Anything for Her(92)

“You think we’re still going to be moved, don’t you? Even though we can explain what happened.”

“That’s my guess.” Her mother really did look sorry. “Nolan couldn’t have foreseen any of this. I’m sure he never meant to hurt you.”

“That’s what he said.” There was a shift in the thin crust of anger that encased pain, as if a cataclysmic fracture was imminent. She couldn’t afford that. “No matter what, I’m not sure I can get past the fact that he had me investigated.”

“Between us, we did raise a lot of questions.” Mom sounded rueful.

She’d decided to be sympathetic and understanding now? Because she actually did feel bad for Allie? Or because she could afford to be gracious knowing she’d won? Either way, Allie was suddenly mad in a whole new way.

“I’m going to work,” she said.

Her mother frowned. “Why don’t you wait until I’ve called the marshal?”

“You can tell me what he says. I promised Barbara I’d be there by noon.”

I seem to be making a habit of walking out on people, Allie thought, as she did just that. It seemed that her instinctive reaction to powerful emotions was to flee. The insight gave her pause.

Had the fact that her family had spent so many years running imprinted itself on her, becoming as natural to her as breathing? Or was it that she was afraid of her own emotions when they grew too powerful?

Yes. Coping was beyond her. This time, she couldn’t hide inside herself. So I run away.

Allie parked in one of the two spots behind her store and let herself in the back door. A quilter and excellent customer, Barbara was happy to work a few hours when Allie needed help. She didn’t seem to need the money so much as she enjoyed an excuse to spend time in the quilt shop.

When Allie walked in, Barbara had finished ringing up a purchase and was adding two spools of thread to the fabric already in a bag while the customer wrote a check. Allie went immediately to help another woman who was wandering in apparent befuddlement with a bolt of fabric clutched in her arms.

“May I help you?” Allie asked.

“Please. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, but I can’t seem to make any decisions.”

Allie pried out of her the fact that this was to be only her second quilt, intended to be twin-sized for her eight-year-old daughter’s bed. She thought she’d use a pinwheel pattern. She’d intended to keep to perhaps three fabrics, but now she was wondering if a multitude of different fabrics used in the blades of the pinwheel wouldn’t be more effective.

Allie showed her a couple of different options and led her to fabrics that would contrast rather than blend with the background she’d already chosen. Then she pointed out the bins of fat quarters. “If you’d really like to go for the scrap-quilt effect...”

The woman pounced and Allie was able to leave her happily browsing through dozens of packets of color-coordinated fabrics already cut into quarter-yard lengths.

She thanked Barbara and they chatted for a few minutes. Allie felt as if she was hovering outside of herself, watching. She was smiling, relaxed, completely natural, betraying no hint that anything at all was wrong. Inside, she churned with disturbing emotions.

A horrifying thought hit her. She wouldn’t be able to open a new quilt shop if she and her mother were relocated. It would be like dancing, an obvious way to trace her. Stunned, she stood behind her counter and looked around the store, the place she felt most comfortable, most fulfilled, most herself.

She didn’t know if she could survive the dual loss of this, her vocation, and Nolan and Sean, her future.

But the alternative was to abandon her mother, who had already been abandoned by her husband and son. As I’ve been abandoned, Allie thought wretchedly. And she would have sworn that she was being literally rended in two.

* * *

SOMEHOW ALLIE WASN’T surprised when she heard the deep growl of a truck engine that evening, followed by steady, heavy footsteps on the outside steps and then a knock on her door.

Allie gave very serious consideration to not answering. She didn’t know yet what to say to him. She still felt so betrayed.

But she hadn’t liked that morning’s insight. It was bad enough knowing she was timid, inclined to retreat into herself. She didn’t want to be a complete coward.

With a groan, she rose from where she sat curled on her easy chair and went to open the door.

Nolan did not look good. The bristles on his jaw and cheeks made her realize he must have shaved for a second time other evenings when he expected to see her. There were tired lines beside his eyes and deep furrows between his eyebrows. She didn’t like seeing self-doubt and uncertainty in this man who had always projected solidity and confidence that she had believed would never fail.