The Friendship Star Quilt (8 page)

That evening, the quilters surprised Anne when they arrived at The Stitching Post for their weekly meeting. Instead of just their usual loads of fabric totes and sewing machines, each woman also brought some type of a container—a covered plate, bowl or pan—which she carried to the back of the shop. Ellen and Sylvia, the first arrivals, covered two of the long work tables with white plastic tablecloths. They laid out paper plates, napkins, and cutlery on the one nearest to the coffee station.

“What's the occasion?” Anne asked them. “Are you celebrating someone's birthday?”

“Not exactly,” Lila answered, coming up just then to add her contribution, a pan of decadent cookie bars, to the table. “We just decided to celebrate – uhm—the anniversary of our quilting group. And what better way to do it than with lots of food?”

Ellen nodded and agreed. “Since some of the gals, like Tee and Kirstie, come here straight from work, they don't have much time to stop and eat beforehand. We decided it might be fun to have a little potluck on our quilt nights. Our families always fend for themselves on Tuesdays, so we can just relax and eat together. I hope it's all right with you?”

“Oh, dear, I didn't know,” Anne apologized. “I don't have anything to share.”

Lila gave her a motherly pat on the shoulder. “Don't be silly, my dear. You always supply the place and the expertise. It's more than enough.”

“Not much of a contribution on my part since I have to be here anyway.”

“Nonsense,” Sue argued, putting down a big salad bowl and a bottle of ranch dressing. “Without you, we'd never get half the things accomplished we do.”

“That's for sure,” Tee agreed. The busy realtor added a store-bought cheese ball and crackers to the growing banquet. “I checked with other shops before I started coming to The Stitching Post, Anne. Most places charge an hourly fee for the kind of assistance you give us. Yet, we come here every week, and you donate your time and help. It's worth a lot to us. Besides, you furnish the coffee and tea we drink, too.”

The others agreed. There was no time for argument as the rest of the women arrived, bringing more food. Soon, their makeshift buffet table nearly overflowed with the delicious assortment of salads, casseroles, and desserts. Everybody helped themselves to the spread then found seats around the other table to eat and visit.

“You've got to try a bit of this taco salad, Anne,” Sue urged, passing the bowl to her. “It's one of my kids' favorites. They have me make it whenever their friends are visiting.”

“And try this pizza casserole Kirstie made, too. I swear her sauce is nearly as good as Mario's—but don't tell him I said it, or he'll be stingy with the breadsticks next time I go to Falcone'
s
for take out.”

“Speaking of Mario…” Anne began.

“Yes? Are you going to tell us he asked you out?” Sylvia jumped in. “I knew it. I told you last week I thought he was sweet on you.”

“No, no, nothing like that. I don't want to date anyone,” Anne protested. She looked around the table then ducked her head. “Mario hired me today to make new curtains for his restaurant.”

“How wonderful,” Sylvia said, holding out a dessert plate with an enormous wedge of chocolate cake on it. “Tell us all about it while we celebrate with some of my cake.”

“Oh my, I shouldn't. I feel like I'm going to burst if I eat one more bite of anything.”

“It's Decadent Chocolate Cake,” Sylvia cajoled, waving the plate beneath Anne's nose.

Anne groaned and reached for the dessert. “I have absolutely no will power when it comes to chocolate.”

“None of us do,” Tee agreed. The busy realtor poured herself a cup of coffee to go along with the rich dessert. “Anyone want a refill while I'm up?”

Ellen held up her cup then turned back to Anne. “I tell my friends chocolate cravings are encoded in a woman's genetic makeup.”

The others laughed and agreed. Anne couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much to eat or laughed so hard. The women were so much fun. Even though she'd helped out during their Tuesday quilt nights for almost as long as she'd worked at the shop, she hadn't ever considered herself a part of their group. They were customers, after all, and she was just a store employee. But tonight, the camaraderie wrapped her in a welcoming embrace.

She'd never experienced anything like it. Her grandparents' farm had been way out in the country, so there hadn't been any other children nearby to befriend. When she married Jeffrey, he had kept her isolated and hadn't allowed her to even visit with their neighbors. So, she'd never experienced the fun of a girlfriend lunch or sitting and just sharing stories. Now, eating and laughing with this congenial group filled the void. The women accepted her, and she felt as if they were more than just her customers. As she listened to them, she started to plan what she could contribute to the next week's potluck. Maybe she'd bring her grandmother's famous meatballs or a nice banana bread to go with their coffee.

Eventually, the food was put away, and the women moved from the tables to the circle of comfortable chairs where they did their quilting. Anne put the extra paper plates and plastic silverware in a cupboard above the coffeepot then headed toward her usual chair by the cutting table, where she could give them their privacy but still be close enough to help if anyone needed her.

“Anne, come and sit with us,” Tee invited, motioning to an empty seat beside her in the circle.

“Yes,” Ellen agreed. “Come join us. I want to get your opinion about the fabric for my new project.”

Join them?

“I don't want to intrude,” she protested.

“Don't be silly! You're not intruding, you're one of us,” Sylvia replied then gave her a wink. “Besides, you need to tell us all about you and Mario.”

Anne laughed as she picked up her work tote and moved to the sitting area. “I hate to disappoint all of you, but there's nothing
to
tell. I'm just making curtains for his restaurant.”

“Are you going to work on them this evening, Anne?” Mary asked. The septuagenarian regarded Anne over the magnifier glasses she wore when she quilted.

“Not tonight. I'm working on a quilt sample for the shop. And I have to make a sample flag for the high school marching band.”

“Band?” Betty asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Might this have anything to do with the adorable little girl who was in the shop last week? Didn't she say her dad was a band director?”

“Jennie Carmichael.” Anne nodded. “Yes, it's her dad.”

“Brad Carmichael is quite a remarkable young man,” Lila said, joining the conversation. “The members of my church say he's done wonders with the music programs at the high school and middle school. And, of course, he's raised that lovely little girl all by himself since his wife's death last year.”

“He's quite a hottie according to my daughter, Jessica, and her friends,” Audrey commented. “All I know is they've all taken a renewed interest in their music lessons the last couple of years.”

“She's not alone,” Sue said. “I understand the band has nearly doubled in size since he took over the music program. The kids all adore him… and not just the girls.”

“Too bad his wife didn't feel the same way,” Tee remarked, softly at Anne's side.

“What do you mean?” Doris asked.

“Well…” The realtor hesitated then sighed. “I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but I used to see Mrs. Carmichael at the club where my girlfriends and I occasionally go dancing. We don't get there often, but whenever we did, she was always there with a friend. A
male
friend. In fact, I saw her there the night she was killed. I was shocked when I saw her picture on the front page of The Press the morning after the crash.”

“How awful,” Sylvia whispered.

Tee nodded.

The group fell silent digesting the information. Finally, Ellen voiced the question Anne was thinking. “Do you think her husband knew?”

“Oh, I certainly hope not,” Lila declared with a sad shake of her carefully coifed head. “Losing a wife so young would be hard enough to handle. Suspecting she was unfaithful would make the tragedy ten times worse for him.”

Anne had to agree. She'd rather think of Brad Carmichael as mourning the loss of a great love than someone dealing with what-could-I have-done-differently guilt. She didn't want to ask herself why it mattered to her, so she opened her tote and took out the drawing she'd tucked inside it for safe keeping.

“Is that the Rivertown logo?” Betty asked. When Anne nodded, the quilter leaned over to check the sketch. “The drawing underneath it looks sort of like an outline of a flying seahawk. I bet it would be simpler to make, and it'll probably be more visible from farther away.”

“That's what I was hoping,” Anne replied. “Mr. Carmichael needs the flags for the band's color guard right away. He hasn't been able to find anyone to do it, so I agreed to take on the job.”

“Bravo,” Ellen said. “Flags for the high school band, curtains for Falcone'
s
. You're getting quite a little sewing business started for yourself, my dear.”

“You sure are,” Lila agreed. “But we better watch out, girls. If this keeps up, Anne will soon be too busy to meet with us.”

“Never,” Anne exclaimed. She looked around the group. “No matter what happens, I'll never be too busy for my… friends.”

“Anne? What's wrong? Has something happened at the shop?” The Stitching Post owner's voice registered her alarm the next morning on the phone.

“Relax, Myra,” Anne reassured her boss. “Nothing is wrong.”

She twirled the telephone cord nervously around her index finger as she spoke. She'd arrived at the shop earlier than usual so she could call to tell Myra about the two freelance sewing jobs she'd been offered. The kind-hearted shop owner had been so good to her. Anne wanted to make sure the outside work wouldn't cause any conflicts of interest. However, she hadn't thought through exactly how she would broach the subject.

“So how's the weather down in Winter Haven?”

“Sunny. Beautiful. Just like the brochures promised. But I doubt you called me this early in the day just to get a Florida weather report,” Myra replied, a worried note still coloring her tone. “So tell me… what's up, dear?”

“Well…” Anne hesitated then simply blurted out her news. “I was offered some sewing work yesterday, Myra. Two jobs, actually. I wasn't hunting for the work or anything. I swear I wasn't. They just sort of… happened.” She bit the inside of her lip for a moment then continued, “I wanted to call right away to tell you about them. Make sure it was okay with you and everything.”

There was a silence for a moment on the other end of the line. Anne held her breath, worried she'd angered her boss with the news.

“I see,” Myra said at last. “So when do you plan to leave The Stitching Post?”

“Leave?” Anne gulped. “Oh dear, you mean I can't stay on here if I take these jobs? Oh please let me stay, Myra. I'll call Mario and Mr. Carmichael right away to tell them I can't accept—”

“Anne, wait!” Myra interrupted. “You mean you aren't calling to tell me you're quitting?”

“Quitting? Me? No, of course not. You're the best boss ever, and I love my job. I hope I can work here forever. I just wanted to tell you my news and ask for permission to use the store account to order the fabric and supplies I need. I'll have our suppliers do separate invoices, and I'll pay you full retail for everything. I promise.”

“Don't be ridiculous! Of course, you can order whatever you need. I wouldn't have it any other way, dear. And forget that nonsense about full retail. Use your employee discount.”

“Oh, Myra, you are so kind,” Anne said. “I'll do the work after hours, and I'll be glad to pay you a commission on the jobs since –”

Myra chuckled. “Honey, relax. No full retail and no commission. I already owe you more than I can ever repay. If you hadn't agreed to run The Post for me, Ed and I wouldn't have been able to take this extended vacation. Feel free to use the shop's machines to work on your projects. Or better yet, why don't you take that little portable you like so much over to your apartment? Consider it a bonus for the extra time you're giving me.”

“Are you kidding?” Anne could hardly believe her ears. First, the two sewing jobs had fallen in her lap, and now, Myra was giving her a sewing machine? Overwhelmed, she choked back the lump in her throat and whispered a heartfelt thank you. They chatted cordially for a few minutes more then said their goodbyes.

After hanging up the phone, Anne leaned back in the desk chair and quietly contemplated her life. She'd turned twenty-six the previous spring, but she'd experienced more ups and downs in her life than most people twice her age. She'd only been in elementary school when her parents had suddenly disappeared on their way to her father's accounting firm in downtown Detroit. There was speculation about mob involvement when the FBI got involved, but Anne hadn't known any of the details until years later. At the time, her maternal grandparents had whisked her away to their modest farm in rural Hartland, where they could protect her from the prying media. They'd surrounded her with love and done all they could to fill the void left by her parents' disappearance. When first Grandpa then Grams had passed away, the emptiness had threatened to swallow her again. Marriage to Jeffrey should have been the happily-ever-after all the fairy tales promised. Instead, it had been the beginning of a horror story, one which resulted in a loss so great she'd feared she'd never overcome it.

But that was all in the past. Now, a new life had opened for her. She had a wonderful job, a generous boss, a cozy home… even friends. Anne blinked back the moisture filling her eyes as she realized how blessed her life had become. She whispered a quick prayer of thanks then picked up the phone to call her favorite supplier, Stephen Langsford.