by Terri DuLong
“A totally black screen?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s really weird, because it was working fine yesterday.”
“I hate to tell you this, hon, but I think your computer crashed on you. But there’s good news. You have all your info on disk, right?”
Crashed? Disk? What the hell was she talking about?
“What kind of disk?”
“You backed up all your important information on a CD. Right?”
“No,” I said, slowly, as it dawned on me that was something I should have done. Oh, my God…how could I have been so stupid?
“Oh,” Ali said. “Well, ah…let’s see. Why don’t you try to shut it down? Unplug it. Plug it back in and start over. Sometimes computers have silly little glitches. Maybe the weather has something to do with it and it’ll work fine for you when you turn it back on.”
Why did Ali not sound very optimistic about these instructions?
“Oh, shit,” I said. “I think I’m doomed. What the hell am I going to do if I’ve lost all my customer information and contacts? I won’t know who ordered what or even where to send it.” Unable to control them, tears flowed down my face splattering onto the keyboard in front of me.
“Geez, Syd. Do you want me to come over? See if I can figure something out?”
“No,” I said, staring dumbly at the monstrosity in front of me. “I knew I never should have relied on this damn thing to help me. I would have been better off to keep records the old-fashioned way. With pencil and paper. No, you and Paul are heading to Gainesville for the day. I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
Yeah, I’ll be just fine, I thought as I hung up the phone. Now what? Shaking my head, I pushed away from the desk. Lilly sat looking at me, a puzzled look on her face.
“It’s a wonder I can take care of you. What the hell am I thinking? That I can run a business. No wonder Stephen handled everything—he probably had no faith in me either.”
After spending an hour working with the computer, I gave up. There was no way that puppy was going to come to life for me again. Breathing out a deep sigh, I saw it was 1:00. The post office had reopened after lunch. Lunch—no wonder my stomach was growling.
I nibbled on the sandwich I’d brought and gave Lilly a biscuit. After finishing, I decided to walk over to the post office. Maybe I had some new orders and at least I’d know who those were from and what their information was.
As I was about to leave, the telephone rang. “Spinning Forward,” I said, in my best professional voice. I had gotten a lot of compliments on my final decision to name the shop. Not only did it fit perfectly for a yarn and spinning shop, I thought it was a great metaphor for my present life.
I heard Jeremy Wilkinson’s voice.
“Miss Sydney, I do hate to bother you again. But Mr. Hale insisted that I try one last time to get you to change your mind. You don’t begin to actually lease the place for ten days and as you know, a couple of other spaces will be available by then. Won’t you please reconsider?”
Hearing what Jeremy had to say convinced me that I was at the end of my proverbial rope. Anger bubbled up inside and I took a deep breath. “Look, Jeremy, I know this isn’t your fault and it’s all simply a matter of bad timing. But I’ve had it with Noah Hale trying to use his clout just because his damn ancestors came from this island. I also have a real problem with the fact that with all his money and prestige he could open a gallery anywhere in the world. Why the hell is he so insistent on having my shop?”
I heard Jeremy clear his throat.
“Yes, I understand your feeling, Miss Sydney. But it all has to do with lighting.”
“Lighting?” Were we back to that stupid subject again?
“I’m afraid so. Your corner space has the very best natural lighting and so, of course, this would only enhance the placement of his paintings. Mr. Hale feels the other spaces simply will not be adequate.”
“Well, isn’t that just too damn bad. All I want is to be left alone. You can tell Mr. Hale for me that if he continues to pursue this matter, I’ll consider a harassment case against him. I’m not changing my mind or moving to one of the other spaces. That’s my final word. Good-bye, Jeremy.”
I slammed the phone down so hard, I was certain I broke it.
I stood with hands on hips and screamed to Lilly and the room, “Damn him to hell. How dare he try to intimidate me like this. Big deal—he’s a Hale. Well, I’m a Webster.”
By the time I came out of the post office, water sluiced onto the street. Looking up at the black sky, I thought perhaps I should have left the mail where it was. Wind was whipping the oak trees full-force. Palm trees across the street were bent almost in two. No pedestrians were on the street and nobody was out driving cars in this weather.
Well, I thought, clutching mail and a box against my chest, while trying to balance the umbrella, may as well make a dash for it.
“Damn,” I said, trying to juggle the package and run toward my shop.
Thankful for the overhang above the door, I placed the box on the pavement while rummaging in my jeans pocket for the key. Lilly sat on the other side of the glass, tail wagging. Panic washed over me as I realized I’d rushed off in anger and left the keys on my desk.
“Oh, just great,” I wailed, as Lilly now began whining.
I did have another set of keys at the apartment, but it was now pouring buckets. I’d be drenched by the time I reached D Street. My wet jersey was already clinging to my skin causing me to shiver. Looking up and down the street to figure out a solution, I saw Noah Hale walking toward me, huddled under an umbrella.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Just what I don’t need.”
“Having a problem?”
There was that sarcastic tone again.
“Ah, no,” I said, pushing closer to the building to keep dry. “Not really.”
A grin crossed his face. “Hmm, seems to me you might have locked yourself out of your shop.”
Damn, why did he have to have such a sexy smile? Lilly’s whining had now turned into full-blown barking.
“Hush,” I hollered through the door. “Actually, I did lock myself out.” The shivers from a few minutes before were now replaced with the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. “But I’ll be just fine,” I told him, as I tried to muster some confidence.
“Ah, then you have another set of keys with you?”
I was certain that was smugness covering his face.
Lilly was jumping on the door, demanding to be attended to. “It’s okay, girl. I’ll get the door open.” Running a hand through my drenched hair, I spun around to face Noah. “No, I don’t have any keys with me. They’re at my apartment. Which is where I’m going right now to get them.”
“And I bet you walked to work and don’t have a vehicle here.” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Come on. I’ll give you a ride to the B and B.”
Double damn, I thought. “No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
Noah shrugged his shoulders and began walking down the street. “Okay, suit yourself.”
Swallowing my pride, I called after him, “Well, if you really wouldn’t mind.”
When he turned around, the sexy smile had returned to his face. “Wait here. I’ll go get my car.”
“Leave it to me,” I said, when I knew he was out of earshot. Turning to the door, I attempted to placate my whining dog. “Lilly, be a good girl. I won’t be very long. Go lay down.”
A few minutes later Noah pulled up in a black Lexus.
I slid into the passenger seat, but remained silent.
“I’m opening my gallery in a few weeks,” he said.
“Oh, found a spot, did you? I hope you’ll be happy there.”
“Not as happy as I’d be in your shop, but it’ll do. How’re you doing getting set up?”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Noah chuckled. “You’re a woman of few words, aren’t you?”
“When I want to be. Yes.”
He t
urned the car onto Third Street and pulled into a spot alongside the B&B. “Get your keys. I’ll wait for you.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I can take Ali’s golf cart back to the shop.” As soon as I said the words, I remembered the cart was in Ocala being repaired.
“Okay.”
When I made no attempt to leave the car, Noah stared across the seat at me.
“Well, uh, I just remembered the golf cart isn’t here. It’s being repaired.”
“Get your keys,” he repeated as a grin crossed his face. “I’ll wait.”
Without another word, I jumped out of the car, ran through the rain across the garden, and up the stairs to my apartment. Stepping into the kitchen, I shook off the wetness. Rushing to the bathroom, I grabbed a towel rubbing it back and forth across my hair before I ran to the bedroom, opened a bureau drawer, and retrieved my keys. Taking a deep breath, I stood in the middle of the room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
“Oh, just gorgeous,” I said, leaning closer. “Even if you did like him, there’s no way in hell he’d be interested in a drowned rat like you.”
Spying the tube of lipstick on my vanity, I quickly ran some color over my lips. Flinging off the wet jersey, I replaced it with a dry sweater. I then grabbed an umbrella and raced back to the car.
“I see you’re now prepared,” Noah said, gesturing to the umbrella.
“My other one is locked inside the shop,” I replied, hearing distinctive bitchiness in my tone.
“Hmm, a lotta good that does you.”
A few minutes later he pulled up in front of Spinning Forward. I reached for the door handle and then turned toward him. “Thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure. But next time, maybe you should tie those keys around your neck. Then you won’t forget them.”
How dare he speak to me like a child, I thought as I slammed the door harder than necessary.
10
If I thought my computer problem was a catastrophe, that was mild in comparison to what I found the next morning at Spinning Forward.
Although the wind had diminished a little, rain continued to soak the island. All seemed well in the shop until I entered the back room and realized I was squishing in my sneakers.
“What the hell!” I looked down to see about two inches of water covering the floor. The floor that held three boxes of my newly purchased yarns. Yarns that were no doubt water damaged.
“Oh, no,” I said, as I stared at a virtual pool beneath me. “My stock is ruined.”
“Hello,” I heard and turned around to see Eudora Foster entering the shop. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was at the post office and thought I’d peek in.”
“Have you got your water wings with you?”
Dora came to the doorway and gasped. “Oh, Lord. You got some water in here. Unfortunately, many of the shops downtown get some flooding with heavy rains. I guess nobody told you not to store anything on the floor?”
“I should have known better. I thought the yarn would be safe there until my cubbyholes are built. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Well, not to worry,” Dora said, reaching for a broom in the corner and opening the back door. “We’ll have this water out of here in no time.”
I was amazed at her willingness to help. “That’s so nice of you, but I don’t want you doing that.”
“And why not? You don’t happen to have one of those shop vacs, do you? That would suck it up faster than a broom.”
I shook my head. It was becoming more apparent to me that not only didn’t I have a shop vac, perhaps I was very ill-equipped to think I could run a business.
“All the merchants downtown have one, so I’ll run over to the book store. I know Tom wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his.”
Before I could protest, she was out the door and on her way.
I picked up the broom and continued to sweep water out the back door, but I could see it was a lost cause. So I lugged a box down the step and into the front room. That step is what prevented the water from going any further.
I slit the box and was thrilled to see the top layer of yarn was dry. What a break. Carefully removing the skeins, I placed them on the desk. Out of a box of twenty-four, I was able to save half. The other twelve would end up in the trash or once they dried, maybe I could discount them.
“Here we are,” Dora called cheerfully, as she entered the shop followed by a middle-aged man pulling a canister vacuum behind him. “Have you met Tom yet?”
“No, I haven’t. I can’t thank you enough for helping me out. You’re a life saver.”
“Aw, I’m glad I can help. But, just for future reference, you really might want to invest in one of these,” he said, reaching down to plug it into the wall. “Heavy rain always seems to find a way of getting into the downtown shops.”
I could vouch for that.
“How’s the yarn?” Dora asked, as the miracle machine began sucking up the culprit.
“Actually, not quite as bad as I feared. The top layers are fine and once the others dry, I guess I could sell them at a discount. Thank God this was the shipment of my worsted yarn and not the alpacas and cashmere.”
Dora helped me empty the remaining boxes while Tom made my back room dry.
When we finished, I shook my head. “I really don’t know how to thank both of you. Dora, that was quick thinking on your part.”
“Well, let me know if you need this again until you get your own,” Tom said, heading to the door.
“I guess I’ll be scooting along too,” Dora told me.
“Wait a minute,” I said, as a thought formed in my head. “I really would like to do something to thank you. Dinner. Let me cook a nice dinner for you. I have my own apartment now with a proper kitchen.”
“Oh, no. Don’t be silly. But’s that’s very nice of you.”
“I’m serious. You live alone. Join me tomorrow evening. I’ll prepare dinner for us.”
Dora hesitated and then said, “Well…That would be nice. I think I’d enjoy that.”
“Great. You know where I live. Let’s say seven.”
I admit I had an ulterior motive inviting Dora to dinner. She’s Sybile’s sister. I thought maybe I could find out more about this woman.
It was Ali who told me I should call Lucille Grayson. Many of my customers had been referred by her. So she’d know who had placed recent orders with me.
“Do you think that’ll help?” Ali asked when I hung up the phone.
“Well, at least it’s a start. She said she’ll speak to all her friends and any that placed orders, she’ll have them get in touch. I guess if people don’t receive their yarn after a decent amount of time, they’ll be calling me. And then I can explain what an idiot I was.”
Ali laughed. “Okay, so now tell me how you came to invite Dora to dinner tomorrow evening.”
I explained my latest fiasco at the shop and the help Dora and Tom had given me.
“Well, if there’s any truth at all to our suspicions about Sybile, maybe Dora can fill in some missing pieces. It’ll all depend on how much she’s willing to share secrets with you.”
“Let’s have a glass of wine while the biscuits are in the oven,” I told Dora while uncorking a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
Dora sat at the table and smiled. “My Marin would like you. You remind me of her.”
In which way, I wondered? “I’d love to meet her. Will she be coming to visit soon?”
“She’s planning to come for the weekend sometime next month. Just her. She likes to do this a few times a year. She calls it ‘girl time.’”
I smiled. “That must be nice. Mother-daughter time. I used to spend a lot of time with my mom before she died. When Monica was small, we’d just pop over for lunch or to go shopping. Girl time is good.”
“Even though you were adopted it seems you had a special relationship with your mother.”
“Yeah, I did. They brought me home at three weeks old, so they’re the only
parents I ever knew. And they told me at a young age that I was adopted.”
“Did it bother you?”
“Not in the least. They made me feel pretty special—that not only was I wanted, but that I was chosen.”
“I’ve heard it’s natural for adoptees to search for their birth mother. Did you ever attempt doing that?”
I stared at Dora’s face, but her expression remained neutral. “Actually, just recently I decided to pursue the search again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, when Monica was born I had an overwhelming curiosity about the woman who’d given birth to me. But I didn’t put a lot of effort into the search. Now I’m listed with an organization that helps adoptees search.”
Dora fingered the edge of the tablecloth and remained silent.
I got up to remove the biscuits from the oven and then began spooning stew into the brightly colored ceramic bowls. After placing salad plates on the table, I joined Dora.
“This looks delicious,” she said, taking a bite. “Hmm, very good. You’ll have to give me your recipe.”
“Thanks, but it’s pretty easy. It cooked all day in the crock pot.”
Dora continued eating and then surprised me by asking, “Have you thought about what you’d do if you located your birth mother?”
I buttered a biscuit. “Do?”
“What I mean is, would you want to meet her? What if she isn’t like you envisioned? Wouldn’t that be disappointing?”
“First of all, I have no preconceived notions about her. I’ve never done an in-depth search, so maybe curious is a better word.”
“Are you angry that she gave you up for adoption?”
Call me silly, but I was beginning to feel most people wouldn’t be asking the questions that Dora was. But I shook my head. “No, I’ve always felt she was probably unwed and in 1955 that was a difficult position for a young girl to be in. Now that I’m older and have a grown daughter, I can only imagine how devastating it must be to part with your child. It’s not a natural thing to do, you know?”
Dora nodded. “Yes, I quite agree. I suppose each woman that’s relinquished a child has a different story. It must be a terrible decision to have to make.”
