Ties That Bind (12 page)

“I doubt it,” I said. “I don't think she's happy that this is ending up in a courtroom but, like Dad, I think she believes that raising Olivia in a two-parent home is more important than respecting Mari's dying wish. And I've never heard her voice an opinion that's contradictory to my father's.”

“Well, that's too bad. Still, you did a good job today.” Arnie clapped me on the back as though I were a runner who had just come first across the finish line. “You made a good impression on Bench. He likes you. I knew he would.”

“I wasn't trying to impress him. I just don't think we should lie to Olivia.”

“I agree. So did Bench, and that's what matters. Round one goes to you.”

“Stop that.” I frowned and pulled my coat closer around me. The temperature had dropped while we were in the courthouse. “This isn't a contest. These are my parents we're talking about. There are no winners and losers here.”

Arnie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “This is a court case. Your parents are suing to
win
custody of Olivia. If they succeed, that means you lose—and so does your niece. So get your head in the game, Margot.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started to walk again. “And don't feel bad about scoring points with Geoff Bench. We need him on our side. Cheer up. You did good. You won.”

“It's hard to feel like a winner when the prize is getting to tell a six-year-old child that her mother is dead. How am I going to do it, Arnie? What am I supposed to say?”

A
rnie was no help. I don't know why I even bothered to ask him. If you're looking for first-rate legal advice, Arnie Kinsella is your man. For personal advice, I knew it was smarter to rely on my friends. However, they weren't available. Evelyn, Virginia, and Ivy were all in Vermont. Abigail was in Bermuda and would be for weeks to come.

Dana was on the phone when I entered the quilt shop. When the bells jingled to announce my arrival, her head bobbed up like it was on a spring. “Oh, good! You're here. This is the day care. Jordan is throwing up. I've got to leave a little early. Do you mind?”

“Not a problem. Things seem pretty quiet.”

“Thanks,” she said with a relieved sigh.

Business was more than quiet that afternoon; it was absolutely dead. Between three o'clock and quarter to six, I sold a half yard of fabric—four dollars and fifty cents plus tax—and a package of plastic replacement bobbins—seven dollars. I hoped things were going better for Evelyn and the others up in Vermont. Eleven dollars and fifty cents in the till would barely pay our heat and light bill for the afternoon, let alone my salary.

I tried to work on the books, but it was no use. After the third time I made a mistake in my addition, I gave up and decided to fold fat quarters instead. It's a pretty mindless task, but it didn't stop me from worrying about what I was going to say to Olivia. Someone had to tell her the truth; I just wished it could be someone else.

Just as I was getting ready to close out the register, the doorbell jingled again and a voice called out, “Is it okay to bring a dog into the shop?”

“Sure,” I said. “We're cat-free today.” Petunia, our regal and spoiled shop cat, can usually be found soaking up the sun in the display window, but since Virginia was in Vermont, Petunia was taking the day off.

Philippa came in with Clementine trailing behind, padding along on her saucer-sized paws. “Hi, Margot. Is Evelyn around?”

“She's out of town until Monday. But if you're ready to try quilting, I can help you. We've got a bunch of new classes starting soon.” I gave her a yellow brochure with our class listings. She glanced at it and slipped it into her purse.

“I wish I could, but I'm swamped. I've got committee meetings every night this week, hospital and nursing home visitations, a sermon to write, and a sudden onset of premarital counseling sessions. It seems like half of New Bern's single population decided to get engaged over Christmas and married before June.”

She smiled and patted Clementine's big head. The dog stretched out her neck, yawned, and flopped onto the floor like a sack of meal. Philippa dug a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. Her eyes looked tired and her face was puffy.

“Are you coming down with something?”

She shook her head as she pinched her nose with the crumpled tissue. “I'm fine. It's just another cold. The boiler keeps breaking down.

“I was taking Clem out for a quick walk before my meeting and thought I'd bounce an idea off Evelyn, but maybe you can help me. Did you know that six premature babies are born at the hospital every month? Maybe we should start a quilt ministry for preemies. It would be such a good way to reach out to the community. If enough people got involved, we might expand the ministry to pediatric patients too. Not all the kids, just the really sick ones who are there for a long time.”

“Kids like Olivia?”

“Like Olivia,” she confirmed with a nod. “Do you think Evelyn would be interested in heading up something like that?”

“Definitely. And if she can't, I will.”

“Thanks.” She gave me an appraising look. “How are you? I take it the custody battle is still on?”

“Oh, yes. My parents got a New York court to grant them guardianship. They didn't even tell the judge anything about me—or Mari's note!” I blinked hard, trying to keep hold of my emotions. “The Connecticut judge rescinded the ruling. He named a lawyer, whose name is Geoff Bench, to serve as a kind of temporary guardian ….”

“A guardian ad litem?”

I nodded, remembering that Philippa had once been a social worker and knew all about these things. “Anyway, it's all a big mess. I can't believe that my own parents would do something like that—sneak around behind my back.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “You've been through an awful lot lately.”

“Well, it's not all bad news. Olivia is a little better every day. She's fully conscious now. And asking questions …”

Philippa took her purse off her shoulder and put it on the counter, then pulled out a stool and sat down. “About your sister?”

“I have to go over there tomorrow and tell her, but I don't know what to say.”

Philippa sighed sympathetically. “It'll be hard, no use pretending it won't. Just tell the truth. Keep it simple. If she has questions, answer them, but don't give her more information than she asks for. She's only six. You can talk about heaven, but it's important that you help her understand that her mother is not coming back. Children that age have a hard time accepting that earthly death is forever.”

“Me too,” I said as tears fell from my eyes. There was no point in trying to keep them back. “I don't know why Mari's life had to be so hard. And so short. I don't understand why this had to happen to her, or to Olivia, to any of us. And, if it had to happen, why couldn't it have been after Christmas? We hadn't been together as a family in years. If we'd had a chance, maybe we could have patched some things up, you know? I would have liked to see her one more time. I never got to say good-bye.”

Philippa's own eyes teared, but she didn't speak. I was grateful for that. She didn't question my faith because she knew that faith and questions are not mutually exclusive. She didn't offer any explanations or theological theories. She listened to me. That was what I needed.

“My father said some things today …. They really got under my skin.”

I laughed and wiped away a tear, thinking what an understatement that was. My father was always saying stuff that got under my skin. If parental commentary were classified into food groups, Dad would have been those popcorn hulls that get stuck between your teeth and turn your gums red and puffy—irritating, but nothing to get worked up over. Normally, I didn't. But today my father's comments contained more than a kernel of truth.

I wiped away the last tears and looked Philippa in the eye. “Am I ready to be a mother? I mean … am I qualified?”

She took in a breath and blew it out slowly, considering my question. “I've never been a mother, so maybe I'm the wrong person to ask. But don't you think that every mother worries if she's up to the task? It seems to me the first qualification for parenthood is love. You've got that part down pat.”

“But,” I countered, “my father is right; love doesn't pay the rent. It's one thing for me to live on cheese sandwiches and optimism with no benefits, but Olivia will need more than that. Even after she recovers from the accident, she's going to need clothes and shoes and maybe braces for her teeth, a chance to go to college …”

“True,” Philippa replied. “But you're perfectly capable of doing that. With all your experience in marketing?” she asked, as if questioning why I would doubt my own abilities. “You might have to find another job or work someplace where they could afford to pay you more, but if it came to it, you'd do that for Olivia, wouldn't you?”

It was true. I love working at Cobbled Court Quilts, but if Olivia were given into my care, I would do whatever I had to do to support her, even take another job. If I could find one.

“I only ended up in New Bern because I was downsized and couldn't find work in the city. After I moved I couldn't find work here either. What makes you think the same thing wouldn't happen again?”

Philippa's smile returned. “Because people around here know you now; they know what you're capable of. I can't tell you how many times your name has come up in conversation since I came to New Bern. People like you, and they respect you. If you put out the word that you were looking for work today, you'd have three offers by tomorrow. I'm sure of it.”

I wished I felt as sure as Philippa did, but there was some truth in what she said. When I came to New Bern, I was a stranger. Now I had all kinds of contacts. I never told Evelyn about it because I wasn't interested, but the director of the Chamber of Commerce had called once and asked if I'd consider heading up their marketing department. It didn't pay nearly as well as my New York job had, but it was more than I made at the quilt shop—and it had benefits. But money wasn't my only concern.

“My mom stayed home to raise her children,” I said. “I know that isn't something all children can have, but I'm worried about balancing work and motherhood. What if I have a big project that requires a lot of overtime? And what if Olivia gets sick? Or doesn't recover fully? Dr. Bledsoe said she could be facing months, maybe even years of therapy. Or what if she—”

Philippa held up both hands as if shielding herself from the onslaught. “Let's just take a deep breath, okay? I know you're single, but you're not exactly all alone in the world. If you needed help, don't you think that your friends from the quilt circle, or church, or one of the scores of other friends you have in this town, would come to your aid? Just like you do when they need your help?”

She had a point. In the days and weeks since the accident, Evelyn, Ivy, Virginia, and the others had rearranged their schedules and taken on extra hours so I could be at the hospital with Olivia. People from church had sent prayers, and cards, and so many casseroles that I didn't have room for them all in my freezer. And, of course, if our situations had been reversed, I'd have done the same for them. When Dana asked, I'd been only too happy to finish out her shift so she could pick Jordan up from day care.

“Margot,” Philippa said evenly, “at the risk of sounding clichéd, it takes a village …”

“I know.”

“Your sister was a single mom. She had to deal with the same kinds of pulls and pressures you will, but with fewer resources and less support. If you stop to think about—”

Philippa stopped in mid-sentence, examining my face.

“This isn't just about being a single parent, is it? What's the matter, Margot? You can tell me.”

If I hadn't already been crying, the concern in her voice would have brought me to tears. I looked away, searching my heart for the answer to her question.

“I always wanted to be a mother. It's something I've dreamed about, prayed for, my entire life. But … if I had known that the price of answered prayer was my sister's life …”

My hands shook. The light was too bright. I closed my eyes, trying to banish the images that were burned in my brain, the face that haunted my dreams and left me awake and gasping in the night, the daytime visions that always loitered in the back of my mind, truant thoughts that refused to go where I sent them, pictures of pale, pulse-slowed hands that scrounged through the glovebox searching for a scrap of paper, the sound of the pen scratching across it, the painful scrawl that I barely recognized, those few words that were all she had strength and time enough to write …

I lowered my eyes, looking down at petite Philippa. “My parents were always telling Mari she should try to be more like me. It created a wedge between us. I tried to make it up to her, to help her as much as I could, but I think that just made it worse. She resented having to take my help.

“And I resented her. I was angry that she made everything so hard for everyone, that she'd torn our family apart. I resented the fact that she resented me even while she was accepting my help. And when I found out she was pregnant, I was so jealous. It didn't seem fair! I had done everything I was supposed to do, played by all the rules. But my sister, who returned home only long enough to empty my refrigerator and my bank account before disappearing and breaking my heart, again, was given the child I wanted so much and had been denied.

“I was so sure that I would have been a better mother than Mari. How could I even have thought such a thing?”

I covered my mouth with my clenched fist. Philippa rose from the counter stool and stood in front of me, lifted her hands to rest on my shoulders.

“I didn't mean it, Philippa. If I could, I'd take them all back, every jealous thought, every resentful word and action. I loved my sister. I wish I had shown her how much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

She nodded. “I know,” she said quietly, her eyes so filled with understanding and compassion I didn't deserve that it made me weep.

“God forgive me,” I whispered.

“He does, Margot. He does.”