The Friendship Star Quilt

by Patricia Kiyono

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Tee nudged her, playfully. “You don’t need to say anything, goose! We keep telling you, this is what friends do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anne checked her watch for the hundredth time Saturday afternoon, wondering if Brad and Jennie were enjoying their visit with their relatives on the east side of the state. They’d been on her mind all day, and she’d nearly convinced herself it was due to her concern over the band. She hoped the color guard’s new flags and skirts had performed as expected. The girls hadn’t had very much time before the parade to get used to handling the new flags, and she hoped none had gotten tangled up or ripped. Maybe Brad would stop by the next day to let her know how things went.

  Maybe not.

  With a sinking heart, she reminded herself there was no longer any reason for Brad to come into The Stitching Post. He had the flags and costumes, and, since the parade was over, he would no longer need a sitter for Jennie after school either. Anne’s stomach clenched at the realization. The adorable little girl had become such an important part of her life. Anne had enjoyed spending time every day with the delightful child, chatting and teaching her to sew. Anne would miss her far more than she’d expected.

  She’d miss Brad, too.

  Don’t think of it! She needed to imitate her favorite fictional heroine and put off thinking about it. Scarlett O’Hara and her questionable morals might not be the best role model, but she was dead on when it came to dealing with unpleasant subjects. Anne decided she could do the same. She’d keep her thoughts at bay by immersing herself in work.

  Luckily business had cooperated. A steady stream of customers kept both her and Courtney bustling all day. Anne had always been friendly, but her normal style was to greet customers then leave them alone to browse. However, on Saturday, she became much more hands on than normal. She suggested fabrics and accessories, discussed patterns, offered coffee and just spent time chatting with the women who came in. All the activity made the day pass quickly and kept her from dwelling on thoughts of Jennie and Brad. However, after she closed the shop and said goodnight to Courtney, the solitude gave her way too much time to think.

  Determined to stay busy, Anne brought out the bolt of material she’d ordered for Mario’s curtains. The comic print made her chuckle as she spread the fabric on the cutting counter then carefully measured and cut the four pairs of tiers. The curtains were a simple design with a minimal amount of sewing. Rod casing at the top, straight hem at the bottom, nothing complicated about them. Since she had no other plans for the evening, Anne decided to start them. If she worked over the weekend, she might be able to deliver the finished items to Mario on Monday.

  Having decided, Anne moved the lengths of fabric to the work table to get started. She picked up the first panel and one of the interfacing strips she’d prepared to reinforce the rod pocket. If she were teaching a class, she’d have told her students to hand baste the two pieces together, using long stitches in a contrasting thread which could be easily seen and removed later. It was the recommended way for a novice to keep pieces from shifting while being machine-sewn. However, experienced seamstresses often circumvented this step by basting pieces together with straight pins. Now, Anne got to work pinning the top of each panel. When this was finished, she threaded one of the shop’s machines with the proper shade of yellow thread then positioned one of the colorful panels on the machine. Taking care to avoid hitting a straight pin with the machine’s swift-moving needle, she guided the panel under the machine’s feeder foot. The finished curtains were going to be so cute in the restaurant windows.

  Anne loved to sew and hummed to herself as she worked. When she finished the stitching, she used an iron and a hem clip to press a sharp fold at the top of each panel for the rod casing. The markings on the clip helped her to keep the rod pockets exactly the same width. This was an important step since a variance of as little as a quarter inch could affect how the finished curtains hung. She returned to the sewing machine and, using the feeder foot as a guide, made the first seam at the top of the rod pocket. She snipped the thread then sewed a second parallel seam for the bottom of the casing.

  Caught up in the project, Anne quickly lost track of time. When she finally looked up, she was shocked to see how late it had grown. She glanced at the cash registers and frowned. The thought of carrying her deposit to the bank so late made her nervous since all the neighboring businesses would already be closed for the night. But she didn’t want to leave the money in register overnight either. In the end, she decided she’d just put the deposit bag in her sewing kit and take it home with her. She’d make the deposit first thing in the morning then come back to the shop and work on Mario’s curtains some more. With this decided, she unplugged the iron and sewing machine and tidied her work area. She draped the curtain panels over the back of her chair to prevent wrinkles then picked up her sewing basket and took it to the cash register.

  Business had been brisk all day so the till contained more cash and checks than usual. For a moment, Anne almost reconsidered her decision to hold on to the deposit overnight. In the end, she weighed her apprehension over keeping the cash with her overnight against the thought of going to the bank alone in the dark. The apartment won so she printed out the transaction tape and went through her normal routine for balancing out. Tonight, however, she put the deposit bag in the bottom of her sewing basket then headed to Myra’s office to lock up the accountant’s copy.

  She put on her jacket, picked up the sewing basket and headed toward the back door when the sudden jangle of the office phone made her jump. Who on earth would be calling The Post at this hour? She paused and listened as the answering machine picked up.

  “Hi, it’s Brad. You’re probably already gone for the weekend. I should have checked the clock before calling—”

  Anne rushed back to the office and dove for the phone, nearly knocking it to the floor in her haste.

  “Brad!” she called. “Don’t hang up. I’m here.”

  “Anne? You sound out of breath. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no, not at all. I was almost out the door when I heard your voice on the machine. I dashed back to catch the phone before you hung up.”

  “I’m glad you did. I wanted to tell you about the parade, but I don’t have a home number for you.”

  “I don’t have a home phone, remember?”

  “Cell phone?”

  “Nope,” she replied, unbuttoning her jacket and setting the sewing basket on the desktop.

  The line was silent for so long, she wondered if they’d been disconnected. Finally, Brad spoke again.

  “I’m sorry, Anne. Maybe calling was a bad idea. I don’t want to make a pest of myself. You probably have—”

  “Brad, I wasn’t trying to brush you off. Honest. I really don’t have a home or cell phone.”

  “How do your friends reach you?”

  Anne chuckled. “The same way you just did. I spend so much of my time at The Post, folks just call me here.”

  “What about your family?”

  “I don’t have any to speak of.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brad said, his voice warm and compassionate. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, it’s okay. Honest,” Anne reassured him. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time. Right now, I want to hear about the parade. Was Rivertown the best band in it?”

  “Of course, we were.” Brad’s laugh rolled over her, warming her to her toes.

  “Tell me,” she said, settling in the desk chair for a nice chat. “And don’t you dare leave anything out.”

  ****

  “Is there something you wanted to tell me, Bradley?”

  Brad glanced up from the Sunday newspaper to find his mother’s twin standing in the doorway of her cozy kitchen. Although it was before six in the morning, Aunt Bonnie was neatly dressed in a pale green twin set and dark slacks, her gray hair styled in her trademark French twist. T
he house had been quiet when Brad woke a half hour earlier, so he’d crept downstairs to retrieve the paper before the others woke. He’d just begun reading it in his favorite spot, the padded rocker by the kitchen’s bay window, when his aunt spoke.

  “Tell you?” He thought for a moment then tilted his head and hazarded a guess. “I brewed a pot of coffee?”

  “Very funny, young man. Perhaps you should consider becoming a stand-up comedian,” she said then crossed the room to the coffee pot.

  Rows of mismatched ceramic mugs hung from small hooks under all the cupboards. For as long as Brad could remember, his aunt had collected the novelty cups. Friends and family fed her habit with contributions found online or on their vacations. Like them, Brad often added to the collection, and whenever he visited her, he perused it for new additions. The mug he currently held—”Stop! You’re Under a Rest”—had been his gift on her last birthday. He’d spotted it in the souvenir stand at a music event. The pun had been a sly reference to both their professions, so he couldn’t pass it up. As she settled in a matching rocker beside him, he glanced at her mug then announced, “Here Come da Judge.”

  “I’m not being judgmental, Bradley,” she argued. “I’m just… concerned.”

  “I was reading your mug,” he replied then frowned. “Shall we dispense with the guessing game, Aunt Bonnie? Why don’t you just tell me what you’re concerned about?”

  “Well, Bradley, I don’t want to pry, but who is Miss Anne?”

  Brad threw back his head and laughed. “I see the princess has told you about our new friend.”

  “She hardly spoke of anything else yesterday.” His aunt sighed and leaned back in her chair, seemingly relieved. “So, Miss Anne is a real person?”

  “Of course. She manages the quilt shop in Grandville. Why?”

  “Well, it’s not unusual for children to create imaginary companions to help them deal with trauma. So I—”

  Reaching across the space between their chairs, Brad gave his aunt’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Jennie is adjusting well to Sarah’s death. Honest. She’s doing well in school and has plenty of non-imaginary friends and piano lessons to keep her busy. You can stop worrying about us, Aunt Bonnie. We’re both doing fine.”

  “Maybe I like worrying about you,” she replied, giving him a wry look over the top of her glasses. “After all, you and Jennie are the closest thing I have to a child and grandchild. Thank goodness Barbara doesn’t mind sharing.”

  “I don’t mind sharing what?” his mother asked, coming into the kitchen in time to catch the last remark. Unlike her sister, she still wore her pajamas and a cozy flannel robe.

  “More correctly whom,” Brad said. He rose to greet his mother then offered her his chair. “Let me get you some coffee while you explain about this spouse swapping you and Aunt Bonnie are considering.”

  “Bradley!”

  His petite, blond mother and her tall, graying sister might not physically resemble twins, but their shocked exclamations were nearly identical. Brad laughed and waved his mother to the chair.

  “Relax, Mom. I’m just teasing you.”

  “Telling me I buttoned my blouse wrong when I didn’t is teasing,” his mother scolded. “Giving me a heart attack before I’ve had my morning coffee definitely is not.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. One java — black with no teasing — coming up.” He went to the counter, selected a cup then filled it nearly to the brim with coffee.

  His mother glanced at the printing on the mug as he handed it to her—”The Queen Is Not Amused” — and struggled not to grin.

  “Bradley, Bradley!” she lamented. “Where did I go wrong with you?”

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I think it’s those preppy clothes you keep sending me.”

  Retrieving his coffee from the side table between the rockers, he winked at his aunt. “You’d never send a musician pullover sweaters, oxford shirts and argyle socks, would you, Aunt Bonnie?”

  “I think I’ll take the fifth on that one.”

  “Smart thinking, sis. I always said you were the smart one.”

  For a moment, they sipped their coffee in companionable silence, then his aunt grinned. “Argyle socks, huh?”

  “Oh, shut up.” His mother scowled, but her twinkling eyes told Brad she wasn’t really upset. She took another sip of coffee then looked from her sister to her son. “Just for the record, what were the two of you discussing when I came downstairs?”

  “Jennie, of course. I swear the child grew at least another inch since I saw her last month,” Aunt Bonnie replied. “By the way, Brad, thank you for sending the Halloween photos of her.”

  “The costume you sent was beautiful, Bonnie. She made an adorable Cinderella,” his mother commented then glanced at the ceiling. “Speaking of our little princess, she should be down here for breakfast any minute now.”

  Brad tilted his head and listened. “I don’t hear any—”

  Just then he heard little footsteps patter overhead.

  “How on earth did you—?”

  His mother shrugged. “Moms just know.”

  “Then I’d better get the omelets started,” Aunt Bonnie said, rising gracefully from her chair. “Brad, you can dice some peppers and onions while you tell your mother and me all about this mysterious Miss Anne.”

  “There’s nothing mysterious about her at all,” Brad said as he opened the crisper drawer. “Do you want me to dice red peppers as well as green?”

  His aunt nodded, so he gathered the vegetables and carried them to the sink so he could wash them. “Anne works at the quilt shop in town,” he continued. “She’s actually managing the place while the owner is down south for the winter. I hired her to make the flags our band carried in the parade.”

  “Jennie told us,” his aunt said. “She said Miss Anne also made the skirts the guard wore. They were very sharp, by the way.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let the girls know you liked the outfits. They helped come up with the idea.”

  “The whole band looked very nice,” his mother added. “They’ve improved vastly since the beginning of the school year. I thought they sounded amazing yesterday.”

  “They did, didn’t they?” Brad beamed, remembering how the crowds had applauded their performance. “My kids have worked their butts off all season, and all their hard work showed every time they took the field. I told them they got better and better with every performance.”

  His aunt quirked an eyebrow then exchanged a wink with her twin. His mother nodded.

  “What?” Brad asked.

  “You sound more like a proud parent than a teacher,” his aunt commented. “As much as you complain about the hours, you really love those kids and it shows.”

  Brad nodded. “I confess. I’m guilty as charged, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Late Monday morning, Anne decided to take Myra’s car and make a quick trip to Falcone’s. Normally, she would just walk the few blocks to the restaurant, but today she had the new curtains ready to deliver and didn’t want to risk wrinkling them. So she’d carefully placed the hangers with the finished panels on a garment hook in the back seat of the sedan. She’d also packed a gift she’d made Mario to thank him for his many kindnesses to her.

  Leaving Courtney to keep an eye on the quilt shop, Anne drove to the restaurant, humming along to a tune on the classic rock radio station her boss preferred. As she turned in Falcone’s lot, she noticed several other cars and belatedly realized how close to lunch time it was. She’d been so excited to deliver the curtains, she hadn’t checked the time or called ahead to make sure it was convenient. She parked at the back of the lot but hesitated to get out, debating whether she should return to The Post and come back later. Finally, she decided to just give the curtains to Mario and ask him to put them somewhere until she could come back to hang them.

  She pocketed the car keys then gathered everything from the back seat and carried it to the entrance. Peeking in the doo
r, she saw Mario wiping down his front counter. Fortunately, he wasn’t too busy, so she pushed open the door. He glanced up as she entered and gave her a warm greeting.

  “Cara mia! Welcome. You honor this-a humble restaurant,” he said in his faux-Italian accent. “Come. Give-a me those packages, and you sit. Have a bite-a lunch.”

  “No, no. I didn’t come for lunch. I wanted to deliver your curtains to you. But I forgot to check the time. Can we put these in a storeroom somewhere, and I’ll come back a better time to help you hang them?”

  “Si, si. I put them in my office closet. Come, we go back there and hang them.” He eagerly reached for the plastic-draped hangers. “I can hardly wait-a to see these.”

  He motioned for her to follow him toward the kitchen then called to one of his workers. “Angelo, watch the front for a few minutes.”

  The kitchen smelled of spicy marinara sauce and freshly baked bread. Anne inhaled and shook her head. “Oh my, a person could gain ten pounds just inhaling all these heavenly aromas.”

  “You could-a use fifteen or twenty pounds on you, cara,” he said then winked. “So I guess you will have to come-a back more often.”

  Anne laughed and followed him through the kitchen to small but tidy office. He opened a small closet in the corner and carefully hung the hangers with the curtains inside. Several packages of café rods leaned against the back wall, waiting to be installed on the windows. “They will be safe inna here. You want to come back after lunch to put them up?”

  “I can’t, Mario. My helper, Courtney has to leave early so she’s home when her kids get out of school.”

  “What time she come-a work in the morning?”

  “At nine. I could come tomorrow as soon as she gets to the shop.”

  “È fantastico!” he said then gestured to the plastic shopping bag in her hand. “You need-a me to keep your bag here, also?”

  Anne shook her head and held out the bag. “Actually, Mario, this is something for you.”