Round Robin (19 page)

The hostess smiled in recognition. “Craig Markham?”

“Why, yes.”

“The other member of your party is already here.” The hostess took them out of line, picked up two menus, and motioned for them to follow her. “I thought she said table for two, but I guess she meant she was waiting for two. That's okay, though; you have a booth, so there's plenty of room.” And with that, she placed their menus in a booth already occupied by a wide-eyed woman with shoulder-length blond hair held back in a barrette.

“Craig?” the woman said. Her eyes flicked from Craig to Bonnie.

“Enjoy your meal,” the hostess chirped, and left.

“Well, hello,” Bonnie declared, sliding into the high-backed seat. “You
must be Terri. Craig told me you had to cancel. I'm so delighted you came after all.”

Terri's mouth opened and shut.

“I'm Bonnie, of course.” She extended her hand, and Terri limply shook it. Craig stood rooted in place. “Well, come on, honey, sit down.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the booth, then smiled again at Terri. “It's so nice to finally meet you.”

“It's... it's nice to meet you, too.” Terri held out her hand for Craig to shake and shot him a look of pained bewilderment, which Bonnie pretended not to see.

“I thought Craig told me he would be meeting a friend from his old fraternity, but obviously I misunderstood.” Bonnie interlaced her fingers and rested them on the table. “So tell me—how do you two know each other?”

Terri swallowed. “Um, well—” She looked to Craig for help. “Why don't you tell her?”

“No, no, you go ahead.” Craig sounded as if he were being strangled. “I'm not much of a storyteller.”

Betrayal and annoyance flashed in Terri's eyes. Craig didn't see them since he had buried his face in the menu, but Bonnie did.

“We met on the Internet,” Terri said.

“Oh, well, that explains it,” Bonnie said. “No wonder I got mixed up. It's so hard to keep track of all Craig's Internet friends. He has so many.”

Terri's mouth pinched into a hard line. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. He writes to people all over the world—men, women—”

“Not so many women,” Craig interrupted. Terri just looked at him.

They ordered coffee, and while they waited, Bonnie summoned up all that was good and loving in herself so that she could stop hating the woman on the other side of the table, this woman who was trying to steal her husband and ruin her life. She imagined they were in Grandma's Attic and that Terri was a newcomer to Waterford, charmed inside by a bright quilt hanging in the shop window, unsure and uncomfortable, hovering nearby and listening wistfully to the laughter of the Elm Creek
Quilters. There had to be something, something in this woman that Bonnie could love.

The shape of her face reminded her of Sarah. Her hair was the same shade of blond as Diane's. Her husband had left her for another woman and she was raising two children alone.

There. That did it. Her hatred faded.

This time when she smiled at Terri, she felt genuine kindness. “So tell me about yourself,” she said.

Terri glanced at Craig, but he had not yet recovered his wits and was clearly of no use to anyone. So she began. When she mentioned her children, Bonnie asked if she had any photos. Hesitantly, Terri took a small album from her purse and passed it to her. Bonnie admired each picture and begged for the story behind them, and soon Terri was smiling shyly and talking almost as if they were friends. Craig looked on; by the time the server came by to refill their coffee cups, he had composed himself enough to join in the conversation, which shifted from family to work. Terri was working as an office manager in Harrisburg, but she dreamed of owning her own business someday.

Bonnie knew this; she had read the E-mail. “I run my own business,” she said.

Again Terri glanced at Craig. “I thought you worked in a fabric store.”

Bonnie burst out laughing. “Oh, don't I often wish it were that simple. No, I own a quilt shop, a place for specialty fabrics and notions and books, and just about everything else a quilter needs. I also teach quilting classes there, though I've cut back since I started teaching for Elm Creek Quilts.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Terri said. “Weren't you on
America's Back Roads
a few months ago?”

“That's right.”

“I remember it now.” Terri's eyes grew misty and she sighed. “That manor is so beautiful. You really get to work there? That must be so great. And the people seemed so nice.”

“They're the best people I've ever known,” Bonnie said, and she meant it. “You should come to quilt camp sometime.”

“Oh, no, not me.” Terri flashed her a quick smile and shook her head. “I don't know how to quilt.”

“What better reason to come to quilt camp? We'll teach you.”

“It looks so hard—”

“If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to,” Craig broke in. Bonnie and Terri looked at him. Terri frowned. Bonnie tried to hide her amusement. She sighed, looked at Terri, and rolled her eyes. Terri giggled.

“So tell me about your idea for your business,” Bonnie said. “I'd be happy to share my experience with you.”

Eagerly, Terri told her about her idea to open a computer software and supply store with products of interest to women and children. Bonnie had to admit it was an interesting idea, full of possibilities. She answered Terri's questions about start-up capital and location and marketing; together they brainstormed and debated. They talked through a few more refills of coffee until Craig finally cleared his throat and reminded them about the game.

“He's right,” Bonnie said. “You two better get going or you won't make it to the stadium in time.”

“What about you?” Terri asked, climbing out of the booth.

“I'm going to watch it from the club down the street.” Bonnie explained that she didn't have a ticket because she had decided to come at the last minute. She saw Craig and Terri exchange a long look. Now Bonnie's presence had finally been explained, and now Terri finally understood why Craig had canceled the date. But Craig still didn't know why Terri had shown up after he had told her not to, and Terri had no idea why Craig had changed his mind and why on earth he had brought his wife along.

They would have plenty of time to talk at the game.

Craig and Terri walked with her to the bar, two blocks away. They arranged to meet outside the stadium after the game. Bonnie waited until Craig and Terri climbed onto the Campus Loop bus that would take them to the stadium, and then she went inside the bar.

She was exhausted. Everything was going well so far, but the effort had drained her.

The layout of the bar had not changed since her last visit years ago; the dining room was empty, but the bar was nearly full. One wall was lined with big-screen TVs, all tuned to the same station. Bonnie took the last available table and ordered a drink.

Her eyes were fixed on the screen, but her mind was with Craig and Terri. There was no reason for them to go to the game, not with “the wife” safely out of the way. They could be in the hotel room that very minute. After they wore themselves out with lovemaking, they would turn on the game and watch it as they cuddled, so later they could describe plays and statistics to her as if they had been in the stadium. At the last possible moment they would race hand in hand across campus to the meeting place outside the stadium, still glowing from their encounter and from the glee of deceiving her.

Bonnie shook her head to force the thoughts away. She couldn't think like that. Surely by now they were too worked up and anxious and guilty to even contemplate having sex. Besides, they knew she had a key to the hotel room. They wouldn't risk it.

She kept reassuring herself until she almost believed it.

She nursed her drink through the first quarter, then switched to soft drinks for the rest of the game. It seemed hours until the fourth quarter, but finally it was time for her to leave if she wanted to meet Craig and Terri promptly. But Bonnie didn't budge. Her heart began to pound as the game ended, but still she didn't leave. Instead, she struck up a conversation with some of the other customers and focused her attention on an interview with Joe Paterno.

Suddenly she spotted Craig and Terri making their way through the crowd toward her, unsmiling, carefully apart from each other. She pretended not to see them until they reached the table and Craig spoke her name.

Bonnie feigned astonishment. “Is it that time already?”

“We waited for you for twenty minutes,” Craig said, almost woebegone.

“I lost all track of time.” Bonnie rose and forced out a cheerful smile. “You two must have enjoyed the game even more than I did, since you were in the stadium.”

“It was all right,” Craig said, but neither he nor Terri looked as if they'd had much fun.

They were ready for supper, so they walked several blocks east to an Italian restaurant. Craig and Terri seemed ill at ease with each other and grateful for Bonnie's conversation, which was nearly a monologue, the others spoke so infrequently. Soon she had them grinning in spite of themselves with the anecdotes from Steve's sportswriter friends. Bonnie could almost forget what had brought them together in that place.

They left the restaurant at dusk.

“Where are you staying?” Bonnie asked Terri as they strolled down College Avenue toward the Hotel State College. The three walked side-by-side, with Bonnie in the middle.

“I'm going home.”

“Oh, do you have to? I was looking forward to hearing more about your computer store over breakfast.”

Terri fidgeted with the straps of her purse. “No, I'd better get home. It's only an hour away. No sense in paying for the sitter if I don't have to.” She shook Bonnie's hand. “Thanks so much for all your advice.”

“Don't mention it. Any time. You have my number.”

Terri nodded. Then her mouth tightened and she extended her hand to Craig. “Good-bye,” she told him, and her words carried a ring of finality.

Craig shook her hand and nodded, but said nothing. Terri flashed them a quick, tight smile and walked away.

Bonnie and Craig watched her until she rounded the corner, then they continued on to the hotel.

“Terri seems very nice,” Bonnie said.

“She thinks you're nice, too.” He paused. “Actually, she thinks you're wonderful. She said you were ‘an inspiration.'”

“No kidding. I don't think anyone's ever called me that before.” Bonnie
kept her voice casual. “The next time you write to her, why don't you invite her to visit us in Waterford?”

“I don't think we'll be writing to each other anymore.”

“Oh.”

A moment passed in silence as they walked on.

“Bonnie—” Craig hesitated. “There's something I need to tell you about this trip.”

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I—”

“Craig, I already know.”

Silence.

“Oh.” His voice was leaden. “I guess I knew that.”

She glanced at him, and saw to her amazement that his face was contorted, as if he were fighting back tears. His pace slowed until he came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Bonnie—” His voice broke. “I'm so sorry—”

Her first instinct was to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right, that they could slip back into their comfortable, routine married life as if he had not set out to betray her. She had won, and in her victory she could afford to be generous. But the words stuck in her throat. She had won him back, but watching him fight off tears, she couldn't imagine ever trusting him again.

“I don't think I can go through this again,” she heard herself say.

“You won't have to. I promise.”

She tried, but she couldn't believe him. She would never know when the next Terri would come along, and she couldn't bear to spend every waking moment suspecting him, watching him, waiting for the ground beneath her feet to shift and crumble again. She deserved better than a lifetime of suspicion and mistrust. She deserved better.

“Bonnie?” Craig pleaded. “Please say you forgive me.”

“Of course I do,” she said, thinking,
I don't know if I can.

They walked on.

When they arrived home on Sunday, Bonnie unpacked her suitcase with barely a word for her husband. Then she went to her sewing room, where she took out the round robin quilt.

She chose green and blue for the colors of Elm Creek Manor. She chose blue for truth and green for new beginnings. She followed Diane's lead and chose a darker shade of cream for her background; Diane had given her such good advice lately that it seemed reasonable to accept her guidance this time, too.

She pieced a border of pinwheel blocks—pinwheels for her windblown life, which with faith and perseverance she tried to stitch into order. The pattern was a four patch, a square divided into four smaller squares, which were in turn divided into two equal triangles, one light, one dark, like the darkness of the past week and the light hope of the future. She wanted to believe in hope.

One side of each triangle was for Craig, one for Terri, and one for herself, but as the border took shape, the triangles melted into the pinwheel pattern, and all she could see was the motion spinning ever forward, but to what destination, she did not know.

S
ylvia traced around the template, careful to keep the points of the diamond clear and distinct as she drew on the wrong side of the dark blue paisley fabric. She would hand-piece this quilt, she decided, to insure the accuracy of the piecing and the sharpness of the points. She had made other Broken Star quilts before, but this one was special. When it was complete, it would hang in the front foyer to welcome their guests to Elm Creek Manor.