The Lover’s Knot

by Clare O’Donohue

  Interest? I blushed, then realized what she must have meant. "No. Marc just drove me to the hospital."

  She waved me off. "Marc is a lovely distraction. But he's not a romance. There's a darkness around that boy."

  "I sensed that he wasn't well liked by some of the women in the club."

  She smiled. "He's not well liked by some, too well liked by others, but everyone can choose their own friends." She poured herself the last of the coffee. "Make a fresh pot dear," she ordered, which I did without argument.

  She watched me, smiling. "The girls laugh at me, but I'm a bit of a psychic," she said. "I sense things."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't think you've seen the last of your wayward fiance."

  "No, I haven't. He'll be at work tomorrow."

  "That's not what I meant."

  I laughed. "Bernie, I hope you're right. I think."

  She finished her coffee and got up. "Just be careful, Nell. Make sure you keep your eyes open." She smiled at me, then turned away. "Tell Eleanor I'll be by later."

  Though the game plan was that I would spend the morning at the hospital, I knew I had to make one stop first. The car keys that were so elusive the night before were now hanging on a hook by the back door. Didn't I look there yesterday? I tried to remember, but it was all a frightening blur. It didn't matter now. I grabbed them and headed to Main Street.

  The shop wasn't open when I arrived, so I let myself in. Normally my grandmother and Nancy would have cleaned the place in the evening, putting fabrics and notions back where they belonged, so the next day would start fresh. But in the excitement of last night, all of that was left undone. Bolts of fabric lay on the cutting table and magazines were spread out on the counter. Even the cash had been left in the register.

  I walked to the back of the shop and stared down the stairs. They were empty, just as I had left them. Carefully I walked down one step, then another. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but it just didn't feel right. To everyone else it was a case of an elderly woman who slipped on steep, narrow steps. Something that happened all the time. But I had cleared the stairs because I had been afraid of something like that happening. And something about it just didn't make sense.

  I slowly walked step after step, looking for a loose board or a nail that might be sticking up, something Eleanor had tripped on. Something I could fix. But I couldn't find anything. Then, with only four steps to go, my foot came out from under me and I went, butt-first, down into the basement.

  With nothing but my tailbone and my dignity injured, I got up and walked back up to the fourth step. I pulled at it, but it wasn't loose. There were no nails sticking up. I ran my hand gently over the wood. The step felt sticky, almost greasy, but not quite. I rubbed my fingers on the spot and sniffed. No smell. It felt a little like wax, but it didn't have the thickness of wax. What was this stuff?

  I heard the door open upstairs. Footsteps came toward me.

  "Who's there?" a voice called down.

  "Nancy?" I shouted back. She appeared at the stop of the stairs.

  "Oh, it's you, Nell. Are you all right? What are you doing?"

  "There's something on the step. Something slippery." I held up my hand, as if that were proof.

  She came down the stairs quickly and stopped just above me and, reaching down, she ran her fingers over the wood.

  "Someone must have spilled something. Do you think that's what Eleanor slipped on?" she asked.

  "Probably. What could it be?"

  Nancy looked around at the empty stairs and shrugged. "I don't know. Come upstairs, carefully now. I'll get something to clean it up."

  She started back up the stairs and I followed her, skipping the fourth stair. While I waited for Nancy to finish cleaning the step, I looked around at the messy shop. The place looked as if a pack of three-year-olds had gone through it.

  "How do grown women do this to a business?" I swept my arms dramatically at all the bolts that were piled on top of each other.

  "Quilters have to touch the fabric. They have to take it out, look at it, feel it." She laughed. "They just don't always feel the need to put it back."

  "Can I help?" I didn't really know how to help, but I thought I should ask.

  "No thanks. Eleanor will be anxious to see you." She glanced at the clock and stepped up her efforts.

  "I feel bad about leaving you so close to opening time, but it's not like you're going to get a rush." I smiled, but Nancy just raised an eyebrow.

  "You'd be surprised," she said with a smile.

  I walked toward the door, still thinking about the stairs. "Who could have spilled something?" I asked.

  "Me, I guess. Your grandmother." She paused. "One of Carrie's kids."

  "What would one of her kids be doing on the stairs?"

  She raised her eyebrows. "They're not always supervised in here. Yesterday I saw the little boy head for the stairs and Carrie go after him in a mad dash. It was five minutes before she could get the boy back upstairs again. And the whole time I had to keep her daughter from pulling every fabric off the shelf."

  Just then, with minutes until ten, a woman knocked on the door. Nancy waved at her and pointed to the clock. The woman nodded but didn't budge.

  Maybe they did get a rush.

  CHAPTER 14

  "How does anyone stay home during the day and watch television? " My grandmother greeted me with annoyance and flipped off the TV.

  "You're obviously feeling better." I dropped her favorite cardigan on the hospital bed. "In case you're cold."

  She quickly scooped it up. "It's freezing in here. And," she took a deep breath, "I'm sure Nancy is frantic at the shop."

  "Grandma, Nancy has worked at the store for years."

  "With me beside her every step of the way."

  "She's very smart," I said, not really knowing whether she was or not.

  "I know that," Eleanor huffed. She made an actual noise that sounded like "huff." "I'm just worried how we're going to manage. Nancy's never run a store."

  "I'll stay," I volunteered before I realized what I was offering. I really wanted to get back to New York, to see if Ryan and I could somehow figure our way through this, but now the words were out. And if I were needed here…

  My grandmother looked into my eyes, with sweetness usually saved for animals and children. "Oh, dear," she said as she took my hand. "You've never run a store either."

  As soon as I was out of the hospital I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. I dialed the number on it without even thinking whether I should.

  "I have a favor to ask you," I said right away.

  "Name it."

  "Meet me at my grandmother's house in twenty minutes."

  He agreed and hung up without asking a question.

  Twenty minutes later I pulled into the driveway. Marc was already at the house, leaning against his car reading a piece of pink paper.

  "I brought lunch," I said as I got out of the car, holding up a pizza box.

  "You learn how to make that from your grandmother?" He folded up the paper and put it in his back pocket. Then he came toward me with a smile. He did have a nice smile. Different from Ryan's, but equally as charming.

  Once in the house, after pizza and ten minutes of play with a still-worried Barney, we set to work. We took my grandmother's bed, piece by piece, into the living room, pushing back the furnishings to make room. Marc extended the cable wire so we could bring the TV from the kitchen into the living room, and we took the rugs, and anything else she could slip on, out of the downstairs bathroom and kitchen.

  When we were done the place looked comfortable if slightly chaotic. But even with the bed in the living room, it wouldn't be enough. There was one more thing left to do.

  "You ready?" Marc leaned against the fireplace and lowered his eyes so they met mine.

  I shrugged. "Not really, but I don't have any other ideas, do you?"

  "I like your plan, but we should go now
if we're going to do this in one day."

  Once Marc and I were in his car driving south toward New York, I started to worry. It had seemed like a good idea to pack up my apartment and move in with my grandmother for a few weeks. I needed a place to live, and time to think, and she needed help- whether she would admit it or not. But what if I was using her problems as an excuse to run from my own?

  "You've gotten quiet." Marc turned down the radio. I realized I had just been staring out the window, so I turned to him, trying to think of something to say.

  "I was just thinking how nice it was of you to spend your whole Sunday helping me."

  He smiled and seemed pleased by the compliment. "I'm a handyman. I fix things."

  "Oh, how are you at relationships?" The words popped out of my mouth and I suddenly felt self-conscious, but Marc didn't seem to notice.

  "Yeah, I heard you got dumped."

  "I wouldn't call it dumped," I protested, but only for a moment. "Yeah, okay, I guess I got dumped."

  "Been there. It's the worst. You feel as if you got kicked in the stomach, and by the one person you trusted completely." He stared straight ahead and spoke quietly, almost to himself. "You just have to get past it."

  "How?"

  Marc rested his hand on my leg for just a second, but it felt good. "You're doing it, Nell. You're not sitting around waiting for him to decide if he wants you. You're making decisions. You're making plans for your future." He shifted a little in his seat. "It's none of my business, but the guy is an idiot."

  I touched his leg just where he had touched mine, and left it there for more than just a second before I turned back to the window.

  When Marc and I got to my apartment in New York, I immediately went for my cell. Three messages-one from Amanda and two from Ryan, one Friday and one today. I held my breath as I listened to his voice.

  "Nell, it's me. I don't know if you want to talk to me or not, but I'd like to talk to you. I just want to know if you're okay with everything. If you're okay, period. Give me a call." Beep.

  "Nell. It's Ryan. I know you're hurt and you're probably angry at me." Probably angry? "But I think it's unfair not to call me back and just let me worry about you. Please just call me, or I'll keep calling you." Beep.

  "Everything okay?" Marc still stood in the doorway, watching me.

  "Fine." I attempted a smile, and threw the phone in my purse. "Come inside. I'm pretty much packed up, so it shouldn't take long." I grabbed a box and handed it to him.

  The only furniture I really had was my futon and TV; everything else was disposable or easy to pull apart. He had the truck packed and ready to go in less than two hours.

  "I'm getting coffee for the road," he said. "Want anything?"

  "Coffee sounds good."

  "Take these," he said, and threw me a small set of keys-just two, a car key and what looked like a house key-on a worn leather key chain. "I'll be right back."

  I went upstairs to see the place one more time and check that everything was in the truck. In the corner I had left one box. I wanted to carry it down myself, sort of a symbolic good-bye. In it was the lover's knot quilt I'd received just a few days earlier. Strange to think how much had changed in so little time.

  I thought I would burst into tears. I'd planned it. But I felt nothing; I just was anxious to get on the road and breathe in some clean, crisp air.

  When I walked out onto the street I could see that Marc was talking with someone. I took three steps and realized who it was-Ryan.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, genuinely confused.

  "What are you doing?"

  "She's moving, pal." Marc stood between Ryan and me.

  "She's my fiancee, pal." Ryan moved around him.

  "Not anymore." Marc moved toward me.

  "All right, guys. That's enough." I pulled Ryan a few steps from Marc. "I was about to leave you a message," I told him.

  Ryan moved close to me, very close. More for Marc's benefit, I knew, than either his or mine. "Who is that asshole?"

  "My grandmother's handyman." Ryan looked Marc over. Marc stared back. I loved Marc for acting all knight-in-shining-armor over a woman he hardly knew. "And my friend."

  "You're making new friends already?" If he had meant to sound tough, he'd failed. I could see his eyes getting watery. Ryan gently touched my hair.

  "Have you changed your mind?" I knew better than to ask the question, but I wanted to give him every chance.

  He just stood there looking embarrassed, then he reached for my hand. I pulled it away.

  "You didn't call me back," he said.

  "I forgot my phone," I answered.

  "How did we get here?" He stared at me.

  "You," I said quietly. "You got us here."

  He nodded. "So you have to move? Because I need more time, you have to pack up and leave?"

  "My apartment was rented, remember?" He suddenly remembered. "What am I supposed to do, crash on Amanda's couch until you're ready to get married?"

  "No," he said sharply. "I just don't think we're going to solve anything with you all the way up there." I could feel Ryan's breath on me and I started to feel confused. I moved a few steps away from him.

  "I don't have anything to solve," I said. "You do. And maybe what you need is time alone to figure out what you want." I didn't know whether to be mad or hurt or disappointed. But I knew I had to leave. Marc was right. I couldn't sit around and wait for Ryan. I had to make my own plans. And I had to make them now, before I changed my mind.

  "My grandmother needs help," I said. I stepped away from him and climbed into the passenger seat of Marc's truck. Marc immediately jumped in the driver's side.

  "You have your cell phone with you this time?" Ryan called after me.

  I nodded.

  "Then I'll call you," he shouted.

  "Don't make any more promises until you know you can keep them," I said, but I wasn't sure Ryan heard me. As Marc drove away, I watched Ryan standing on the street looking as hurt and confused as I felt.

  CHAPTER 15

  We were halfway to Archers Rest before either of us spoke. "I'm sorry to have dragged you all the way into the city," I said by way of apologizing for Ryan.

  "I love New York. I don't go there too much now, but I used to live there. I went to Columbia for a couple of years."

  "Really? What did you study?"

  Marc made a face. "Biology, if you can believe it. My father's a doctor in town and he really wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I liked science, so I gave it a try, but medicine was not for me. I'm not cut out for postponing gratification." He winked at me. "Nearly killed my old man when he saw my grades. He gave me this lecture about how he wasn't spending hard-earned money so I could go drinking." He laughed. "Sure was fun, though."

  "How did you end up… I mean…"

  "As the town handyman?" He looked over at me. "It's cool. I don't know. I like working with my hands. I'd love to build a house someday, maybe a smaller version of your grandma's, right on the Hudson, and build furniture."

  "Have you built anything I could see?"

  He got shy for a moment, then admitted, "Yeah, I guess, if you want to. I've got some tables and chairs and stuff. I like to build old style. I use a lot of hand tools and I make some reproductions. That's my real love. I'd like to build something someday that my son, my children, and grandchildren could use and know that I made it."

  I looked over at him and noticed for the first time that his smile was slightly crooked and that he had a dimple on his right cheek. When he saw me watching him, I could see he was blushing a little, but he said nothing and neither did I. He was sweet and full of his own dreams. I liked him. And as simple an emotion as it was, that seemed very complicated to me.

  We chatted about his future furniture-building business the rest of the way home, and then spent twenty minutes moving my stuff into the guest room at my grandmother's house. It was hard to believe that what had taken up an entire New York apartment
hardly made a dent in the floor space of one room in this house.

  The next day, when Eleanor was released from the hospital, she didn't criticize either the new arrangement or the fact that I'd taken a leave of absence to help her out. I took this as approval.

  "A lot of work for one person," she said as I helped her into bed.

  "Marc helped me."

  "He has a good heart, when he wants to use it."

  "That's a little unkind."

  She waved me off. "How are you getting off work?"

  "Sick grandmother. Desperate for my help."

  "Now who's being unkind?"

  "What was I supposed to tell my boss?" I protested. "That I'm running away from a broken heart? One of us had to be needy and pathetic for me to get time off, and it wasn't going to be me."

  She took my hand. "It isn't you. You're helping me, and I'm glad you're here. What about some dinner? If I know my friends, there are five casseroles and ten pies in that kitchen."

  "At least."

  "First thing you do is tell people to stop bringing food."

  I wasn't about to tell people that, especially since it wasn't likely my grandmother would be cooking anytime soon, and she wouldn't want to eat what I could whip up. I heated two plates of a noodle dish that Susanne had dropped off and arranged them on a tray with glasses of water and dinner rolls.

  From his position next to my grandmother, Barney wagged and wagged as I carried the tray into the living room, but he wasn't about to leave her side.

  "I didn't think he was allowed on the bed." Barney had his head on a pillow, stomach up for easy petting.

  "You tell him," she said as she gave his tummy a pat. They were a good couple, Barney and my grandmother. She pretended to be annoyed by his dependence, and he pretended to dislike her rules. All the while they clearly adored each other. If he had been a person, it would have been an enviable match. Truth was, I envied them anyway, despite the difference in their species.

  We watched the news while we ate, then Andy Griffith on Nick at Nite. I settled into the bed and felt the tension in my body release as I watched Andy outsmart a big city crook two episodes in a row.