A Single Thread (Cobbled Court) Read online

  Then Margot began asking questions about the quilt shop, some of them rather personal, relating to the financial stability of the business, which seemed tenuous, but more about the day-to-day running of the store and any kinds of special projects that might be coming up in the immediate future.

  Finally, she asked Evelyn about her family and any friends she had in New Bern. There wasn’t much on either count. She’d moved from Texas after an unpleasant divorce, so there was no husband on the scene. Her only son lived in Seattle, too far away to be much help. Having recently arrived in New Bern, she had a number of acquaintances, customers mostly, like the women who had volunteered to help her with Quilt Pink day, but didn’t seem to have many friends. However, she did seem to have a fairly close relationship with Charlie Donnelly, and that surprised me.

  I adore Charlie. He has an almost famously gruff manner that some people find intimidating but I rather enjoy. Over time, I’d discovered that his rough exterior hid a personality of rare charm and quick wit that was well worth the effort it took to unearth them. Still, even after all these years, I couldn’t say we were close. As far as I knew, he had very few close friends. Interesting that he and Evelyn had hit it off so quickly.

  Next Margot turned her investigatory skills on the rest of us, quizzing first Liza and then me about our interests, experiences, and contacts before filling us in on her own background in business, specifically in marketing and public relations, which was considerable. It was all very interesting, this whole getting-to-know-you session, but I was having a hard time seeing where it would lead. Besides, it was already eight o’clock. Florence Pearl was hosting a surprise birthday party for her husband, Stephen. Truthfully, I don’t like Stephen, who owns an insurance agency and is forever bothering me about “adequate coverage,” but Florence was nice enough, and I had promised her I’d drop by. I considered saying something about being late for the party, but when I looked across the room at Liza, who was sitting on a plum-colored ottoman with her body turned toward Margot but her eyes continually stealing back to Evelyn, I kept silent. The party would go on for a couple of hours yet. I would just have to be late, which wasn’t such a terrible prospect.

  With any luck, I thought, I’ll be in and out in thirty minutes, fulfilling my social obligations without being subjected to any conversation with Stephen beyond “Happy Birthday.”

  “So, that’s about it for me,” Margot said. I’d been lost in my own thoughts and missed the last part of what she’d been saying.

  “Evelyn, I think we’ve got a pretty good idea of what you need, at least for the next few days.” Margot chewed on the end of her pen as she scanned the notes she’d taken. “The way I see it, your biggest priority right now is trying to understand exactly what you’re up against—what your diagnosis means and what your best treatment options are.”

  Evelyn, who was much calmer now, nodded. “Yes. That’s right. Dr. Thayer is a good doctor. I’m sure he tried to explain all that to me, but I was too stunned to take any of it in.”

  “That’s all right,” Liza said quietly, reaching out to pat the quilt that covered Evelyn’s legs. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.” She hesitated for a moment, and her eyes darted away from Evelyn’s. “At least…I suppose it is.”

  “And anyway,” Margot continued practically, “even though Dr. Thayer is a good doctor, you’re going to need a specialist, probably more than one. It’s always good to have a second opinion. That’s where Abigail will come in.”

  I’d been sipping the last dregs of lukewarm tea from my cup. When Margot said my name, I choked on it. “I will?” I sputtered. “How? I don’t know anything about breast cancer.”

  “No, but you know the people who do know, or at least you know the people who know the people who do.” I looked at Margot blankly, and she smiled. “Abigail, you’re on the library and hospital boards, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Tomorrow I’d like you to go to the library and ask the librarians to help you find out all the latest information on breast cancer—causes, treatment options, clinical trials—anything you can find. Then I’d like you to call up the hospital administrator and the head of oncology and ask them for the names of the three best breast-cancer specialists in the area, not just at the New Bern hospital or even in the state, but the three best in New England. Ask them to get appointments for Evelyn as soon as possible. By the end of next week at the latest.”

  At this, Evelyn sat up a little straighter, brightening visibly. “Can you really do that?”

  “Well, of course I can,” I said, a little insulted by the question. “Ted Nichols is the administrator at New Bern Memorial. We’ve known each other for years. And the Wynne Foundation just purchased a new CAT scan for the hospital. Of course Ted will help us. If he doesn’t, I’d certainly like to know the reason why.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Margot cheered.

  “But,” Evelyn said, doubt overshadowing the expression of hope that had so briefly crossed her face, “how am I supposed to pay for some famous specialist? I’ve got insurance, but not much. With all the expenses of opening the shop, I got the cheapest policy I could manage, with a huge deductible. And I’m sure they won’t cover visits to any out-of-state doctors.”

  “We’re not going to think about that right now,” Margot said. “At the moment, our job is to help you understand what you’re up against and get you the best advice available. We’ll cross the money bridge when we have to. However, that will be a lot easier to do if Cobbled Court Quilts is actually making a profit. That’s where Liza and I come in.”

  Margot flipped to a new page in her notebook and laid it on the coffee table. Everyone leaned forward to watch as she drew a line to divide the page into two columns, labeling one “Projects” and the other “Assigned To.” She wrote my name next to the first two projects, “Information Gathering” and “Specialist Appointments.”

  “All right,” she said, looking up while still holding the pencil. “Evelyn, you mentioned you’re way behind on checking your inventory and accounting?”

  “Yes. I’ve been so busy getting ready for today that I’ve really fallen behind. I don’t know what’s selling, what’s lagging, or what needs to be reordered. And I still haven’t settled my books from last month, so I don’t know if I’m bankrupt or merely teetering on the edge of it.” She smiled a little, joking even in the midst of her tragedy. In spite of her earlier meltdown, I admired her strength. She was tougher than I’d thought.

  Margot laughed, emitting a girlish giggle that was at odds, though pleasantly so, with her businesslike command of the situation. “Well, that’s probably information worth knowing.” She wrote down “Inventory” on her project list.

  “Liza, you and I are both between jobs, so we’ve got time on our hands. You said that you’d worked in a music store in high school and helped with inventory. Would you like to take charge of that?”

  “Sure. I’m not doing anything. I can start tomorrow if you want.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so let’s wait until the next day. I think we could all use some rest, but I’ll help you.” Margot wrote her name and Liza’s next to the task before going on. “And, Evelyn, I’m no accountant, but I’m pretty handy with the computer. I’m going to see about installing an accounting program that will update your inventory, profits, and losses at the point of sale. It’ll save you a lot of time going forward. Also, do you have a Web site?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “No. I’ve thought about getting one, but I haven’t had time, and besides, I really didn’t know where to begin.”

  Margot nodded as she wrote down “Web site” and put her name next to it. “I’ll get you set up with one right away. We can just use a template for right now. It won’t be fancy, but they aren’t expensive and at least it will give you a presence on the Web. It’s great PR. Come to think of it,” she mused, “I’m going to call the paper and see if we can’t rework the story they ran about you—update the inf
ormation and then see if we can get other papers in the area to run it. Something like that could bring a lot of new business in the door.” She quickly scribbled “Newspaper Article” onto her list and assigned herself this responsibility.

  “So that just leaves one thing for the moment, and that’s the day-to-day running of the shop. How long has it been since you had a day off, Evelyn?”

  Evelyn laughed. “A day off? What’s that? I’m always here. Even when the shop is closed I’m still working, trying to catch up on all the things I couldn’t get to during the day. I’m planning on hiring some help, but I can’t do that until the shop starts to show a profit.”

  “That’s terrible!” I exclaimed. “You can’t keep working at that kind of pace! No wonder you were feeling so overwhelmed today. You must have been on the edge of exhaustion even before your doctor gave you the news. You’re going to have to take it a little easier, especially once you begin whatever treatment your doctor recommends. You’ve got to get some help!”

  “She’s right,” Margot agreed. “Fortunately, you’ve already got experienced help right in this room. Liza and I have both worked in retail. We can definitely give you a hand during business hours. What about you, Abigail? Do you have any retail experience?”

  Before I could say anything, Liza interrupted. “Oh, I’ll say she does,” she said in a voice dripping sarcasm. “My aunt’s whole life is about retail. Shoes, bags, jewelry, furniture, artwork—you name it, she’s bought it.” She turned toward me. The angry glare was back.

  “And what about you?” I asked. “Shall we tell them about your experiences in some of New Bern’s finer retail establishments?” I looked at the other two women. “She once got hold of a cashmere sweater for a price you wouldn’t believe. Really. It was a crime!” I smiled sweetly at my niece. She stared at me with daggers in her eyes, but her mouth was shut. Mission accomplished.

  “Well, that’s it, then!” Margot clapped her hands in a “let’s wrap this up” gesture. “Evelyn, I think we’ve got you covered. At least for the immediate future, though we should get together soon to see what kind of progress we’re making and update our assignments. How about Friday night, right after closing? Would that work for everyone?”

  I thought about my calendar. Yes, I was free Friday at five. After all, it would only be this once. I’d show up, give my report on breast cancer and the best doctors to treat it, wish Evelyn Dixon well, and that would be that. I nodded along with the others.

  “Great! Evelyn, I’ll be here at ten on Monday. If you need anything in the meantime, even just someone to talk to, here’s my phone number. I live just a couple of blocks away.” Margot scribbled a number on the notepad, handed it to Evelyn, and then got up from her chair.

  Tears welled in Evelyn’s eyes as she took the notepad. For a moment I was worried that she was going to fall apart again and I’d never get to the Pearls’ party, but instead of breaking down she smiled.

  “I don’t know how to thank you all. I’m just so grateful.” She sniffed and laughed through her tears. “Thank you. But I still don’t quite understand how all this is happening and why you’re putting yourselves out so much for a stranger.”

  That made two of us.

  “It’s like I said before,” Margot replied, giving her a quick squeeze. “God knew you needed us today. We’re put on earth to help each other.”

  13

  Abigail Burgess Wynne

  By the time we were finished, I didn’t have time to go home and change for the party. Liza went back home, and I walked in the opposite direction, to the Pearls’ house on Elm Street.

  When I got there, Florence greeted me at the door. She said she’d been worried that something had happened to me and asked what had held me up, but didn’t wait for an answer before turning around to the assembled guests, who seemed to be having a fine time without me, and calling out gaily, “Now the party can really start! Abigail’s here!”

  Someone took my coat. Someone else got me a drink. I worked my way into the living room and stood near the fireplace, listening to Grace Kahn tell the story about the time we were playing tennis and she accidentally hit our last ball into the upper branches of a nearby beech tree, dropping it right into an abandoned bird nest.

  “And before you can say Jack Robinson, Abbie drops her racket, shimmies up the tree trunk, and plucks the ball out of the nest!” Everyone in the room, the same group of people I’ve been socializing with for as long as I can remember, laughed uproariously, though they must have heard this story a dozen times. “And then she shimmies right back down and beats me forty-fifteen!”

  The crowd of listeners, who’d had quite a bit to drink by that time, howled with laughter. I chuckled and excused myself, saying I needed to freshen my drink. No one seemed to notice that my glass was still full.

  Franklin stood near the bar, filling a glass with his customary mineral water and lime. “Finally,” I said as I approached, “a sober party guest.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Are you speaking to me? Last time I saw you, you weren’t.”

  “Don’t be silly. I have to speak to you. You’re my lawyer.”

  “Yes, so you reminded me when we parted. Right before you told me to mind my own business and butt out of your life.” He took a sip of his drink. “Or words to that effect.” He smiled, and I knew that all was forgiven.

  “Franklin, let me ask you something. Is everyone we know as dull as I think they are? Seems like I’ve been to this same party fifty times in my life.”

  He raised his eyebrows, amused by my observation. “Well, it’s a small town, Abigail, and your circle of acquaintances has always been a tight one.”

  “Don’t be silly. I know everyone.”

  “No, you know everyone you think is worth knowing. And that is a very short and exclusive list. By the way, how was your little quilting bee? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you with a needle and thread in your hand. Checkbook and pen, yes, but—”

  I interrupted him before he could have any more fun at my expense. “Obviously, you’ve been talking to Liza again. Really, Franklin, I don’t know what you see in that girl.”

  “So,” he said, wisely refusing to engage in battle, “did you enjoy yourself?”

  “It was…interesting.”

  “Interesting? Really? Well, that’s something. A far more positive reaction than I’d supposed you’d have. You must have found something appealing about it.”

  “Hmm.” I shrugged noncommittally and put my glass on the bar. “It’s been a long day, Franklin. I’m going to tell Stephen happy birthday and go home.”

  “Abigail, are you all right? You don’t seem quite yourself tonight—you’re introspective. Don’t do it, Abbie. Introspection can become habit forming.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “See? What did I tell you.” When I failed to respond to his teasing, Franklin’s normally merry eyes grew serious. “Is it Liza again? Do you want to talk about it? I know my advice wasn’t especially well received last time, but if you ever want to talk, you know I’m always ready to listen.”

  “Of course you are,” I said lightly. “You lawyers are always ready to listen—in billable quarter hours.”

  “Abigail, you have me on retainer. Whether I listen to you or not, you still pay me just as if I did, so you might as well take advantage of what you’ve already shelled out good money for.” He smiled. “Seriously, are you sure you’re all right? Can I give you a lift home?”

  “It’s kind of you to offer, but no. Thank you. It’s a nice night. The walk will do me good. Good night, Franklin.” I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Good night, Abigail.”

  I had been telling the truth. There was a lot on my mind. Trying to sort out the events of the day was confusing—and distracting. It was only after I left the party and began walking home in the crisp fall air, shuffling through the first spent leaves of the season, moving do
wn the sidewalk from one tight circle of lamplight into the next, like an actor trying to find the spotlight, that I realized I’d actually agreed to let Stephen Pearl drop by the house to give me “an insurance checkup.”

  I must have been more distracted than even I’d realized. I decided to call Franklin the next day and have him deal with it. Though perhaps I should tell him to throw some sort of business Stephen’s way. Maybe a life-insurance policy. I could name Liza as the beneficiary. After all, she was my only living relative.

  My only living relative. I stopped, standing still in the darkness, immobile and silent, suspended between one circle of light and the next. My only living relative. Two years ago today, my sister died.

  I raised my hand to cover my mouth. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, calling out to other owls, but none answered. Through the lattice of my open fingers, I whispered a name into the night.

  The house was dark when I came in. Liza had turned off the lights before retiring. I hung up my coat, left my purse on the sideboard, and climbed the stairs toward my bedroom, treading lightly on the creaky fifth step so as not to wake Liza. But as I crept down the dim hallway past the guest-room door, I thought I heard a noise coming from inside. I leaned my ear close to the door and heard the sound of muffled crying.

  I raised my hand as if to knock on the door, but my arm froze in midair. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I leaned in, resting my cheek on the door, and whispered.

  “Liza?” There was no answer. I raised my voice a little. “Liza? Are you all right?”

  Inside, the sound of crying abruptly ceased. I heard a shuffling noise, as if she were moving under the blankets, and then nothing. I waited for a long moment, then walked up the hall to my room and got into bed, where I lay looking out the window, wondering if Liza had fallen asleep, listening to the sound of owls hooting as they searched the darkness for others of their kind.