Round Robin (32 page)

“But it should be you. The best and the brightest always find their way into the academy. That's where you belong. You shouldn't squander your talents—”

“That's not what I'm doing,” Summer shouted. “You're so—so impossible. You can't ever see anything from anyone else's point of view.
Look, if that's how you want to see it, fine. I'm not going to try to convince you. But don't forget they're my talents to squander. It's my life to ruin. Not yours. Not yours, mine. Understand? If I'm making the biggest mistake in my life, that's my prerogative. So just stay out of it.”

She turned and stormed out of the house without waiting for a reply.

Gwen sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Summer had shouted at her, had ordered her to stay out of her life. Gwen couldn't remember when they had last argued like that, if they ever had. She wanted to chase after Summer, but found herself too sick at heart, too upset to move. What could she do? What could she do?

She should apologize—yes, and quickly, anything to win back Summer's approval. Before long Gwen would forget her disappointment, and everything would be fine between them again.

But just as she reached for the phone, she knew she couldn't cave in simply to win back Summer's favor. No. She had to do what was best for Summer, and that meant getting her into Penn. Summer might not understand now, but someday she would. When she had her advanced degree and a fine job at a prestigious university, she would, and she'd be grateful. Gwen had to put Summer's interests ahead of her own need for her daughter's approval. Gwen would endure anything, anything, rather than let her daughter throw away her future.

But what could she do? Reasoning with Summer wouldn't work, not after today. Summer would have to choose Penn on her own. Gwen had to make graduate school the only logical choice, the only possible option.

The next afternoon, Gwen drove out to Elm Creek Manor to speak to Bonnie. She couldn't talk to her freely at Grandma's Attic, since Summer might be working. Besides, she wanted to speak to Sylvia, too.

Gwen managed to take them aside before Bonnie's workshop. Diane had already spread the word about Summer's decision. When Gwen told them that it broke her heart to see Summer's brilliant academic career ended so soon, they comforted her and assured her everything would be all right in the end.

“I hope so,” she said. “I think with your help, everything will be fine.”
She saw Sylvia and Bonnie exchange a quick glance. “What I mean is, I don't think it would be such a terrible thing if you were to realize that you couldn't give Summer the extra work she wants.”

“You can't mean that,” Bonnie said, appalled.

Gwen plowed ahead. “Bonnie, maybe you'll find that you don't have enough money to give Summer more hours at Grandma's Attic. And Sylvia, maybe you and Sarah don't need the extra help with Elm Creek Quilts.”

“We most certainly do,” Sylvia said.

“But maybe Summer doesn't need to know that.”

Sylvia frowned. “Gwen Sullivan, I'm surprised at you.”

Bonnie gave her a pleading look. “Please don't ask us to lie to Summer.”

“It's for her own good,” Gwen said. “You know sometimes we don't give our children the whole truth when it might hurt them. Summer doesn't know how irrevocable her decision is. I can't bear to sit back and watch her jeopardize her entire future. She's meant for so much more than—than—”

“Than life as a quilt shop owner?” Bonnie finished.

Gwen felt heat rising in her face. “I didn't mean it that way. You know I respect what you do.”

“Apparently, you don't respect our work quite as much as you thought,” Sylvia said.

Her voice was gentle, but Gwen felt it as strongly as a shout. She clasped her arms around herself, thoughts churning. She had insulted her friends by questioning their integrity and the value of their work; she had gone behind her daughter's back in an attempt to undermine her chosen career. Summer had been right to tell her to stay out of it. She had made a mess of everything.

What had happened to all her fine ideals, her sterling principles? Somewhere along the line she had become an elitist snob, believing that her daughter was above certain work, honest jobs that other mothers' children accepted gratefully. How had this happened to her? She had not raised Summer to believe that success was determined by the size of one's paycheck. She ought to be grateful that Summer had taken those lessons
to heart, that she was seeking happiness and fulfillment rather than fighting her way up the ivory tower for its own sake.

She felt deeply, profoundly ashamed of herself.

Bonnie and Sylvia watched her, waiting for her to speak.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Please forgive me. Please forget that we ever had this conversation.”

Immediately they embraced her. “Consider it forgotten,” Sylvia said.

Gwen wished she could forget as easily, but she couldn't.

All she had ever wanted was for Summer to be happy, but now there she was, trying to drape her daughter in job titles and degrees, as if they would shield her from the hardships of life. It wasn't as if Summer had decided to become an arms smuggler or a drug dealer. Summer could do far worse than to assume a greater role with Elm Creek Quilts and prepare to take over Grandma's Attic someday.

Summer was right. Gwen was a hypocrite. Even worse, she was now estranged from her beloved daughter because of it. They weren't as widely divided as Carol and Sarah, or a dozen other mothers and daughters Gwen knew, but they had never let a disagreement linger on so long before, and it made Gwen sick with dismay. She couldn't bear to have Summer unhappy with her. Summer had said that she was sorry for disappointing her mother, but Gwen knew that she was the one who had disappointed—by not supporting Summer's decisions, by pressuring her, by keeping such a narrow focus on graduate school that Summer had never felt able to discuss other possibilities.

There was a rift between them now, and Gwen had put it there. Somehow she had to sew it up before it worsened. Words would not be enough. Gwen would have to show Summer that she accepted her daughter's choice wholeheartedly.

She would begin by visiting Grandma's Attic on Saturday while Summer was working. In front of everyone, Gwen would make a strong show of support for her daughter. That would be a start.

Though only a week had passed since Summer's graduation party, so much had changed that it felt much longer to Gwen. As she entered Grandma's Attic, she noticed the shop was nearly empty of customers.
Gwen had forgotten that the interim between graduation and summer session was traditionally slow for shops in downtown Waterford. So much for her big scene in front of crowds of onlookers. Well, at least Bonnie and Diane were there, and Diane's tendency to gossip made her the equal of a crowd or two.

Summer seemed pleased to see her. After greeting Bonnie and Diane, Gwen brought out the round robin quilt and asked Summer to help her find a blue and green print, preferably with some gold in it. As they moved through the store, Gwen made a point of complimenting the sample quilt blocks displayed at the end of each aisle. Bonnie had told her Summer had made them, but even if she hadn't, Gwen would have recognized her daughter's style and bold color choices.

Gwen tried to act normally, but she was nervous, and she was sure Summer knew it. She almost regretted coming in, for if she hadn't she wouldn't have had to realize that for the first time she felt awkward and uncomfortable in her daughter's presence. She wished she had never spoken to Bonnie and Sylvia that day in Elm Creek Manor. How could she have even considered asking them to deny Summer her well-deserved promotion? She was the worst mother in Waterford—no, the worst mother ever.

As Summer cut Gwen's fabric, the phone rang. Bonnie answered the extension at the cutting table, where she and Diane had joined the mother and daughter. “Good afternoon, Grandma's Attic,” Bonnie said, then smiled. “Oh, hi, Judy.” The others looked up at the mention of their friend's name. “No, it's just me, Diane, Summer, and Gwen. Oh, and Craig, in the stockroom.” A pause, then a smile. “Of course I can let her off work. I'm not running a sweatshop here. What it is?” Her brows drew together in concern. “Oh, my goodness. Do you think—” She glanced up at her friends. “Hold on, Judy. I'm going to put you on speakerphone.” She pressed a button and replaced the receiver. “Okay, Judy, go ahead.”

“Diane, are you there?” Judy's voice sounded tinny.

“Yes,” Diane shouted at the phone.

Gwen winced at the noise. “She's not on Mars, for crying out loud.”

“Steve just got a call from his editor at the
Waterford Register,
” Judy
said. “They asked him to go check out a protest at the square. I thought you might want to know.”

Gwen leaned closer to the phone, intrigued. The square was a small downtown park near Waterford's busiest intersection, a good choice for a protest. Waterford College students frequently selected it when they wished to air their complaints about the local government's various housing and noise ordinances. Then she remembered that the students had deserted Waterford after commencement. Who could be left to hold a protest?

Diane was wondering something else. “Why did you think I would want to know?”

“Because whoever it is, they're protesting against the skateboard ordinance.”

“Uh oh,” Gwen said.

“What?” Diane shrieked at the phone. “Are my boys there?”

“I don't know. Steve's on his way there right now.”

“So am I.” Diane headed for the front door, leaving Bonnie to hang up the phone.

They called out to Diane to wait, but she didn't seem to hear them.

“I'll go with her,” Summer and Gwen said in unison.

“Don't even think about leaving without me,” Bonnie said, turning toward the stockroom in the back. “Craig! Come out here a second. Quick!”

Craig appeared, startled. “What is it?”

“There's a big protest on the square, and we think Diane's son is involved. Will you watch the store while we go check it out?”

“Are you kidding?” He hurried toward them—then continued on to the front door. “I'm not going to miss this.”

They locked the shop and raced down the street and up the hill to the square. They saw a crowd gathered near the bandstand and heard music blaring and someone shouting. They saw Diane ahead of them, working her way through the people who had come to see what all the excitement was about.

When they reached the square, they forged ahead to the front of the
crowd, where they found Diane gaping at a group of children skateboarding on the paved surface surrounding the bandstand. Gwen counted five boys and a girl—and two of the boys were Michael and Todd. The crowd stood on the grass as if held off the cement by a force field that only the skateboarders could penetrate.

Even Diane did not leave the safety of the grass to seize her children. “Michael and Todd, get over here right this minute,” she yelled over the sound of hip-hop blaring on a boom box.

“We can't, Mom,” Michael said as his companions continued weaving back and forth on their skateboards. “We have to stand up for our civil rights.” His gaze shifted to Gwen, and he brightened. “Hi, Dr. Sullivan! Isn't this cool? We're having a skate-in!” With that, he pushed off on his skateboard and zoomed around the bandstand.

Diane glared at Gwen. “I don't know how you did it, and I don't know why, but I do know you're responsible for this somehow.”

“Who, me?” Gwen tried to look innocent.

Summer stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “You go, Michael,” she shouted. He waved happily.

The crowd was growing, but Steve spotted them and made his way toward them, grinning. “Hey, Diane, mind giving me a quote for tomorrow's paper?”

“I'll give you a quote,” she shot back. “Those clowns in the municipal building brought this on themselves. If they would have permitted my family to keep our skateboard ramp on our private property, these kids would be skating at our house right now, instead of creating a scene in a public park.”

“Good, good,” Steve said, writing it down.

Just then Todd turned off the music. The crowd grew quieter as Michael climbed the stairs to the bandstand. “My name's Michael, and I'm a skateboarder.” His friends burst into cheers and applause. “I'm not a criminal, I'm not a troublemaker, I'm not a druggie. I just want to ride my skateboard. But because of the fascists in the city government, I'm not allowed to, not even in my own backyard.”

“Where did he learn a word like
fascists
?” Bonnie wondered aloud.

“You never know what they'll pick up in the public schools,” a man beside them said scornfully. They glared at him.

“My parents tried to reason with them, but they wouldn't listen,” Michael went on. “They forgot that in this country, at least, elected officials are not gods. They are subject to the will of the people.”

“This sounds familiar,” Summer murmured, giving her mother a sidelong look.

“My friends and I can't vote yet, but we can show the city officials just what our will is. Skateboard laws affect kids more than anybody else, but kids can't vote for the people who make laws against skateboards. That's discrimination without representation.”

Craig cupped his hands around his mouth. “That's un-American!”

“That's right,” Michael shouted back. A smattering of applause went up from the crowd.

Diane shook her head. “I don't believe this.”

Gwen couldn't, either.

“So, since we can't skate in my backyard, we're going to skate right here. It says right on that sign over there that this is a public park. We're the public, too, so we're going to skate.”