The Fortune Quilt by Lani Diane Rich Page B

playing it cool just in case I’m right and Lindsay is in love with Christopher. I don’t want to be the one to blow her cover.
    I realize that Christopher is staring at me, and I lower my beer. “What?”
    He continues to watch me for a few moments, then puts the cue on the table and walks toward me.
    “Come on.” He grabs my hand and leads me through the pool hall.
    “My beer…” I say, glancing back at my half-full bottle, sitting on the edge of the pool table. It’ll be gone before we get back; those fishnet waitresses are barracudas.
    Christopher pushes through the doors and pulls me with him through the parking lot. I ask where we’re going, and he doesn’t answer. After a few moments, I see we’re headed toward his truck. He opens the passenger side door, grabs something off the dash, and hands it to me.
    It’s a book.
    “Christopher?” I turn the book over in my hands, flip open to the copyright page. It’s a familiar-looking hard-cover copy of Jane Eyre , and I’m momentarily distracted from his weirdness.
    “Oh, my God,” I say. “This is just like the one I lost in college. Remember?”
    “Do I remember?” He laughs. “You made me search every used bookstore with you for three weeks.”
    I glance at the title page. “Nineteen fifty-three. With the Eichenberg engravings.” I shut the book and look up at him. “This is it. It’s just like mine.”
    He pauses before speaking. “I know.”
    “How did you find it?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    I close it and run my fingers over the cover. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you found one.” I tear my eyes away from the book and look up at him. “I can’t believe you remembered this after all this time. Where did you find it?”
    He swallows. Hard. And he still looks nervous. Over an old copy of Jane Eyre ? I don’t get it.
    “Look at the spine,” he says.
    I turn the book over in my hand. “It says ‘Jane Eyre’.”
    “What color is it?”
    I give him a strange look, then check out the spine. “Um. I don’t know. Kind of orangey-yellow?”
    “ Amber .” He gives the word such weight that I’m beginning to wonder if maybe Christopher has the brain tumor. He releases a deep breath and leans back against the truck, staring at me as though waiting for me to get it. I’m flummoxed. Then I pull some pieces together from the cobwebbed corners of my brain, and laugh.
    “Oh,” I say. “What? You think this has something to do with the psychic quilt?”
    There’s a long moment of silence, and then he pushes himself up from the truck, putting his hands on either side of my face.
    And he kisses me.
    Christopher kisses me.
    Christopher kisses me.
    I am stiff. I am shocked. I am…
    Holy God, there’s tongue.
    He releases me. I blink.
    “What… what… what…?” I blink again.
    He steps back from me and stares, looking almost as shocked as I feel. After a moment, he leans back against the truck and nods toward the book.
    “I, uh, I found it at a sidewalk sale seven years ago.” He’s staring at the book, avoiding eye contact. “Right before you left for grad school. I was going to give it to you then. Tell you…”
    He trails off.
    “Tell me? Tell me what?” My brain feels like a tiny goldfish in a great big bowl. I just can’t circle it fast enough, and by the time I get to the other side, I’ve lost track of where I’ve been.
    “—but I didn’t, and then you went to Syracuse and you were with that guy—”
    Guy ? What guy? Syracuse… “Oh. What? Mike Bergen?”
    His words are rushing out, all over me, landing in messy piles at my feet. “—and you just never seemed to see me that way, so I gave it up. It didn’t seem… I don’t know. Meant to be, I guess. When you were available I was with someone, and when I was available, you weren’t.” He pauses, his eyes locked tight on mine. “But it’s never gone away, Carly. I’ve never gotten over it. And I’ve kept that book all these years. Just in case the