A Thread So Thin (26 page)

I started to giggle and then to laugh, and pretty soon Margot and Franklin started to laugh, too, which made everything seem even funnier. I began laughing so hard I cried, and pretty soon everyone else was doing the same. Everyone but Abigail, who was definitely not amused.

Red faced and sputtering, Abigail stomped her foot, smashing a few of the shards of the broken florist’s vase into even smaller bits. “What
is
the matter with you? Are you all drunk or something?”

We were all laughing too hard to respond. Abigail belched an infuriated cry of indignation, spun around on her heel, and grabbed the knob of her bedroom door, ready to slam it and lock it behind her.

But Franklin, still laughing, stopped her. In three big strides he was at Abigail’s side. In a swift and unexpected move, he wrapped his arms tightly around her backside and lifted her off the ground, leaving her feet dangling a good foot above the floor. Abigail wriggled like a fish on a line, but it was no good. She couldn’t get loose.

“Franklin! Franklin Spaulding, let go of me this instant! This isn’t funny! Seriously, Franklin, put me down. You mustn’t exert yourself like this. Your heart!”

Franklin beamed up at his wife and squeezed her even tighter. “Don’t worry about me, Abbie. I’m strong as an ox and you’re light as a feather—and beautiful when you’re mad. Have I told you that before?”

Abigail made a face. “Well, if it’s true, then I must be gorgeous right now, because, Franklin, you’re making me absolutely furious! Put me down!”

“I don’t think so,” Franklin said. “This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I’m not letting you loose just so you can run back in your room and shut me out again.”

Abigail, calmer now and somewhat resigned, growled in frustration. “I’m sorry,” she said grudgingly. “I won’t shut you out again.”

“Really. You’ll talk to me? Tell me what’s troubling you?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Hmm.” Franklin narrowed his eyes, feigning deep concentration. “Nope,” he said brightly. “I don’t believe you. You’re just going to have to stay up there.”

“Oh, Franklin!” Abigail exclaimed in exasperation. “Enough already! Put me down! Please.”

“Ah, there’s the magic word!”

T
wenty minutes later we were all sitting in Franklin’s library.

There was a fire crackling in the hearth. Tina padded into the room and settled herself onto a big, red tartan dog bed with a contented sigh. Abigail, her hair recoifed, her face washed, her shirttail retucked, and now wearing two earrings instead of one, offered around tiny glasses of sherry and a bowl of salted almonds.

“Sherry is acceptable anytime after lunch,” Abigail declared.

Even in moments of distress, Abigail is committed to observing the proprieties. But, our brief flirtation with hilarity notwithstanding, she was still distressed. I could see it in her eyes. So could Franklin.

He smiled his thanks as he took a glass from the tray. “Now sit down, Abbie. Talk to us.” He patted the sofa and Abigail took a seat next to him. Franklin put his arm around her shoulders.

“Talk to you about what?”

I closed my eyes briefly, hoping she wasn’t going to be like…well, like she was. Once, in reply to some question she considered entirely too personal, I’d seen Abigail lift her chin, look down her nose, and declare, “I don’t think about things I don’t think about.”

Getting Abigail to talk about anything personal or emotional has never been easy, but in the years since she joined our quilt circle, where verbally sharing our lives, likes, dislikes, and loves gets equal time with actual quilting, she has gotten better at it. Not a lot, but some. However, watching her sit next to Franklin on the leather sofa, daintily sipping a glass of sherry, made me think she’d completely regressed. On another day, when I wasn’t carrying around concerns of my own, I might have been more compassionate and understanding, but at that moment I was in no mood to extract information from Abigail like a dentist pulling an impacted molar.

“Knock it off, Abigail. You know what we’re here to talk about,” I said. “The wedding. And Liza. And why you’ve been acting like a complete…” An apt word came to mind, but I don’t use that word. Also, I felt the reference might be an insult to Tina, whose big brown eyes were moving from speaker to speaker as if she were following the conversation very closely. I’d have to find another word. “A complete mobzilla.”

Abigail turned to me, her expression offended and confused by turns. Margot asked the question Abigail wanted to.

“Mobzilla?”

“I think I just made it up. Kind of a mother-of-the-bride meets Godzilla thing.”

Margot giggled. Abigail huffed indignantly.

“With a little touch of Tony Soprano thrown in,” I added, meeting Abigail’s steely gaze. “Seriously, Abigail. You have been impossible recently.”

“I have not!”

Margot swallowed hard before saying in a quiet but slightly nervous voice, “She’s right, Abigail. You have been a pain. A big one.”

Abigail sat up a little straighter, taking a defensive posture, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. Margot would rather cut out her own tongue than say something the least bit critical about someone else, and Abigail knew it.

Nervous, Margot shifted her gaze toward me, lobbing the ball into my court.

“Abbie,” I said, “when it comes to throwing a party, you can dance circles around me and I know it. That’s why I decided to keep my mouth shut when Garrett and Liza announced their engagement and let you do your thing. I know how controlling you can be in these situations, and I was prepared for that—”

“I am not controlling!” Abigail exclaimed. I didn’t respond, just gave her a look, daring her to prove me wrong. She colored a little under the heat of my gaze.

“But,” I went on, “I wasn’t prepared for the way you’ve gone around, hurting people’s feelings, including Margot’s and mine, bulldozing over everyone who gets in your way, even Liza! You’re a strong woman, Abbie, and used to getting your own way, but I’ve never known you to resort to bullying, manipulation, and outright lying to achieve your ends. It’s a lucky thing we are friends because if we weren’t, I’d have given you a good slap across the face by now.”

“I did not lie!” Abigail gasped before turning to Franklin for support. “When it comes to implementing my plans, I’m not exactly a shrinking violet, but I wouldn’t lie! And it isn’t like I was doing this for myself, after all. I was doing it for…” She paused for a moment, screwing her eyes shut as if she suddenly had a terrific headache. Franklin’s eyes flashed concern and he leaned toward her, laying a questioning hand on her leg.

Abigail shook her head and held up her hand. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, continuing in a deliberately steady voice. “I was doing it for Liza.”

The look on her face told me that even she didn’t believe that.

“And yet, somehow in this whole process, Liza—her wants and her wishes for this wedding—has gotten tossed aside. Which really isn’t like you, Abigail,” I said. “You’re determined, probably more than anyone I know, but you always use that determination, not to mention your financial resources and personal contacts, to help and encourage others, not to hurt them. Especially not people you care about. You’re an unusual woman, Abigail.”

She puffed impatiently and dismissed my careful commentary with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, quit beating about the bush, Evelyn. If there’s one thing I’ve always admired about you, it’s your honesty. It’s a quality in short supply these days, so don’t abandon it now. Let’s call a spade a spade. I am not ‘unusual’ I am odd. I’m an oddball and we both know it.” Abigail folded her hands primly on her lap. “Or, if you insist on being polite, you can call me eccentric. I believe that’s the term usually applied to people considered too rich to offend.”

“I don’t know about too rich to offend, but you are pretty rich,” I said truthfully. “But, Abbie, you won’t be if you keep going on throwing away money like a drunken sailor on leave! I don’t know what you’ve spent on this wedding so far, and I don’t want to—”

“Well,
I
know,” said Franklin. “And I can tell you, it’s too much. You’ve always been generous with your wealth, Abbie, but you’ve never been foolish about it. And that’s what this is—pure foolishness. What’s worse, it’s been getting in the way of you being able to devote your attention, time, and money to some causes that you care about very deeply. The library, the historic society, and even the Stanton Center and the New Beginnings program, more accurately known as the Spaulding Women’s Center for New Beginnings.

“It’s got your name on it, Abbie, and for good reason. You practically built that place single-handedly! Scarcely a year ago, you were all about blueprints and program plans. People in town were terrified to meet you on the street, knowing you were going to shake them down for another contribution toward the building campaign. And now, after all your hard work and effort, the new Stanton Center is finally open. Sixteen families of women who found the courage to escape from their abusive relationships are living in safety and comfort, thanks to your efforts. And also thanks to you, forging new careers and new lives for themselves and their children just got a lot easier. The New Beginnings program is finally up and running, offering career guidance to the women and enrichment programs for them and their families.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Virginia’s Mommy and Me quilting class at New Beginnings is completely full. Seven moms and seven kids signed up, including Ivy and little Bethany.”

“How is Bethany?” Abigail asked, her expression softening. “I haven’t seen her in such a long time.”

Abigail had met Bethany when she was taking a tour through one of the apartments in the old Stanton Center. Bethany grabbed Abigail’s hand and showed her around the tiny apartment that, to a little girl who had recently spent nights sleeping in a car, seemed like a palace. The minute that little hand had latched on to her big one, Abigail’s formerly icy heart melted. The first quilt Abigail had ever made, and the only reason she’d accepted my invitation to become part of our newly forming quilt circle, was a present for Bethany.

“Bethany’s fine,” I said. “Bobby too. I can’t believe how quickly they’re growing up. Ivy brought Bethany to the shop the other day. They were picking out fabric for their class project and she asked about you. Seems you promised to take her and Bobby to the circus when it was in New Haven—but it never happened.”

Abigail clutched at her throat with her hand as she recalled her forgotten promise and realized it was too late to do anything about it now. The circus had already left town, and even the wealth and influence of Abigail Burgess Wynne Spaulding could not convince it to return before next year.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Abigail said weakly. “Was she terribly disappointed?”

“Well, yes,” I said honestly. “She’s never been to a circus. But I think she was more concerned about you than disappointed. She knows it’s not like you to forget a promise.”

Abigail let out a small sigh and bit her lip. “I can’t believe I let Bethany down like that. I just…I’ve been so…so preoccupied….” Her voice trailed off as if she was finally beginning to realize what an understatement that was.

Abigail was abject. Angry as I’d been with her over the last weeks, I took no pleasure in her misery. Part of me just wanted to pat her hand and tell her everything would be okay. If this had just been a case of a friend having been a little self-centered and needing to be straightened out, I would have. But it wasn’t that simple. We really needed to get to the bottom of this. Abigail needed to get to the bottom of this.

To get her to open up and talk would require a serious dose of tough love. I knew that. So did Franklin.

“Abbie, it isn’t just Bethany you’ve let down,” he said gravely. “You’ve let down all those women at the Stanton Center too. With the New Beginnings internship program just getting off the ground, this is the time to be getting a positive buzz going about the program, generating publicity and community goodwill.

“The Grill, the quilt shop, and my law office are still the only companies in town who’ve agreed to participate in the program. A lot of the business owners are nervous about having victims of domestic violence working for them. They think they might be unstable, or unreliable—”

“That’s ridiculous!” Abigail snapped, her spine stiffening with outrage. “These women will make outstanding employees. Outstanding! Each of them is carefully screened and evaluated before even being considered for an internship. Donna Walsh wouldn’t let a woman take on an internship unless she was sure she was ready for it. Yes, at first they might require a bit more patience and sensitivity than some employees, but they’re bright, dedicated, mature women, every one of them. And grateful for the opportunity to be given a chance!”

Abigail stabbed her index finger into her husband’s chest. “Mark my words, Franklin! In five years’ time the reputation of the women who come through our New Beginnings internships will be so stellar that we’ll have business owners lined up around the block,
begging
us to let their companies be involved. Someone should explain that to them, Franklin!”

“I agree, darling. And I think that someone should be you. Except for Donna Walsh, no one is more passionate about this program than you are. And as a lifetime resident of New Bern with an unparalleled standing in the community, you are the ideal spokesperson. Donna thinks so too.” Abigail was quiet, the flush in her cheeks fading as Franklin spoke, knowing what he was about to say.

“But when she called you last month and asked if you’d give an interview to the
Hartford Courant
about the program, and speeches at the Rotary Club and the Chamber of Commerce, you told her you were too busy with the wedding.” Franklin paused a moment, letting this sink in.

“You let them down, Abbie. All those women who’ve come to the Stanton Center for help, many who’ve risked their
lives
in the hopes of making a fresh start, learning a skill, and finding a job that will enable them to support their families. They need you, Abigail, wedding or no. And they need you now.”

Abigail lifted her chin and swallowed hard, the veins in her neck tightening as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

“And you did lie,” Franklin said quietly. Abigail turned her head away, avoiding his gaze. “You told Charlie that Evelyn wanted all those expensive hors d’oeuvres for the bridal shower, and she didn’t. That was a lie and you knew it, Abbie.”

Abigail shrank in her seat, shamefaced. “I just wanted the shower to be perfect. To be everything Liza could possibly want. I wanted it to be special.”

“But it already was.” Margot frowned, but her tone was more questioning than accusing. “Liza was very excited about the shower—the flowers, the balloons, the cupcakes. It was everything she wanted, but it wasn’t everything
you
wanted.

“And what was it you wanted?” she asked. “Do you even know? Even after you waltzed in with your army of manicurists and masseuses and food we didn’t need that cost—I don’t know how much, but a lot—it wasn’t enough for you, was it? You were nervous the whole time, fussing with the flowers and the table settings. What would have satisfied you? When would it have been enough?”

If anyone else had delivered this speech, laying out the case against her so starkly, asking such pointed questions, I suspect Abigail would have become combative, but Margot could get away with it. Margot never has a hidden agenda.

Margot is probably one of the only truly good people I’ve ever met. She’d argue with that, I’m sure. But not only does she never
do
anyone harm, I don’t think she even
thinks
anyone harm. She is the genuine article. I know it and so does anyone who knows her, including Abigail, which is why she sat quietly under Margot’s indictment, sinking lower and lower as Margot went on, wilting under the weight of her shame.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone. Not you or Liza,” Abigail whispered. “Truly. I am so sorry.”

This was huge. Abigail is not the sort of woman who tosses off apologies lightly or frequently. “Never complain, never explain.” That’s Abigail’s motto.

Her face still sober, Margot nodded. “Apology accepted. But that’s not why we’re here, Abigail. We’re worried about you. Since Liza and Garrett announced their engagement, you’ve gone from being an everyday, run-of-the-mill overbearing mother-of-the-bride to someone we barely recognize.”