A Thread of Truth (22 page)

I
had never seen Abigail without makeup, impeccably coiffed hair, understated but elegant clothes, and carefully chosen accessories. Even lipstick- and jewelry-less, wearing driving moccasins, beige slacks, and a white oxford blouse with a red sweater hanging carelessly around her shoulders, Abigail is still one of the most beautiful women I know, but her casual ensemble, not to mention the shadows of fatigue under her eyes, made it clear that she had more important things than grooming on her mind.

“Go on,” Franklin said as he clicked through channels looking for the baseball game. “It'll do you good to get out for a little while.”

“Franklin's right,” I agreed. “A break will do you good. Just for an hour or two.”

“I don't know,” she said doubtfully.

Franklin rolled his eyes. “For heaven's sake, Abbie. You'll only be one floor away. Go on and make your quilts. I'll be fine. I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

Charlie, who was busily arranging a tray of heart-healthy snacks including pretzels with homemade maple-mustard, butterless chili-spiced popcorn, and turkey and veggie subs on whole wheat, looked up. “Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. Your Yankees are going to lose this game to my Red Sox, badly. And when they do, my friend, it's going to cost you ten dollars.” He grinned and handed Franklin a sandwich. “But, other than that, Abigail, he's right. Everything will be fine, so go on. Work on your quilts and enjoy a nice gab with your girlfriends. Recharge your batteries so you can comfort poor Franklin here after he sees the final score.”

Abigail hesitated a moment. “Are you sure you'll be all right?”

“Yes, Abigail. I'm sure. Now will you get out of here and let us watch the game? I promise not to have a heart attack and die before you return.”

Abigail scowled. “No one thinks you're funny, you know.”

“No one but you,” he said and blew her a kiss as she walked out the door.

 

I pressed the sixth-floor elevator button.

“This really is ridiculous,” Abigail said. “Moving the quilt-circle meeting to the hospital. Just this once, you could have gone on without me.”

“I know,” I said and casually pulled a tube of pink lipstick from the side pocket of my handbag, took off the cap, and applied it to my lips. “But we just thought it would be nice for you to get out of Franklin's room for a bit. How are you, anyway? How does it feel to be married?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm trying my very best not to think about it.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on. Don't be such a grump.”

I finished coloring my lips and held the open tube out to Abigail. “Here. Want some?”

“No, thanks. I'm fine.”

“It's a new color; kind of a pinky peach. And it has all these plant extracts that are supposed to make your lips look younger. Try it,” I urged, shoving the lipstick tube into her hand. “I want to see how it looks on you.”

Abigail gave me an irritated look. “All right. All right. I don't know why you're so insistent.” She opened her mouth into an
O,
applied the lipstick in three expert swipes, and pressed her lips together to make sure the color was even.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

“Makes all the difference,” I said.

The elevator doors opened and I led the way to the Board of Directors' Lounge. “Mr. Carroll let me set everything up in here. Since everyone is still working on their house block and those are all done by hand, I didn't bring any machines, but we've got everything else,” I chattered in what I hoped was a distracting tone, “ironing boards, rotary cutters and mats, notions, fabric—the whole nine yards. You should have seen my car—it was simply packed. Thank heaven the girls were here to help me unload.”

As we approached the entrance to the Board of Directors' Lounge, impressive and elaborately carved double doors with ovals of etched glass in each side, Abigail looked at me suspiciously. “Where are the girls, anyway? And why isn't there any light coming through the glass?”

For a moment she stopped short, adding up two and two in her head and quickly reaching four. “Oh, no, Evelyn. Tell me you didn't…”

I shoved open the door to the darkened room. Three figures jumped out of the shadows and shouted, “Surprise!”

Abigail shot me a look. “You did.”

A
bigail sat in a big wing chair, smiling, while the rest of us crowded onto the sofa, the queen surrounded by her loyal ladies in waiting and a pile of opened gifts. Considering we'd had only two days' notice to pull it together, it really was a lovely shower.

We'd settled on a floral theme, and the plates, napkins, centerpiece of purple hydrangeas, and even the gifts reflected that. Margot's offering was a beautiful crystal flower vase, very simple with a classic Greek key pattern around the edge. Ivy's gift was a sweet little basket filled with flower seeds and bulbs, a pair of hot pink gardening gloves and matching trowel, plus a homemade gift certificate for three hours of Ivy's weeding or planting services. Liza gave her an exquisite oil painting of daffodils in an old-fashioned gathering basket. It was the final project of her advanced oils class and it was easy to see why she'd gotten an
A
on it. The painted flowers sparkled with diamond drops of dew, looking for all the world like some absent hostess had just picked them from the garden and left them on the table while she went to find the right vase to fill them with. My gift was, of course, a quilt. There hadn't been time to make anything new, so I'd chosen one from my own collection, a vibrant, happy quilt with a center medallion made from pieced posy blocks in four jewel-bright colors, surrounded by a wide expanse of crisp quilted white softened by appliquéd vines and leaves, and bordered with more of the posy blocks each in its own cheery color, like a garden in bloom. It wasn't the most complicated pattern in the world, but I've never been one to think that complicated necessarily equals beautiful and this quilt was beautiful, one of my favorites. I couldn't have been persuaded to part with it for anyone I cared about less than Abigail, but when she opened the box, gasped, and then got up from her chair to give me a lingering hug, I knew she loved it as much as I did.

The company of friends, the lovely gifts, a glass of champagne along with a nice thick slice of chocolate-orange cake with cream cheese frosting, a recipe I knew she loved, had lightened Abigail's mood considerably. But even with her improved spirits, she flatly refused to wear the “hat” Margot had fashioned out of a paper plate and the discarded ribbons from the gifts.

“Oh, come on,” Margot begged. “Put it on just for a minute. Just long enough so we can get a picture.”

“Pigs will fly before I allow you to take a picture of me wearing that thing on my head. Besides, there has been entirely enough photography going on here tonight. Thank heaven Evelyn got some lipstick on me before I opened the door.”

She narrowed her eyes and pointed a scolding finger toward Liza. “If you'd taken a picture of me without my lipstick, I'd have disowned you!”

Liza wrinkled her nose at her aunt, took the champagne bottle from where it rested on the coffee table and got up to refill the glasses. “Ivy?”

“No, thanks,” she said, looking at her watch. “I've got to get behind the wheel soon. Karen is babysitting for me and I told her I'd be back by nine.”

“It's nice of her to watch the kids for you,” I said.

Ivy nodded. “Yes, she's really a sweetheart. That's one of the nice things about living at the Stanton Center. Now that I've gotten to know everyone better, there are always plenty of other mothers around to trade babysitting with and if you're in the middle of making dinner and you realize you're out of some crucial ingredient, all you have to do is go into the hallway and knock on a few doors; with eight families in the building, somebody is bound to have what you need.”

“That's nice,” Liza said. “Sort of like living in a girls' dorm. My roommates and I are always borrowing each other's clothes.”

Ivy shrugged. “I suppose it's something like that, but I wouldn't know. The furthest I got in school was tenth grade.”

“Have you ever thought about going back?” Abigail asked.

Ivy shook her head dismissively. “I was never much of a student and now, after all this time…”

“Well, what does that have to do with it? Goodness, Ivy! You're not even thirty yet! There are plenty of women twice your age who go back to school. I know some people who could help you. Would you like me to make a few calls?” Abigail's eyes brightened and she leaned in, eager as always to use her influence for some good purpose.

“I know the president of the university quite well. He was a friend of my late husband, Woolley Wynne. We used to play bridge together,” Abigail continued excitedly but then paused a moment, reconsidering.

“But, perhaps we should wait a bit on that. You'll need to pass your high school equivalency examination before enrolling in college. Maybe I could call Carol Devine, at the community college. I'm sure she could put us on the right track.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes and drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair thoughtfully. “You know, we really might be onto something here. I'm sure you're not the only woman at the Stanton Center who had her education cut short. Perhaps the university would be open to creating some kind of adult education program for victims of domestic violence. If the Wynne Foundation were to get the ball rolling, perhaps create a scholarship fund…” She looked at Ivy and beamed.

“You know, this could really be exciting! Of course, first we have to start with you. On Monday morning, I think we should…”

Ivy held up her hands like she was bracing against the impact of an oncoming steamroller, which wasn't too far from the truth. “Abigail! Whoa! Just hold on a minute, will you, please?”

Abigail frowned, displeased by the interruption.

“As far as creating a program, I think you should go for it. A lot of the women I know would jump at the chance to go back to school. Maybe I will, too, someday, but not now. I can't. The only thing I can focus on right now is getting through this divorce and keeping my kids. Period. When and if I clear that hurdle, then I've got to find a place for us to live. My time at the Stanton Center is almost up. But, for now, even finding a new apartment is on the back burner.”

Despite this gracious refusal and the logic behind it, Abigail still looked miffed. I decided it was time to change the subject.

“How are things going with the divorce? Has Arnie turned up anything new?”

These questions weren't entirely diversionary in nature. With each of us taking our different “shifts” at the hospital and the business at the shop at record levels, we hadn't had a chance to catch up in several days.

Ivy reached up and began playing with her hair, an unconscious habit I'd noticed she fell into whenever something was really bothering her. “Not really. But he keeps telling me not to worry. He says that Hodge can bring in all the papers and witnesses he wants, but he's still a liar and, eventually, liars always make a mistake.” Ivy sighed. “I sure hope he's right.”

Margot was sitting next to Ivy on the sofa and reached over to give her hand an encouraging squeeze.

“He is,” she said earnestly. “I know things look pretty bleak right now, but we're not giving up. Arnie says that Hodge's whole case is like a piece of fabric woven from lies and that all we have to do is find one stray thread that Hodge has been too careless to clip, give it a good tug, and the whole thing will unravel.”

“Sounds like you and Arnie have been spending a lot of time together,” Abigail said.

“Oh, yes. Every night after work I go pick up some dinner for us at the Chinese place, then go over to the law office and help work on Ivy's case. Arnie is very smart, a wonderful lawyer,” she said.

“How nice for you,” Abigail said and gave me a knowing look.

“It's nothing like that. He's glad to have an extra pair of hands, but once this case is wrapped up I'm sure we won't see each other again. We're just friends, that's all.”

“Why do you say that?” Liza asked. “What makes you think you couldn't be more than friends?”

“Because,” Margot said firmly, “that's what always happens to me. Men like me as a friend. They enjoy spending time with me and confiding in me but, in the end, they think of me as a favorite kid sister, cute and sweet but not someone they could be interested in romantically. Trust me. It used to be, every time I made friends with a man I'd get my hopes up only to have them dashed. Well, no more. I've learned my lesson fifty times over. So let's leave it at that.”

“Fine,” Liza said. “Have it your way.”

“Thank you, I will,” Margot said primly and then took a ladylike sip from her champagne glass before going on. “Anyway, as I was saying, it's only a matter of time until we find the loose thread that will unravel this whole thing. You'll see, Ivy.”

“Yeah,” Liza added. “Garrett and I will be heading out to Pennsylvania next week. Maybe we'll find out something that will help. You never know.”

“I hope so. I really appreciate you trying,” Ivy said and twisted her hair into a tight corkscrew around her index finger. “There's just something about this whole thing that doesn't feel right,” she mused.

“I'll say,” said Liza.

“No, I don't mean that way. Nothing about what Hodge is doing is right, but that's no surprise. What does surprise me is that, other than that one time when he came into the shop, he hasn't shown his face in New Bern.”

“Well, there isn't much he can do here, is there?” Margot reasoned. “He's got his lawyer handling everything and he's got a business to run that's miles away. Not to mention the restraining order. He's not supposed to come within 200 feet of you.”

Ivy laughed bitterly. “Restraining order? If Hodge Edelman decides he wants to do something, there's no piece of paper that will stop him. He considers himself above the law. And as far as his business…” Ivy shrugged. “I suppose you could be right. Maybe that's why he's let me be so far.”

Her forehead was creased in thought and I could tell she wasn't as convinced by Margot's logic as her words indicated. Ivy pulled her finger out of her hair, leaving a perfect curl behind, the hair twisting of its own accord, corkscrewed by the memory of Ivy's nervous fingers.

“Anyway,” she said, “enough of that. This is a bridal shower. I want to hear more about this wedding.”

“Good point,” I said, following Ivy's lead. “Abigail, you've barely told us anything about your plans. Have you and Franklin decided where you'll live after he gets out of the hospital? What about a honeymoon? You and Franklin should go off to a tropical island somewhere.”

Abigail made a face. “A honeymoon? That's the last thing on my mind. I'm still not convinced this wedding was even legal. Franklin tricked me! And that chaplain. I bet he was in on the whole thing! They plotted it together, the minister and Franklin. The doctor says I should avoid saying anything to upset Franklin, but if it wasn't for that, I'd certainly give him a piece of my mind!

“Wedding indeed,” she harrumphed. “That was no wedding. There were no flowers, no music, no church—not even a ring!

“When Woolley and I got married, he wanted a big wedding, but I insisted on eloping. I couldn't bear to endure the farce of a big church wedding, all those people congratulating us and saying how much in love we were when I knew it wasn't true. I wasn't in love with Woolley. He knew it, but he said he didn't care. My mother was thrilled, of course, because he was so rich, but still I'd never have gone through with it if I hadn't been so recently disappointed in love. I married Woolley on the rebound and that sad little ceremony in Reno was simply awful. It felt more like forming a business partnership than getting married.”

She shrugged. “Well, in a way I suppose that's just what it was. Don't get me wrong, Woolley and I were happy enough. We liked each other and I was as good a wife to him as I knew how to be, but it wasn't a marriage in the true sense of the word. I always promised myself that if I ever did get married again, I'd only do so out of love and in a proper church ceremony with flowers and friends and a cello concerto for the processional, a real wedding with bridesmaids and groomsmen and me wearing white. Or,” she said after a moment's reflection, “perhaps ivory. And a lovely reception at the club afterwards with canapés and cold lobster and champagne toasts, a party that goes on past midnight with a full orchestra and dancing under the stars.

“
If
I'd planned on getting married anytime soon, which I didn't,” she declared imperiously, “
that's
the sort of wedding I would have wanted. Instead, I got a slapdash affair that I agreed to on the basis of pity and a feigned deathbed proposal, conducted by a mumbling hospital chaplain who sandwiched the ceremony between administrations of the last rites, witnessed by two sleepy nurses finishing up the night shift, with music provided by the dulcet beeps of Franklin's heart monitor!”

Abigail put down her champagne glass and got to her feet. “Don't let's talk about this anymore. It was sweet of you to go to all this trouble for me, but Franklin Spaulding tricked me into marrying him and that's all there is to it.”

She looked at her watch and frowned. “Speaking of Franklin, I really must be going. I don't like leaving him alone for so long.”

Liza, who had been listening with her arms crossed over her chest and an amused expression on her face, got up off the sofa to block her aunt's departure.

“Hold on just a minute,” she said, putting both her hands on Abigail's shoulders and pushing her back down into the armchair. “You're not leaving yet. Franklin will be fine for a few minutes; Charlie can take care of him, not to mention that extra private duty nurse you hired to stand by in case the other six cardiac nurses weren't enough. So, before you go running out the door, let's just get a few things straight.”

I took the flowered paper napkin I had in my hand and raised it to my mouth, choking back my laughter and trying to disguise it as a cough. Nobody but Liza could talk to Abigail this way, but with a blunt style that proved her apple hadn't dropped far from the family tree, she said exactly what the rest of us were thinking.