Embroidered Truths Read Online Free PDF

kind that has to cook for awhile but has a nuttier taste, and a package of raisins.
    So maybe there was more to this relationship between John and Godwin than a sophisticated man indulging a naïve boyfriend, she thought. And why not? Godwin was not just an amusing, charming boy. He was a creative soul, kind, loyal, and intelligent, with flashes of mature insight. Maybe John was ready for a more mature relationship. Betsy sure hoped so.
    She measured the oats into the boiling water and turned the heat down. If that was the case, then this was just a lovers’ quarrel. Which meant that probably some time today John would call the shop to talk to Godwin and start the process of making up.
    Having talked herself out of her worry over her manager, she decided to have a couple of sausages to go with the oatmeal—Betsy tended to celebrate good feelings by eating something nice. She got out the brown sugar to sprinkle on her oatmeal along with the raisins.
    She had eaten her share, showered, and dressed before Godwin wandered vaguely out, his blond hair all pushed to one side on his head, his chin whiskery, and his eyes red-rimmed.
    “Good morning, Glory!” Betsy said cheerfully.
    “Whatever,” he mumbled. “Is there coffee?”
    “No, but the water’s still hot for tea. Or if you can wait awhile, I can perk a pot.”
    “Can’t wait, my heart needs a jump-start.”
    So Betsy made him an extra-strong cup of black India tea, put a bowl and spoon on the table in front of him, pointed out the oatmeal simmering on the stove and the sausages keeping warm in the oven, and went to do her morning commune with the Internet.
    It took three cups of strong tea, but Godwin was looking a lot more cheerful as they went down the stairs at nine thirty to start the opening-up process. Sophie trundled ahead, eager to begin her daily chore of cadging treats from the customers.
    Betsy went through the back door, through the back room, through the twin set of box shelves that divided the front of the shop from the back, heading for the desk that served as a checkout counter—and stopped short.
    “Goddy,” she called, “are we expecting a really big order from somewhere?”
    “No,” he called from the back room where he was starting the coffee—the shop offered a free cup to its customers. “Why?”
    “Because there is a really huge box by our front door.”
    Goddy came trotting through, to stop short himself and stare. It was one of those cardboard boxes refrigerators come in. “Wow!”
    Betsy dodged around him, heading to the front door with the keys. “It’s a mistake, it must be. I bet it’s books for ISBNs.” Next door to Betsy was a used-book store of that name.
    She unlocked the door and looked for a label. There was none, only a single word written with a thick-nubbed marking pen: GODWIN. Her heart sank.
    “It’s for you,” she said. “From John.”
    It was a struggle, but the two of them managed to push the box into the shop. Godwin got a box opener from a desk drawer and slit open the top.
    “My clothes! ” cried Godwin. The box was full to the top with clothing, pushed in any old way. “Oh, look at them!” He pulled out a pair of trousers, badly wrinkled. “My Versace suit!” he cried, and began to dig for the coat.
    “Hold it, hold it!” Betsy ordered. “Look at what you’re doing, for heaven’s sake!”
    Godwin glanced around, the floor near the box was like a teenager’s bedroom, knee-deep in shirts, slacks, underwear, and socks, lots of white socks. And some not so white.
    “Oh, my God, he put the dirty in with the clean !”
    He dropped the shirt in his hand and went to sit at the library table and put his head into his arms.
    Betsy came around behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
    “If only I knew what I did wrong, I could apologize.”
    “You didn’t do anything wrong. Because if you had done something so wrong he’d throw you out and send your clothes