Read The Friendship Star Quilt Online
Authors: Patricia Kiyono,Stephanie Michels
Business had been brisk all day so the till contained more cash and checks than usual. For a moment, Anne almost reconsidered her decision to hold on to the deposit overnight. In the end, she weighed her apprehension over keeping the cash with her overnight against the thought of going to the bank alone in the dark. The apartment won so she printed out the transaction tape and went through her normal routine for balancing out. Tonight, however, she put the deposit bag in the bottom of her sewing basket then headed to Myra's office to lock up the accountant's copy.
She put on her jacket, picked up the sewing basket and headed toward the back door when the sudden jangle of the office phone made her jump. Who on earth would be calling The Post at this hour? She paused and listened as the answering machine picked up.
“Hi, it's Brad. You're probably already gone for the weekend. I should have checked the clock before callingâ”
Anne rushed back to the office and dove for the phone, nearly knocking it to the floor in her haste.
“Brad!” she called. “Don't hang up. I'm here.”
“Anne? You sound out of breath. Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, not at all. I was almost out the door when I heard your voice on the machine. I dashed back to catch the phone before you hung up.”
“I'm glad you did. I wanted to tell you about the parade, but I don't have a home number for you.”
“I don't have a home phone, remember?”
“Cell phone?”
“Nope,” she replied, unbuttoning her jacket and setting the sewing basket on the desktop.
The line was silent for so long, she wondered if they'd been disconnected. Finally, Brad spoke again.
“I'm sorry, Anne. Maybe calling was a bad idea. I don't want to make a pest of myself. You probably haveâ”
“Brad, I wasn't trying to brush you off. Honest. I really don't have a home or cell phone.”
“How do your friends reach you?”
Anne chuckled. “The same way you just did. I spend so much of my time at The Post, folks just call me here.”
“What about your family?”
“I don't have any to speak of.”
“I'm sorry,” Brad said, his voice warm and compassionate. “I didn't mean toâ”
“No, it's okay. Honest,” Anne reassured him. “I'll tell you all about it some other time. Right now, I want to hear about the parade. Was Rivertown the best band in it?”
“Of course, we were.” Brad's laugh rolled over her, warming her to her toes.
“Tell me,” she said, settling in the desk chair for a nice chat. “And don't you dare leave anything out.”
****
“Is there something you wanted to tell me, Bradley?”
Brad glanced up from the Sunday newspaper to find his mother's twin standing in the doorway of her cozy kitchen. Although it was before six in the morning, Aunt Bonnie was neatly dressed in a pale green twin set and dark slacks, her gray hair styled in her trademark French twist. The house had been quiet when Brad woke a half hour earlier, so he'd crept downstairs to retrieve the paper before the others woke. He'd just begun reading it in his favorite spot, the padded rocker by the kitchen's bay window, when his aunt spoke.
“Tell you?” He thought for a moment then tilted his head and hazarded a guess. “I brewed a pot of coffee?”
“Very funny, young man. Perhaps you should consider becoming a stand-up comedian,” she said then crossed the room to the coffee pot.
Rows of mismatched ceramic mugs hung from small hooks under all the cupboards. For as long as Brad could remember, his aunt had collected the novelty cups. Friends and family fed her habit with contributions found online or on their vacations. Like them, Brad often added to the collection, and whenever he visited her, he perused it for new additions. The mug he currently heldâ”Stop! You're Under a Rest”âhad been his gift on her last birthday. He'd spotted it in the souvenir stand at a music event. The pun had been a sly reference to both their professions, so he couldn't pass it up. As she settled in a matching rocker beside him, he glanced at her mug then announced, “Here Come da Judge.”
“I'm not being judgmental, Bradley,” she argued. “I'm just⦠concerned.”
“I was reading your mug,” he replied then frowned. “Shall we dispense with the guessing game, Aunt Bonnie? Why don't you just tell me what you're concerned about?”
“Well, Bradley, I don't want to pry, but who is Miss Anne?”
Brad threw back his head and laughed. “I see the princess has told you about our new friend.”
“She hardly spoke of anything else yesterday.” His aunt sighed and leaned back in her chair, seemingly relieved. “So, Miss Anne is a real person?”
“Of course. She manages the quilt shop in Grandville. Why?”
“Well, it's not unusual for children to create imaginary companions to help them deal with trauma. So Iâ”
Reaching across the space between their chairs, Brad gave his aunt's hand a reassuring squeeze. “Jennie is adjusting well to Sarah's death. Honest. She's doing well in school and has plenty of non-imaginary friends and piano lessons to keep her busy. You can stop worrying about us, Aunt Bonnie. We're both doing fine.”
“Maybe I like worrying about you,” she replied, giving him a wry look over the top of her glasses. “After all, you and Jennie are the closest thing I have to a child and grandchild. Thank goodness Barbara doesn't mind sharing.”
“I don't mind sharing what?” his mother asked, coming into the kitchen in time to catch the last remark. Unlike her sister, she still wore her pajamas and a cozy flannel robe.
“More correctly whom,” Brad said. He rose to greet his mother then offered her his chair. “Let me get you some coffee while you explain about this spouse swapping you and Aunt Bonnie are considering.”
“Bradley!”
His petite, blond mother and her tall, graying sister might not physically resemble twins, but their shocked exclamations were nearly identical. Brad laughed and waved his mother to the chair.
“Relax, Mom. I'm just teasing you.”
“Telling me I buttoned my blouse wrong when I didn't is teasing,” his mother scolded. “Giving me a heart attack before I've had my morning coffee definitely is not.”
“Sorry, ma'am. One java â black with no teasing â coming up.” He went to the counter, selected a cup then filled it nearly to the brim with coffee.
His mother glanced at the printing on the mug as he handed it to herâ”The Queen Is Not Amused” â and struggled not to grin.
“Bradley, Bradley!” she lamented. “Where did I go wrong with you?”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I think it's those preppy clothes you keep sending me.”
Retrieving his coffee from the side table between the rockers, he winked at his aunt. “You'd never send a musician pullover sweaters, oxford shirts and argyle socks, would you, Aunt Bonnie?”
“I think I'll take the fifth on that one.”
“Smart thinking, sis. I always said you were the smart one.”
For a moment, they sipped their coffee in companionable silence, then his aunt grinned. “Argyle socks, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.” His mother scowled, but her twinkling eyes told Brad she wasn't really upset. She took another sip of coffee then looked from her sister to her son. “Just for the record, what
were
the two of you discussing when I came downstairs?”
“Jennie, of course. I swear the child grew at least another inch since I saw her last month,” Aunt Bonnie replied. “By the way, Brad, thank you for sending the Halloween photos of her.”
“The costume you sent was beautiful, Bonnie. She made an adorable Cinderella,” his mother commented then glanced at the ceiling. “Speaking of our little princess, she should be down here for breakfast any minute now.”
Brad tilted his head and listened. “I don't hear anyâ”
Just then he heard little footsteps patter overhead.
“How on earth did youâ?”
His mother shrugged. “Moms just know.”
“Then I'd better get the omelets started,” Aunt Bonnie said, rising gracefully from her chair. “Brad, you can dice some peppers and onions while you tell your mother and me all about this mysterious Miss Anne.”
“There's nothing mysterious about her at all,” Brad said as he opened the crisper drawer. “Do you want me to dice red peppers as well as green?”
His aunt nodded, so he gathered the vegetables and carried them to the sink so he could wash them. “Anne works at the quilt shop in town,” he continued. “She's actually managing the place while the owner is down south for the winter. I hired her to make the flags our band carried in the parade.”
“Jennie told us,” his aunt said. “She said Miss Anne also made the skirts the guard wore. They were very sharp, by the way.”
“Thanks. I'll let the girls know you liked the outfits. They helped come up with the idea.”
“The whole band looked very nice,” his mother added. “They've improved vastly since the beginning of the school year. I thought they sounded amazing yesterday.”
“They did, didn't they?” Brad beamed, remembering how the crowds had applauded their performance. “My kids have worked their butts off all season, and all their hard work showed every time they took the field. I told them they got better and better with every performance.”
His aunt quirked an eyebrow then exchanged a wink with her twin. His mother nodded.
“What?” Brad asked.
“You sound more like a proud parent than a teacher,” his aunt commented. “As much as you complain about the hours, you really love those kids and it shows.”
Brad nodded. “I confess. I'm guilty as charged, Your Honor.”
Late Monday morning, Anne decided to take Myra's car and make a quick trip to Falcone'
s
. Normally, she would just walk the few blocks to the restaurant, but today she had the new curtains ready to deliver and didn't want to risk wrinkling them. So she'd carefully placed the hangers with the finished panels on a garment hook in the back seat of the sedan. She'd also packed a gift she'd made Mario to thank him for his many kindnesses to her.
Leaving Courtney to keep an eye on the quilt shop, Anne drove to the restaurant, humming along to a tune on the classic rock radio station her boss preferred. As she turned in Falcone'
s
lot, she noticed several other cars and belatedly realized how close to lunch time it was. She'd been so excited to deliver the curtains, she hadn't checked the time or called ahead to make sure it was convenient. She parked at the back of the lot but hesitated to get out, debating whether she should return to The Post and come back later. Finally, she decided to just give the curtains to Mario and ask him to put them somewhere until she could come back to hang them.
She pocketed the car keys then gathered everything from the back seat and carried it to the entrance. Peeking in the door, she saw Mario wiping down his front counter. Fortunately, he wasn't too busy, so she pushed open the door. He glanced up as she entered and gave her a warm greeting.
“C
ara mia!
Welcome. You honor this-a humble restaurant,” he said in his faux-Italian accent. “Come. Give-a me those packages, and you sit. Have a bite-a lunch.”
“No, no. I didn't come for lunch. I wanted to deliver your curtains to you. But I forgot to check the time. Can we put these in a storeroom somewhere, and I'll come back a better time to help you hang them?”
“S
i, si.
I put them in my office closet. Come, we go back there and hang them.” He eagerly reached for the plastic-draped hangers. “I can hardly wait-a to see these.”
He motioned for her to follow him toward the kitchen then called to one of his workers. “Angelo, watch the front for a few minutes.”
The kitchen smelled of spicy marinara sauce and freshly baked bread. Anne inhaled and shook her head. “Oh my, a person could gain ten pounds just inhaling all these heavenly aromas.”
“You could-a use fifteen or twenty pounds on you,
cara,”
he said then winked. “So I guess you will have to come-a back more often.”
Anne laughed and followed him through the kitchen to small but tidy office. He opened a small closet in the corner and carefully hung the hangers with the curtains inside. Several packages of café rods leaned against the back wall, waiting to be installed on the windows. “They will be safe inna here. You want to come back after lunch to put them up?”
“I can't, Mario. My helper, Courtney has to leave early so she's home when her kids get out of school.”
“What time she come-a work in the morning?”
“At nine. I could come tomorrow as soon as she gets to the shop.”
“
Ã
fantastico
!
” he said then gestured to the plastic shopping bag in her hand. “You need-a me to keep your bag here, also?”
Anne shook her head and held out the bag. “Actually, Mario, this is something for you.”
“For me?” He blinked in surprise. “What is?”
“If I tell you, it will ruin the surprise. Go ahead and open it.”
He nodded, set the bag on his desktop then opened it. A large tissue-wrapped bundle lay inside. Giving Anne a quizzical look, he pulled it from the bag then peeled back the layers of tissue.
“These are wonderful,
bella!
” he exclaimed when he saw the quilted oven mitts and matching chef's aprons inside.
“I had fabric left from the curtains, so I thought I'd make aprons for you and Gina,” Anne explained. “And you needed matching mitts, too. I hope you like them.”
“Like them? Anne, I love them!” he declared, temporarily forgetting his accent. “You are very talented. Gina and I will use these with pride.”