Free Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

insisted she take her mother’s car instead of her father’s Cadillac to college, and forever after wondered what Nate would have done had she come on bicycle.
    “What’s on your mind?” asked Nate as she filled the sink and squeezed dish soap into the stream from the faucet. They had a dishwasher, but Nate disputed the manufacturer’s claim that it used less water and energy than hand washing. So they used it to store the trashcan and the recyclables bin instead.
    “Nothing,” said Karen quickly. “Well, okay. Something. Sit down,” she added, as he began to rise. She retrieved the magazine from the diaper bag on the counter, where she had placed it in anticipation of this moment. She returned to her seat and set the magazine on the table before her. “Please don’t panic.”
    “Panic?” He looked warier than she had ever seen him. “Why should I panic?”
    She gestured to the magazine. “Because I allowed one of these into the house.”
    “What?” He glanced at the magazine. “This? That’s what all this is about?”
    She nodded.
    He strangled out a laugh. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant again.”
    He of all people ought to know there was little chance of that. Karen flipped the magazine open and placed it before him. “I think I’d like to apply for this job,” she said after giving him a moment to skim the ad. “It’s not my traditional line of work, but I think I’d enjoy it more than any other part-time work I could—”
    She broke off at the sound of a thud from the living room. She paused, but when neither of the boys howled in pain or outrage, she returned her attention to Nate. “So. What do you think?”
    “Sounded like something hit the wall.”
    “No, honey. About the job. Look.” Karen pointed to a line of type. “It says seasonal work and flexible hours are available.”
    “But it’s all the way in Waterford.”
    “That’s an hour drive at most.”
    “What about the kids? Won’t you miss them?”
    “Of course I’ll miss them, just like you miss them when you go off to work in the morning.” She had expected objections to the magazine, but she had not prepared any counterarguments to concerns about the job itself. “Elm Creek Quilt Camp is open only March through October, so I would be working less than if I tried to get a teaching job someplace. We always said I would go back to work when the kids were old enough—”
    Another thud sounded from the living room, followed by an ominous crash.
    Nate twisted in his chair. “Ethan, what are you boys doing in there?”
    “Nothing!” Ethan shouted. “Lucas threw his sippy cup at the lamp again.”
    “Why?”
    “He needs a reason?” asked Karen.
    “Because the first time he missed,” called Ethan. “It fell off the table and rolled under the sofa. I can’t reach it.”
    “Just leave it alone. I’ll get it.”
    As he rose, Karen placed a hand on his arm. “May we finish this conversation later?”
    “Sure.” He pushed back his chair. “First chance we get.”
    Karen watched him go, muffling a sigh. She waited, but when she realized he was not returning anytime soon, she got up and finished cleaning the kitchen.
    Later that evening, she bathed the boys while Nate checked his email and graded exams. He shut down his computer long enough to read the boys a story and tuck them into bed, but soon after she kissed the boys goodnight and turned off their lights, the phone rang. She snatched it up, praying that the boys would sleep through the noise. It was one of Nate’s undergraduate students, frustrated with a particularly difficult section of code he was trying to write for a class project. While Nate patiently talked him through it, Karen returned to the basement and finished her résumé. She printed out a copy and took it upstairs to seek Nate’s advice, but found him in the recliner, feet propped up, computer on his lap, eyes riveted on the