Anything for Her(85)

Mom had taken her break late to accommodate the quiet time in the quilt shop. She arrived in a bustle with bags in hand.

“The loveliest sandwiches on croissants,” she announced, laying them out on the table in back. “Fruit salads and, for you, a ginger-molasses cookie. I can’t afford the calories, but you can.”

“Why don’t we split it?” Allie suggested. “You’re as slim as you were ten years ago. You can certainly get away with a decadent cookie now and again.”

“‘Now and again’ has a way of creeping into ‘every day,’” her mother said ominously.

Allie broke the cookie into two and set one on the napkin in front of her mother.

“Oh, I suppose this once...” She laughed, but gave her daughter a look. “You know me too well.”

Aware that a customer could walk in at any time, Allie knew she had to get this over with. “Mom, I have something to tell you.”

Her mother very carefully set down the croissant she had picked up. There was no sign of laughter on her face now. “What is it?”

Allie hadn’t reached for her own sandwich. She squeezed her hands together on her lap. She couldn’t think of any way to sidle into this. Blunt was best, she decided. Like peeling off a bandage with one yank. “I told Nolan everything.”

“You...what?” Mom whispered.

“You heard me.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Horror aged her mother as much as the tears on Sunday had. “I begged you.”

“You have to ask me why?” Allie’s chin rose. “I’ve tried to make you understand. I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face, and you haven’t listened. I love Nolan. I cannot make a life with a man who knows only the small surface part of me. I trust him.”

“Oh, dear God.” Mom was shaking. “What have you done?”

“I’ve made him fully part of our lives. That’s what I’ve done.” She hesitated. “I made him promise he would never say a word about it to anyone, not even Sean.”

“Easy to say, hard to do,” her mother said bitterly. “Look at you. You couldn’t follow through.”

Acid burned in her throat. Allie pushed back her chair. “That’s a lousy thing to say, Mom.”

The bell over the shop door rang. Oh, great. Perfect timing. I should have waited until this evening. Allie recognized in that second that she’d chosen this time and venue in the hopes her mother’s response would be moderated. The awareness that they could be interrupted and that they didn’t have long to talk had seemed like a safety net.

She stood up, tearing her gaze from her mother’s ravaged face. “Hello,” she called. “I’m here in back.”

There was no immediate answer. Nolan. Oh, my God, she thought. It’s Nolan. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that he might want to see her today?

He appeared, striding toward her between rows of colorful fabric bolts, his eyes smiling. She couldn’t help contrasting his approach to that first time, when he’d been bemused and cautious, then clearly entranced by her Lady of the Lake quilt. White paper bags dangled from his hands.

“Nolan,” she said. What was the old saying? Between the frying pan and the fire? No, not fair—it was Mom upsetting her today, not him.

He got a good look at her and his expression became warier. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Um...” She gestured. “Mom’s here. She, uh, brought lunch, too.”

He stopped short, suddenly looking blockish in a way he hadn’t. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“No, that’s fine.” What else could she say? “You know Mom. Why don’t you join us?”

His eyes asked a question. Allie swallowed and nodded. Yes, I told her.

After a brief hesitation, he walked forward. “Cheryl. Good to see you again. I apologize for butting in here.”

Her mother rose to her feet. “Well, it seems you’ve come at an appropriate time. Since we were just talking about you.”

He set the bags down, seeming to sort through what he wanted to say. “Allie told me your history. What you did took a lot of courage.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid Allie doesn’t see it that way.”

“I doubt that’s true,” he said quietly. “She talked about how close she’s always been to you.”