by Terri DuLong
“Have a big package for you in the back. Hold on a second and I’ll get it.”
I looked around the small post office. All of my life mail had been delivered to my front door, but I loved coming here to pick up mail from the numbered box. It had a small-town feel to it which was beginning to grow on me.
“Have ya got the golf cart with you? It’s pretty hefty to walk with,” Sam said, putting a good size carton on the counter.
Glancing at the postmark, I saw the return address of Lucille Graystone in Connecticut. “Hmm, I think you’re right. I’ll have to go back to the B and B to get the cart. This is the dog fur.”
“Dog fur?” Sam questioned, scratching his head in bewilderment.
“Yeah, dog fur. I’ll be back in a little while.” I chuckled, leaving Sam to ponder the contents.
Walking out of the post office, I figured it wouldn’t be long before Sam would add me to the list of quirky island residents.
The following Monday I was doing my shift at Cook’s when I heard a male voice behind me say, “Well, I guess you changed your mind.”
I turned around to see Noah Hale sitting at one of the outside tables. “Excuse me?” I questioned.
“Since you’re now working here, I guess you changed your mind about renting the space across the street.”
Damn, but this guy was good looking. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt with And Your Point Is? across the front, he had a youthful appearance. Which made me wonder how old he was. Late fifties?
“Don’t be too sure of that,” I shot back. “What can I get you?”
“Hmm, a woman of few words.” He chuckled and then said, “I’ll have the meatloaf special.”
As I was scribbling the words on my pad, I could feel him staring up at me. “Anything to drink?”
“Sweet tea, please. Hey, I know why you look different today. Did something with your hair. Looks nice. I like it.”
My hand trembled and I could feel heat creeping up my neck. Damn. Another hot flash at a most inopportune moment. In thirty years of marriage to Stephen, I couldn’t recall one single time he’d commented on my hair. Good, bad, or indifferent.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling like a flustered high school girl. “I’ll get your order in.”
I laid the slip of paper on the shelf for the cook, and then peeked through the window. Noah had opened up a newspaper. Putting on a pair of small glasses, he began to read. I wasn’t sure if I was more disturbed over the fact that he’d scrutinized me close enough to notice a change in hairstyle or that it felt oddly reminiscent of flirting.
I managed to busy myself with other customers until Noah’s meal was ready. Setting it in front of him, I started to walk away.
“Hey,” he called. “Come on, you can tell me if you’re still interested in that space. I won’t say anything.”
“Are you still interested in it?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I think it would be perfect for a studio with all the windows for lighting. But I was up in St. Augustine recently and found a great shop for lease there too.”
“Oh, so you’ll be leaving the island?” Why did this matter to me? I wondered.
“Well, that’s just it. I love this place. I left years ago for college and then came back. Then I left again in my late twenties. That time I was gone about thirty years—to Paris.”
He paused, waiting for my reaction, I guess. I recalled that Ali had mentioned that to me and I remained silent.
Stirring his tea, he said, “So, I don’t know. I think at sixty-two, my roots are now firmly planted here.”
Sixty-two? He didn’t look his age. “Then it seems you’re the one that will be taking the lease on that space.”
“If you were to open a shop there, what type of business are you considering?”
I smiled. “A tattoo parlor,” I said and walked away laughing. For the first time in a long time, it felt good to laugh.
Rummaging through the fridge in Ali’s kitchen, I found the bottle of chardonnay I’d purchased a few days earlier. Pouring myself a glass, I went to sit in the garden with my feet up. Another seven-hour shift behind me and on Friday, I’d be receiving my first paycheck in years. My tips were adequate, but all of it was a far cry from the financial freedom I was used to.
Taking a sip of wine, I thought about my meeting with Dorothy at the bank. She’d told me that just a knitting shop probably wasn’t a great venture for a small town. But since I was going to specialize in spinning dog and cat fur, she thought it had a lot of potential. She advised me to get a computer, set up a Web site, and begin doing mail orders via the Internet. She felt that like most businesses on the island, my weekends would bring in tourists and also day-trippers from Gainesville and nearby towns. Dorothy also explained that I could apply for an American Express Small Business Card and that would enable me to order some stock and begin selling yarn and accessories right away. Hopefully, I’d make enough to pay the monthly installment charge the card required.
God, who would have thought I’d be starting over like this at fifty-two? I felt a wave of nausea at the same time a throbbing began in my right temple. All of the stress of the past few months seemed to hit me full force. I’m financially insecure, I have a mediocre relationship with my daughter, and I have a solitary future ahead of me.
I glanced up to see Eudora Foster crossing the garden toward me.
“I really hate to bother you,” she said, clutching a canvas tote bag. “But Ali told me you were an expert knitter. I have a bit of a problem with this sweater I’m working on. I wonder if you could help me?”
“Sure, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair beside me. “Let’s see what you have there.”
Dora removed a professional piece of work from her bag. “It’s these instructions here,” she said, pointing to a paragraph in her knitting book.
I had a strong suspicion the knitting wasn’t what brought her to speak to me. But I looked it over and explained the stitches to her, and then waited to see what else she had to say.
“So you’re enjoying it here on the island? How’s your job at Cook’s going?”
“I like it here a lot. It’s certainly different from living in a much larger town. And yes, I really enjoy working at Cook’s and meeting all the locals. But I won’t lie, being a waitress was much easier on the body when I was in college. Doing physical work at my age, when you’re not used to it, can be exhausting.”
“Oh, you’re still very young,” Dora said. “I bet you’re about the same age as my Marin. When were you born?”
“March of 1955.”
Dora nodded. “Yes, I was right. Marin was born in 1957, so there’s just two years’ difference.”
She seemed to think about this for a few minutes and then asked, “You were born in Boston, right?”
“Actually, no. I was born in New York City.” I had a feeling this was pertinent information for Dora. “I was adopted as an infant,” I added.
She was inordinately interested in my birth. “Why are you so interested in when and where I was born?”
Dora shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “How rude of me. I’m sorry to be so inquisitive. I hope you’ll forgive me,” she said, standing up. “Thank you so much for helping me with the knitting. I really appreciate it. And Ali tells me you might be opening a shop downtown. I can assure you, I’ll be your first and best customer.”
I smiled. “Thank you,” I said, as she walked away.
Is she just another quirky resident on this island? I wondered. Or was there much more to that conversation?
7
“That does seem a bit odd that Dora asked so many questions,” Ali said a few nights later. “I’ve never known her to be a nosy person.”
“So, what do you make of it?” I asked, and took a bite of my juicy apple.
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe it’s an island thing. People just naturally ask a lot of personal questions?”<
br />
Ali laughed. “Could be. I know when gossip spreads around here, they refer to it as the coconut pipeline.”
Living in a small town was definitely different from one with more than thirty thousand people. I realized that I’d been here less than a month and already many people knew who I was. I did enjoy the feeling of welcome it gave me though, to be walking down the street and have somebody wave to me. Reminded me of the TV series, Cheers, where everybody knew your name.
“Heard anything from the adoption Web site?” Ali asked.
“Not a thing. I checked again this morning. It’s highly doubtful I’ll ever find out any information.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. Give it time.”
I took another bite of my apple. “So is Paul arriving tomorrow? I’ll finally get to meet him?”
Ali smiled. “Yes. He should get here around six tomorrow evening.”
“How long will he be staying?”
“He’s never sure, but I penciled him in for a month.”
“Penciled him in? He stays in the main house?”
“Yeah, we both still kinda like our space. But trust me, he wakes up in my bed most mornings. By the way, the couple in the Tree House—they’re checking out earlier than they planned. The day after Christmas, rather than January. So you can move in there when they leave.”
“Oh, no, Ali. Really. You could rent that again and right now, I couldn’t afford to pay you very much.”
“Don’t be silly. I want you there. It’ll be so much nicer for you and Lilly. So that’s the end of it—be prepared to move within a few weeks.”
Damn this menopause. Emotion gripped me again as I felt tears forming in my eyes. “Ali, I don’t know how to thank you. You’re truly the best friend a woman could have.”
“Nonsense,” she said, reaching over to pat my hand. “I’m just being selfish. I love having you here with me.”
A few days later, I walked outside at Cook’s to collect dirty dishes and was surprised to see Sybile Bowden taking a seat. It looked like I was finally going to meet the mysterious woman. Walking to her table, I smiled. “Can I help you?” I asked in a friendly tone.
Without removing her sunglasses, she glanced up at me. “Well, I imagine you can, since you’re the waitress here.”
When she neglected to say any more, I asked, “What would you like?”
“Two eggs, boiled for three and a half minutes. One slice of toast. Dark, but not charred. Do not bring me any butter, because I won’t use it. If the coffee has been brewed within the past thirty minutes, I’ll have a cup. Otherwise, forget it.”
I couldn’t help but feel she rattled off her order like she was a customer at the Ritz-Carlton. When I neglected to move, she glared up at me, sunglasses still on.
“Well?” she demanded. “Get to it.”
What a nasty woman. It was impossible to believe that she was Eudora’s sister.
I walked inside the restaurant shaking my head. Sandy, the cook, saw the look on my face and bent down to peer out the window.
“Oh, we should be honored. Miss Sybile has decided to grace us with her presence.”
When I attempted to pass her the order slip, Sandy shook her hand in the air.
“I know exactly what she wants. She never deviates.”
“Not very friendly, is she?”
“Nope. That woman has an attitude with a capital A.”
“Wonder why she’s so miserable?”
“Have no idea,” Sandy said, preparing to boil the eggs. “Never known her to be any different. My mom tells me Sybile left this island years ago and came back a changed person. And not for the good.”
“Interesting,” I said, going to tend to my other customers.
When I placed the meal in front of Sybile, I didn’t even get a thank-you. So she’s not only unfriendly, she’s rude.
After she’d finished eating, I put the check beside her and was about to walk away.
“Hold on there,” she hollered after me.
“Did you want something else?”
“I hear you’re a friend of Alison’s and staying at the B and B. Planning to be in town long?”
I was beginning to find it amusing that complete strangers were so interested in my comings and goings. “Probably,” I said, refusing to share my plans with her. But it seemed she’d already gotten wind of that coconut pipeline.
“I hear you might be opening a knitting shop. And that you do something with dog and cat fur. Does the Humane Society know about this?”
Who the hell did this woman think she was? Obviously, she didn’t know a thing about spinning fiber, and she was making me feel like an animal abuser.
“It’s perfectly legal to spin pet fur. It doesn’t injure them at all. Collecting excess fur that would be thrown away doesn’t harm dogs or cats.”
She made a sound that resembled a snarl. “Well, it doesn’t sound right to me. And I can tell ya right now—if you think a business like that would be successful here, you’ve got another thought comin’.”
What a nerve. I hadn’t asked for this woman’s opinion and here she was knocking me down before I even started. Damn her. I was sensitive enough right now and didn’t need her adding to my problems.
Removing her glasses and staring up at me she said, “Well, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She sniffed and replaced her sunglasses, but not before I had the distinct feeling we’d already met.
Had I not been waiting on her as a customer, I would’ve had some choice words to fling back. But instead, I said, “Guess we’ll see what happens,” and I walked back inside.
“Oh, yeah, Sybile can be a bitch,” Ali related to me. “But don’t let her get to you. Sometimes I wonder how poor Miss Dora puts up with her. She seems to carry sisterly love to a whole new level.”
I nodded. “Yeah, why would Dora put up with such behavior?”
“Have no clue, but…Now, I know you won’t say anything, but somebody mentioned to me that they saw Dora and Sybile at the Medical Center in Gainesville last month.”
“So you’re saying she’s ill?”
Ali pursed her lips. “I really don’t know, but I guess that would explain why Dora seems to cater to her. Sybile has always acted like a prima donna. But she’s gotten worse this past year.”
“Is Dora her only relative? Sybile never had children?”
Ali paused for a moment before answering. “God, I feel like a guest on The Jerry Springer Show. I don’t enjoy gossip, but I know what I tell you won’t go further. Although, most of the town probably knows this rumor.”
“What is it?” I asked with curiosity.
“I’d heard from a number of different people that Sybile did have a child years ago. But nobody knows for certain what happened. If the child died or she gave it up for adoption…or what.”
The word adoption jumped out at me. “How the heck would anybody know something so personal? You mean it happened here when she was a teenager?”
“No, I guess she was drinking at the Eagles years ago and got to talking. It seems whatever happened occurred when she lived in New York City.”
As soon as Ali said the words, I could see by the look on her face she was headed on the same track that I was. “New York City?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” she replied slowly, nodding her head. She remained quiet for a few moments. “Oh, Syd, don’t let your imagination run away with you. I know what you’re thinking.”
She was right. Both about what I was thinking and about the thought being ludicrous. It was insane to even consider that Sybile Bowden could be my biological mother. Wasn’t it? The age would be about right though—Dora told me that Sybile was seventy-two. She would have been twenty when she gave birth. And why was Dora so inquisitive about my birth date, where I was born, and that I was adopted? No. Absolutely out of the question, I told myself. Get a grip, Sydney.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I told Ali. “God, what would the chances be?
That I’d end up here in Cedar Key and find my biological mother? That’s the kind of stuff they make movies about. It’s just not possible. Besides, I can’t stand this woman. No way could she be related to me.”
Ali laughed. “Your chances are probably about a billion to one. So I don’t think you need to be concerned.”
A group of six women came into Cook’s for lunch and took a middle table inside. I recognized a few from the hair salon. They were friendly, and it made me feel good that they remembered me.
One woman in particular kept staring. When I stood next to her for her order, she made no effort to switch her gaze from my face. “I’m Raylene Porter,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met, but you sure do look familiar to me.”
I recalled Polly saying those exact words on Thanksgiving and gave my standard answer. “No, I don’t think we have, but you’ve probably seen me around town. I’ve lived here a month and I stay with Alison at the B and B. She’s a good friend of mine.”
“Hmm, no, I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I live in Rosewood, off island, and I don’t get into town that much. Strange. I could swear we’ve met before though. Oh, do you have some relatives in Cedar Key? That’s probably what it is. You resemble somebody that I know.”
A lump formed in my throat as another hot flash raced up my neck, causing me to break out in a sweat. Running a hand across my forehead, I shook my head. “No. No relatives here at all. Just a coincidence, I guess. What would you like to order?”
For the first time since encountering Sybile and hearing her story from Alison, I wondered if any of what I was experiencing was merely coincidence.
8
Sitting in the garden, sipping a glass of cabernet, I observed the interaction between Ali and Paul. From the moment she’d introduced us, I liked him. Five years older than Ali and about four inches taller, silver streaked his dark hair and provided a nice contrast to his smiling blue eyes. His sense of humor had kept us laughing, and he seemed to be one of those men who were at ease in their own body.
