Confessions from the Quilting Circle, Maisey Yates [animal farm read TXT] 📗

Why? What do they mean?

“When did you buy the shop?” She asked that instead, because asking about work was easier.

“Twelve years ago or so. Marco retired. At that point I’d been doing most of the work anyway for a while. It was an easy transition. And hey, people react differently when you say you own a garage than when you say you’re a mechanic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a mechanic.”

He huffed a laugh, but there was no smile with it. “Agreed. I wasn’t talking about what I think.”

“I’m a professional artist. I’ve heard a variety of reactions. Just in my own family.”

“Good for you,” he said. “That you ended up doing art, I mean.”

His blue eyes lingered on hers for longer than she was comfortable with. She looked down at the sidewalk, her touchstone.

“Thanks. I mean, good for you too. I’ve always thought... Getting to own a little piece of Main Street is pretty amazing considering the history here.”

“It is that. I certainly don’t mind it.” He straightened, wiping his hands off on a rag that had been in his back pocket. “I’ll bring the parts over and fix your car up. You need some connections tightened and a couple new spark plugs. And you need your oil changed. But I’m going to have to get it into the shop for that. So let’s get it running.”

“Thank you.”

“Did Addie leave you this place?” he asked.

“Not me by myself, no. But we’re all kind of taking different roles in the inheritance. Hannah is spearheading turning The Dowell House into a vacation rental.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“Yeah, it kind of does to me too. But she wants to handle it. And Avery and my mom can manage it.”

“Hannah’s not staying?”

“No.”

“But you are.”

“I am. Hey, thanks. I have to... I need to get the café open. Just bring me a bill, or something. And tell Keira hi for me.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. It... It was good to see you again.”

“You too.”

She turned away from him and walked into the café, and when she closed the door behind her and the silence settled around her she found it was difficult to breathe. She didn’t understand how... How that had just happened and it had been so... Nothing. So casual and... Easy. Except it didn’t feel easy. She felt like her insides had been rearranged. And yet, it had been easy to talk to him.

Not the same. Not even close. But not impossible either.

She might have called it a miracle if it didn’t feel so anticlimactic.

“He’s going to fix your car. You saw him.”

She had. And she had survived it. And if it felt like there was something sharp in her chest that was difficult to breathe around for the rest of the day, she was still going to call it a win. Because she hadn’t collapsed.

“All these years, and you managed not to collapse. One encounter with him isn’t going to do it.”

You’re not in love with him anymore.

Bolstered with that, she began to unload the sparkling water from its case. This had been the right decision, coming home.

She was even more certain of it now than ever.

7

The grass is like the sea. It goes on forever and makes waves in the wind. The vastness of it terrifies me, and I don’t know why I’ve left the comfort of everything I’ve ever known to take a teaching position in such a new, wild place. But home was not home to me. Not anymore. This alien prairie isn’t home. Oregon won’t be home either. I’m destined to be homeless forever.

Anabeth Snow’s diary,1864

Avery

Avery checked on her chicken, and then went over to the box of fabrics that she had brought over from her sister’s place two days ago. She hadn’t had the chance to go through any of it, and she was dying to.

She opened up the top of the box, and removed a bolt of marigold fabric, finding the brocade curtains beneath. She traced the blossoms and leaves with her fingertips, and then pulled one of the panels out, a piece of paper fluttering out from underneath.

She unfolded it, and saw that it was a small, handwritten note.

The parlor curtains, which hung in the window in Boston, then made a journey on the Oregon Trail, to hang in the windows here.

She looked up, out her own windows, past the sensible cream-colored curtains that were nothing half so dramatic as this beautiful set was. She looked at the sedate view. The perfectly manicured lawns and lovely homes. And she wondered what sort of woman would trade beautiful Boston views and bring these curtains, and herself on a journey across the country. Swapping out city views for what must have been something much more rugged.

Same curtains. Different windows.

She pressed the note to her chest for a moment, rooted to the spot. To her view.

And then the front door burst open and her kids came in, bickering.

Hayden threw his soccer bag down by the blue decorative table in the entryway.

“Good to see you too,” she said to her son as he stomped into the house.

Her daughter was focused solely on her phone. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

“Chicken.”

“Ew.”

Avery let out a slow breath. “Did you want something else, Peytona?” She used her daughter’s childhood nickname, as she looked her directly in the eye, since they were the same height now.

“Something that isn’t gross?”

Avery shook her head. “I don’t know what that means since everything from chicken to the wrong lip gloss is gross to you.”

“I might be a vegetarian.”

“Great, green beans then.” She’d had green beans on her mind because of Gram. “Because I’m making chicken. I need more advanced warning if you’re going to adopt a lifestyle change. No last-minute vegetarianism.”

Peyton rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs, her brother bowing his head, avoiding eye contact and following her.

“Hey,” she said. “Not so fast. How was school, Hayden?”

“Great,” he said, in the same monotone he always did.

Always great. Never any details she didn’t pry out of him.

“Homework?”

“Yeah.”

“When are