The Friendship Star Quilt

by Patricia Kiyono

  George sighed. “Sadly, Cindy Stratford isn’t the most attentive parent in this town. The station once got a call because Cindy left one of her kids behind in a store. The store couldn’t reach her because she had turned off her cell phone. It’s a wonder they didn’t call Child Protective Services instead of us. Detective Moore gave Cindy a stern talking to when he took the little boy home, but apparently it wasn’t stern enough. Bob almost had a cow when I told him Cindy had left the Carmichael child here. Of course, he wasn’t very happy about Ryan either – I think he called the kid’s parents about it. Anyway, about the Carmichael girl, it should never have happened. I had an emergency at home and had to leave Ryan in charge when my wife called…”

  “Is everyone in your family all right?”

  “Yes, thanks for asking. The baby had a very high fever, so we needed to get her to the emergency room. She’s fine now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Ann said then gestured with her bank bag. “I need to get on my way. It gets dark much too early this time of the year. I miss our long summer evenings.”

  “Anne, you shouldn’t be going to the bank alone. Especially not on foot,” he scolded.

  “Yes, sir, officer sir,” she said, giving him a mock salute. “Seriously, I know you’re right, George, but it’s only a few blocks, so it seems silly to waste the gas to drive there. Besides, I like to stop at Falcone’s on the way back for dinner.”

  “I don’t blame you. Mario’s pizza is the best.”

  “I prefer his pastas. But the pizza is good, too. Actually, I’ve never had anything less than scrumptious there.”

  “I’m just glad he doesn’t sell ice cream or I’d be out of business. Hey, maybe I should a talk with the Italian accent, si?”

  “No!” She chuckled then bid him goodbye and hurried on her way.

  Chapter Five

  As Anne hurried toward the bank, she spotted Gina Falcone sweeping the sidewalk outside her family’s Italian restaurant. The dark-haired teen paused when she saw Anne approaching and gave a friendly wave.

  “Hi, Anne,” she called out in greeting. “Are you coming to the restaurant for dinner? Dad and I were talking about you a little while ago. We haven’t seen you for a couple days and wondered how you were doing. Are you feeling better now?”

  “I’m fine, Gina. Your father was very kind to send over all the food for me. I had more than enough for a couple of delicious meals.”

  “Dad’s lasagna is awesome, but it tends to fill me out as well as fill me up.” The young girl chuckled and patted her curvy hips. “However, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about calories with your build.”

  “Every woman worries about calories, Gina, but your dad’s cooking makes it easy to forget.”

  “Well, he was pretty worried when your friend came in last week and said you’d fainted.”

  “It wasn’t quite as dramatic as it sounded, I assure you. Honest. I’d just worked all alone in the shop and hadn’t taken time for any lunch. Then the quilt group women arrived before I could grab any supper, so I got a little lightheaded,” Anne explained, trying to minimize the incident. “But I’ve definitely been eating very well since then. I stopped by the next morning to thank your dad, but be sure to tell him again for me, okay? If there’s ever anything I can do to return the favor, just let me know.”

  “As a matter of fact, there is something you can do,” the younger woman said, leaning on her broom. “Why don’t you stop in on your way back from the bank? Dad wants to talk to you about curtains for the restaurant. Ours are getting pretty grungy. We need to replace them, but we can’t find anything we like in the stores. We were wondering if you could make some for us.”

  A freelance sewing job? Anne had never entertained the idea of doing outside work, but it would certainly help her to build a nest egg. Excited at the opportunity, she promised to return to the restaurant after she’d finished her chore.

  In the next block, Myra’s bank rubbed shoulders with a local dry cleaner and Cards and Moore, the popular gift boutique owned by Detective Moore’s wife. The businesses had already closed for the day, adding to Anne’s uneasiness. Grandville was relatively crime-free, but the area had experienced a big surge of business when the RiverTown Crossing Mall had been built a few years back. The boom had increased the crimes per capita, but it was mostly for things like shoplifting. The mall was a few miles from this part of town, but nonetheless, she didn’t like using the bank’s outdoor depository. It made her feel too exposed. She always checked to see if any loiterers were nearby. If so, she’d walk around the block or back to Falcone’s and wait until the sidewalks were clear before she pulled out the deposit bag. Today no one was in sight, so she quickly slipped the bank bag into the deposit slot. Relieved to be done with the job for another day, she turned and quickly retraced her steps to the restaurant.

  As soon as she opened the door, her mouth began to water at the heavenly aroma of freshly baked garlic bread and spicy marinara sauce. The scents reminded her of happier days in her parents’ home, when the place had bustled with activity and friends. Mama had been a wonderful cook just as Grams had been. Unfortunately, Anne’s talents ran more to sewing than culinary skill.

  The handsome, dark-haired owner of Falcone’s emerged from the kitchen. A big smile lit his features as he came over to give her an effusive welcome. “Ahh, it is my young friend Annie. Welcome to our little restaurant. Come. Sit down. You eat. I just made a nice pot of rigatoni.”

  “Oh, Mario, it’s not necessary!”

  “Why? You have the plans with the band teacher?”

  “No,” she replied, wondering how he knew Mr. Carmichael had stopped to see her. She felt her face heating up and hoped it didn’t show.

  Apparently, Mario didn’t notice. He waved her to a table by the window. “Good, then you sit, and we eat the rigatoni.”

  “Mario, “ she protested. “I didn’t come in here to eat.”

  “You no like rigatoni?” He tilted her head and pursed his lips, considering. “You want the pizza? Or some spaghetti?”

  “No, no. I love rigatoni, but you don’t have to feed me. Gina said you wanted to talk about curtains.”

  “Si, si the curtains. But first, I must eat before the evening rush. So, we will talk while I eat, yes? And you will join me.”

  Anne laughed. “You’ve twisted my arm, Mario. Not that I needed much convincing. Everything smells heavenly,” she commented. Smiling, she took the seat he indicated.

  The restaurateur hurried into the kitchen only to reappear a few minutes later, carrying a tray loaded with food. Plates piled with steaming rigatoni, bowls of salad, breadsticks, and two mugs of steaming coffee.

  “You like a glass of red wine with your pasta? I don’ sell it inna here, but I keep a couple bottles in the kitchen for special friends. I get a glass for you?”

  “No, thank you. Coffee is just fine.” Anne didn’t particularly care for wine, red or white. It went to her head and made her feel out of control. When she’d been married to Jeffrey, it had always been important for her to stay on her toes. If she slipped up in even the smallest way—forgot a name, mispronounced a word, left something undone—she’d hear about it later. First, the insults came. The punishments soon followed.

  Except for the one time at the end of their marriage, Jeffrey had seldom been physically abusive. Occasionally, he’d grabbed her by the arm and shaken her, but, otherwise, Jeffrey had been more the verbally abusive type. He loved to scream and harangue at her. Then he’d punish her by taking things away. The car keys went first. Next, he’d disconnected the house phone. Since people had begun giving up land lines in favor of using their cell phones, no one ever questioned his actions. But Jeffrey hadn’t done it to save money. He’d disconnected their phone as a way of cutting her off from the rest of the world. He’d kept their Internet and cable service, but he disconnected the boxes each morning and put them in his car when he left for work. Their credit cards were in his name o
nly. So was the checking account. Each week, she’d make out her grocery list then he’d pick up the items on his way home from work. How had she ever let herself get in such a situation? She’d always been a self-possessed and capable person. She’d cared for her grandmother, gone to school, had a job. She shuddered, remembering how it had felt to be a prisoner in her own home.

  Jeffrey can’t hurt me now, she reminded herself, repeating the words which had become her mantra in the last two years.

  Still, no matter how safe she felt, a part of her always stayed on alert. One never knew if someone else she trusted might turn on her. She’d suffered too much, lost everything she’d held dear. She refused to let her world fall apart again. And she never let down her guard.

  It was exhausting.

  “Cara, you must eat. Maybe you no like my company so much, but you must eat something. You are so thin. I think Myra does not pay you well enough.”

  Anne blinked, suddenly aware of the man seated across from her. “I’m so sorry, Mario,” she apologized. “You are very good company. I’m afraid I was — just thinking about – about the shop. There’s so much I need to get done with Myra away. I’m very sorry, I zoned out.” She quickly picked up her fork and dug into her pasta. “Mmmm, this rigatoni smells absolutely heavenly. You make the best sauce in the whole state.”

  Good grief, she was babbling. Jeffrey used to hate it. Shortly after they were married, he’d insulted her in front of his parents by saying, “If anyone wonders about your intelligence, you take away all doubt the minute you open your mouth and start to babble.” She’d been mortified, more so, when his folks had laughed indulgently at their son’s brand of humor. After that incident, she’d learned to keep her thoughts to herself and just sit politely when they visited his parents or on the rare occasions when Jeffrey entertained clients. Now, she took a forkful of her pasta before she embarrassed herself any further.

  But her cheerful companion loved to talk, and he apparently wanted to hear her opinions, too. He asked her questions about the shop, her family, and local politics. If her answers about some things sounded vague even to her own ears, Mario didn’t seem to notice. He simply asked her something else and kept the conversation lively. Finally, he broached to the subject she’d come to discuss.

  “My Gina, she will be the death of me,” he complained, but the loving glance he sent toward his daughter said differently. “Gina, she tell-a me we need the new curtains inna here. Last weekend, she drag me all over the big mall, but we cannot find what we want inna the stores. One place, they say they can special order the curtains for me, but it would be much, much money.” He paused and frowned. “I don’t mind paying the big prices, but the curtains they want-a sell me? Not what we want. Too fancy. Like in a parlor or a ritzy hotel. They would need the dry cleaning all-a the time.” He shook his head. “Not practical. I need the sturdy curtains. Ones we canna wash. Gina she says maybe you canna make them, yes?”

  “I’m not sure, Mario. What kind of curtains do you want?”

  He described what he had in mind, drawing a little sketch on a paper placemat while he talked. When he finished, he showed her the paper and told her he was willing to pay a fair price to have them made.

  Anne studied the drawing and nodded her approval. The double row of café curtains had side ties on the top tier so they could be pushed back to let in the sunshine. The design was pretty basic: a casing on the top and a hem at the bottom. She wouldn’t even need a pattern, just the measurements of the windows. She did some quick mental calculations then nodded. She could easily complete the sewing project after hours at The Stitching Post. She was certain Myra wouldn’t mind if she used one of the store’s sewing machines. But she would make sure before committing.

  “Let me take some measurements then check on the cost of the materials. I want to talk to Myra, too, to see if it will be okay with her for me to freelance. Can I get back to you tomorrow, Mario?”

  “Very good,” he agreed, clapping his hands together as if the matter was settled.

  The door opened, heralding the first of the supper hour crowd. Mario called out a greeting and quickly rose. Before heading for the kitchen, he told Anne to sit and enjoy the rest of the meal. She thanked him and promised to return the following day with her tape measure.

  She finished eating then lingered over her coffee, watching Mario and Gina interact as she sipped the strong brew. Father and daughter worked well together. Mario definitely ruled the place, but he was unfailingly kind to his daughter. He never berated or criticized her. When she dropped an order of spaghetti on the tile floor, he immediately rushed from the kitchen to make sure she was okay then helped her clean up the mess. Before returning to the kitchen for a replacement meal, he kissed the top of her head and warned her to be careful walking on the damp floor.

  The touching scene reminded Anne of how Mr. Carmichael—Brad—had been with his daughter, too. The little girl’s eyes had lit up with joy when he’d arrived at the shop to get her.

  Mario and Brad made her realize there were kind and loving men in this world. Men who were polar opposites from Jeffrey and his critical father.

  ****

  The two blocks back to The Stitching Post seemed much shorter to Anne than the trip to the bank had been.

  She used her key to unlock the shop’s entrance then quickly slipped inside. Not wanting to turn on the lights when she was only passing through the room on her way to Myra’s office in the back, she used a tiny penlight on her key chain to guide her steps. Once she reached the office, Anne flipped on the wall switch then put the bag with her leftovers in the small refrigerator just outside the door. Mario’s rigatoni would be delicious warmed up for her lunch the next day.

  Now it was time for business. Anne hung up her jacket then settled into the desk chair. She jiggled the computer’s wireless mouse the way Myra had showed her to “wake up” the monitor and get to the password screen. Anne didn’t have a computer of her own or an email account; she used one of the shop’s generic email IDs (StitchPost1) to order supplies, answer customer email inquiries, and stay in touch with Myra, who used the shop’s other ID. Anne was grateful her boss let her use the business computer for her occasional personal business, too. She just insisted the sites visited had to be secure to avoid hackers.

  That was no problem. The site Anne checked, OTIS, was the Offender Tracking Information System set up by the Michigan Department of Corrections. Definitely safe, in fact, one might say it had maximum security. Ever since Jeffrey’s trial, Anne had checked it religiously at least once a week. However, after Kirstie’s mention of the prison break in Jackson, Anne had started to check OTIS every day just to keep tabs on her ex. She loved the new life she was building for herself in lovely little Grandville. Her biggest fear was her past life might catch up with her one day and ruin everything. As long as Jeffrey remained behind bars, the odds of it happened were minimal.

  Relieved when she found no change in Jeffrey’s status, Anne made a quick search of the Detroit newspaper websites, scanning every mention of his wealthy family. Seeing nothing more than the usual social tidbits, Anne cleared her browsing history, emptied the cache then shut down the computer for the night. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until her muscles protested when she rose from the chair and reached for her jacket. A nice soak in a warm bath will take care of those, she thought as she tidied up the little office and turned off the lights.

  In the back hall, she arranged her key ring in her hand the way the instructors in her self-defense classes had taught. With the sharp ends of the keys extended outward between her fingers for protection, she opened the door. The security light came on as soon as she stepped onto the small porch. It remained lit long after she had crossed the back parking lot and made her way down the street to the narrow, two-family home where she lived on the top floor.

  Anne had been so excited to find a place to rent so near to The Stitching Post. Even better, Myra was friends with Helyn,
the elderly owner of the house. Anne had been touched when Myra phoned the woman to vouch for Anne. Her new landlady assured Anne the recommendation from the shop owner eliminated any need for a credit check. Anne had been relieved. She’d worried an inquiry would be a flag Jeffrey could trace later to find her. With that avoided, she’d settled happily into the cozy apartment. It was small, but the location fit her needs perfectly. To make it even better, there was a private outside entrance as well as one through the front of the house. Two exits always made Anne feel safer.

  Frost had glazed the wooden steps in the morning when Anne left for work, but they were dry now. She hurried up them, let herself inside her kitchen door then quickly set the deadbolt. Holding her keys like a weapon again, she flipped on lights as she went through to her cozy sitting room. She checked the front door to make sure it was still securely locked, too. Only then did she kick off her shoes and put her jacket away in the coat closet. In stocking feet, she returned to the kitchen and took a pitcher of water from her refrigerator. The nearly empty shelves made her grimace. Some wilted lettuce, a carton of milk nearing its expiration date, a few condiments, a package of cheese, and a small container with leftovers of the taco pie Sue had brought by the shop on Saturday. As Anne heated water for a cup of tea, she decided a trip to a Meijer superstore for a few groceries had to go on her schedule and soon.

  Money was no problem. Her rent was modest and she’d been able to save most of her salary each payday. She just hated to spend any of it except for absolute necessities. Anne wanted to have a healthy nest egg ready in case she had to flee again. However, she certainly didn’t want her customers to think she was starving or— Heaven forbid—that Myra wasn’t paying her enough. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Stitching Post’s owner had been more than generous, even leaving Anne her car to use while she and her husband Ed were in Florida on their vacation.