The Lover's Knot (10 page)

Carrie said twice to me and once to Susanne, “Well, the shop needs to be bigger. I agree with that. But it’s a shame to lose a place to get some coffee.”

“What about setting up some tables and making a little coffee shop in the store?” I suggested by way of compromise, and was verbally beaten in response.

“We’ll have coffee all over the fabric,” said Nancy and Susanne.

“You can’t run two businesses and do them both well,” declared Bernie.

“Have you ever had Eleanor’s coffee?” whimpered Carrie. I had actually had my grandmother’s coffee. And while it wasn’t a halfdecaf soy latte, it was quite good.

I could see that no one was interested in a coffee and quilt shop. “Just throwing out ideas,” I said in my defense. “I’m sure my grandmother knows exactly what she wants in the space.”

“She certainly does,” Marc finally spoke.

“Thank you, Marc, but we’ll talk with Eleanor about her plans.” Maggie gave him an icy stare I hadn’t thought she was capable of. Only Carrie smiled at Marc and said she’d be interested in hearing what he had in mind.

“Can I start doing anything now, boss?” Marc asked, smiling broadly.

I looked around at the shop. “We can move stuff away from the wall you’re going to open up.” I looked toward Nancy. “But only while I’m here helping.” She nodded her approval.

“Why don’t you bundle up some of the out-of-season fabric?” Maggie suggested.

Nancy leaned against the checkout counter. “I want to go through that for inventory first. Maybe pack up here, behind the register.”

Marc moved toward the register, but I stopped him. “You grab a box and Nancy and I will take the stuff out of here.”

“I’ll help,” Carrie volunteered, and stepped next to me.

I reached my arm into the deep shelf underneath the register, while Carrie hovered nearby.

“Be careful,” Maggie said. And no sooner had the words come out of her mouth than something bit my hand. I pulled it out immediately. Blood was running from my fingers.

“Oh, dear,” Carrie gasped, and grabbed antiseptic and a bandage from her tote bag. “One good thing about having small children is you’re prepared for anything.”

I went downstairs to the bathroom and tried to wash the blood away, but it kept coming. Just the tips of two fingers had cuts in them, but they were deep. I finally gave up trying and put the antiseptic and bandage on it, then went back upstairs.

Nancy was holding a flashlight and scanning the dark shelf. “Found it,” she said. Carefully she held up a rotary cutter—a tool that looks like a pizza cutter but is designed for quick cutting of fabric. “It was open.” She turned to me, a concerned look across her face. She put a cover over the sharp blade. “These are really dangerous. You’re so lucky it wasn’t worse.”

I nodded. “Maybe that’s enough for today,” I suggested. “Marc, just clean up and we’ll worry about all this stuff after Wednesday. I’m going home.”

“I want to drop in on my son Brian,” Maggie announced as she picked up her purse. “Nell, can you give me a lift? It’s on your way.”

While Nancy and the others stood watching Marc, he just smiled at me and went back to measuring. I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, wondering just what I had gotten myself into by volunteering to stay in Archers Rest to help my grandmother.

CHAPTER 17

Maggie gave me the directions to her son’s house as soon as we got in the car, and then we drifted into an uncomfortable silence. She fidgeted with her purse and looked out the window. I stared straight ahead at the road. Alone with her for the first time, I felt a little like a school child, afraid to talk in case she “sssh’d” me. With the members of the quilt club she seemed like a different person, relaxed, younger. But with me, she was every bit the stern librarian she’d once been.

“Is this the son who’s a state representative?” I finally asked.

“It is, but that’s just a stopping point. He’ll be governor one day,” she said proudly.

“My grandmother told me you have quite accomplished kids. Your son, plus a doctor, two lawyers, and an artist.”

“Sheila isn’t a artist. She owns a kind of art gallery. She doesn’t actually make the art herself.” There was a vague disapproval in her voice, but it quickly softened. “She does have a good eye, though. She always finds something.”

“I wanted to be an artist when I was a kid. I used to love to paint. In fact, when I moved to New York I wanted to work in an art gallery, ” I confessed. “Hanging out with artists all day seemed really fun. But I couldn’t find a job, and I guess I sort of took a different road.”

“You have time to choose whatever road you like.” She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “I wonder if Eleanor knows what she’s doing. She takes people at their word, an admirable quality if she isn’t being lied to.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s it on the left,” directed Maggie, and I pulled over to a pretty brick house with a well-tended garden.

“Maggie, can you please tell me what you meant?” I asked again.

“I didn’t mean anything, except I think that Eleanor needs to be careful, and if she won’t be careful, then you need to be careful for her.”

“Well, that certainly clears things up for me,” I said as Maggie got out of the car.

“You have her sarcasm,” Maggie said. “Never cared for that in Eleanor.” She started to frown, but instead she shook her head and smiled. “You really are like her.”

I laughed. “Is that a compliment?”

Maggie laughed back. “Sometimes,” she said, and headed toward her son’s house.

“I hear that you’ve been getting me out of trouble,” my grandmother shouted to me as I walked in the house. “And getting yourself into it.”

I peered into the living room, but she wasn’t there. I walked back to the kitchen. She was hobbling around on her crutches, making sandwiches.

“What trouble am I in?” She pointed to my bandaged hand as she took a slice of bread from the loaf.

“I can do that. You shouldn’t even be out of bed.” I took the bread out of her hand. “What trouble did I get you out of?”

“At the shop. I guess Marc was a little enthusiastic. I hear you smoothed things over with the girls.”

“I did good?” I was not about to let a possible compliment go unnoticed.

“No, you were just happy to see Marc, but you got me out of trouble anyway by putting off the renovation until Saturday. It gives everyone a chance to get used to it.”

For just an instant I felt the need to deny my interest in Marc, then I decided it was better to let the comment pass. My grandmother was right, and she knew it. There wasn’t any point in trying to explain something I didn’t even understand myself. “You kind of surprised me too, hiring Marc,” I said as I cut a pat of butter.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Eleanor had moved on to my sandwich-making skills.

“How could I be doing it wrong?” I was spreading butter on bread, not exactly a skill requiring an advanced degree.

“Less butter, and do both sides—it keeps the sandwich moister that way.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that we simply have different, yet equal, sandwich-making techniques?”

“Not really, no.”

I buttered both sides her way, put the turkey and tomato slices on the sandwich, and cut it on the diagonal, as instructed. Eleanor sniffed at it a bit, refused to say anything nice about it, but finished it in seconds.

“I’m dying to hear what you and Marc have planned for the shop,” I finally admitted.

A glint came into her eye. “We’ll cut a hole in the wall, make a doorway to the other side, and add shelves for more fabric.” She started sketching on a napkin. “And here in the back we’ll build an office where the kitchen was, and next to it there will be a small classroom.”

“Is Marc doing all this?”

She made a face at me. “Don’t get too attached.”

“I’m not attached. I just wonder if he’s up to the task.”

“Well, when he called me he was so enthusiastic. He really wants the chance to prove his worth, and I like that. No one thought I could run a quilt shop, a widow with two small children and no experience running a business. But I did okay. Sometimes you have to give people a chance.”

“I don’t think Maggie likes him. Or Natalie.”

“Well, they have their opinions.” She turned back to the napkin and a subject she clearly preferred. “I want to put up a whole wall of quilting tools, but I can’t decide where.”

“I have some ideas,” I said. Eleanor smiled and handed me the pen, and together we arranged and rearranged the shop until every detail was worked out.

“This is a great plan, but it’s a little ambitious, especially for the crew you’ve got. Marc isn’t a real contractor, Nancy’s never run a business before and, let’s face it, I don’t know anything about any of it.”

“I’m not worried about any of you,” she said, and then smiled. “Well, I’m not worried about Marc or Nancy. Your sandwich-making abilities are a little sad.”

CHAPTER 18

Over the next several days I split my time between doing my grandmother’s errands and being her spy at the shop. Nancy complained hourly about the noise Marc was making next door as he pulled old booths and kitchen equipment from the diner. For each regular who came by to express her excitement about the shop expansion, another would predict dire consequences—it was too much work for Eleanor, it would be difficult to make enough money to pay for expansion, it would ruin the coziness of the place.

We closed the shop on Wednesday and I drove Eleanor over to sit in a corner and bark orders while Nancy and I did the inventory. Nancy spread boxes on the floor and began sorting the fabrics into categories from Christmas to children to plaids. When I incorrectly identified a fabric with ducks on it as children’s, rather than Easter, I was taken off fabric duty. Instead Eleanor had me sort through the quilting tools. It was amazing to me that despite the seeming chaos, everything was catalogued and accounted for. When the inventory was done, there wasn’t one missing pack of needles or thread color anywhere.

“I’ll make one more check downstairs,” I said.

“Be careful, Nell,” Eleanor shouted after me. “I mean it.”

She didn’t have to warn me. Not since I’d fallen down the stairs myself, not that Eleanor knew that. Nancy had done an amazing job of bringing all the boxes upstairs and the place was clean and empty. But when I peeked into the little office on the side, I found another story. Boxes were half-packed with old files and binders, and a large box in the corner was filled with cut-up pieces of fabrics and threads. It seemed like a job for Nancy, who would have a better idea which, if any, of this stuff was worth keeping.

“We should start taking stuff to the car,” I said as I came back upstairs.

“Remember to put supplies for the quilt club in a separate box,” Eleanor directed.

“Like what kind of supplies?”

Nancy handed me an empty box, then began pointing out a variety of rulers, rubber mats, and rotary cutters. “You’ll also need a good pair of these,” she said, and handed me heavy metal scissors.

“Thanks,” I said. “I can use these to cut some poster board and make a CLOSED FOR REMODELING sign.”

“No, you cannot,” Eleanor snapped. “Cutting paper will dull those scissors, and fabric scissors need to be very, very sharp.”

“Sorry,” I said, and placed the scissors at the top of the box. “I’ll get the hang of all the quilting rules one of these days.”

Nancy and I took as many boxes out to Eleanor’s car as could fit, and then filled up the back of her car. But the shop still had a dozen or more boxes left to go, as well as the quilts that hung on the back wall and the junk in the office.

“I’ll take a trip over to your place, Eleanor,” Nancy said. “Then if you two set up the shop there, I’ll come back for a second load.”

On the drive to her house, Eleanor hummed to herself cheerily.

“What’s up with you?” I finally asked.

“I’m just amazed at how easy this has been so far,” she said.

“Of course it’s easy,” I said. “You’ll be happy to be back running the shop, even if it is in your dining room. And Nancy will be happy to be working with you. And I can have some peace and quiet overseeing things at the shop.”

“You enjoy being right,” she said dryly.

“Wait—I’m right about something?” I laughed. “This has to be a first.”

“I’m just saying that it was a good idea to expand the shop, that’s all. And I’m glad you’ll be there to make sure it all turns out right.” Her smile made me suspicious, but it left me no room to keep arguing. She was like that, innocence and manipulation with a smile, and I admired the hell out of it.

At the request of all of the members of the Friday Night Quilt Club, my grandmother agreed to open the shop for one last meeting in the old space. We had done a pretty good job of pulling the place apart the last few days, and no one had bothered to sweep up. On Friday morning I walked over to make sure that the place would be clean and safe. One broken leg was all I could handle.

As I got to the door I passed a flustered Carrie on her way out.

She looked embarrassed to see me. “Forgot the shop was closed?” I asked her.

“No, no, of course not. I just wanted to talk with Marc. See what kind of work he was doing.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see, that’s all,” she said defensively. “I was passing and I thought I’d stop in. I might open my own place one of these days. I miss being in business, you know.”

I nodded, but I didn’t know. I’d never thought about owning my own business, or even running anyone else’s. These last few days did have a certain element of fun to them, I had to admit, but I was riding this bike with my grandmother grasping the seat firmly. I had no interest in seeing if I could pedal all on my own.

I wanted to ask her why, if she wanted her own business so much, she didn’t just open one. But I realized I probably knew the answer. I’d been saying I wanted to be an artist since I was a kid, and so far I had nothing to show for it. So instead I said good-bye and watched Carrie walk down the street. She walked quickly, looking around to see who else she might run into, but when she disappeared around the corner, I opened the door to the shop.