mind watching them at his apartment as long as Franklin was there to help. That way, if the kids needed you, you’d be right across the hall.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
“Well, then, what is it?”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
The room was silent again. Four pairs of eyes looked at me; the smiles of the previous moment faded. They just stood there, waiting for me to offer some reasonable explanation for my behavior. None existed. At least, none that wasn’t a complete lie, and I didn’t want to lie to them. I was tired of lying.
From the moment I’d come to work at Cobbled Court Quilts, these women had been nothing but kind to me. For no reason other than their own goodness, certainly not because of anything I’d done, they’d accepted me into their community, given me a chance to create a safe home for my family, cared about my kids—even made quilts for them. I remembered how I had cried, actually cried, when Abigail gave Bethany the beautiful pinwheel quilt she’d made herself. No one had ever shown such kindness to my children or, by extension, to me. I was so touched.
But even so, I couldn’t permit myself to be drawn further into their circle, opening myself up to the kinds of questions and confidences that would follow if I did. Evelyn might say there were no dues, but she was wrong. The price of membership was honesty and trust, and that was something I couldn’t afford. They were good women, kind women, but even so…an inadvertent slip, a careless contradiction in my history accidentally passed from me, to one of them, to someone outside, could shred my story into confetti.
No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t accept their friendship. But I couldn’t lie to them either. They deserved better than that.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just can’t.”
Abigail, always insistent on cutting to the chase, pushed the issue. “Can’t or won’t?”
I took a breath.
“Won’t.”
I picked up my purse and went to the door. Their eyes followed me, and the expressions on their faces felt like accusations. Margot and Liza looked confused, and Abigail looked offended, but it was the wounded look in Evelyn’s eyes that stung me most. She was the last person I wanted to hurt.
But at least you didn’t lie to her, I thought. That should count for something. Shouldn’t it?
Maybe it should have, but it didn’t seem to make my weekend any easier. When I left the shop, my guilty feelings trailed behind me like a chain. After I got back to the apartment, I thanked Franklin and Garrett for watching the kids but said I wouldn’t be needing them anymore. I was so exhausted that I got into my pajamas right away, thinking that I’d just go to bed when the kids did.
I didn’t want to think about Monday and what it would be like to go back to the shop and work side by side with Evelyn and Margot, whose feelings I had hurt. And come Monday morning, we truly would be working side by side. Earlier that day, Evelyn said she’d need my help getting ready for the second-anniversary sale that would take place the following weekend. There was inventory to be taken, displays to create, decorating to be done, door prizes and gift baskets to put together, new fabrics and notions to be cataloged and stocked. And this was in addition to all of our regular duties.
Come Monday, I couldn’t just sneak in the back door, grab my stack of orders, and tiptoe up to the workroom unseen. I would have to be downstairs with everyone else, trying to do my job while avoiding making eye contact with my coworkers.
I sighed. Monday was going to be just awful. But I didn’t have to think about that. Not yet.
I gave the kids a five-minute warning and went into the bathroom to draw water for their baths.
Bethany moaned, “But we’re just getting to the good part! The sea witch is going to make Ariel into a real girl.”
“I mean it. Five minutes,” I repeated. Something in my tone must have told her I was in no mood for argument. She slumped into her beanbag chair and rested her pouty chin onto her hands, but turned off the television without comment when I called out that it was bathtime.
After I finished reading, probably my two-thousandth rendition of Goodnight Moon, and kissed Bobby, who was already asleep, Bethany asked if she could come sleep in my bed.
I said yes.
She scampered into my room, climbed in next to me and snuggled in, her skin still pink and warm after her bath. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of baby shampoo from her hair. I stroked her silky, baby-fine hair slowly. She sighed her contentment and was asleep even before I turned off the bedside lamp. After I did, I closed my eyes, wrung out from a long, emotional day, longing for the oblivion of deep and dreamless sleep.
It did not come.
In my dream, I was standing at the bus stop and the rain was coming down in torrents, like someone was standing on top of the bus shelter and pouring tub after tub of water down upon it. A car pulled up. Abigail’s champagne-colored sedan.
The window rolled down, a loud and steady mechanical whine, like the sound of a garage door going up.
“Get in,” she said.
“No. That’s all right. I’m just waiting for the bus. It’ll be here soon.”
Abigail shook her head. “No, it won’t. The storm is too strong. All the buses are broken down. No one is coming to get you, and you can’t stay here. Get in the car.”
I didn’t want to get in but when I looked up, I saw a crack in the Plexiglas ceiling of the bus shelter. It was already starting to leak and the crack was getting bigger, moving slowly from one side of the roof to the other. If I stood here any longer, it would split in two. All the water would come crashing down upon me, sweeping me away completely. There was no choice. I got into the car.
“You’re soaked,” Abigail said. “Take this towel and dry off.”
I took the towel that was sitting on the seat next to me and dried my sodden hair.
“That’s better,” Abigail said, glancing at me as she drove down the road. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a shiny black tube of lipstick, and thrust it toward me. “Here. Put this on.”
Compliantly, I flipped down the sunshade, peered into the mirror, and dutifully applied the bright red lipstick.
“That’s better,” she said with a smile. “You’ll want to fix yourself up a little. There’s someone I want you to meet. I found him. It turns out he isn’t dead after all.”
I looked into the mirror and saw him sitting in the backseat. Staring at me. He’d been there all along, waiting.
“Hello, Ivy.”
I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, my heart pounding. I felt a searing pain in my left hand, as if the heavy crystal vase had smashed down on it only moments before. I put my fingers in my mouth and tasted blood, metallic and sharp, where no blood was, using my hand to keep myself from crying out.
Bethany was in bed next to me, still sound asleep. I bit my lips to
