A Frightening Fangs-giving

a Thanksgiving Day buffet in the grand dining room for any guests that might be on the grounds. That should be enough.”
“What about you? You going to your mom’s?”
“I don’t know. She burned the turkey last year and vowed that was the last time she was going to have a date with Tom at four in the morning only to be disappointed in him. Jasper’s mother is on another cruise with my dad. I have no idea if they’ll be back for the big day. How about you guys?”
He shrugs. “My parents are in the middle of a remodel. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to Emmie.” He starts to take off. “If you’re looking for Fish, Sherlock, and those kittens, they’re all with Georgie. She says they’re supercharging sales.”
“I have no doubt.”
I thread my way through the crowd as dozens upon dozens of women fondle and hold up various wonky quilts in every size and color. And no sooner are they being purchased than a fresh supply of wonky quilts lands on the display tables.
Women are walking around with wonky quilts draped over their shoulders and clasped at the neck with fancy looking brooches—sunflowers, pumpkins, and apples made of colorful rhinestones—and the visual of a sea of capes is giving off Night of the Living Dead vibes to me. But, in their defense, the only way to get around with a heavy quilt draped over your shoulders is with large, lumbering movements. There’s nothing dainty or elegant about it. And aside from that curious sight, there are just as many kids ten and under in attendance who have wonky quilts proudly tied around their necks, and they look every bit the superheroes with them on, too.
Once empowered with the apparent supernatural powers that seem to come with one of Georgie’s creations, the kids are running around with a fist in the air, charging and bumping into everything in their way. With so many breakable hips in the vicinity it’s a recipe for disaster.
I marvel at the amount of wonky fun being had by all. The quilts only seem to be multiplying. How in the world are these women making them so fast?
I bypass a table with my mother at the helm who seems to be immersed in a conversation with a group of women as they examine a quilt she’s holding. I’d stop by and say hello, but there’s a gray-headed woman laughing like a hyena just beyond her that has the answers I seek to all of my questions.
A group of women is clustered around Georgie’s table, and I see Juni in the thick of it handing out wonky quilts as fast as the grabby hands before her can snatch them away. To the right of the booth there’s a cluster of children, and nestled inside of their watchful circle are two different wonky quilts set on the floor, both of them small enough to function as a pet bed and both of them occupied with more than one pet.
Fish and the trio of kittens are nestled on a purple and green wonky quilt with a paw print design thrown into the mix, and it’s so adorable I can promise you that wonky quilt is coming home with me. Sherlock and Juni’s dog, Sprinkles, are lying on another wonky quilt, black and orange with fall leaves and bones, and it’s equally as adorable.
“Bizzy Baker Wilder!” Georgie breaks away from the chaos in front of her and trots on over in what looks to be a wonky quilt dress of some kind. It’s white, brown, and yellow, and each swath of fabric has a print of pumpkins, turkeys, and pies. It’s adorable, but I’m still not sure what I’m looking at.
“Oh no.” I moan without meaning to. “Don’t tell me you’re trading kaftans for wonkier pastures?”
“Pfft.” She gives the crowd the side-eye. “Are you kidding? This is what they call in my biz a publicity stunt.” She pinches at the fabric and holds it out for me to see. “What do you think? The idea came to me like a lightning bolt at three in the morning once I fell out of bed.”
“You fell out of bed?”
“You’re focusing on the wrong part of the story. The important part is, I put two quilts together and left some room for my noggin. And once I figured out I needed a place for my hands, I simply cut a couple of slits on the sides and ta-da! It’s wonky dress couture. And don’t you worry your pretty little head off. I’ll whip one up for you before Thanksgiving. What the heck, I’ll whip up one for you to wear for Christmas, too. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you, kid.” She gives a comical wink.
“Speaking of whipping one up for me, Georgie, how in the world are these quilts blinking into existence? Are they really that easy to make?”
She cranes her neck past me a moment. “I may have given the quilting guild and the folks at the senior center a little monetary incentive to put their wonky quilt making skills into overdrive.”
“You’re paying them?”
“I’m charging them forty percent of sales to have the privilege to take part in the free donut and wonky quilt spectacular.”
I lean in a notch. “Georgie, is this the free donut and wonky quilt spectacular?”
“Now you’re catching on. But don’t worry, this ends tonight at six. I’ll sacrifice a lot of things to line my pockets with spare change, but dinner isn’t one of them.”
“Good to know.” Six? Son of a biscuit. I’m not sure what this will cost more, donuts or my sanity.
“Oh, and I need to talk to that Willow Taylor chick.” She snaps her fingers my way as she tap-dances back toward her booth. “I want that space she’s vacating. I’m telling you, Bizzy. These wonky quilts are going to take me to the next level.”
“You mean us,” a familiar voice trills from behind as my mother steps up. She