Spinning Forward

by Terri DuLong

  “Hi,” I said, producing a wide smile while stepping aside to let Noah in.

  “What a cute place. I’ve never been in here before.”

  “There isn’t much to it, but I’ll show you through. Obviously this is the kitchen and in here,” I said, waving an arm around the room, “is the bedroom/sitting area. But out here, this is the bonus.”

  Stepping outside, Noah nodded. “Very nice. I like it.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t compare to your view, but I love sitting out here,” I said, leading the way back inside. “Now, Lilly, I expect you to be a good girl while I’m gone.”

  “Right,” Noah said, patting the dog’s head.

  Lilly let out a groan before lying down.

  “All set.” I opened the door to find Monica coming up the stairs. Oh, terrific!

  “Hey,” she said with a smile that vanished when she saw Noah standing in back of me. I had neglected to share that I was going out for dinner. With a man.

  “Ah, this is a friend of mine, Noah Hale.” Turning to him, I said, “And this is my daughter, Monica.”

  If looks could kill, I would have been dialing 911 for poor Noah.

  “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, edging her way into the kitchen.

  Attempting brightness, I hollered, “I won’t be late,” and headed down the stairs with Noah behind me.

  After our dinner orders had been given, he leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of San Genovese. “So tell me about yourself.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. Married for twenty-eight years, now a widow—I’m still having a problem with that word. One grown daughter, that you just met. Originally from the Boston area and before I married, I was an RN. That’s about it.”

  “An RN? I didn’t know that. And you own a yarn shop?”

  “After I had Monica, I never returned to nursing. I let my license lapse. Probably not a very smart thing to do at all. But how could I know then that I’d desperately be needing a well-paying profession at age fifty-two?”

  Noah nodded. “At least you had your knitting to fall back on. I’m sure it was difficult losing your husband. That’s a long time to be married.”

  I ran the tip of a finger around the edge of my wineglass. “It was a long time. A long time to not be aware of his secrets.” When Noah didn’t comment, I said, “Stephen had a propensity for gambling. Not your typical playing-the-lottery gambling.” I felt the need to tell Noah all about me and went on to explain Stephen’s gambling, the eviction notice, and how I happened to end up on Cedar Key.

  He blew out a breath of air. “Wow, quite a story. But you seem to be doing okay now.”

  I raised my eyes. “That depends what you consider okay. It was difficult being the grieving widow when I found out how Stephen had betrayed me. The situation he’d left me in financially. Then I felt guilty for maybe not grieving quite as much as I should be, but it became a matter of survival. I honestly didn’t know which way to turn—until Ali came to my rescue.”

  “Yeah, I can relate to betrayal.”

  My head snapped up, looking across the table at him. “You can?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so. I was married many years ago. Simone was an art student and my model. Came home one day and found her in bed with one of my other art students. The rest is history, as they say.”

  It wasn’t always the female that got the short end of the infidelity stick. “Any children?”

  “No, and that was a blessing.”

  “You never remarried?”

  “Nope, gun shy, you might say. But I kept myself so busy with my art, marriage was never on my agenda. You’re lucky you have a daughter.”

  I smiled. “Monica. You may have noticed she wasn’t overly friendly toward you. I have a feeling she’ll have plenty to say about this date. We don’t agree on a whole lot.”

  “It’s none of my business, but maybe she ought to give her mom credit for making some pretty good decisions under some difficult circumstances.” Noah took a sip of wine. “Parents and family still in the Boston area?”

  “My parents are both gone and I’m an only child. I’m adopted.” As soon as the words were out, I had no idea why I’d told him that.

  “Really? Have you searched for your birth parents?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “I’m in the process of searching right now.”

  “I hope it works out for you. I’ve heard good and bad outcomes on adoptees searching.”

  “Thank you.” I was grateful the waitress arrived with our food. Taking a bite, I said, “This duck is delicious.”

  “So is the pork shank. More wine?” he asked, reaching for the bottle.

  “Yes, it’s very good. I’ve never tried San Genovese before.”

  “One of my favorites. Now that you own a business here, what are your long-term plans? Will you be staying in the Tree House?”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t stay there forever. Alison has been wonderful, but eventually I’ll look for a place of my own. I doubt I could afford to purchase anything, so I’ll just rent.”

  Noah began laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I just realized something. We’ve been together over an hour and haven’t had one confrontation. We’re actually having a normal conversation.”

  I saw the grin on his face and smiled. “You’re right. Apparently, we’re abiding by that truce.”

  We managed to get through the entire dinner with more laughter and easy chatter. Finishing off the bottle of wine, we ordered coffee. It was then that I craved a cigarette.

  “You’ve gotten quiet,” Noah said.

  “I’m just thinking how good a cigarette would be with this coffee.”

  “We’re outside. Go ahead and have one.”

  “It won’t bother you?”

  Noah shook his head and grinned. “I just enjoy razzing people about smoking. A reformed smoker is the worst, you know. But…it isn’t good for you.”

  Reaching into my handbag, I pulled out the pack and lit one, careful to blow the smoke away from Noah. “I know it isn’t,” I said, as thoughts of Sybile floated into my mind. “So you quit, huh? How long ago?”

  “It has to be over twenty years now.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed. Maybe I’ll give it a try…but not tonight. Tell me what it was like to live in Paris.”

  Noah told me about his gallery there, about restaurants, sidewalk cafés, and anecdotes of the Bohemian lifestyle living on the Left Bank. As he talked, I found I wasn’t able to take my eyes from his face. I also noticed sexy mannerisms I hadn’t paid attention to before. Like when he was trying to think of a name of a particular restaurant he stroked his chin with his right hand. I also found my eyes drawn to his hands—masculine, with well-cared-for nails, absent of jewelry except for an oval-shaped college ring on his left ring finger.

  Realizing that he’d asked me a question, I felt heat warming my face. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Noah smiled. “I asked if you’d ever been to Paris?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I got married after finishing college and then Monica came along and…Well, it just never seemed the right time.”

  The waitress appeared with the check. Noah looked it over, placed his charge card in the pocket of the leather binder, and stood it up. “Thank you for a delightful evening, Sydney.”

  “It was fun. I really enjoyed it.”

  On the walk home I became anxious, unsure whether to invite him into my apartment. What does one do on dates these days? Was he expecting a drink or maybe coffee?

  When we got to the top of the stairs, Noah solved the dilemma. Leaning over, he kissed my cheek. “Thanks again for a great evening,” he said. Then he let his lips brush mine. “Let’s do this again very soon.”

  19

  I sent Dora home at 6:00, put the CLOSED sign on the door, and settled into my chair to catch up on some spinning. An hour later, I heard a tapping on the window glass and looked outside
to see Sybile peering in.

  “Oh, Christ. The perfect ending to the day.”

  Opening the door I made no attempt to ask Sybile inside. “I’m closed. We’ll be open at ten in the morning.”

  Sending me an exasperated look, she said, “Well, I know you’re closed. That’s why I came here now. I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  My hand trembled on the door knob, but I stepped aside. Could this be it? Could Sybile really be my birth mother, and she’d come to share this at the shop? Were all my suspicions true? Thoughts tumbled in my head. “Come on in,” and then I locked the door behind the woman.

  When Sybile made no attempt to talk, I questioned, “Why do you need to see me?” It was then that I noticed the shortness of breath the woman was experiencing.

  “I wanted to invite you to my place…Sunday afternoon…I…have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  I heard the lack of emotion in the woman’s voice. I also knew the pauses were an attempt to catch her breath that speaking seemed to rob from her. “I’m alone here. Can’t we discuss it now?”

  Sybile shook her head. “No. I’d rather have you come out to my house. You know where I live, right? The Lighthouse. Three o’clock Sunday afternoon. Will you be there?”

  After a moment, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  Without a backward glance, Sybile walked to the door, unlocked it, and was gone.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  Just before 3:00 on Sunday I pulled into the spacious gravel driveway in front of the Lighthouse. Looking up at the large structure, with the blue Gulf behind it, I said, “Not too shabby.” I’d driven past the house before, often wondering what it was like inside. “Well, let’s get this over with,” I said, and climbed the wooden stairs.

  With each step upward, I became more mesmerized with the view to my left. Saw grass in the foreground, dotted with palmettos here and there—all of it leading out to the spectacular, unobstructed view of the Gulf. Patches of smaller islands could be seen sprinkled throughout the incandescent blue of the water. Reaching the top landing, I gripped the railing and breathed in deeply. Closing my eyes, I wondered what it must be like to begin each day with this panorama.

  “So you like my location, do ya?”

  I heard Sybile’s raspy voice breaking the tranquility of the moment and turned around. “It’s lovely. I can understand why you enjoy it here.”

  “Come on in,” Sybile said, dismissing the compliment. “Yup, and someday the Marine Lab out on Twenty-four will enjoy it. I’ve willed it to them so they can sell it and take the money for research.”

  I entered the kitchen, which then flowed into an open family room. All of it surrounded by glass and light. A counter with stools filled the space across from the work area of the kitchen. A dining-room table and chairs beyond the counter, and the circular family room beyond that. It was difficult for my gaze not to be drawn to the view outside.

  “Have a seat,” Sybile said, indicating a leather sofa. “I’ve made some coffee.”

  I watched the woman walk toward the kitchen and then allowed my eyes to take in the interior of the Lighthouse. A metal spiral staircase led upstairs. Two rooms branched off of the family room and a black Yamaha piano dominated the far corner.

  Sybile returned a few moments later with a tray containing china coffee cups and matching saucers, creamer, sugar bowl, and a crystal plate filled with oatmeal raisin cookies. “Help yourself,” Sybile said, reaching for her cup of black coffee.

  Adding cream, I sat back and waited for an explanation as to why I’d been invited.

  Lighting up a cigarette, Sybile questioned, “Do you smoke?”

  I nodded. “But I’m trying to cut back.”

  Sybile’s sarcastic laugh filled the room. “You can’t cut back. You either stop or you keep smoking. Obviously, I’ve chosen to keep smoking.”

  When I remained silent, Sybile said, “I’m not sure if you knew or not. But I have cancer of the lung,” and then waited for a reaction.

  “Dora mentioned that the doctor suspected this but no, I didn’t know for sure. I’m sorry.”

  Flicking an ash into the onyx ashtray beside her, she shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, we all gotta go sometime. Some of us sooner than others.”

  Wondering if this was the reason I’d been summoned, I reached for a cookie and took a bite.

  “This is why I wanted to talk to you,” Sybile confirmed.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sybile ground out the cigarette in the ashtray and took another sip of coffee. “I’m told that you’re an RN? Is this true?”

  “Well, not exactly. I was an RN years ago and didn’t keep my license current after I had my daughter,” I said in confusion. Was Sybile looking for a private duty nurse?

  “So if you were a nurse, you’re used to this kinda stuff. Dying and all that.”

  “Yes, I’ve been exposed to my fair share of it. But having cancer doesn’t mean a death sentence. You’ll have chemo and possibly radiation and maybe even surgery.”

  Sybile shook her head. “No, I won’t.” She lit another cigarette. “The doctor mentioned all that crap and I’m not buying into it. I refused.”

  “Refused?” I heard what the woman said but wanted to be certain.

  “Yeah. That stuff isn’t for me. So don’t be like Dora and try and talk me out of it.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. It’s your life and your body, but I hope you’re certain this is the route you want to go. In a month or so, you might change your mind.”

  Sybile’s face registered surprise. “Have you met other people that decided against treatment?”

  I nodded. “Not that many, but yes, a few.”

  “And what was it like?”

  “Like?”

  Sybile leaned forward in her chair. “Was the pain excruciating? I’m not brave. Not brave at all. I can’t bear the thought of going through something like that.”

  “Everyone’s different and it also depends on what type of cancer you have. But that’s why we have hospice. Your doctor will contact them when the time comes.”

  “But they’re limited on the amount of pain meds they can give you, right?”

  “Well, yes. There’s a policy and they have to go according to the doctor’s orders.”

  Sybile took a deep breath and nodded. “That’s what I thought. But you…you could give me those injections if you had access to the medication, right? And you could increase the amounts when I needed it.”

  In a split second, it became abundantly clear to me why I’d been invited to Sybile Bowden’s home. Not to be told that this woman had given me life—but rather to be asked to assist this woman with her own death.

  Anger bubbled up inside of me, as I stood to leave. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person. As much as I don’t believe in letting people suffer, I also don’t believe it’s up to us when it’s our time to pass on. We have no control over when that moment arrives. I can’t help you with this.”

  Racing down the stairs to the golf cart, the word selfish echoed in my head.

  “My God,” Alison said, tucking her legs beneath her in the chaise lounge. “She actually asked you to help kill her?”

  I lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke into the garden air. “Not quite so bluntly, but yes, that’s exactly what she wanted me to do.”

  Alison shook her head. “Wow, she must be desperate.”

  “Selfish, is more like it. The same way that suicide is. Rather than face reality, they’d rather check out and leave the mess for those left behind.”

  “You have a point there. And if she is your birth mother—Sybile had probably always had a selfish streak. Maybe giving up her child wasn’t for all the altruistic reasons that so many girls have. Maybe it was all about her.”

  I nodded. “Exactly. Yeah, here I’ve always thought that whoever she is, she did it for me. For a better life than she could give me. Maybe that’s not the case at all.
”

  “Have you said anything about this to Dora? What Sybile wanted from you?”

  “God, no. Sybile might be a total ass but I wouldn’t hurt Dora like that. She doesn’t need to know about this.”

  “I have a feeling that Dora knows that sister of hers pretty damn good.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, standing up. “Come on, Lilly, time to head to the shop.” I leaned over to kiss Alison’s cheek. “You and Paul have a great weekend at Amelia Island and I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  “Okay and don’t forget Twila Faye will be here to get people checked in. If you need anything, just give her a holler.”

  The confrontation with Monica came that evening when I arrived home from work.

  I wasn’t in the door five minutes when she started. “So. Who was that guy the other night?”

  I began preparing a salad for dinner. Washing tomatoes, I said, “Noah Hale.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  I spun around to face her. “What exactly would you like me to tell you? That he’s an artist? Has lived on the island all his life, except for his years painting in Paris? That he’s a nice guy and that yes…He actually asked me out on a dinner date.”

  “Do you think that’s appropriate?”

  Monica stood with a hand on her hip and reminded me of myself when she was sixteen. “Appropriate? What’s that supposed to mean? Millions of couples all over the world go out in public to share dinner together.”

  “Yeah, well, Dad’s only been gone eight months.”

  “Ah, so that’s the problem,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel and sitting down at the table. “I didn’t know we were back in the dark ages and there was a certain time frame before a widow could officially go out in public with a member of the opposite sex.”