Apart at the Seams (32 page)

“Right. I almost forgot. Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Let's find a place to sit down and talk.”

 

We were nearest to the bedroom, so Brian led me through the door, and we both sat down on the bed, pulling up a leg so we could face each other. Then Brian started telling me his story.

“Today's trip to New Bern would have been my third this week,” he said. “I've driven up twice to interview for a job.”

“What kind of job could you find in New Bern?” I asked skeptically. “It's not exactly the commerce capital of the world.”

“No, it's not,” he said. “But I'm rather over commerce at this point, and as Mike Barrows made clear to me only days ago, the world of commerce seems to be over me as well. I'm looking for something a little calmer, something with a little less pressure that will allow me to spend a
lot
more time with you. And, just as importantly something I'll actually enjoy and feel good about.”

I gave him a doubtful look. “And you think you'll be able to find something like that in New Bern.”

“No,” he said, looking just a teeny bit self-satisfied, “I
have
found something like that in New Bern, something exactly like that. You know the music store, the one on the highway?”

I nodded. “The one with the manager who talks like he's been to a few too many Grateful Dead concerts? Yes. What about it?”

“Well, it seems that the owner has decided to sell it. And I've decided to buy it. At least, I hope to, if it's all right with you. That's what I was driving up to discuss.”

My jaw went slack; this was the last thing I'd been expecting. My former audio-industry-executive husband, who had traveled the world and pulled together mergers worth hundreds of millions of dollars, wanted to sell sheet music and harmonicas in Connecticut? The look on his face said that he did, that he was actually pretty excited about the prospect.

“Well,” I said slowly, giving myself a chance to regain my mental equilibrium, “I guess so, sweetheart. If that's what you really want to do. But, Brian, does that store make any money? I never see anyone parked in front of it. Those strings I bought for my guitar had cobwebs on them, they'd been sitting on the shelf so long.”

“It doesn't make a dime,” he confirmed. “In fact, it loses money. But I've looked at the books, done a bit of research, and I think it has potential. Don't get me wrong—we'd never get rich owning that store—”

“That's okay.” I shrugged. “I never wanted to be rich.”

“That's good,” he said, laughing, “because it's never going to happen. But I don't want to go broke either. So I've worked out a deal with the owner.

“He's going to hire me as the manager for one year. I'll have complete control over everything—inventory, advertising, lesson offerings, and schedules. I plan to teach the guitar classes myself. If, at the end of that year, I'm able to bring the business at least to the break-even point, then I'll buy it. There's no real risk for me. We've agreed upon a sale price and will put it in writing, so he won't be able to jack it up after I turn things around. I do have to put down a deposit of forty thousand earnest money that will be held in escrow. But, if I change my mind, I'll get it all back less twenty-five hundred. I can walk away free, more or less whole.”

“And the owner has agreed to all this? He's willing to put it in writing? How were you able to get such good terms?”

“Number one, because he knows he'll never be able to sell the place. Who besides me would be interested? And number two, because your husband is a shrewd negotiator. Had to pick up something doing acquisitions for three years, didn't I?”

“Brian! That's brilliant!”

“Do you really think so?” he asked, a note of caution in his voice. “We'd have to sell the apartment to pull it off. The severance will make up for the loss of my income while I'm trying to bring the store into the black, but after that, we'll need money for the deposit, too, and some working capital. Selling the apartment would give us that, plus a bit of a financial cushion going forward. I didn't expect to get an offer on the apartment so soon, but we don't have to accept if you don't want to. I know you love this building and the neighborhood.”

“What I'll love is being with you,” I said, bending my head forward, touching my forehead to his. “And New Bern is a wonderful place to live. I love it there.”

“But you love New York, too. And what about your business? And your clients?”

His concern for my happiness was genuine and so touching. I knew that he very much wanted to buy that store, but I also knew he wouldn't unless he was completely convinced that I was on board.

Was I? Apart from the pleasure of seeing Brian happy, was I truly ready for such a big change?

I put my hand to my mouth, gnawing on the edge of my thumbnail as I thought it through. “I do love New York,” I mused. “There's no city quite like it. But I could come in on the train once a week or so to see people. Most of my client contact is on the phone anyway. I'm sure I can find new clients in New Bern too. I'd like to start working with kids from more modest financial circumstances, kids like Drew Kelleher, people who deserve a little help. I probably wouldn't be able to charge as much, but money isn't everything. There's a lot to be said for working where you're needed.”

I took my hand from my mouth and placed it in Brian's. “I think you should do it,” I said. “I think this is a really good idea—for both of us.”

His face lit up. He looked so excited, like a boy who'd been handed his first set of car keys. “Do you? Oh, Gayla. That's wonderful!”

He lifted my hand to his lips and then lowered it and moved in to kiss me, but I pulled back.

“Just a minute, sweetheart. You got to tell me what was on your mind, but I didn't get to do the same, not really.” Brian sat up and scooted back a little, indicating that he was ready to listen. “Before I drove down here, I had a talk with Philippa, the minister, about forgiveness. And what I wanted to say was—”

Brian lifted his hand and placed his fingers on my lips, ending my explanation. “Gayla, let's make a deal. Instead of going through yet another course of apologies, why don't we agree to wipe the slate clean, forgive each other for any of our past transgressions, be completely honest with each other from here on out, no matter what, and love each other madly until the day we die. Is that something you could live with? Because I think it would work for me.”

I smiled. “You're a pretty tough negotiator. But I think I can manage that.”

He leaned toward me, and this time, I let him kiss me. When we broke apart he said, “Are you hungry? I'll take you out to lunch, so we can seal the bargain.”

“What if we seal the bargain right here instead?” I pulled him down on the bed with me and whispered in his ear, “Lanie says that makeup sex is amazing. Let's see if she's right.”

L
abor Day was beautiful, bright and clear without a cloud in the sky. The last of my tomatoes were ripe on the vine, and the garden had never looked better. The heads of the hydrangea flowers were blushing pink now and so heavy that the branches holding them bowed toward the ground.

When I came out of the house, carrying a bowl of potato salad to go with the hamburgers and chicken, the children were playing hide-and-seek, the men were standing around the grill holding cans of cold beer, watching Brian turn over the meat, and the women, who had been sitting in lawn chairs under the shade of the biggest maple, talking and laughing while they stitched on their crazy quilts, were now on their feet, clustered around Ivy, chattering excitedly. I left the potato salad on the table and went to see what the commotion was about.

“Oh, it's lovely! I'm so glad you finally found one you liked,” I said when Ivy showed me her ring, a white gold engagement ring crafted in a circular floral design with a round-cut diamond in the center and six smaller stones set into the surrounding leaves. “I've never seen anything quite like it. Where did you find it?”

“At Lipscomb's, the estate jewelry shop on Commerce,” she answered. She rocked her hand so the sunlight filtering through the leaves caught in the facets of the diamonds, making them sparkle. “It's vintage. Mr. Lipscomb said that it had belonged to a woman who was married for seventy years. Her son didn't have any children to pass it on to, so he brought it into the shop and asked Mr. Lipscomb to sell it to a nice young couple and that he hoped whoever bought it would be as happy as his mom and dad had been.”

Ivy looked up. Her face was glowing. “When I heard that, I knew this was the ring for me. I just love it.”

Margot squeezed Ivy. “I'm so happy for you!” she exclaimed. “Have you picked a date yet?”

Ivy bobbed her head. “December twentieth. It's only five days after the end of classes, so I'll have to scramble a little to get everything ready in time, but we'll manage. It was either that or wait until school ends in May, and Dan didn't want to wait that long. Neither did I,” she said with a smile. “It's not going to be a big ceremony, but you're all invited, so mark your calendars. Evelyn and Bethany will be bridesmaids, Drew and Bobby will be the best men—we decided to have two—and Philippa is going to officiate.”

“That's right,” she said. “I'm going to have some fancy new vestments for the occasion. Virginia is going to make me a quilted clerical stole.”

“Be sure and let me know as soon as you pick your colors,” Virginia said to Ivy. “I want Philippa's stole to match the flowers.”

“Oooh!” Margot enthused, hugging Ivy again. “A Christmas wedding! How romantic. I hope it snows. That would be just beautiful.”

“Where are you going on the honeymoon?” I asked.

“Disney World.”

Abigail shot Ivy a disdainful look. “Disney World. Aren't you and Dan a bit old for that? Florida is very nice in winter, I'm sure, but why not Miami or West Palm? Or even St. Augustine?”

“We're taking the kids,” Ivy explained. “After all, it'll be Christmas. We can't very well leave them home, and we wouldn't want to. Besides, I've never been to Disney World. It'll be fun.”

“Very romantic, I'm sure,” Abbie mumbled under her breath.

Evelyn, ever the diplomat, gave Abigail a nudge with her elbow and changed the subject.

“When are you and Brian leaving for Italy? It's coming up soon, isn't it?”

“On the fourteenth,” I said. “I can't wait! We'll be gone for two weeks and come back at the end of the month. Brian's been going into the music store to train with the owner, but he won't really take over until we return. I've got a ton to do between now and then. I took on two new clients, both from New Bern, and I've got to plant all those bulbs I ordered. As usual,” I said, giving Tessa a look, “I got a little carried away.”

Tessa laughed. “Sister, you're singing my song.”

“Oh!” Ivy exclaimed. “I've been meaning to ask you. Do you think Brian would be willing to play his guitar and sing at the wedding?”

“You'll have to ask him,” I said, glancing toward Brian, who was frantically spraying water onto a flaming hamburger as Charlie looked on with alarm. “But I'm sure he'd love to. He's very talented.”

With the burgers done—more like well-done—everyone gathered around the table and started filling their plates. Though I'd told them it wasn't necessary, the women had brought food anyway, so in addition to the burgers, chicken, potato salad, green salad, and strawberry shortcake, we had baked beans, corn salad, cucumber salad, carrot cake, and brownies. The table was positively groaning.

Though I waited until everyone else was served before getting a plate for myself, there was still enough food to feed a marine battalion. I'd just put a spoonful of corn salad onto my plate when I noticed someone was missing.

“Dan, where did Drew run off to? Isn't he hungry?”

“Drew is always hungry,” he assured me as he shared a bite of brownie with Ivy. They were so adorable together. “He had to run back to the house and check something in his e-mail. Don't worry. He'll be back in a minute.”

He was, emerging from the swath of trees that separated our two properties, now so thick you really couldn't see past them, and then loping across the lawn with an enormous grin on his face.

Dan twisted around in his lawn chair when he saw his son approaching. “Well? How were they?”

“Two hundred and thirty points better than last time,” he reported with pride. “Mrs. Oliver, it looks like I owe you twenty dollars.”

“Your SAT scores! Oh, Drew, that's wonderful! Congratulations!” I whooped and threw my arms around him. He blushed a bit but submitted to my embrace. Such a sweet kid.

“Can I pay you next week, Mrs. Oliver? I'm a little short right now.”

“Oh, Drew. That bet was just a joke. You don't owe me anything.”

“But I want to,” he insisted.

“Tell you what,” I said, handing him a paper plate and some silverware, “why don't we take it out in trade. Come over and weed the garden for me while we're in Italy. I don't want to come back and find it all overgrown.”

“No problem,” he said. “I'll stop by every day after school.”

“Thanks, Drew. That'd be a big help.”

 

People lingered through the afternoon, returning to the table again and again to refill their plates or take another can of beer or soda from the cooler, and then returning to the shade of the trees, choosing a different lawn chair, and sitting down next to someone new to catch up with an old friend or get to know a new one.

When the sun began to set and the crickets started to chirp and fireflies started to appear, skipping like fairies through the air, people packed up their loved ones and covered dishes, kissed and hugged, said their good-byes and reminded one another that quilt circle wasn't canceled just because it was a holiday week, then headed for home. Brian and I stood in the driveway, waving as the last set of taillights disappeared behind the privet hedge, then went back into the house to wrap the leftover food and wash the serving dishes that my friends had helped carry inside before departing.

Brian sat on his haunches in front of the open refrigerator, trying to find a space to stow the leftover baked beans. “That was a good party,” he said. “Really good. Usually with a group that large, you're going to find at least two or three people you don't care for, but they were all very nice. Interesting too. Of course”—he chuckled— “Charlie gave me a bit of gas about burning the meat and being British. He said his blessed mother back in Ireland would turn in her grave if she knew he was consorting with an Englishman.”

Brian shoved the bean bowl onto a shelf and closed the door quickly before it had a chance to fall. I rinsed soap off a platter and made a mental note to be very careful when opening the refrigerator door again.

“He's an odd duck,” Brian continued, “but I like him. I like all of them.”

“So do I. Sweetheart, could you go into the linen closet and get me some more dish towels? This one is so wet I think I'm just moving the water around.”

“Sure. Be right back.”

A minute later, I heard Brian calling me from the hallway but couldn't make out what he was saying.

“Can't you find them?” I shouted. “They're on the right side of the shelf, next to my fabric. Do you see them?” I waited a moment, sighed, and wiped my hands on my jeans. “If it was a snake . . . ,” I mumbled, walking across the kitchen.

He met me at the door, carrying two terry-cloth dish towels and the remains of my ravaged quilt top.

“What happened here?” he asked, holding up the quilt to display the enormous tear down the sashing and another along the border.

“Oh. That.” I cleared my throat. “That happened a couple of weeks ago. It's supposed to be your birthday present, but I had a bit of a meltdown. I was out of teacups.”

He frowned, giving me a quizzical look. I took the dish towels from his hand, draped the torn quilt over the back of a chair, and went back to the sink.

Brian walked over to the chair. “So it's ruined? That's too bad,” he said, looking down at the ragged red edges. “I like these colors.”

I smiled and wiped water from the platter. “Not ruined,” I said. “It can be repaired.”

“How?” he asked doubtfully, reaching out to touch the rent patches. “It's a mess.”

I put the platter back in the cupboard and came up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my head between his shoulders. “I know, but the tears are only along the seams. The fabric itself is still strong. I can sew it together again. And by the time I'm finished, it'll be just as good as it was before, maybe even better.”

Brian turned to face me, draping his arms over my shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

I rose on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

“I'm sure,” I said. “I'm absolutely sure.”