The Sisterhood of the Dropped Stitches (14 page)

“Was everything all right?”

Carly looks at me blankly.

“With your cat,” I add. “Was everything all right with your cat?”

Carly nods and then frowns. “Your grill guy put one of those boxes at the bottom of the tree yesterday before we went to the ball game. I told him not to, but I guess he did anyway. The gardener found Marie in it this morning and, when he let her out in the house, she came straight for the room outside my bedroom. That's where I keep her dish.”

“She must have been hungry.”

“She didn't eat the tuna in that box thing. Your grill guy didn't know what he was talking about.”

“He's not my grill guy,” I say. “In fact, I think you and he would make a good couple.”

I'm not sure Carly is even listening to me. She's already turned to walk back out the door. “You'll have to tell me the details of your big date when I get back. Right now, I have to go get a leash for my cat.”

“It wasn't so much a date,” I call after Carly, but she doesn't stop to listen.

I've never seen Carly walk away when someone is talking to her. She's much too polite to do that even if she is bored. What do you suppose it is all about? If you're thinking what I'm thinking, there can only be one explanation. Carly seriously likes the grill guy. Which is good news—I think.

L
izabett was the one who wanted us all to talk about our hearts' desires one night while we were knitting. You might have noticed we spent a lot of time that first year in the Sisterhood talking about our dreams. Some days it seemed as though our dreams were all we had to hold on to. Our present was troubled. Our past was over. So we had our dreams.

This was the first time that we tried to find our hearts' desires in our backyards. We took that to mean in our homes. We all looked so bleak you wouldn't know we were talking about our hearts'
desires if you looked at our faces and didn't listen to our words.

I, of course, wished for my dad back. I even got the words out. Lizabett wished for her freedom from her brothers. Neither Carly nor Becca would share their hearts' desires, although I only had to look at their faces to know that they each had one. I guess all of our homes were a little troubled in those days.

 

It takes me a couple of minutes to realize what Carly said on her way out the door of The Pews. “She's going to get a leash for her cat?
Carly?
”

Lizabett looks up at that. “She would never put her cat on a leash. She didn't even want to use that box thing to trap her cat. And the cat would only be in there eating a can of tuna.”

“I know,” I say. At least, I think I know that. Things have been so weird lately, I don't know what's what for sure anymore.

Becca has come back from her phone call and hears what I've said. “Maybe it's because of the picture in the paper.”

Both Lizabett and I look at Becca.

“I haven't seen it,” she says. “But the law clerk and I were talking and he told me about it. It's in the
Star News
this morning. A picture of Carly looking for her cat.”

I have a bad feeling about this, and I rush outside to look in the newspaper stands outside the diner.
Both Lizabett and Becca are right behind me until we reach the newspapers, and then we all just stand there and stare.

“It's on the front page,” Lizabett says in awe. “In color.”

“Uh-huh,” I say as I dig in my pocket for a couple of quarters.

The picture is sharp and clear, so there is no mistaking Carly for someone else. Of course, the paper only used the picture because Carly is beautiful. I bet they sell more papers today than usual. Who wouldn't want to look at one of the beautiful people?

The sky is blue, and Carly is looking up into the trees with her house in the background, including the maid and cook standing on the steps. The caption reads San Marino Cat Chooses Tree House Over Mansion As Owner Answers Charges About Contaminants.

“Her hair looks good,” Becca says as I reach over and open the box that lets you pull a paper from the stand.

“Carly always looks beautiful,” I say as I pick up a newspaper. “That doesn't mean they have to plaster her picture all over town.”

Carly is too private to enjoy this.

“I don't think it's fair to call your uncle's bacon strips ‘contaminants,' though,” Becca adds thoughtfully. “They are a bit hard on the arteries maybe, but contaminants is going too far.”

At least the story doesn't say where Carly got the bacon. No one would want the diner mentioned in the same headline as contaminants.

“Does it mention Quinn?” Lizabett asks before leaning closer to me. “Quinn ate some of that bacon, you know. He always takes a good picture. They should have gotten him in there, too, eating a slice of that bacon.”

“I'm not sure anyone wants their picture in a newspaper with this kind of a headline,” I say as I hold up the paper so everyone can see the picture, caption and the headline. At least they didn't mention that the police wanted to give us all tickets for littering. They didn't give us tickets, by the way—I'm not sure I told you that earlier.

“What else does it say?” Becca asks.

I read the caption to them:

Becca whistles. “That makes Carly sound like she's up to no good—saying things like ‘undisclosed sum of money'—it's no one's business how much Carly paid for that cat.”

“People in San Marino spend their money like water anyway,” Lizabett says. “So, they should talk.”

We all turn to go back inside The Pews.

“Yeah, I know, but those people in San Marino think it's in bad taste to mention the word money in a newspaper,” I say. “They all like to pretend money doesn't matter.”

We're inside the door of The Pews now, but Lizabett and I are still looking at that newspaper. Becca goes over to the counter to talk to Uncle Lou.

“Quinn has a savings account,” Lizabett says after a bit. “A good-sized one, too. And he's not squeamish about it—I mean, they could mention it in the paper if they wanted and he'd be okay with it. He's cool about money.”

Our eyes adjust to being inside The Pews. The light was bright outside, but the blinds are half-closed and it's dim inside here.

“That reminds me,” I say. “I need to call City Hall and find out how much it costs to rent their courtyard.”

“Did your dad ask about us using the car dealership place yet?” Lizabett asks.

I shake my head. I've been dreading this question. “I haven't talked to him today.”

“Do you think you'll call him?” Lizabett asks.

I don't know what to tell Lizabett. The truth of the matter is that I can't call my father because I don't have his telephone number. Uncle Lou has the number, and I could always get it from him, but I don't.

“I thought I'd walk over to the car dealership,” I finally say. It is several blocks from here, across the Colorado Bridge, and it's close enough to make a nice walk. My dad will be surprised to see me walk in the dealership door, but he would be just as surprised if I called him later. Besides, he won't be home until this evening, so if I want a quick answer, it's best to go to the dealership.

The door opens to The Pews, and I see a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses come inside. I can see the khaki legs of a deliveryman at the bottom of the bouquet and a hunk of black hair at the top. I don't need to read the card to know what is happening. There's got to be two dozen roses there.

“They're from Randy,” I say.

Obviously, the guy did not take my advice about starting a little more low-key with Carly. And, who knows, maybe he's right. Red roses and Carly do go together. At least red roses go with her better than cat leashes do.

“Put them over there,” I tell the delivery guy as I gesture to one of the back tables. I reach in my pockets and pull out a few one-dollar bills to tip the
guy. The deliveryman takes the tip and heads over to the back table with the flowers.

“Well,” Lizabett says as if she's going to say something and then pauses for so long I think she's lost her words. But she hasn't. “They're only flowers. Quinn can send flowers, too.”

I don't know what to say to Lizabett, but it turns out I don't need to say anything because she walks into a corner and pulls out her cell phone. I can't hear what she's saying, but whatever it is, she's saying it with a force that is new to Lizabett.

Becca walks back over to me. She's noticed the animation in Lizabett's voice, too. “Would you listen to that?”

Neither one of us can actually hear the words Lizabett is saying, but we both recognize the tone. Lizabett is taking charge.

“I hope she's calling Carly,” I finally say. “I don't know where Carly thinks she's going to find a cat leash here in Old Town anyway, so she might as well come back and take care of her flowers.”

You can find many things in the stores around The Pews. Carly can find Italian walking shoes if she wants or twenty flavors of gelato—Italian ice cream—or silk scarves in a hundred colors or hand-dipped candles, but she won't find something as mundane as a cat leash.

“I might go and call Carly myself,” Becca says. “To make sure she keeps that cat in her room until
after Thursday. Leash or no leash, we need to be sure one of us meets our goal.”

“I should go make some calls myself,” I say as I start to walk toward my office. I want to have some alternatives to mention to Lizabett when I break the news to her that the dealership isn't available. “Hang around for lunch, though—when Carly gets back, we can eat.”

I take some time when I am back in my office to write a full account of everything that's been happening in this journal. Of course, I start with my decision to walk over to my dad's car dealership after lunch. What do you think of that? I used to visit him there once in a while before everything changed. I always liked the smells—I don't know if it's the new leather or just the new cars themselves—but whatever it is, I like it. It's a Cadillac dealership by the way so they keep the place sparkling.

My dad is good at his job, too. He's been working as the accountant at this same place for over ten years now, and he's always winning employee of the month—I know because Uncle Lou tells me. Uncle Lou is proud of his little brother.

It's funny what shape a family takes—Uncle Lou has been more like a father to me in the past six years than my dad has been, and I don't know how either one of them feel about it. I'm my uncle's only niece, which is one of the reasons he invited me to go into the business with him. Years ago, we all used to cel
ebrate holidays together—Uncle Lou would come over for dinner and we'd all eat and play board games. Those were fun times.

Of course, that all stopped with the big separation. My parents haven't gotten a divorce even though it's been six years ago now that my dad walked out. I know my mom doesn't want to file for a divorce. So she just left it for Dad, and I guess he's leaving it for her. It's almost funny—the same stubbornness that made Dad move out is the same stubbornness that's keeping them technically married.

Meanwhile, we're all in limbo—not going forward but not sliding backward either.

I shake myself. I don't need to be worrying about the status of my parent's marriage when I go to see my father. I will be doing well just to get my question asked about using the showroom for Lizabett's ballet program. An added bonus in going to talk to my dad at his work is that I can see the showroom floor for myself. The room I remember would work well for a ballet performance, but changes might have been made over the past six years.

As you and I both know, a lot can change in that time.

Well, will you look at that? The pen that I have been using to write in the journal is running out of ink. I'll have to take a break and search my desk drawer for another small one like the one I'm using. I like it because it has a fine black point. I always
think a fine point like that makes a journal look classy although, if you could see the folded pages and the tape and the clips, you would know that being classy is something we gave up on a while back in this endeavor.

I look up at the clock before I start my phone calling. It is fifteen minutes past eleven in the morning. When Carly gets back, we'll be able to eat lunch. I hope she's talking to me by then. If nothing else, the flowers should put her in a forgiving mood.

It takes me a few minutes to call City Hall, and the woman I talk to tells me this Wednesday evening is open for a private party, but that there's a problem if the ballet troupe is charging admission. I hadn't thought of that. Of course, they will have to refund the money for the tickets if they don't give a performance at all so maybe they'd want to do the ballet for free to the fifty or so people who were planning to attend.

At least it gives me one option for Lizabett. I'm hoping we will find a place for the ballet because I'd like to see Lizabett dance. Lizabett has always been a little shy, but she's never lacked in passionate emotions. I know that seems strange, but sometimes you can just see the emotions playing on her face—anger, indignation, sympathy—you can see them all even though she seldom speaks. I think Lizabett has more in common with her brothers than she thinks.

I smile a little. Quinn has a nice face to read, too. I'd like to watch his face as Lizabett dances.

Oh, I hear Carly talking.

“Did you see your flowers?” I say as the door to my office opens and Carly stands there. “I'm assuming Randy sent them for you.”

“Don't be silly,” Carly says. “I sent them here myself.”

“You sent them? Who to? No, forget I asked.” I figure maybe I'm too behind the times in dating. Do you suppose Carly got Randy flowers?

Carly doesn't answer my question anyway. “Is that the journal over there? I need to write something in it.”

I nod. I am still stunned that Carly sent the flowers. “Are they for Lizabett? The flowers?”

Carly shakes her head. “They're for my aunt—to say I'm sorry.”

“What'd you do?”

“The unforgivable.”

By this time, Carly has bent her head over the pages of the journal so I figure I should leave and put in my order for lunch. “Is the shrimp Caesar salad good for you for lunch?”

Carly looks up and nods. “Dressing on the side.”

“I know,” I say as I close the door to my office.

 

Hi, this is Carly. You will not believe what I have done. I can't tell the Sisterhood about it because they believe the caption they read in the
Star News
is true. I've never told them that my parents and I live
with my aunt and uncle. I'm so used to keeping that little fact private that I never thought about what might happen if I didn't clarify the situation to that reporter.