Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,31
should go get a snack for yourself and Lauren so you’ll be ready when the call comes,” Connie suggested.
“Only if you’ll let me get you something, too.”
“I never turn down food,” Connie said with a smile. “You can surprise me.”
“Let Lauren know, will you?”
“Sure.” Connie continued on toward the south vendor area.
“I need food for Lauren, Connie and I,” Harriet said when she reached the head of the line at Jorge’s taco stand.
“You ladies need something healthy,” Jorge said. “No more chocolate Twinkies.”
“That’s not very fun,” Harriet said and smiled. “I think you’ve spent too much time with my aunt. Her food police ways are rubbing off on you.”
“It will be a long week, and there will be many opportunities for treats,” he said and smiled back at her. “And I do have to keep the Señora happy, too. I brought some chicken burritos from the restaurant for you and your friends.” He lifted a paper bag from an insulated box. “Let me get you some guacamole from the cooler.” He put a white container in a smaller paper bag of chips and handed her both bags.
“You are too good to us. Thank you.” She tried to pay, but he refused, reminding her that her aunt was providing free labor at his food cart all week.
“Any calls yet?” Harriet asked Lauren when she’d returned to her booth.
“Geez, you’ve been gone, what? Ten minutes? My nerds are good, but they can’t breech the time-space continuum. It’ll take awhile for them to mobilize. And Jabba is going to drive by the homeless camp.”
“One of them is named Jabba?” Harriet asked, incredulous.
“His parents were Star Wars fans, what can I tell you? And no, he doesn’t look like a cross between a slug and the Cheshire cat. He’s tall and skinny.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.” Harriet said. She knew all about parents and names.
“That’s a terrible thing to do to a child,” Connie proclaimed.
“He seems to like it,” Lauren said. “And the other guys are all jealous and think he has cool parents. He goes by JB when he’s out in the real world.”
“I don’t care what his name is if he finds tattoo guy,” Harriet said and handed out the burritos.
“This doesn’t seem like sixties food,” Lauren said.
“I’m sure people ate burritos in the sixties,” Harriet said.
“Only if they lived in northern Mexico,” Connie said and laughed. “I think burritos are more popular in America than they are in most of Mexico.”
“Mmmm,” Lauren said around a mouthful of chip and guacamole. “He does make great guacamole. Did they have that in the sixties?” She looked at Connie.
“I think the Aztecs invented it,” Connie informed them. “It’s been around forever.”
“So, it qualifies,” Lauren said.
“I wish we knew who tattoo guy is,” Harriet said, changing the subject. “It’s hard to imagine how Jenny could be connected to him.”
“Is it?” Connie commented. “What do we really know about each other?”
“We know a lot about the Loose Threads,” Lauren answered. “Most of them have lived in Foggy Point forever.”
“Not really,” Connie countered. “Most of us have lived here a long time, but not forever. Very few of our group were born and raised in Foggy Point. Our lives before coming here are taken at face value. Whatever we tell people about ourselves is what is accepted as truth.”
“You mean Harriet didn’t really grow up all over Europe? She really lived in Columbus, Ohio, before coming here?” Lauren said.
“Harriet did not grow up in Ohio,” Connie said. “But yes, that is the idea. Jenny clearly had another life we don’t know about, including being raised in a commune, and it wouldn’t be a big surprise if she knew more than one tattooed person from that life.”
“Most of us don’t do that, though,” Harriet said. “Sure, everyone embellishes some, but the core of what we share is true. At least, I choose to believe that most people are honest and upright.”
“I think we all know you’re a little more naive than the average quilter,” Lauren said.
Lauren’s phone rang before Harriet could come up with a cutting response.
“He’s where? Thanks, I owe you guys one,” Lauren said and then pocketed her phone. “He’s in Annie’s,” she said to Connie and Harriet.
“Let’s go,” Harriet said and they gathered up their purses and coats and headed to the parking lot.
“What’s the plan, Kemo sabe?” Lauren asked as Harriet pulled to the curb and parked a block away from Annie’s coffee shop on Ship Street.