7. Nell #2
But it had failed.
I pulled the second blanket out. Started unpicking.
Then the third.
The sound of the office door opening made me look up.
Hazel stood in the doorway. She looked at the table. At the pile of binding strips and thread. At me.
"It's past midnight."
"I know."
"You find anything?"
"Not yet."
She walked over to the table. Picked up one of the binding strips. Ran her hand over it. Set it back down.
"You planning to do the whole lot tonight?"
"If that's what it takes."
"Nell."
"I need to know where it failed."
"The lot can wait."
"No it can't."
She pulled up a stool. Sat down across from me.
"Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Whatever you need to talk about."
"I don't need to talk."
"You've been sitting out here for three hours unpicking blankets in the dark. You need to talk."
I set the seam ripper down.
"I want him back."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Hazel didn't say anything.
"Not the house. Not the money. Him. And I hate that I want it."
"That's not something to hate."
"Yes it is."
"Nell—"
"I saw him with her. I left my ring on his table. I blocked his number. And I still want him to walk through that door and look at me the way he used to."
My voice cracked.
"I'm not grieving the marriage. I'm grieving him. And I'm furious about it."
Hazel reached across the table. Put her hand over mine.
"Your mother loved your father for thirty-two years. Even after he left. Even after he married someone else. Even after he stopped calling."
I looked at her.
"She never said a word against him. Not once. And when he died she cried for a week."
"I didn't know that."
"Because she didn't want you to. She wanted you to think she was fine. That she'd moved on."
Hazel squeezed my hand.
"But she hadn't. And she never did. Because that's what love is. It doesn't stop just because the other person stops looking."
I pulled my hand back.
"I don't want to be like that."
"Nobody does. But sometimes you don't get a choice."
She stood up. Walked to the door. Stopped.
"I'm making coffee. You want some?"
"Yes."
"I'll bring it out."
She came back ten minutes later with two mugs. Set one down next to me. Pulled the stool back up and sat down.
She didn't say anything. Just drank her coffee and watched me work.
After a while she picked up a seam ripper.
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything off. Tension. Thread. Stitching pattern."
She pulled a blanket toward her and started unpicking.
We worked in silence for a while.
Then Hazel said, "The note you gave me earlier. I told the floor."
I looked up.
"No calls. No deliveries. Anything with his name goes back."
"Thank you."
"They asked questions."
"What did you tell them?"
"That it wasn't their business."
"Did they push?"
"Dorcas did. I told her if she wanted to keep her job she'd drop it."
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yes I did."
She set down the binding strip she'd been examining.
"Ray asked me if you two were separating. I told him I didn't know and it wasn't my place to ask."
"What did he say?"
"That if you needed anything, all you had to do was say so."
I looked down at the blanket in front of me.
"They're loyal to you, Nell. Not to him. Not to his money. To you."
"I know."
"Good."
She stood up and stretched.
"I'm going home. You should too."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. But I know better than to argue with you when you've made up your mind."
She walked to the door. Stopped.
"You can stay here as long as you need to. Nobody's going to say a word about it."
"I know."
"Your mother would be proud of you."
I looked up.
"For leaving?"
"For knowing when to."
She walked out.
I kept working.
By four my back hurt. My shoulders hurt. My hands hurt.
My eyes were dry and gritty and I kept losing my place.
I didn't stop.
Because I needed to know where it had failed.
I needed to know that it could be fixed.
I pulled the next bundle toward me. Spread the first blanket out. Started unpicking.
And then I saw it.
The tension was wrong.
Not by much. Not enough to see with your eye. But enough to feel when you ran your hand over the stitching.
The thread was pulling tighter on one side than the other. Just a fraction. Just enough that after a hundred washes it gave.
I sat back.
Then I stood up and walked down the line of machines.
First machine. I ran my hand over the tension assembly. Pulled the thread through.
It was fine.
Second machine. Same thing.
Fine.
Third machine.
I ran my hand along the tension assembly. Pulled the thread through.
It was off.
Not broken. Just worn. The spring was loose. The pressure wasn't holding steady.
And nobody had looked.
I stood there with my hand on the machine and felt something settle.
This I could fix.
Not the marriage. Not the fitting room. Not the ring I'd left on his table or the six years of waiting.
But this.
This I could fix.
I walked back to the table. Sat down. Pulled the next blanket toward me.
Kept working.
The sun was starting to come up when Hazel found me.
She stopped in the doorway and looked at the table. At the piles of pieces running the whole length of it. At me, still sitting there with a seam ripper in my hand.
"You didn't sleep."
"I found it. Third machine. Tension's been off about a month and nobody looked."
She walked over to the table. Looked at the pieces.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Which machine?"
"Third one. The spring's loose. Pressure's not holding steady."
"How long has it been off?"
"A month, maybe more."
"And nobody caught it?"
"Nobody looked."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I'll have Ray take a look at it when he gets in."
"Tell him to check the others too. If one's wearing, the rest might be close."
"I will."
She looked at me.
"You need to sleep."
"I will."
"Nell—"
"I will. I just need to finish this."
I pulled the next bundle toward me.
"Somebody has to look."