An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler

by Jennier Chiaverini

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out, and then I’m going to fire her.”

  “Fire her?” Donna sounded horrified. “I’m sure there must be a logical explanation—”

  “For stealing my mail?” Didn’t Donna understand? All those weeks of feeling neglected and forgotten, and Lucy—with specific instructions to notify her the minute a letter from the Cross-Country Quilters arrived—“I have to fire her.”

  “Can’t you just tell her not to do it again?” Donna begged. “Give her another chance. You’re too nice a person to fire someone this close to the holidays.”

  Donna was wrong. Julia was not a nice person, and she was feeling especially not nice at the moment. But something in Donna’s voice nagged at her, until, against her better judgment, she reluctantly said, “I’ll get her side of the story first. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll give her a chance to explain.” And if Julia didn’t like what Lucy had to say, then she’d fire her.

  “I’m sure you’ll be glad you did.”

  Julia doubted it, but she had bigger problems on her mind. “Donna, the reason I’m calling—”

  “Yes?”

  Donna’s voice sounded so warm, so full of concern, that Julia’s pride evaporated. “I need your help.”

  Eight

  Megan had been too busy to check her email all day, so it wasn’t until she was about to go home that she finally had a chance to download her messages. Several were waiting, including an exchange between Grace and Donna that had begun the day before, when Donna had written to announce that Julia was alive but facing problems with her agent and her director, not the least of which was having her personal mail misdirected. Today Grace responded:

  TO:Megan.Donohue@rocketec.com, quiltmom@USAonline.com

  FROM: Grace Daniels

  DATE: 8:14 AM PT 9 Nov

  SUBJECT: Re: News from Julia

  I’m glad she didn’t forget us. Someone should tell Vinnie before she buries southern California beneath an avalanche of mail. We really have to get those two online.

  Any thoughts on how we can help Julia with the movie problems?

  Donna had written back:

  We could fly down there and give her director a few good pokes with our needles.

  Within minutes, Grace had answered:

  I wish we could. I’d love to get out of town. You aren’t going to believe this, but I agreed to let Gabriel come to Thanksgiving dinner. My sisters think I’m crazy, but Joshua dotes on his grandfather, and I didn’t want to ruin the holiday for him.

  Donna answered that she didn’t envy Grace, but she didn’t expect her own holiday to be much better. Lindsay and Brandon were coming for Thanksgiving dinner, which meant that Donna intended to put on a production worthy of Martha Stewart. “I have to make up for all these months of pretending the engagement would just go away if I ignored it,” she wrote. “Lindsay sounds so stressed out lately, and I’m sure it’s my fault. I have to stop acting like an evil mother-in-law before Brandon runs screaming for the hills.”

  Megan smiled and wrote:

  Donna, honey, you are not an evil anything. But tell the truth, would you really mind if Brandon ran away?

  She waited a few minutes just in case Donna was online and would respond quickly. When she checked her email, a message downloaded:

  TO:Megan.Donohue@rocketec.com

  FROM:wagnera@rogerbacon.k12.oh.edu

  DATE: 5:43 PM 9 Nov

  SUBJECT: Checking in

  So, how did the meeting go?

  Megan felt a stirring of pleasure at the sight of the familiar address. Since Halloween, she and Adam had begun corresponding by email, and she usually heard from him several times a week. They exchanged small talk, mostly, details about their work and their plans for the weekends. Megan had discovered that Adam’s quirky sense of humor was just as amusing via email, although she found herself thinking she would have preferred to hear his voice. Especially now, since the meeting he referred to had felt more like an ambush than a parent-teacher conference.

  When Megan had entered the classroom, she was surprised to see the teacher was not alone. The man with her introduced himself as the school counselor. “I’m glad we’re finally able to meet,” he said, shaking her hand.

  “Finally?” Megan said. The teacher and counselor exchanged a look, and then it came out: In the past few months, they had sent Robby home with three requests for a teacher-parent conference.

  “Why didn’t you mail them?” Megan managed to ask. “Why didn’t you phone me at work or at home?”

  They explained that they would have, eventually, but unfortunately three postponements weren’t unusual in these situations.

  “And what kind of situation is that, exactly?” Megan asked.

  Minor disciplinary problems, of course. If it had been something egregious, they hastened to assure her, she would have been contacted immediately.

  Megan sat numbly as they explained. Robby was a bright and imaginative boy, but quieter than the others and somewhat withdrawn. Usually. Other times, he would tell wild, outlandish tales, and when the other students teased him, he lashed out. He had trouble controlling his anger, and sometimes he would have outbursts with no apparent provocation. That was why they suspected some trouble at home.

  They paused then, waiting for her to speak, and their scrutiny made Megan feel powerless and fearful. The look in their eyes suggested they had already decided she must be an unfit mother and were only looking for the evidence to support their conclusion. “Robby doesn’t do anything like this at home,” she stammered, just as she remembered Gina’s cookies. “I mean, the usual childhood disobedience, testing authority and such, but nothing like what you’ve described.”

  “That’s not unusual,” the counselor said. “What about Robby’s father? He couldn’t come today?”

  “He lives in Oregon. We’re divorced.”

  “I see.” The counselor nodded and made some notes on a pad. “Does Robby have much contact with his father?”

  “Very little since he moved away at the beginning of the summer. Before then, they saw each other maybe once a month.” Megan inhaled deeply to still the pounding of her heart. “My former husband wasn’t very good about keeping to the scheduled visitation agreement.”

  “Robby often tells stories about his father,” the teacher said. “One week he’s a secret service agent, the next he’s a fighter pilot—”

  “It seems likely his behavior problems are related to his father’s absence,” the counselor broke in. “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Donohue?”

  “I … yes, that seems likely.” Megan could have told them that years ago. She counted to three silently before asking if they had any suggestions for how to help Robby. They recommended professional counseling to help him deal with his emotions, especially his anger at his father.

  The teacher and counselor had seemed satisfied as she left, as if they had discharged their duties appropriately and now were free to turn their thoughts to other matters. They probably had no idea they had tapped into the deep spring of anxiety that welled up in the heart of every mother, that despite all her love and her best efforts she had failed her child. If she wanted to absolve herself of responsibility, she could shift the blame to Keith, but that would neither ease her conscience nor help her son. She was the custodial parent; she should have done more, somehow, to compensate for Keith’s neglect.

  Even now, after the initial shock of Robby’s deceptions had dulled, just thinking of it threatened to bring on tears of frustration, so she kept her reply to Adam vague:

  It was not especially helpful. I’ll write more tomorrow.

  Almost immediately, Adam responded:

  Would you like to talk about it in person instead?

  Megan’s hands froze on the keyboard. She pictured him jumping into his car and racing to comfort her. It was an unexpectedly reassuring image, and for some reason that bothered her. S
he took a deep breath and wrote:

  What did you have in mind?

  Adam replied:

  Dinner? There’s a great Italian restaurant halfway between your place and mine. We could meet there Friday night at seven.

  Megan’s pulse quickened. He must mean just the two of them, because they could hardly discuss Robby with him present. She felt a strange mixture of pleasure and discomfort at the thought. A Halloween party at Vinnie’s was one thing, dinner alone quite another. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  She glanced at the calendar to see if she was free, already knowing she was, and suddenly she thought of Gina and the baby she was expecting. Keith had moved on with his life long ago, but Megan had been stuck in the same place for years, wavering, uncertain. After all this time, if she were not yet ready to resume dating, it was because she had decided she preferred to be alone for the rest of her life. Besides, this might not even be considered a date. Adam knew she was Vinnie’s friend, and since he worked with children, his intentions were probably only professional.

  She clenched and unclenched her hands to warm them and typed:

  Send me the directions. If my parents can watch Robby, I’d like to come.

  She clicked the mouse on Send before she could change her mind.

  November 11

  Dear Vinnie,

  A thousand apologies for not writing to you sooner. You are such a darling to send me ten letters although I never wrote back! I can’t imagine what you thought of me. I do have an excuse: My agent told my assistant to forward him all my fan mail because he didn’t want it to “distract” me. Can you imagine? I was more distracted by wondering why I hadn’t heard from any of my camp friends. Now the misunderstanding is all sorted out, or so I’m told, so if you write to me again, I should receive your letter just fine.

  The movie is not going well, unfortunately. The male star is a spoiled brat, and the girl who plays Young Sadie is as dizzy as the day is long. She also happens to be a talented quilter, which means that my director has shifted some of my scenes to her. I’ve been practicing until my fingertips bleed, but I don’t know if I’ll improve enough to hold on to my role. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

  I haven’t made much progress on the sampler quilt you and the others designed for me at camp because I’ve been practicing my hand-quilting instead. I did begin another Friendship Star block with your autumn leaf fabric, my small contribution to the Challenge Quilt. Now I feel as if I shouldn’t be allowed to finish it until shooting ends, because I might be completely squeezed out of this picture if things don’t turn around for me soon.

  I hope all is well in Ohio.

  Sincerely,

  Julia

  November 14

  Dear Julia,

  Testing, testing … This letter is for Julia Merchaud. If you are Julia’s assistant or agent, stop reading and give this letter to Julia right away! I mean it, Nosy!

  There. If you’re still reading, you must be Julia. My goodness, it was nice to hear from you. I’m sorry the movie isn’t going as well as you hoped. Chin up, honey. I’ve been watching old episodes of Family Tree on Lifetime, and you’re a wonderful actress. I didn’t know you were the mother from Home Sweet Home, too! I used to watch that show all the time, and now I’m enjoying it again on Nick at Night. If I had put two and two together, I would have recognized you right away when we first met at lunch at camp. (I hope you’ve forgiven me for that.) Anyway, I can’t imagine that any director with a brain in his head would let you get away, so keep practicing quilting, and I’m sure everything will work out fine. I can’t wait to see the movie. I know it will be a big hit, because every quilter in America will go to see it. I’ll be first in line in Dayton.

  I started my block for the Challenge Quilt, too, but I don’t know if I should have. You know my challenge was to find a new girlfriend for my grandson. Well, after much thought, I decided that Adam and Megan would make a charming couple. I invited them and Megan’s son, Robby, here for a Halloween party, and they seemed to hit it off, but now neither one will talk about the other, and it’s driving me crazy. If Megan mentions him, would you please tell me? Even if she makes you promise not to? A grandmother has a right to know.

  Well, that’s enough for now. Keep me posted on the movie. I want to have time to pick out my outfit for Oscar night.

  Your quilting buddy,

  Vinnie

  PS: This is some of my famous peanut-butter fudge. Share some with that sourpuss director of yours. It might sweeten him up.

  PPS: Why did you pine away at the mailbox all these months instead of writing to us first?

  Megan drove through a chilly drizzle to the restaurant, wondering if she’d made a mistake. As soon as she stepped inside, though, and the warm fragrances of fresh bread, olive oil, basil, and garlic enveloped her, she felt some of her nervousness disappear. It vanished completely when she saw Adam waiting. He wore a sport coat, which made her glad she had worn her favorite casual dress instead of slacks.

  “What, no plumed hat this time?” she teased.

  “Not today,” he said, smiling. “You look very nice.”

  Megan thanked him. The hostess approached then and showed them to a small, candlelit table in a secluded section of the restaurant. They chatted as they studied the menus, but while Adam seemed perfectly comfortable, Megan felt her earlier nervousness resurfacing. Silently she scolded herself to stop acting as if she were on a job interview and relax. What was the worst that could happen? They could have a miserable evening and might decide never to see each other again. She’d survived far worse.

  It wasn’t exactly the power of positive thinking, but somehow that realization put her at ease. By the time their salads were served, she felt as if she were enjoying a pleasant evening with a good friend. She liked the way Adam’s eyes lit up when he talked about teaching, and the stories he told about his students soon had her laughing. She wished her son had a teacher like him.

  Eventually the conversation turned to Robby, and Megan told Adam about the miserable conference. When she finished, Adam winced. “I hope you don’t judge the entire teaching profession by those two.”

  “Of course I don’t. But tell me, am I wrong to think they should have made more of an effort to contact me earlier?”

  “In their place, I would have tried.” He hesitated. “Did you ask Robby about the notes they sent home?”

  “As soon as I got home. At first he said he lost them, but after I reminded him that he should have at least told me about them, I couldn’t get another word out of him.” She still couldn’t believe her sweet son had lied to her. “I told him how important it was for us to be honest, and that no matter what, I would always love him. I don’t know if he believed me or not.”

  Adam reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sure he knows that. Anyone who sees the two of you together knows that.”

  “Then why did he lie to me?”

  “To keep from getting in trouble. Because he didn’t want you to talk to his teacher. There could be many reasons.”

  Adam’s hand was warm and comforting around hers. “I did take their advice. Robby will begin seeing a counselor next week. If nothing else, I think that will help him deal with his anger about his father.”

  Adam nodded, thoughtful, and then said carefully, “Is there any chance you might be able to get Keith more involved?”

  “I don’t know.” Megan pulled her hand away and toyed with her fork, remembering their phone conversation. When she finally reached Keith, after three evenings of leaving unanswered messages, he had listened in silence as she described the situation and asked for his help.

  “If you had let me have custody,” Keith had said in a flat voice when she finished, “he wouldn’t be in so much trouble now.”

  “You never asked for full custody.” Megan said, taken aback. “I offered you joint custody. You said visiting on the weekends was enough.”

  “Well, what do you expect
me to do now?”

  “Can you come for a visit? Can he visit you, for Thanksgiving break, maybe?”

  “Do you know what a pain it would be to try to get an airline ticket now?” Keith complained, “Look. I can’t do this right now. Gina’s baby is giving her terrible morning sickness. I can only concentrate on one crisis at time.”

  “Keith—”

  “I’ll call him. Okay? I’ll call him soon.” With that, Keith had hung up.

  Gina’s baby, Megan had thought as she replaced the receiver. Not their baby, or even the baby. Gina’s. Keith would never learn.

  Now, Megan looked across the table at Adam and tried to smile. “I don’t think he’s going to be much help. At least Robby has his grandfather. He’s very busy, but they still spend quite a bit of time together.”

  “Have you thought about Big Brothers?”

  “I looked into it, but there isn’t a chapter in our town.”

  “I used to be a Big Brother,” Adam said. “Just until last January, in fact, when my little brother moved out of state. I was going to sign up for a new one, but—”

  When Adam didn’t continue, Megan said, “But what?”

  Adam looked sheepish. “But Natalie didn’t want me to. She thought, with the wedding coming up and everything … ”

  Megan nodded. “I see.” She was beginning to piece together a rather unflattering portrait of Natalie, and she wondered why anyone as nice as Adam would have chosen someone so unlike himself. “I suppose she thought you would be too busy.”