The Lover's Knot

by Clare O'Donohue

  I headed up the street toward him. I would catch up and we would talk. I would listen, without being angry or hurt or defensive, and whatever he told me I could deal with. I hoped.

  CHAPTER 19

  I hurried back toward Ryan, but I couldn’t find him. Hoping he was looking for me, with the same need to clear the air, I went back toward the shop. And I was right. When I turned the corner I saw Ryan outside the shop. But I had gotten his intention all wrong. He was standing over Marc, who was flat on his back on the sidewalk.

  “Stay away from her,” Ryan shouted and stormed off.

  I ran over to Marc.

  “Are you okay?” I helped him to his feet.

  “Fine. Nice guy, your fiancé.”

  “Ex-fiancé,” I said as I watched Ryan get in his car a few blocks down and drive away. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t apologize, for starters,” Marc said as he gingerly touched his jaw and winced.

  “Why would he hit you? Did he say?”

  “No. But he didn’t have to,” he laughed. “He sure takes it badly when somebody gets in his way.”

  I was as much embarrassed by Ryan’s behavior as I was touched by Marc’s reaction. A few seconds ago I was running after Ryan, and now I was watching him walk away while I stood by Marc. The whole situation seemed to be getting out of hand.

  Marc didn’t seem to need bandages, and I wanted to do something for him, so I headed to the local grocery and grabbed a six-pack of imported beer. Maybe it wouldn’t make up for Ryan’s behavior, but it was something. And I’d have something fattening to calm my nerves.

  When I got back Marc was sitting on the floor, leaning against the checkout counter. There was the box of quilting tools left in the shop for tonight’s meeting on the counter, next to a pile of neatly folded quilts that had been hanging on the back wall. I took the box of tools and set it on the floor between us, hoping that the rotary cutters and scissors would ensure my chasteness.

  It worked, at least for a few minutes. We both quietly drank a beer and I wondered if he noticed how awkward I felt.

  “He’s never been like that before.” I finally brought up the elephant in the room.

  “Don’t worry about it. I tend to bring out the best in people.” As he smiled, he winced.

  “I don’t know. You’ve made me feel pretty good.” The words popped out of my mouth before I’d decided if it was really the right thing to say.

  Marc took my hand and held it in his. “Thanks. I don’t know what it is about you, Nell. You make me want to be the guy you think I am.”

  I watched how his fingers stroked mine. It felt dangerous and sexy, and I leaned in closer. He looked up at me. He looked as if he might kiss me, but he was taking his time about it. So I leaned in farther. I pressed my lips against his lightly, waiting for permission. Just when I was sure none was coming, he suddenly put his hand behind my head and pulled me in closer.

  The rain was pouring down when I left Marc at the shop. We had sat like two teenagers and made out on the floor of the quilt shop. While the storm had kept most of the foot traffic off the street, it was still daytime and we were sitting in full view of a picture window and hadn’t noticed or cared. It wasn’t until Marc waved to me through the shop window that I realized that our private moment was actually open to anyone walking past.

  I was a block from the shop when I saw Ryan’s car parked at the curb. Clearly our conversation wasn’t over, and I figured now was as good a time as any to continue it, but he wasn’t in the car. I realized I was relieved. Being with Marc had put me in a good mood, and I had a feeling a conversation with Ryan would bring it to an end. Still, I walked the rest of the way home knowing I had to deal with my feelings for both men, and the sooner the better.

  When I got to the house my grandmother and Nancy were helping Natalie pick out some flannel fabrics for a quilt she was making for her son. Barney was too engrossed in the fabric selections to do anything but lift his head toward me and wag a little.

  “Marc at the shop?” Eleanor asked.

  I held my breath, wondering if somehow word had reached her about my afternoon. Then, as innocently as possible, I answered. “Yeah, he’s dying to knock down the wall between the stores. I told him to wait until tomorrow, but who knows if he’ll listen.”

  “We don’t want debris all over the place tonight for the club meeting.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Hopefully he’ll listen.” She picked up a bolt of blue cowboy fabric and showed it to Natalie. “Ryan was here.”

  “At the house?”

  “Yes. He seemed upset.”

  “I saw him, at the shop,” I said. “He must have come here afterward.”

  “Did you talk?”

  “Shouted, actually.”

  “Well, at least you’re communicating.” Her voice was so monotone I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic, but I let the comment pass.

  “Everything’s ready for tonight,” I said as I left the dining room. “I’m just going to lay down for a bit, and we’ll head back at six-thirty.”

  The three women smiled, then turned back to the fabric Natalie held in her hands. I took it as my cue to head upstairs and try, at least for a little while, to pretend I wasn’t making a mess of my life.

  CHAPTER 20

  At precisely six-thirty I started the car and pulled it as close to the front door as possible. It was still raining and I had nightmares of my grandmother sliding on the pavement, but she managed to get to the car with me on one side and Barney on the other.

  “Be careful,” she said at least six times in the six minutes it took to drive to the shop.

  “You want to drive, Bigfoot?”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice to your elders?”

  “I don’t believe she mentioned it,” I smirked. “Maybe she wasn’t raised right.”

  “Don’t have too much fun or I’ll tell the girls you want to make a quilt.”

  We pulled up in front of the store before I could come up with a ripping response. Outside the shop Bernie, Maggie, Susanne, Natalie and Carrie were all huddled under umbrellas.

  “Get inside,” Eleanor shouted.

  “I have the key,” I reminded her.

  “Then hurry and open the door.”

  I left Natalie and Carrie to help Eleanor out of the car and ran to the front door of the shop. I tried the key. Strangely, the door wasn’t locked, just difficult to open. Marc must have forgotten to lock it and now something was jammed up against the other side.

  “Help me push,” I said to Bernie, and we shoved ourselves against the door.

  I stepped inside and reached for the light, nearly tripping on whatever had blocked the door. Eleanor was now standing just outside and getting wet. I turned on the switch and looked around to help her inside.

  “Oh my God,” I heard her say.

  I looked down. There was a man lying at my feet. It was another second before I realized it was Marc.

  “Call 911.”

  “See if he’s breathing.”

  “There’s blood everywhere.”

  One after another the women of the quilt club took action, checking Marc’s pulse, calling for an ambulance, helping my grandmother to a seat. Bernie, a fan of crime shows, advised everyone not to touch anything. I stood there staring at Marc’s body. He was on his stomach, with a pool of blood coagulating around him.

  Sirens were wailing in the distance, then drew closer and stopped in front of the shop. Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and raced in. They were frantic for only seconds before deciding there was nothing for them to do. A police car pulled up, and Barney’s friend, Officer Jesse Dewalt, got out. Dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, and looking even less like a cop than the night we met, he stood talking with a officer who had also just arrived. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, a foolhardy move on a rainy September evening, but he didn’t seem cold. Or in much of a hurry. He ta
lked with the paramedics. He made a phone call. Finally, he hung up and walked through the door into the shop.

  He glanced down at the body.

  “His name is Marc . . . ,” I started to say.

  “We went to high school together,” he interrupted without looking up at me. “You okay, ladies?”

  “Jesse, dear, what happened?” asked Maggie.

  Jesse put on latex gloves and moved closer, being careful not to step in the blood. He leaned over Marc. He seemed to be studying his face and hands. I could see there was a dark bruise on the side of Marc’s jaw from where Ryan had hit him. But there was also a fresh cut on his cheek and scratches on his hands. The scratches had drawn blood, but they hardly seemed enough to cause death or create the pool beneath the body. Jesse grabbed Marc’s shoulder and pulled it toward him. The source of the blood was immediately clear. A large pair of scissors lay under Marc’s body and there was a dark wet hole in his chest. Near his body was Eleanor’s favorite quilt, stained with blood.

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” I heard myself say. I ran down the stairs to the bathroom.

  I leaned my head over the sink and waited. I waited to faint, to throw up, to burst into tears, but nothing happened. I just stood there.

  Marc was dead. Not two feet from where we had been kissing, he was lying in a pool of blood.

  Upstairs I heard footsteps. I heard my grandmother talking. She sounded strong and in charge. I heard her say my name. She wasn’t calling to me, though. She was talking about me. But I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying. As much as I didn’t want to go back upstairs, I didn’t want to be fragile and fall apart while my grandmother was upstairs handling things like a grown-up. I took one last deep breath and headed for the stairs.

  CHAPTER 21

  When I walked upstairs, Marc’s body was still there, only now it was being photographed. Half a dozen uniformed people were milling about, looking busy and official. In the corner, all the women of the Friday Night Quilt Club were huddled around talking with Officer Jesse. My grandmother had her hand on Natalie’s arm, but Natalie didn’t seem to notice. She stared straight forward as if no one else was there. Maggie and Bernie sat on either side of Susanne. Only Carrie was standing, and she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Marc. I walked over to the women, nearly tripping on a hammer that lay in the middle of the floor, several feet from Marc’s toolbox.

  “He wasn’t a very nice person,” Susanne was saying.

  “Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Bernie leaned into her.

  “Why not?” said Susanne, pointing to Jesse. “You know what he was like.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “Are you talking about Marc?” I walked closer to them, and all heads turned me. “He was a very nice person.”

  “We’re aware you thought so,” Susanne commented dryly.

  I knew my face had turned a bright red, but I tried to ignore it. I leaned toward Susanne as if I had some menacing comeback, but the truth was I didn’t know what to say. I looked at my grandmother, who reached out and touched my arm. I stepped back from the group and stood there watching them gathered in their tight circle, just as they had been a week ago when we met. They were open and welcoming then, but I didn’t feel any of that tonight. No one moved over to let me find a place in the circle. I felt as if I had walked up to the most popular girls in school and they were making it very clear I didn’t belong. Despite my best efforts, tears started rolling down my cheeks.

  Jesse turned his body fully toward me, standing directly between me and the rest of the group. For a moment he studied me, then said, “You’re right, you know. Marc had his good points.”

  “Well, someone didn’t think so, or he wouldn’t be in that position, would he?” Susanne said sharply.

  “I think it had to be the husband of one of his girlfriends,” said Bernie. “There was that woman over in Peekskill. What was her name?”

  “I don’t think you need to go as far as Peekskill to come up with a suspect,” Maggie said. “Besides, he just started this job. You would have to be from town to know he was going to be here tonight.”

  “And if you intended to kill him,” Eleanor jumped in, “you would have brought your own murder weapon with you. That’s a pair of my good scissors.”

  “But you cleared everything out of the shop. Why would your scissors be here?” Maggie asked.

  “We left a box of supplies,” I interjected. “In case anyone needed something at tonight’s club meeting.”

  “That was so thoughtful of you dear,” said Bernie. “You really have a knack for thinking of others. Just the way you’ve come up here to take care of your grandmother . . .”

  Carrie burst into tears. “Oh my God,” she muttered, never looking away from Marc’s body.

  Jesse cleared his throat. “Why don’t you ladies go home and I’ll take your statements tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do here and I need to call Marc’s father and brother.”

  Susanne and Bernie jumped up to help Eleanor to her feet. Maggie touched Carrie lightly, and for the first time since I had come upstairs, Carrie’s eyes moved away from Marc. Instead she looked toward me. But there was no kindness there, no sadness. Just a hard stare that made me feel guilty and embarrassed, without knowing why.

  “I made lemon squares,” Bernie said to Jesse. “I don’t think we’ll be eating them, so tell the other officers.” She offered the wrapped plate to Jesse, who quickly unwrapped it and took a large bite out of one.

  “Mrs. Avallone made lemon squares,” Jesse announced, and several other officers and paramedics walked over.

  “We didn’t have time to make coffee,” Bernie apologized to the group.

  “We’ll get some later.” Jesse smiled at her. “It’s going to be a long night. Sugar and caffeine are exactly what we need.” Then he leaned over and kissed Bernie on the cheek, leaving a little imprint of powdered sugar behind.

  Bernie blushed. “I’ll stop in at your mother’s and tell her you’ll be here, working late into the night.”

  “Thanks. She wasn’t expecting to keep Allison overnight, but she’ll have to now.”

  “Poor little thing, she’ll miss you.”

  “Are you kidding? They play dress-up, eat cookies, and watch movies all night. Allie much prefers the company of her grandma to her boring old dad.” His smile was broad now. The dead body behind him seemed to be forgotten amid playful conversation and lemon squares.

  Bernie just waved him off. “I’ve never seen a father and daughter closer. Lizzy would be proud.”

  “Excuse me,” I said a little more meekly than I intended. “What about Marc?”

  Jesse nodded. He finished the lemon square in two quick bites. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “He was working on the shop,” I said. “He was here in the afternoon, but when I left he said he was going to head home for a few minutes. I don’t know where he lives . . .”

  “A block from here,” Jesse said. “He said he was coming back?”

  “Yeah. I asked him to clean the place up before everyone came tonight.” My face turned white. I’d asked him to come back and clean up. If I hadn’t . . .

  “It’s not your fault, you know,” Jesse said in a quiet and kind tone that finally made me see him as a police officer. He might not be the guns blazing kind you see in the movies, but anyone in trouble would be calmed by his reassuring certainty, just like I was now. “You should get out of here, take your grandmother home.”

  Jesse gave me a soft smile, but as I smiled back, his faded and he leaned over Marc once more.

  By the time Susanne and I had gotten Eleanor out the door, Maggie and Bernie were standing down the street exchanging theories about who had a reason to hurt Marc. “Enough of a reason” was how Maggie put it. Carrie was on her cell phone filling someone in on the news. Natalie was gone. None of the other ladies had seen her leave or knew which way she went. Even her mother seemed surprised.

  “Let’s go hom
e,” Eleanor said wearily.

  I nodded. “Just what I was thinking.”

  Eleanor stared out the passenger window most of the ride home, making it clear she didn’t feel like chatting. Neither did I exactly, but I did want to know what it was about Marc that made his death seem so inevitable, even to nice women like Bernie. But my curiosity was fighting it out with something else. Maybe it was better not to know, I thought. Marc had been there for me, made me feel less thrown away, less expendable. This afternoon he had even made me feel desirable. Whatever everyone else thought about him, he had been nice to me. Maybe that was all I really wanted to know.

  My grandmother’s house was dark in the distance as we pulled into the driveway. I would have left on a porch light or something, but Eleanor saw such indulgences as a waste of electricity.

  “Nothing in the dark that isn’t there in the light,” she would tell me when I would leave lamps on. She said it with absolute certainty, but I never quite believed her. The dark, at least to me, was filled with things that dissipate at the flick of a switch.

  If a porch light had been on, I would have seen the car parked near the house, but until my headlights hit it, I saw nothing. I parked behind the car and left my grandmother sitting in the passenger seat while I got out to investigate.

  “Let me see who it is,” I said, but I knew. I knew by the make of the car, by the dark silver paint color, by the scratch near the license plate. That car, or rather its owner, was the last thing either my grandmother or I needed to deal with after the evening we’d had. I looked around, but no one was there.

  Eleanor rolled her window down. “What are you doing? Help me out,” she demanded.

  I walked over to the passenger side, got her crutches out of the backseat and leaned over so she could support herself on me as she got out of the car.

  “We really should leave a porch light on,” I said more to myself than to Eleanor.

  “It’s probably a neighbor.” She nodded toward the car, but she didn’t sound sure and I knew she was wrong.