and Bob avoided looking at Sylvia. “Of course you're not.”
Sylvia heard the inadvertent emphasis on the word “you're,” and stiffened.
“Our wedding vows will say ‘in sickness and in health,’ same as yours.” Abruptly Andrew rose. “We're going to make those vows, and keep them, the same as you. Whether you like it or not.”
He stormed into the house, closing the sliding door with a bang.
“I wish I could put your minds at ease,” said Sylvia. “Your father and I visit our doctors regularly and we're both fit as fiddles. I certainly wouldn't marry Andrew if I thought I would become a burden to him.”
“I'm sure your friends at Elm Creek Manor find that as comforting as we do,” said Cathy.
B y the time supper was ready, Andrew's temper had cooled, but a tension hummed in the air around the picnic table as they ate. Cathy engaged Sylvia in polite conversation about Elm Creek Quilt Camp while the men ate with silent deliberation on opposite ends of the table, looking anywhere but at each other. The girls' eyes darted from one adult's face to the next, anxious. Sylvia felt sorry for them, so when the meal was finished, she began collecting the dishes and asked for their help. She ushered them inside to the kitchen, thinking to give Andrew an opportunity to talk to Bob alone. Within minutes, however, Andrew joined them in the kitchen, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with anger. His granddaughters pretended not to notice.
Together they tidied the kitchen and went into the living room to play cards. Bob and Cathy came in soon after, their expressions somber. Cathy made coffee and served dessert, and the family spent the rest of the evening playing games and chatting politely and cautiously on inoffensive topics. This seemed to relieve the girls but irritated Sylvia, who knew all too well what little good came of ignoring conflicts.
Later, Sylvia and Andrew bid their hosts good night and went to the guest room where Sylvia customarily slept. Andrew barely waited to close the door before dropping his facade of affability. “I thought they might have a problem, but not because of some ridiculous concerns about your health.” He sat down hard on the bed, a muscle working in his jaw. “I won't have it. I won't be patronized like that.”
“They love you. They worry.”
“They can show their concern some other way. We are not too old to get married. After all, John Glenn went into outer space at seventy-seven.”
“And after that, marriage would seem easy,” said Sylvia lightly. “Not that Bob would agree. I thought you said he would be the easy one.”
“My prediction stands.”
“Well, I can't say you didn't give me fair warning, but spare us the wrath of Amy. You do realize there's always the phone, or we could write.”
“I'm tempted, but then I'd have to explain why I told her brother in person but not her. No, when you have two kids, you have to keep things equal.” Andrew sighed and rose, pulling Sylvia gently to her feet. “You do know it's not you, right? They like you.”
“I realize that,” said Sylvia. “They just don't think I'm qualified for the position of stepmother.”
“None of this changes how I feel about marrying you. I still know I'm the luckiest man in the world.”
Sylvia gazed heavenward. “Oh, please, Andrew. Not the luckiest. Perhaps if you had caught me in my prime—”
He put a finger to her lips, then kissed her. “As far as I'm concerned, you are in your prime.”
After he left for the fold-out sofa in the computer room, Sylvia felt a sudden pang of homesickness, tempered only by the sight of the familiar Glorified Nine-Patch quilt on the bed. She had made it for Bob and Cathy after they had admired a similar quilt featured on an Elm Creek Quilts brochure. Cathy must have known how it would comfort her—and honor her quilt-making skill, since by tradition a family reserved for guests their best and most beautiful quilt.
Still, when she drew
Sylvia heard the inadvertent emphasis on the word “you're,” and stiffened.
“Our wedding vows will say ‘in sickness and in health,’ same as yours.” Abruptly Andrew rose. “We're going to make those vows, and keep them, the same as you. Whether you like it or not.”
He stormed into the house, closing the sliding door with a bang.
“I wish I could put your minds at ease,” said Sylvia. “Your father and I visit our doctors regularly and we're both fit as fiddles. I certainly wouldn't marry Andrew if I thought I would become a burden to him.”
“I'm sure your friends at Elm Creek Manor find that as comforting as we do,” said Cathy.
B y the time supper was ready, Andrew's temper had cooled, but a tension hummed in the air around the picnic table as they ate. Cathy engaged Sylvia in polite conversation about Elm Creek Quilt Camp while the men ate with silent deliberation on opposite ends of the table, looking anywhere but at each other. The girls' eyes darted from one adult's face to the next, anxious. Sylvia felt sorry for them, so when the meal was finished, she began collecting the dishes and asked for their help. She ushered them inside to the kitchen, thinking to give Andrew an opportunity to talk to Bob alone. Within minutes, however, Andrew joined them in the kitchen, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with anger. His granddaughters pretended not to notice.
Together they tidied the kitchen and went into the living room to play cards. Bob and Cathy came in soon after, their expressions somber. Cathy made coffee and served dessert, and the family spent the rest of the evening playing games and chatting politely and cautiously on inoffensive topics. This seemed to relieve the girls but irritated Sylvia, who knew all too well what little good came of ignoring conflicts.
Later, Sylvia and Andrew bid their hosts good night and went to the guest room where Sylvia customarily slept. Andrew barely waited to close the door before dropping his facade of affability. “I thought they might have a problem, but not because of some ridiculous concerns about your health.” He sat down hard on the bed, a muscle working in his jaw. “I won't have it. I won't be patronized like that.”
“They love you. They worry.”
“They can show their concern some other way. We are not too old to get married. After all, John Glenn went into outer space at seventy-seven.”
“And after that, marriage would seem easy,” said Sylvia lightly. “Not that Bob would agree. I thought you said he would be the easy one.”
“My prediction stands.”
“Well, I can't say you didn't give me fair warning, but spare us the wrath of Amy. You do realize there's always the phone, or we could write.”
“I'm tempted, but then I'd have to explain why I told her brother in person but not her. No, when you have two kids, you have to keep things equal.” Andrew sighed and rose, pulling Sylvia gently to her feet. “You do know it's not you, right? They like you.”
“I realize that,” said Sylvia. “They just don't think I'm qualified for the position of stepmother.”
“None of this changes how I feel about marrying you. I still know I'm the luckiest man in the world.”
Sylvia gazed heavenward. “Oh, please, Andrew. Not the luckiest. Perhaps if you had caught me in my prime—”
He put a finger to her lips, then kissed her. “As far as I'm concerned, you are in your prime.”
After he left for the fold-out sofa in the computer room, Sylvia felt a sudden pang of homesickness, tempered only by the sight of the familiar Glorified Nine-Patch quilt on the bed. She had made it for Bob and Cathy after they had admired a similar quilt featured on an Elm Creek Quilts brochure. Cathy must have known how it would comfort her—and honor her quilt-making skill, since by tradition a family reserved for guests their best and most beautiful quilt.
Still, when she drew
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