Embroidered Truths (3 page)

He found Betsy selecting some yarn for a new knitting project she wanted to try.

“Betsy, I was thinking, I just about maxed out my credit cards in Mexico City, so how am I supposed to shop for clothes?”

“Get just one pair of slacks and two shirts. There’s a K-Mart and a Target right up Highway Seven at one-oh-one.”

“K-Mart?” He stared at her in surprise. “You want me to buy work clothes at
K-Mart
?”

“Or Target,” she said, nodding. With John, Godwin had become accustomed to far, far more upscale stores than these. But she wasn’t going to continue the custom. “You have such a great sense of style, I’m sure you can find something affordable that will look terrific.”

He smiled, if faintly. “I hope you’re right.” He sighed and took himself off.

Two

GODWIN came in with a big white bag marked with a red bull’s-eye, and a smaller plastic Walgreen’s bag. Betsy gave him the key to her upstairs apartment, and he went away, to return about forty minutes later wearing manufacturer-faded blue jeans and a pastel-plaid shirt in yellow, green, and blue. His penny loafers were worn on bare feet—the skin on his feet was so sensitive to fabric dyes, Godwin wore only white cotton socks he knit himself. Since those were at home, where he was forbidden entrance, he wore none.

“I sometimes have trouble with leather on my feet, too,” he said, “so I washed my socks out and used your hair dryer to reduce them to merely damp,” he said. “They’ll probably be dry enough to wear right after lunch.” He raised both hands. “Not that I’ll be going out to lunch,” he said hastily. “But if you could bring me back something when you go out, I’d appreciate it. All I had for breakfast was a pair of Tic Tacs.”

“I’m planning on going next door to the deli,” said Betsy. “Let me know what you want. My treat, of course.”

“Thank you twice over!” said Godwin. “I held my breath when I bought this outfit, because I know my credit card’s close to being maxed out.” He leaned forward and mouthed quietly, “Cheap underwear, too.”

Betsy chuckled. “Was it worth it? I mean, the trip to Mexico City?”

“Oh, my God,
yes!
Even if it takes a year—
two
years—to pay it off, it was too wonderful to miss! That’s why I don’t understand why John is being such a pissant now.”

“Maybe . . .” Betsy hesitated, then finished the thought. “Maybe it’s because John resented you paying for everything, instead of him.”

Godwin smiled in surprise. “Now why on earth would John
not
want to have a free ride for a change?” He shrugged to show he hadn’t any idea why, and continued, still smiling, “You know, I think this is the first time, the actual
first time,
I ever paid not just my own way but his, too? He kept saying he didn’t think I should do it. But I showed him the tickets I won, and said I had almost no charges on my card, so why not? And he finally said, ‘You’re right, why not?’”

“I see. Well, maybe he’s got another difficult case to work on, and it’s made him touchy.”

“I’d agree, except he’s always been too fair to take work problems out on me. At least without first warning me he’s in a bad mood because of some problem at the office.”

“Well, what did he say when he threw you out? I mean, did he say something like, ‘I don’t want any more of your . . .’ what? Your pride, your mouth, your dumb sense of humor, your silliness?”

“Thank you so much for that list of my faults,” Goddy said with a hurt sniff.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Okay, yes, I guess I do.” Godwin thought a few moments. “Here’s what he said: ‘It’s gone, the sweet boy is gone, it’s all over, get out, just get out. Out!
Out!
’” Godwin made sweeping motions with both arms. “Like that.”

Betsy had a sudden notion, but she hesitated to present it. Godwin noted the hesitation and leaped on it. “You know something, don’t you? What
is
it? Have
you
talked to John? He called here, didn’t he? What did he
say
? Did he tell you not to
tell me
?” His voice showed rising panic.

“No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering. Goddy, could he be seeing someone else? Someone . . . younger?”

Godwin had been engaged in a fight with the calendar for as long as she’d known him. Combining dieting, exercise, light tanning, hair brightening, tooth whitening, and a bit of botox, Godwin followed a complex regimen to make himself look barely twenty, when in fact he could reach out and touch thirty.

Godwin’s mouth formed a small O, as he tried and tried to say, “No,” or “Nonsense!” Finally he managed, “He wouldn’t!”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he loves
me
!”

“Goddy . . .”

He burst into tears. “I know, I know! Then why am I homeless?”

She took him into her arms as he wept helplessly on her shoulder.

“Oh, dear, what’s the matter?” asked a strange voice, and they jumped apart like clandestine lovers caught in an embrace.

“Well, hello, Mrs. Sowinski!” said Godwin.

“Hello, Goddy. What’s got you so upset?”

“Nothing much, really. You know how I am, I cry over every little thing. And it has nothing to do with the shop, really. Anyway—” He sniffed deeply and forced a smile. “I’m all over it now. What can I get for you?”

“I’d like a fat quarter of fourteen-count gridded aida in ivory, please.”

Mrs. Sowinski was a heavyset woman with short red hair and a liking for big floral prints. Even her spring coat was a deep green with enormous yellow flowers splashed all over it. She used to do simple counted cross-stitch pieces—the big, complex charts intimidated her—until she discovered Zweigart’s gridded aida cloth. She knew about gridding—marking fabric into five-thread segments with a single thread—but claimed that she routinely messed up even that simple task on a large piece of cloth. So when Betsy discovered that Zweigart put out aida cloth already gridded, she ordered some with Mrs. Sowinski in mind. As it turned out, other customers liked it, too. Gridding could be tedious and time-consuming; buying cloth already gridded was a blessing for many stitchers. Their only complaint was that Zweigart didn’t also offer linen already gridded.

But now the news was even worse: “I’m afraid Zweigart has discontinued its gridded cloth,” Godwin said. “And we’re already out of the fourteen count. I have some eighteen count in a stunning shade of ivory, would you like to try some of that?”

“Hmmm, eighteen count. Do you think I’m ready for eighteen count?”

Evenweave fabrics were designated by the number of threads per inch. The bigger the number, the finer the weave.

“Eighteen’s not any more difficult than fourteen—and you’ve turned out some wonderful pieces in fourteen. Actually, I’ve been wondering why you haven’t moved up to eighteen.” This last sentence was spoken in a confidential tone.

Mrs. Sowinski smiled and raised a hand against that statement. “Oh, you have not!” she said. “But do you really think I could handle eighteen count?”

“Absolutely! Now, are you going to need a new pattern, or do you already have one?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you still have that chart Wild Wonders? I’ve been thinking it would look nice on the wall of our cabin up on the lake.”

“I’m pretty sure we do, but let’s go take a look.”

The two of them passed through the twin sets of box shelves, into the part of the shop where the counted cross-stitch charts and materials were kept.

“Arrrrrgggghhhh!!”
came a cry a few seconds later. “What
happened
back here?”

“What? What?” cried Betsy, rushing to the back. She looked around. Everything looked fine to her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Everything’s been moved!” said Goddy. “I can’t find
anything!
” He was waving his arms in a helpless way over his head.

“I just did what you and Ms. Davis suggested, for heaven’s sake!” said Betsy.

“Oh?” said Godwin. For a moment his face was blank, then he nodded as he took in the rearranged area. “That’s right. Okay. I get it now.”

Mrs. Sowinski began to laugh. “You scared me for a minute there, Godwin,” she said. Turning to Betsy, she said, “Do you know where to look for the chart called Wild Wonders?”

“Of course,” said Betsy. “It’s right over here.” She shook her head at Godwin, who was looking a trifle embarrassed at his outburst.

Mrs. Sowinski bought the chart and half a yard of the eighteen-count aida, saying the part she didn’t use would go into her stash. She also bought a skein each of three shades of green floss because she wasn’t sure if she had enough of it at home.

After Mrs. Sowinski left, Betsy said to Godwin, “You are the most amazing man!” and hugged him.

He squirmed out of her embrace, saying, “Don’t make fun of me, I’m too fragile to handle that.”

“Who’s making fun? I’m serious! You were in the middle of a real emotional storm when a customer walked in, and you pulled yourself together faster than . . . than a speeding bullet.” She smiled at herself for that limp simile, but Godwin simply bloomed.

“Do you really think so? I thought I lost it again when I walked in back and everything was changed around. It was like my whole life, everything changed around, so I don’t know where I am. . . .” His courage began to falter again.

“Here, now, buck up,” she said. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise. Okay?” She put it strongly, hoping it was true. “Now, how about some lunch? What would you like?”

He thought for a few moments. “A great big sandwich, double beef on whole wheat with horseradish sauce and a thick slice of tomato. And potato chips. And a kosher dill pickle—not a spear, the whole thing. Large iced tea to drink.”

When Betsy brought it back for him, he ate every crumb. He even put real sugar into his iced tea.

In consequence, that evening he decided they needed to eat light. “Let me make something I had in Mexico City,” he said. He searched the refrigerator and cupboards and gave Betsy a short list. “Here, run to the grocery store and get these,” he ordered crisply. “By the time you get back the soup should be ready.”

He prepared a simple soup of boiled chicken and rice, then served it with a plate on which were avocado, sweet onion, green chilies, cilantro, and tomato, chopped and heaped into little piles. He showed Betsy how to strew a little of each over the soup to flavor a few bites, then strew again, so the add-ons never sank into the soup but remained bright stars of flavor in the firmament of chicken and rice.

“I had this for supper every night at the hotel,” said Godwin. “The city is over seven thousand feet in the air, and your metabolism changes at that altitude, so you have your main meal at noon and then a light supper at night. Otherwise you wake up at three A.M. sick as a dog.” He smiled. “A man on the plane told me that, and I told John, but he thought I was just trying to save money, and he ate a Big Mac—yes, you can buy them in Mexico City; in fact, there was a Mickey D’s in the mall attached to the back of our hotel—and fries, super-sized, the first evening we were there. And sure enough, he was up a couple of hours after we went to bed, groaning and complaining. He wanted lots of sympathy, which I gave him, along with a lecture on listening to me—sometimes I really do know what I’m talking about, you know.”

After dinner, Betsy said, “Well, what do you want to do? Go to a movie? Watch TV? Maybe do a little stitching?”

Godwin sighed. “I suppose I could work on a model of that symbol, the thing that means ‘speaking’ that I got from Maru.”

“You mean the tlatolli?”

He stared at her. “That sounds like what she said it’s called. But it’s not written on the chart, so how do you know that?”

“Susan Lavery told me.”

“Who’s she?”

“A tall woman with the reddest hair you’ve ever seen. She bought the chart, and the teddy bears one, too. Looks like we have a hit on our hands. You be sure and tell Ms. Maru, okay?”

“Sure, I’d be glad—oh, wait a second. My laptop’s at John’s.”

“Do you have her e-mail address? I can tell her.”

“No, I put it into the laptop and threw away the paper she wrote it on.” He heaved a discouraged sigh.

“Well, do you want to go down into the shop and pick out something else? Maybe some white cotton yarn to start a new pair of socks?”

“Later, maybe.” He sighed again and curled up on the couch.

“Tell me more about how you met this designer.” Betsy was still looking for clues that something happened in Mexico that precipitated this quarrel.

“Well . . . okay. We were in the Polaco district, which is about the nicest—we had our private guide with us, he was a lot of fun—anyway, he took us to the Polaco District and turned us loose for a couple of hours. John bought dinner at the Konditori restaurant—would you believe it’s Swedish?—Scandinavian food with Mexican spices, strange and delicious! Afterwards we went for a walk and I saw this home decorator shop and went in because I saw it had needlework supplies. I wanted to see what they had, maybe something different from here at home. They didn’t, and they didn’t have anything like the variety of things we carry. It was worse even than Michael’s. But I met Maru in there, looking for floss in pastel colors for that pattern of a teddy bear.”

“Where was John all this while?”

“Looking at furniture. They had some nice armchairs with an interesting fabric on the seats. So Maru and I got to talking—she was so interested that I’m Vice President in Charge of Operations of Crewel World, Inc.! and she showed me another Aztec pattern she’s working on, kind of a weird-looking bird. She said it’s from a seal the Aztecs used.”

“Where is she getting these designs?”

“She’s taking classes at the Museum of Anthropology.”

“Goddy, you don’t think John will do something like erase your hard drive, do you?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, he saw how excited I was about meeting Maru and buying her designs, so he knows they’re important. He’s angry at me, not at the work I do. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I would like to go down to the shop for a ball of sock-weight yarn and a pair of knitting needles. If John does take it into his head to throw my clothes away, it behooves me to get started on a spare pair of socks.”