The Aloha Quilt (2 page)

“A quilter’s retreat in Hawaii,” Claire had said. “What could be more perfect? And
who knows more about setting up a quilt camp than you?”

“Sylvia Cooper, for one,” Bonnie had said, but before she could reel off the names
of the other Elm Creek Quilters who were far more qualified to tackle the project,
Claire had accused her of her old fault of excessive self-deprecation and insisted
that only Bonnie possessed the perfect combination of knowledge, experience, and trustworthiness
that Claire needed to launch her new business venture. She offered to hire Bonnie
as a consultant, and in exchange for Bonnie’s expertise, she would provide a modest
stipend, room and board in Maui for the winter, and a guaranteed room at Aloha Quilt
Camp whenever Bonnie desired.

Bonnie felt as if her old friend had thrown open doors and windows to let fresh air
and sunshine into a room too long shuttered and neglected. Elm Creek Quilt Camp closed
for the winter, so why not spend the off-season in Hawaii? She couldn’t sit at home
counting the days until her divorce, as if
on the day it was final, her disappointment and anger would magically vanish. Where
better to begin building a new life for herself than in Hawaii, where she would be
soothed by balmy breezes and lulled to sleep by the pounding surf, where she could
help a beloved friend launch an exciting new business, where everything was unfamiliar
and nothing would remind her of what she had lost?

Bonnie slept better that first night in Elm Creek Manor than she had all summer long
in the apartment. She woke refreshed, dug her walking shoes and sweats out of her
suitcase, and went on a long, brisk walk around the estate, lingering in the apple
orchard to savor the fragrance of ripe apples and to chat about the harvest with Matt,
the estate’s caretaker. She couldn’t resist plucking a shiny, red Jonathon for herself
and munching it as she crossed the bridge over Elm Creek on her way to the back entrance
of the manor. She stretched on the stairs, enjoying the cool, gentle winds that sent
fallen scarlet, yellow, and brown leaves dancing across the parking lot. The wind
carried a faint whiff of wood smoke and a hint of cinnamon that told her someone had
left the kitchen window open a crack.

Inside, she found several of the manor’s permanent residents sipping coffee at the
kitchen table: Sylvia, of course; Sarah, the cofounder of Elm Creek Quilt Camp; Sylvia’s
husband, Andrew; the newest Elm Creek Quilter, Gretchen; and Gretchen’s husband, Joe.
The plates before them were empty except for crumbs, but a platter in the center of
the table was stacked with waffles, and a place was set for Bonnie at the end.

“It’s Anna’s cinnamon-apple waffle recipe,” said Sarah as Bonnie seated herself. “I’m
happy popping the frozen kind in the toaster, but she convinced me that I didn’t have
to be a professional chef like her to make them from scratch.” She patted
her tummy as if to assure her unborn twins that their mother wasn’t such a bad cook
after all.

“Delicious,” Bonnie declared, savoring the first mouthful. Sarah rose to pour her
a cup of coffee. “Sarah, sit down. I can get that.”

“It’s no big deal.” Sarah pressed a hand to the small of her back as she crossed the
kitchen, but something in her expression told Bonnie that more than the twins weighed
her down. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black with two sugars, please, the usual.” Bonnie looked around the circle of friends.
“All right. What’s up?”

Sylvia’s sympathetic frown prepared Bonnie for the worst. “Craig called while you
were out.”

Bonnie dropped her fork to the table with a clatter. “He called the manor? How does
he know I’m here?”

“Maybe he planted a tracking device in your sewing machine,” said Sarah, setting the
steaming cup of coffee before Bonnie. She didn’t seem to be joking.

Bonnie should have known that he would find another way to reach her after she blocked
his emails and stopped answering his calls on her cell phone. “Did you remind him
that all communication must go through my lawyer?”

“I did indeed,” said Sylvia, “but he didn’t seem to hear me, so I gave the phone to
Sarah.”

“You could have hung up on him.” Bonnie steeled herself. “What did he want?”

Sylvia and Sarah exchanged a glance. “He started off by complaining that Craig Jr.
won’t return his phone calls,” said Sarah.

“I never told C.J. not to speak to his father,” Bonnie protested. “C.J.’s angry. He
needs time.”

“Craig seems to think there’s a conspiracy to cut him off
from his kids,” said Andrew, scowling as he always did when Craig came up in the conversation.
He had no patience for any man who shirked his responsibilities to his wife and children.

“Nonsense,” said Sylvia. “Bonnie would never put her children in that position.”

Of course it was nonsense. Bonnie wouldn’t hurt her children by demanding they take
sides. As badly as Craig treated her, he was still their children’s father. She knew
she couldn’t speak disparagingly about him without hurting them. “What else?”

Reluctantly, Sarah said, “He said this divorce is a contest you won’t win, and then
he hung up.”

Joe muttered something under his breath and drained his coffee cup. “What a horrid
man,” said Gretchen.

“Are you sure that’s what he said?” asked Bonnie. “Were those his exact words?”

Sarah hesitated. “I’m paraphrasing a bit. He was ranting and it was hard to catch
everything.”

“Is it possible—” Bonnie had to force the question out. “Could he have said that he
won’t go along with the uncontested divorce anymore?”

Sarah blanched and eased herself back into her chair. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“I guess… I guess it’s possible.”

“Oh, no.” Bonnie’s appetite fled. “I’d better call my lawyer.”

When she went upstairs for her cell phone, her heart sank to discover a voicemail
waiting from Darren Taylor. Though his request for her to return his call at her earliest
convenience betrayed no reason for concern, Bonnie knew her lawyer was well practiced
in concealing his emotions, so his cordial tone did nothing to ease her worries.

His secretary put her call right through. “Good morning, Bonnie,” he greeted her.
“Sorry to call so early, but I spoke with
your husband’s attorney this morning and I’m afraid we’ve run into a snag.”

Bonnie paced the narrow aisle between the stacks of cartons pushed against the walls.
“A snag like when you catch your fingernail on your sweater or a snag like being run
over by a truck?”

Darren let out a dry chuckle. “Keep that sense of humor. You’re going to need it.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Bonnie sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “Okay. Tell me.”

“Your husband has changed his mind about agreeing to a no-fault divorce.”

“Why? He doesn’t want to stay married to me. Why not get it over with?”

“Simply put, money. The marital estate is now worth much more than it was when you
originally filed for a no contest.”

“Only because Agnes discovered Craig’s hidden assets.” For years, unbeknownst to Bonnie,
Craig had been siphoning off money from their joint accounts to buy expensive antiques
to furnish his office. On those rare occasions when Bonnie had visited him on campus,
she had never suspected the furniture’s true worth, or had even known that it belonged
to Craig rather than the college. Dear, faithful, curious Agnes had discovered the
truth and had used her late husband’s contacts in the antiques market to arrange for
an auction—an astonishingly profitable auction.

Apparently Craig had decided he wanted a greater share of the windfall.

“We agreed on a fifty-fifty split of the sale of the furniture,” said Bonnie. “That’s
more than he deserves considering that he bought those antiques with
our
money, not just his, without my knowledge, and he never declared them as assets on
any of
those mountains of forms we had to fill out. Shouldn’t he be punished for that?”

“Believe me, the judge won’t look favorably upon it,” Darren assured her. “But now
Craig wants to play hardball. He knows you want to resolve this as soon as possible—”

“Absolutely. Doesn’t he?”

“Not as much as he wants a greater share of the money. I’m afraid he intends to use
your eagerness for a quick resolution against you. This morning his attorney informed
me that Craig wants to reconcile.”

“What?” Bonnie exclaimed. “He doesn’t want to fix our marriage, and even if he did,
it’s beyond saving.”

“Craig knows that. This is a tactical move, nothing more. He’ll proceed with a no-fault,
non-contested divorce as long as you relinquish your claim upon the profits from the
auction, on the grounds that he purchased the furniture with his own funds for his
own professional use and they were never any part of the marital estate.”

“It was only ‘for his professional use’ because if he had bought furniture for the
condo, I would have known about it,” said Bonnie, incredulous. “Either way, the money
he used to buy it was as much mine as his!”

“I understand, Bonnie. You’re absolutely right, and a judge would surely rule in your
favor if you contested his claim. But Craig is gambling that you won’t. Property disputes
can drag things out for months, perhaps even years. Your husband believes you’d rather
take the financial loss in exchange for finalizing the divorce as originally planned.”

“I want it to be over, but the money he spent on those antiques was equally mine.
He stole it from me. I can’t let him get away with it. Not even if it meant the divorce
could be over tomorrow. I can’t.”

“Then you should prepare yourself for a long, hard fight.”

Her heart plummeted. “How long?”

“He can’t keep you married to him against your will forever. The court can grant you
a no-fault divorce if they determine that you and your husband have lived apart for
two years and that the marriage is irretrievably broken.”

“Two years?” Bonnie fell back upon the bed, cell phone pressed to her ear. Two years
before she could put the whole mess behind her. Two years before she could get on
with her life. “I can’t wait two years. I don’t think I can take it.”

Darren fell silent, and she heard the rustle of papers in the background. “There are
other alternatives, but they’d require more time before the court.”

Anger surged through her. Her flight to Maui was in two days! Leave it to Craig to
ruin her plans to spend the winter in Hawaii. But if she had no other choice… “What
alternatives?”

“We could argue for mental cruelty, but given Craig’s history…” Darren paused. “You’ve
told me about Internet dalliances. Is it possible that he’s committed adultery?”

“It’s possible.” Perhaps Bonnie should ask Agnes to tail Craig again. Agnes knew how
to be discreet, and she seemed to have a talent for ferreting out Craig’s dirty little
secrets. She pictured Agnes bursting in upon Craig in a cheap motel room, a sleazy
woman yawning from boredom on the bed, Craig fumbling to yank up his boxer shorts.
It was cartoonish and ridiculous and far too plausible.

“It’s not enough to suspect adultery,” Darren warned. “We have to prove it. You either
have to catch him in the act—”

“Delightful thought,” Bonnie muttered.

“Or you have to show that he had the opportunity and the disposition to commit adultery.
Say, for example, that you can video him entering his lover’s home in the evening
and not
leaving until the following morning. The services of a private detective are usually
called for in these circumstances, because you can hardly put your life on hold to
follow him around with a camera.”

“What about a few years back when he went to meet his Internet girlfriend at the Penn
State football game?” Bonnie reminded him. “They would have shared a hotel room if
I hadn’t discovered their plans and tagged along on the trip. He certainly had the
disposition to cheat then.”

“I’m afraid that incident doesn’t count,” said Darren. “I assume you resumed marital
relations with your husband afterward?”

“Well… yes. We were trying to work things out, or so I thought.”

“In that case, since you continued to live with your husband and engage in marital
relations, the court would say that you had forgiven him, or condoned the act. You
can’t use it to support your claim of adultery now. You can use only a newly discovered
affair.”

“That’s unfair. I never condoned it. I tried to forgive him to save the marriage,
but I was never okay with it.”

“I’m sorry, Bonnie, but it’s the law. I warn you, following this course could get
messy. If a paramour is named, she can be required to testify. If she’s married also—”

Then her secret would be out and her marriage could end up in divorce court too. So
what? “Forgive me if I lack sympathy for this hypothetical other woman.”

“Understandably, but we have to be sure we’re right. It would be disastrous to accuse
an innocent person. Her reputation would be ruined, her husband and children put through
a terrible ordeal, all without cause.”