“I’d love to.”
Megan called for Sarah to get ready to walk, then she looked at Holt. “Want to have a seat in the living room while I change into some walking clothes and shoes?”
“Sure.” Holt strolled back to the living room. He couldn’t help but notice how bare Megan’s house was. Somehow, he’d expect a woman her age to have more. More furniture, more knickknacks. . .he looked at the floor. . .more rugs, more everything.
As soon as he sat down, Sarah came in lugging a pair of tennis shoes. “Will you put these on me?” She climbed up in his lap.
“Can’t you put them on yourself?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I’m gonna ask Mama for Velcro ones for my birthday, so I don’t have to tie them.”
“Really? When’s your birthday?”
“July 23rd. But guess what?” The little girl’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mama’s birthday is tomorrow!”
“Are you sure?”
The look she gave him was priceless. “I’m sure. Don’tcha think I know when Mama’s birthday is?” She put her finger to her lips. “But don’t tell.”
He lowered his voice. “Why?”
“Cause I just remembered I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”
He nodded and made a motion of locking his lips and throwing away the key. His dramatics had Sarah giggling so hard it was a struggle to put on her shoes. He got them on, though, and he and Sarah went outside to wait for Megan.
❧
Five minutes later, Megan stepped out onto the porch. She had pulled her hair up in a long ponytail, but she knew the unruly curls were still evident. She saw Holt noticing. “I didn’t blow dry it.”
“What?”
“I didn’t blow dry my hair. I usually try to straighten it, but I had a lot of quilting to do, so I just let it dry naturally today. It curls up really bad when I do that.”
“Curls up ‘really bad’? I think it’s beautiful.”
She felt her cheeks grow hot at his compliment. “Ready to walk?”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
For the first five minutes or so, her embarrassment truly pushed her to “lead the way.” Sarah scampered along beside her, and they left Holt several yards behind. But he soon caught up with them. “Whoa. I thought we were going for a walk. Didn’t know that meant power walking.”
“You have something against power walking? I thought you politicians were all for anything having to do with power.”
He ignored her jibe and matched his stride to hers. “Is the creek your favorite spot on this land?”
“Close, but no, there’s one other place I like better.”
“Is it within walking distance?” He chuckled. “I’m almost afraid to ask. If we keep up this pace, there isn’t much in the state that won’t be within walking distance.”
She bit back a grin and slowed down a little. “It’s not far.” After she yelled at Sarah, who, in spite of Holt’s teasing complaint about the pace, was running ahead, they changed directions. As they approached her favorite spot, Sarah hung back and held onto her mother’s hand.
“Amazing.” Holt shook his head in awe at the view from the bluff. Down below, the creek twisted through the terrain like an earthworm trying desperately to return to its home underground.
The three hikers sat down together to watch the sun go down on the horizon. Pink and purple streaks crisscrossed the blue sky, and the fading orb cast an orange glow over the scene. Megan tried to concentrate on nothing but God’s wondrous sunset, but she was painfully aware of the persistent man beside her. How would she ever convince him to leave her alone? And if she did succeed, how would she ever stand it?
Six
“Happy Birthday, Mama!”
Megan barely opened one eye and squinted at her daughter. “Thank you, Baby.” She scooted over and patted the bed beside her. “Why don’t you snuggle up here with me, and we’ll sleep just a little while longer?”
“No! I can’t. I brought you a cup of coffee.”
“Mmm. . .that’s nice.” Megan turned over and began to drift back into the delicious dream she’d been enjoying. A cup of coffee? She sat bolt upright in bed. “What?”
Sure enough, Sarah held a mug of brownish liquid. She offered it proudly to Megan. The coffee sloshed precariously, and Megan hurried to grab the cup before it spilled on the quilt. As she wrapped her hands around it, the first thing she noticed was the absence of heat. Her heart began to beat normally again. Whatever process Sarah had used to make this ‘coffee,’ at least it hadn’t involved boiling water.
“Aren’t you going to try it?”
“Yes, thank you so much, Sweetie. You’re such a big girl.” Megan cast another glance at the suspicious-looking mixture. “But first I need to run to the bathroom and get dressed.” She set the cup on her nightstand.
“Okay, I’ll just sit here and wait for you. Then you can try it when you get out.”
Ten minutes later, Megan murmured a little prayer for protection and took a sip of Sarah’s concoction. Forcing a smile, she chewed the gritty substance slowly and swallowed. “I think I’ll fix us some breakfast to go with this. Wouldn’t want to drink it all up before I eat.”
Sarah beamed and followed her to the kitchen. A large can of ground coffee sat on the counter. The lid lay beside it and black flecks were scattered around. So that was it. Instead of using the instant coffee, she’d pulled out the can and made Megan’s birthday drink with ground coffee and tap water. Megan grimaced. She must have had to use a huge amount to make it dark with no hot water.
For the millionth time, she thanked God for blessing her with Sarah. How boring life would be without her. She’d thought her life would always be as empty as it had been right after Barry’s death, but she’d been wrong.
Maybe she didn’t look forward to birthdays like she had before, but that was just a fact of life. She couldn’t help it that she no longer believed in happily-ever-afters. She’d always been intrigued by the way prisoners would make a mark on the wall for each day, month, or year. Her birthday served as a mental notch on the wall. She’d survived another year.
A peck on the kitchen door sent Sarah skipping to answer. Aunt Irene waved through the glass, her face wreathed in smiles. In her hand was a brightly wrapped package.
While Sarah was greeting the elderly woman, Megan hurried to dump the contents of her mug in the trash. She grinned when at least a half cup of grounds came out. A well-placed napkin hid the evidence. She rinsed the cup out and turned to welcome her neighbor.
“Happy Birthday!”
“Thank you. I can’t believe you remembered.”
“How could I forget? As soon as the month of May rolled around, Lola would start saying, ‘It’s almost time for Megan to get here, then it’ll be her birthday.’ ”
“Yeah, Granny Lola always made a big deal out of it.” Megan smiled at the happy memories.
“Speaking of that, I brought you a little something.”
“Thanks.” Megan took the package and tore into it. She knew it would be the only gift she received so she should make it last, but she couldn’t.
The bright paper fell away to reveal a beautiful scrapbook with an elegantly hand stitched cover. Megan looked up at the tears in Aunt Irene’s eyes. “Uh-oh. Are you going to make me cry on my birthday?”
Pictures of Megan and her grandmother lined the pages, punctuated by an occasional pebble, feather, or other keepsake, with the date and place it was found. Birthday napkins with a variety of dates proved Granny Lola’s penchant toward making a big deal out of Megan’s birthday. She was always keenly aware that by choosing to spend summers with her, her granddaughter was foregoing a family party, so she went overboard to compensate.
Megan flipped through the pages with wonder. Sarah clapped her hands at every new picture of her mama. When Megan started through the second time though, Sarah balked. “I’m going to go play.” The little girl skipped down the hallway calling to her imaginar
y friends.
Megan squeezed Aunt Irene’s hand. “How did you do this?”
“It wasn’t easy. I had to resort to stealing and pray that the Lord would forgive me.” The older woman absently pushed Megan’s hair away from her face and looked into her eyes. “I knew where Lola kept this stuff, in an old shoebox up in the closet. Last time I stayed here with Sarah while you went to get supplies, I got it down and put it in my truck with this day in mind.”
“Thank you.”
“You always thank someone for stealing from you?”
A thought of Barry flashed across Megan’s mind. If she did thank people for stealing from her, she’d have to thank her late husband, but she’d also have to thank Holt McFadden. . .for stealing her heart.
As if reading her mind, the elderly woman spoke. “You’ve had some company lately, haven’t you?”
Relieved to have someone to talk to, Megan patted the chair beside her. Aunt Irene sat down and proved a captivated audience while Megan told her of her first meeting with Holt and everything in between up to present time.
Aunt Irene nodded. “I noticed that screen door was fixed when I pulled in the driveway. And the new clothesline post, as well. Those are mighty nice, but what about his heart?”
“What about his heart?”
“Is it good or bad?”
“Good.” Megan bit back a grin. “Very, very good.”
“Uh-oh, sounds like you’ve fallen pretty hard.”
The grin faded. “Well, you know I can’t really. I mean he’s a senator. Can you imagine how that would look?” She held up her hand to stop the protest she knew was coming. “Even if we could get beyond that, don’t you figure senators’ families have to get out occasionally?”
“I reckon senators’ families are the same as everybody else. Besides, I’ve told you a hundred times. It wouldn’t hurt you to get out more. You haven’t done anything wrong, yet you hide out here like you’re ashamed.”
“I just don’t want to cause the people I love any more pain.”
“Maybe you need to stop thinking you are so powerful, Megan Girl. You didn’t cause anyone pain.”
Megan shook her head. “Arguing with you is like arguing with a stump and about as profitable, so I’ll say no more.”
“Good! Because I’m about to fix you a breakfast so delicious you won’t have time to talk. That’s the rest of my birthday present for you.” She pointed to a grocery bag beside her chair that Megan hadn’t noticed. “I brought the fixins for ham and mushroom omelets.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” Megan realized she still had little pieces of ground coffee in her mouth. One of Aunt Irene’s famous omelets would get rid of that.
“Now, you just go and relax while I fix breakfast. Then, after you’ve eaten, I want you to get out and do whatever you want for the next few hours. I’m taking care of things in here.”
Megan smiled. Last night as she’d lain in bed, she’d suddenly known what she wanted to do for her birthday. “Thanks,” she said and dropped a kiss on the top of Aunt Irene’s head.
“That sewing room’s off limit too,” her neighbor called as Megan started down the hallway.
“Come see for yourself what I have in mind and you won’t say that,” Megan teased.
She slipped into the sewing room and quickly found the material that had filled her dreams last night. United States flags danced across the fabric in patriotic celebration.
“You’re going to make a patriotic quilt for your birthday?” Aunt Irene asked from the doorway. “And this has you in a good mood?” She shook her head. “Sometimes you worry me, Megan Watson.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll explain it to you.” Megan eased up off her knees, the red, white, and blue material still in her hands. “My whole life is governed by what I can’t do. I can’t draw attention to myself. I can’t be a part of my parents’ lives without bringing additional shame to them. And most of all, right now, I can’t have a relationship with Senator Holt McFadden because it would ruin his career. So for my birthday, I decided to do something I can do.”
“Make a quilt?”
“Yes. For Holt.” She smiled. “He mentioned that he didn’t have any, not even a lap quilt. He’s done so many nice things for me, and all I’ve been able to give him in return is grief.”
“Uh-huh.” Aunt Irene’s expression was doubtful. “How are you going to explain this gift without giving him the idea that you’re open to more than friendship?”
“That’s the beauty of it. I’m not going to send the quilt until the fall or early winter. By then he will have forgotten all about me, and my own feelings won’t be so strong, either.” She ignored Aunt Irene’s raised eyebrow. “I can write a nicely-worded note thanking him for helping us out this summer. And I will always know he has something to remember me by. . .” Her words stuck in her throat like glue. Instead of the peace she’d envisioned after deciding on the gift last night, a fist-sized knot seemed to have moved in where her stomach used to be.
“Megan, I wish you could give yourself a break for once.”
She nodded. “I know, but I can’t.”
“Well. . . ,” Aunt Irene crossed her arms, “. . .if you’re determined to be a martyr, I can at least be sure you don’t starve. I’m going to go fix breakfast.”
As soon as she was alone, Megan ran her hand over the fabric. She’d cut out the individual squares as soon as she’d bought it so it was ready to put together. She held the print against the bolts of solid-colored material and finally settled on navy blue for the strips between the squares. That would be perfect for the back, as well. Navy was a masculine color, and Holt McFadden was nothing if not masculine.
Seven
A bright pink daisy brushed against the corner of Holt’s mouth, and he blew gently to see if he could reposition it without crushing it. It refused to budge so he leaned a little farther to the right and peered around the huge bouquet of flowers. He held the cut crystal vase in his left hand and gripped the steering wheel tightly with his right. He hadn’t wanted to set the bouquet down, because he was afraid it would turn over, so he’d driven all the way from town with a strong floral scent wafting up his nose.
Breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Megan’s mailbox, he turned right and killed the motor, thankful that her driveway had a bit of a downhill slope. The truck coasted to a silent stop. He gingerly opened the door and gathered the birthday cake in his free hand. There was no way he could get everything else. He’d have to make two trips up to the porch and hope he wasn’t discovered.
❧
Megan straightened and looked at the clock. Aunt Irene had been gone for six hours. They’d shared a delicious breakfast and the older lady had slipped out, leaving Megan eagerly working on the lap quilt. She’d stopped for five minutes to fix Sarah a sandwich for lunch but had decided not to take time to eat. For some reason she couldn’t explain, today seemed to scream freedom, and she was afraid tomorrow she’d be back to doubting everything, even giving this quilt to Holt. Therefore, it was urgent that she finish today.
And she finally had. She took it gingerly off the rack and hemmed it on her sewing machine. When it was completed, she laid it out and stood back to admire her creation. Holt would love it. Her heart dropped. Not that she’d see his eyes light up when he opened it.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Had Aunt Irene forgotten something or come back to fix supper? She quickly folded the quilt and set it on the shelf, then hurried to answer the door.
Just as she reached the living room, Sarah yelled, “Mr. Holt!” and threw the door open.
Megan froze in her steps as she stared at Holt sharing the doorway with the biggest bouquet of spring flowers she’d ever seen. “Holt!”
“Happy Birthday,” he said, with a sheepish grin.
Her legs trembling, Megan crossed over to take the vase from his hands. “Come on in.”
“Okay.” But instead of entering the house, he turned toward
the rocker and swung back around with a cake in his hands.
“Happy Birthday Megan!” was spelled out in bright red icing and the entire cake was covered in flowers that had obviously been color-coordinated with the bouquet. Megan’s head was buzzing, and for a moment, she thought she was going to pass right out on the floor. That would be a funny way of showing her appreciation. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I shouldn’t have?” He grinned and set the cake on the small round table in the corner. “I think I should have.”
“Thanks.”
“Save your thanks until you see the last gift. You may hate it.”
“There’s more?” she asked weakly, sinking into a chair by the door as Holt went outside again.
Seconds later, he came in toting what appeared to be a rolled up rug. He marched past her down the hallway with Sarah skipping at his heels. Megan couldn’t contain her curiosity when he entered her sewing room. She had to go see what it was.
She was thankful for her habit of folding quilts wrong side out. Even if he noticed the new lap quilt on the shelf, all he would see was navy blue material. She poked her head cautiously into the room, just as Holt unrolled his bundle with a flourish.
A beautiful plush runner with a print that exactly matched the multicolored room stretched the length of the previously bare floor in front of her machine. Sarah immediately began to do forward rolls up and down from one end to the other.
“Oh, Holt, I can’t believe you thought of that.” She pressed her hand to her back. “I always intended to get something to stand on there, but I just never got around to it.”
“Well, my chiropractor will tell you that you need some cushion under your feet when you’re on them all day like you are.” He offered a rueful grin. “I’m nothing if not practical.”
“Oh, really? Where’s the practicality in those flowers in there?” Megan’s heart thudded. What had he been thinking?
“Well, I guess if you got hungry enough you could eat them.” He sounded so serious she giggled. “Or you could dry them and maybe some of them would make healing herbs.”
Patchwork and Politics Page 5
