Round Robin (24 page)

“I see.” Her mother's voice was crisp. “So this is how you respect the memory of your father. You try to replace him.”

“How can you say that?” she asked, shocked by the cutting words. Even after five years, her grief over her father's death was as tender as a new bruise on her heart. “I'm not trying to replace Daddy. No one could replace him. That's the cruelest thing you've ever said to me.”

“I'm sorry,” Tuyet replied, uncharacteristically meek.

“I'm not going to see him; I'm going to see Kirsten. She's the one who invited me.” Agnes's words came into her mind. “I don't think it's right to punish her for what Robert did.”

There was a long pause.

“Bob.”

“What?”

“He called himself Bob, not Robert.”

Judy took a deep breath. “Fine. Bob it is.”

“Is that what you are going to call him when you see him?”

“I—I don't know.” She couldn't picture calling him Father, but Mr. Scharpelsen would be too stiff and formal. The thought of calling him Bob, the name her mother had used, didn't feel right, either. Maybe if she was careful and creative she could avoid using his name altogether.

“Maybe he will tell you what to call him.”

“Maybe.”

“If you are going, why not use their voucher? Make them pay for the privilege of seeing you.”

“I want to pay for it myself.” She had to, she knew, or the Scharpelsens could never see her as their equal.

Her mother seemed to understand that, perhaps even to approve. Before she hung up, she wished Judy a safe journey. “I hope the visit goes well,” she said. “If it seems appropriate, give the family my best wishes. But only if it seems appropriate. Use your best judgment.”

“I will,” Judy promised, relieved that her mother had given the trip her blessing. Until that moment, Judy had not realized she sought it.

She hung up and went outside to join her husband and daughter. She shoved all thoughts of Kirsten and Robert out of her mind for the rest of
that day and most of the next. When she returned from welcoming the new campers to Elm Creek Manor on Sunday afternoon, she went to Steve's office to search the Internet for airline and hotel information. A far more difficult task followed: writing a response to Kirsten's letter. She struggled for hours to find the right words, the right tone. In the first draft she sounded chilly and reserved; in the second, too eager and grateful. After several revisions and a great deal of pacing, she settled on a simple, brief reply:

 

 

She tried to sign the letter “Your sister,” as Kirsten had, but she couldn't do it.

Kirsten responded by return mail. “I'm so glad you decided to come!” she wrote. “I can't wait to meet you in person.” Her enthusiasm pleased Judy, who wished she felt the same. She was looking forward to the visit only in the sense that she was looking forward to getting it over with.

The Elm Creek Quilters supported her without fail, as they always did—but they showed varying degrees of approval for the trip. Diane and
Sarah said nothing more about their misgivings, but their expressions revealed their reluctance. Gwen, Summer, and Bonnie told her they were certain the visit would go well. But it was Sylvia and Agnes who convinced her she had made the right decision. Privately, each told Judy that even if she never saw the Scharpelsens again, she would rest easier knowing she had made the effort. “You're right to do this now, before it's too late,” Sylvia said, and Judy's heart went out to the older woman. She hoped Sylvia would find some comfort in knowing that Judy had learned from Sylvia's mistakes.

That week, Judy proctored the final exams for her two classes and turned in her course grades. She planned her wardrobe and bought film for her camera. On Thursday afternoon, she dug out her garment bag from the back of the hall closet—and that was when she realized what border she would add to the round robin quilt. When she closed her eyes she could picture it so clearly that she wondered how she ever could have considered any other pattern.

She left the garment bag in the hallway and hurried downstairs to her basement studio, where she searched through her fabric stash for the perfect shades of green and blue and gold. She traced pieces and cut cloth at a feverish pace, too busy to think, too busy to worry. Before she knew it, Steve was calling down from the top of the stairs to tell her supper was ready.

Guiltily, Judy swept the quilt pieces into her sewing kit. Steve had let her work undisturbed all afternoon, caring for Emily in Judy's place instead of writing. He had a deadline, too, but he had not complained.

She hurried to the kitchen in time to help him carry the dishes to the table. “Steve, I'm sorry,” she said. “Next week, I swear—”

He stopped her with a kiss. “Don't be sorry. I understand.” He grinned and gave her a tickle under her chin before turning to lift Emily into her chair.

Judy felt tears spring into her eyes as she took her seat. Steve was the kindest man she had ever known. She was more grateful for him that evening than she had ever been.

Later, Judy read Emily a story and tucked her into bed. She knelt on the floor beside her and brushed her soft, dark bangs off her forehead. “Honey, there's something I want to tell you.”

“I know already.”

Judy's eyebrows rose. “You do?”

Emily nodded, her dark eyes solemn. “Daddy told me.”

That surprised her; they had agreed that Judy would tell her about the trip. “He did?”

Emily nodded again. “You're very busy. That's why you can't play.”

Judy felt a pang. “Oh, sweetie.” She stroked Emily's hair. “You're right. I've been very busy lately and I haven't paid enough attention to you, have I?”

Emily shrugged and said nothing, hugging the kimono-clad doll.

“You've been a very good girl not to complain.”

“Daddy said not to,” Emily confided.

Judy laughed. “Oh. Well, even so.” She hesitated, wondering what to tell her. How much would she understand? She knew that Grandpa was Steve's daddy and that he lived in Ohio; she also knew that her other grandfather was Judy's daddy, who had gone to heaven before she was born. Would it confuse her to learn that she had a third grandfather? And what if the weekend visit went poorly and there was no more contact between the families?

Emily was still too young, Judy decided. Someday she would tell her everything, but not tonight.

“I'm going on a trip to see an old friend of Grandma Tuyet's,” she finally said, picturing her mother tossing her head in scorn at the description. “When I get back, we'll have lots of time together, okay?”

Emily smiled. “Okay.”

“You go to sleep now.” Judy kissed her good-night and rose, turning off the light as she left the room and leaving the door ajar, the way Emily liked it.

The next day Steve and Emily saw her off at the regional airport. As she went to board her plane, Judy waved good-bye to her family with a sinking heart, seized with a sudden urge to cancel the trip. It was a mistake. It was too soon.

But instead she crossed the tarmac and boarded the plane.

The eighteen-seat prop plane looked like a wind-up toy. It needed
a bumpy ninety minutes to carry its passengers to Pittsburgh, where Judy breathed a sigh of relief and transferred to a jet. The second leg of her journey was smooth enough for her to retrieve her sewing bag from her carry-on and piece a few seams of her round robin border. As she worked her needle through the soft fabric, the familiar motions soothed her.

There was a long layover in Chicago, but eventually she boarded another plane, the last, the one that would take her to Dane County Regional Airport and the family she dreaded meeting. This time she was too nervous to piece. For the rest of the flight she looked out the window, thinking.

When the plane descended through the scattered clouds over Wisconsin, Judy caught a glimpse of sunlight sparkling on a large lake—no, two large lakes separated by an isthmus. As they drew closer, she saw that the narrow strip of land was crowded with buildings; the most prominent, a dome-topped structure with four wings, was in the center. Judy craned her neck to watch it as they passed. When she couldn't see the building any longer, she turned her attention to the lake, a rich blue etched with the white wakes of boats.

The plane lurched suddenly. Judy faced forward and clutched the armrests of her seat, but it was not the turbulence that wrenched her stomach. She wished they could stay up there in the clear sky above the blue water, circling, drifting, eventually turning around and heading back east toward home.

The plane touched down.

Judy gathered her things and left the plane, the strap of her tote slung over one shoulder, her garment bag in her other hand. In the terminal people were shaking hands, embracing, calling out welcomes. She felt invisible, alone.

“Judy?”

She looked in the direction of the voice. A tall, slender woman was weaving toward her through the crowd. Her straight blond hair brushed gently at her jawline as she walked, and she looked to be at least five years younger than Judy.

The woman came to a stop in front of her. “Judy?” she asked hesitantly.

Judy nodded.

The woman smiled, delighted. “I'm Kirsten,” she said, embracing her. “Welcome to Madison.”

Judy returned the hug awkwardly. “Thanks.” She wondered how Kirsten had recognized her, but after a quick glance around, she realized she was the only Asian-looking person who had gotten off the plane. She felt as if she had disembarked in the Land of Tall Blondes.

Before she could react, Kirsten took the garment bag from her. “Do you have any more luggage?”

“No, just this.”

“Great, then we can get going. I'm so glad you're here. How was your flight?”

“Fine,” Judy managed to say. Her sister was smiling brightly and practically skipping with delight as they made their way through the airport, while Judy felt as if her legs had turned to lead.

“My car's right outside,” Kirsten said. “I'll give you the nickel tour on the way to my apartment. I live downtown, near campus. I have the spare room all made up for you.”

“Oh. Um, actually, I have a reservation—” Judy fumbled for the paper in her pocket. “At the Residence Inn on, um, D'Onofrio.”

Kirsten stopped short. “You're going to stay in a hotel?”

“Well, yes, I mean—”

“But D'Onofrio's all the way on the west side of town. Don't you—wouldn't you prefer to stay with me?”

Judy forced herself to smile. “I thought it would be better this way, you know, so that you can still have your privacy and we won't fight over the bathroom.”

She said it so comically that Kirsten smiled, and the tension eased. Kirsten resumed walking, keeping up a steady stream of questions about Judy's trip as they left the airport. Kirsten's car was parked just outside at the curb, its hazard lights flashing. They loaded Judy's luggage into the
trunk and drove off. Kirsten described the various sights they passed—the large domed structure, which turned out to be the capitol building; the University of Wisconsin; and State Street, a row of shops and restaurants between the capitol and campus.

“We'll go there tomorrow, after the Farmers' Market on the capitol square.” Kirsten gave Judy a quick glance. “Unless you're hungry. Would you like to go to the hotel and rest, or do you want to get something to eat?”

Judy hadn't eaten on the plane, and she was famished. They pulled into a parking garage—Kirsten called it a parking “ramp,” which made Judy picture a large wedge jutting into the sky—and walked down the street to a small Turkish restaurant. The spicy aromas from the kitchen enticed them inside, and soon, over an appetizer of tabouli and hummus with wedges of pita bread, they were finally able to talk.

By the end of the meal, Judy felt more relaxed than she had since her mother told her about the letter. To her relief, Kirsten was friendly and talkative, accepting Judy's reserve for what it was—natural shyness, not a reluctance to be with her. For now that Judy was there, she found herself glad she had come and pleased by how well she and her sister got along. Kirsten was an intern at University Hospital, where her father had practiced before his retirement. She skimmed over their father lightly, but still Judy felt a fluttering in her chest at the mention of his name.

“What about your brother and sister?” Judy asked. “Are they still in school, too?”

“No.” Kirsten took a hasty swallow of iced tea. “Daniel and Sharon both finished school a while ago.”

Judy nodded. That made sense. Kirsten was twenty-eight, and Daniel and Sharon were probably only a few years behind her, beyond college age.

She had so many questions, but Kirsten was so eager to hear about Judy, her mother, and her life in Waterford with Steve and Emily that Judy barely learned anything about the other Scharpelsens. Kirsten answered questions about herself readily enough, but she evaded inquiries about Robert or her siblings. She did it so subtly and with such friendliness that it wasn't until the meal was over and they were walking back to
the car that Judy realized she knew little more about her family than she had before the plane landed.