The Fortune Quilt Read Online Free PDF Page B

capitalist society and it’s not your fault there’s a sucker born every minute so… God bless, I guess.”
    I surf the momentary high that always comes from saying exactly what I’m thinking, but Brandy’s prolonged silent stare dulls the rush. Most people get offended, or think it’s funny, or… something. Brandy just stares.
    I shrug away an uncomfortable feeling in my shoulders. “You asked.”
    “That I did.” She kneels down at the edge of the quilt, pulling the tape recorder from a shelf and setting it beside her. “And now I’m sure.”
    “Hmm? Sure of what?”
    “That this one is yours.”
    “Sorry?”
    “The reading should only take a few minutes.” She gestures toward the floor. “Have a seat.”
    This is definitely the weirdest bribe attempt I’ve ever seen, and I once came home to fifty pounds of frozen rib-eye steaks on my doorstep.
    “Look, you don’t have to sell me on anything. It’s a feature story. Total softball. I won’t make you look bad, I swear.”
    “Oh, I’m not worried about that. There’s no driving the Universe; only riding it.” She smiles at me beatifically. I step back a bit.
    “Carly,” she continues, running one hand over the quilt in her arms, “you may not believe in this process, but I do, and I’m absolutely certain this quilt is yours. It’s been here waiting for you for, gosh… when did I make this?” She rolls her eyes up toward the ceiling and her lips move as she whispers to herself, then her eyes descend back down to me. “Twelve years.”
    I stare, expressionless, for a moment. Does she really expect me to believe this quilt has been waiting for me for twelve years? Please. But, since I’m pretty sure I can smell crazy cooking on the back burner and I make it a rule not to mess with crazy, I play along.
    “Twelve years. Wow.”
    She grins up at me, earnest in the extreme. I smile lightly. “Thanks, really, that’s nice, but I can’t afford…”
    She laughs, and I trail off. It’s a brilliant, tinkling laugh, like crystallized sunlight.
    Yep. Definitely crazy.
    “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says. “People come to me however they come to me. Some are clients. They want to pay for the quilts, and they can afford to. But if someone shows up here, and I have her quilt, then it’s hers. No charge.”
    I glance out the window. Christopher’s leaning on The Blueberry, having a smoke. I look down at the quilt and decide it can’t hurt to humor her. I kneel on the floor. She hits the record button and closes her eyes. We sit there in total silence for what feels like a very long time but in reality is maybe a minute or so. Then she hums lightly and opens her eyes, looking down at the quilt.
    “Your world. It’s very structured. That’s what the boxes mean. You like to keep things separated, under control.”
    Just nod and smile , I think, and that’s exactly what I do. As she talks, Brandy moves her hands over the various areas of the quilt, her palms down but never actually touching the fabric, always hovering just above as she makes her astounding pronouncements about my life.
    My career is in the middle of an upheaval. (Um, not really. If anything, it’s in a rut.) Something about South America. (Hah. I’ve never been south of Rocky Point.) My emotional center is jagged. (I have no idea what this means.) I have to pay attention to the paintbrushes. (I fight a laugh on this one, as the extent of my artistic ability is limited to stick figures and the occasional smiley face.)
    “Return the frog,” she says.
    “Um. What?”
    “Accept the book with the amber spine. Take the cab.”
    “Is that like ‘leave the gun, take the cannoli’?” I say before I can stop myself. There is a long silence and I wonder if I’ve offended her, although I’m starting not to care. My knees are uncomfortable from kneeling and I’m debating over whether I should move or not when I hear her say the name, “Mary.”
    My eyes widen and my breath