A Thread So Thin (29 page)

When I turn the corner I can see that the second service is just letting out. Reverend Tucker is standing at the door, shaking hands with everybody as they leave. He waves at me and, for a minute, I feel like I’m going to throw up. My heart is pounding again, just like it did that day in New York.

I can’t do it. I want to, but I can’t.

And so, with sweat beading on my forehead and my pulse racing, I wave back, take a left at the corner, walk two more blocks, take another left, and end up back at the house, where I eat a turkey sandwich, stare at the seating chart, and tell Abigail that her arrangements look just great and we should go with that.

A
fter figuring out that turning Liza’s microwave sideways would leave enough room for her sewing machine, I pulled my head out of the trunk just in time to see my mother come out the front door of Liza’s apartment building carrying a big cardboard box.

“Mom! For heaven’s sake! Put that down! Are you trying to hurt yourself?” I ran over to her and tried to take the box away, but she sidestepped me and made a face.

“Evelyn, quit clucking. It’s not heavy. The whole thing is filled with those microwave noodle thingies.” Mom shook her head in disbelief. “Liza must have fifty packages of the stuff in her cupboards. No wonder she’s so skinny.”

Garrett came out the door, lugging two boxes with some loose items piled on top. He was sweating. Clearly his load
was
heavy.

Mom moved out of the way so Garrett could carry his burden to the car. She turned to me. “Maybe I ought to get Liza some cooking lessons as a wedding present.”

“I heard that!” Grunting, Garrett put the boxes down on the sidewalk with a thud, then stood up and wiped the sweat from his face.

“I’m just saying,” Virginia replied. “You’re both too thin as it is. If all Liza knows how to cook is noodles in the microwave, then maybe a few cooking lessons would be a good idea.”

“Grandma, Liza knows how to cook things besides ramen. She also makes a mean plate of French toast. Besides, I’ve been cooking for myself for the last four years. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I expect her to suddenly don an apron and start making meat loaf. This isn’t the fifties, you know.”

“I’m just saying…” Virginia muttered again.

Garrett chuckled and looked at me with a “what can you do?” expression on his face. “We are in no danger of starving, Grandma. I promise. And, if it turns out we are, then I’ll just invite you over for the afternoon and you can whip up a meat loaf, and maybe one of those strawberry-rhubarb cobblers you made for me last week. That’d pack on the pounds.”

“Oh no,” Mom said, completely missing the teasing tone in her grandson’s voice, “I can’t do that. As soon as this wedding’s over, I’m going back to Wisconsin. I’ve been here too long as it is.”

Garrett shot me a questioning look. I gave a quick shake of my head, signaling him to just let it lie. There is no point in talking about it; every time I do, Mom and I just end up arguing. She’s made up her mind, and nothing I say seems to make any difference. I quickly changed the subject.

“Is that the last of it?” I asked, nodding to the boxes. “Where’s Liza?”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Garrett said.

He took the loose items off the boxes and laid them on the top of the car before wedging first one box and then the other into the backseat. “She’s up doing the checkout with the super. The place looks pretty good. Thanks for helping with the cleanup. Liza shouldn’t have any trouble getting her deposit back.”

After shifting a few things to squeeze in the final box, Garrett slammed the car door hard to make sure the lock would catch.

“Good thing you two decided to stay in town for lunch and take the train home later. There’s no more room. How was she able to fit this much stuff in a six-hundred-square-foot apartment split between four girls?” he said, scratching his head. “Thirty-eight pairs of shoes. Who needs thirty-eight pairs of shoes? I have three. Why do I have the feeling I’m about to be ejected from my own closet?”

Mom and I looked at each other and grinned. “Oh, Garrett,” Mom said, “you don’t know the half of it.”

I walked over to my darling son and patted him sympathetically. “Wait until the wedding presents are all unpacked. You won’t have room to change your mind.”

Garrett frowned as he peered through the windows of the packed car. “Huh. Maybe we’d better give Wendy Perkins a call after we get back from Hawaii. We might need to buy a house sooner than I thought.”

“Maybe. But, in the meantime, I can consolidate some stuff in the workroom cabinets. That should keep you in storage space for a while.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He smiled gratefully. “Well, looks like we’re all set here. Now I just need my bride.”

“What about that?” Mom asked, pointing to the top of the car.

“Oh! Thanks, Grandma. I can’t forget Liza’s quilt. She’d kill me. I’ll lay it on the front seat so it doesn’t get wrinkled. We’re going to hang it in the living room.”

Garrett carefully took the folded quilt off the top of the car and unfurled it, holding tight to the top two corners so he could see the full quilt. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Personally, I think she should have won first place.”

Personally, I agreed with him.

Garrett stood quietly for a moment, a crease of concentration etched between his brows, looking at the quilted figure, the long-legged girl with the flowing hair and the transparent hands reaching out fruitlessly trying to catch hold of the thin silver threads before it was too late, before the flock flew past and the skies emptied.

“Mom? What do you think it means?”

Before I could say anything, a voice called out, “Hey! You there!”

We turned to see a woman with an angry expression and a head full of unruly curls that bounced as she trotted toward us, her arms pumping like a long-distance runner on the home stretch of a race.

“You! Who are you?” the woman demanded. “Where did you get that quilt?”

“It belongs to my fiancée,” Garrett said, startled by this strange stranger. “She just graduated. I’m helping her move out of her apartment.”

Garrett’s explanation did nothing to mollify the woman. She marched up to him, practically nose to nose, and put her hands on her hips, glaring at my flabbergasted son.

“So! You’re the fiancé.” She shook her head, curls swishing left and right, and let out a harrumph. “So you’re the Neanderthal who’s ruining Liza’s life! Forcing her to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so she can iron your boxer shorts and cook your meals!”

“Oh, but Liza really can’t cook,” Mom said. She gave me a look and then shrugged, completely confused by this situation. That made three of us.

“Lady,” Garrett said, annoyance beginning to creep into his voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Liza hasn’t said anything about—”

The woman puffed and held up her hand, waggling her fingers at him contemptuously. “Oh, don’t give me that. If you insist on being a misogynistic jerk, at least don’t be a lying misogynistic jerk. Liza told you about the job I offered her. She must have.” She rose up on her toes so her face was even closer to Garrett’s.

“Do you have any idea,
any
idea, what this could mean for her? She’ll never get another chance like this. She could be one of the
youngest
curators in the country. You’re a computer guy, aren’t you? How hard would it be for you to do that from Chicago? Do you know how often an opportunity like this comes along in the art world? Do you? Never! That’s how often. Especially for a woman. Believe me,” she sneered, “I know what I’m talking about. And guys like you are the reason.”

Garrett took a step back and folded up Liza’s quilt. He was angry, I could tell, but he was working hard to keep it under control.

“Ma’am,” he said evenly, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish helping my girlfriend move.”

The woman didn’t budge. “You remind me of my old boyfriend. Calm and collected when there are people around, acting the part. But once the room clears you’re all bullying and manipulation, controlling, forcing a woman to choose between love and a career. Well, I chose career, mister! And I’ve never regretted it. Not once!”

Lips pressed together, determined to ignore the woman’s tirade or even look at her, Garrett opened the passenger door and carefully laid the folded quilt on the seat. Frustrated with his lack of response, the woman stomped her foot and then marched down the sidewalk and around the corner, but not before lobbing one final grenade at my son.

“Tell Liza that I wish she’d had the
courage
to call me up and actually refuse the job instead of avoiding my calls, but I understand. You can also tell her I hope she’ll be very happy with you. But
somehow
I doubt it.”

She marched down the sidewalk and turned the corner. Garrett shut the car door, locked it, and walked back toward the apartment building, saying nothing.

“Honey, what was that about? Who is that woman? Do you have any idea?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”

Grim faced, he kissed me on the cheek and Mom on the top of her head. “You two go on and enjoy your lunch. See you later.”

I followed him to the door and stood on the stoop, watching as he walked through the lobby and up the stairs. I felt a hand on my elbow and turned around. Mom was standing on the step below, looking at me.

“Come on. Let’s go eat lunch.”

“But…don’t you think we should wait here for a bit? To make sure everything is all right? Maybe I should go up there.”

Mom shook her head. “No, Evelyn. Absolutely not. Garrett is a grown man. He and Liza are going to have to work this out on their own. I can’t imagine it’s the first argument they’ve ever had. And even if it is, it won’t be the last.”

I didn’t move.

Mom’s hand gripped me tighter. “Evelyn,” she said in a warning voice. “Evelyn, don’t. This doesn’t concern you.”

She was right. Garrett was an adult. He had to deal with this himself. I turned my back to the door.

“All right.” I sighed. “I guess we should go. Charlie made a reservation for us at some new French place, not far from here. He said it’s gotten wonderful reviews. It’s about five blocks away. Shall we walk?”

Mom wrinkled her nose, rejecting this plan. “I don’t want French food. Those rich sauces upset my stomach.”

“No? What would you like instead?”

“A hot dog,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “From one of those vendors in Central Park. Mary Flynn had one when she visited New York City with her daughter, and she said it was the best dog she ever had. I want mine with sauerkraut and plenty of mustard. And afterward, let’s have ice cream. Come on.”

Before I could say anything, Mom walked to the curb and hailed a passing cab like a seasoned city dweller.

“Central Park,” she told the driver. I got in after her, but not before looking up at a third-story window and wondering what was going on behind the glass.

“T
hat’s ridiculous!” I countered. “The place is perfect. Cleaner than when I moved in. Why should I have to wait sixty days before getting my deposit back?”

Rick shrugged and scratched the side of his neck, slowly, which was how he’d done everything during the two years I’d lived in this apartment.

“Hey, whattaya gripin’ at me for, huh? I’m just the super. I don’t make the rules. You wanna gripe, call up the management company and gripe. I got a toilet to unclog.”

He turned around and walked out of the empty apartment without saying good-bye, turning sideways to get past Garrett, who was just coming through the door.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “There goes the laziest building super in New York. But I’ll get back at him. I’ll have Abigail call him and his management company. It’d serve him right.” I smiled at Garrett but he didn’t say anything. He had a funny look on his face.

“Don’t be mad, babe. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll get the check eventually. Let’s go. I’m getting hungry.”

“Liza, we need to talk about something.”

His voice was low and serious. My stomach knotted, knowing something bad was about to happen but not knowing what.

“I was loading the last of the stuff into the car and this crazy woman saw me holding your quilt and she started going off about some big job offer in Chicago and how it was all my fault that you’d turned it down.”

Professor Williams.

I’d expected to see her at graduation yesterday. Part of me had been relieved that we’d missed each other, but another part of me had been disappointed. I mean, she was my favorite professor. It seemed weird to leave without saying good-bye and also—well, there was no use thinking about that anymore.

The door was closed; my course was set. In a week, I was going to marry Garrett, go to Hawaii on my honeymoon, then come back to New Bern and start working in the quilt shop again.

Wasn’t I?

Looking at Garrett’s face, I started to feel scared. I’d never seen him mad before, not really mad. Even mad, he was still handsome but…Crap! I should have talked to him before. I should have! But I hadn’t. And there was nothing to do about it now. I’d let it go too long.

“Liza, who was that lady?”

“Professor Williams. My art history teacher. The one I researched that paper for, the one who put my name on the article. I told you about her, remember?”

“Yeah,” he said in that strange voice. “I remember. What I don’t remember is you telling me about any job offer, not here and definitely not in Chicago. So, is it true? Did she offer you a job in Chicago?”

I nodded.

“Doing what?”

I looked at the wooden floor, keeping my eyes fixed on a black, quarter-sized knothole in one of the boards. “As an assistant curator at the Pinkham Museum. In the decorative arts division. She applied to be the new executive director, and the article I helped research kind of clinched the deal. She said I’d have to go to school at night, start working on a master’s in art history, but that if I wanted it, the job was mine. I told her I needed to think about it.”

I paused a moment, then whispered, “I told her I needed to talk it over with you.” I lifted my eyes from the knothole to Garrett’s face. His mouth was tight but he was breathing through his nose. His nostrils flared out and turned white when he was mad. I’d never known that before.

“When did you tell her that?” he asked.

I closed my eyes. They stung, the way they do when the optometrist puts in those drops that are supposed to make your pupils dilate. “Right before spring break.”

“Spring break!”

He smacked his hand, palm open, against the painted wood doorjamb. I flinched, startled by the sound and the volume of Garrett’s voice.

“Are you serious? You’ve known about this for two months. Two! And you’ve never even discussed it with me? Damn it, Liza!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing it was too late for that.

“How could you do that? Just cut me out of the loop like that? No wonder that lady thinks I’m some kind of throwback to the cavemen! She thinks I told you that you couldn’t go to Chicago, told you to pass up the job of a lifetime…and it
is
the job of a lifetime, Liza! I’m no art critic, but even I can figure that out. She thinks I told you to pass all that up just so you could stay in New Bern and dust our apartment or something. No wonder she thinks I’m a misogynistic jerk! I’d think the same thing! Liza, why didn’t you just talk to me about it? What did you think I was going to say?”

My eyes were stinging again, this time with tears. “I…I don’t know. I was going to. I wanted to. But I was afraid. I was afraid you’d say no…or that maybe…I don’t know. It didn’t seem worth it. It’s just a job.”

“Just a job? No!” He shook his head furiously. “No, it’s not! It’s a great opportunity for you. What would make you think I’d say no to something like that? We could have moved to Chicago.”

“But you love New Bern. So do I. And you’re getting your business established. You’ve got all those new clients….” Even as I was saying the words, I knew how stupid they sounded. As long as Garrett had a laptop and an Internet connection, he was in business.

“I was afraid to talk to you about it. I’d have to work a lot of hours and go to school at night too. And it would be very public, a lot of publicity and gallery openings and parties. I was afraid that even if you said yes, later you’d resent the job, resent me for taking it. Zoe says that even when they say they won’t, men always end up resenting women who have careers that are more powerful than—”

Garrett looked ready to explode. “Wait a minute! Zoe said? You talked this over with Zoe? Probably Kerry and Janelle, too, but you didn’t talk it over with me? I can’t believe this!”

He clenched both his fists tight and let out a growl, as if the effort of not driving a fist into the nearest wall was almost more than he could bear. “Where have you been the last few weeks? Or months? Or years? Don’t you know me better than that by now? Didn’t you hear anything that Reverend Tucker said? A marriage that isn’t based on friendship first doesn’t stand a chance of lasting. And a friend is somebody you talk to, Liza. The people who you share your secrets with, those are your friends! You chose to share your secrets with your roommates but not with me. Think about what that says about me, Liza. About us!”

“I know…I should…” I stood there, trying to think of something to say that would make it all better, wishing there were some kind of time machine that would take me back a month. Or two. But there wasn’t. I knew that. There aren’t any do-overs.

“I’m sorry. It was stupid.
I
was stupid. Really stupid.”

“Ya think?” he said caustically. “How about sneaky? And selfish? And while you’re at it, why don’t you add—”

“Hey! Knock it off!” I shouted. I could feel my cheeks flush with anger. “Remember what Reverend Tucker said about fighting fair. No put-downs and no name calling.”

“Reverend Tucker? Since when do you care about anything he says? If you did, you’d have talked to me weeks ago.” He threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time….”

He balled up his fists again, thumped one against his thigh, but not as hard as he had hit it against the door, as if he were giving up on fighting. Giving up on us.

“I’ve gone out of my way to win your trust, to support you, to listen to you. But it’s no use. You don’t even try.”

Now it was my turn to explode. “Listen to me? Hold on right there! You haven’t been listening to me. No one listens to me!”

“What are you talking about?” Garrett gasped. “Ever since you got out of the hospital, nobody has done anything but listen to you! People have bent over backwards listening to you, asking your opinions on everything from what kind of music the band should play, to what kind of filling they should put between layers of the wedding cake, to—”

“To where we should go on our honeymoon?” I asked.

Garrett stopped short, stared at me.

I let out a short, sharp laugh and shook my head. “In all this listening you and everybody have been doing, have you ever heard me say anything besides, ‘Yes. Great idea’? Or words to that effect? That’s my stock answer, Garrett. Nothing has changed. I just tell people what they want to hear.”

“You said you wanted to go to Hawaii.”

“No. I said I didn’t know where we should go. I told you that I don’t like making decisions. I told you that they terrify me. And they do.”

My eyes started to fill again. I had to stop for a moment and catch my breath. Garrett was watching me so closely, listening so hard that I had to turn my head away.

“I’m so afraid of getting it wrong, of making a choice I’ll live to regret. So I don’t. I don’t choose. I just let somebody else do it, like I did with the honeymoon. Or I wait until time makes the choice for me, like I did with the job. That way, if it all goes wrong, at least it isn’t my fault.”

He was still mad, but his voice was softer. He wasn’t shouting anymore. “Liza, you could have told me. I’d have listened.”

“But I
did
tell you. That night at the Café Carlyle, on the dance floor, remember? I told you that I didn’t like surprises, that I wasn’t ready. But you didn’t listen. You just got hurt and walked off. I told you I was afraid, but you never asked why, you just tried to talk me out of it. You didn’t listen, Garrett. I know you think you did, but you’re wrong.”

Garrett’s fists opened. He lifted his chin, looked up at the ceiling, and exhaled a long, slow breath.

“I’ve got to go.”

“What?” My stomach instantly clenched back into that familiar knot of fear. “Where are you going?” I reached out, tried to grab his arm, but he shook me off.

“For a walk. I need to think about…things. I’ll be back.” He turned around and walked out the door.

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

I followed him into the hall and watched as he walked down the stairs, diminishing inch by inch with each descending step until he disappeared.

The apartment was empty. There was nothing to sit on. No books or magazines. No TV or radio. Nothing to distract me while I waited for Garrett to return. My footsteps made a lonely echo as I walked to the window and looked out to see Garrett on the street below. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his head was down as he walked away.

When he disappeared around the corner, I turned my back to the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my arms wrapped around my calves and my chin resting on my knees, waiting.

There was a little pile of stuff sitting on the floor next to me, the final few things I’d gathered up before preparing to leave this apartment for good and drive back to New Bern and my new life with Garrett: my cell phone, my hairbrush—the good wooden one with natural bristles that I’d found again when we moved the dresser—a lime green mini stapler that I’d discovered in a kitchen drawer, my yearbook, and my diploma, the one they’d handed me yesterday, a million years ago, back when it seemed like everything in my life had been settled. Now I didn’t know what was going to happen.

Overhead, I could hear the sound of footsteps, of somebody playing a song by the Plain White T’s, of laughter and chair legs scraping against the floor.

I picked up my diploma in its black leather case, flipped open the cover, and read the words inside.

L
IZA
C
HRISTINE
B
URGESS

Is awarded this day, the degree of Bachelor of Fine Arts

There it was, in black and white, with a gold seal and a signature to make it official. I was a college graduate, twenty-two years old, and I still didn’t know crap about anything that mattered.

When the Wizard of Oz gave the Scarecrow his diploma, he was just blowing smoke. A diploma doesn’t make any difference. I was just as clueless today as I’d been the day before, maybe more.

I closed the leather case, laid it on the floor, and reached for my cell phone. I’d call Abigail, or Margot, or Ivy, or Evelyn. Well, maybe not Evelyn. She was probably mad at me. But I had to talk to somebody, ask someone what I should do.

I flipped my phone open and dialed the area code for New Bern, figuring that by the time I got that far, I’d know who to call. But my finger froze as I hit the fourth button.

No. It was time to stop this, time to quit asking everybody else what I should think and do and feel. I have to grow up someday, start figuring out things for myself.

After all, I have this diploma. It’s time.