The Fortune Quilt (18 page)

Finally, toward the end of the night, Will and I end up in the kitchen together. I am wrapping up the remaining pumpkin pie and putting it in the refrigerator, and he’s donning an apron and moving toward the dishes. We exchange smiles, and he speaks first.

“So,” he says, “it looks like you’re having a good time.”

“I really am.” I shut the refrigerator door and lean against it. “Are you?”

He simply smiles at me, his blue eyes twinkling at the edges. I reach for an apron as he fills the sink, but he puts his hand on my arm, and his touch sends shocks through me that immobilize me where I stand.

“Brandy said you helped cook, which means no dishes for you.” He grins. “Them’s the rules, kiddo.”

“Kiddo? Please,” I say. “I’m older than you.”

His hand is still on my arm. “I’m thirty-one.”

“And you dated my little sister?” I give a mock-horrified gasp. “You dirty old man.”

He quirks a brow at me. “You have no idea.”

He releases my arm and turns toward the dishes. I step back and start to walk away.

“Don’t go,” he says, so quietly that I can run away and pretend not to have heard him, which is probably what I would have done on any other night. Instead, I lean against the butcher block island and dip one finger in the bowl of whipped cream.

“I can keep you company for a while, I guess.” I lick the cream off my finger. Will chuckles and shakes his head at me.

“Now that’s just cruel,” he says.

“Oh, sorry.” I pick up the bowl and hold it out to him. “You want some?”

Will looks at me for a second, then laughs again. “No. Thanks.”

Suddenly, I realize what he’s saying, and I flush madly and roll my eyes at myself. “Oh. Sorry. I—”

“It’s okay.” He grabs a plate, dunks it in the soapy water and scrubs at it a little too hard. His neck is flushed and there’s a light smile on his face.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Ottawa,” I say.

“I was. I am. I’m catching a redeye back at 2 a.m.”

I feel a rush of disappointment. “So you just came back for what, twelve hours?”

He rinses the soapy plate and sets it in the wooden dish rack. “More like fourteen. But, yeah. I haven’t missed one of Brandy’s Thanksgivings since I moved here, so I put myself on a stand-by flight just in case. I didn’t say anything because I figured there was no way I’d get a flight, but… here I am.”

“I guess it was meant to be.” My voice barely registers, it’s so low as I say this. Part of me hopes he didn’t hear me.

But he did. He raises his eyes to mine. “I like to think so.”

We stare at each other for a few moments, and then we are interrupted by Gladys and Valerie, who both flirt shamelessly with Will until Valerie pats his ass, at which point Brandy comes in and chases them off. I push away from the counter and am about to shuffle off with them when Will calls my name. I turn and look at him.

“I’m gonna have to head back to Tucson within the hour or I’m gonna miss my flight.” He pauses for a moment. “If you’re leaving soon, I was thinking maybe I could walk you back to your cabin.”

I look at the clock. Twenty minutes to midnight. Sounds about fitting for the Cinderella theme of the evening.

“You finish up and I’ll go get my things,” I say.

Will smiles. “Okay.”

I make my rounds, give my goodbyes. The men all kiss me on the cheek and the women all hug me and I laugh and ham it up as I make my way upstairs, sprinkling kisses from my fingers like rose petals onto an adoring public. Once in the loft, I gather my clothes and put on my Keds. As I’m about to turn around and head back down the stairs, I notice my quilt poking out from the middle of the pile on the dresser. I stop for a moment, then walk over and touch it again. I pull it out of the stack and wrap it around my shoulders, then glide down the stairs, not stumbling at all, and Will meets me at the bottom. The group heckles us as we head out. I catch Brandy’s attention and touch the quilt with a questioning look. She grins and nods permission. Will puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me out. Just as we reach the stone path that winds around Brandy’s and back toward the cabins, I hear Valerie yell, “Send him back when you’re done with him, Carly!” out the window. Will and I laugh, and a moment later we are alone, walking down the path by moonlight.

“I’m really glad you came back today,” I say.

“Me, too.”

We pass by his cabin and keep on down the path. My heart rate is kicking up, and I can feel an electric zing running up and down my legs. When we get to my cabin, I step up on the stoop and turn to face him. Even with the boost, he’s still a bit taller than me, but our eyes are level enough for me to see the way he’s looking at me, and I like it.

“I know you have to get on your plane,” I say, “but do you want to come in for a few minutes?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, then releases a deep breath and shakes his head. “But it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Oh.” It must be midnight. I’m turning back into a pumpkin. “Okay. Well. Thanks for walking me. I’ll see you when you get back.”

I’m about to turn and go inside when his hand grasps mine. The quilt slips from my grip and my shoulder is exposed to the chill night air but my skin is so flushed with wine and sexual tension that it feels good.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he says, his voice quiet and his eyes locked on mine. “It’s just that if I go in there, I’ll probably miss my plane and I can’t afford to do that.”

“Okay,” I say. His fingers are caressing my palm and I really, really, really want him to come inside.

We are silent for a long moment. He is looking at me and I am looking at him and we’re not saying anything and we’re not moving closer together but we’re not moving further away.

“Well…” His voice sounds strained. I make a tiny move forward, then go still. His hand travels up my arm and I realize with full certainty that if he doesn’t kiss me right this minute, my heart is going to burst from my chest and I’m going to die. His fingers blaze a slow trail up to my face, then slide around the back of my head and he pulls me to him, his lips gliding over mine like a whisper. Now, my entire body is zinging and his other arm wraps around my waist and pulls me up tight against him. My hands find his face and the kiss takes over my entire body until finally, our lips separate and we look at each other, our ragged breath mingling in hot bursts. I stumble back a bit and Will catches my arm and gives me balance, his eyes laughing.

“Your feet don’t seem to like you much.”

“Okay, this time is not my fault,” I say. “Tyra Banks would fall over after a kiss like that.”

He smiles. “Tyra Banks, huh?”

I don’t say anything, just stare into his eyes, trying to work a Jedi mind trick on him.
 
Come inside, Will. Miss your plane, Will. You know you want to, Will.

“I have to go,” he says finally. So much for Jedi mind tricks. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you on Tuesday then?”

I nod. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

“Okay.” He takes a step back, releases a breath. “Whew. Okay.”

I watch him as he takes a few steps away, then turns back to face me.

“Is it just me, or was that kiss the kind of thing people write books about?”

I can’t help but sink into a big fat smile. “It’s not just you.”

“Good,” he says, nodding happily into the night. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and heads down the path. I hug the quilt in my arms and stand with the cold air kissing my skin until he is out of sight.

***

I float through the next few days. Will calls me twice, just to chat, and each call makes me extraordinarily happy. His job in Ottawa is for some catalogue of kitschy kitchen items - teapots shaped like cats, Statue of Liberty pepper grinders, that sort of thing. I spend Saturday night with Brandy, and I finish my brown turd scarf. It’s lumpy and a little off-looking, but I made it, and I can’t help but love it despite how ugly it is. Brandy wants to get me started on another project, but I beg off, wrap my scarf around my neck, and head home.

On Sunday morning, I go to Mass at St. Cecilia’s, the cathedral on the edge of town. I don’t know why. I haven’t been to a church since Ella’s wedding, and before that I only went when Dad dragged me on holidays. As I step into the church, I wonder what Dad would think if he knew I was going of my own volition. Then I take a whiff of the incense and am suddenly overwhelmed with missing him. I cross myself and genuflect at a pew, then take a seat as the priest does the homily. I sit through the mass but pass on the communion since I can’t even remember the last time I confessed and I’m beyond lapsed. Still, after mass I go up to the shrine of candles, put five dollars in the box, and light five candles. One for Ella and Greg. One for Five. One for Dad. One for Will’s safe travel home. The last one takes me a while to light, but finally I say a quick prayer for Mary and turn quickly to escape, smashing headfirst into the lady behind me. I blurt out a quick apology and race out the back of the church.

***

Will is in my living room wearing only flannel lounge pants, drinking coffee and staring up at
 
She Might Be Crying
. I watch him from the doorway of my bedroom. I love the way he looks, his skin practically glowing in the morning light.

He is beautiful.

I try to take a step toward him, but my feet won’t move. I look down, trying to figure out what’s holding me back. There’s nothing on my feet, but they feel really heavy.

And I realize I’m dreaming.

“Oh, crap,” I say. “This was a good one.”

Will laughs. “It had potential.”

I stare at him, trying to will him to come to me and make this a really good dream, but there’s a knock at the door.

“Are you gonna get that?” he asks.

“No.” I stare harder, concentrate, furrow my brow. Maybe the Jedi mind trick will work in my dream world.

Come to me, Dream Will,
 
I think.
 
You know you want to.

Will laughs. “You have a funny look on your face.”

“That’s not sweet talk.”

He winks at me. “I’m coming back tomorrow. Can’t you wait one more day?”

I hold his eye. “No.”

There’s another knock. Will starts for the back door.

“Wait, where are you going?” I still can’t move.

“You need to get that,” he says. I whimper, and he laughs. He blows me a kiss from the back door, then leaves. I look down at my feet and curse.

“Stupid feet,” I say.

The knocking continues. I open one eye, and I am in bed. The sheets are wrapped around my ankles under the bedspread and quilt, which are bunched over me in such a strange jumble that it takes me a few moments of cursing and scrambling to extricate myself. I mutter to myself as I hobble out of bed, grabbing my robe off the top of the dresser on my way to the front door.

“I don’t know what time it is,” I say as I answer the door, one eye open, “but it’s too damn early.”

I stop when I see who’s there, and I start blinking to get both eyes functioning. Ella’s eyes are red, like either she hasn’t slept or has been crying. Looking at her, I think it’s quite possibly both. She’s wearing an oversized U of A sweatshirt and jeans, both wrinkled. She has no makeup on, and as her eyes meet mine, they start to brim up. Her lips tremble and the tears spill down her cheeks. We stare at each other for a long while, and I’m not sure what to do, so I do nothing and wait for her to speak while she stares at her feet.

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to let me in,” she says. “I know I was really horrible to you. I’ve been wanting to call you and tell you how sorry I am, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know if you’d want to talk to me again.”

She puts her hand to her face and cries harder. Without a word, I step outside and pull her into a hug. She sobs onto my shoulder, and I run my hand over her back and make shushing sounds. She is instantly forgiven, because there’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t instantly forgive her for. “It’s okay, sweetie.”

“No, it’s not,” she says. “I was so mean to you.”

I smile and hug her tighter, a little surprised at how much I just don’t care. “It’s forgotten, babe.”

She steps back from me, sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve.
 
Ew
.

“Why don’t you come on in?” I say. “I have coffee. And tissues.”

She wraps her arms around her middle and looks so much like she did when she was younger that I almost think I’m still dreaming. Maybe I am. I kinda hope so. Because this broken little girl in front of me is not at all like my confident, beautiful, sophisticated and overly-hygienic sister. I’m beginning to get a little worried.

“Is everyone okay?” I say. My mind rushes to conclusions, and my heart seizes. “Is Dad okay?”

Her eyes brim over, and she nods.

“He’s fine,” she squeaks. “I left Greg.”

Wow. I have to say, I didn’t see that one coming.