Mornings On Main. Jodi Thomas
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only trusted family and longtime friends. Strangers they kept at arm’s length. She knew this because she was always the stranger. Even in grade school she was usually still being called the new girl when her father pulled her out to move. After a while she quit even trying to make friends. It hurt too much to leave them.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. K. I’ll try to be quiet. The other guests won’t even know I’m upstairs.”
Mrs. Kelly laughed that fully rounded laugh that shook her whole body. “Oh, don’t be that, dear. I’ll enjoy the company. Being alone in this old place always makes me a little sad.”
Jillian looked up from her breakfast. Mrs. Kelly’s apron read I’m not short. I’m just compacted.
Jillian couldn’t hide her grin. Crazy and kind, she could live with. “You’ve got yourself a deal. A hundred a week. I clean my own rooms and house-sit when you need me. But when I’m the only guest for breakfast, we go light. Toast, one egg and coffee.”
Mrs. Kelly widened her stance as if preparing for a fight. “All right, with one exception. We add a muffin and sausage to the light breakfast. I feed that crow, who thinks he lives on my back fence, more than one egg and toast every morning.”
“Deal.” Jillian glanced out the window and was surprised to see a huge old crow propped on the dog-eared fence that had been painted red. He reminded her of the black ravens around the Tower of London. Rumor was, six ravens had to guard the tower at all times or the monarchy would fall. Maybe one crow was all that was needed to stand guard here.
Mrs. Kelly had disappeared when Jillian turned back to the table. She finished her grand meal, thinking this must be her lucky day. Maybe there was something to that crystal thing.
As she walked the block to the quilt shop, she planned. If she worked eight hours a day, five days a week, she’d bring in over seven hundred a week after taxes. A hundred a week for the room, maybe twenty for the car, fifty or sixty for meals on weekends and essentials. If she watched her money she could pocket five hundred a week easily. Two thousand a month. Even allowing for emergencies during the three months in Laurel Springs, she’d walk away with five thousand dollars.
Enough money to move to a big city, rent a nice apartment, find a real job. Disappear into the crowds.
Her good mood lasted until she opened the shop door and saw trouble perched on the old mahogany counter like a six-foot-tall buzzard.
A long slice of light shone into the dark shadows of the quilt shop. For a moment, Jillian thought she was in the wrong place. No soft ribbons of fluorescent bulbs twenty feet above. No laughter from the quilter’s corner. No smell of coffee drifting from the tiny kitchen.
Only a long-legged girl dressed in black, staring at her as if Jillian had just interrupted a demonic ritual.
The backward lettering of A Stitch in Time circled across the front window. Right place. Jillian was in the quilt shop. Squaring her shoulders, she moved forward.
“Hi,” Jillian managed as she widened the opening of the door. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to see the invader better or simply wanted to enlarge her escape route.
The strange girl swung one leg so it bumped against the side of the counter in a heartbeat rhythm. Her hair was so light it appeared white, and hung straight past her shoulders. A dozen bracelets, all appearing to be made out of rusty bolts, clanked on her arms as she turned toward the back of the store.
“Dad!” the intruder yelled. “Someone’s drifted in.”
Rows of lights began to click on, starting from the back and finally reaching the front. All the beautiful colors of the store returned, but the escapee from the Addams Family remained. Her black peacoat, with batwing shoulder pads, was ripped in several places. Black eyeliner extended almost to her ears and charcoal, lace gloves covered her hands.
Jillian studied the girl carefully. On the bright side, the coat and leggings matched. Both black and ragged. She appeared to be wearing three blouses, the last one a lace nightgown. Silk, holey as if moth-eaten, and spotted with what looked like bloodstains. Her skirt, with several chains hanging off it, reminded Jillian of a midnight plaid kilt.
They both turned as footsteps stormed from the back. “Sorry,” Connor Larady shouted. “I usually have the place all opened up by this time.”
He didn’t seem to notice the girl still perched on the counter. “I’ll have a key made for you so you won’t have to wait for me if I’m running late.”
When Jillian turned her gaze to the girl, Connor finally acknowledged the goth in the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jillian, this is my daughter. Sunnie, this is the lady who is helping Gram organize the shop.”
Jillian offered her hand, hoping the strange girl wouldn’t try to suck her blood. She was so thin and pale she probably hadn’t eaten in days.
The girl reluctantly took Jillian’s offered hand, but her handshake was limp.
If there was a prize for someone born with the wrong name, Sunnie Larady would win. Stormy might be better. Or Scary.
She slid off the counter. Six feet of pure adolescent rebellion. “I need to get to school, Connor.” She said her father’s name louder than the rest of the sentence.
“Right.” Connor turned to Jillian. “Will you be all right here? Gram should be dropped off any minute.”
“I’m fine. I’ll watch for her.” Jillian smiled at Sunnie. “Nice to meet you.”
The girl shrugged and walked out.
“I’m sorry about that.” Connor sounded as if he’d said the same thing often lately. “She’s just going through a stage. The doctor says it’s normal for kids who lose a parent in their teens. He claims Sunnie is mad her mom died, and I’m the only one left to take it out on. Hating me keeps her mind off death.”
“When did your wife die?”
“Three years ago. Sunnie was thirteen.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy pants and rounded his shoulders forward as if trying to seem smaller, or maybe hold his grief inside. “Sunnie wanted to meet you. I don’t think she’d ever admit it, but she’s protective of Gram. I told her she could maybe help out after school now and then. But don’t look for her until she’s at the door.”
Jillian thought of screaming No!, but she simply smiled and said, “I’d appreciate the help.”
He nodded, then hurried out.
Jillian stood by the front window, watching the town come alive. This street reminded her of a beehive. Everyone seemed to have their job and all were working frantically to get the day started. She almost wanted to tell them all that it didn’t matter how many flags or sandwich boards the shops put out—this one street would never draw much of a crowd.
The old warehouse buildings across the creek hung over the cute main street like death’s shadow. The stillness just across the water was a constant reminder that a few blocks away, half of the town had been abandoned. Jillian wondered if the people who lived here even saw the crumbling buildings anymore.
When the Autumn Acres bus pulled up, she went outside and waited for Gram to come down the steps.
The lady, still tall for her age even though her shoulders had rounded, was dressed in a very proper wool suit with lace on her white collar. Her shoes might be rounded and rubber, but she hadn’t forgotten her pearls.
“Hello, dear,” Gram shouted. “How nice of you to come help me again.”
“I had so much fun I just had to return. You don’t mind me hanging around?”
“Oh, no. I love the company and there is always plenty to do.”
They