Chapter 16 #3
Though Sylvia’s expression was sympathetic, Julia felt a rush of embarrassment. “Word travels fast in Elm Creek Manor.”
“Sometimes it does. Sometimes secrets remain so for decades.” A pained frown appeared on Sylvia’s face for a moment but quickly
vanished. “That’s rarely a good thing. You were right to tell the truth as soon as you did.”
“I wish I could take it all back,” Julia blurted, then shook her head. “I don’t mean my confession. I had to come clean. I
mean blathering on to that director about Paige and the series. I just—wasn’t thinking. Or if I was thinking, I was thinking only of myself.”
“We’ve all said things we later regret.”
“Yes, but not all of us say things that ruin a young woman’s career.”
“I doubt very much that you’ve done that. No offense, dear. I’m sure you have influence in the show business world, but probably
not that much.” Sylvia reached out to clasp her hand. “You’ll find a way to make amends.”
Julia could only hope so.
With Andrew leading the way and Sylvia by her side, Julia joined her colleagues on the front verandah to await the chartered
shuttles to the airport. She wore her sunglasses despite the gloomy skies and clutched her tote to her side, shivering in
the cold in her inadequate jacket, offering nods and murmuring good morning to anyone who came near and made eye contact.
Sylvia remained by her side for a little while, but eventually she had to move on to bid farewell to her other guests. No
one else spoke to Julia or offered anything more than the barest acknowledgment of her greetings. Paige kept her distance
and avoided looking in her direction so vigorously that Julia might have been amused in any other circumstances.
“Did you try the cranberry scones?”
Julia gave a start and looked to her left. Edna was peering at her over the rims of her glasses. “Sorry, what?”
“Did you try the cranberry scones?” Edna repeated slowly. “At breakfast. They were excellent.”
“Oh. No. No, I didn’t. I had yogurt and fruit, and one of the mini bran muffins.”
“Your loss. They were fantastic.” Edna grinned and patted her purse. “I packed a half dozen for the trip home. Want one?”
In spite of herself, Julia laughed, though it got caught in her throat and came out like a strangled cough. “Thanks, but I’m
still pretty full from breakfast.”
“Well, if you get hungry on the plane, all you have to do is ask. You know, you left breakfast so early that you missed Sylvia’s
farewell speech. It was really quite inspiring. I might come back next summer and see what regular quilt camp is all about.”
“You really should,” Julia replied, forgetting herself for a moment. “If you have any questions—”
But the shuttles had appeared in the distance, emerging from the forest, and Edna was already moving toward the nearest staircase,
eager to get into a van and out of the cold.
Julia hung back to allow everyone else to claim their seats first, hoping some of her colleagues would choose both front passenger
seats so she could sit among them, the better to be drawn into a conversation. Perhaps Edna had broken the ice, and the others’
frostiness would soon thaw. But the front passenger seat of the lead van had been left unoccupied, perhaps because Julia had
claimed it on the inbound trip and the company assumed she wanted it back.
She settled into it, resigned. As they drove off, she watched in the rearview mirror as Elm Creek Manor receded behind them
until the forest concealed it from view. She longed to return next summer, in much happier circumstances.
On the way to the airport, the conversation in the two back rows seemed quiet but pleasant, with some subdued laughter and teasing mixed in.
Julia was glad to hear it. Paige was in the other van, or the entire long drive might have passed in stony silence.
Later, aboard the plane, it would be far more difficult to avoid each other, but Julia made it easier by boarding first and settling down in an aisle seat in the last row.
She had just buckled her seat belt when Nigel came down the aisle. Too embarrassed to make eye contact, she pretended to study
her watch, assuming he was heading to the galley. Instead, he halted in the aisle beside her. “May I?” he inquired, indicating
the empty seat to her right. “I prefer the window.”
She glanced up, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say. “You have plenty of window seats to choose from,” she pointed
out, gesturing to the one in the row ahead of her and the one across the aisle.
“Yes, but that’s the only window seat next to you.”
Her throat constricting, Julia could only nod, unbuckle her seat belt, and rise, stepping into the aisle to let him pass.
After they had taken their seats, Nigel offered her a kind, encouraging smile before closing his eyes and settling back for
the journey. He was asleep before takeoff, but she was grateful for his company all the same.
As soon as the jet was in the air, Julia too reclined her seat, put on her sleeping mask, and pretended to doze until at last,
she drifted off—
Until she woke with a jolt as her stomach dropped. Alarmed, she fumbled to remove the mask and looked around wildly, clutching
her armrests, heart thudding. Nigel was idly paging through a Harry Potter novel, and in front of them, the other passengers
were sitting comfortably in their seats, chatting or reading or dozing. To her left, Lindsay was watching her sympathetically
from across the aisle. “We’re passing over the Rockies,” she explained. “The pilot warned us that we might encounter some
turbulence.”
“Some turbulence,” Julia echoed, pressing a hand to her chest and inhaling deeply to steady her pulse. “That felt like a minute
of free fall.”
Lindsay allowed a smile. “Ten seconds, maybe.”
“It felt like sixty.” Julia realized she was cringing in her seat and made herself straighten, shoulders back, chin up. “Did I ever mention how much I dislike roller coasters?”
“You have.” Lindsay leaned upon her right armrest, coming as close as she could with her safety belt fastened. “Listen, Julia.
I know today was rough. Paige is hurt and she’s not really receptive to apologies at the moment. As for the others . . .”
She hesitated. “Well, either they don’t want to take sides, or—”
“They’ve chosen Paige’s.”
Lindsay nodded.
“I can’t blame them,” Julia admitted. “She’s the wronged heroine, and I’m the villain.”
“You’re not a villain. You’ve apologized, and I believe you when you say you’re going to make amends.” Lindsay gestured to
their colleagues, all of whom were seated closer to the front of the plane. “Paige will forgive you, and everyone else will
come around. Just give them time.”
Julia managed a smile to thank her for the encouragement, but she couldn’t wait and hope that their anger would fade with
time. As Sylvia had suggested, Julia needed to make amends. And the sooner she fixed things for Paige, the sooner she would
be forgiven, and the company would come together in friendship once more.
If only she knew what to do.
At last the plane touched down at LAX. Slipping on her sunglasses and shouldering her tote, Julia waited for everyone else to disembark before following Lindsay up the aisle to the exit and down the stairs.
The company chatted amiably as they waited on the tarmac for their luggage to be unloaded.
Julia spotted her driver waiting with the car nearby, next to a second black sedan that promptly carried Nigel off, but before she could offer anyone a ride home, the steward approached her with a clipboard full of forms and checklists she was required to fill out and sign.
She hadn’t yet finished when the luggage arrived, but she glanced up long enough to see her colleagues gathering their belongings and bidding one another goodbye, some with hugs and promises to get together soon.
Lindsay caught her eye, smiled, and waved, but no one else spared her a glance.
Turning away, closing her eyes and counting silently to ten, Julia fought back tears of disappointment and plowed doggedly through the paperwork.
She had hoped that some of her traveling companions, mindful of their long professional relationship, would thank her for arranging their week of quilt camp.
Until that last awful day, they’d all had a wonderful time.
Maybe in the light of all that had happened, she was the only one who remembered that.
While Julia was occupied, her driver had located her suitcase and stowed it in the trunk, so as soon as she signed the last
form, she thanked the steward, returned the clipboard and pen, and headed for her car. The driver opened her door and she
was just about to climb wearily in when a member of the ground crew approached, calling her name, moving as quickly as he
could while encumbered by the blue duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
“Yes?” Julia asked politely, though she was eager to depart. The wind was whipping her hair around and into her eyes, and
she desperately wanted a cup of herbal tea and a soothing bath.
“Someone forgot their bag,” the man said, giving it a pat. “There’s no tag, but it’s definitely one of your party’s. We loaded
it in Pennsylvania.”
“I don’t recognize it,” said Julia, looking it over. “Not that I would.” She paused, considering. Maybe she’d recognize the
clothing inside it, and could get it to the owner before they left the airport. Or she could drop it off at their home. If
that failed, she’d email the group—if they hadn’t all blocked her address already.
Reframe, she reminded herself. Stooping over, she unzipped the bag and peered inside.
It was the Nine-Patch quilt, carefully removed from the frame and neatly folded. She had forgotten all about it.
And no one else had wanted it.
“I guess this is mine,” she said evenly, zipping the bag shut and rising. “Thank you.” She nodded to her driver, who waited for her to be seated before closing her door and stowing the duffel in the trunk.
No one had wanted to take the quilt home, a cherished memento of an extraordinary week. But what else should she have expected,
given the way their time together had ended? And that was all her fault.
Julia knew that nothing else mattered—not saving her show, not prolonging her career—but to fix what she had broken and to
earn back her friends’ trust. Their friendship had been a marvelous patchwork of shared experiences and longtime collaboration,
but she had torn the seams, and she must be the one to stitch them back together.