Threading the Needle

by Marie Bostwick

  We parked the car on the street. Tessa asked if it would be all right to make a quick detour into For the Love of Lavender, which sits a few doors from the entrance to Cobbled Court. What could I do?

  “Just five minutes. I promise. No more. I want to make sure that Ivy’s fine, let her know I’ll be back soon. She was sweet to cover for me. You’d like her.”

  I’d walked by For the Love of Lavender a score of times since I’d moved back to New Bern but had never been inside. It was a charming space, cheerful and inviting, with large-paned windows that let in the light, and white walls and, of course, it smelled heavenly, just like Tessa’s workroom at the house. Tessa had already hung “our” quilt up on the wall behind the cash register; it really had turned out well. Ivy thought so too.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to try quilting?” she asked. “You have a natural talent for embellishing.”

  “Can’t. I just don’t have time right now, not while I’m trying to get my business off the ground.”

  Ivy nodded sympathetically. “There are never enough hours in the day. Between my kids, my job at the shop, and my other job at New Beginnings—”

  “New Beginnings? Over in the old elementary school, right? A friend was telling me about some of your programs.”

  “That’s right. I started as the liaison between the quilt shop and New Beginnings, coordinating vocational internships, but now I split my time between the two,” she said. “And just in case two jobs and two kids weren’t enough, I’m studying for my GED. We’ve got preparation classes at New Beginnings. Someday, when my kids are older, I’d like to go to college, but first I’ve got to get a high school diploma. This is the first step.”

  Tessa was right; I did like Ivy. Our five-minute visit stretched to twenty. I left with Ivy’s business card in my pocket and a promise that I’d stop by New Beginnings very soon.

  Our arrival at the quilt shop was announced by tinkling from an old-fashioned set of bells that hung on the knob.

  Within seconds of coming through the door, I was encircled by women, some customers, some employees, all of them smiling and shaking my hand, saying how glad they were to meet me, and how much they loved what Tessa and I had done with her quilt. Tessa, it seemed, had brought “our” quilt to the shop to show it to her friends before hanging it.

  It was a little overwhelming. They wanted to know about the inn—when was I planning to open? How many rooms would I have? How was the renovation coming along? And the quilt—where did I get my ideas? Had I ever quilted before? Why not? Why didn’t I start? And Tessa—how long had we known each other? Where had we met? Was I surprised when I found out that she’d moved back to New Bern too?

  What they did not ask about was Sterling, his Ponzi scheme, his suicide, or our relationship. I’m not saying they weren’t thinking about it, but they were too polite to ask. That was a relief.

  There were seven or eight of them, and they all talked at once and introduced themselves rapidly. It was hard to keep the names and faces straight.

  Margot I recognized from our encounter in the coffee shop and because Tessa had talked about her so much. She was the religious one, who had played some role in awakening Tessa’s newfound faith. I felt a little uncomfortable talking to Margot, wondering if, behind that wide smile and those sparkling blue eyes, she might be secretly judging me. But if she was, she gave no sign of it. After a few minutes I felt more relaxed in her presence.

  Evelyn, who was a few years younger than me and had a very artsy way of dressing, with big earrings and necklaces and fabrics that moved well when she walked, owned the shop. Tessa had talked about her, too, told me how kind and calm she was, with an understated sense of humor. I didn’t get to talk to her long enough to tell if Tessa was right in her assessment, but she seemed very nice, welcoming without being overbearing or effusive. Like the others, she urged me to take up quilting, but when I gave her the same answer I’d given to Ivy, she backed off.

  “I know what that’s like. When you’re starting your own business, you barely have time to think, let alone take up a new hobby. Tessa says you’re quite a baker. I’ll tell you what, if you ever find yourself with a little time and an urge for some company on a Friday, just drop by. No notice or reservation required and you don’t have to sew a stitch. But there is a price for admission—the baked good of your choice.” She smiled in a way that made her warm eyes even warmer.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, never supposing I would.

  The older woman, perhaps in her late seventies, who carried a very fat cat in her arms, was Evelyn’s mother, Virginia. Originally from Wisconsin, she had moved to New Bern the year before and worked as her daughter’s assistant manager. She was the one who had shown Tessa how to restore my quilt. She was an expert hand-quilter.

  There were two sisters, Bella and Connie, but I never did figure out which was which, and Wendy, the Realtor I’d met on my first day in New Bern, who had the strangest laugh and the gaudiest rhinestone glasses I’d ever seen in my life.

  Finally, hanging back at the fringes of the group and a little behind me, was one more, a woman whose presence didn’t register until she reached out and laid her hand on my forearm, just as we were getting ready to leave. Turning to see who had touched me, I came face-to-face with Abigail. Abigail wore a dark, serious expression, her eyes like storm clouds ready to split open.

  “Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” I said quickly, suddenly afraid of the catch in my throat. “Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful. And they made things . . . easier.”

  She nodded mutely, accepting my thanks, releasing us both from the need to plow over old ground, then leaned close to my ear, speaking so softly no one else could hear.

  “I know what it is like, my dear, to be married to a difficult man. A man who is hard to love and who, perhaps, you never loved, and then to suddenly lose him. We’ve led strange lives, Madelyn. We know about regrets and private grief that others will never understand. But you mustn’t blame yourself or look back—not any longer than it takes to learn what you must learn. After that, let it go. The past is past, Madelyn. But you’re still here,” she whispered urgently and exerted a gentle pressure on my arm. “And I’m glad. You be glad too.”

  36

  Tessa

  Iglanced at my watch and decided we’d killed enough time. I tried to extricate Madelyn from the center of the Cobbled Court welcoming committee but couldn’t. Not before Abigail pulled Madelyn close and whispered something that made tears well in her eyes and not before Evelyn remembered she had an old sewing machine upstairs that Madelyn might want to borrow.

  “It’s nothing fancy,” Evelyn said. “But it was just tuned up and it has a nice, even, straight stitch. Perfect for sewing curtains.”

  “You have nice friends,” Madelyn said as we loaded the machine into the trunk of my car.

  It’s just a short drive from the quilt shop to Beecher Cottage, but Madelyn was jiggling her foot anxiously as I drove, as though it was all she could do to keep herself from stretching her leg over to my side of the car and stomping on the gas pedal. She was so impatient to get home.

  When we pulled up in front of Beecher Cottage, Madelyn’s jaw dropped and her hand flew to cover her surprise. I was glad I’d kept the secret.

  She got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk for a good minute before finding her voice. “It’s . . . the tarps . . . they’re gone! Did someone?”

  “Fix the roof?” I asked. “Yes, they did. Looks a lot better now, doesn’t it?”

  She turned to stare at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “But how did you do it?”

  I laughed. “I didn’t, Madelyn. I’m scared of heights, remember?”

  “Then who did it?”

  As if in answer to her question, Jake Kaminski appeared from around the corner, whistling and carrying an armload of torn-up blue tarps, the tarps that had covered the roof of Beecher Cottage for many months.<
br />
  “What do you think?” he asked. “Looks a lot better now, huh?”

  He turned to look at me without waiting for Madelyn’s response. “Thanks for stalling. I just put away the ladders. I’m going to toss these in the back of my truck and put them in the Dumpster over at the hardware store.”

  Madelyn blinked a couple of times and her cheeks flushed. She didn’t look as pleased as I thought she would, but maybe I was imagining it. It was a lot to take in.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “You’ve got a business to run. You don’t have time to roof someone else’s house.”

  “Really?” he asked, crinkling his brow in mock confusion. “That’s weird because I think I just did.”

  “This is too much, Jake. Especially after I . . . I can’t let you replace my roof!”

  “Oh,” he replied with studied obtuseness. “Well. Do you want me to take it off?”

  Jake glanced over at me with a “has she lost her mind?” sort of expression. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “You know what I mean!” Madelyn answered in an exasperated tone. She threw up her hands. “I have to pay you for all this!”

  “No,” he said stubbornly. “You don’t. When I heard you got your estimate from Dwight Sparks, I decided I needed to get up there and check the job out for myself. Just because somebody calls their business A-1 Affordable doesn’t mean it is, Madelyn. Dwight’s a cheat. And a liar. You didn’t need a new roof. You will in about five years, but right now, all you needed to do was get rid of the moss and replace some of the shingles.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. I worked on a roofing crew after I got back from Vietnam. I know what I’m talking about. You just needed a few shingles, and since I used the ones you already had stored up in the attic, it was almost free.”

  “No,” she argued. “Your time isn’t free. I’ve got to pay you, Jake. I’m going to.” She planted her feet and crossed her arms, a stance that I recognized as immoveable. Apparently, Jake recognized it too.

  He opened his mouth wide, almost as wide as a yawn, scratched his beard, and narrowed his eyes, thinking.

  “All right, then. How about a trade? My sister Mia’s twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up. I want to give her something nice. A weekend at the inn?”

  “A long weekend,” Madelyn countered. “Four days, three nights. My best room. With flowers and a bottle of champagne on arrival. And for you, a basket of muffins delivered to the hardware store on the first Tuesday of every month for a year. Deal?”

  Jake tilted his chin and eyes upward, considered her proposal. “One more thing,” he added. “You let me take you to dinner.”

  Madelyn let out a short exhalation of frustration, shimmied her head from side to side. For a moment, I wondered if Jake had overplayed his hand.

  “No, Jake. Thank you but no. My husband just died. I’m not ready for that.”

  From where I stood it looked like that was that, but Jake regrouped and soldiered on. He certainly didn’t give up easily. I wondered if Madelyn realized how much she and Jake had in common.

  “Why not? I said I want to take you to dinner, Madelyn, not to bed.”

  “Jake!” Madelyn protested and shifted her eyes toward me with obvious embarrassment. Determined not to show how much I was enjoying this, I kept my face blank.

  Jake shrugged innocently. “Well, that’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

  Madelyn said nothing.

  “Look, Madelyn, I’m not asking you to trade your virtue for a roofing job. I just enjoy your company. And I hate eating alone. Don’t you?”

  Madelyn nodded, but barely.

  “Then let’s eat together. Nothing fancy. Pizza. How about that?”

  “Too many carbohydrates.”

  “Fine. Mexican.”

  She made a face. “Sushi,” she offered.

  “Sushi,” Jake agreed. “But I’m not eating raw fish. I want to state that up front.”

  “And we go dutch. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  He gripped her outstretched hand. “Guess I’ll take it.”

  Jake smiled, looking like he’d just won a hand of high-stakes poker. I couldn’t blame him. I doubted there was another man on the face of the earth who could have moved the Immoveable Madelyn. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from giving him a high five.

  For a moment, Madelyn looked confused, as if she, too, was surprised that he’d gotten around her, but the bargain was sealed and Madelyn wasn’t one to go back on her word. She gave a short nod and quickly changed the subject.

  “The roof looks great, Jake. Really great.” She took a couple of steps backward to take it all in.

  “What are those?” She pointed to the flowerbeds in front of the porch and the mounds of mulch with silvery sage stalks poking out at odd angles.

  I smiled. I was beginning to wonder when she’d notice. “Lavender. I had too much, so I did a little transplanting. It doesn’t look like much now, but come summer the purple flowers will be pretty against the yellow.”

  “Oh, Tessa!” She gave me a squeeze and I knew how pleased she was. Madelyn is not a hugger. Never was.

  I hugged her back. “I planted a little culinary garden in the back, too, near the kitchen. Rosemary, thyme, sage, and mint. And did you see Lee’s present?”

  I looked toward the street, next to the sidewalk. Her gaze followed mine and she laughed when she saw the sign Lee had made to match the house. The background was yellow and the borders and lettering were in blue.

  “Beecher Cottage Inn. Established 2009. No Vacancy.” She clapped her hands to her chest. “Oh, I love it! Tell Lee I said so.”

  “Did you see this?” I asked, walking to the sign so I could demonstrate. “He drilled a hole in the ‘No’ and hung it on a nail so you can remove it when you do have a vacancy.”

  “Never going to happen,” Jake said. “Once the word gets out, everybody is going to want to stay here.”

  Madelyn turned to face us both and I could see she was fighting back tears, but that was all right. These were good tears, I could tell.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say. It just looks like I could open for business tomorrow!”

  “Not quite,” Jake said. “There’s plenty to do inside yet. But I did get Barry over here to install the cabinets while you were gone.”

  Jake’s face split into a grin. “Somebody pushed a microphone into his face and started asking him about you, and Barry just about shoved it down the reporter’s throat. I had to pull him off the guy. But your bathrooms are done. . . .”

  Madelyn frowned and started to say something, but Jake cut her off.

  He raised his hands, anticipating her protest. “Except for tiling the floors. I thought you’d want to do those yourself.”

  Madelyn crossed her arms again and gave him a challenging look. “You thought right.”

  37

  Madelyn

  Jake’s left eyebrow rose to a skeptical angle as I picked up my chopsticks and dipped a piece of yellowtail into a saucer of wasabi and soy sauce.

  “Looks like bait to me.”

  “It’s tuna and it’s delicious. You should try it,” I said with a deliberate smile before putting the fish into my mouth.

  Jake shuddered in disgust. I chewed. My mouth turned to flame and my sinuses cleared from my nostrils to my toenails. My eyes poured tears like water from a spigot. I lunged for my water glass, downed the contents, and coughed.

  Apparently thinking I was choking, Jake pounded my back. I waved him off.

  “Wasabi,” I gasped. “Too spicy.”

  Jake pushed his water glass toward me and then turned around to find our waitress, miming a pouring motion to indicate our glasses were empty.

  “You okay?”

  Blinking back tears, I nodded. “Yeah. I forgot how potent that stuff is. It
really is good, though.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Think I’ll stick with my tempura. Thanks anyway, Maddie,” he said and then stopped himself. “Oh. Sorry. I’m not supposed to call you that, am I?”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  The waitress approached with the water pitcher and refilled our glasses. I watched her in silence, mentally rehearsing my speech.

  After she moved on I took a breath and plunged in. “Listen. Jake. There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you about that night, after the funeral. I was fairly awful to you. I’m sorry.”

  Jake was tentatively poking a piece of tempura with his chopstick, as if worried that it might suddenly begin moving. “That’s okay. Hey, what is this anyway?”

  The light in the restaurant was dim. I had to squint to see his plate. “Eggplant.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jake pushed the offending vegetable to the side. “But this is shrimp, right? And it’s cooked?” With surprising dexterity, he picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and took a bite.

  “I mean it,” I said earnestly. “I’m really sorry. I had no right to be so angry with you, especially since I asked for your opinion.”

  “It’s all right. Apology accepted. Can you pass the soy sauce?”

  I handed him a small ceramic carafe and watched as he poured a stream of soy sauce onto his steamed rice. It was nice of Jake to extend his pardon so readily, but his offhand manner left me feeling unsatisfied. I felt the need to explain myself.

  “I wasn’t quite myself that night. . . .”

  Jake’s mouth was full, but he interrupted me with a shake of his head. “Actually, I disagree. I thought you were entirely yourself. At least initially. Though you kind of backed off as the evening wore on. And I probably could have done without the part where you told me to go to hell but, all in all, I thought it was a worthwhile discussion, didn’t you?”

  He looked up with a teasing smile, daring me to contradict him. I couldn’t.

  “It was, I admit it. And I’ll go even further. You were right.”