Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
W hen Ava got home from Lucas’s, her mom came out of the office to greet her. “How was your visit?” She opened a kitchen drawer, retrieved a pack of matches, and lit an autumn spice candle for the evening.
“It was actually amazing,” Ava said, climbing onto the barstool at the counter across from her mother.
She explained to her mom what Lucas had been through and how Ava’s near-death experience had changed his view of his circumstances.
“I didn’t tell you, but I heard the voice again yesterday.
It said, ‘You’re not done yet,’ and I didn’t understand it until I spoke to Lucas.
I think I wasn’t done because I had to help him.
The preacher said the other day we’re meant to be free so we could be of service to others.
It was as if I was sent back to give Lucas a message. ”
Her mom rubbed her arms. “I have goose bumps. Gosh. Could it be real ? I wanted to believe it, and I’d grown up knowing there was more, but this hits home for me.”
“Yes,” Ava agreed. “I know it seems fanciful. But I experienced it, and I’m telling you, we stick around. ”
Her mom leaned on the counter, a dreamy new perspective floating over her face. “You’re sure you didn’t see anyone when you were up there?”
“I mean, I felt someone, and I heard the voice. It’s clear to me now that if I’d have seen Dad, I wouldn’t have come back. I’d have stayed with him, and you and I wouldn’t have had the time together that we’ve had. I also wouldn’t have been able to help Lucas. Maybe God kept Dad away on purpose.”
“Maybe so. I didn’t tell you that before your accident, I was really struggling. I went to the doctor for medication for depression. I felt so alone.”
“Oh, my gosh, Mom. I had no idea.”
“How could you have? I didn’t tell you.” She toyed with the candle, repositioning it.
“I cried myself to sleep every night, and I didn’t know how I could go on one more day without your father.
I’d used up all my strength over the years.
And then, the next thing I knew, my daughter was fighting for her life.
I was so scared my desperation would somehow keep you from coming back to me. Silly, I know.” Her eyes welled up.
Ava got down off the stool, went around to the other side of the counter, and hugged her mom. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t considered how much this accident has impacted you .”
“Maybe I’m another reason you were supposed to live.”
There were so many reasons for Ava to live. And to think she’d made her decision without knowing any of this. It’s almost as if God had given her a choice, but she’d really only had one option. He knew what she needed, and maybe, deep down, she knew it too.
Later that evening, Ava had just finished wiping down the counters after dinner when her mom put the mail away in the office and came out with a new quilted bag. She handed it to Ava. This one was in mauves and dusty pinks with a satin print interior in cream-and-pink geometric shapes.
“This is beautiful,” Ava said.
“I thought it would go nicely with your pink church outfit.”
“It’s for me?”
“I’ve been working on it for a while now. I wanted to surprise you.”
Ava admired the silver button clasp that sparkled with her movement. “Oh, my goodness, it’s gorgeous.” She gave her mom a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
With a gentle touch, Ava ran her hand along the stitching.
“I actually finished it just in time. I got an email from a lady from one of the craft shows who wants another ten bags. She’s asking to carry a few in her boutique. And she said I should up my prices.”
“Wow, ten bags. How long will that take you?”
“One bag usually takes me about three days to a week, depending on how busy I am. But, usually, I make them on my own time and enter the craft shows when I’m ready. I’m going to have to work quickly to give her all ten at once. She’d like them sooner rather than later.”
“I wonder if there’s a way to streamline the process for yourself, to scale it. How much do you charge per bag?”
“Usually somewhere between twenty-five and forty dollars, depending on how much time it takes me. Most of the time, I offer them for twenty-five to be nice.”
“Twenty-five dollars?” Ava widened her eyes at her mom.
“Well, I usually get fabric that’s on sale, and it only costs me about fifteen dollars to make.”
“You only make ten dollars a bag?”
“Yep.” Her mom fluttered her hands in the air. “But it’s more about doing something that I enjoy than the money.”
“Yeah, but you could do something entertaining and pay yourself for the time and effort. You could easily get seventy or eighty dollars for them. Maybe a hundred if you added a few embellishments like wooden handles. And if you bring someone on to help, you’ll need to charge more.”
“What do you mean, bring someone on? Why would I do that?” her mother asked.
“Say, for example, you found someone who would measure and cut squares of fabric and the interior batting for you. You could add the cost of that service to your price, and it would save you time.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea.”
“Just thinking out loud, you could have that same person put the batting and fabric together and pin them for you or even sew the whole thing.”
“Who could I get to do something like that?"
“Well, right now, it could be me. But I could call around and help you find someone. You wouldn’t have to make it a full-scale business, but it might help you make a few more bags than you usually could.”
“That would be wonderful,” her mother said.
Ava had learned a lot from her dad over the years—how to fish, change a tire, drive a stick shift—but it occurred to her then that her mother hadn’t had a chance to share her talents with Ava.
She held up the beautiful new bag. “Would you teach me how to sew like this?”
Her mother’s face lifted. “Of course. I’d love to.”
“Think I could learn before I go home?” Ava asked.
“As quickly as you pick things up, definitely.”
“Want to get started right now then?”
Her mother held up a finger. “The woman asked me to choose the fabric for the bags and to make an array of different ones. Maybe I could get your opinion, and then, while I make one of hers, you could help.”
“I’d love to.”
She beckoned Ava into the office and opened the old wooden trunk that sat along the wall by the sewing machine. She lifted the lid, revealing rows of fabric in every color. Ava leaned over to view them.
“I usually make my bags with two or three complementing shades,” Martha said. “Choose your favorites.”
Ava perused the light and dark blues, the olive greens, and the fall orange shades before deciding on a midnight blue and a deep purple.
“Oh, those will be pretty together,” her mom said. “I know the perfect print interior.” She dug around in the layers of fabric until she pulled out a pattern set in a deep cream with purple and navy paisley designs and laid it over the two solid shades Ava had picked out.
“That’s stunning,” Ava said as her mother gathered up more of the fabric.
“These blues are lake colors to me. Let’s work on it outside under the string lights. The sun won’t be going down quite yet.”
“You’re thinking like a marketer,” Ava noted, opening the back door for her mother.
“What do you mean?”
“Lake colors. Assigning a particular style to a color. You could call this bag Evening on the Lake .”
Her mother smiled. “I like that.” She tugged one of the chairs over to another so they were side by side. “What would be a good name for your bag then? Wait, let me think.” She pursed her lips. “Mauve. Pink. Cream. Summer Sunrise .”
“Good one! I like that.”
Her mother sat down in the chair and set the supplies in her lap. “I kind of enjoy giving each bag a name. It makes them unique. I think I want to do one in burnt oranges and mustard yellow and call it Autumn Trees .”
Ava grinned. Maybe she’d gotten her interest in marketing from her mom. She’d always wondered where it had come from. She was willing to bet there was a lot more to her mom she didn’t know, and she couldn’t wait to spend more time with her to find out.
They continued chatting throughout the evening, and the conversation moved to Lucas.
“I hope Lucas takes your experience to heart and stops blaming himself for the death of his patient,” Martha said as she sat in an armchair, her feet propped on the ottoman.
“He seemed receptive to it. And I’m pretty sure he’ll take it to heart.” Ava sipped the hot cocoa she and her mother had made before starting a fire in the living room’s stone fireplace. A strange mixture of happiness for Lucas and disappointment for herself washed over her.
Martha seemed to notice. “What is it?”
“I mentioned to him that I thought it was important to give more effort to building relationships with those around him, and he listened. He contacted his ex-fiancée, and she wants to see him again.”
“Well, there’s a step toward his future. Maybe he’ll be able to mend all the areas of his life.” But her mother’s bright eyes fell into a look of curiosity as she took in Ava’s face.
“Oh, honey.”
Were her feelings that obvious? Ava tried on an artificial smile. “I want what’s best for Lucas.”
“You two have been apart longer than you were together. I know you loved him as a girl, but you’re not kids anymore. You’ve both built other lives.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Ava said, but her admission didn’t make the fact that Lucas was trying to work things out with Elise any easier.
Perhaps she was clinging to him because he was a tie to happier times.
He’d been there when her dad was around, and being with him again might evoke the same calm she’d felt back then.
There was no other reason to feel what she had been feeling for Lucas.
But her heart didn’t want to believe her reason.
One thing she had learned over the years, however, was that her heart didn’t get to decide.