Morning Glory

by Sarah Jio

  I clutch my belly when I feel another surge of pain.

  Jimmy leaps to his feet. “Are you OK?”

  “I think so.”

  He turns back to the ball he’s been bouncing on the dock between his legs, then tosses it into the air, but instead of landing in his lap as he intended, it bounces into the lake.

  “Oh no,” Jimmy cries, throwing his arms out as far as they’ll stretch. “I can’t reach it.”

  “Let me try,” I say, reaching unsuccessfully for the little ball.

  Jimmy shakes his head. “We could take the canoe out.”

  I shake my head. “Not at this hour, honey. It’s too dark.”

  Jimmy thinks for a moment. The current has wrapped its tendrils around the little blue ball. It’s drifting away. “I have a stick at my house,” he says. “I’ll run and get it.”

  I nod.

  A moment later, Gene appears. “Oh, there you are,” he says, walking toward me from the dock.

  I’m a little startled to see him. I wonder if Dex has told Naomi about my condition. I wonder if he knows about his wife and my husband.

  “May I sit down with you?”

  “Sure,” I say. Gene is a good man, his one fault being that he loves Naomi and is blind to her ways.

  “I guess we’re in the same boat,” he says rather vaguely.

  He does know. I wonder why he didn’t tell me. But the fact of the matter remains: Our spouses are having an affair. He knows. I know.

  “I feel like a fool,” I say. “What are we supposed to do?”

  Gene smiles as if to spare my feelings. Yet the tragedy and ruin, for so many lives, is inescapable. Nobody wins.

  “Well, the way I see it there’s only one solution,” he says. His eyes flash, and I hardly recognize him for a moment. He looks bold, determined in a way I have never seen before. I look over my shoulder. Jimmy’s coming back soon. I don’t want him to overhear our conversation, the ugly details about his mother and my husband.

  I feel another deep pain in my belly, and I double over. A boat motors by in the distance and I hear footsteps behind me. Both are faint in comparison to the surge of pain I feel deep inside, a ripping in my abdomen. Then I feel hands on my neck. I try to catch my breath, but I can’t. I look right, then left. I can’t breathe. I can’t see anyone. I just feel pressure around my neck, fingers grasping tighter. I feel the cold of the lake next and nothing else.

  Chapter 30

  ADA

  I’ve agreed to go to church with Alex on Sunday morning, and I can hear the church bells of Saint Mark’s Cathedral from our parking spot a few blocks away. “I forgot how much I love that sound,” I say, stepping out of the car.

  “Kellie’s supposed to drop Gracie out front,” Alex says. He looks a little nervous, but I try not to read into it. The truth is, I don’t know how this is supposed to work either. I’ll be meeting Gracie for the first time, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave. Will she see me as competition for her father’s attention? An obstacle? I hope not.

  We walk along the sidewalk leading to the massive church. There’s a crispness to the air—the earliest indication that fall is coming, and the end of my time on Boat Street, maybe. My lease is up in a week, and other than Alex hinting now and then that I should stay, we haven’t had any concrete discussions about just what that might mean, nor am I ready for them. Seattle has been my big adventure, my last-ditch effort to heal. I didn’t ever anticipate meeting Alex, falling in love with Boat Street, and being possessed by the mystery of Penny Wentworth. In short, I didn’t expect Seattle to carve out such a significant chunk of my heart, and I’m not quite ready to part with it yet. As we walk in unison, and in silence, I remember what Dr. Evinson said: “Take it one day at a time.” Yes.

  A black Volkswagen sedan idles in the circular drive. I feel Alex tense as we approach, and I know this must be Kellie’s car. I imagine him sitting in the passenger seat in happier times. Kellie with her hand on Alex’s thigh. Alex smiling charmingly, rubbing the back of her neck.

  Puffs of engine exhaust cloud the air. “I’ll wait here,” I say. “I want to take a look at those stained glass windows.”

  Alex nods and forces a smile. “Gracie’s going to love you.”

  “I hope,” I whisper, as I watch him walk to the car.

  Alex opens the passenger’s side door, and I can see Kellie’s face. She looks vaguely annoyed. Her blond hair is pulled back, and even without makeup, she’s still strikingly beautiful. For a moment, I feel a pang of jealousy. This is the mother of his child. The mother. I’m startled by this emotion, and I try to extinguish it as quickly as it rears its head. Kellie casts a glance in my direction and our eyes meet for a moment, but she looks away quickly. Alex speaks to her, she nods, and then he closes the door. It’s clean and precise, like a business transaction, but I can’t help but worry that my presence is making their co-parenting arrangement more difficult. I imagine myself in her shoes, if James and I had parted ways and he—gulp—had met someone else. I know I’d hate any woman who waited in the wings to win the affection of my daughter. I’d despise her. I wouldn’t be proud to admit it, but it’s true.

  I forget my worries when the back door opens and a little girl in pink leggings and a magenta sweater dress barrels out. Alex scoops her up and she smiles, revealing a missing front tooth. She’s eight—pretty and blond like her mom, and obviously the apple of her daddy’s eye. Although she looks nothing like Ella, it startles me how much she reminds me of her. I bite my lip as Alex sets her down, and she waves in the direction of her mom’s car as it speeds away. I can’t see Kellie’s expression, but I imagine she’s looking back at us through the rearview. I wonder if she wants to be standing in my place.

  I approach cautiously. “Hi,” I say to Gracie. “I’m Ada.”

  “I know,” she says. “Mommy told me about you.”

  I swallow hard. I have no idea what her mother might have said about me, but I try not to overanalyze. This is a big moment, and I don’t want to let my insecurities overcome me. I kneel down beside her. What would I say to one of Ella’s friends in a difficult moment? I admire the sparkly sequins on her dress. “I like your dress.” Her nose is dotted with tiny freckles.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I lost a tooth last week.” Her voice is sweet and high-pitched.

  “You did?”

  She nods her head. “Mommy says the tooth fairy comes at our house and at Daddy’s house.”

  I look up at Alex with a grin. “That’s right,” I say. “And I hear the tooth fairy is especially generous on houseboats.”

  “Really?” Gracie asks excitedly. “I’m staying over with Daddy tonight.” Alex flashes me a private smile.

  The church bells ring again, and he points ahead. “Come on, you two,” he says. “Let’s go find a seat.”

  We traverse the foyer and take a seat in a pew toward the back of the church. Alex watches as Gracie smiles up at me just as the first hymn begins. I don’t listen to the sermon, not really. I think about my burden instead, and how I’d like to give it to someone else for a while. God? Could I do that? I’m not sure. But I do know that Alex was right. It just feels good to belong.

  Before we’re back at the dock, Alex’s cell rings. Gracie and I listen to one side of his conversation in the car. He doesn’t sound happy.

  “That was my client at Seattle magazine,” he says. “The layouts for the tapas feature in the spring issue came back, and they’re not exactly what the editor in chief had in mind.” He pulls into his parking spot just off Fairview Avenue and rubs his brow. “They want me to come in and reshoot.”

  “Really?” I say. “That sounds completely unreasonable.”

  Alex shrugs. “It’s in my contract. I have no choice but to go in and get it right or else.” He sighs, and reaches for his cell phone. “I’ll call Kellie—”

  “It’s OK,” I say quickly. “Gracie and I
can hang out here until you come back.”

  His face melts into a smile. “Really?”

  I nod.

  He turns around to look at Gracie, and she grins. “No big deal, Daddy.” She turns to me. “Can I see your houseboat?”

  “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  I take Gracie’s hand as we climb out of the car. Alex heads down his dock to get his camera, and we walk toward Boat Street. “Bye, you two,” he says. “I promise, I’ll only be a few hours.”

  As we walk up to my deck, Jim is heading back toward the dock. He looks startled to see us. “Oh,” he says, shuffling his hand through his hair. “I was, uh, just dropping by to say hello.”

  “Oh,” I reply, remembering how he was ill the night of Bach on the Dock. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” He glances at Gracie, then turns back to me. “Well, don’t let me interrupt.”

  “You’re welcome to come in,” I say.

  “Nah, I’d better get back. Dad’s having a bad day.”

  “Right,” I say. I wonder why he’s acting so strangely, but Gracie’s smiling up at me. Her big green eyes make me forget my concerns. “Do you have a bunk bed?” she asks. “I wish Daddy’s houseboat did.”

  “I have a loft,” I say. “And that’s just as cool.”

  She jumps up and down. “Can I see it?”

  “Of course you can.”

  Inside, I begin the tour, but soon she climbs up to a barstool. “Do you love my daddy?”

  My cheeks feel hot. “Well, we haven’t known each other very long, but I think he’s pretty amazing.”

  “He is,” Gracie says matter-of-factly. “Did you know he can hide a quarter in his ear and make it come out in his hand?”

  “Really?”

  She nods, and I instantly remember the way James did that trick for Ella. It never failed to astonish her.

  “He can also tie a fisherman’s knot,” she says. “That’s hard, but I’m learning.”

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, scanning the refrigerator for kid-friendly fare.

  “Do you have any cookies?”

  “Sorry, I don’t.”

  “We could make some,” she suggests. Her legs dangle from the stool, but she tucks them under herself and looks up at me in anticipation. “Mommy and I always make cookies.”

  Of course, her mother the award-winning chef. “Well, I did find some flour and sugar in the pantry, but I don’t think I have a good recipe.”

  “Oh,” she says, disappointed.

  But then I remember Penny’s little blue notebook and all the recipes inside. “Wait, I have an idea.”

  Gracie follows me to the chest in the living room. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

  She nods eagerly.

  “I found a chest filled with treasures from another time,” I say, lifting the lid. I show her the wedding dress, the gloves, and other relics of Penny Wentworth’s life before I pull out the notebook. “This belonged to a woman who lived here a very long time ago. Her name was Penny.”

  I hand her the recipe book, and she fans through its pages, stopping when something catches her eye. “Cinnamon cookies,” she says. “Mmmmmm.”

  She hands me the recipe book, and I look over the ingredients. “I think we have everything here. Let’s make them.”

  Penny’s Cinnamon Cookies

  Makes 3 dozen

  INGREDIENTS

  1 cup butter, softened

  1 ½ cups sugar

  1 egg

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  2 tablespoons molasses

  2 ¼ cups flour

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 ½ tablespoons ground cinnamon

  DIRECTIONS

  Preheat oven to 350. Mix butter and sugar together until smooth. Mix in egg, vanilla, and molasses. Then, mix flour, baking soda, and cinnamon and add to butter mixture. Form one-inch balls of dough, and place on cookie sheet about two inches apart. Bake 10 to 12 minutes.

  Gracie lets out a little squeal, then follows me to the kitchen. Together we crack eggs and mix butter and sugar together. In twenty minutes, the oven is preheated and we place the cookie sheet inside. The kitchen smells glorious, like vanilla and cinnamon and butter, and when the timer beeps, we can hardly wait for them to cool before trying them, with a glass of milk, of course.

  “These are the best cookies I’ve ever had,” Gracie declares.

  “I think I agree,” I say, reaching for a second.

  After they cool, I place a half dozen cookies in a Ziploc bag. “For you and your dad,” I say. “And be sure to save some for your mom.” I wonder what Kellie, the proficient cook, will think of the cookies, but mostly I wonder what she’ll think of me spending time with her daughter.

  We play double solitaire on the floor until Alex knocks on the door and lets himself in. “Hi,” he says from the doorway.

  I look up after setting a card down on the stack of hearts. “How did it go?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Glad to have that over with. How’s my girl?”

  Gracie leaps up. “We made cookies!”

  Alex grins. “I know. I could smell them all the way from the street. Can I have one?”

  Gracie hands him the bag.

  “Wow,” he says. “These are really good.”

  “It’s Penny’s recipe,” I say.

  He gives me a knowing smile, then turns to Gracie. “Well, I should get this munchkin home.” He pauses for a moment. “You can join us, Ada.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “You two go ahead. I have some things to get done today.”

  “OK,” he says, squeezing my hand. “But stop by later, all right?”

  I call Joanie after Alex leaves. “I just spent the morning with Alex’s daughter,” I say, lying on the couch. “We all went to church together.”

  “Church?”

  “Yeah. It was really nice.”

  “What was she like?”

  “She’s wonderful.” I feel a lump in my throat. “Ella would have loved her.”

  “Do you think she liked you?”

  “I think so,” I say. “She braided my hair during the service, and we made cookies at my place.”

  “That’s cute,” Joanie says. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “I feel like I’ve hit a dead end,” I say, laying the contents of Penny’s chest out on the floor. “No one will talk about Penny. I think I have to find her husband.”

  “What was his name again?”

  “Dexter Wentworth.”

  “Sounds like one of those spoiled rich guys on the crime shows who gets away with murder because his daddy hires a hotshot lawyer.” I can envision Joanie rolling her eyes on the other side of the continent.

  “Don’t be so quick to judge him,” I say. “What if he’s nothing more than a grieving husband?”

  “But didn’t you say that he was having an affair?”

  “Well,” I say, remembering what I read about Lana Turner. Of course, it was only speculation, but it was highly probable. “Yes, there’s that. But that’s not exactly reason enough for foul play. Lots of men in the 1950s had affairs. Think of Mad Men.”

  “Oooh, I wonder if he looks like Don Draper?” Joanie says with a squeal.

  “You know, the comparison isn’t that far off,” I say. “In the photos I’ve seen, he had dark hair and that dashing look about him.”

  “Well,” Joanie says, “be careful, all right? If he had something to do with Penny’s disappearance, he’s not going to like that you’re poking about.”

  “Joanie, he’s in his nineties.”

  “I know,” she replies. “But it doesn’t matter how old someone is. If they want to conceal the truth, they’ll stop at nothing to do it.”

  I think about what Joanie said for a little while after hanging up the phone. But I know that I won’t be able to put the pieces of Penny’s story together without hearing from Dexter. So I use my well-honed reporter’s Google skills and manag
e to find his address at the Lakeview Retirement Community. A fan of his artwork set up a page devoted to his past work, with a forwarding address to his retirement home.

  I key in the number on my phone, and as it rings, I scroll through the abstract landscapes of Dexter Wentworth, at least the ones curated on the fan site. They’re big and bold, with little warmth. I wonder if Dexter Wentworth the artist is any reflection of Dexter Wentworth the person.

  On the third ring, an operator picks up, and I ask her to connect me.

  A moment later an elderly man with a deep, gravelly voice picks up. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Wentworth, my name is Ada Santorini.” I’m surprised by how nervous I feel. I don’t want him to hang up; I’m desperate to hear what he has to say about his wife. “Well, you see, I’m living in a houseboat that you used to own, and I’m calling to ask you something.”

  “You live on Boat Street?”

  “Yes,” I say cautiously.

  “My daughter owns the property. If you have a rental issue, you’ll do best to take it up with Roxanne.”

  “It’s not about the house, exactly,” I say. “It’s about your wife, Penny.”

  He’s silent for a moment.

  “Mr. Wentworth? Are you there?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I am.”

  “Mr. Wentworth, I found some of your wife’s belongings here in the houseboat, and I thought you ought to know about them.”

  “Miss . . .”

  “Santorini.”

  “Miss Santorini, why don’t you meet me this afternoon?”

  “Yes,” I say, my heart beating faster. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I live in apartment forty-seven at the Lakeview Retirement Community.”

  “I can be there at three,” I say.

  “That’s fine.”

  I eye the leftover cookies, and decide to box them up to take with me. For Dexter. From Penny.

  Chapter 31

  Alex appears on my doorstep as I’m stepping out to catch a cab to Dexter’s apartment downtown. “I’m glad I caught you.” He’s out of breath from running down the dock; he holds a manila envelope with the flap dangling open.