FICTION Quilting Charles D. Summers "LOOK, DADDY, that town's name is Absurd!" Cynthia pointed with second grader's pride to the words on the rail fence. Her dark brown eyes peered intently into mine as she leaned over from the back seat. I focused my eyes on the winding road, part rock, part dirt and all pothole. "I know, sweetie. You need to sit down." "Daddy, why is it called Absurd?" "You know, I asked my Dad that very same question." "You mean Grandpa, right?" "Yeah, Cynthia, I do, though I called him Pappy back then" "Why?" Eight year olds. I sighed. "It was the thing to do, I guess." "Should I call you Pappy or Daddy?" "Daddy. And about Absurd. I have a theory." "What's a theory?" "Umm. An idea? Listen, now." I twisted the wheel of the Chevrolet and felt the engine shutter into a near stall. A brand-new 1938, and it acted like the old one. I should have kept it. At least I knew all it's secrets. "I think it was a name made up in jest, as a joke. I think maybe the men who made it up—" "Why not women, Daddy? Why couldn't women have made up the name?" "Good point!" grinned, Laurie, patting our daughter's hands on the seat. "Yes, Daddy," she purred, "why?" Outnumbered, I thought. "Now that you mention it, I believe the story I heard was that a woman did make up that name. She was tired of hearing the city council debate over various other names, like Milkweed and High Bottom and Skunk Springs, and so she stood up, yelled, "It's absurd!" And left. Well, since she was the Baptist Minister's wife, she naturally turned a few heads, and so the name was adopted then and there." "You made that up, Daddy!" said Cynthia, hugging me from behind. "Be careful," cautioned Laurie. "Your father is driving, and he does sometimes wander." She said it lightly, but it served as a 52 reminder for me. I stretched and wondered why cars didn't have more head room. The names of other cities flashed by as we wandered the roads to my Mom's house. Red Dog, Flat Top, Foggy Bottom, Magnolia, Olive Hill, Oil Springs, Correct, Redbush, Relief and others tucked away on the side of the road. We didn't stop, except for gas and to check the radiator again when we were near a creek. I always carried extra oil and belts and tires against the dread of breakdown on a back road. "Look, Daddy, a snowflake." Cynthia's voice was sleepy. She lay with her head pillowed in her mother's lap. Both of them had drifted off, or Laurie was being more quiet than usual. Strange how mother and daughter were so different in that regard, I thought. Cynthia meandered over hill and dale, never meeting a word she could not or would not utter. She was a question in the act of being asked, perpetually filling the air with queries. My wife, however, rarely ventured into prolonged conversation. I had to smile at that. "Why are you smiling?" she asked from the rear seat. "I was thinking about our dates, and how quiet you were. I was wondering how we ever got around to getting married." She laughed her gently way. "That's easy. I loved you before I even met you. I remember telling Mama that night, after our first date, that I was gonna marry you." "Really?" This was all news to me. "And so all the time you were being quiet, you were plotting?" "No plotting to it, Jimmy. I knew you were meant for me, and that I was meant for you. That's all there was to it. I never doubted for a moment that you'd not ask me to marry you. It was just a question of time, that's all." She hummed a Christmas carol as she looked out at the thickening snow. "Think we'll make it before the snow gets too bad?" "Yes, I do." I honked a horn at a buggy that was starting to pull...