Stitches in Time (9 page)

“Aw, Mom—”

“Your cousins probably have a dozen footballs.”

“But, like, this is a genuine NFL—”

“Stop saying ‘like' every other word. And don't forget to make your bed.”

“I can't. I have to watch the monsters. Or do you want 'em busting in on Dad?”

He made a grab for Jerry, who was edging toward the door. Jerry wriggled and yelled. “Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”

Cheryl collared her daughter, whose movements had been quieter but just as determined. Megan raised a cherubic face and crooned, “Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”

“She says everything I say,” Jerry complained. “Make her shut up.”

“Upstairs,” Cheryl ordered. “All of you. And leave Daddy alone.”

“How can I make my bed when—”

“Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“I'll go with them,” Rachel offered. “Come on, guys, let's make sure you packed all Grandma's presents.”

“Bless you,” Cheryl said gratefully.

Rachel felt like the worst sort of hypocrite. It was impossible to hurry Cheryl; perhaps she would have better luck with the children.

She and the two younger children were in Jerry's room, trying—at least Rachel was trying—to reduce the chaos, when Cheryl came upstairs. “Good lord,” she said, looking in.

“I'm sorry,” Rachel said helplessly. “He keeps changing his mind about what clothes he wants to take.”

“It's not your fault,” Cheryl said. “Oh, Jerry, for goodness sake! You can't take these shorts. It's just as cold in Ohio as it is here. What did you do with the corduroys I packed?”

“I don't want the stinky old corduroys. I want my jeans.” Jerry streaked for the door, yelling, “Daddy! Daddy, do I have to wear my stinky old corduroys?”

Megan had slipped out of the room. A soprano echo floated back through the open door. “…have to wear my stinky old…”

“It's all right,” Cheryl said, as Rachel started to follow. “Tony's up and in the kitchen. He said to send the kids down if they were in the way. Why don't you join him, have another cup of coffee?”

“No, let me help you.”

“I guess I could use some help at that, if I have to repack Megan's things too.” Cheryl sighed. “Tony's in one of his moods this morning. Sometimes I wish he'd just yell and get it out in the open, instead of sitting there all tight-lipped and glowering. Poor guy—Excuse me?”

“I didn't say anything.” Rachel busied herself replacing the collection of summer shorts and tees in the dresser drawer.

“Oh. I was going to say, it's hard on him having to watch me do all the work. I really would like to get off in good time, so he won't get more upset.”

Megan had not substituted other clothes for the ones her mother had packed. The suitcase gaped empty; every doll and stuffed animal wore a pair of small panties or jeans, sometimes on its head, and Megan's best ruffled
party dress had been wrapped around a large teddy bear and tied tightly in place with Christmas ribbons. For a moment Rachel thought Cheryl was going to burst into tears.

“I spent an hour ironing that dress,” she whimpered, removing it from the teddy bear.

“I'm sure your mother-in-law has an iron,” Rachel said. “And it would have been wrinkled anyway, packed in a suitcase.”

They were still undressing the dolls when Joe yelled from his room. “Mom! Where's my Redskins Super Bowl shirt?”

“Honey, that shirt is five years old and in rags!” Cheryl yelled back.

“You didn't throw it away, did you?” His voice rose to a shriek.

Despite interruptions of a similar nature they managed to get the suitcases packed. Cheryl was in the bathroom the children shared, collecting toothbrushes and the bar of soap shaped like a cat, which was the only one Megan would use, when Rachel turned to see a shape looming in the doorway. She let out a squeak that brought Cheryl hurrying out of the bathroom.

“Oh,” she said. “Hi, Adam. You haven't met Rachel, have you?”

He's HUGE, Rachel thought dazedly. He had to duck his head to enter the door. Some of his bulk might have been due to the fact that he was wearing at least three sweaters; she could see the edges of them at the neck and wrists. His head would have looked disproportionately small atop this structure if a springy mass of tight dark curls had not added an additional two inches of height and breadth, covering his forehead and ears and meeting the beard that hid the lower part of his face. The only features visible were a snub nose and a pair of half-closed eyes.

“Pleased to meet you,” Rachel said insincerely.

He nodded in her general direction and looked out of the corner of his eye at Cheryl. “Ready?” he asked, nudging the suitcase with his foot. The foot was clad in a worn leather sandal and a bright orange sock with the toe out.

“Just let me put this in.” Cheryl closed the suitcase. “Thanks, Adam, it's nice of you to help.”

“More?” He tucked the suitcase under one arm.

“Yes, there are two in my room and one in Megan's; and you might see if you can persuade Joe to relinquish his.”

The apparition turned and went out.

“So that's Adam.” Rachel stared at the empty doorway. “Can't he talk?”

“Oh, sure. Once he gets started he never stops. But he's very shy. Tony says he isn't shy, he's just suspicious of people. Whatever it is, it will take him at least a week to talk to you in complete sentences.”

“I'll try not to scare him,” Rachel said drily. “I'm beginning to understand why you said he wouldn't bother me.”

“He's got a girlfriend,” Cheryl said. “Sort of.”

“I suppose he's known her for twenty years?”

“Almost.” Cheryl laughed. “And I'm not sure what the relationship is. Still developing, no doubt.”

Footsteps clumped down the hall and Adam passed the door with a suitcase under each arm and one in each hand. He didn't look in.

Having seen her new housemate, Rachel's anxiety about his future behavior was somewhat lessened. He might turn into Mr. Hyde after the others had gone, but he didn't appear to be the type who meddled in other people's business. Quite the contrary. He hadn't looked directly at her or spoken more than a few words.

In his uncommunicative way he was more helpful than Rachel had expected; she heard him moving around
downstairs, carrying things to the car, doing a number of the chores she had anticipated she would have to do, and allowing her to remain out of the way—Tony's way. Finally she knew she couldn't put it off any longer. The suitcases were packed and in the van; the only remaining job was to force the children to eat something before they hit the road. It would be a matter of force, unquestionably; she heard the raised voices as she approached the family room. Jerry was asking why they couldn't stop at a fast-food restaurant instead of eating stinky peanut butter sandwiches, and Megan was echoing him, although she never ate anything
but
peanut butter sandwiches.

A deep, unfamiliar male voice interrupted the argument. “You like worms, Jerry? That's what they make the hamburgers out of, ground-up worms.”

Laughter, shrieks, and throw-up sounds followed this remark, which Rachel realized must have come from Adam. So he could talk in sentences when he chose—and he knew something about juvenile psychology.

Her face flushed with amusement, Cheryl turned from the counter when Rachel entered. “There you are. Would you rather have turkey or roast beef in your sandwich?”

“I'm not hungry. I'll have something later, after you go.” Painfully conscious of Tony, enthroned at the head of the table—fingers tapping—she took the knife from Cheryl. “Shall I make some sandwiches for you to take with you?”

“That might be a good idea,” Tony said. “At the rate we're going we'll still be in Pennsylvania at dinnertime. Cheryl, will you PLEASE sit down and eat something? It's eleven-thirty.”

“Eat a worm sandwich,” Jerry chanted. “Stinky worms, slimy worms, yucky worms—”

It was Adam who kept the situation from erupting. Unobtrusively and in virtual silence he somehow persuaded Cheryl to eat, and finished loading the van. It was
only a few minutes past noon when Cheryl said in mild surprise, “I guess we're ready.”

“Finally,” Tony said. “Let's go, then.”

He led the way, out of the family room and across the corridor. When they entered the shop Cheryl stopped.

“Darn, I forgot to put the quilts away. It will only take a minute—”

“I'll do it,” Rachel said quickly.

Cheryl glanced at her husband. He didn't have to speak, his tight lips and lowering brows were as eloquent as a shout. “Thanks, Rachel. The acid-free tissue…But you know that. Adam, did you put the closed sign on the door? Make sure you lock it after we leave.”

“Don't you want to keep the shop open until Christmas Eve?” Rachel asked. “Since I'll be here anyway—”

“Don't be a fool,” Tony said roughly. “Keep this place locked and barred and don't let anybody in. Use the side door instead of this one. Is that clear?”

“Darling, you don't need to be so rude,” Cheryl murmured. “It's nice of you to offer, Rachel, but we had already planned to close the shop over the holidays. Kara will cope with our regular customers. You don't have to do anything. Unless—”

“If we're ready,” Tony said between his teeth.

“Okay. Here, darling, let me help you.”

“I don't need you to help me. Get your coat.”

Biting her lip, Cheryl went out. Rachel started to follow.

“Rachel,” Tony said.

The sound of his voice pronouncing her name made her knees go weak. But Adam was within earshot, waiting at the door. Surely Tony wouldn't say anything in front of Adam. Unless they had already discussed it, unless Adam knew?

“Yes,” she said, forcing herself to look directly at Tony.

“Excuse me for sounding peremptory just now,” he said
formally. “But you really have to be careful. I explained the situation to Adam, and Thomas will keep an eye on the place too. He'll let you know if they locate the guy. I've asked him to report progress to me as well.”

“Thank you.”

“Part of the job. Try not to worry,” he added. “Something is bound to break sooner or later. Adam is taking my room, so he'll be downstairs.”

He got slowly to his feet and reached for the crutches.

The worst was over, Rachel thought. A few more minutes and he'd be gone.

She should have known he wouldn't back away from it. It wasn't easy to find an opportunity for a private conversation, but he managed it, at the last minute, while Cheryl was trying to settle the children into the car and arbitrate the arguments as to where each would sit. They had been racing back and forth, up and down the steps, chasing one another, and since it was an unseasonably warm day their feet had left muddy smears on the stairs and the porch. Rachel was about to start down when the quiet voice pronouncing her name stopped her again. This time she couldn't bring herself to turn around. Face averted, she waited.

“I want you to know that I regret what happened last night. You may not believe me, but I've never—not since Cheryl and I—”

“I believe you. It's all right.”

“No, it's not all right.”

“I'll be gone when you get back,” Rachel said. She hadn't meant to say it, but she knew the decision was inevitable and the words irretrievable.

He didn't respond immediately. Finally he said, “Perhaps that would be best. Surely by that time—”

Cheryl came trotting toward them and Tony started down the steps. If he was trying to prevent Cheryl from
helping him the attempt backfired; moving clumsily and too quickly, he slipped on a patch of mud and might have fallen if she hadn't been there to steady him.

Rachel stood waving and smiling until the van turned the corner. It was a relief to let her face relax.

Adam wasn't the waving type. He had gone back into the house after hoisting Tony and the cast into the backseat of the van, and he was nowhere in sight when Rachel entered the shop. Methodically she locked and bolted the door and put up the chain. Then she went to her room.

The room was a mess. She hadn't made the bed or even finished unpacking. There hadn't been time. Vaguely she thought, I ought to have something to eat. I told Cheryl I'd clean up the kitchen. Did she put the butter away? The cats are probably licking it right now. The dogs are still outside, I ought to let them in, feed them.

The house was utterly silent. Apparently Adam intended to leave her strictly alone. That was fine with her. Maybe, after all, he hadn't seen anything. Guilty people become paranoid, she reminded herself.

“Perhaps that would be best.” Well, what had she expected him to say? It could have been worse. He had waited for her to make the offer, he hadn't told her to get out. He wouldn't do that. He was fair and kind-hearted, not like…

Her thoughts dead-ended, as if they had run into a wall. For a terrifying second or two the room seemed to shiver, like an image embroidered on gauze shifted by a gust of wind. Rachel caught hold of a chair. No wonder she was giddy, not enough sleep, no lunch or breakfast.

The surface under her hand felt gritty, like fine sand. It wasn't wood she touched. The album quilt lay across the chair, where she had thrown it the night before.

She had forgotten about the quilt until that moment. Lucky for me Cheryl didn't see it, Rachel thought; she
would have known I was downstairs last night and even she might wonder why neither Tony nor I mentioned that little detail.

The cats had licked the butter. The plate was clean and Figgin, the prize thief of the pride, was cleaning his whiskers. He looked hurt and indignant when Rachel scolded him.