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up the flood in the bathroom made me late for work. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but Evelyn and Margot are off at a trade show, so it was my job to open the shop. Though I was only ten minutes late, three scowling women were already pacing in front of the door when I arrived.
    I apologized, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. They were really snippy about it, especially after I told them that we were out of the interfacing they wanted. When I informed them that the 25 percent off coupon they wanted to use had expired two months before, the scales tipped from snippy to snotty.
    All three had gray hair and pinched lips and looked so much alike that I thought they must be sisters. The tallest one did the talking.
    â€œWhat? We drove all the way from Hartford because we’d heard that this shop had such good customer service! I can’t believe you’re not going to honor your coupon. I want to speak to the owner. We drove two hours to get here!”
    Unless they were driving golf carts, no way did it take them that long to get to New Bern from Hartford. Maybe they came by broomstick? I was tempted to ask but instead I just said, “I’m sorry, but Evelyn’s not here right now.”
    â€œWell, this is ridiculous!” Tall Sister snapped, flinging the expired coupon down on the counter. “We are never coming to this shop again. Never! We’re going to tell everyone in our guild about how you’ve treated us. And it’s a big guild. Very big! I don’t know why Carol raved about this place. Terrible shop. Tired fabrics, tiny selection, and rude clerks,” she said, pinching her lips together even more tightly and glaring at me before turning to her companions.
    â€œCome on, girls. Let’s get out of here.”
    And that was that. They stormed off—and without paying for the fabric that they’d asked me to cut for them. Can you believe it? I put the yardage under the counter on the off chance that somebody else would come in wanting those particular fabrics in those particular lengths. More than likely, I’ll end up having to put them on the remnant table, marked with a 25 percent discount. Maybe it would have been smarter to just honor the coupon, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, not after they’d been so nasty.
    When Virginia, Evelyn’s mother, who is well into her eighties but still as sharp as a tack and continues to teach quilting and work in the shop several afternoons a week, arrived to take over for me at around eleven, I told her what had happened. By then I was starting to worry about whether or not I’d done the right thing.
    â€œTosh!” she said, dismissing my concerns as she picked up Petunia, the enormous tomcat who goes everywhere with her, and deposited him in his accustomed spot in the front window. “I bet they don’t even belong to a guild. And if they do, I bet everyone in the guild has their number. Most quilters are kind as can be, but every barrel is bound to have a few crab apples.”
    I went to the workroom to cut and package Internet orders, happy to leave Virginia downstairs to deal with the crab apples. We were way behind on fulfillment. Judith, our intern, was supposed to come in at noon and help me, but she didn’t show. When I called the Stanton Center, they told me she’d gone back to her boyfriend, the man responsible for her broken nose and dislocated shoulder.
    I called the elementary school and asked them to let Bethany know that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the spelling bee. I was disappointed, but not one-tenth as disappointed as I was about Judith. I really thought she was going to make it.
    Being financially independent and having job skills makes it a lot easier for victims of domestic violence to escape that cycle. That’s why we started the community internship program, a program I coordinate. Our interns are much less likely to