"That's only if you don't like it," Carrie spoke up. "If you make something and realize that the design isn't working or the fabrics are wrong, something that can't be fixed."

"If you like it, if you just made a mistake, then you do whatever it takes to fix it," Natalie sighed. "No matter how depressing that is." She looked down at her quilt, fingering the mistake in her sewing that put the two red squares next to each other.

"But how do you know when to give up and when to repair?" I asked. "It seems like a lot of work when you could just move on to something else."

"It is a lot of work," Natalie said. Maggie put an arm around her.

"That's the tricky part," Bernie acknowledged. "When you put a lot of work into something and then realize that you've made a mistake, or something isn't working, you can get so frustrated that you want to throw it away. What I do is give myself some time."

"That's right," Nancy agreed. "I put it away for a little while, maybe a few days or a week, then I look at it with fresh eyes."

My grandmother shifted on her chair. "The thing is, Nell, if you decide that something isn't worth the effort, then you have to let it go. But if you decide that it is, then you have to do whatever is necessary to make it work."

I nodded. The metaphor wasn't lost on me.

An hour later, as the discussion turned to the quilt we were making for Tom, I left the room for the kitchen. My grandmother had asked me to put together gift bags of fat quarters of fabric as a thank-you for all the pies, cakes, casseroles, and brownies the quilt club had been bringing us.

"Well, hello there," Susanne said cheerily as she walked into the kitchen with an empty coffee mug.

"We're out of coffee," I said. "It will take a minute for me to make some more."

"How about tea?" I put the kettle on and Susanne leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me fill the bags. "How are things going at the shop?"

"Tom's doing a great job. He may be finished before you're done with the quilt."

"Not a chance." She held up several finished blocks. They were shades of purples, blues and reds. They looked pretty, but I couldn't figure out what they would look like once they were sewn together. "Natalie told me about what you said. About the baby. It's a big relief."

"I'm glad."

"And it means that Jesse can leave Natalie alone about this Marc thing."

"Yes, hopefully." I didn't want to say anything about a possible new motive, so instead I was a little out of line. "But Marc was still harassing Natalie. She still had a motive." I swallowed hard. "So did you."

Susanne smiled widely and warmly. "I certainly did. I would have happily killed that SOB if I'd had the courage."

I nodded. "Look, for what it's worth, I don't think Jesse would try to railroad Natalie into a murder charge just because she bailed on a friendship with his wife."

"Is that what he's telling you?"

"He isn't telling me anything."

"Well, then, you should ask him," she said.

"I find that he's better at listening than talking."

She laughed. "He is a man with many secrets," she said.

CHAPTER 45

I had talked with Ryan every night, but the conversations were short and, for the most part, perfunctory. Work was fine, he said. He was getting a cold. I was busy with the shop. Things were going well and my grandmother was healing nicely. Had we really gotten this dull?

I'd started dreading the calls, but after Jesse's and my grandmother's veiled advice, I needed to hear Ryan's voice, so as soon as the quilters left, I went upstairs. He sounded tired from a long day at work but otherwise the same. It was getting confusing-liking Ryan's familiarity, but also Jesse's new stories and way of looking at the world. Love in the fairy tales wasn't like this. You met, fell in love, and lived happily ever after. You didn't kiss the local bad boy or share chocolate cake with the soft-spoken widower. I wished I could just say all of this to Ryan, but I knew any attempt would be met with the same anger and pain that Ryan had encountered when he tried to talk to me the night he broke the engagement. Instead I chatted about the quilt and he talked about the office. We were on the phone for about ten minutes of dull, everyday talk when Ryan brought up the subject we'd been avoiding.

"We need to talk about the wedding," he said.

"What about it?"

"If we're going to keep the same date, then you have to send out the invitations."

"I can't remember where I packed them," I told him.

"Well, look."

"What's the rush?"

"Are you kidding me?" an exasperated Ryan practically shouted into the phone. "What is with you? You want to get married, don't you?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I said. I didn't know what I wanted. I just knew I didn't want to fight about it.

I could hear Ryan's voice soften. "I know things are hard for you right now, but I'm really proud of you for doing this," he said, changing the subject, "helping your grandmother this way."

"Thanks."

"It's hard for me too, you know."

"I know."

"I walked past the skating rink in Central Park yesterday. Do you remember?" I did remember. On our third date Ryan had taken me there and we spent an hour skating and falling before giving up and taking a hansom cab ride through the park.

"It was pretty hokey," I laughed.

He laughed too. "You loved it." I did love it. "I was trying to impress you with how romantic I could be."

"You were?" I thought about how I felt with him that night, nervous and excited and almost in love. "I thought you were so smooth you didn't need to impress me."

"I want to keep impressing you, and I feel like I've fallen down on the job lately."

"It's okay," I said softly. "We can't spend our lives on a third date."

"But you still love me?" he asked.

"I still love you," I said. I did love him, and maybe that was reason enough not to just throw things away, not if they could be repaired.

"Well, then, look for the invitations."

"I will. First thing tomorrow."

By four the next afternoon I hadn't looked, so after spending the day at the shop, I dragged myself to the bedroom and began opening the boxes from my apartment.

I found a CD I'd been looking for and my favorite pair of socks, but I almost missed the invitations until I opened the last box. The one containing summer clothes and other items I didn't think I'd need for a while.

I pulled out the dark blue box of invitations and opened it. Inside were dozens of beautifully printed cards waiting to be addressed and stamped. I stared at them for a long while, unsure of what to do. But I had been right when I spoke to Ryan, you can't live your life on a third date. Maybe the excitement of standing near Jesse or kissing Marc was just the thrill you have at the start of something, whether it's a quilt or a relationship. But excitement has to give way to work, and if I wasn't willing to give up on Ryan, and I wasn't, then I had to be willing to try.

I took the invitations downstairs, intent on spreading them out on the dining room table to work. But downstairs was still quilt central. Nancy was showing a new line of Indian-inspired fabrics to Eleanor and they were debating which of the fabrics to order. One woman was pulling out bolt after bolt of fabric while two other women were choosing fat quarters from a large basket.

"Shop still open?" I asked. "I thought you closed at four."

"We are." Eleanor looked up. "What's that in your hands?"

"The wedding invitations. I promised Ryan I'd get them in the mail by Monday." I plopped down next to my grandmother at the dining room table.

Just as Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, a woman walked over. "Excuse me," said the woman with half a dozen bolts under arm, "I'm having a little trouble here."