Kaleidoscope Summer (Samantha's Story)

by Garcia, Rita

  He nodded as Maggie touched my hand to get my attention. “I own Magnolia’s Antiques, two doors down from the bookshop. In a day or two, you might want to ride into town with me and see Anne’s shop—if you have the keys.”

  “I do. Anne’s attorney sent them. Originally, I planned to stay in the apartment above her shop.” Why had Anne chosen to own a bookshop? “Did Anne love books, or did she open a bookshop for…for some other reason?”

  Maggie pushed her plate forward and rested her arms on the table. “Books were her passion. Maybe it was the writer in her—she dreamed of being an author someday.”

  The more Maggie talked about Anne, the more I realized the strong bond of friendship they’d shared. “Anne mentioned you in her emails, but I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  “Anne and I were great friends. I wish you could have gotten to know her.” Sadness replaced the sparkle in her eyes as she patted a stray tear. “I miss her.”

  For a brief second, a flash of jealousy clouded my thoughts. I should have been the one to know Anne—she was my birth mother.

  Logan rose abruptly, as though reading my emotions. “I’ll take Sam into the front room where she’ll be more comfortable.”

  With my arm locked in his for support, again. I hoped he wouldn’t notice the way my breathing reacted to his touch as he led the way to an antique velvet-tufted sofa.

  A fire crackled in the fireplace, lighting the room with a gentle glow. My words took on a will all their own. “My father’s sister, my Aunt Gwen, considered Anne a less than desirable person.” I could still feel the sting of my aunt’s words before I left Stone Valley. Raising her shaky voice about what an ungrateful daughter I turned out to be, for wanting to explore my past. Her words still blistered, telling me I wasn’t a true Forrester and never would be. “My aunt gave me the impression she had never approved of my birth mother.”

  “Most of the town held Anne in high esteem. Only a fool would say otherwise.” A shadow crossed his face and quickly faded. “You’re searching for answers.”

  “Exactly. I want to know about Anne. What she believed. What she excelled at. What she feared.” My most puzzling question remained unspoken—why had she given me away.

  “You’d need to ask Maggie about those things.” He stood, picked up the poker, and pushed the logs around, freeing the flames to leap higher.

  “Don’t you understand? In the process of finding out everything possible about Anne, I’ll find pieces of myself, bits I never knew existed.” Maybe I should have listened to my aunt and refused to come to Serenity Cove. But what if I no longer belonged in Stone Valley—not as a Forrester? What if I don’t fit in either world?

  Chapter Three

  One the oldest residents of Serenity Cove, the cigar-store Indian figure stood sentry outside Magnolia’s Antiques, greeting the customers in his colorful headdress. If only I had a silver coin for each time someone stood next to him and had a picture snapped. The ship bell clang as I opened the door to Maggie’s shop.

  “Well, hello, what brings you by?”

  “What—can’t I visit my favorite sister?”

  “You’re wanting more than a sisterly chat.” She smiled and continued arranging jewelry on a glass countertop.

  “On my way to see Sam at the bookshop.”

  “I’m enjoying getting to know Sam better. We have coffee of the mornings before she heads to the bookshop, like Anne and I used to do." She nodded to a table with two rose-colored wing chairs, the setting for one of her favorite things—inviting a friend for a cuppa, as she called it. “Time to sit a few minutes?”

  “Not today. I wanted to ask you about Anne’s parents.”

  “According to Anne, they don’t want anything to do with Sam—wouldn’t tolerate Anne even mentioning her name.” She gazed out the window as though she might find a solution in the sun’s slanted rays. “Sam needs our prayers.” Maggie fingered the chain of a necklace for a moment. “Logan, take it slow. I see many of Anne’s wonderful qualities in Sam, but don’t get too involved too soon.”

  “It’s all good. We’re just friends.” I’d seen Sam almost daily since she’d arrived in Serenity Cove. Yet, I couldn’t argue with Maggie’s logic. Sam would be leaving soon.

  I left and walked the few steps to the bookshop. Lilyan Brown was leaving. I stepped aside and held the door as she exited. A look of irritation crossed her face as she brushed past me. Lilyan had moved here when we were in middle school. Her odd behavior had only worsened in high school. And truthfully, not much about her has changed. Why had she visited Sam? The bookshop had remained closed since Anne’s death. It couldn’t be good.

  Even though she couldn’t hear me, I called Sam’s name as I entered. The dusty wooden shelves lining the walls remained filled with books. Odd—I still expected Anne to greet me with her cheerful hello. Goldie barked, drawing my attention to the rear of the shop.

  “Hi. We’re in the back.” Sam waved.

  I joined her at one of the reading tables. “Before the town built a library, Anne allowed us to sit at these tables and do our homework. She kept a set of encyclopedias and a few dictionaries so we could do research or look up spelling words.”

  Sam nibbled her bottom lip. “The more you and Maggie tell me about Anne, the more extraordinary she sounds.”

  I nodded. “She was.” Sam’s eyes reflected confusion. I wanted to help, but people generally had to work through this kind of stuff on their own. “How’s your morning?”

  “Eventful. Received an email from Anne’s attorney, Taylor Jones. There’s something he’s not telling me, I’m sure of it.”

  “Most of the locals use Jones. Anne’s will should be pretty straightforward, unless she left a codicil with unusual stipulations in it. He didn’t elaborate?”

  “Not really.”

  “Anne must’ve left instructions for Taylor to send you the keys to the shop.”

  “Yes, and he also mentioned the apartment upstairs. Seems Anne thought of everything.” She tilted her head to the side. “I had a visitor this morning, a woman by the name of Lilyan—didn’t catch her last name.”

  “What did she want?” I rubbed the back of my neck. Lilyan’s histrionics not only worked overtime—they never stopped.

  “To say hello. And drew a couple of invisible boundary lines.”

  “Boundary lines?” My jaw tightened.

  “Bizarre. Like your hers, so hands off.”

  I thought I had settled this the last time Lilyan pulled this stunt. Before I had a chance to explain, Goldie’s ears popped up and Sam looked toward the front of the shop. Her alert system made her aware someone had came in, before I even knew the door had opened.

  Maggie took a seat next to me and glanced at Sam. “Doing okay?”

  “I am. The pain is better.”

  Maggie leaned on the table. “My assistant came in for the afternoon. We can go home when you’re ready.”

  “I’ll drop you at Maggie’s later.” I reached to scratch Goldie behind her ears, but she pulled away, moving closer to Sam.

  Sam laughed. “Don’t take it personally. When Goldie has her vest on, she’s a working dog and is trained to respond only to me because she’s on duty.” Sam reached down and ruffled the dog’s fur. “There are a few more desk drawers I’d like to go through, if it isn’t an inconvenience.”

  A chance to spend more time with Sam stayed on my mind a lot these days. “No problem.”

  Maggie pulled her keys from her crocheted bag. “See you at home then. Be careful and don’t overdo.” She left through the rear of the shop, to the alleyway where she usually parked.

  I caught Sam’s attention. “Lilyan and I have never dated. I’ll talk to her and make sure she doesn’t bother you again.”

  “Like I told her, I’m only here to put Anne’s affairs in order. My life is in Stone Valley.” Sam stood and Goldie popped up beside her. “I’m going to get busy on those drawers.” Sam crossed the room to Anne’s desk an
d began poring over letters and pictures she had pulled from a bottom drawer. I moved and sat across from her.

  “Pictures of you?” I picked up the photo closest to me. Even as a small child, her azure eyes and honey blond hair were unmistakable.

  She shuffled through the photographs. “My mother sent these snapshots to Anne. Evidently, they exchanged letters. I found the notes Anne had written to my mother—that’s how I learned about the adoption. Why the secrets? Why the deceit? Why the lies?” She lowered her voice to not much more than a whisper, apparently directing the questions to herself.

  I touched her hand and she looked up. “It’s possible they both loved you.”

  “So why withhold the truth?” A mixture of anger and sadness filled her eyes. “If you don’t mind, I want to get out of here.” She reached down to the bag sitting on the floor and winced with a sharp intake of breath.

  I helped her lock up the shop. My earlier conversation with Maggie still lingered. If a meeting could be arranged with Sam’s grandparents—they’d fall in love with her. How could they not? Those eyes and that smile—man.

  As I drove, Sam peered from one side of Main Street to the other. “This town—it seems fictional. If I could custom design a town, I’d copy Serenity Cove.” She looked at me as though waiting for a reply.

  “Not much designing went on.” I looked around at the shops and chuckled.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it over one shoulder.

  “You’re right. Mismatched homes turned into shops—I think the city planners followed a crazy-quilt pattern and created a town. But it certainly has a unique charm.” Sam lowered her window and Goldie climbed from the back and laid her head on the edge of the opened space, allowing the wind to ruffle her fur.

  When had the town become so vibrant? I glanced at Sam—my heart pounded with a desire to know this beautiful creature better.

  Chapter Four

  My life seems twisted in knots—I haven’t a clue how to work them loose. Everything I believed about my life has been proved false. I heard the story many times. A child born to parents in their late forties, an unexpected blessing. They called me their miracle child. This self-indulgent pity isn’t helping. Father, please help me stop dwelling on the negative. ~ Journal entry

  At my doctor’s appointment, Doc fussed at me for overdoing it, and putting too much stress on my ribs. So I stayed home for a few days, and although it helped, it was time to get back to searching for answers.

  I waited until Maggie folded the morning paper and pushed it aside. “Mind if I ride into town with you?” Relying on others made me edgy. My parents had insisted I learn to be independent so people wouldn’t view my deafness as a handicap.

  “You’re welcome to ride with me anytime. But today I’m spending the morning in my garden. And later, I’m going to a quilting lesson at the church. You might enjoy it—Thelma’s giving a demonstration on appliqué techniques.”

  “Thelma from the hospital?” Thelma had helped with Goldie during my hospital stay. Once my little furry sweetheart learned the routine, each time Thelma entered the room Goldie greeted her, swishing her tail.

  “One and the same. She’ll have some of her gorgeous quilts on display.” Maggie set her fork and spoon on her plate and stood.

  “Sounds fun,” I agreed, before I could stop myself. “Go. Visit your garden—I’ll clean up.”

  “Aren’t you the bossy one this morning?” Maggie tossed me a wink as she raked her hair back and secured it with a red band from her wrist, and slipped out the back door.

  With an extra swipe of the towel across the kitchen counters, I dried my hands. Satisfied that it sparkled the way Maggie liked it.

  Goldie lay curled up asleep on her mat by the back door. “Ready to go outside, girl?” We traipsed across dew-covered grass to where Maggie knelt, tugging weeds from around a stone birdbath in the center of her garden. “You look as though you’re enjoying the morning.”

  She leaned back on her heels. “Relaxes me and works out my stress. And I love watching it burst with color.”

  “A few pots on the deck of my condo are about the extent of my gardening skills.” The sea caught my attention, and I longed to get closer. “Think I’ll take Goldie for a walk.”

  “There’s a great dreaming rock down by the shore.” Maggie pointed with her dirt-covered glove.

  “Okay. Won’t be long.” We followed the path leading to Maggie’s dreaming place. I removed a solitary string of slimy kelp from the rock and eased onto it. Pelicans dipped into the surf and once again took flight. The tangy sweetness of the ocean breeze caressed my skin—I closed my eyes and inhaled the blue peace spread out before me.

  Since losing my hearing, my other senses had become heightened. Where many people enjoyed music and felt inspired by a song, the lyrical beauty God wove into nature had become my inspiration. In my mother’s garden, I often buried my face in a rose, drawing in its sweet fragrance and stroking the velvety petals with my fingertips. Nature had become silent music that performed a concerto of love for my soul.

  The endlessness of the sea left me in awe, yet vulnerable. Life had stopped making sense. And now, Logan complicated it more. Several times he had stopped by the shop with a late lunch for the two of us. And he never forgot Goldie. Those two had formed a mutual admiration society. What were we forming, Logan and I?

  Two weeks of my month-long leave of absence had vanished with little progress in my search for answers. Being injured hadn’t helped. Enough. I slid off the hard surface and headed back down the sandy path.

  Maggie lifted her head, rubbing the back of her gloved hand across her face, leaving a smear of dirt behind.

  I told her, and ran my fingers along my cheek mirroring the streak.

  “Part of the charm of my favorite hobby.” Smiling, she stood and stretched her back. “We should get ready for Thelma’s quilting class—she won’t be pleasant if we’re late.”

  We changed and roared out of the driveway in Maggie’s convertible. I balanced my hat on my knees as the wind lifted and rearranged my hair to its liking. I kicked pride aside and surrendered. “You’ve almost persuaded me to trade in my SUV for a convertible.”

  “It’s a fun ride, especially in a seaside town.” The church came into view and Maggie pulled into the parking lot.

  Signs labeled Quilting Class directed us to the designated room. Quilts in vivid colors were draped on portable racks. I used extra care to keep Goldie away from the fabric masterpieces. Thelma adored my little girl, but she wouldn’t appreciate a trail of fur on her beautiful works of art.

  Maggie tapped my arm. “I’d like you to meet Rachel Hernandez—we went to school together.” In return, she introduced me as Anne’s daughter, and after acknowledging each other, we continued viewing the display.

  Rachel pointed to one of the designs. “Thelma made this story quilt for her daughter. Here’s her baby block—if you follow the path, it ends with her wedding.”

  “Aw, her first step.” I studied the little squares. “Fits with the uniqueness God placed within each of us.” The scripture, I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb, came to mind. I recalled how Miss Emmy helped me memorize verse after verse.

  Maggie looked back at me. “Good analogy.”

  “I’d make a story quilt, but what a warped tale it would be.” I hated it when I voiced negative thoughts out loud. Someone touched me and I turned. Julia stood right behind me.

  “Sweetie, what if the story isn’t ready to be told—it’s still being fashioned?” Julia gave me a hug.

  “Who’s minding your shop?” Maggie had taken me to Julia’s coffee shop on my first venture into town after my accident.

  “Honey, I simply hung the closed sign on the door. Missing this class—not about to happen.” At that moment, Thelma arrived in her usual take-charge fashion. “Ladies, let’s get started.” Her arms waved through the air as she directed everyone to find a seat.

&nbs
p; Maggie and I hurried to grab chairs in the front row so I had a clear view of the instructor, and room for Goldie at my feet.

  Thelma led the group in prayer and segued straight into teacher mode. She used a square of fabric pulled taut inside a hoop to illustrate the placement and basting of the appliqués, along with the “needle tuck” method of stitching them down. “All it takes is patience and practice. Like most worthwhile things in life.” She drew her presentation to an end with printed instructions for the class to take home. “If you have a problem, you know where to find me. Refreshments are in the back of the room. But don’t even think about going near one of my quilts with food.”

  I took a closer look at the piece she’d used for teaching, and my fingers itched to try. I grinned at the visual of me imitating her precise stitches.

  “What’s so amusing?” Thelma’s lips curved into a perceptive smile.

  “I want to learn.”

  “Do you sew?”

  “No. But it looks intriguing—an art form.” I refrained from saying my mother would have frowned upon learning to use a needle and thread. She came from money, but my father was a successor of old wealth. In their world, a sense of entitlement correlated with money. Times had changed. Not many wealthy women took pride in acquiring excellent needlework skills.

  “Give it a try. I’m available if you need help. By the way, how are you feeling?”

  “Good.” A line had formed behind me, keeping our conversation short I moved to make way for the other women. I found Maggie admiring more of Thelma’s piecework designs.

  “You ready to raid the refreshment table?” Maggie gestured toward an assortment of homemade cookies.

  We made our way to the back of the room. I hadn’t counted on running into one particular lady—the one with eyes oddly empty of expression. “Lilyan’s here.” Chills crept up my spine. Why?

  Maggie quickly turned toward me. “When did you meet Lilyan? I have a feeling this is so not good.”