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The door of the hatchback slammed, and Cody stacked the last crate on the dolly next to his grandmother. “That’s it, Nana. Where to?”
Ethel motioned towards the building in front of them, gleaming metal and glass looming over gaggles of well-dressed, white-haired women scattered throughout the parking lot.
“Front entrance is fine, Honey,” Ethel explained in a soft drawl as she adjusted her patterned blouse. “We can go straight to my tables. Sure you don’t want to stick around for a little while?”
Cody laughed. “Nah, nana. You can hang out with your ladies and your blankets. I’m gonna head out to a street art tour,” he said, as he popped the dolly on its wheels and started towards the door. Ethel huffed, her mouth a thin line as she followed her grandson towards the doors.
“You know better! That ain’t art. It’s criminal! And they’re not blankets, they’re quilts! Real art, young man! Not that stuff those hooligans trash the streets with!” Her too-large purse swung on her arm, the movement of her flailing hands emphasizing her scolding. Cody bit his lip to stop from smiling as he maneuvered the overloaded dolly ahead of her.
“Even Betty’s?” he asked, faking innocence. Ethel tutted loud enough for him to hear.
“Don’t even think it, Cody Reid. That woman wouldn’t know art if it smacked her in the face. Why they even bother lettin’ her enter, I’ll never know. Bless her heart!” she exclaimed, drawl thickening with annoyance. “She’s a disgrace to her guild and her quilts look like they were made by a blind raccoon. Even you could do better–” her rant was cut off by a snort from the teenager.
“What’s that thing Papa says about blind hogs?” He asked.
“Blind hog finds an acorn every once in a while,” Ethel supplied. “Don’t think it applies to quilting.”
“If you say so. I’d still rather see the street art. I’ve got my GoPass, mom loaded up my Apple Pay, and I’ll be back in time to help you pack up,” he soothed. The dolly clacked as Cody popped it over the curb, steadying the bins and crates with one hand as they approached the front doors. Cody steered towards a ramp to the side, bypassing the stairs leading to the entrance, Ethel trailing behind.
“You make sure you eat something besides junk, child,” she fretted.
“Relax nana. Taco trucks! And you’re one to talk,” he laughed, motioning at the abundance of cookies, cakes, and breads he was toting. Ethel shook her head and opened the door so he could make his way inside the building. Cody turned the dolly so he could make it through without running over his grandmother's feet and fell momentarily silent as he absorbed the crowds of little old ladies gathered throughout the wide concourse.
“All these people are here for quilts?” he asked. In all the years he had accompanied his grandmother, he never could understand the appeal, and was always surprised by the turnout.
“All these ladies are here to sell or show their quilts. None of the visitors are here yet,” she explained, as she motioned for him to continue forward. Cody stayed silent, taking in the crowds and hoping to avoid any and all cheek pinches. He followed Ethel through the center of the concourse, taking in the first aid tent to the left, and a food court to the right.
“What do they need a first aid tent for?” he laughed. “Unless you’re going to try to smother Betty with her own quilt,” he said, turning to grin at Ethel. Ethel pointed her finger at him, sternly shaking her head and failing to hide her smirk. She shooed him ahead - couldn't let him think he'd given her any ideas. He wheeled the dolly through the propped open doors to the event room, where even more people bustled about setting up stands angled in rows, some with quilts set back with barriers, others crowded with smaller, more exposed works. A cluster of vendor tables lined one wall but rows and rows and quilts and empty quilt stands, waiting for their entries, filled a majority of the cavernous room. Ethel led him through the center aisle. A graceful cacophony of shapes and colors painted the rows. Stark, geometric figures came together to form traditional patterns, bright tones swirled together, textures upon textures brought to life animals and flowers and vehicles, characters and structures, scene upon scene of artistry woven together under the bright display lights. Being surrounded by the works of art started a warmth in Ethel's chest, but Cody bypassed them all, heading back towards the tables under a sign stating “Bake Sale” in the far corner.
“Oh, Ethel, you’re here!” exclaimed a woman with badly-dyed black hair and thin-framed glasses perched on her nose, approaching the pair. “I’ve had everyone place their stuff on your tables. The tablecloths are ready for you, and Betty has the cash box and Square somewhere…” Carol trailed off, peering around.
“Here you are, dear,” a shrill voice said from behind them. Ethel pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she turned towards the woman addressing them.
“Betty,” she said flatly, not bothering to fix her facial expression into something more neutral. She eyed the woman’s perfectly coiffed red locks suspiciously. Ethel was sure it was a wig, but Betty would never admit it. Ethel’s hair may be more poofy than she liked but at least hers was natural.
“Ah, Ethel,” Betty cooed cloyingly, holding out a small, see-through plastic box with a handle on the top just out of Ethel's reach. “Everything you need should be here,” she explained, slowly, as if to a toddler. “Are you sure you won’t need someone to help you out?” she asked, insincere, as she shook the box loudly.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” Ethel sneered. Betty pulled the box closer to her chest.
“Do you remember how to use the Square?” she asked.
“I warn’t the one who messed it up last time,” Ethel countered. “I believe that was you.” She grabbed the box and marched towards her corner, leaving Cody to follow behind, his grin barely contained at his Nana’s uncharacteristic display of disdain. He’d never been able to piece together the full story, but he knew Betty and Ethel had a feud going back at least a decade.
“Here we are dear,” Ethel motioned before her, tone sweet as sugar. She’d finally reached her domain. She set the box down on the middle table and put her hands on her hips, observing the pile of goodies around them.. A stack of table cloths caught her eye, and she started taking everything off of one table and placing them on the farthest table in the line of three. She silently handed Cody one end of the first table cloth and settled it over the first table, then did the same with the second.
“Sort all of this on these two, sugar,” she motioned towards the pile of goods on the third table before sweeping her hands towards the two table-cloth covered tables. “I’ll cover the third once it’s empty enough, and we’ll go from there.”
“Mmkay,” Cody replied, picking up the first box off of the dolly and peering inside. The cookies he spotted first were dark, probably chocolate. He grabbed two other containers of cookies and stacked the three near the front of the first table, falling into a well-rehearsed routine. Ethel and Cody made their way through the various baked goods, sorting through them in companionable silence. As Cody worked through the last few items, Ethel turned her attention to the box she’d been given by Betty, and pulled out her phone to activate the Square, flying through the steps Cody had shown her in the car. Then she counted the cash in the metal lockbox, and settled in the chair behind the table while Cody shoved all of the larger crates and bins underneath the tablecloths and tucked the dolly out of the way along the wall behind them.
“Kay, I think you’re good, Nana,” Cody said, hand inching towards a variety of breads closest to the register. He was unsurprised to see Ethel’s hand start towards him, and he jumped back before the swat could make contact. He grinned down at her short frame.
“Watch it, you,” she said sternly, her eyes smiling. “You can have what’s leftover. This is to raise money for the guilds,” she explained, as if she hadn’t done so every other time he’d helped her set up. Her expression fell a little, the warm feeling of contentment shriveling as she contemplated just how many years she had left with him. Cody was her youngest grandchild, and he would be graduating high school this time next year. Each of her nine grandchildren had had their turns at helping her set up the quilt fair over the years, and each of them had gone on to live their own lives, leaving her one by one. Some settled back home in Alabama, a couple stayed here, and one or two were still wandering. She shook her head as if to shake her thoughts away. “Off you go,” she motioned to Cody. “Be back around two to help me pack up.”
“No problem,” he replied, “I’ll see you in a bit!” Cody made his way back up the center aisle, eyes in front of him, the magic of the quilts lost to his teenage eagerness to spend a few hours out on his own. Ethel shook her head again as she watched him leave, and settled in her chair to observe the fair coming to life around her.
In the time it had taken for them to set up her tables, a majority of the quilt stands had been filled, and the ambiance took on a more urgent energy as they prepared to open the doors to the public. Ethel opened her purse and took out a worn wooden box and a wooden hoop set with a plain, white piece of fabric with a square marked off within its confines. Opening the box, she selected a variety of needles pre-threaded with various colors from the tray above the main portion of the box and placed them in a strawberry shaped pincushion. The tray hinged upwards and back, revealing a row of spooled thread, as well as a thimble, sewing scissors, and a needle threader. Ethel leaned back in her chair, embroidery hoop in one hand, and took in everything around her. She sat in silence for several minutes, casually observing, then picked up a needle threaded with purple, the first color to have caught her eye in the lines of quilts nearest to her. Her fingers worked over the needles and hoop, a small but perfect flower taking shape after several minutes. She ran her thumb over the finished flower, then let her eyes wander over the crowds again, picking a dull rose from the shirt of a woman a few rows over, and then a vibrant green from the grass on a quilt just beyond. A bright red flower with black accents joined the others, reminiscent of some of her grandchildren’s university colors back home. People began to flood through the doors, and Ethel contentedly settled in.
Two flowers and one customer later, someone out of place caught her eye, stalking slowly through the rows with wide eyes. The man was tall, well muscled, and had bright, calculating brown eyes that matched his rich brown hair and golden skin. He wore some sort of emerald colored uniform shirt, but he was too far away for her to see the logo. Ethel looked down at her collection of pre-threaded colors and frowned, then peered in her box instead, humming in pleasure as she selected a soft gold from her collection. She paired it with a rich, coffee brown and a complementing green to accent the lighter color, and added another flower, occasionally peering up to see where he’d gone next. The man seemed entranced by the artwork around him, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed his surroundings. Ethel hummed to herself, a warm smile spreading across her wrinkled face. It was refreshing to see someone from a younger generation taking in the art the way it deserved. After losing track of him again, she continued her embroidery, adding several more flowers before she was joined by a half a dozen customers, who loitered and chatted their way down the tables towards her. As soon as they were taken care of, she stood up from her chair, stretching, and looked around for a familiar face. Spotting one, she called out.
“Carol, can you take over just a minute, honey?” she asked, shaking out her cramped hands. “I’ll be quick.”
“Of course,” Carol assured, hurrying over to the tables, where she slipped the key to the lockbox in her pocket. “Take your time!”
Ethel hummed in agreement and made her way to the concourse doors, trying not to get distracted. She turned right at the doors and hurried along, raising a curious eyebrow at a crowd by the first aid tents as she entered the nearby restroom. Business taken care of, she patted her hands dry and joined the line by the tent, unable to resist the draw.
“What all this,” she asked the woman in front of her.
“A hot medic giving out free blood pressure checks!” the lady squealed, covering her teeth as she laughed while her white curls bounced. “Seems they got someone new to run the tent, and everyone wants a peek.” Ethel laughed along with her, and tried to peer around the crowd. She caught a glimpse of a short, pink haired woman in a vaguely familiar green shirt, and was pleasantly surprised to see the young man from earlier working with her. This close, she could see the medical logo, and also noted he had a rather pronounced black eye. Curiosity piqued, she settled into her spot in line. Carol could wait.
After several minutes of aimless chatting, the murmur of voices cut off all at once at the approach of a man even taller and more muscular than the first. He smiled at the ladies in line, his easy grin, too-tight shirt and bright blue eyes more than enough to stall any complaints at him jumping the line. The voices resumed, a bit more excited now that there were two young men to ogle.
After a minute, the buff man stepped back outside of the tent. The women's eyes all followed him as their voices stilled once more. He held up both hands.
“Ladies and!” He started to yell, then looked down the line. “Nope. Just ladies– Unfortunately the State of California mandates that these lovely paramedics get a lunch break!” the man continued. He looked at his watch, then back at the line. “Blood pressure screenings will resume in one hour! Go! Enjoy your fair!”
He waved both his hands at the women in a “shoo” motion. They all stared back at him, speechless for approximately three seconds, before they did just that, wandering off in small groups toward the main entrance to the exhibition hall.
Ethel sighed disappointedly, and made her way back to her table, this time taking a few minutes to enjoy the quilts along her route. She eventually made her way back to her table, surprised to note that Cody had returned so early. Carol wandered back out into the crowds, and Ethel settled back in her chair, stashing the key to the lockbox into the keyhole. She rearranged her embroidery supplies, adding flower after flower in colors that caught and kept her attention. She added one in a rich yellow to match Cody’s shirt, and a dark, blood red to mimic the border of a quilt down the line. They were quickly joined by a cerulean, a lilac, and a deep orange, each touching each other to create a sort of bouquet within the square. Customers came and went, Cody taking over most of the transactions as she continued. She listened with one ear as he chatted about the “art” he had seen, the tacos he had found, and the bus that had been late. She was shaken out of her reverie when a whirl of energy caught her eye, as the buff man that had dispersed the line at the med tent bounced towards the first of her tables, the pink haired woman in her green shirt trailing slowly behind them.
Ethel turned towards them, eavesdropping as they discussed the buff man’s boyfriend problems. Was the dark haired man, whom they identified as Eddie, this man’s boyfriend? She hid a grin into her embroidery. That would be fun gossip. She tuned into the conversation to hear them discussing if the two men actually liked each other, while the pink haired woman went on about something called “vibes”.
“Outside of responding to an actual massacre last weekend, we’ve spent roughly thirty minutes together,” replied the man to the woman's insistent questioning. “How is that enough time for you to have vibes about my relationship when you’ve never even met Tommy?” Ethel was perplexed. What kind of massacre would these two come across? She was also intrigued. She hadn’t known they were talking about two different people. But was Eddie the boyfriend, or was Tommy?
“Easy,” she said, taking another step down the table. “You make this face every time his name comes up in conversation.” Ethel looked up to see the woman knit her eyebrows together, squint her eyes, and draw her lips in a thin line, pointing to her face before continuing to talk. “This? This is not the face the picture books that teach toddlers their feelings show for happy. Or in love,” continued the woman. Ethel choked back a laugh, and continued to listen to the banter between the two friends. Cody wandered away to chat with a woman a few tables down, so she took care of another customer and was distracted for a few minutes before she was drawn back into the conversation by the young woman yelling at the blond man.
“Hold up!” You’re telling me that Eddie’s black eye came from your boyfriend who you’re thinking about breaking up with and also Eddie sent him to the hospital?”
“They were sparring!” the man replied quickly.
“After you had decided to break up with Tommy?” clarified the woman. Ethel hummed. So Tommy was the boyfriend, and Eddie was the dark haired man, who had put a man in the hospital? She was thoroughly confused now as they bantered back and forth about breakfast and roommates, icing and French toast. Cody returned after a few minutes, and he raised an eyebrow at her obvious eavesdropping. She shrugged in response, struggling to follow the conversation as they finally made their way to the end of the table.
Ethel offered them bags, raising her eyebrows at the contents.
“Honey, do you like banana bread?” she asked, watching the ten or more slices tumble from the man’s arms into the bag.
“Yeah,” he replied, not offering any further information.
“He’s making French toast,” explained the woman. “With maple whipped cream.”
“Handsome and you can cook?” asked Ethel. “That boyfriend is gonna be sad to see you go!” She grinned as the young man turned red. “But I bet the roommate sure will be happy though,” she teased, winking. His blush deepened.
“How much do we owe you?” asked the pink haired woman. Ethel peered inside the bags.
“Well you just been helping with the blood pressures all morning and this gentleman seems like he’s not having a very good week so ya’ll just enjoy those treats,” she said. “Did you get enough for that other boy in the tent to have some too?”
“We did,” the pink haired woman replied.
“Wait,” Ethel asked. “Is that the roommate?”
If the man’s bright red face didn’t answer her question, the woman’s “yes ma’am,” certainly did. Ethel clutched one hand to her chest and fanned herself with the other while sitting down in her chair.
“Whew,” she said. “I believe I’d make him French toast, too.” The buff man fled, and Ethel chuckled before addressing the young woman he had left behind.
“Is the roommate the new boyfriend?” she asked slyly. The pink haired woman tilted her head to the side, thinking for a moment.
“Vibes incomplete. Data doesn’t compute,” she replied without explanation, before wandering away after her companion. After a few steps, the woman glanced down at her phone, which caused her to suddenly sprint after the man before her, who had started running a second before the woman. Intrigued, Ethel stood up and maneuvered slowly around the table to follow them, calling back at Cody to stay at the table. She followed as quickly as she could, muttering as she was quickly left behind, and exited the doors leading to the concourse just in time to see the small woman extinguish a flaming trash can. Blinking in confusion, she couldn’t keep the grin off of her face as she witnessed the glorious sight of Carol and Betty being restrained by the dark-haired man and the blond man, both women spitting like cats. Much to her amusement, Ethel noted that Betty's stringy white hair was plastered to her head with sweat, no sign of the perfectly styled red locks she'd worn hours before.
“Ha!” Ethel exclaimed from the edge of the gathering crowd. “I knew it was a wig,” she explained gleefully to the strangers around her. She began to giggle as she listened in to the dark-haired man’s explanation about guild wars, Betty purposely destroying Carol’s quilt, and the fiery demise of Betty’s wig. She was still laughing as the two were approached by a slim female cop, and was gasping between hiccups as Betty and Carol were led away in handcuffs. Leaning against a nearby post, Ethel tried to catch her breath, but her chuckling began again as she realized she would have to add a flaming trash can to this year’s embroidery square. Fanning herself with one hand to combat the warmth spreading through her face, she braced the other against the post, and thought to herself that this may have been the best fair yet.