The Quilt Before the Storm by Arlene Sachitano Page A

explained their breakdown and his belief that, given some daylight and an open hardware store, he could fix their problem and get them on their way.
    “There is a large parking lot at Fogg Park,” Jane explained. “We keep the restrooms open in the winter for the local homeless camp that’s nearby.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and scrawled a note on the back. “If a patrol car comes by, just show him this card, and you should be fine.” She proceeded to tell them how to find Fogg Park.
    “That sounds miserable,” Harriet said when Jane returned to their table with her quilt. “I hope he really can fix their problem and get out of the area before the storm hits.”
    “No kidding,” Lauren said.
    “Speaking of that and cold people, I’m going to go home and work on rag quilts. There’s one that’s almost done and a couple of more in progress that could be finished before the worst of the weather hits.” Harriet stood up and put her coat on then took Detective Morse’s quilt. “Thanks for letting me come to dinner with you,” she told Lauren.
    “Whatever.” Lauren gathered her purse and coat.
    Harriet stopped at the table Jorge had seated the truck drivers at.
    “My quilting group is making charity quilts for the homeless in Fogg Park. Could you use a warm flannel quilt for your night in the parking lot?” she asked.
    “That would be wonderful,” the woman said. “Are you sure you can spare one? We’ll be okay once we get the truck fixed.”
    “We’d be happy for you to take one. The only trouble is, I don’t have one in my car. My house isn’t far from here. Would you mind coming by to pick it up?”
    “That’s the least we can do. And we’d be happy to give you a donation to buy more materials, if that’s okay,” Owen said.
    Harriet wrote her address and brief directions on a napkin and gave it to them.
    “Take your time eating. I’ll be sewing for a while tonight.”

    Fred was waiting in the kitchen when Harriet came in through the garage door, carrying the bag of lamps she’d intended for her aunt. With the wind expected to increase, she’d parked in the garage—she didn’t need a tree falling on her car. She was trying not to think about the possibility of one of the tall old fir trees falling on her bedroom.
    “Maybe we’ll camp out in the hall when the big storm comes,” she said to Fred as she scooped a spoonful of gelatinous nutrition onto his food dish.
    Three sharp raps sounded on the outside studio door as she entered from the kitchen. The truck drivers must have taken their food to go , she thought.
    The door pushed opened before she could cross the room.
    “Lauren? What are you doing here?”
    “Glad to see you, too.”
    “I’m sorry, come in. I’m just wondering, did we have a plan?”
    “Did we need one? You said you have a couple of quilts that could be finished, and my client still isn’t ready, so I thought I’d come help you.”
    “Excuse me if I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take the help for whatever reason. You can either cut batting squares at the big table, or there’s a stack of blocks ready to be sewn together by the bigger of the two sewing machines.”
    “I don’t know why I bother,” Lauren said as she took her coat off and opened her quilting bag.
    Harriet was helping her change the bobbin on the sewing machine when another knock on the door interrupted them. She again started for the door expecting the couple.
    “Hi,” Jane Morse said and walked past her and into the studio. She took her all-weather jacket off and laid it on the wingback chair in the reception area.
    “I have your quilt. Did you forget to tell me something?” Harriet asked.
    “It sounded like you could use another pair of hands to finish those last quilts,” Jane said.
    “Come on. All three of us know you’re supposed to be getting ready to leave for an out-of-town meeting. Why are you really here?”
    “You’re really dense for someone