creek Manor.
“Way to go, Megan,” Donna shouted as she finished reading the email note. It was about time her best quilting buddy had some good luck come her way. They’d been friends for years, ever since they met on an internet quilting newsgroup when Megan posted a frantic request for a certain piece of fabric. Everyone at her son’s school had gone crazy over a Saturday morning cartoon called Baby Dinosaurs, and Megan’s son was infatuated with a character named Little Trice, a pastel triceratops who somehow managed to look adorable clad in a bib and diaper. Megan had secretly begun working on a Little Trice quilt for Robby’s birthday, but she had found only one yard of Baby Dinosaurs print fabric at her local quilt shop. She thought it would be enough, but she ran out when the quilt top was only half finished, and when she checked at the store, they told her the print had been discontinued. “All I need is a half yard more,” Megan wrote to the other quilters in the newsgroup. “I’ll swap anything for it, just name your price. Can anyone help me?”
Donna sympathized, for despite her compulsive fabric-shopping habit, she had often found herself in similar situations. She phoned all the quilt shops in her area code and finally found one that had two yards left on a remnant bolt. She drove an hour to St. Paul to buy it, then emailed Megan with the good news. A week after Donna mailed her the material, Megan sent her a box of beautiful Civil War–era reproduction fabric and a heartfelt thank-you note. Donna immediately sent her an email message to tell her how pleased she was with the surprise, and Megan wrote back to let her know how the Little Trice quilt was progressing. Their correspondence continued over the internet and through the mail, and before long, they had become confidantes. Donna knew everything about Megan’s divorce and troubles at work, and Megan knew everything about Donna’s eternal struggle with her weight and her two daughters’ nerve-wracking journey through the teen years. Although they had never actually met in person, they were so close that Donna was as happy for Megan as if she had won the Contemporary Quilting contest herself.
After replying with a note of congratulations, Donna shut down the computer and returned to her sewing machine. The fourth bedroom had been the girls’ playroom, but when they reached the age when they preferred to shut themselves away in their separate bedrooms, Donna had adopted it as her quilt studio. Even with the door open so she could monitor all the comings and goings in the house, she still had a sense of peaceful solitude, the perfect antidote to a hectic day.
“Mom?” Lindsay appeared in the doorway, slender and lovely in her denim shorts and pink top, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Donna put down her quilt block and swiveled her chair around to face her elder daughter. “Sure, honey. What is it?”
Lindsay crossed the room and took her hands. “Not here. Downstairs.” Lindsay led her out of the room. “Dad’s already waiting, and Becca’s about to go to work. I want to tell you all at the same time.”
Laughing, Donna allowed herself to be guided downstairs to the family room. Paul was sitting on the sofa; Becca sat on the floor beside him, glancing at her watch and looking bored. Exchanging a quick glance of puzzlement with her husband, Donna seated herself on the opposite end of the sofa so that Becca was between them.
Only then did she notice that Lindsay was wringing her hands and compulsively shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Lindsay?” Donna said, suddenly anxious. “What is it, honey?”
“I have an announcement to make.” Lindsay took a deep breath. “Brandon and I are getting married.”
Donna couldn’t breathe. She groped for Paul’s hand and squeezed it.
Lindsay looked around at her silent family. “Well? Say something.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Becca said flatly.
Lindsay frowned at her, then looked at her parents, hopeful. “Mom? Dad?”
Breathe, Donna ordered herself, then gasped, “I don’t know what to say.”
Lindsay smiled nervously. “‘Congratulations’ would be nice.”
“Congratulations,” Donna and Paul said in unison, in a monotone. Becca merely groaned and let her head fall back against the sofa.
“But you like Brandon,” Lindsay protested.
Donna said, “Of course we like him—”
“I don’t,” Becca said.
“—but this is a little sudden,” Paul finished. “Your mother and I weren’t expecting to hear an announcement like this so soon.”
“Brandon and I have been dating for two years.”
“I’ve had library books longer than that,” Becca said.
Donna patted Becca on the shoulder to quiet her. “Have you set a date?”
“Well, I’ve always wanted a June wedding, and Brandon will have some vacation time then—”
“June of next year?” Donna shrilled.
“I know that only gives us eleven months to plan, but we don’t want anything elaborate.”
“What about school?” Paul asked.
“Brandon says I don’t really need to finish. After medical school, he’ll earn enough to support both of us.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Becca said.
Donna couldn’t believe it either. “You’re going to quit school a year before graduation?”
Lindsay hesitated. “Well, Brandon thinks maybe I shouldn’t go back this year, either. He thinks maybe—as long as it’s okay with you—we could take my tuition money and use that for the wedding instead.”
“‘Brandon thinks,’” Becca mimicked, then her jaw dropped. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“No, I am definitely not pregnant,” Lindsay snapped. She looked close to tears. “Isn’t anyone happy for me?”
Paul released Donna’s hand and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Sweetheart, don’t you think you ought to finish college before you get married? You’re only twenty.”
“That’s legal in this state, Dad.”
“Finish college first,” Donna pleaded. “There’s nothing wrong with a long engagement. If it’s meant to be, two years won’t make a difference.”
Donna saw something in Lindsay’s eyes change then, as if she were closing some part of herself away from them, and a pang of uneasiness went through her.
“It makes a difference to Brandon,” Lindsay said. “He wants us to get married now, I mean, right now. Elope. I talked him into waiting until June. That’s the best I can do.”
Donna didn’t like the sound of that, but before she could say anything, Paul spoke. “I still don’t understand why you have to give up school. If you have your heart set on getting married, we won’t stand in your way, but can’t you continue school, too? Think of everything you’ll miss. Your classes, all your friends, all the fun you girls have—”
“Yes, and the drama society,” Donna broke in. “What about the plays you were going to direct this year? You were looking forward to them. And that internship next summer. Professor Collins said you had a good chance of winning it.”
&nb
sp; As Donna spoke, Lindsay’s cheeks flushed. “I know,” she said. “I know it’s a sacrifice, but when you love someone the way Brandon and I love each other, you make sacrifices for him.”
“What exactly is Brandon sacrificing for you?” Becca inquired.
Lindsay shot her a sharp look. “I’m leaving school because Brandon can’t afford to pay for my last two years, and he doesn’t feel right having my parents pay his wife’s tuition.” She took a deep, shaky breath and looked from Donna to Paul and back. “Please, I don’t want to fight. Please tell me you’re okay with this.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Donna asked in a small voice.
“This is what I want.”
“Then we’ll make the best of it,” Paul said.
“I don’t want you to make the best of it,” Lindsay said. “I want you to be happy for us.”
She looked so miserable that Donna rose and embraced her. “We’re happy if you’re happy.” As Lindsay clung to her, Donna caught Paul’s eye and shook her head slightly. They could discuss this privately later and, she hoped, find some way to convince their daughter to reconsider.
“I still say you’re nuts,” Becca muttered.
Lindsay pulled away from her mother and turned to her sister. “I hope you’ll be my maid of honor anyway.”
“Maid of honor?” Becca considered. “Can I help pick out the dress?”
“Why? Are you afraid I’d stick you in something hideous?”
“That thought did cross my mind.”
Lindsay laughed. “Yes, you can help pick out the style—but I get to pick the color.”
“That’s fair.”
Lindsay turned back to her mother, tentative. “Will you help me choose a wedding gown?”
“You don’t need to worry about that just yet,” Donna said. “You have plenty of time.”
“I know. It’s just—well, now that it’s official, I want to get it over with. The work, I mean. It’ll be a lot of work, and I want to get started.” Her smile trembled, and Donna knew what an effort it took for her to keep it in place.
Paul sighed and rubbed at his jaw distractedly.
“I know this is a shock, but you’ll feel better once you get used to the idea,” Lindsay said. “Brandon says his parents were surprised, too, but once they had some time to adjust, they were happy for us.”
Donna wondered how long ago Brandon had told his parents. How long had Lindsay been engaged without telling her and Paul?
“You’ll meet Brandon’s parents soon,” Lindsay promised. “They’re coming to Minneapolis next month to visit him. I thought we could drive down and meet them for supper. That’s on a Sunday, the fifteenth. The families should meet each other before the wedding.”
“I can’t,” Donna heard herself say.
Lindsay’s face fell. “What?”
“I can’t.” She could support her daughter here, at home, but she could not—she would not—rush out and meet the other family and plunge into a frenzy of wedding plans as if she wanted this marriage to happen, when she didn’t, at least not now.
“Why not?”
“I can’t.” August fifteenth. Why did that date sound familiar? “I’m busy that day.”
“Too busy to meet Brandon’s parents?”
“That’s the week I’m going out of town,” Donna said. “I know you’ve heard me talk about it. My friend Megan and I are meeting at quilt camp. Don’t you remember?”
Lindsay looked dubious. “I guess I forgot.”
“Well, that’s the week. I’m sorry, honey, but I’ll have to meet Brandon’s family another time.” Brandon was a nice enough young man—what she knew of him—but they were both so young, and she couldn’t bear to see Lindsay throw away all her dreams for the future. Lindsay had begged them to be happy for her, but how could Donna be happy when her every instinct screamed that Lindsay was not?
She climbed the stairs and retreated to the sanctuary of her quilt studio, where she switched on the computer and sank heavily into the chair. As she waited for the system to boot up, she realized she’d have to confirm that date with Megan and ask her where exactly this quilt camp was, anyway.
Adam fumbled for the phone. “Hello?”
“Adam?”
“Yeah?” he mumbled, trying to clear his throbbing head. Last night his two best friends had shown up with a case of beer and a stack of videos—war movies, the kind where the hard-edged, tough hero died at the end by throwing himself on a hand grenade or by carrying a bomb into an enemy bunker to save his equally hard-edged, tough buddies. Natalie despised the genre, and if she had been present, they would have watched something else entirely. And that, his friends’ message seemed to be, was precisely the point; watching movies with an abundance of pyrotechnics and high body counts was celebration of the male independence he had narrowly escaped losing. As if that was what he wanted, as if it were his choice.
“Good morning, honey. It’s Nana.”
Of course. Who else would phone so early on a Sunday morning? “Hi, Nana.”
“Did I wake you, dear?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay.”
“You should be getting ready for church by now anyway.”
He squinted at the clock. “Church isn’t for another four hours.” He sat up on the edge of the bed and yawned. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to drive me somewhere next month.”
He smothered a laugh. “It’s a good thing you called me so early,” he said with mock solemnity. “If you’d waited until dawn, I might have been all booked up.”
“Listen to how you talk to your grandmother,” she scolded him. “I have no idea why you’re still my favorite grandson.”
“Each of us is the favorite, according to you.”
“I can have more than one favorite. Now, about this ride. Are you free on August fifteenth or am I going to have to walk? That’s a Sunday.”
He felt a pang, picturing how that Sunday in August should have been spent—a leisurely breakfast on the patio with Natalie, an afternoon trip out to Amish country to look at the furniture she so adored, maybe a romantic candlelit dinner. But now … “I won’t be busy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. Where do you need to go?”
“It’s time for my quilt camp again, remember? I always go during my birthday week. I need you to drive me there on August fifteenth and pick me up the twenty-first. That’s a Saturday.”
“Is this the camp in Pennsylvania?”
“Yes. Your sister took me last year, and she said to tell you it’s your turn.”
Now he remembered his sister complaining about the long drive to the middle of nowhere. “Why don’t you fly this time?”
“You know I don’t like airplanes,” she said primly. “I would take the train, but the nearest station is a long drive from Elm Creek Manor. What do you suggest I do, take a taxi? I suppose I’ll have to, if it’s so much trouble—”
“It’s no trouble,” he assured her before she could get too excited. “I have a teachers’ in-service at school the next day, but Sunday’s no problem. I’ll take you.”
“And pick me up?”
“And pick you up.” Why not? Anything was better than moping around the empty house. Maybe he should get a dog.
“Thank you. You’re a good boy.” She paused. “Do you want to come to supper tonight? I could make a nice pork roast.”
“Thanks, Nana, but—”
“Dayton’s only an hour north of you. Less than that, the way you drive.”
“Maybe next week.” He didn’t feel up to seeing anyone that day. Or maybe for the rest of the summer.
Nana’s voice softened. “Adam, I didn’t forget what day yesterday was.”
The reminder pained him. “You mean, what yesterday was supposed to have been.”
“You’re much better off without her.”
“So I’m told.”
“If she’s that fickle, it’s better
you find out now rather than three or four years into it.”
“Please don’t criticize her.”
“Why not, after what she did to you? I never liked her, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” So did Natalie. So did the entire family and, if he knew his grandmother, all the ladies in her quilting circle and every other senior in her apartment complex. Nana had never been one to keep her opinions to herself, even when her words were sharp enough to cut. Yes, Natalie had her faults; he could admit that. She had a temper, and he never knew whether he would please her or set off a tantrum. But even now, when any sensible person would be too angry to remember any of her good qualities, just thinking about her made him ache with loss. He couldn’t honestly say he still loved her the way he had before she broke off their engagement—his trust had been too badly damaged for that—but he still cared about her, and he missed her.
“My friends have granddaughters—”
“No, you’re not setting me up,” he interrupted. “I’m not ready. I mean it, Nana.”
“I heard you,” she said innocently. “But if I meet a lovely young woman and happen to mention my favorite grandson, and if she happens to be available …”
He was too tired to argue. After promising to come to dinner the next Sunday, Adam hung up the phone and slumped back into bed with a groan. This was supposed to have been his first full day as a married man. He should be sleeping peacefully in the bridal suite of the Radisson Hotel Cincinnati right now, his beautiful, dark-haired wife in his arms. He should be dreaming of their future, which had always seemed so full of promise. He should have risen just in time for a shower and breakfast before they left on their honeymoon. Instead Natalie and her sister were going to use their nonrefundable tickets to the Bahamas, and a call from his grandmother instead of a kiss from his bride had awakened him.
Adam closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning, but already he knew he was in for a rough day. Maybe he should get a dog. Natalie hated dogs. Now that he was allowed to have one, he ought to get one, if only to convince his well-meaning but overanxious family and friends that he was getting on with his life.
An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler Page 60
