Stitches in Time (5 page)

B
efore I opened my eyes I could hear the rain pelting on the roof and windows. I let out a groan as I realized that making my deliveries this morning might not be quite as pleasant as the previous days with sunshine.

I headed downstairs to get my coffee and peeked out the front door. Rain was sluicing down from the sky and creating large puddles in the driveway. The perfect day to curl up with knitting, but that would have to wait until later.

Yarrow was already in the tea shop filling the orders when I walked in.

“Nasty day out there,” I said.

“I know. I feel bad that you have to be out driving around in it.”

I waved a hand in the air. “Not a big deal. I have my umbrella.”

I set off with windshield wipers on high and listening to a CD of Bruce Springsteen to brighten up the day.

Choosing to wear sneakers rather than my usual flip-flops had been smart. Huge puddles filled the parking lots, but I managed to complete my first few deliveries with no incident. By the time I pulled up to the yoga studio, the rain had increased even more and I could hear thunder in the distance. That was one thing I noticed about rain in Florida. It didn't come down in a shower; most of the time it was a deluge.

I had managed to get out of the car and was juggling my basket of muffins and coffee while trying to adjust my umbrella when my feet shot out from under me, the basket went flying, and I found myself smack down on my butt in a puddle. I must have tried to break my fall with my right arm because it was scraped from the pavement and my wrist was aching.

As if out of nowhere I heard a male voice say, “Are you okay? Here, let me help you.”

I saw a hand outstretched and looked up into gorgeous blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar.

“I think . . . I think I'm okay,” I said, reaching for his hand as I stood up. I was engulfed with embarrassment. That's when I noticed that the coffee and muffins were a total loss. I burst into tears.

“It's okay,” the man assured me as he went to retrieve the empty basket and then proceeded to lead me to the passenger side of his car. “Here, get in and dry off a little bit.”

He slid in beside me as I continued to cry. I couldn't even do a simple delivery job without screwing up.

Passing me a box of tissues from the backseat, he said, “I did salvage the basket for you.”

I wiped my tears and sniffed as I inspected the laceration on my arm. “Thanks,” I said. But now what? I had no coffee or muffins for the delivery, I was soaking wet, and I wasn't sure which was bruised more: my arm or my pride.

“You took a nasty tumble,” he said. “I think you slipped on an oil slick.”

I looked at his handsome face and nodded. “Probably,” I mumbled.

“Hey,” he said. “Aren't you . . .” He snapped his fingers. “Didn't we meet last summer? Aren't you related to Chloe? I think we met at LuLu's when you were having lunch there.”

I looked at him more closely. He was right. Chloe had introduced us. He had even given me his business card, telling me if I did decide to relocate to give him a call because he owned a real estate agency.

“Yes. You're Chadwick Price. I remember meeting you.”

“Right. And you're Isabelle. So I take it you did move here?”

“Yeah. About a week ago. I'm staying at Koi House with my daughter till we find our own place.” All of a sudden I recalled the way Chloe had met him the year before and started laughing. “Do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress in the rain?”

He threw his head back, laughing. “Hmm, I do seem to have a knack for that, don't I? That's how I met Chloe with her flat tire.”

I looked at the basket in my lap and let out a sigh. “God, what am I going to do? I ruined my delivery.”

“What were you doing with the coffee and muffins?” he asked.

I explained about my job and working for Yarrow. “And now the yoga studio won't get their delivery,” I moaned.

“Well, we can fix that. Let me run in and tell them it will only be delayed. I'll be right back.”

He jumped out of the car before I could question what his solution was.

A couple of minutes later, he was back. “Okay,” he said, starting the ignition. “We're good.”

“We are?”

“Yup. I'm driving you to Biggby Coffee just up Granada. We're going to get the order there and bring it back. Coffee and some muffins.”

“Really? They said that was okay?”

“They were fine with the idea and mostly concerned about you. You
are
okay, aren't you?”

All of a sudden, I was feeling decidedly better. “Yes, I'm fine. And thanks so much. This is really nice of you.”

He pulled into a spot in front of Biggby's and ran in to get the items. It was then I realized I must look like a drowned rat. Water was still dripping from my hair, my pants were wet and stained, and my top was sticking to my skin.

Chadwick had been drenched too, but somehow it looked better on him. He was wearing jeans and a polo jersey. He was quite a handsome guy. I wondered why it had not gone beyond a platonic relationship with him and Chloe. With curly dark hair tinged with gray, I thought he was probably eight to ten years older than I was, but the gray in his hair only enhanced his good looks.

He jumped back into the car a few minutes later holding a coffee container and a bag. “Here,” he said, passing it to me. “Hold this and we'll have that delivery there in no time.”

He headed back down Granada and I thanked him again. “Gosh, you really didn't have to do this, but it's very nice of you.”

“Not a problem. So do you do these deliveries every day?”

“Yeah. Monday through Friday. This was just my first week and I'm really enjoying it. Well, except for this morning.”

“I'm glad I could be there to help. I had a dentist appointment a few doors down from the yoga studio.”

“Oh, no! Have I kept you from an appointment?”

“No, not at all. I was finished and on my way out when I saw you fall. Are you sure your arm is okay?”

I looked at the scrape on my elbow and moved my wrist. “My wrist still aches a little, but I'm fine.”

“Do you think you need an x-ray?”

I wiggled it again. “No, it's not broken. Maybe a slight sprain but nothing more.”

He pulled into the parking lot of the yoga studio. “Here, let me take that in for you.”

I passed the container and bag to him. “Tell them I'm so sorry and I'll see them on Monday morning.”

He returned a few minutes later. “They thanked you for getting the order to them and said to take care.”

“Oh, I owe you for the coffee and muffins.” That was when I realized my purse was still in my car. With the keys. Thank God I hadn't locked the door.

“No, no. Really. But I was thinking, since you live here now, maybe we could get together sometime. Would you be free for dinner?”

A dinner date? I hadn't been out with a guy on a date since before I met Roger. And a woman could certainly do much worse than Chadwick Price.

“Oh . . . yeah. Thanks. That would be nice.”

“Great.” He reached for his cell phone. “Give me your number and I'll give you a call. Tomorrow morning I'm flying to Atlanta for a few days, but can I call you next week?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” I said, shooting him a smile and telling him my cell number. “Well, again, I don't know how to thank you for all of your help. But I'd better get back to the tea shop or Yarrow will be worried.”

“Okay, you take care of that arm and I'll talk to you next week.”

I walked over to my car and was about to get in when I heard his car horn and looked up to see him wave good-bye.

I started the ignition and heard Springsteen singing “Hungry Heart.” As the lyrics said, I
had
gone out for a ride, and who knew where this morning would lead?

* * *

Yarrow glanced up from the counter when I entered the tea shop.

“Oh, God! What happened to you? Are you okay?” She ran toward me and inspected my arm.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I told her and went on to explain my ordeal.

Chloe heard us and came from the yarn shop to check out my arm too.

“Are you serious?” she said and started laughing. “Oh, I'm not laughing at
you
, but really? Chadwick Price? He rescued you in the rain just like he did me last year?”

I grinned and nodded. “Ah, yup. It would seem that way. When I mentioned it to him, he laughed and said he did have a knack for rescuing damsels in distress.”

“Wow,” Yarrow said.

“Interesting,” Chloe added.

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

“I bet he remembered you from last summer at LuLu's, didn't he?”

“Yeah, actually, he did, why?”

“Oh, nothing . . .” she said in a way that begged me to question her more.

“Come on,” I demanded. “What do you mean?”

“Well . . . it's just that I remember when I introduced you. He seemed quite interested that day and I remember thinking there was some chemistry going on there.”

I waved my hand in the air, but I wondered if Chloe was right, because I recalled how I'd felt the moment I met him. “Don't be silly. He's just a nice guy.
You
know that. Look how he helped you with that flat tire and then took you for dinner. So he did the same for me.”

“He asked you for dinner?”

“Well, he said he'd call me next week.”

Chloe nodded her head and grinned. “Hmm, right. Nothing to it at all.”

H
aley flew in the back door that afternoon followed by her new friend, Tina, both of them consumed with excitement.

“Guess what? Guess what?” she yelled, jumping up and down as Basil danced around her feet.

I looked up from the mug of coffee I'd just poured and laughed. It seemed this was proving to be a banner day for both of us.

I raised both arms in the air and said, “I don't have a clue. What?”

“I got chosen to assist with the designs for the costumes in the musical and Tina was chosen to do two solos.”

“Oh, wow,” I said, sharing their excitement. “That
is
great news. I'm so happy for both of you.”

“I know,” Haley said, reaching down to pick up Basil and give him a hug. “This is going to be so much fun. I was wondering . . . would it be okay if Tina spent the night? There's no school tomorrow and we wanted to talk about the musical.”

“Of course she can. I was hoping the twin beds in your room would get used for sleepovers. But do you have your parents' permission?” I asked.

“Oh, well . . . I don't have a dad. It's just my mom, and I called her earlier. She said it was fine.”

“And rather than go back to her house for pajamas, she can borrow some of mine,” Haley added. “Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “Would you girls like to celebrate with some muffins and hot chocolate? I know it's not cold out, but with all this dreariness and rain, it feels like a hot chocolate kind of day.”

I was surprised to hear Haley say, “That would be great,” since she seldom indulged in sweets.

They both pulled up stools as I began to prepare the hot chocolate and they chattered away. I felt good that my daughter was settling in so well at school. It was time for her to be happy and enjoy what most teens did: socializing and friendship and a sense of belonging.

When they finished their snack and went upstairs, I took my knitting into the living room to work on the blanket for a while. I had a few rows done when my cell phone rang, showing my mother's name on the caller ID. I debated whether to let it go to voice mail, but ended up answering.

“What's up?” I said.

“Oh, Isabelle, I was hoping you'd answer. Well, I have some news about my trip to Florida.”

“Did you change your mind?” One could only hope.

But instead, she surprised me by saying, “Not at all. Actually, I'm coming in a few weeks, a month earlier than I'd planned.”

“Oh.” My good mood was quickly evaporating. “So you had to change your flight and hotel reservations? Why would you do that?”

“Well, I'm pretty positive that your area is where I want to retire. So I thought it was silly to stay in a hotel and I began doing some research to find a more permanent place.”

“And you found one?”

There was a pause on the line before she said, “Yes, I did. A townhouse in The Trails. Maybe you're familiar with it?”

I was. And I knew it was a mere five-minute drive from Koi House.

“Yeah, I know where it is. What about your furniture and belongings?”

“I've arranged for movers and they'll be here next week. I've been pretty busy packing and giving things away. I fly down on the twenty-fifth and will spend that night at the hotel. The movers arrive the next day. So it's all worked out perfectly.”

For who?
I thought.
You or me?

I remained silent.

“Isabelle? Are you still there?”

“I'm here,” I mumbled.

I heard a deep sigh come across the line. “Isabelle, I'd really like for us to make amends and work at having a relationship. It's never too late. You just have to be willing, and I can't do it from across the country.”

“Whatever,” I said, feeling the old hurts resurfacing. “I certainly can't stop you from moving here and I know Haley will be happy to hear this news.”

I heard another sigh. “Right. And I'm hoping that in time you'll be happy too. Okay, I won't keep you. Tell Haley I love her and I'll call her over the weekend. And Isabelle . . . I love you too.”

“Bye,” was all I said.

Great. Just great. I flung my knitting aside and headed to the kitchen. I had planned to make a casserole for supper but figured the kids would be just as happy with a pizza delivery. Opening the fridge, I removed a new bottle of pinot grigio and poured myself a glass.

I returned to the living room, plunked down on the sofa, and took a sip. My intake of wine had been at a minimum during the past week and the cold, fruity taste was like welcoming an old friend.

I thought back to the first few years after my mother had left and recalled how much I'd missed having that one special person in my life. That person to offer advice on fashion, hairstyles, and makeup. The woman who most daughters seek out for guidance on dating and all the dilemmas that the teen years bring. I didn't have that. My father tried, but it wasn't the same.

I found myself turning to Petra yet again to help me along. I picked up my phone and dialed her number.

“Hey,” she said. “I've been thinking about you. How's everything going?”

“Okay,” was all I had to say, and she instantly knew it wasn't.

“What's going on?” she asked.

I told her about my mother's call and change of plans.

“Hmm, okay. Yeah, I can see this news wouldn't make you happy. But you have to admit, Isabelle, she
is
trying. Isn't there any chance you can meet her halfway?”

“I seriously doubt that. I feel it's too little, too late. Why did she have to wait till my father was gone to make any attempt?”

“I don't know, but maybe she had her reasons. And the bottom line is there isn't much you can do about her moving there.”

“No, but I can do plenty to avoid her.” I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I felt the need to strike back. “I can avoid her like she avoided me for so many years.”

“Yeah, you could do that.”

“You don't agree, do you?”

“Look, I do
not
want to get into the middle of this. You know very well how I feel. Yes, she was probably wrong to leave and yes, she should have made more of an attempt to stay in touch over the years, but Isabelle . . . sometimes people simply don't do what
we
think they should. That's just the way it is.”

I took a gulp of wine and remained silent.

“So what else is going on? How's your delivery job going? And how's Haley doing?”

I realized that I was allowing my mother to overshadow my happy news. “Good,” I said. “Yeah, Haley has a new friend here to spend the night. She got chosen to design costumes for the spring musical and my job is going well. I might even have a date soon.”

I heard Petra laugh. “Now that
is
good news. All of it, but especially the date part. So who's the lucky guy?”

I told her about Chadwick Price and our chance encounter. “So he said he'll call next week when he gets back from Atlanta.”

“That's really great. See, things really are starting to turn around. Don't allow your mom to dampen your spirits. Any update from Roger?”

“Not since I first got here last week. He did call to check and make sure we arrived safely. I get the feeling he'd like to be friends.”

“He probably does. Just because he has somebody else in his life doesn't mean he wants you completely out of it. You're the mother of his daughter. You'll always have that connection.”

“Yeah, true. Well, thanks for listening to me. I'll let you go. I miss you and can't wait for you to come down here for a visit.”

“I miss you too. I'm aiming to get down there late March or early April.”

“Oh, that would be great, Petra. And you know you can bring Lotte. Mavis and Chloe said that wouldn't be a problem at all.”

“Okay. Now go relax and enjoy your evening. Think happy thoughts. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said and hung up with a smile on my face. Petra never failed to lift my spirits.

* * *

By the time the pizza had been delivered I realized I'd managed to polish off the bottle of wine. After we cleaned the kitchen and the girls had curled up in the living room to watch a new on-demand movie, I opened another bottle and stuck it into my knitting bag along with a wineglass.

“Everything okay here?” I asked, walking into the living room. “Do you guys want popcorn or anything?”

“Not right now, Mom,” Haley said. “Maybe I'll put some in the microwave later. Do you want to watch this movie with us?”

“No, I think I'll go upstairs and knit. If I fall asleep, be sure to shut off the lights down here before you go to bed.”

“Will do. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too,” I told her and headed up to my room.

I removed the wine bottle and glass and felt like a teenager being sneaky. I poured a glass and curled up on the lounge in the sitting area of my bedroom.

Taking a sip, I glanced around the room. It was so beautifully decorated and furnished with the mahogany sleigh bed, carved bureaus, and vintage wallpaper, I felt like I'd stepped back in time. The room continued to be cool, but I was adjusting to the difference in temperature compared to the rest of the house. I wondered about Emmalyn Overby, the woman who had once inhabited this room. According to Chloe, she had been quite the independent female, always doing things her way, and not always for the good. When Emmalyn became pregnant with Yarrow, she refused to tell Mavis Anne or their father who the father of the child was. Both her sister and her father enabled her, and Emmalyn took full advantage of it. Learning her story had made me feel that some women flit through life with a sense of entitlement. Sometimes to the detriment of those around them—much as my mother had.

I awoke at three in the morning to find the wine bottle almost empty. I was cold and still curled up on the lounge. Heading into the bathroom, I recalled a dream I'd had. Or was it a dream? It had seemed so real. A beautiful woman in a red evening gown with long auburn hair had been sitting on the edge of the bed.

She was shaking her head and saying, “You just don't get it.”

“Get what?” I asked.

She got up and began walking around the room. She touched the lamp on the bureau and then picked up the ivory hairbrush and pulled it through her hair. She walked over to the French doors that led out to the small balcony, opened them, and stood staring outside before turning around and saying, “Life is difficult, and it isn't always as it might seem.”

Even in the dream I could feel myself getting agitated. “I don't know what you're talking about,” I told her.

A sad expression crossed her face. “I know you don't. Not right now. But maybe in time, you will.”

That was when I woke up.

I came out of the bathroom and my gaze immediately went to the French doors. They were open.