But it was not his one mistake; it was simply his biggest mistake. As far as she knew. And wasn’t that part of the problem, that she would never know and always wonder?
He probably had worked late. The Office of the Physical Plant was understaffed, and winter meant sidewalks to clear of snow and frozen pipes to thaw. But Craig could very well have decided that anyplace was preferable to home. Bonnie often felt that way.
Grandma’s Attic was her haven. She could not imagine how she would have endured the past few years without it. The quilt shop was one sign that she had not wasted her life, that she was not a failure. Her children were the other. But they were so far away and visited so rarely that they probably had no idea that an equally vast distance separated their parents.
Bonnie put on a warm pair of slacks and her oldest but most favorite quilted vest, made from miniature purple-and-green Pineapple blocks. She’d had to rip out many a seam during the months it had taken her to complete it, and she wore it whenever she needed a reminder that even the most difficult times would eventually pass.
She opened the shop and worked in the office until customers arrived. She dreaded looking at the accounts. Holiday sales had boosted their gross income, allowing her to pay off their worst debts, but January sales were down from the previous year, and February seemed to be matching that disappointing pace. She was not surprised. She could hardly open the Waterford Register without seeing an advertisement for the huge chain fabric store on the out-skirts of town. If not for Summer’s help, Bonnie would have been forced to close the shop years before. Whenever Grandma’s Attic teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, Summer would somehow come up with an inspired idea for bringing quilters into the shop. Sales would surge for a time, then dwindle as the novelty of their innovation faded. The one exception was their virtual quilt shop on the internet, which had garnered consistently strong sales since its inception. One day, Bonnie surmised, email orders might account for the majority of their profits.
A few customers came in, some merely to browse, drawn inside by the colorful display in the front window. Then morning mail arrived, and with it, more bills. Bonnie set those aside and opened the larger packages, which contained more contributions for Sylvia’s bridal quilt. They were lovely, but Bonnie would have been grateful for them even if they were only half as well made. At their current pace, they would have only enough blocks for a modest lap quilt, although she wouldn’t admit that to Sarah until absolutely necessary.
Summer arrived moments later and, as always, her confidence and good cheer made Bonnie glad she would be leaving the quilt shop in such good hands after her retirement. Summer greeted her as she slipped off her coat, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the packages on the cutting table. “Can I see the new blocks?” she asked. Bonnie handed them over and forced herself to sort through the rest of the mail. Good news rarely came to Grandma’s Attic in a business-size envelope.
The phone bill was lower than usual; Bonnie congratulated herself for keeping to her resolution to use email whenever it would save her a long-distance call. The power bill was higher, as expected, due to the recent cold snap. She sighed and opened the last envelope, something from University Realty, most likely an advertisement. Anything but another bill.
February 1, 2002
Dear Ms. Bonnie Markham:
I am pleased to announce that Waterford Commercial Properties has sold your building to University Realty, Inc. Welcome to the University Realty family. A fixture in the Waterford community since 1957, University Realty is the area’s finest resource for commercial and residential properties.
Within the next week, a representative from University Realty will visit your business in order to discuss the terms of our rental agreement for any tenants who wish to remain in their current location. The visit for Grandma’s Attic is scheduled for Tuesday, February 12, at 10:45 A.M. If this is not convenient, please contact our office. However, please note that new leases must be signed within ninety days of the sale to University Realty, after which expired tenants risk eviction.
Again, thank you for joining the community of properties owned and operated by University Realty. We look forward to a long and rewarding relationship with you.
Sincerely,
Gregory H. Krolich
Vice-President
Bonnie read the letter a second time, disbelieving. How could something like this happen without any word to the tenants? What would this mean for the condo upstairs? She could not recall all the clauses of their purchase agreement. Surely University Realty could not touch their home, and even if they raised the rent on the shop, they couldn’t afford more than a modest increase. Far too many storefronts in downtown Waterford stood empty already. The new owners had to offer competitive rents or risk losing all their tenants.
“What is it?” asked Summer, watching her with concern.
“The building’s been sold. All tenants have to sign new leases if we want to stay.”
“Of course you’ll stay,” said Summer. “Where do they expect you to go? They won’t raise the rent, will they?”
“The letter doesn’t say.” But Bonnie was sure the rent would go up. Why else would Gregory Krolich have included that vague, threatening line about the dangers of missing her scheduled meeting and becoming an “expired tenant”?
She tried to answer Summer’s questions about the stipulations of her lease, but she was too upset, her thoughts a swirl of confusion. The last thing she needed, what with Craig so distant and the shop already in financial trouble, was to have to worry about the expense and hassle of moving.
She spent the rest of Summer’s shift in the office, going over books, paying the utility bills, and ordering products from the few suppliers who had not yet suspended her credit. At the end of the day she closed the shop, walked to the corner grocery for milk and coffee, and went home. On her way upstairs she checked the mail, only to find a second envelope from University Realty. She set it on top of the pile of bills and advertisements on the counter and started supper, taking a chance on making enough for two. So far Craig had never stayed away for more than a day without calling.
When the chicken was in the oven, Bonnie steeled herself and opened the envelope. Inside she found a letter announcing the sale in slightly more cordial tones than before. This time Gregory Krolich expressed his hopes that the Markhams would consider selling the condo to his company so that they might make it available for “other residential purposes.” He promised to phone within the next few days to arrange a meeting.
“You have a different attitude when you want to buy, don’t you?” muttered Bonnie as she tossed the letter on the counter. Did this Gregory Krolich even notice he had written to her twice? Perhaps not; the condo was in Craig’s name, too, while the shop was in Bonnie’s alone. Still, if Krolich wanted them to sell their home, he ought to be more civil regarding her shop—and more flexible about the new lease.
With the first stirring of hope she had felt since morning, Bonnie finished preparing supper. She did have some leverage after all. Though the thought of lying to Krolich made her uncomfortable, she could not allow him to believe she might sell the condo until they had settled on the terms of their new rental agreement for the shop. She would do anything to save Grandma’s Attic. If she could consider firing one of her closest friends, she could mislead Krolich for a few weeks. Businesspeople did that sort of thing all the time. Just because she was new at it—
The outside door opened and shut. Craig did not call out, but she knew it was her husband from the familiar sounds of snow boots thumping on the linoleum and the closet door squeaking as he put away his coat. “Supper will be ready soon,” she said without turning around when she heard him enter the kitchen.
“What are we having?”
“Baked chicken, the kind with parmesan cheese in the crust. Mashed potatoes and peas.”
He grunted his acceptance and took a beer from the refrigerator. She waited, but he said nothing about his ab
sence. She vowed not to ask, but she did a slow burn as she set the table and served the meal.
They ate in silence, Craig’s face hidden behind the newspaper.
“We received some interesting mail today,” she said eventually. “Our building has been sold. The new owners want to buy our condo.”
“What?” said Craig. She repeated herself, and he set down the paper. “What was their offer?”
“They weren’t that specific.” Bonnie wished she wasn’t so pleased that she finally had his attention. “I’ll also have to sign a new lease for the shop.”
“They’ll probably raise your rent.”
“Yes, I rather expect them to.”
He shrugged and picked up the paper again. “Maybe now’s a good time to get out, then.”
Bonnie stared at him, hard. “Why would I want to get out?”
He glanced at her, his expression full of disbelief and exasperation, as if he could not believe he had to argue the same points again when he had made himself perfectly clear many times before. “When’s the last time you made a profit? It’s a hobby, not a business. Everything you earn from Elm Creek Quilts goes into keeping that store afloat. We have better uses for the money.” He wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin onto his plate. “If you’d let go of that place, we could finally move into a real house.”
“You want to leave our home?”
He glanced around, taking in with impatient distaste the rooms she had decorated so lovingly. “Did you ever think we’d stay here this long? Maybe you don’t care, but I’ve always wanted my own house with my own yard. Do you realize I never got to play ball with my own sons on my own lawn? If I’d wanted this kind of lifestyle I would have moved to the city, but that store of yours has always come first.”
“How dare you,” said Bonnie, incredulous, furious. “I never put the store before my children.”
“Well, you put it ahead of other things. Other people.”
She almost laughed. “You blame Grandma’s Attic for our problems?”
“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.” He pushed back his chair and rose. “I don’t know. Give me the letter and I’ll find out what they’re willing to offer us for the condo.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“Where’s the letter?” He rifled through the stack of mail on the counter. “Never mind. I’ll find it and call them tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to move,” Bonnie said again, but Craig found and pocketed the envelope. He indicated the conversation was over by leaving the room. A moment later, she heard the door to the guest room close.
In the week that passed between the arrival of the letter and her appointment with Gregory Krolich, Bonnie saw little of Craig and spoke to him even less. He offered scant explanation for his erratic comings and goings. “By the time I know I won’t be coming home,” he said, “it’s too late to call.”
“You won’t wake me,” she said. “I’m usually awake wondering where you are. Where do you go, anyway? You must be sleeping somewhere.”
“I catch a few hours on the sofa in my office.”
Bonnie found that hard to believe. She had seen the furniture he picked out when he redecorated after his last promotion, and it looked as uncomfortable as it was worn. She assumed he had bought used rather than new to save money, but she never understood why he did not at least have it reupholstered and refinished. He said he would get around to it when he had time, but Bonnie doubted it since the furniture resembled some antique pieces they had seen in the President’s House on the Penn State campus. Craig was a fervently loyal alumnus, and Bonnie had expected him to be pleased when she had remarked upon the similarities, but instead he had grumbled something about never wasting hard-earned money on designer stuff and ushered her from his office. Still, even if he had intended the resemblance, Bonnie was not convinced he could actually sleep comfortably there.
“Where do you shower and shave?” she asked him.
“I don’t,” he said, as if it were obvious. “The guys don’t care.”
On the day of the meeting, Bonnie went to Grandma’s Attic carefully attired in her one suit rather than a quilted jacket, determined to make a strong, businesslike impression. The shop was remarkably busy that morning, so that when a man in a black wool coat arrived promptly at ten forty-five, a group of cheerful, well-satisfied customers passed him on the way out. “You must be Mr. Krolich,” Bonnie greeted him, pleased that his first impression of Grandma’s Attic was that of a lively, thriving business.
“Please call me Greg,” he said, removing a leather glove and shaking her hand. “Are you Ms. Markham?”
“Bonnie. Yes.”
He glanced around the room, but Bonnie suspected his quick glance took in much more than it appeared. “Is there somewhere we could talk undisturbed?”
The shop was now empty, but Bonnie led him into the back office and offered him the best chair. He removed his coat and sat down, smiling all the while. “Based upon my conversations with other tenants, my guess is this sale came as something of a surprise.”
“Shock is the word I would use,” said Bonnie, managing a laugh. She seated herself, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“I trust you began considering your options when you received our letter.”
“Well—” What options? “I think I’ll be more able to make an informed decision once I see the rental agreement.”
“Of course.” He opened his briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of paper in a clear plastic binder. “We have several attractive properties in the downtown area, some within walking distance of your current location. However, I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting one I think you’ll find ideal.” He opened the binder and placed it on the desk before her.
At the top of the page was a color photocopied picture of a store in a strip mall. BUTTONS AND BOWS was painted in blue and pink on a window that displayed frilly lace frocks and blue sailor suits. Beneath the picture was a detailed description of the property—square footage, available utilities, address—which Bonnie skimmed before realizing what Greg had assumed.
“Thank you, but I don’t intend to move,” said Bonnie, smiling apologetically and closing the binder. “I want to see your rental agreement for this location.”
“Oh.” Greg’s expression turned puzzled and alarmed. “You want to stay.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Basically, you’re the first of our tenants who wasn’t grateful for the opportunity to find a more suitable location.” He turned a winsome smile on her and opened the binder again to the correct page without glancing at it. “I understand change can be difficult, but if you drive out and inspect this property, all you’ll want to know is how soon you can move in. That’s immediately, by the way. The current tenant is retiring.”
“I don’t need to drive out and see it. I don’t want to move Grandma’s Attic away from downtown, especially not there. That’s right next door to our biggest competitor.”
“Exactly. Traffic into the Fabric Warehouse would naturally drift over to you, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you could use more business.”
More likely Bonnie would lose even more customers to the chain store, but she kept her voice even and asked, “May I please see the new lease for this shop?”
Greg frowned and dug in his briefcase. “Here,” he said, slapping it down on the table.
Bonnie skimmed the first page before she stopped, aghast. “This increase in the rent—it must be close to seventy percent!”
“Seventy-five, to be exact.” He smiled, and for the first time, Bonnie detected a smug satisfaction in his manner. “Please also note that our leases are for six months and the rent may increase semiannually. It’s safe to assume that it will.”
Bonnie returned to the document, afraid to ask if seventy-five percent was the standard increment. Some clauses sounded similar to those in her current lease; others seemed to tack on fees for everything from late payment of rent to imp
roper use of the trash receptacles to new distribution of parking in the back alley. She tried to absorb it all, but her mind was fixed on the rent, that outrageous, impossible rent.
“I can’t afford this,” she finally said, returning the lease. “I suspect none of my neighbors can, either, and that’s why they’re leaving. I used to serve on the Waterford Zoning Commission and I can tell you these rates are unreasonable for this area in this economic climate. You’re going to end up with an empty building and a lot of angry business owners, who might have something to say at the next public review of your business license.”
He blinked, clearly unprepared for a challenge from a nice little middle-aged quilt lady. He recovered quickly, but all pretense of helpfulness vanished. “An empty building would be ideal,” he said. “We already have plenty of commercial properties. What we need are more student rentals.”
Bonnie stared at him. Other buildings on her street had been transformed from offices into apartments, but her building would require extensive remodeling for such a drastic change in purpose. Except for the condos. Suddenly Bonnie pictured her home surrounded by wild undergraduates, the shop, her haven, thrust into the middle of a twenty-four-hour fraternity party.
“You’d be amazed at what students are willing to pay for housing directly across the street from campus,” remarked Greg. “Or, rather, what their parents are willing to pay.”
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 11
