The Healing Quilt (17 page)

What had Mark said to cause Ryan such consternation? And, the big question, was his call liquor induced? Had all of this driven him to drink?

“Oh, Mark, come home where you are safe.”
Were supposed to be holding each other up and drawing closer because of our adversity.
That's what the book she'd been reading said. What a crock. If that is what happened in real life, where was he? Or were they going to become a statistic? The book also said 80 percent of marriages dissolved after a son or daughter died or experienced a life-threatening illness.

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” She slammed her hand down on the counter, making Missy jump and look up, accusations wrinkling her already wrinkled face.

“Sorry, girl, but there must be something I can do. If I had an address, I'd send a card or a letter. I can do e-mail, that's for sure.” She thought of the computer that got used for downloading sewing and craft things from the Internet.
But if he wanted to keep in contact, wouldn't he have been e-mailing me?

So when did you check last?

To shut off the accusing voice, she climbed the stairs to the home office and turned on the computer. All the family knew how seldom she logged on, especially in the summer. Two or three times a week—max.

While she waited for the computer to boot up, she straightened papers, filing some of the mail and putting the bills in the drawer to be paid. Another one of those things that Mark used to do. At least he had electronic deposit with his paycheck, so she didn't have to worry about money.

Missy laid her chin on Kit's shoe and heaved a sigh.

“You're feeling left out too? Well, join the club.” Kit sniffed back the tears that attacked without warning or provocation.

After logging on, she waited again, idly scanning the subject lines as the e-mail downloaded. A joke from someone, two spams, a message from Jennifer and none from Mark. She read the joke, a poor one that she deleted instantly, ditto for the spams, and called up Jennifer's note.

Her questions echoed Ryan's. What is going on with Dad? Are you all right? The job was going fine, but she missed the Northwest. Did Kit have any idea how hot and humid Texas could be?

“That's one reason we live here, Jen,” Kit mumbled. “I hate humidity and melt in prolonged heat.” She clicked the reply icon and told Jennifer the same as she had Ryan. “Talk to your father yourself.” She mentioned the quilt project and deleted mention of Thomas.

She stared at the screen.
Wonder why I did that?^Wiui
a shrug she left it as is and added, “With love, Mom. P.S. I'll try to remember to log on more often.”

“Okay, dog. I'm going outside to work in the garden for a bit. You can drool over the birds or stay inside, your choice.” An ear-ringing bark was her answer.

On her way out the door, Kit snagged her clippers and gardening gloves from the shelf and stuck the green stretchy tape in her pocket. It had replaced worn-out pantyhose as plant ties sometime earlier.

She went down the flower beds deadheading the roses, checking for aphids, and pulling the few weeds that managed to sneak through the mulch. After fetching bamboo stakes from the gardening bench, she tied up the glads before they grew leggy enough to tip over and snipped dead blossoms off the late-blooming anemones and irises. Missy rolled over and wriggled around, scratching her back on the grass, her front feet flopping, back feet kicking the air. When she snorted and lay there, looking up at Kit as if saying, “Come on, get with the belly rubs,” Kit laughed and complied. Sinking down on the grass, she rubbed Missy's belly, watching a hummingbird visit the Apple Pink penstemon, hovering and drinking from each tubular blossom. When her fingers slowed, Missy kicked her feet, rolled back right up, and crawled up into Kits crossed legs.

“You silly girl, you're too big to be a lap dog.” With both arms around the dog's neck, Kit rested her chin on Missy's head and watched the blackbirds ferrying food to their growing brood in the birdhouse on the top of a pole stuck in the dahlia bed. While she kept the bird feeders empty of seeds at that time of the year, every once in a while, a sparrow or house finch would light and check it out.

“How do you suppose he can bear living in hotels all the time when he enjoyed our yard as much as I do?” She shook her head. “I just don't get it.”

A snore from the dog in her lap made her look down. Missy lay on her back, head tipped over Kit's thigh and two broad paws flopped on her chest. Perfect trust in picture form. A picture of herself climbing up into God's lap zapped through her mind.

“No!”

Missy jerked awake, scrambling to her feet, her head swiveling around to see what was wrong. She woofed, halfheartedly, in case there was something going on she didn't see.

“Don't mind me. I just got blindsided by a memory. God, I'm not doing that anymore. I told you that. I can't trust you anymore.”

Can't or worit?

“And I'm tired of those voices too.” Kit took the clippers and attacked a euonymus, whacking the straggling branches back as if they were poison ivy or oak.

“I'm not doing that anymore. I'm not, I'm not.”

She stomped across the grass to the garage and brought out the orange construction-sized wheelbarrow, threw the rake in, and stomped back across the yard to clean up her mess.

That done, Kit headed for the lower level where the compost heaps awaited her. Throwing the trimmings in a pile that she'd chop by running over it with the lawn mower, she took the pitchfork stuck in the pile that needed turning and went at it as though she were attacking an invading army.

Dig…shove the fork deeper. “No more.”

Lift…strain. “Mark, you're a jerk.”

Dig. “No more.”

Lift. “Who needs…”

Heave.
“You.”

She dug, lifted, and heaved until her shoulders ached, until sweat and tears ran down her face and chest. Kit was puffing so hard she could only mutter her diatribe. Gasping, she leaned on the pitchfork handle and stared at the now empty bin. Empty, just like her.

She stared at the three three-sided composting bins Mark had built especially for her. She could add boards to make them higher or dismantle the whole thing to move it to a different area if she so desired.

Kit wiped her face with her shirttail and, after sucking in as much air as her chest could hold, released it all and felt the last vestiges of anger disappear on the slight breeze. She stabbed the fork back into the top of the heap she'd turned, “/need you, that's who.”

She wiped her
eyes
again and headed for the house.

The message light was blinking when she glanced at the phone. She punched the button and heard Teza.

“I thought you were coming out to pick cherries. I sure could use some help.”

“Oh, drat and blast. How could I forget something like that so quickly?” Kit checked the time. Almost two. Amazing how time flew when you were having fun. She washed her hands, made a peanut butter and jam sandwich, called Missy in, and with sandwich and can of soda in hand, tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the car. She'd eat on the way.

Dusk fell too quickly as the clouds came up in the west, growing darker in spite of the sun.

“The rest of those cherries will just have to take their chances,” Teza said with a head shake. “If they split, they split.”

Kit set her bucket on the wheelbarrow. “There aren't many left at least.” She stretched her hands above her head and twisted from her waist, trying to pull the kinks out of her shoulders. “Besides, since when are the weatherman or even black clouds necessarily on the nose with rain?”

“True.” Teza grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and with a grunt began pushing the load up to the barn.

“Here, let me do that.” With a grin Kit shouldered her aunt out of the way and pushed the load onward.

Once the cherries were in the cooler, Kit rinsed her hands in the sink Mark had plumbed out there for just that purpose and wiped her hands on a towel. “How about coming over for dinner with me, and lets finish designing the cancer quilt? I've been playing with it in my mind, but I need to get it down on paper and have you look it over.”

Teza made a moue. “I should do those cherries that are really ripe…” But then she shrugged. “They'll wait until morning. You want me to bring anything?”

“No thanks. Just your brain and experience.”

“Well, 50 percent isn't bad.” Teza reached up to pull the counter window down and flinched in the process. After throwing the bolts, she rubbed her shoulder.

“What's wrong?”

“Either I pulled a muscle the other day, or else all the cherry picking is getting to me.”

“You're sure that's all?”

“Kit, I'll see you at your house.”

Once home and cleaned up, Kit took strips of cooked chicken out of the freezer and thawed them in the microwave while she filled two bowls with mixed salad greens she'd picked that morning. By the time Teza arrived, the salads were ready and the muffins just out of the oven.

“Poppy seed dressing or roasted garlic?”

“Either.” Teza bent down. “Yes, Missy, I see you. I just needed to put my things down before I could pet you.” She took care of those obligations and sat in the chair that Kit indicated.

“I thought we'd eat out on the deck, but the wind came up too much. Iced tea or coffee?”

“Coffee would be fine.”

When seated, Kit picked up her fork, then waited while Teza bowed her head. Saying grace was another of those things she'd put aside for quite a while…or forever.

“My, this is good.” Teza broke open a muffin. “Cranberries?”

“I tossed a handful in. Thought it would go well with the chicken.”

“It does. Interesting meeting this morning, don't you think?”

“That's for sure. Never dreamed Elaine Giovanni would show up like that.”

“I'm glad she came. Did you notice the look on her face when you introduced her?”

“No, why?” Kit stopped chewing.

“Your comment about ‘token woman on the hospital board?”

“Oh.” Kit tightened her lower jaw in a flinch. “It just slipped out. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“She covered well, but…”

“But I stuck my foot in my mouth and now I have to chew?”

“Something like that.”

Kit groaned when the phone interrupted them but rose to answer it anyway. “What a dumb thing to do. Hello.”

“Kit, this is Beth Donnelly.”

“Well, hi, what a nice surprise. I'm sure glad you came today.”

“Me, too. I was wondering, I mean I had an idea for the quilt and I…”

“Interesting. Teza is here and we are going to work on the designing tonight. You want to come over?”

“Really? I mean I wouldn't want to put you out on the spur of the moment or anything.”

“No chance. Come as soon as you can.”

Kit hung up and turned to smile at Teza. “Beth Donnelly is coming to help us.”

“Good. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better.”

An hour later the three of them were studying the picture of the quilt the group had chosen to use.

“My grandmother always said she chose colors by their meaning and what she wanted the quilt to say. She said blue is the color of truth and red is for life and passion.”