A Thread of Truth. Marie Bostwick
would say it just goes to show you that God is in the business of just-in-time inventory, giving us what we need even when we don’t know what it is we’re running low on. I might not be as vocal about my faith as Margot is, but I can’t help but think she’s right.
I wouldn’t have asked for a divorce after twenty-four years of marriage and I wouldn’t have volunteered to lose both my breasts to cancer, either. Nothing about what I’ve been through was easy, but if I hadn’t been through it I would never have fulfilled my dream of owning a quilt shop, or found these friends who have become as dear to me as family, or realized how strong I really am.
It’s the same with Mary Dell. She’d never have asked for her one and only son to be born with Down syndrome, but if she didn’t have Howard, would she be everything she is today? I don’t see how. They fill each other’s gaps.
Together, with Howard’s gift for color and texture and Mary Dell’s gift for design and construction, mother and son create the most beautiful, intricate, stunning quilts imaginable. Quilts that look like symphonies sound. Quilts with the power of poetry, sea air, and homemade chicken soup. Quilts that wrap around you with the warmth of loving arms. Quilts that teach you about love, and living well. Quilts that can heal hurts people don’t even know they have and change their lives for the better.
But, then again, I’m convinced every quilt can do that. I’ve seen it happen before. And, soon, I would see it again.
3
Evelyn Dixon
Garrett lives in the one-bedroom apartment above the shop that I occupied before I moved into my rented cape, but I’m the one who opens the shop every morning. I arrive at eight-thirty, a good hour before the other employees.
Garrett is our night owl, working on the computer into the wee hours to process the Internet orders, manage the database, or update our website with our newest classes, fabric shipments, and specials. That’s one of the reasons our Web business is coming on so strong; our site has something new to look at almost daily, so people tend to visit frequently. It’s a big job and, according to Garrett, it’s best done at night when there aren’t so many people on the site. This means that Garrett’s workday tends to start around noon and end around midnight, but not today.
I walked across the cobblestone courtyard toward the shop, smiling at the sight of the new window display Liza arranged on her last weekend home, an eye-catching collection of gold, yellow, red, black, and green fabrics and a garden of cheerful sunflowers made from wire and papier-mâché to highlight the sunflower quilt class we were offering next month. The lights were already on inside the shop and the red front door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and the bells jingled merrily to announce my arrival. Someone had already started brewing coffee. I could smell it.
“Hello? Margot? Is that you?” I heard a sound of male laughter coming from the break room. Garrett came out holding a mug of coffee. Charlie trailed behind him, grinning and carrying a plate piled with what looked like fresh cinnamon rolls.
“’Morning, Mom.” Garrett yawned and ran a hand through his hair.
“’Morning, sweetheart. You’re up early.”
“Yeah, well, Charlie was banging on the door early. I tried to ignore him, but he just stood in the courtyard bellowing that I’d better open up because his rolls were getting stale.”
I gave Charlie a quick peck on the cheek, then grabbed one of the cinnamon rolls off the plate and took a bite. “They don’t taste stale.”
“That’s because Garrett finally listened to reason and came downstairs to open the door,” Charlie insisted in his teasing Irish brogue. “I’ve been up since dawn making these just for you. Another five minutes exposed to the cruel morning air and they’d have been ruined for sure. I’d have had to throw the whole batch away.”
“Well, that would have been a shame because they are delicious. Thanks. Why were you up since dawn baking? Was there some kind of cinnamon roll emergency?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “It’s your big day, woman! Don’t you remember? You’ve got those movie people coming in today. They’re probably used to fancy caterers and champagne at breakfast. You’ve got to have something decent to offer them, something besides that jar of two-year-old biscottis in their individual, fresh-from-the-factory plastic wrappings you bought at the office supply store.” He made a disgusted face. As the owner of New Bern’s most elegant and popular restaurant, he was clearly concerned that the town’s culinary reputation would suffer at my hands. “One look at those things and the crew will probably pack up their cameras and go back to Hollywood.”
I laughed. “First of all, they’re from Texas, not Hollywood. Big difference. At least, I think there’s a big difference; I’ve never been to Hollywood. And second, they are television people, from the House and Home Network, not movie people, and I really don’t think it’s quite as big a deal as you’re making it, Charlie. It’s not like they’re in town to shoot the chase scene of next summer’s big block-buster. It’s just a little promotional video. It’ll be Mary Dell, a cameraman, and one of her producers—that’s all—and the whole thing shouldn’t take more than an hour. Mary Dell told me herself. But it was sweet of you to go to all this trouble, Charlie.”
“No trouble. Anything for my little starlet.”
“Last time I checked, they don’t make fifty-year-old starlets.”
He put his arm around my waist, squeezed me, and said in a stage whisper, “Well, what do they know? Want to come see my office later? I’ll show you my casting couch.” I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ouch! Is that any way to treat the man who got up with the sun to make you breakfast?”
“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”
“As a matter of fact”—he looked at his watch—“I do. I’ve got a meeting with my seafood wholesaler in ten minutes.”
Charlie kissed me and hurried toward the door. “You’re going to bring Mary Dell and the rest of them up to the Grill for dinner tonight, right?”
I nodded. “Around six. Thanks for the cinnamon rolls. They’re delicious. Just like you.” I batted my eyelashes.
“Oh sure. Now you want to flirt with me. Too late. I’ve got to see a man about a fish. Bye, Garrett.”
“Bye, Charlie.”
Garrett, who was looking a little more alert now, took a slurp of coffee and chuckled to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about Charlie. He told me a great joke this morning.”
“Really? What was it?”
“Nothing I’m going to repeat to my mother.”
“Ah. Well, in that case, what say we get to work? Can you e-mail a supply list to everybody who signed up for that table runner class? I’ve got to shelve those new pattern books that came in last night and I’d like to get that done before Mary Dell gets here.”
A voice boomed in the doorway. “Then you should have started earlier, Baby Girl!”
“Mary Dell!” I squealed, dropped my half-eaten cinnamon roll, and ran to embrace my friend. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you! Where’s Howard? Didn’t he come with you?”
Mary Dell smiled broadly. “Howard’s got himself a little girlfriend—Jena. He met her at a Down Syndrome Association dance. Her folks invited Howard to come with them to the rodeo this weekend, so he’s staying with them. We’re going to film this so quick there wasn’t any point in him coming. He’ll be out for the broadcast, though. The rest of my crew will be here in a minute. They’re hauling in the equipment. Gosh! You look great, Evelyn!”
“You too. But I thought your flight wasn’t supposed to land for a couple of hours yet.”