Jillian worked the next week finishing up the photos and facts about two more quilts. Only a few remained before her job would be finished. She hadn’t seen Connor or Gram except at hurried dinners with usually half a dozen guests.
The town was changing, growing and everyone wanted just an hour or two of Connor’s time.
The store had been busy, too. Half the new supplies had already flown off the shelves. She wasn’t sure if there was a renewed interest in quilting, or people just wanted to stop by to talk.
Sunnie popped in and out every afternoon to see if she needed help, disappearing as soon as Jillian said no.
Once, she’d told Jillian that lights were going up all over the district. Apparently, everyone in town had driven to the other side. “They got a traffic jam over there.” Sunnie laughed. “Our first ever.”
As the weekend neared, Jillian turned down Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch at the Laradys’ home. If weekends lasted twice as long, she still knew she’d barely finish with the quilts. She had to hurry. It was time to move on.
Connor called every morning and said that he didn’t have time to walk over for coffee. He said Gram was having a hard time remembering where she’d put things, but her leg was healing. He realized she wanted to go back to where all her things surrounded her. She also needed to come back to the shop before all the quilts were moved to the museum.
Jillian asked for a few days to get everything organized and turned down his offer for dinner. She feared that if she joined the little family, it would only be one more distraction for Gram, and if Connor left his gram, the dear lady might be upset. Plus Jillian needed time and distance from Connor. She had to get ready to leave; only this time, like it or not, memories would be packed with her.
As the weekend ended Sunday night in the quiet shop, she almost wished she’d said yes to at least one of Connor’s invitations. She wanted to see Gram and Sunnie and Reese. She ached to be near Connor. Just a few more times.
The work, Gram’s illness, and the excitement in the town all seemed to be smothering the little time she had left to be with him. But maybe love doesn’t always come as a whole cake—sometimes it only comes as a bite.
Her grade school picture floated through her thoughts. When her father had taken the picture from its hiding place in the library, maybe all he wanted as a taste of the memories of her. He was a man who settled for thin slices of life. If she continued to travel, would she whither until she’d be just like him?
It occurred to her that Connor might need a little space away from her to prepare for what would come. All day Saturday, every time she’d seen him out the window on Main, he was walking with a group and seemed deep in discussion. Now it was Sunday, and the lights were up in the district. Maybe he was resting.
Jillian remembered she’d seen Reese right beside Connor several times, carrying tubes of what might be blueprints. The kid couldn’t have looked happier if he’d been waiting for a ride at Disneyland.
Only today, there was no movement across the street. No movement anywhere. As dark clouds rolled in, Jillian felt like she was totally alone in the world. Strange how a town could be so alive one day and so dead the next.
Mrs. Kelly called midafternoon to tell Jillian she’d put on a stew. “Be sure and get back here before the rain moves in.”
“I will,” Jillian promised as she hung up and started photographing her last project: Gram’s beautiful, crazy, busy quilt.
She spread it out carefully, as if she were handling a great treasure. The colors were rich and twirled in designs that made no sense when she studied each section, but when she stood on the ladder to get the shot, she saw the beauty of patterns on patterns swirling. Names, dates, and events seemed sewn into the stitches between the pieces. The earliest date was 1934, Gram’s birthday, stitched in pink on sky blue cotton. The fabric intersected another date the same year, and another color ribboned the first. Benjamin’s birthday in a darker blue, Jillian guessed. Then came the wedding date, layered in lavenders and pearl grays. Like a vine, the dates of Gram’s life wove across the quilt.
Other colors, more names crossed the vine. Some births, some deaths.
Jillian couldn’t stop studying the history of the town written in stitches. Embroidered in flower bouquets and black shadows draped over headstones. Pink roses of births, black ivy for deaths. Fourth of July fireworks and Christmas trees. The stitching was so fine no one would notice all the details if they only glanced at the quilt.
Two lines shot off of the main vine. Gram’s two sons, maybe. One line was short and ended in black ivy. The other, longer line intercepted a second line with roses. One gray line drifted near Gram’s at times, never touching, but traveling the same path. There was no ivy at the end of either line, which told Jillian that Gram and whoever shadowed her were still alive.
Jillian had a feeling she’d never see another quilt like this one. It must have taken hundreds of hours to construct.
Jillian jumped when she heard a tapping on the glass door. She’d been so absorbed in the quilt, she hadn’t noticed the time.
When she unlocked the shop, she was surprised to see Connor. He looked even taller than usual in his Stetson and boots. A man comfortable in his clothes, she thought, whether it be cowboy or businessman.
He only stepped over the threshold and stopped, hat in his hand. “I thought I’d give you a ride home. Storm is coming in. I had to drive past here to check that everything was locked down across the creek.”
“Thanks,” was all she could manage to say.
While she went to get her things, he moved to the cutting table where the quilt was spread out. “I’ve seen this quilt from time to time. Never realized how beautiful it was. Gram never put it on display.”
“It’s not finished,” Jillian said as she pulled on her jacket.
As he always did, Connor opened her door, but he didn’t put his arm around her in that easy, light way she’d become used to.
They’d be alone for only a few blocks. Maybe he didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish.
He did drive slowly. For once, neither seemed to know how to start talking.
“How is Gram?” She finally broke the silence.
“She’s moody. Restless. That’s not like her. She couldn’t remember if she’d eaten breakfast this morning. Swore she hadn’t. So the nurse made her a bowl of oatmeal and after two bites Gram swore she was too full to eat another bite.”
His voice was so low it blended with the wind’s low howl. “She’s slipping, Jillian. A little more each day. She wants her things around her and they are all at the Acres.”
Silence fell again as they neared the bed-and-breakfast.
His tone became more conversational, like he needed to talk about something, anything else. “This little house, down from Mrs. Kelly’s place, looks better somehow.”
She turned to the cottage with the colorful pots on the porch. The one with the lady in a wheelchair who waved at her now and then. “I pick up one bag of trash on the way into work every morning. It only takes me a few minutes, but it’s starting to make a difference.”
“Why? Do you know the old lady who lives there? I’ve heard she turns away anyone who tries to be friendly.”
“I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t ask. I just did it because it needed to be done.”
He pulled in front of the B and B and looked at her then, really looked at her.
“You want to come in? Mrs. Kelly made a stew tonight. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you joining us.”
“No. I need to get back. Gram had a rough day. She’s ready to be over her broken leg. Thinks she’s spent enough time taking it easy.”
He put the car in Park but simply stared out at the empty street. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He took a deep breath. “I also wanted to say something and I don’t want you to comment. It’s just something I’ve got to get out before I explode.” He stared ahead, still not looking at her. “I’m in love with you, Jillian, and whether you stay or go won’t change that fact, not ever.”
She fought back tears as thunder rattled over the sky. A storm was coming across the land and in her life. She could feel both rolling in.
Connor stepped from the car and pulled her into the wind. With his arm around her, protecting her, they ran for the porch as the rain started. It pounded hard and fast in huge drops as though nature was suddenly furious.
They took the steps at a run and instantly were out of the downpour. He held her close until her breathing slowed. “It’s going to be all right, Jillian. It’s only a storm. You’ll survive. I’ll survive.”
She couldn’t answer. They both knew he was talking about far more than the storm.
A moment later she was in Mrs. Kelly’s kitchen, cuddled in an afghan.
While Mrs. Kelly fussed over her, Connor disappeared back into the storm without saying another word.
He’d said what he came to say. He’d seen her safely home.
The rest was up to her.