The Fortune Quilt by Lani Diane Rich Page B

you.”
    “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, absolutely.”
    “And when you do…” she starts but then stops into a dead silence.
    “What?” I say.
    “If you love him, tell him,” she says quietly. “If you don’t love him… in that way, I mean… then you need to rip off the Band-Aid fast. I know you care about him enough to do that at least.”
    There’s a sharp edge under her sweet tone that makes me feel like total crap. Or more like total crap, because I hadn’t exactly started out at a high point.
    “Yeah. Sure.”
    She hangs up. I put my hand with the phone in my lap and breathe deeply for a few moments, then dial Christopher’s cell phone. He picks up in one ring.
    “Carly?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
    “Well, what the fuck did you think was going to happen? You just disappear… Wait. I need to pull over.” There’s a long pause, and I can hear the traffic noises in the background. Then, finally, “I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten much sleep.”
    “Christopher…”
    “Where are you?”
    I stare out my windshield at Bilby’s main street, winding up into the foothills. “Oz.”
    “What? Where? Can I come see you?”
    “No,” I say. “Stay there. Go home. Get some rest.”
    “Get some… what? I need to see you. I need to know you’re okay.”
    “I’m okay.”
    “You know what was going through my head all night? Do you have any idea—”
    “I don’t love you back,” I blurt out. Quick and fast, quick and fast, rip off the Band-Aid. “I mean, I do. I love you so much, but not in the way that I think you want me to. Not in the way that I want to, and I really do want to, Christopher, but I just… I don’t.”
    There is his and hers silence. I feel as terrible and low and heartbroken as I’ve ever felt in my life. I take in a deep breath and rip off the rest of the Band-Aid.
    “I just think you should know now, you know, before this whole thing gets out of hand.”
    Ha ha. Little late for that.
    “That’s okay,” he says, but it’s not. I suspect it’ll never be okay again. “I just wanted to know you’re okay.” There’s a thick silence, then, “We’re still… friends, right?”
    I swallow against a tremendous knot in my throat that seems bent on choking me. “Oh, yeah. Always.”
    This is followed by another long, painful silence, and when Christopher speaks again, his voice is strained.
    “Okay. Well. I’ll see you, then. I guess.” The line disconnects. I turn my phone off and flip it shut, tossing it back into the ashtray. Every beat of my heart sends pain shooting through me and I am suddenly overwhelmed with grief. A sob escapes from my throat, and I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Here, on the streets of Bilby, Arizona, I’m about to completely lose my shit. The idea of returning to Tucson fills me with such dread that I can’t even entertain the thought of going back. But what else am I going to do?
    I sit up straight, white-knuckle the steering wheel and focus on a sign in a shop window directly in my eye line. It’s a white sign, with hand-painted letters, but I can’t read them. I am breathing in, breathing out. I am in control. I am okay.
    I am okay.
    I exhale a long breath, blink hard a few times, and the letters swimming in my vision settle into a recognizable pattern.
     
    HELP
     
    I squint a bit.
     
    WANTED
     
    I am out of the car and halfway down the street before I even realize what I’m doing. I push into the store and find a tall, gorgeous black woman with fine cornrows of hair cascading down her back over a gorgeous burnt orange African caftan-style dress. She smiles at me. Her teeth are bright and perfect, and she seems so at peace, so comfortable and happy in her environment.
    I wonder briefly if she’s crazy, too, if the whole town is some kind of free commune for the mentally unbalanced. I haven’t met anyone in this town who is