Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,134

you?”

“No! I told you!”

“Yeah,” Rita says slowly. “That’s what you said.” And then, as Travis comes in the door, home from school, “Hey, buddy. Where would you like to go out for dinner?”

“A place not fancy!” Travis says.

“My man,” Rita answers.

At the airport, Rita hugs me so hard it hurts. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This was not a good visit. I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person. You’re just pathologically honest. Most of the time I like it. But it’s still a tense time for me. You know. I’m still sort of nuts. I miss David, I hate David … I guess I take it out on everyone.”

“Do you really want him back?”

“I’m supposed to say no, right?”

“You’re supposed to say the truth.”

“Well … I don’t know. In some ways, my life is better now. But David … Oh, I know you hated him. But I still feel so attracted to him. Or attached. Or something.”

Rita looks at her watch, picks up her briefcase. “I know. I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Look, I think you’re doing fine. I like your life now. It seems … truer. More honest. I like your roommate, I like your friends.”

“King, you mean.”

“Yeah, King. And I wouldn’t really have—”

“I know.”

“Did I tell you his pants fell down at the skating rink?”

“What! No, you didn’t tell me that!”

“Well, probably because it was so … you know, when I came home. But yeah, his pants fell down! Right in the middle of the rink!”

“You probably pulled them down,” I say.

“No, come on, it was just … spontaneous! It wasn’t too bad, because his coat was long enough to, you know, mostly cover him. And he yanked them back up again really fast. I fell down again, I was laughing so hard.”

“Was he embarrassed?”

“I guess a little. But I don’t think too many people saw. His pants were just too big. He’s losing weight, you know. Over twenty pounds, so far.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” His face looked a little different, last time I saw him, especially around the eyes.

The final boarding call for Rita’s flight is announced. “I’ll call you,” she says, walking toward the Jetway. “All the time.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad I came.”

“Me, too.”

“I’m wearing my new shirt tomorrow,” she calls. “You wear yours.”

“Okay.” We’d bought matching blue flannel shirts. An old tradition: each time one of us visits the other, we buy something alike. I wonder what we’ll buy in our eighties. I can see us standing together in some department-store aisle, holding up flannel nighties for each other’s shaky inspection. Probably asking each other if the gowns make us look fat.

I watch at the window as Rita’s plane takes off. It heads in one direction for a while, then reverses itself as though it has just changed its mind.

21

Late Saturday morning, I am in the basement cutting out pieces of fabric for a quilt I’m making for Travis. It’s a simple nine-patch, but I’m making it with the softest flannel I could find, in muted, masculine colors. It’s going to be beautiful. The phone rings and I ignore it. Then I hear Travis calling, saying it’s for me. “Can you take a message?” I call back.

A moment. And then he comes downstairs to say, “It’s Martha Stewart.”

I stare at him blankly, the scissors in my hand.

“Did you hear me?”

“I … Yes!”

“She’s the one everybody makes fun of.”

“Shhh!”

“She can’t hear me!”

I go upstairs into the kitchen, and then it comes to me who’s really calling.

“Hi, Rita.” I say. “Very funny.”

“Pardon?” an unfamiliar voice says.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought … This is Samantha Morrow.”

“Yes, I know. I called you. This is Martha Stewart.”

“Well, I … I …”

“I had a message saying that we went to high school together, and you needed to talk to me?”

“Oh, no, I just … I was … Well, it was a bad day, you know, and I just wanted to talk to you. I don’t know why. I’m sorry. We didn’t go to high school together.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

Travis, who has been standing beside me, whispers loudly, “Is it her?”

I nod, motion for him to go away. He doesn’t.

“So what can I do for you, Samantha?”

“Oh, it’s … ‘Sam.’ ”

“All right. Sam, then.”

I look at Travis, who looks pointedly away, then turn my back to him. “Well, Martha, I just … I actually wanted to ask you some questions about …” I clear my throat. “Can you hold on for one second, please?” I turn to Travis, and in a dangerous whisper say, “Go