The Beach Quilt (23 page)

Cindy was alone in the shop. Adelaide had an appointment with her dentist and wouldn't be in until after lunch. The girls had the day off but would be coming to the shop around four to do some work on the baby's quilt. Truth be told, often enough the girls spent more time chatting than sewing, but Cindy figured that any activity that kept women together was important.

It had been a slow morning. Only one person had come by the shop, a regular who knew exactly the thickness and color of thread that she wanted. She had been in and out within three minutes, tops. Cindy would have been happy if a big tour bus of people came by, each person loudly demanding personal attention. It would help take her mind off that fraught encounter with Sarah.

Poor child. She had been ready to make an enormous sacrifice for the sake of her family. It must have taken an awful amount of courage to come forward like that and suggest a path her deepest instinct told her not to take.

Cindy rubbed her eyes. She and Joe must have been indiscreet. Sarah must have overheard one of the conversations in which they had been talking about money. They would have to be more careful. They would have to talk and plan when Sarah wasn't at home. Sarah, or Stevie.

Cindy stuck by her very firm opinion that keeping Sarah's baby was the right thing for the family to do. Still, she wondered if she should have been so
forceful
with Sarah. She did not want to be a bully with either of her children. And what had she been thinking, promising that the future would be rosy? Sarah was right. No one could promise that,
no one
, not even the most loving parent or devoted spouse or dedicated friend.

Sarah had admitted that she didn't really want to give up her baby. So she must have been motivated solely by guilt at the thought of putting such a burden on her parents. Cindy wondered. Was a motive of guilt ever sufficient and genuine enough to be respected and acted upon? Maybe. But not in this case. No.

Cindy caught a glimpse of a woman peering into the shop from the sidewalk. She waved, but either the woman didn't see her or she wasn't in a friendly mood. She moved on and Cindy shrugged.

There was another thing. She had told Sarah not to tell her father about their conversation; she had said that she would tell him herself. But she had lied. The truth was that Cindy was afraid Joe would encourage an adoption now that Sarah had mentioned the possibility. This was the third secret she was keeping from her husband. Somehow, in the space of a few months, she had become a person of silence and deception.

Cindy sighed. She had to keep reminding herself that this unborn child was not her own. It was
Sarah's
. And Sarah was Cindy's child. It was Cindy's job to show support and loyalty to her daughter before her grandson. Wasn't it? Or did the baby now take precedence because he was an utterly dependent being? Where did Cindy's responsibility end and Sarah's begin?

The bell over the shop's door rang. Cindy sighed in relief. Finally. Customers, three of them together. And by the look of them, these women were serious quilters. Even if Cindy hadn't had an instinct for such things, their bags—identical and with the words Kittery Kquilters Klub stitched on the side—would have given them away. Thankfully, the next half an hour or so would involve her in matters that had nothing to do with doubtful motives, blatant lies, and false promises.

“It's nice out here,” Stevie said. “Quiet. Pretty.”

The girls were on the deck at the Kane house. There had been a sun-shower and now the grass was twinkling with raindrops and there was a coolish breeze.

Cordelia was stretched out on a lounge chair. Stevie was cross-legged in an upright folding chair, sewing a bit of their quilting project with her deft hands. (Cordelia's latest efforts had been ruined when she spilled her soda all over the fabric.) Clarissa was stalking the deck, acting like the director of homeland security against unwanted bugs and mice.

“Yeah,” Cordelia said. “It would be perfect if we had a pool.”

“Clarissa wouldn't like it. She hates the water. Most cats do.”

“Mmm.” Cordelia squirted more sunblock onto her legs. You could never be too careful. Skin could get burned and icky very quickly.

“Did anyone ever ask you questions about Sarah?” Stevie asked suddenly. “You know, when everybody first found out?”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said, “back before school ended, a few girls asked me some stuff.”

“Did they say mean things about Sarah?”

Cordelia tossed the tube of sunblock aside. She had no problem with lying to Stevie about this. “No,” she said. “No one said anything mean.” Boy, one girl had been such a bitch! “They seemed genuinely concerned. There was this one girl though who's got a bad reputation as a gossip. Let's just say I shut her down.”

Stevie smiled. “You don't look tough at all, but I totally believe that you can be.”

Cordelia thought that anybody could be tough, given the right provocation. “What do your friends say about Sarah being pregnant?” she asked.

Stevie shrugged. “They don't say anything.”

“Really? Still nothing?”

“Well, Marly wanted to know a bunch of stuff at first. Like, if Sarah was going to marry Justin. But I just told her I didn't want to talk about it. After that, no one's said anything. It's kind of weird.”

Cordelia thought about that. It
was
a little weird. “Are you going to tell them that you're gay?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Stevie said. “Probably someday they'll find out. Anyway, I haven't been spending as much time with Marly and Tara and Shannon as I used to.”

Cordelia had suspected as much. She wondered if Stevie was afraid that her friends might react badly if she told them the truth about herself. “They're being nice to you, aren't they?” she asked. “I mean, no one's giving you a hard time?”

“No, no. They're totally nice. It's just—” Stevie shrugged.

“Stevie, I'm your friend. What's going on?”

Stevie put down her sewing. “It's just that one time at Tara's house I overheard her mother saying something—not nice—about Sarah. She was on the phone. I didn't purposely listen, but I couldn't help but hear her.”

Cordelia shot upright on the lounge. “What a bitch! Sorry, but that's what she is.” It was especially awful, Cordelia thought, for an adult to say hurtful things about a child. That was downright cowardly.

“And Shannon's brother is kind of a creep,” Stevie said. “He's, like, seventeen, and he's always, I don't know, watching me. A few times he's touched me, like put his arm around my shoulders.”

Cordelia felt her face flush with anger. “Oh, my God, Stevie, the next time he touches you, just yell, ‘Get off me!' And I mean yell loud. He's so totally wrong. And you should tell Shannon you don't like it when he touches you. She's your friend. She should tell her idiot brother to back off!”

Stevie shrugged and looked down at her lap.

“And if that doesn't do the trick, then you tell your father and let him handle the creep!”

“Sometimes it's just—too much. I can't . . .” Stevie began to sob. “I don't feel safe anywhere,” she cried. “I feel like bad things are happening all around me and if I'm not really careful . . .”

Clarissa leaped from the ground and onto Stevie's lap where she began to whimper and circle in distress.

Cordelia got up and went over to Stevie. She put her arm around her slim shoulders. “You're safe with me, always,” she said firmly. “And look, you know you can go to my mom and dad anytime, right? They're pretty awesome as far as parents go.”
And Mom already knows that you've been sad and worried,
Cordelia added silently.

Stevie nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she said.

Cordelia laughed kindly. “Why?”

“I hardly ever cry.”

“I cry all the time!”

Clarissa put her front paws on Stevie's chest and began to lick the tears from her cheeks.

“Besides,” Cordelia pointed out, “if anyone tried to hurt you, they'd have to answer to Clarissa, as well as to me.”

Stevie smiled. “I think I have cat hair in my mouth.”

“I like being in charge of the shop,” Cordelia said. “Well, in co-charge.”

Sarah smiled. “Me too. It's really good of your mom to trust us.”

Adelaide and Cindy had gone to the home of a woman who had a family quilt to sell. They would examine the quilt, assess its value, and possibly make an offer. Sarah thought of them as good cop and bad cop. Mrs. Kane was, of course, as the shop's owner, the bad cop, and Sarah's mother was, as the employee and sidekick, the good cop. The thought amused her—but not enough to erase the memory of the awful dream she had had the night before.

In the dream, she had died giving birth to the baby. She didn't remember a lot of the details now, but she did remember hearing a doctor say, “She's gone,” and struggling to sit up and show him that no, she was
not
gone, she was still very much
alive
. Then someone, maybe a nurse, had laid the baby's quilt over her face and suddenly, Sarah knew she was completely alone in the hospital room. Finally, she had woken up, whimpering and trying desperately to raise her arms, each of which felt like a thousand pounds. She had stayed awake for the rest of the night, terrified of falling back into the clutches of her unconscious.

“I had this terrible dream last night,” she said to Cordelia suddenly, though in fact she hadn't planned on telling anyone about it.

“Me too!” Cordelia cried. “I was late for a class, but I couldn't remember which class and I couldn't find my notebook and I forgot where my locker was and then, when I found it, I couldn't remember the combination! I was frantic. And then I woke up.”

“Oh.”

“What happened in your dream?” Cordelia asked.

“Well,” said Sarah, “actually, it was more of a nightmare. Maybe I shouldn't—”

“No, you
have
to tell me now! If you don't tell me, I'll be wondering for the rest of the day.”

“Okay. I died. In the hospital, giving birth.”

“A nightmare is right!” Cordelia shrieked. “Thank God they aren't real!”

“Well, you know, there is actually a slim chance that I could die. In real life.”

Cordelia leaped to her feet and clutched her head. “How could you even think such a thing? Oh my God, of course you're not going to die!”

Sarah shrugged. “Oh, I know that. It's just, you know, sometimes things go wrong.”

“But they won't go wrong. You're young and healthy and strong and . . .”

Sarah laughed. “Okay! Nothing will go wrong!”

Cordelia sank back onto the stool behind the counter. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, you've been going to those childbirth prep classes, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they should help put your mind at ease, right?”

Sarah shrugged. “Actually, they're kind of weird.”

“How?”

“Well, everyone's sitting around on the floor with their legs spread. It's not very—private.”
Nothing about pregnancy is very private,
Sarah added silently.
Not much, anyway.

“Oh. Your mom is there with you, right?”

“That's another thing,” Sarah said. “I'm the only one in my class without a male coach. It kind of makes me—obvious.”

“Big deal. I'd trust your mom over some pimply guy any day!”

Sarah laughed. “Actually, one of the guys looks like he's only about fifteen. Poor thing has the worst acne I've ever seen.”

“Fifteen! Is he the father?”

Sarah shrugged. “I guess. The girl he's with looks about fifteen, too. And they look nothing alike, so I don't think it's her brother. Anyway, I can't really see asking your brother to be your birthing coach!”

“Or your annoying cousin or the smelly guy who sits next to you in math class!”

“Can you imagine?”

“Do you know,” Cordelia said, “that some men go through terrible shock after they witness their wife or girlfriend give birth? I read this recently. There's, like, official counseling for these men. They're traumatized! Post-traumatic stress disorder or something.”

Sarah laughed. “Then it's a good thing women do the birthing!”

“Yeah, well, it's not exactly something I'm looking forward to,” Cordelia said with a grimace. “Back like fifty years ago, women were just knocked out. Think about it. You go into labor, someone pumps you full of drugs, you wake up, and voilà! You're handed a nice clean baby. And you don't even know what went on!”

“I think it sounds horrible,” Sarah said, “like something out of a creepy sci-fi movie. You could be handed an alien baby for all you know, or even just some other woman's baby.”

“I don't know,” Cordelia said, “I think it sounds kind of cool. Too bad that's not an option anymore. Now you have to go through the whole thing wide-awake. Ugh.”

“But then it's over and you have a lifetime of happiness.” Sarah paused after saying these words. Did she really believe that sentiment? Did anyone?

The tinkling of the bell above the door diverted Sarah's thoughts and the conversation.

“Hi!” Cordelia said brightly to the two women who had come in. They were obviously a mother and daughter; you could always tell a mother and daughter team, even when they didn't look all that much alike. “Let us know if we can help you with anything.”

Sarah turned to reviewing the morning's receipts. Cordelia was far better with the customers than she was, and far less interested in the financial part of the business.

One of the customers let out a peal of laughter so loud that Sarah jumped. So loud and so at odds with the tenor of Sarah's thoughts. No matter what Cordelia—or her own mother—might say, something bad
could
happen, to either her or to the baby. And there might be nothing she or anyone else could do to prevent it.