There was no mail from Myra, so Anne began to browse some of her favorite places for information on Jeffrey’s family. Her first stop was Harper Happenings, the thinly disguised blog of Jeffrey’s youngest sister. Like many young people, Tarah lived her life online. Using only initials, she blithely posted even the most personal of details about her family for her “personal friends.” The girl had nearly a thousand of them on the blog, and she also allowed people to browse her posts without actually signing up as a follower. They just couldn’t publish comments. The latter option worked perfectly for Anne. It let her read about the Harpers without risking a sign on.
Now, as she browsed the latest entries, Anne wondered again why Tarah’s parents hadn’t shut down her blog. Harper Happenings read like the latest Hollywood gossip column. Pictures of society events and tantalizing tidbits about family members and their friends filled the pages. The participants might be identified only by initials, but some of the scandalous tidbits were accompanied by addresses and dates of the intimate events. It appeared the Harper family would be in Colorado skiing over Thanksgiving. Tarah had several rambling posts about the clothes she’d bought, including a rather suggestive picture of her modeling some new, lacy lingerie. Thankfully, Tarah had no recent update about the man she lovingly referred to as her DBB—dear big brother. Anne puffed out a sigh of relief.
Before signing off for the morning, Anne checked the various social media. Tarah and Jeffrey had both been online junkies, constantly checking for the latest updates on their smart phones. It sometimes seemed like Jeffrey had let the entire online world know everything he thought, planned, or did—except his affair and his treatment of his wife, of course. It had been tricky for Anne to get accounts set up which couldn’t be traced back to her. She’d done it on the library computer, creating a fictitious profile for a middle-aged man in California. No one should be able to connect it with her. Thankfully, a review of Tarah’s pages showed nothing about Jeffrey. His accounts, of course, had remained inactive since his incarceration. Relieved, Anne logged off the computer then went out to the sales floor.
Keeping in mind her promise to Mario the night before, she pulled out the placemat he’d given her, hoping for some inspiration. His design showed her the style of curtains he wanted, but he hadn’t given her any other preferences except that they needed to be sturdy and washable. She had no idea what patterns or colors he preferred, so she wandered through the shop with a cart, gathering various fabrics she thought might work in a restaurant setting. As she came around a corner, a bolt of yellow cotton caught her eye. She pulled it out from the others to see the print. A pair of cartoon chefs cavorted across the fabric. One chef, tall and thin, precariously balanced an overflowing tray of pasta while the other, short and comically rotund, concentrated on tossing a huge pizza crust over his head.
Now, these cheery fellows would be right at home in the front window at Falcone’s, Anne thought as she added it to her cart then wheeled everything over to the cutting table.
She had just started snipping samples to show Mario when the bell rang, signaling a customer. She put down her pinking shears and glanced up as Brad and Jennie entered the shop. The sight of them made the morning even brighter. She hurried to the front of the shop to greet them, wondering if her voice sounded as giddy to them as it did to her.
“Good morning, Jennie and Jennie’s dad. What can I do for the two of you this lovely morning?”
“Hi, Anne,” Brad greeted, giving her one of his wonderful smiles. “We were on the way to Jennie’s school when I saw the lights on in here. We decided to stop so I could drop off the ad I wrote about the flags. I kind of hoped you might be able to advise me on a fair price to offer for the job if someone responds.” He pulled a folded paper from his jacket and handed it to Anne.
Anne glanced down at Jennie. “Did you help your dad write it?”
The little girl shook her head solemnly. “No, Daddy did it all by himself.”
“Well, let’s see how he did,” Anne said and read the neatly typed paper. She glanced up and nodded. “This is very good, Mr. Carmichael. It explains what you need quite clearly. But I was wondering…” She paused and bit her bottom lip.
“I’m not sure what your budget is,” she continued, the words rushing out in a tumble. “But I have extra time in the evenings, and I’d be willing to do the project for you. I’m an experienced seamstress, and I work fast. I could even make a sample for your approval before you decide if you’d like.”
The band director’s brown eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? That would be incredible. I don’t need a sample to decide. You’re hired! Just tell me how much you’ll charge.”
Anne pursed her lips, considering how much time the job would take then named a price.
“Are you sure it’s enough?” he asked. “Even with the cost of the materials, it’s a fraction of what the flag companies all quoted.”
“I don’t have their overhead,” she explained, giving a little shrug. “Besides, it will give me a chance to contribute to a good cause and make a little extra cash.”
“You know,” Brad said, “if you’re serious about making some extra money, the band parents always need someone to do alterations for the kids’ uniforms. Every year, sleeves have to be shortened or lengthened. The trousers have to be hemmed or let down, too. Would it be okay if I have them contact you?
Anne hesitated. She wasn’t sure how she felt about having her name passed around where anyone might see it. But the opportunity to earn some extra cash was too good to pass up. She reached over to the card holder on the countertop and handed him one of the shop business cards. “Here’s a card with the shop’s phone number. If you give this number to the parents, they can reach me here. I’m the one who answers the phone most of the time.”
“Wonderful. Be ready for a slew of calls. Symphony band starts after the holidays, so everyone will want their concert uniforms altered.”
“Fine with me. I can handle the volume. I altered more than a dozen choir robes for Pastor Lockhart last spring.”
“What? You mean Gordon Lockhart knew about you and didn’t tell me?” Brad pretended to frown. “You better believe I’m going to have a few words with my preacher buddy about that.”
Anne stifled a giggle, suddenly feeling like a teenager. It had been a long time since a male had teased her, and it felt good. Flattering. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to have a pleasant conversation with a nice man. If she weren’t careful, she could easily let down her guard.
No! She could never allow it to happen. Never! Not with Brad, not with any other man. Anne knew how men were. They started out so sweet and pleasant then they turned. The change would be gradual, so slow she wouldn’t notice it at first. But all too soon, she’d find her life restricted. She wouldn’t be able to have friends or indulge in hobbies. He would control who she could talk to and would listen in on her phone conversations. He’d read her email and lock up the computer so she couldn’t get online unless he was standing over her shoulder. She’d be forced to quit her job, too. In short, he’d take over her life.
She wouldn’t give up control of her life ever again. No matter how nice the man might seem. She pulled herself up short. Why was she even thinking such thoughts? Mr. Carmichael wasn’t actually flirting. The band director wasn’t asking her out for a date. He was just a customer, a customer who needed her help. She would be polite to him, nothing more.
“Thank you for your trust in me, Mr. Carmichael. I’ll order the materials for the flags right away.”
“You’re welcome, but the name is Brad, remember?” he said, taking his daughter’s hand. “And I’m the one who should thank you. You’ve taken one huge task off my never-ending To Do list.”
He held out his hand to his daughter. “Come on, Princess. I’d better get you to school before we’re both late.”
When the pair waved and headed out to their car, Anne stood at the window and watched them drive away. As she
returned to her tasks, she realized how empty the shop seemed with them gone.
Chapter Eight
“Does seeing the quilt shop lady make you happy?” Jennie asked on the drive to her school.
Brad glanced up at the rearview mirror and found her watching him from the back seat. Her blue eyes regarded him solemnly. “What do you mean, Princess?”
“You’re humming to the radio,” she replied. “You don’t do that unless something makes you happy.”
“Well, Miss Anne offered to sew the flags I need for the band,” Brad explained, marveling at his daughter’s perceptiveness. “It’s a very big job, and I’ve been worried I wouldn’t be able to get them made in time for the parade next month. So, yes, sweetheart, I guess I am happy.”
“That’s good. I don’t like you to worry. I think it gives you those headaches you always get, Daddy,” she replied, suddenly sounding as wise as his Aunt Bonnie. “Our teacher says smiling makes a person feel better.”
“Your teacher is right,” Brad said. He turned into the grade school lot just as one of the busses arrived. He parked near the front entrance then got out of the car to open Jennie’s door. “Tell you what, Princess. I’ll try to remember to smile more, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed and gathered up her backpack. She gave him a quick hug when she slid from the car then pointed to the bus. “Look, Daddy. Callie and Bethanie just got off the bus, so you don’t have to walk me inside, I can go with them.”
Brad nodded. “I’ll pick you up right after school tonight so we can go grocery shopping. Have a good day, Princess.”
“See you tonight!” she called then ran to catch up with her two best friends.
Brad waited until the three little girls were safely inside the school building before getting back into his car. Driving to the high school, he caught himself humming again.
He’d been honest when he’d answered Jennie earlier. He was relieved to have the pretty little clerk at The Stitching Post offer to make the band flags for him. It would be nice to cross something off his seemingly endless To Do list. He still had way too many items left on it. Life would be so much simpler if he had an ordinary teaching job. But his role as the school’s band director forced him to wear a lot of different hats: teacher, consultant, program developer, music director, choreographer… the list went on and on. He taught the kids music from the time they picked up their first instruments in elementary school until they graduated from high school.
An assistant would ease his busy schedule, but money was too tight in the school district’s budget right now to add any more personnel. So, everything fell on Brad’s shoulders. Most days, he ran between the high school, grade school, and middle school for music classes. Then it was back to the high school building for band practice after school. In addition to the teaching, Brad helped the kids decide on suitable instruments, making sure they selected the proper one for their age and size. He issued uniforms to his junior high and high school band members and ensured they were suitably altered and dry cleaned. He worked with the parents’ group to coordinate fund-raising and arranged transportation to the various band competitions and performances. Some days, he felt like he was trying to run a marathon on a treadmill: putting in a lot of effort but not actually getting anywhere.
Still, Brad loved his job, and all his efforts had started to pay. The high school’s marching band had earned the highest ratings in their class at both the local and state festivals. Rivertown’s band had earned praise wherever they performed. And participation in the program had steadily grown, too. Today’s band was a far cry from the dwindling handful of students enrolled when he first started his stint as the band director. He took pleasure in the growth, realizing it was largely due to his own efforts. From day one, he’d modernized the band program, introduced popular music into the routines, gotten the kids involved in choreographing half-time shows, and planned fun activities for the band members. Now, it was considered a “cool” thing to join the band, and be one of “Mr. Carmichael’s kids.”
But “Mr. Carmichael” was tired.
Instead of being able to relax and spend time with Jennie when he got home in the evenings, he always had phone calls to make and bills to pay, meals to cook and housecleaning to be done. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day. And, when he did take time to watch a movie with his daughter or to read the paper after she’d gone to bed, he often discovered, later, he’d forgotten to do something important.
Like the laundry.
And the grocery shopping.
He frowned. He’d love to be able to spend a leisurely evening with nothing on his mind except being with his little girl, talking to her about her day, eating a nice dinner together, and enjoying her carefree chatter. How did other single parents manage to get everything done and still have time with their children? He felt like he was neglecting Jennie.
Did she feel neglected?
Jennie never complained. She barely even asked for help with her homework or the countless other things with which most other kids seemed to need assistance. A bit more solemn than most kids her age, she’d always been an easy child, always content. Now, he wondered how he could make sure she remained content. In the past, Sarah had been there to anticipate and take care of Jennie’s needs, but Brad wasn’t sure he even knew what his daughter might need or want. And the thought of her becoming a teenager scared the socks off him. How on earth would he help her through those traumatic years? One thing he did know, he had to find a way to spend more time with Jennie, talking and listening.
In short, he needed to be a better father.
Thanksgiving was just a few weeks away. Maybe he could plan something for them to do together then. He’d talk to her tonight about it, and they could make some plans together. He’d let her decide on the things she wanted to do. Shopping? He’d be there. Baking cookies? He could do that, too. Granted, he’d never baked a cookie in his life, but how hard could it be to read a recipe? Playing with dolls? A tea party? He was her man. Whatever she wanted, he’d do. She was the Princess.
The parade! He’d nearly forgotten it was the week before Thanksgiving. He had to be there with the band, but maybe he could parlay it into a little extra Dad-time with Jennie. Instead of driving home to Grandville afterwards, maybe he could spend the weekend with his parents or at Aunt Bonnie’s. Jennie would enjoy visiting them. He’d call this evening and make arrangements.
He’d just need to put more pressure on the band parents to help out with the transportation. This was a big honor for the school, for their band to be one of those chosen to perform. Surely, the kids’ parents would understand if he just presented it to them right. Especially the parents who had seniors in the marching band. This would be one of the few times left for those parents to see their kids march in parade. If he got enough of the parents to realize it, surely more of them would volunteer to chaperone the kids on the bus, and he could follow in his car. If he didn’t have to spread himself so thin, he could carve out some private time with his own child.
He could do this. He’d start calling parents as soon as he got to his office. Other parents besides him were going to have to step up to the plate.
****
Anne went back to the cutting counter, smiling as she snipped the samples for Mario’s curtains. She could hardly believe her luck. Not only did she have the curtains to make for Mario’s restaurant, but now she had this job for the school, as well, thanks to Mr. Carmichael.
Brad.
Just saying his name made her smile. What a nice man he seemed to be, so concerned about the students in his music programs, and so good with his daughter. Anne wondered what his late wife had been like. Had Mrs. Carmichael been beautiful? Judging by her adorable daughter, the woman must have been. Had she and her husband been desperately in love like the couples in those romance novels back in her apartment? Had her death left a void within Brad, one he would mourn for the rest of his life?
Anne’s stomach cle
nched. Aggravated with herself for indulging in foolish speculation, she returned her attention to the task in front of her. Brad Carmichael’s feelings were none of her business. Her business was to run The Stitching Post until Myra returned from vacation. Besides, she wasn’t Cinderella or one of those other fairy tale maidens, who waited around for some prince to arrive and rescue them. Anne didn’t want or need a man in her life. And if she’d learned one thing married to Jeffrey, it was men were seldom what they seemed. No, there weren’t any knights on white stallions in her future.
Men try to tell you what to do, too, and what to think, and I’m not willing to ever allow someone to do it to me again. I like my life just as it is, and I have plenty to keep me busy.
Like preparing the samples for Mario. Anne picked up the pinking shears she’d abandoned when the Carmichaels had arrived and got back to the task. She cut small rectangular swatches from the various fabrics so the restaurateur could see the variety of patterns and colors available. However, when she got to the fabric with the little chefs on it, Anne carefully measured out and cut a fat quarter, a piece eighteen by twenty-two inches. The larger piece would let Mario see all the characters’ poses and contortions. By the time Courtney, Myra’s other employee, arrived a half-hour later, Anne had finished the swatches and had them bundled into one of the shop’s logo bags to take to Falcone’s later in the day.
The Friendship Star Quilt Page 6
