Free Gone But Knot Forgotten by Mary Marks Page A

me conservative, Yossi, but aren’t we jumping into this relationship a little too fast?”
    â€œToo fast for who? I told you four months ago I wanted you to be my woman.”
    â€œYeah, but we’d only known each other for two weeks.”
    â€œLook, Jacob loved Rachel the moment he set eyes on her. Then he worked for fourteen years before he could have her. As far as I’m concerned, I’m ready. If you’re not, then I’ll wait. I’m your Jacob.” He pulled me onto his lap and kissed the crease in my neck, sending chills through my body. “Just please don’t make me wait fourteen years. I’ll be an old man by then.”
    I knew the biblical story well. Even as a little girl I’d hoped for a Jacob of my own, someone who’d love me forever. However, starting with my divorce from Aaron Rose, through a couple of failed relationships, to my breakup with Beavers, I scored 0 for 4 in the lifetime commitment department. I was so over the notion of undying love.
    I kissed him and then stood. “I guess I’ll see you later.” I smiled.
    After Crusher left, I went in the bedroom to straighten up. I noticed, with some irritation, he’d hung his good clothes in my closet and left his grooming kit on my bathroom counter. I picked up his double-edged razor and studied the little red hairs sticking to the blades. I squirted some of his shaving foam on my fingertips and breathed in the lemony masculine scent so different from my oils and sweet perfumes. Could I make room for him in my closet? In my life? By leaving his stuff here, Crusher, aka Yossi Levy, invited me to consider the answer.
    Back in the kitchen, I emptied the first cardboard box of mail on the table and sorted through the pieces one by one. Catalogs, ads, and obvious junk went back into the carton for recycling. Only five pieces of mail looked important. I put those in a keep pile. The next two cartons yielded a similar result. When I finished sorting through the mail and the papers from her desk, the keep pile contained seventeen letters.
    I used my white plastic UCLA letter opener on the first envelope. Correspondence from Abernathy, Porter & Salinger dated November 3, about a month ago, advised Harriet her signature was due on some investment transactions. This must have been the letter Abernathy first told me about. He’d become concerned when Harriet didn’t respond. He drove to her house and discovered her body.
    Ten large manila envelopes dating from February through November were sent by Abernathy et al. They contained monthly financial summaries, including income and expense statements. Who was to say those statements were accurate? Harriet’s isolated lifestyle made her an easy target for fraud and embezzlement. I’d hire a forensic accountant to go over all her financials.
    In June, Harriet received two birthday cards. One from a dentist in Beverly Hills and another from Isabel Casco, her college roommate. My eyes stung as I realized how small Harriet’s world had become. Only one friend cared enough to wish her a happy birthday, and it hadn’t been me.
    I came across three pieces of mail dated around the time of Harriet’s death. Although they were in the boxes with the unopened mail, they’d already been opened. The first envelope came from the International Quilt Study Center in Lincoln, Nebraska. Lucy, Birdie, and I once visited the museum there. We’d flown to Paducah, Kentucky, to attend the American Quilters Society annual show. Afterward we rented a car and drove in a big circle through Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, and Iowa, looking to buy vintage quilts. We made a special trip to the IQSC in Lincoln. Why did the IQSC send Harriet a letter?

    January 17
    Â 
    Dear Mrs. Oliver,
    Thank you for sending the photo of this fascinating quilt. I won’t be able to authenticate either the age or provenance until I can examine the quilt. Afterward, I can