Spinning Forward

by Terri DuLong

  I saw the smiles that crossed the women’s faces.

  22

  “Saren, that was absolutely delicious,” I said, wiping my mouth with the linen napkin. “You’re quite the chef.” I’d been flattered when Saren had invited me to dinner at his home.

  He laughed. “Oh now, it was only mullet, a baked potato, and salad. Far from a gourmet meal.”

  “Well, I enjoyed it very much. Now let me help you clear this table,” I said, getting up to fill the dishwasher.

  “It’s such a nice evening I thought we’d have coffee on the screened porch.”

  “Great idea.”

  I settled into a patio chair and sniffed. “Is that honeysuckle?”

  “It sure ’nuff is. I have a large bush of it further back in the garden.”

  “I love it. Makes you realize spring is almost here.”

  Saren took a sip of coffee. “I’d like to ask you something, Miss Sydney. Now I’ll understand if you don’t want to answer.” Without waiting, he said, “Is Miss Sybile dying?”

  The question caught me off guard. But that one question left no doubt in my mind that this man still carried a torch for his long-ago love. “Why do you ask?” I said, while trying to formulate an answer in my head.

  “Sybile’s different lately. I know she’s been going to Gainesville a lot and I’m pretty sure it’s to Shands. She doesn’t look good either. Almost like the spark is goin’ outta her. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded. When a person was seriously ill, most times it was difficult to hide. Especially from those that loved them. “She is pretty sick, Saren. But I just don’t think it’s my place to explain any more. Why don’t you pay her a visit? Maybe she’d like you to make the first move.”

  Sadness crossed the man’s face. “I think you’ve answered my question, Miss Sydney, and I thank you for that.” He let out a deep sigh. “You know, she’s one woman that can aggravate me more than any other I’ve met. We were mighty close years ago, but that all changed once I came back to this island. And her highfalutin ways only made me angry. We had some harsh words a year or so after I moved back here. And ever since then, we pretty much keep our distance. I don’t think she’d be appreciatin’ a visit from me now.”

  I leaned over and patted Saren’s hand. “Don’t be too sure of that. People change, especially as they get older.”

  He shook his head. “She’s a tough ole bird. Sick or not, I can’t see Sybile Bowden changing for the better.”

  “How’s Miss Elly been lately?” I questioned, searching for another topic.

  His face broke out in a genuine smile. “Oh, now, there’s one woman any man would be proud to call his. She’s just fine, Miss Sydney, and thank you for asking.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “You know, a lot of people would think I’m nuts. But I’m not, and I know what I see in that living room every evening.”

  I couldn’t resist asking, “Do you think she’ll pay a visit while I’m here?”

  “Well, now, she could, I ’spose. But she never has. I don’t know why that is. But she only seems to visit when I’m alone.”

  I nodded. Who am I to judge his level of imagination? Hell, I had suspected a total stranger of being my birth mother. Standing up, I patted Saren on the shoulder. “Well, she’s pretty lucky to have such a nice gentleman to visit. Thank you so much for supper. I really enjoyed it, but I’m afraid I need to be getting home.”

  Walking me to the front door, he said, “Miss Sydney, it was entirely my pleasure. You pop by anytime to pay me a visit, you hear?”

  “I will, Saren. Thanks.”

  Monica was spending a week in Fort Lauderdale with her friend Bree, when Dora called to invite me to her home on Sunday afternoon. She expressed disappointment that Monica wouldn’t be joining us, because she’d also invited Sybile and Marin.

  “I think she’ll be sorry to miss the gathering,” I told her, “but I’ll be there and I’m looking forward to meeting Marin.”

  I pulled the golf cart into the driveway on Andrews Circle. Ringing the door bell I took a deep breath wishing that Monica was at my side.

  Dora opened the door with a smile. “Come on in,” she said, embracing me and putting me at ease. “It’s so lovely today, we’re sitting out back having coffee.”

  I followed Dora through the house to the patio and saw a woman of medium height stand up and come toward me.

  “I’m Marin,” she said, taking me in her arms. “And I’m so happy to meet you.”

  She reminded me of Courteney Cox from Friends—nicely styled brunette hair, an inviting smile, and she also reminded me of an older version of Monica. “I’m happy to meet you too,” I said, returning the hug. Sybile was sitting in a chair observing the greeting. “How are you?” I asked, taking a seat opposite.

  “As good as can be expected, I suppose.”

  Dora reached for the carafe, poured coffee into a cup, and passed it to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling awkward with the situation.

  Marin sat down, leaning forward in her chair. “I’m so happy to learn I have a cousin. And I’m dying to hear all about you. Of course, Mom told me about your yarn shop, which I think is great. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t get any of her talent with knitting. I’m afraid you got all those genes,” she said, grinning.

  I realized that hearing this caused me to feel foolishly pleased. It seemed important to suddenly have a connection—to be validated as one of them. Their blood runs through my veins, I thought. We are a part of each other, just as Monica is a part of me.

  “Your mother is an expert knitter, but we can’t all enjoy the same things. What do you enjoy doing?”

  “I’m an avid reader when I can find the time. I teach at the university so I’m kept pretty busy. Tell us about your daughter.”

  “Monica’s twenty-six. She graduated college as a teacher also, but she’d been working for a publishing company in Boston. Unfortunately they downsized, so she’s looking for a position in the area. She’s on the East Coast with a friend right now, but she can’t wait to meet you.”

  “How nice to have another girl in the family. I have two boys. Jason is twenty-three. He graduated college last year and works for a company in Atlanta. John is twenty-one and attends the university in Gainesville, but lives in an apartment with a few other fellows. So Cal and I have the house to ourselves. It’s your girlfriend that owns the B and B, right? And you live there?”

  I was grateful that Marin had a good personality and kept the conversation going because Sybile hadn’t participated, which was making me feel uncomfortable. I nodded. “Yes, Alison is the owner. We’ve been friends since college. I live in the second-floor apartment of the Tree House.”

  “It’s certainly quite a story, isn’t it? Coming here to the island and finding out Sybile is your birth mother.”

  The elephant that had been lurking in the corner now jumped out, plunking itself down in the middle of us. I shot a glance at Sybile’s face—she was wearing the familiar sunglasses and offered no input. “It is pretty amazing. Especially since I wasn’t really searching when I first arrived here.”

  “Well,” Sybile replied, her gravelly voice causing us to look in her direction. “Just goes to show ya—sometimes things come after us when we least expect it. They say everything happens for a reason, ’tho I’m not sure I always agree with that.”

  Marin got up from her chair, walking toward Sybile. Bending down she hugged her tightly. “Aunt Sybile, you’re such a crusty ole gal. You need to lighten up a bit and go more with the flow. Be grateful you’ve got such a nice daughter and enjoy her. I know I’m going to enjoy having a girl cousin.” She turned toward Dora. “Want me to bring out the peach pie?”

  “Yes, that’ll be nice. Thank you, Marin,” she said. “Strange, isn’t it? The things we do in life and many times they come back to haunt us.”

  “If you’re referring to my past indiscretions, I wouldn’t exactly consider myself a sinner,” Sybile
replied with an edge to her tone.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Sybile. Lighten up like Marin said. That isn’t what I meant at all. It’s just when you think what were the chances of Sydney coming to this island. They were pretty slim—and yet she did. Many times our past catches up with us, whether we want it to or not. And in your case,” Dora leaned forward to pat her sister’s hand, “I’m sure glad it did. Sydney, you’re exactly what we needed in this family.”

  The compliment brought a smile to my face. “Thank you. But maybe Sybile told you—we’d rather the whole town doesn’t know about this.”

  Marin walked out with the pie on a tray and passed around plates. “Doesn’t know about what?” she questioned.

  “Looks like Sybile is going to continue keeping Sydney a secret,” Dora said. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh, now, don’t go gettin’ yourself in a snit. I didn’t say we weren’t ever going to say anything. Besides, what do ya want me to do, call up the newspaper and place a birth announcement?”

  Both Marin and I giggled, but Dora’s face remained passive.

  “It’s just that under the circumstances, I would think you’d want to let people know that you have a daughter.”

  “If you’re referring to those circumstances being the fact I’m dying, whether this news is revealed or not, it doesn’t change my longevity.”

  “God, Sybile, you can be so exasperating.”

  “Well, at any rate,” Marin said, intervening. “I’m glad at least we know the truth, Aunt Sybile.”

  Picking up on Marin’s attempt at mediation, I said, “This pie is delicious. Did you make it, Dora?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this one. It’s Marin’s creation.”

  “Jason brought me back some Georgia peaches and I couldn’t resist making some pies.”

  I laughed. “Now that’s one gene I didn’t get from you women. Cooking.”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t cook? Having had a family and all?” Sybile’s face registered surprise.

  “Oh, I always made the usual—meatloaf, chicken dishes, that sort of thing. But I was never one to collect recipes and experiment.”

  “Well, maybe it’s high time you did, girl. No Southern woman owns any less than five cookbooks and a tin full of recipes. You come see me this week and I’ll pass on some of our legendary family recipes.”

  Marin, Dora, and I looked at Sybile and smiled.

  “Start her off with something easy like Mama’s biscuits,” Dora offered.

  “It’s a date, Sybile, and I’m looking forward to it,” I told her.

  Alison threw her head back laughing. “Are you serious? Sybile Bowden’s going to teach you to cook? I’m surprised the woman even knows how to cook.”

  I shook my head. “Yup, that’s what she said. Said she’ll pass on the family recipes to me.”

  “God, wonders never cease to exist, I guess. So are you going over there?”

  “Yeah, Friday morning. Dora covers the shop for me till noon. So why not? I’ll give it a shot.”

  “It might be nice to get to know her too, Syd. I mean—she’s not going to be here forever. Maybe you have questions, things you’d like to know about. Now’s your chance. You might even come to find out you actually like her.”

  I laughed. “I seriously doubt that. She’s a little too spirited for me.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Alison pushed her dinner plate away from her. “Now that you have your confirmation on your birth mother, are you giving any thought to your father?”

  “I am. More than I ever have before. But Sybile was adamant—said she didn’t want to discuss him and she wasn’t going to tell me who he was.”

  “I betcha he was married.”

  “I asked her that and she did admit that he wasn’t. I don’t think she’d lie about it. There’d be no reason to now.”

  “Yeah, true. But gosh, Syd, what if he’s still out there? Like up in New York? He’s probably about the same age as Sybile, so he’d only be in his seventies and chances are he’s still alive. Maybe you can get her to open up with you.”

  “I’ll give it some time and who knows, maybe when Monica meets her she’ll be able to get more out of Sybile than I can. The more thought I give to all of this, the more I’m wondering if it could be Saren.”

  Surprise crossed Ali’s face. “God, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but they did have a love affair. That much is obvious. I’m just not sure about the time frame and neither one has admitted to having an intimate relationship. He did see her in Manhattan though the day before he flew to Paris—and that was June. The month she got pregnant.”

  The ringing telephone ended our discussion and Alison answered. “Yeah, she’s right here. We’ve just finished supper. Hold on.”

  Noah, she mouthed, handing the phone to me.

  “Hey, how’re you?” I asked.

  “I’m great, thanks. Listen, I was hoping maybe you could meet me for an early lunch on Friday morning?”

  “Oh, Friday morning? Gosh, I’m afraid I can’t. I have something planned.”

  “Then how about dinner at my place on Friday evening?”

  What? Did everyone on this island, including men, cook except me? “You’re cooking?”

  Noah laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been known to grill a mean steak. Will you join me?”

  I smiled. “That sounds good. What time and what can I bring?”

  “Why not come about seven and if it’s not too much trouble, how about a dessert? A baker I’m not.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

  I disconnected the line and dialed Sybile’s number. “Any chance you can help me bake a dessert Friday morning? Just tell me what we’ll need and I’ll bring the ingredients.”

  23

  “Okay, now pour the batter into the springform pan,” Sybile instructed.

  I used the spatula to scrape the sides of the bowl. “And the oven’s all set?” I asked.

  “Ready to go.” Sybile opened the door while I slid the cheesecake inside.

  “Well, that’s that,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel. “I sure hope it comes out good.”

  “Of course it’ll come out good. Mama’s cheesecake recipe hasn’t ever failed. It’s foolproof.”

  If all else fails, I suppose I could buy cookies at the market, I thought.

  “How about some coffee?” Sybile asked, reaching for the coffeepot.

  “Sounds good.” I sat on the counter stool and swiveled around to take in the breathtaking view. “Do you ever tire of looking at that?”

  Placing two mugs on the counter, Sybile shook her head. “Not ever.”

  “Sybile, thanks for helping me with the cheesecake. I appreciate that.”

  “Not a problem, but next time we’ll do biscuits.”

  “Tell me about what it was like to leave here and go to New York when you were eighteen.”

  Sybile stared across the counter. “You don’t wanna hear all that old stuff.”

  I caught the lack of conviction in her voice. “Yeah, I do. I’d like to hear about when you were younger.”

  “Well…maybe you’d like to see my albums,” she said, getting off the stool and heading to her bedroom.

  Waiting for her to return, I thought about how easy the time with Sybile had been. As soon as I arrived we began preparing the cheesecake. It seemed odd—an age-old ritual, mother and daughter cooking together. Something I had never done growing up. I’d shown no interest being in the kitchen with my mother and yet this morning I found a certain sense of satisfaction sharing this event with Sybile.

  “Here we go,” she said, returning with albums in her hands.

  I fingered the leather covers, opening the first one Sybile passed me.

  “These pictures here,” she explained, “were my portfolio photos. The ones that got me accepted to the modeling agency.”

  I saw
an exceptionally attractive younger woman. All different poses—smiling, serious, sultry. But there was no doubt they were Sybile. She hadn’t changed that much over the years. Tall and slim, wearing fifties-style dresses with Peter Pan collars, narrow belts, fitted jackets, and a few wearing strapless evening gowns.

  “Wow, you were gorgeous,” I said.

  “It was a fun time. Living at the Barbizon, doing photo shoots all over New York. All of us girls—we were like one big family. See here,” she said, opening another album. “Here’s some of the girls that had rooms on my floor at the Barbizon.”

  I saw a group of young women piled on a bed, wearing cotton pajamas, pin curls in their hair, laughing and clowning for the camera. I also noticed how Sybile’s demeanor had become more relaxed since bringing out the albums. Her face had softened as she flipped through the pages explaining who the girls were and relaying anecdotes of those long-ago days. She’s in her element, I thought. That was a part of her life that she’ll never lose.

  “Why’d you decide to come back here? Rather than stay in New York?”

  Sybile shrugged her shoulders and snapped the album shut. Lighting up a cigarette her gaze went to the water beyond the glass doors. “Well,” she said, sitting on the stool. “Guess there comes a time when we realize that maybe Dorothy was right. There’s no place like home.”

  Hadn’t Saren said that very same thing to me? “But you returned and then pretty much cut yourself off here.”

  “I won’t lie. I like being alone. Always enjoyed my own company. Besides, a lot of people resented me comin’ back with some financial security behind me. Thought it was better if I just pretty much kept to myself. And that’s what I’ve done.”

  “What was your husband like?”

  Sybile seemed surprised by the question and took another drag off her cigarette. “Oh, he was a charmer, he was. Tall, dark, and handsome—that was Gerald. Trouble was, he knew it.”

  “Did you love him?”

  Without hesitation, Sybile replied, “No. Does that shock you? So you’re wondering why I married him? I married him because although I didn’t love him, I did care for him. I also knew that since he was my agent, I’d have a much better chance of getting top modeling jobs.”