A Drunkard's Path by Clare O'Donohue Read Free Book Online Page A

Susanne handed Kennette a curved safety pin and explained to her that the shape made it easier to get through the layers of fabric.
    “How far apart do you put them?” Kennette looked absolutely thrilled at the prospect of jumping into the project.
    “It depends on the batting,” Susanne explained. “On this one we need to put a pin every three or four inches. About the width of your hand.”
    At that Kennette put her hand down next to an area that had been pinned and began to add her own safety pins.
    “Good work,” Eleanor said. “We got lucky that you happened by today. This is the most tedious part of making a quilt.”
    “That’s why you do it in a group, I bet,” Kennette said.
    “You’ve figured out our secret.” Susanne smiled.
    I coughed, since no one seemed to notice I was there. “She’s looking for a job,” I said.
    Susanne looked up and saw me standing in the background. “Hi, Nell. I was wondering if you were coming in today.”
    “I came in with Kennette.”
    Eleanor glanced up and smiled, then turned back to Kennette. “Are you an art student as well?”
    “We’re both in Oliver White’s class,” she said.
    I moved toward Eleanor. “I was thinking that with me only here part time, maybe you could use another hand for a few hours a day.”
    “That’s a wonderful idea,” Eleanor said. “Let’s look at the schedule and see if it will work out.”
    “Should’nt we finish the pin basting first?” Kennette grabbed a handful of pins and started carefully putting them through the layers of fabric. This move delighted Susanne and Eleanor, who cheerfully went back to basting the quilt. I knew before she did that Kennette had gotten the job.
    There clearly wasn’t anything for me to do, as I certainly wasn’t about to get involved in the very boring job of basting the quilt. “Why don’t you take Kennette on a tour of the shop,” I suggested. “I’ll go across the street and get some coffee to celebrate this occasion.”
    Eleanor nodded. “Carrie is there. I saw her earlier. Ask her if she can spare a few small cups.” Eleanor and Kennette headed to a wall of books at the back of the shop.
    I walked across the street to a store closed for remodeling. The shop, until recently a failing pet store, was slowly being transformed into the sort of hip café that was around every corner in my former Manhattan neighborhood. Since moving to Archers Rest, I hadn’t missed my old publishing job, my ex-fiancé, or the out-until-dawn lifestyle of New York City, but I did miss coffee shops like the one Carrie was planning. I knew I would be a loyal customer when she finally opened its doors.
    As I reached Carrie’s shop, I saw Jesse heading toward the river. I started to wave, and even though I could swear he saw me, he didn’t acknowledge that I was there.
    “Hey there,” Carrie said as she opened the door.
    “You don’t happen to have any coffee, do you?” I asked.
    “That’s a dumb question,” she laughed. “I’m on my third pot.”
    I walked into the shop, more puzzled than hurt by Jesse’s behavior. But once in, I was struck by the transformation from pet shop to, there’s no other way to say it, huge mess. The floors were dirty, the place smelled of wet fur, and Carrie was still finding bird poop whenever she cleaned. The biggest change was on the walls. She was painting them a soft brown—the color, naturally, of milky coffee.
    “They look great,” I said as she poured me a cup from a home coffeemaker she was using until a professional machine was installed.
    Carrie beamed. “Thanks. I think they’re almost perfect.”
    “Almost? What more can you do to them?”
    “I was thinking . . .” She paused. Her face scrunched up, and she looked at me for so long that I began to worry I had something in my teeth. “I was thinking that maybe you could paint something on the wall.” She gestured toward the large blank wall directly opposite the front door.
    “Paint what?”