Ties That Bind (16 page)

It was true, I could. That wasn't my intention, but honesty didn't require me to share that with Virginia.

As God was knitting my child together in secret, cell by cell, organ by organ, feature by feature, I, also in secret, would make my baby's quilt, choosing each fabric, stitching each seam myself, threading them with hopes and prayers and dreams for the tiny stranger I already loved with my whole heart.

Feigning interest in a fabric display, I turned my back toward Virginia and Evelyn, not wanting them to see how excited I was.

This was it! The answer to my longing for a community of mothers I could learn from, the fulfillment of my desire for some tangible evidence that my baby was real, the hope of things I could not see and could not talk about, not yet. My prayer had been answered, and so perfectly, before I had even known what I was praying for.

A bolt of fabric covered with bright hearts in primary colors caught my eye. I'd read somewhere that bright colors are good for babies' developing eyesight. I composed myself and pulled the fabric from the shelf.

“Can I use this?”

“Of course,” Virginia said. “But … you're sure you want to make a baby quilt?”

Evelyn, who had been watching our exchange with an amused expression, rolled her eyes and took the bolt from my arms.

“Mom! How many times does she have to say yes?” She laid the fabric on the cutting board and started rolling it out. “Some salesman you are. How are we supposed to make a living if you keep trying to talk people out of taking our classes?” Evelyn winked at me.

“I wasn't trying to talk her out of it,” Virginia groused. “I just wanted to make sure she'd be happy with the class.”

“Oh, I will be,” I assured her and dug my wallet out of my purse. “Definitely.”

A
fter settling on the colorful heart fabric for my border, I chose my pattern—a quilt that featured what Virginia called “square in a square” blocks. Next, I picked out a score of additional fabrics in primary colors with prints and pictures that would be exciting for little eyes to search out. The process took quite a while and I was very nearly late for my lunch meeting with Paul Collier.

Scurrying through Cobbled Court, I met Margot, who was just coming back from lunch with Geoff Bench. When I told her that I was going to take Virginia's quilting class, she squeezed me and let out an excited little whoop.

“You'll love quilting, you really will. And Virginia is the best teacher there is. I'm so excited for you! Let me see your fabric!”

“I can't right now. I'm late for an appointment,” I said, glancing at my watch. “But we'll get together soon. There's something I want to talk to you about anyway.”

“What?”

“I'll tell you later. Unless Paul Collier is up for my idea, it won't matter anyway.”

“Paul Collier? The man who moved to town right before Christmas? The one with that ugly car? What does he …?”

“No time to explain right now,” I said and started backing down the alley. “Call Sherry at the office and see if she can find a time for us to get together. Bye!”

 

I stood at the door of the restaurant and scanned the tables for a moment before I noticed Paul waving from a booth in the far back corner of the café.

“Sorry,” I said, dumping my shopping bags and purse on the seat before sitting down. “I got waylaid in the quilt shop.”

“It's all right. I just got here myself.”

The waitress, Laura Ayers, whom I'd met and talked to several times before, approached with menus and asked if she could get our drink order.

“I'd like a Coke,” Paul said. “With lots and lots of ice.”

“Can I have a cup of tea?” I asked. “And a glass of milk?”

“Regular or herbal?”

“Chamomile if you have it.” Laura nodded and scribbled on her order pad. “How's your dad, Laura?”

Last time I was in, Laura told me that her father, a widower who lived in North Carolina, was going in for a quadruple bypass. She was very worried about him and wanted to go down for the operation, but couldn't afford to take the time off.

“Better,” she said with a smile. “My sister was able to go and help out.”

“That's great. Hey, I saw you on Sunday but didn't get to talk to you after the service.”

“I slipped out during the last hymn,” she said apologetically. “I had to work the breakfast shift.”

“That's all right. I hope we'll see you again.”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied in a tone that made me know she meant it. “It'd been so long I kind of expected the ceiling to cave in on me, but it didn't, so I'll be back. Maybe next time I'll bring my girls with me—if I can roust them out of bed. Teenagers.” She rolled her eyes and shoved her notepad into the pocket of her black apron.

“I'll go get your drinks and come back for your order. Oh, and the soup of the day is Brunswick stew.” She shifted her gaze left and right, to see if anyone was listening. “Avoid it,” she whispered before walking away.

Paul chuckled. “I like her.”

“Me too. Her husband walked out five years ago and left her with three daughters to raise, but she never complains, always has a smile on her face.” I glanced at the menu and decided on a mushroom and Swiss burger with sweet potato fries.

“You learned all that, and about her dad's illness, and got her to come to church for the first time in years just in the time it takes to order lunch?” Paul let out a low whistle. “I am impressed. You're very good with people.”

“Apparently much better than I am in a pulpit,” I mumbled as I reached for my water glass, thinking back to my meeting with Ted.

Paul cupped his hand to his ear. “I'm sorry?”

I waved off his question. “Nothing. Let's talk about you. Then I will tell you more about what I'm going to try and talk you into.”

“Sounds safer to talk about you,” he said with a look of mock concern. “What's up? Something's bothering you. I can tell. I'm good with people too, you know.”

“It's nothing,” I said, unfolding my napkin. “It's silly.”

“You can talk to me. Or are you worried about sharing confidences with a member of your congregation?” he asked and then answered his own question. “Well, that's probably smart. Wait. I've got an idea.”

He stretched his hand across the table. “Give me a dollar.”

“What?”

“Give me a dollar.”

Shaking my head while trying to suppress a smile, I reached into the side pocket of my purse and pulled out a dollar. “Here.”

He stuffed the bill into his breast pocket. “You have now hired me as your attorney. That was my retainer.”

“A dollar?” I laughed. “That's not much of a fee.”

“Well, I'm new in town and times are hard. Now, as I'm sure you're aware, there is a little thing called attorney-client privilege. That means you can tell me anything, and I can't talk about it. So, come on, shoot. I'm all ears.”

“It's nothing. Really. I'm just irked about a meeting I had with Ted Carney.”

Paul nodded as I spoke. “He's in charge of the church, right?”

“President of the board.”

“Which kind of makes him your boss?”

“Exactly. And he's not very happy with me. Part of this, I suspect, is that he thought he was hiring a man and ended up with a woman—a case of mistaken identity, you could say. We didn't get off to a good start. Ted thinks I'm putting too much focus on counseling. But what am I supposed to do about that? When people need to talk, I can't turn them away. Ted was miffed because an unexpected counseling session made me late for the stewardship committee meeting recently and because I skipped a meeting of the music and worship committee in favor of counseling a couple who were contemplating divorce.” I started fiddling with my purse, zipping and rezipping the pockets so Paul wouldn't see the anger on my face.

“It's not that choosing what cantata the choir sings at Easter isn't important. It is. It's just that I don't think a committee filled with gifted musicians necessarily needs me to sit there while they do it. Especially when the marriage of a couple with two little kids is hanging in the balance!”

“Is that what you told Ted?”

“Word for word!” I said defensively and then, realizing how I sounded, lowered my voice. “Probably I could have found a more diplomatic way to express my opinion. But if I had the choice, I'd do things exactly the same way. That couple has decided to give things another go. They're seeing a really good marriage counselor. I think they're going to make it.”

“Good. I think you made the right choice. Was that Ted's only criticism?”

I shrugged. “Well, he'd never come out and say so, but on top of my not being my father's son, I think he's irked that, biologically, I'm not my father's daughter either. He thought he was hiring a Philip Clarkson clone, and instead he got me.”

Paul looked confused.

“He's upset that I'm not my dad, thinks my sermons could stand a lot of improvement. He also thinks I'm in over my head administratively. I don't necessarily disagree with that. But I do disagree with his method of addressing the problem. He wants a more experienced minister to be my mentor.”

Paul scratched his ear, thinking. “Well … would that be so bad? This is your first job in ministry. When I was a new lawyer, freshly hired by the firm, one of the partners mentored me, quizzed me for my bar exam, had me sit in on meetings ….”

I shook my head. “You don't understand. He doesn't want just anybody to mentor me. He wants my father. Specifically, he'd like Dad to come to New Bern and guest preach once a month. You know, show me how it's done. Since he can't get a Philip Clarkson clone, he's trying for the genuine article.”

Paul made a sucking sound with his teeth. “Yeah, I can see where that would be a problem for you. What did you tell Ted?”

“What could I tell him? He's my boss. I told him I'd talk to Dad.”

Laura came back with our drinks and set them down on the table, along with a basket of bread and butter, then took our orders. Paul asked for a plate of loaded nachos. That sounded so good that I almost asked Laura to bring another order to go with my burger, but I restrained myself. When Laura left, I practically fell on the breadbasket, grabbing the biggest roll, smearing it with a thick layer of butter, and taking a bite.

I looked up at Paul, who was looking at me. “Sorry,” I said with my mouth full and pushed the basket toward him. “I had a small breakfast.”

It was true. These days, two slices of toast, two fried eggs, a glass of milk, a glass of orange juice, and a piece of leftover apple pie
is
a small breakfast for me. I'd woken up too late to fry any bacon and I was all out of blueberry yogurt and granola.

“Anyway,” I said between bites, “I'll work it out one way or another. Anytime you start a new job, there's bound to be a few bumps in the road. It takes time to get used to working with new people.”

“Yeah,” Paul said as he broke a roll in half and buttered it. “My new boss and I aren't quite on the same page yet either. Truth is, I just don't like the guy. He never shuts up. But he's the boss ….” Paul shrugged and popped a piece of bread into his mouth.

“Who's your boss?”

“Geoff Bench. He's head of the family law department.”

“Geoff Bench?” I took a sip of my tea and washed it down with a gulp of milk.

“Do you know him?”

“No, but I know someone who does—Margot Matthews.”

“Margot Matthews,” he mused, then took a swig of soda from his glass and thoughtfully crunched a piece of ice between his teeth. “Is that the Margot who sings in the choir? Tall, blond, pretty eyes?”

“You've met her?”

Paul looked down, suddenly intent on tearing the rest of his roll into smaller bites. “Sort of. She gave me directions one day. So she's one of the Matthews in that custody case Geoff is working on?”

I nodded.

“Huh. Guess I should have put two and two together, but it's a common name.” Paul took another drink, chewed another mouthful of ice. “She's, uh … well, she's cute, isn't she? Pretty eyes.”

“Beautiful eyes,” I said and smiled to myself, thinking that getting Paul to agree with my plan might be easier than I'd originally thought. “And very nice. I think you'd like her. In fact, Margot is part of the reason I wanted to talk to you today—”

Paul held up his hands, cutting me off. “Oh no. I'm sure she's nice, but I'm not interested in being set up with anybody right now. And, anyway,” he said with a frown, “I don't think she likes me.”

“Don't be silly, Margot likes everyone.”

“Everyone but me. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I've got my hands full just dealing with a new job, a new house, and an unhappy teenager. A new girlfriend is the last thing I need.”

“Things not going any better with James?”

“The principal called me. James is failing two classes, hasn't been turning in his homework. He had an A-average back in Chicago. Sometimes I used to worry that he was a little too obedient, you know? Too compliant.” He snorted, as if amused by his former naïveté. “Not anymore. I grounded him. I had to do something, right?”

“How did James respond to that?”

Paul shrugged. “He said it didn't matter because he didn't have any friends anyway. And then he said that he wanted to go and live with his mother. The way he's been acting, I'd almost be willing to let him.”

“Is that an option?”

“No. Melanie's so busy she barely has time to think, let alone take care of James. She was supposed to have him last weekend, but she canceled because she had to write a paper for her contracts class. James was pretty upset. I don't really blame him. I made him leave his home and friends so he would be able to see his mom, and now his mom doesn't have time to see him.” Paul sighed again and rubbed his hand back and forth across his forehead as if his head hurt. “So, thanks for trying to set me up, but … no thanks. My life is complicated enough right now.”

“I'm not trying to set you up,” I protested. “At least not romantically.”

It was true. Of course, had I realized that Paul had noticed Margot and found her attractive, I probably would have. Margot was so sweet and Paul was such a great guy. Now that I thought about it, they were well matched in many ways. They were intelligent, hardworking, and funny. They shared a love of children, a sincere faith and, whether they would admit it or not, they were both lonely. If I'd been looking to play matchmaker, I'd have been hard-pressed to find a better couple to practice on than Paul and Margot. However, my interest in getting those two together was purely practical.

“I'd like for you to meet Margot,” I said, ignoring the suspicious expression on Paul's face. “I think there could be something in it for all three of us.”

Paul pushed himself back from the table a bit, unconvinced. I closed my eyes and tried to collect my thoughts. It wasn't easy. I was so hungry that I was having a hard time concentrating. The breadbasket was empty. I'd eaten three rolls to Paul's one. Where was my cheeseburger?

“I was hoping you and Margot might consider taking over the junior high youth group. We've got eighteen kids coming regularly now. Even if I weren't already so busy with my other duties, that's too many for one leader to handle. And the kids really could benefit from having a male and a female leader. Kids this age are more likely to open up and talk to someone of their own sex.