“You’re not a villain. You’ve apologized, and I believe you when you say you’re going to make amends.” Lindsay gestured to their colleagues, all of whom were seated closer to the front of the plane. “Paige will forgive you, and everyone else will come around. Just give them time.”
Julia managed a smile to thank her for the encouragement, but she couldn’t wait and hope that their anger would fade with time. As Sylvia had suggested, Julia needed to make amends. And the sooner she fixed things for Paige, the sooner she would be forgiven, and the company would come together in friendship once more.
If only she knew what to do.
At last the plane touched down at LAX. Slipping on her sunglasses and shouldering her tote, Julia waited for everyone else to disembark before following Lindsay up the aisle to the exit and down the stairs. The company chatted amiably as they waited on the tarmac for their luggage to be unloaded. Julia spotted her driver waiting with the car nearby, next to a second black sedan that promptly carried Nigel off, but before she could offer anyone a ride home, the steward approached her with a clipboard full of forms and checklists she was required to fill out and sign. She hadn’t yet finished when the luggage arrived, but she glanced up long enough to see her colleagues gathering their belongings and bidding one another goodbye, somewith hugs and promises to get together soon. Lindsay caught her eye, smiled, and waved, but no one else spared her a glance. Turning away, closing her eyes and counting silently to ten, Julia fought back tears of disappointment and plowed doggedly through the paperwork. She had hoped that some of her traveling companions, mindful of their long professional relationship, would thank her for arranging their week of quilt camp. Until that last awful day, they’d all had a wonderful time.
Maybe in the light of all that had happened, she was the only one who remembered that.
While Julia was occupied, her driver had located her suitcase and stowed it in the trunk, so as soon as she signed the last form, she thanked the steward, returned the clipboard and pen, and headed for her car. The driver opened her door and she was just about to climb wearily in when a member of the ground crew approached, calling her name, moving as quickly as he could while encumbered by the blue duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
“Yes?” Julia asked politely, though she was eager to depart. The wind was whipping her hair around and into her eyes, and she desperately wanted a cup of herbal tea and a soothing bath.
“Someone forgot their bag,” the man said, giving it a pat. “There’s no tag, but it’s definitely one of your party’s. We loaded it in Pennsylvania.”
“I don’t recognize it,” said Julia, looking it over. “Not that I would.” She paused, considering. Maybe she’d recognize the clothing inside it, and could get it to the owner before they left the airport. Or she could drop it off at their home. If that failed, she’d email the group—if they hadn’t all blocked her address already.
Reframe, she reminded herself. Stooping over, she unzipped the bag and peered inside.
It was the Nine-Patch quilt, carefully removed from the frame and neatly folded. She had forgotten all about it.
And no one else had wanted it.
“I guess this is mine,” she said evenly, zipping the bag shut and rising. “Thank you.” She nodded to her driver, who waited for her to be seated before closing her door and stowing the duffel in the trunk.
No one had wanted to take the quilt home, a cherished memento of an extraordinary week. But what else should she have expected, given the way their time together had ended? And that was all her fault.
Julia knew that nothing else mattered—not saving her show, not prolonging her career—but to fix what she had broken and to earn back her friends’ trust. Their friendship had been a marvelous patchwork of shared experiences and longtime collaboration, but she had torn the seams, and she must be the one to stitch them back together.
17
When Julia arrived home on Saturday evening, she was too exhausted to do more than the most essential unpacking before retiring to her bath for a long, soothing soak, a cup of herbal tea at hand and cool cucumber slices on her closed eyelids. When the water cooled, she toweled off, applied a rich moisturizing lotion, and slipped into her favorite silk pajamas. She contemplated the blue duffel bag for a long moment before stowing it in the closet of her sewing room. Then she climbed into bed, heavy-hearted but relieved to be home, hoping that wisdom would fill her as she slept and answers would come with the sunrise.
That didn’t happen, unfortunately, but Julia did wake feeling less anxious and more confident that she would find a way out of her predicament. She lay in bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply, envisioning Paige beaming with joy when she learned that her career was back on course. Ideally, Julia would convince Stephen Deneford to give Paige the role of Emily St. Aubert, which she had already been offered and for which a contract had already been approved. If he had given the role to someone else, he could cast Paige in an equivalent role in a similarly prestigious movie. Deneford always had multiple projects going on at once, but if none of his own films had the perfect role, he had connections throughout the industry. He could come up withsomething for Paige, and he must, if Julia ever hoped to redeem herself in the eyes of her friends and colleagues.
But that was Julia’s problem, not Deneford’s.
That being the case, Julia wasn’t sure how to get him to do what she wanted. They didn’t particularly like each other, and she didn’t have any leverage over him. Muffling a groan, she threw back the quilt and climbed out of bed. She’d figure out how to craft the perfect persuasive argument later. First, she had to land the meeting.
By midmorning Deneford still hadn’t responded to her emails or voicemails, so she called again and left another message and sent another email. Although it was Sunday, Deneford had too many deals pending to stay offline for long. Eventually, she hoped, he’d realize that she was determined to speak with him and he’d reply just to get it over with.
She worked on her Cross and Chains block to pass the time, but when she found herself checking for voicemails and refreshing her email inbox almost as frequently as she finished a seam, she abandoned her sewing and changed into hiking clothes. She was halfway up the Solstice Canyon Trail, silently composing and revising dialogue between herself and Deneford, when she abruptly halted. She was going about this all wrong. Had she learned nothing from this debacle? She was essentially planning to manipulate Deneford into giving her what she wanted, to be as disingenuous with him as she had been with the Patchwork Players at quilt camp. What she ought to do now, what she should have done then, was to be honest and straightforward. If she offered Deneford unmistakable proof that Paige would be brilliant, then he would see for himself that he should cast her in a breakthrough role. It would benefit them both—and Julia too.
She scarcely noticed the beautiful scenery as she finished her hike, thoughts racing with potential next steps and pitfalls to avoid, confidence increasing with each quarter mile. And yet the bruises of her recent failures were too fresh for her not to seek the counsel of wisefriends. As soon as she returned home, she got the Cross-Country Quilters on a conference call—a bit of a scramble considering none of them were expecting it—and quickly explained what she intended to do.
“I like this plan much better than your last one,” said Megan. “It’s refreshingly free of subterfuge.”
“Thanks,” said Julia dryly.
“Well, I for one like a little subterfuge now and then,” said Vinnie cheerfully. “But I’m with Megan. In this case, the straightforward approach would be best. Just give the man the facts about how Paige is absolutely wonderful, and he’ll make the right decision.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Julia, “because that’s all I’ve got.”
“I have a caveat, but it’s a big one,” said Grace. “Casting decisions are subjective, aren’t they? It’s not simply a matter of presenting facts or evidence. You have to engage the emotions as well.”
“No worries,” said Julia, although she had a few herself. “The evidence I’m talking about will definitely touch the heart.”
“If he has a heart,” said Donna, an edge to her voice. “Remember, I met that guy on the set ofPrairie Vengeance. I saw how dismissively and disrespectfully he treated you and Ellen. He didn’t seem to care much about anyone’s feelings back then.”
