Round Robin by Jennifer Chiaverini

family emergency. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
    The woman beside her patted Sarah on the back and congratulated her for the good news. She managed a weak smile in return. Four months. Time enough to patch things up, or to rend them beyond repair forever.
    Sarah cut an eighteen-inch square from a piece of cream fabric. She chose green for the stately elms lining the back road to Elm Creek Manor, her home, which felt less like home with her mother in it. She picked lighter greens for the sweeping front lawn, and darker shades for the leaves on the rosebushes Matt nurtured with such care in the north gardens. She added clear blue for the skies over Waterford, though she felt they should be gray with gathering storms. Last of all she found a richer, darker blue for Elm Creek, which danced along as it always had, murmuring and rushing regardless of the joy or tragedy unfolding on its banks.
    Using the same cream for her background fabric, Sarah created a border of blue and green squares set on point, touching tip to tip. Squares for the solidity and balance of the manor, for the dividing walls she and Carol had built over the years, for the blocks they had stumbled over on their journey toward each other, for the way Carol’s news had left her feeling imprisoned and boxed in, forced to face the inevitable confrontation that somehow she had always known was coming.

Chapter Three
    D iane received the quilt top from Sarah after class Monday afternoon. “You must have worked on this all weekend,” she remarked, unfolding the quilt top and holding it up for inspection.
    â€œHow’d you find the time? I thought your mother was still here.”
    â€œShe is.”
    An odd note in Sarah’s voice pulled Diane’s attention away from the quilt. Sarah had shadows under her eyes and she kept glancing warily over her shoulder.
    â€œAre you okay?” Diane asked. Usually, Sarah was calm and self-assured, but she had been snappish and edgy all day.
    â€œI’m fine.” Sarah snatched the quilt top and began folding it. “I just don’t want Sylvia to see this. It’s supposed to be a surprise, remember? Keep it out of sight.”
    â€œOkay, okay. Relax. She’s in the kitchen. She can’t see through walls.” Diane took back the folded quilt top and tucked it into her bag. Honestly. More and more Sarah reminded Diane of her eldest son, Michael, but he was a teenager and such behavior was expected. What was Sarah’s excuse?
    Diane waved good-bye to Gwen, who had led that afternoon’s workshop, and left the classroom. It had been a ballroom once. The dance floor remained, but quilters now practiced on the orchestra dais, where work tables had replaced risers and music stands. She had never seen an orchestra there, but Sylvia and Agnes had, and their stories were so vividthat Diane sometimes felt as if she had witnessed the manor’s grand parties herself.
    On her way to the back door, she stopped by the kitchen to bid Sylvia good-bye. Sarah’s mother was helping Sylvia prepare supper, and they were laughing and chatting like old friends. Maybe that explained Sarah’s moodiness. Maybe she wanted Sylvia all to herself and thought Carol was getting in the way.
    Diane drove home to the neighborhood a few blocks south of the Waterford College campus where professors, administrators, and their families lived. Sarah had once told her that the gray stone houses with their carefully landscaped front yards reminded her of Elm Creek Manor, but Diane didn’t see the similarity. The houses on that oak tree–lined street were large, but not nearly as grand as Elm Creek Manor, or as old—or as secluded, to her regret. Diane willingly would have parted with a neighbor or two—namely, Mary Beth from next door, who had perfect hair and perfect children and had been president of the Waterford Quilting Guild for nearly a decade.
    Diane parked in the driveway and walked up