Spinning Forward

by Terri DuLong

  So she married him to further her career. Which is also the reason she gave me up for adoption. “Were you sorry about the divorce?”

  Sybile shook her head. “Nope. The time had come for us to part ways. Gerald was a good man—he just wasn’t a faithful one. He made sure I was well taken care of with money. But he didn’t want to be tied down.”

  I thought back to my own marriage and Stephen. Had I truly ever really loved him? At that very moment, I wasn’t certain. I’d never given it much thought before. At the time, I thought I was in love and getting married was the logical result. “Have you ever been in love with a man?”

  Sybile twirled her coffee cup in a circle, contemplating her answer. “Yes…. Once.”

  Had I chosen to ask the identity, I knew the answer would be, “Your father.”

  Remnants of the cheesecake sat on the dining room table, blueberry sliding down onto the plate.

  “I have to say that’s the best cheesecake I’ve ever had,” Noah said, leaning back in his chair.

  I smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “So what’s next on the agenda for your cooking class?”

  “Biscuits.”

  “There’s nothing like Southern biscuits. That sure is nice of Sybile to be giving you these recipes, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, but said nothing.

  “More coffee?” Noah asked, heading into the kitchen for the pot.

  “Yes, please.”

  “So how do you know Sybile?” He returned to his seat across from me.

  “She’s Dora’s sister.”

  He nodded. “Ah, that’s right. I don’t know her that well, but I’m glad the two of you have become friends.”

  Why did that statement feel like it had a double meaning? “Yeah, she can be a character, but I enjoy her cooking lessons.”

  “You look like her, you know.”

  The sentence caught me off guard, causing coffee to be sloshed onto the tablecloth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, mopping it up with my napkin.

  “No, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “She’s my mother.” The words flew out of my mouth.

  Noah was now the one visibly ill at ease. “Shit, are you serious?” Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at me for confirmation. “I only meant that you resemble her—especially through the eyes.”

  I smiled. “Well, I should and yes, I’m serious. She’s my birth mother.”

  Noah inhaled deeply. “Christ,” was all he said for a few moments. “Have you known this since you came here?”

  “If you’ll let me go outside and have a cigarette and another glass of wine—I’ll tell you the whole story.” The desire to share my experience with Noah was begging to be released.

  “Wow,” was Noah’s immediate reaction after I had brought him up to date.

  “But please,” I said, “promise not to say anything to anybody else. Sybile would rather it be kept quiet for right now.”

  The scent of lantana hung in the air. Noah glanced over the porch railing to his back garden and sighed. “That’s almost impossible to believe. And yes, of course, I’ll keep it to myself.” He shook his head, attempting to piece together all he’d just learned. “When I said you looked like her, I sure never thought I’d hear a story like this. Think how fortunate you are—all the rest of your lives to get to know each other.”

  I remained quiet and lit another cigarette.

  “Oh, maybe you don’t want to get to know her.”

  “It’s not that. Life sometimes has a strange way of working things out. Sybile is ill—she has lung cancer…and she’s terminal.”

  Noah reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Oh, God, Sydney. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and for the first time since learning the truth, I felt tears stinging my eyes. I felt the warmth of my hand inside Noah’s and allowed the moisture to slide down my cheeks. With my other hand I wiped at the tears. “Isn’t life a pisser? I never even cared for her when I first met her. Then I find out not only is she my birth mother—but she’s dying.” The tears continued to fall.

  Noah got up and pulled me out of the chair. Bringing me to his chest, he stroked my hair and whispered, “Yeah, life has a way of making us sit up and take notice when we least expect it.”

  My mind was torn between sorrow for Sybile and relishing the tightness of Noah’s arms around me. Being there felt so right—so reassuring.

  His fingertip moved to my cheek and brushed at the wetness. Leaning closer, he kissed me. A gentle touching of lips at first, which became deeper. Our breathing increased while I slipped my arms around his neck. I felt his body pressed against me and was aware of a floating sensation. Easing my face away, I looked up into his eyes. During that split second I saw something there that I’d never witnessed before—a deep, intense intimacy. Something I’d never experienced with Stephen.

  Noah stared at my face, brushing back a strand of hair. “If there’s anything, and I mean anything, at all that I can do, please let me know.”

  “Thank you,” I said, stepping out of his embrace. “And thank you for a wonderful evening.” Reaching for my cigarettes, I sighed. “But I need to get home. I’m sure it’s close to midnight.”

  Sliding an arm around my shoulder, Noah walked with me into the house. “I’ll take you home.”

  24

  Sunlight streamed into the bedroom, causing me to fling an arm over my eyes. Snuggling into the pillow, I replayed the events of the night before in my mind. I was glad I’d shared my story with Noah. He’d been understanding—sympathetic. Caring. Turning onto my other side I recalled his kiss. Both of them. He’d kissed me again at my doorway but hadn’t asked to come in. God, he was a great kisser. It was impossible at that moment to remember Stephen’s kisses, but I knew they had never stirred me in the way that Noah’s did. I like him, I thought. I probably like him way too much. Do I really need to be getting involved in another relationship? Between the yarn shop, Sybile, and Monica, my plate was pretty full.

  Pushing my legs to the side of the bed, I reached over to pat Lilly. “Time for coffee, girl.”

  Opening the door, I let Lilly out to the garden while waiting for the coffee to brew. It was then that I remembered I’d invited Saren over for dinner that evening. I planned to prepare lasagna before I left for the yarn shop.

  Taking a sip of coffee, I dialed Monica’s cell phone. She’d left me a message the night before.

  “And where were you off to last evening?”

  Was that suspicion I heard in her voice? “Actually, I got invited to Noah’s house for dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  “And, it was very nice. An enjoyable evening.”

  “Well…that’s good. I was calling to let you know I’ll be back on Sunday as planned. And…I got a phone call from UF. I’ve been offered a position in the English department beginning in August.”

  Based on the close relationship Monica had always shared with her father, I was surprised at my daughter’s switch in attitude concerning a man in my life. I had been fully prepared for a disagreeable confrontation. Could it be possible Monica was going to ease up on me?

  “That’s wonderful!” I said, truly happy for my daughter. “Congratulations.”

  As if she had read my previous thought, she went on to say, “Mom, I wanted to thank you for letting me stay with you. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with lately. It’s been so difficult losing Dad…but I do understand how tough it’s been on you. You’ve had some major adjustments in your life, and I haven’t made it any easier. Can we call a truce?”

  A truce? That’s what Noah had asked of me—and I was glad I had accepted his offer. “Of course we can,” I told my daughter. “I love you, Monica, and I want us to get along.”

  “I love you too and I’ll try. I really will. How’s Sybile doing?”

  “About the same—no better, no worse. I haven’t see
n her for a couple days but according to Dora, she’s resumed her crankiness. She mentioned she wished you could have joined us the other day.”

  “I’m looking forward to finally meeting her, so we’ll set something up when I return.”

  I turned the cardboard sign to CLOSED. Before leaving the shop I dialed Sybile’s number.

  “I know this is short notice, but I just had an idea. I’m having Saren for dinner this evening. Would you like to join us?”

  “Now why would I want to do that?” Sybile questioned with grouchiness.

  Feeling foolish for extending the invitation, I said, “Gee, I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d like to get out for a little while and socialize. But I can hear you’re not in the mood for that. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone. God, that woman could be nasty. That’s what I get for trying to be nice. “But I’m not taking her crap. Being sick isn’t an excuse to be rude. Come on, Lilly, time to head home.”

  Saren arrived promptly at 7:15. I opened the door to find him with a huge smile and a bouquet of multi-colored carnations. “They’re just beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Picked ’em myself. Right out of my garden.”

  “They’re lovely. Have a seat while I put them into some water.”

  “Something sure does smell good,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

  “Lasagna and garlic bread in the oven. Thought we’d have a salad with it.”

  “Sure is nice of you to invite me over. It isn’t often I get home-cooked meals.”

  I placed the vase on the table. “But you cook.”

  “Oh, I can do the easy stuff like fish and chicken, so I don’t go hungry.”

  I laughed. “I don’t do much more than that myself. I got Sybile’s recipe for lasagna and thought I’d try it,” I said before thinking. I had intended not to mention the woman’s name in conversation.

  Saren’s head jerked up. “Sybile? Now why would you have her recipe?”

  “Oh…well…Dora had mentioned it to me. So I called Sybile to see if she’d share it.”

  “So you’ve seen her recently?”

  “Yeah, last week.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  I felt like I was walking a tightrope. I didn’t want to betray Sybile’s medical condition, but I hated not being truthful with Saren. “She’s doing fairly well at the moment. You know—has her ups and downs.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, she’s always been like that. Sometimes ya never knew which way to take her. Seems to have been born with an irritable streak in her, if ya know what I mean.”

  I uncorked a bottle of chianti. “Some red wine?”

  “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  Pouring the wine into two glasses, I said, “That makes it tough in a friendship. Never quite knowing the mood of the other person.”

  “Sure ’nuff does,” he said, reaching for the glass. “Oh, she’s never been easy to get along with, that one. But…she sure did make life interesting.” He laughed and took a sip of wine. “Very nice, thank you.”

  “So you have a lot of good times that you remember?”

  “Oh yeah, a fair amount. Sybile was always her own person. Quite the daredevil too.”

  “In which way?”

  “Well, her daddy would tell her to stay close to the house ’cuz there was a storm comin’. And not ten minutes later, there she was—had the boat in the water and was headin’ over to Atsena Otie. All by herself. She’d wait out the storm under the trees over there. Almost like she had to prove she wasn’t scared of nothin’.”

  She’s scared of dying, I thought. “I bet she was pretty as a young girl and had lots of boyfriends.”

  “Boyfriends? The only one I know of here on the island was me. Guess ya could say we were a couple once she turned sixteen. Course we were always out in the open—me being eleven years older than her. I was real good friends with her daddy and he trusted me. Oh, I won’t lie…we snatched a few kisses here and there, but no more than that. I knew how young she was, but even then, I loved her.”

  I smiled. Unrequited love—the most painful kind. “How about in New York? She had boyfriends there?”

  “Well, if she did, she didn’t tell me about them. Just told me about the one she ended up marrying.”

  I got up to remove the lasagna from the oven. According to Saren, Sybile may have been strong-willed but she didn’t fit the character of what was called a loose woman back then. So could my father be Saren? Was he the one man that she’d loved and had a child with?

  “Here we go,” I said, placing the food on the table. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I know I will. Betcha it’s been over fifty years since I had this here lasagna. It was Sybile’s mama’s special recipe, ya know,” he said, taking a bite.

  “So you ate at their home?”

  “Lord, yes. Almost every Sunday. After church, her mama and daddy always invited me. My parents were both gone. So that was a nice treat, havin’ a home-cooked Sunday meal.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure it was. Do you think her parents thought the two of you would end up together?”

  Saren chewed a bite of food. “This sure does bring back memories. It’s delicious, Miss Sydney. Sybile’s mother would be proud of you.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, I reckon her parents thought once she got out of high school her and I might end up gettin’ married. But like I told ya—she had bigger fish to fry and those fish weren’t here on this island. Life is real funny like that, ya know. You think it’s all headed one way and then boom—just like that, it changes.”

  Don’t I know that. “Yeah, we never know from day to day what’s around that next corner.”

  Saren nodded. “Yup, look at you. You come here for a little vacation and now you’re a full-fledged resident. With some people, this island has a way of holdin’ on and not lettin’ go.”

  I smiled. “And I was one of those people. I’ve been here almost six months now and it feels like I’ve lived here forever. More lasagna?”

  “Goodness, no, but thank you. I sure did enjoy that, Miss Sydney.”

  “Well, I hope you left room for dessert—lemon pie.”

  “Oh, my. Don’t see how I could turn that down. Just a small piece, please.”

  I cut two wedges and returned to the table.

  Saren took a bite, smacking his lips. “This sure is good.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take credit. It’s a Mrs. Smith’s.”

  He laughed. “She’s a good baker. I’m real glad you decided to stay here, ya know and I’m real glad we became friends.”

  I looked across the table at this sincere and caring man. “Well, I’m real glad too.”

  He remained quiet for a few minutes while eating the pie. Blotting his lips with the napkin, he folded it, placed it on the table, and leaned forward. “Can I ask ya somethin’, Miss Sydney?”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I was wonderin’. You seem to be in touch with Sybile lately.” He paused, shifting in his chair. “I was just wonderin’ if maybe you could put in a good word for me. You know, mention me to her. Tell her I was askin’ for her and such. And…see if maybe she’d be willin’ to let me stop by and pay her a visit. I got to thinkin’ about you saying that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe the time has come to let bygones be bygones. That is…if Miss Sybile would be agreeable. Would ya see what you could do?”

  I inhaled deeply blowing the air back out, then finished off the last sip of wine. Getting up from the table to remove the dishes, I patted Saren on the shoulder. “I can’t promise anything. And I don’t want to see you disappointed. But yes…. I’ll talk to her. I’ll see what I can do.”

  25

  My chance to honor Saren’s request came the following week. Sybile called Spinning Forward and asked if I could come that evening for dinner. No apology, no mention of her rudeness the last time we’d spoken.

  I fought down the urge to decline. “What time?” was what I said i
n a brusque tone.

  “Seven o’clock,” Sybile stated without asking if that was convenient.

  “I’ll be there.” I hung up the phone. No doubt about it. This woman was annoying. I glanced up to see Noah walk through the door.

  Lilly ran to him for her requisite pat. “Hey girl,” he said, looking up to flash me a smile. “And how’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Annoyed, at the moment,” I said and explained about the conversation with Sybile.

  Noah shook his head. “Have to admit—she can be difficult.”

  “She makes me wonder if she’s incapable of any emotion. Like she doesn’t care whether people like her or not, so she’ll just be as damn rude as she can.”

  “Or is it that she might care too much? A lot of people put up that wall—it protects them. Keeps them from being hurt.”

  Was that what she’d done? Erected a wall to protect herself from further hurt? Noah could be right. If Sybile remained aloof, refrained from displaying emotions, she guaranteed herself not to be hurt. Not hurt—but possibly very lonely.

  “You have a point there.”

  Driving to Sybile’s house, I noticed the air was filled with a sweet fragrance. Must be one of those Southern flowers that bloom in the spring. Bushes of vivid reds, pinks, and purples adorned front lawns. Pulling into the gravel driveway of the Lighthouse my nostrils were assailed with the scent of salt water. Stepping from the golf cart, I inhaled deeply and headed up the stairs.

  “I’m here,” I hollered, sliding the screen door open. Stepping inside I found Sybile at the kitchen counter putting the finishing touches on a crabmeat casserole. Her illness hadn’t tamed down her clothing style. Wearing white eyelet capris and a lemon-yellow top, her hair was held back with a lime-green scarf. I noticed the woman carried a few less pounds.

  “I’ll just pop this in the oven and we’ll have a glass of wine before dinner,” Sybile told me.