is none of your business!’ He takes a look on the shelf and says, ‘There isn’t any. We’re out of it. I guess nobody can figure out how to make pancakes,’ and he walks off down the aisle. I yell after him, ‘Hey! I make my pancakes from scratch! With buttermilk!’ So here’s my question: Am I cracking up?”
“I have Bisquick Light,” I said, laying a solid tan flannel next to a green-and-black mini-check.
“Good. But am I? Cracking up?”
I stopped digging through fabric to look at her. “No. You just care too much about what other people think. That’s a problem most of us have.”
“I suppose.” She licked off her fingers, then came to stand beside me. “What are you making?”
“I’m not sure yet. A client I’m meeting with wants a quilt having something to do with dogs.”
“Hmmm. That could be fun.”
“Yeah, it could.”
“You could sew on real dog toys. Little squeaky ones.”
I pulled out my gigantic clear-plastic box of buttons and handed it to her. “Look through here for anything having to do with dogs. In any way.”
She rifled through the buttons while I looked at a few more fabrics, then said, “Voilà!”
I turned around.
“You have buttons with paw prints!”
“Well, see?” I said. “That’s why I always buy anything that strikes my fancy. Whatever I get, I’ll end up using eventually. Pull them out. I’ll take them with me to Minnesota.”
“So you’re going, huh?”
“Yeah. I followed your advice. My mother’s coming here tomorrow. Then the next day, I’ll go there and meet with Steve and Caroline.”
“Good.”
“I guess. But I have to tell you, I wish I didn’t have to do it.”
“I know. But you do have to.”
“I’m just too busy.”
Maggie scrunched up the bakery bag, tossed it in the trash.
“You ate both?”
She shrugged. “It’s your fault.”
“Right.”
“I want to ask you something, Laura. Don’t take this the wrong way. But do you think the reason you don’t want to go is because you’re afraid you’ll find out something you don’t want to admit about yourself?”
“Oh, man.”
“Okay, forget it. I dreamed I was Jenny Jones in my Maidenform bra. Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess there might be some truth to that; that’s why I’m so jumpy about it. It’s pretty awful to think you let someone suffer and did nothing about it. Kept yourself oblivious. I read this story once about a girl who watched a bully beat up another girl. She was in a ring of kids, all of them just watching the blood, the snot—it was kind of an awful thing to read. I remember thinking, I’d never do that, I’d never just watch. Easy to make yourself a hero in the abstract, huh?”
Maggie shrugged. “Well, it’s also hard to leap in when there’s a chance it will make the bully turn on you. And anyway, maybe you didn’t keep yourself oblivious. Maybe you truly were unaware.”
I started pulling out pieces of fabric. A nice red. A sunny yellow. Strong colors. Primary. Clear.
“You could put dog tags on that quilt too,” Maggie said. “You can get them made at Petco—you engrave them yourself. You could get Fido and Rex. And Spot.
“That’s a good idea. Can I steal it?”
“Of course. For five bucks.”
I put down the fabric. “Come upstairs with me.”
“Laura! You don’t have to pay me! I was kidding!”
“I know. I’m going to give you the Bisquick and kick you out. I have to work.”
“Me too. I’m working from home.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
When we were in the kitchen, Maggie saw a book I’d just finished lying on the kitchen table. She picked it up, leafed through it, then checked the spine. “Lost Lake. Mark Slouka. Is he any good?”
“It’s actually one of the best books I’ve read.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later then. Come over when you’re finished working.” I closed the door after her, started for my studio, and turned around when I heard Maggie come back in. “Bisquick,” she said.
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard Anthony. “Mom? Are you making breakfast? Will you?”
Someday, I would miss this, I knew.
It is a photo taken at Christmastime, a picture of our tree. I look at how beautifully decorated it is, and I remember how the tinsel was painstakingly hung by my mother, one long strand at a time, so that the tree shimmered. Some ornaments are store-bought but many are homemade. I see a Santa I made from a lightbulb, an angel I made from a doily, a snowman out of cotton balls.