Make Quilts Not War

by Arlene Sachitano

  “Yeah, that’s the kicker, isn’t it?” Harriet agreed and rang off.

  She looked at the clock on the microwave; she’d slept an hour. Lauren probably wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. She phoned Marcel Jalbert.

  Marcel answered on the first ring. Harriet asked if she could talk to him in person, and he agreed as long as she made it brief. He was working on a business plan at his home office, he said, and he needed to keep at it. Before Michelle came to Aiden’s, he’d told her his brother was planning to reorganize and reopen the vitamin factory that had been their mother’s.

  “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me,” she said when Marcel opened the front door to his neat townhouse. She had made the drive to the Miller Hill neighborhood with her arm in a sling and steering one-handed, but the speed limit was low enough to not present a problem.

  She could hear voices coming from another room, but they weren’t loud enough for her to identify. Marcel took her coat and hung it on a coat tree in the entry then led her to his upstairs office and offered her a chair opposite his at his desk.

  The entryway, stairwell and Marcel’s office were all painted a soft celadon green, the wood trim was dark but modern, not the traditional style of Harriet’s own home. Classical music played quietly in the background.

  “Are you aware your sister was arrested for kidnapping this morning?” she asked without preamble.

  Marcel was silent for a moment. His face resembled Aiden’s, but his features were coarser, and his skin bore the residual scars of acne that had been professionally treated—probably with lasers or at least serious sandpaper. His eyes were blue, but not the nearly white color of his brother’s. Marcel’s were more of a robin’s egg.

  “I hadn’t heard that, but I’m not surprised. She clearly has some sort of mental defect. She’s been troubled her whole life. I learned a long time ago that I can’t fix what’s wrong with her, but I can protect my family and myself by staying as far away from her as I can.”

  “I wish Aiden would realize that,” Harriet said.

  “The whole family protected Michelle all her life. My parents could have educated half the kids in this town for the money they spent on therapists, special schools and new-age treatments, but none of it made even a small dent in her problems. As I understand it, there is no effective treatment for narcissism and histrionic personality disorder. All you can do is stay far enough away to avoid being caught up in their web.

  “And, if you were wondering, I’m not hiring her a lawyer, or aiding in her defense in any way. I hope Aiden will follow my lead for once.”

  “I wish he would take that attitude. He tells me I don’t understand because I’m an only child. To me, it seems like she’s using him.”

  “Trust your instincts. She’s sick, and she’s played on his vulnerabilities. Now that she’ll be out of the picture for a while, I’ll see what I can do to convince him to cut her loose. I assume that’s what you’re here for.”

  Harriet felt her face turn hot.

  “I don’t know if he talks to you about us, but it seems like everyone in town knows he and I have been having trouble in our relationship.”

  “Cookie did mention she’d heard something about him standing you up at that new restaurant at Smuggler’s Cove.”

  Cookie was Marcel’s wife, and Harriet suspected she had told Marcel every detail, but she appreciated that he downplayed it.

  “We seem to do fine when Michelle’s not around, but I don’t exist when she’s here.”

  “He’s a big boy, but she’s a pro. She has no conscience when it comes to manipulation. He was vulnerable when our mom died right after he came back to the States after his research in Uganda. He hadn’t had a chance to make new friends or reconnect with old ones, and you two were just starting to date. Michelle jumped in with both feet. After he got over her trying to steal the house out from under him, she wormed her way back into his life somehow.”

  “I’m sorry to take up so much time when you’re busy,” Harriet said and started to get up.

  “Sit down,” He said. “I can take another few minutes. You want something to drink?” He opened the door to a small refrigerator containing several types of soda as well as bottled tea and water. Harriet pointed to a Diet Coke, and he wiped it with a napkin he took from a holder on the credenza behind his desk and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, then opened it and took a sip.

  “I’ve suggested he talk to a counselor or therapist, but my ideas have fallen on deaf ears. I can try again—as I said, now that she’s going to be out of the picture for a while there may be hope. I’ll try to be a better brother, too. I’ve been so busy trying to get things in place to open the vitamin factory again that I haven’t made enough effort to connect with Aiden.”

  “I’ve suggested a counselor, but he won’t listen to me, either.”

  “Don’t give up on him yet,” Marcel said. “But he’s stubborn, and if he refuses to cut her loose, you may have to weigh your options. I admit I didn’t get it myself at first, and Cookie’s been a great help in keeping my eyes wide open where Michelle’s concerned.”

  “Thanks for listening to me,” Harriet said. “And now, I really will leave you to your planning.”

  “Come say hi to Cookie before you go.” He led her back downstairs. “Look who’s here, Cookie,” he said as they walked into the kitchen.

  Two women were sitting on stools at the center island.

  “Harriet? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?” Jenny shrieked.

  Chapter 29

  “Jenny?” Harriet said at almost the same time. “What are you doing here? People are looking for you. And no, I didn’t follow you. I came here to talk to Marcel about Aiden.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jenny’s shoulders sagged. “All this stuff the last few days has got me on edge.”

  “Can you stay and have some coffee or tea?” Cookie asked. “Jenny was just telling me you were attacked with acid. Are you okay?”

  “I need to get home. I’m supposed to be resting,” Harriet raised her bandaged arm. “I wanted to be sure Marcel knew that Michelle had been arrested.”

  “What for?” Cookie leaned forward.

  “She tried to stage a kidnapping of Carla Salter’s baby. She hid her in the house so she could be the hero and find the child when she’d gotten enough people involved.”

  “That’s horrible.” Cookie looked at her husband.

  “Wait a minute,” Jenny said. “Are you supposed to be driving yet? Aren’t you taking pain medication?”

  “Only at night. I’m supposed to be home resting. Although, Detective Morse was at Aiden’s and did tell all of us we shouldn’t go anywhere alone, so I’m breaking that rule.”

  “I don’t understand. What do the Loose Threads have to do with Michelle and her attempt on Wendy?”

  “It was coincidental. Morse just took advantage of having us all there at the same time. She’s concerned that whoever shot Pamela and Bobby is going to keep trying until they get you, Jenny.” Harriet was trying to think of the right words to get through to her.

  “Would you like Marcel to drive you home?” Cookie asked. “It sounds like you aren’t supposed to be driving or going anywhere alone.”

  “I can take her,” Jenny said. “I need to go help tear down at the festival, so I’ll be going her direction.”

  “Are you sure? I got here fine, and I’m sure I can get back fine, too. Besides, my car is already here.”

  “Your aunt would never let me hear the end of it if she knew I could have taken you and didn’t. Just let me finish my tea, and we’ll be on our way. I’m sure Cookie and Marcel wouldn’t mind bringing your car home.”

  “We’d be happy to,” Cookie agreed. “Do you have time?” she asked her husband.

  “Sure, let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he said and headed back upstairs.

  Cookie made Harriet a cup of tea and produced some double chocolate chip
cookies, all the while chattering about the festival, her garden, the weather and whatever else popped into her head that wasn’t related to either Jenny or Harriet’s recent troubles. When everyone was finished, Cookie brought Harriet’s coat and helped her into one sleeve, draping the other one over her shoulder.

  “Thanks for listening,” Jenny said to her as the two women hugged goodbye.

  Harriet got in the passenger seat of Jenny’s silver Mercedes and waited while Jenny clipped the seatbelt around her bad arm.

  “I guess you’re wondering what I was doing at Cookie’s house when everyone else was helping with Wendy’s disappearance,” Jenny started when they were underway.

  “It did cross my mind. Everyone else heeded the call.”

  “I knew everyone else would be there, and I needed advice. Cookie and I have been friends for years. We’ve served on several committees together. I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t have the same emotional attachment to me and my issues, yet knew me well enough that I could trust her opinion.

  “In addition, she’s a clinical psychologist—she worked fulltime until they had the kids, and she still works part-time. I feel like I can tell her anything, and she won’t be horrified or repulsed but will still be able to give me a considered opinion.”

  “I wish you felt you could tell us anything and we wouldn’t judge you,” Harriet said softly.

  “This is a very complicated situation.”

  “It might be less so if you came clean and told the truth. Maybe we could help.”

  “Believe it or not, that’s pretty much what Cookie said.”

  “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea at my house and try it out on me? Maybe that will be easier than talking to the whole group at once.”

  “I suppose I’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “In the interest of full disclosure, Lauren will be coming over to check on me pretty soon,” Harriet warned.

  Jenny sighed as she turned into Harriet’s driveway.

  “Everyone’s going to have to learn about this anyway, so I guess one more won’t hurt.”

  “Just out of curiosity, if I hadn’t showed up, what would you have done?”

  “Frankly, my first instinct was to just leave without a trace, but I can’t do that to my husband and son. I don’t want to be that kind of person. Heaven knows, I’m going to have some difficult explanations to them.”

  “What about us? Were you going to tell anyone?”

  “I was going to start with your aunt and Mavis and maybe Connie. No offense, but one of the keys to my story is the times we lived in when this started. I know the rest of you have read about it, but unless you lived it, you can’t really understand the emotion.”

  “I promise not to pass judgment.”

  “I know you won’t intend to, but let’s not make any promises until you hear my story.”

  The tea water hadn’t even boiled when Lauren came into the kitchen through the studio. Harriet had given her a key so she didn’t have to keep digging the hidden one out of the flower box.

  “I see you’re resting like you’re supposed to be,” she said as she took her coat off and hung it on the back of a chair.

  Before Harriet could warn her, Jenny came out of the downstairs bathroom.

  “Okay,” Lauren said so only Harriet could hear.

  “Fix yourself a drink and then, when we get comfortable, Jenny has some things to explain to us.”

  Lauren pulled a bag of ginger snaps from her messenger bag and poured some onto a plate from Harriet’s cupboard then poured herself a cup of tea.

  “Can we do this in your TV room so we can at least pretend you’re resting so your aunt won’t bust my chops for not making you rest?”

  Harriet looked at Jenny, who gave a small nod.

  “If I’m going to tell you this,” Jenny began when she and Lauren were seated in upholstered chairs and Harriet was reclining on the sofa, “I need to do it my way in my time. Please don’t interrupt until the end unless you need clarification on a particular point.”

  Lauren looked at Harriet and then they both agreed. Harriet had turned on a table lamp, but the light was dim, providing Jenny some feeling of privacy.

  “I know you were taught about the war in Vietnam in history class, but that period of time was so much more intense than the pages of a book can convey. In January of nineteen sixty-eight, five thousand woman marched for peace and confronted Congress on its opening day. Jeannette Rankin led the march.”

  “Excuse me,” Lauren said. “Remind us who Jeannette Rankin is.”

  “She was the first woman to serve in Congress and was instrumental in the passing of the Nineteenth Amendment, allowing women to vote. Let me remind you, that amendment, was ratified in nineteen-twenty. She was in her eighties when she led the march.

  “An actress named Eartha Kitt denounced the Vietnam War at a White House luncheon with the First Lady. Boys had to sign up for the draft. In past wars and conflicts, journalists were supposed to downplay any losses and keep the masses uplifted about our efforts.

  “But Vietnam represented a change. It was the first time a war was televised on the nightly news. Newsmen were reporting the horrors of war along with a true accounting of the losses we were suffering. The Pentagon Papers were published in the New York Times, exposing the differences between what we were being told by the government and what was really happening.

  “Martin Luther King was assassinated, then Bobby Kennedy. The Chicago Eight, later seven, at first including the National Chairman of the Black Panthers, Bobby Seale, were charged with conspiracy to incite rioting. Later, Bobby’s case was severed, and he was given a four-year prison sentence for contempt of court. That length of sentence for contempt was unheard-of prior to his sentencing.”

  Jenny stopped to sip her tea, and Lauren looked at Harriet and made a slight rolling gesture with her finger, which Harriet took to mean she, too, was anxious for Jenny to get to the point.

  “I’m not doing this well,” Jenny said. “But what I’m trying to tell you is that these were highly charged times. Things were changing. People were protesting everything. Everyone knew someone who had been killed in Vietnam. When you protested, the police were the enemy, using tear gas and rubber bullets. Even the movies of the times were important statements. There was no such thing as pure entertainment.”

  Harriet reached across Lauren and pointed at the cookie plate. Lauren scooped a couple into her lap then passed the plate. Jenny waited until Harriet was settled again.

  “This is the hard part. I know I told you I’d grown up in a commune and I did—part of the time, after what went down.” Jenny sipped her tea again. It was obvious she was stalling.

  “My brother was, indeed, a drug dealer, but he was smalltime. He sold small quantities of marijuana to his self-important friends. We lived in Lynnwood, and they acted like we lived in Berkeley. We were a blue-collar working-class town where most of the adults we knew were just trying to get by.

  “Every town had a Selective Service office, and Lynnwood was no exception. Prior to Vietnam, a large percentage of the town’s young men signed up to go in the army as a way of getting out and seeing the world. But now they were scared. The army might actually expect them to fight.

  “Bobby hung out with a group of stoned underachievers with high ideals and low ambition. They were very full of themselves back then. Everyone had a guitar or drum and thought they were going to be the next John Lennon or Ringo Starr. They went through a phase where they were going to be artists and craftsmen.

  “Back then, the nerds had slide rules and graph paper and were always working on some problem, the solution to which would end world hunger or create a renewable source of clean energy. The only trouble was, none of them was good at anything. And of course, they all grew their hair out and stopped washing it.

  “I don’t even remember which one of them thought up the idea of breaking into the Selective Service office and stealing the p
unch cards with the names of registered eighteen-year-olds. Left to their own devices, nothing would have come of the scheme except a lot of hot air.”

  “How many people are we talking?” Lauren asked.

  “There were a dozen, not counting Bobby, but the core group was maybe half that. Then Cosmic started hanging out with them, and that’s where the trouble started. What I told you about that part was true. Cosmic had an uncle who was an ex-con, he brought in another ex-con friend, and they decided to rob the bank next door.”

  Jenny rubbed her hands together and then rubbed them on her upper arms.

  “Are you cold?” Harriet asked and started to get up.

  “Sit,” Lauren commanded. “I’ll get one of the fleece throws from the closet.”

  She opened the closet door behind her chair and pulled out an assortment of afghans and throws from a box. She gave Jenny the fleece one and tossed a ragged knitted afghan onto Harriet’s lap, keeping a lap-sized flannel rag throw for herself.

  Jenny wrapped the throw around her shoulders and continued her narrative.

  “What I didn’t tell you the first time was what my role was.”

  Harriet looked at Lauren, and they both looked at Jenny, but she was lost in her recollection.

  “I was fifteen, and my parents were always working, so I tagged along with Bobby wherever he went. My parents had been making him babysit me after school from the time I was nine and he was twelve. He was flat-footed, and in those days that was enough to get you a one-F draft rating, which meant you weren’t prime and would be given a noncombat job to free up more qualified soldiers, but they would only do that if they ran out of one-As, which wasn’t likely.”

  Jenny was clearly pained having to tell her story and was dragging it out as if rescue were coming, which they all knew wasn’t the case. Harriet’s arm was starting to hurt, but she didn’t want to distract Jenny by asking Lauren to get her pain medication.

  “Bobby was lacking in ambition, beyond his small drug operation, so whenever he could make me do his chores or run errands for the group, he would. At that time, I was in awe of the older kids. They used new names, like Cosmic and Paisley and Tranquillity. They called me Jonquil. It was all very glamorous, in a hippie sort of way.” Her voice took on a faraway quality.