Farewell to Cedar Key

by Terri DuLong

  “That was fun,” Orli said as we got into the golf cart and headed home.

  Fun? I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use to describe the past hour. More like duty was what I was thinking, but all I said was, “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it. So what are you up to this evening?”

  “I told Grace that I could babysit Solange. She and Lucas are going to dinner at the Island Room, and I have to be at their house by six.”

  “Okay, then let’s get you home so you can change. Your dad called this morning and there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.” I glanced at Orli and saw that she was staring at me, a concerned expression on her face. Reaching over, I patted her knee. “Don’t look so worried. He suggested that maybe you and I could fly up to Boston to spend Christmas and celebrate your special birthday.”

  “Oh, wow! Really? Could we, Mom? Could we?”

  The excitement in her voice told me how she felt. “I told him I’d have to think about it, because it will depend on whether I’m working at a new job by then. So we’ll see.” My daughter remained silent, causing me to add, “But I think it’s definitely a possibility.”

  Orli leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You’re the best, Mom,” she said, to which I replied, “No, you’re the best. The very best thing that ever happened to me.”

  4

  I walked into Yarning Together the following morning to find Dora behind the counter and the shop empty of customers.

  She looked up with a bright smile on her face. “Good morning, Josie. Thank you again for helping me out.”

  “Not a problem. How’s Chloe doing?”

  Dora walked toward the coffeemaker and began preparing the pot. “I haven’t heard from her yet this morning, so I’m hoping she had a comfortable night.”

  I looked around the shop and noticed two large boxes on the floor. “Is that a UPS delivery? Do you want to start unpacking those?”

  “Yes, we’ll get to those shortly. But first, we’ll have coffee while I explain the stock—which you probably know as well as I do.”

  I chuckled and followed her through the back room and outside to the narrow, screened area used for customers to relax and knit. She opened the door of the carriage house, which was attached to the screened enclosure.

  “Chloe mostly handles all of the stock in here,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “We’ve put all of the cashmere, Qiviuk, and mink yarns out here in addition to many of the yarns used for knitting lace—the luxury fibers.”

  “In other words, the very pricey yarns,” I said, walking toward the mahogany antique armoire that held shelves of displayed yarn. Reaching out, I stroked a skein of pale pink cashmere.

  Dora laughed. “Exactly. When Sydney owned the yarn shop, there wasn’t much of a demand for these fibers, and even when Monica took over the shop it didn’t make business sense to stock them. But in the past year or so, Chloe and I have found there are a lot of women who will give up other things in order to spend their disposable income on these yarns.”

  I nodded. My mother was one of those women.

  “So,” Dora said, “if somebody is looking for one of those, you can direct them out here. And this is where Chloe does her knitting classes.” She indicated an area to the side, complete with long table, chairs, and a galley kitchen built along the wall. “As a matter of fact, we were trying to come up with an idea for another class. We already have a mother and daughter group that comes to knit on Saturday mornings, but we were hoping to develop something new. If you have any ideas, please jump in with your suggestions.”

  “How about men?” I blurted out.

  “Men?” she questioned, a bewildered expression on her face.

  “Yeah, a men’s knitting class. I belong to a few knitting groups online, and from everything I’m reading, men are becoming more and more involved in knitting. They’re also wonderful designers of patterns.”

  “Oh, yes,” Dora responded. “I’m well aware of that. We carry a few books in the shop written by male designers. But . . . I’m just not sure there would be much of a call for men to join a knitting class here on the island.”

  “You mean the macho thing?”

  “Well . . . possibly.”

  “That’s just it,” I said, not even sure where I was going with this. “Maybe they just don’t realize yet how enjoyable it could be if they didn’t allow gender to get in the way.”

  “Hmm, you could be right,” Dora said as I followed her back to the shop, but I heard the doubt in her tone. “Let’s have that coffee while I mull this over.”

  She had just passed me a mug when we turned to see Chloe walk in.

  Dora rushed over to give her a gentle hug. “How’re you feeling? Join us for some coffee?”

  “That would be great. Thanks. Josie, I heard you’re going to help Dora while I’m . . . incapacitated. I really appreciate it.”

  She held up her right arm encased in a cast from elbow to fingertips.

  “My pleasure. Are you doing okay?”

  Chloe reached for the mug of coffee with her left hand and laughed. “Yeah. Actually, not too much pain. More a discomfort and a pain in the neck. And I am definitely a right-handed person. I could barely get the toothpaste cap off this morning. It’s amazing how much we take our hand dominance for granted.”

  “I can imagine,” I told her.

  “So what’s going on here? I know I can’t do anything as far as work, but I thought maybe I could help get Josie settled in.”

  “Yes, that would be great,” Dora said. “Especially if we get busy. Well, Josie and I were just having an interesting discussion. I told her that we’d like to come up with an idea for more classes and she suggested a men’s knitting group.”

  “Oh, that’s a brilliant idea. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Really?” Dora questioned. “You think it might work? That we’d even have enough men on the island who would take an interest?”

  Chloe headed to the sofa and sat down. “Well, I’m not sure. But we’ll never know unless we put the word out there, will we?”

  I leaned against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “Dora seems to think that the men might reject the idea because knitting is normally associated with females.”

  “But that’s not really true. When I was a student and working toward my textile degree in college, we studied the history of knitting. Look at James Norbury.”

  “Who?” Dora and I said at the same time.

  Chloe laughed. “He was British and he was a pioneer in the world of knitting following World War Two. Quite accomplished in his field. Do a Google search and you’ll find out more about him.”

  “I had no idea,” Dora said. “But that doesn’t mean we’d be able to lure any men in this area to knitting classes.”

  “I like the idea,” Chloe said, looking over at me. “And I hate to put this in your lap, but . . .” She raised her casted arm. “I think you’d be great doing a male knitting class, Josie. Obviously, it would have to be a beginner’s class, teaching the basics of knit and purl, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, we teach knitting to children and they do well.”

  “Me?” I said with surprise.

  “I agree.” Dora patted me on the shoulder. “I think you’d be perfect. And hopefully you’ll be back to work nursing soon, so we could arrange for the classes to be in the evening. I don’t want to pressure you, but I’d like you to give it some thought. I think it could be a lot of fun.”

  Fun? That wasn’t the word that came to mind. “Okay,” I mumbled.

  Dora took the last sip of her coffee. “Now if you’d like to start unpacking one of those boxes, Chloe can explain where the various yarns should be placed. I’m going to get on the computer and check for any online orders.”

  The next few hours passed pleasantly, with Chloe as my guide, and when lunchtime arrived, I realized that I had actually enjoyed learning my new tasks.

  “Josie, why don’t you go to lunch now? I’ll
eat here and, Chloe, you really should go home and get some rest.”

  “Yeah, I’m a little tired. Since I won’t be knitting for a while, and believe me, I’m already going through withdrawal, I think I’ll stop by the book shop and stock up on some reading material.”

  I was getting ready to head home for lunch when the phone rang, and Dora informed me it was my mother. When she’d called me the night before, I had explained to her that I’d be working in the shop for a while to help Dora out. To my surprise, she thought it was a good idea. So I figured she was calling to see how I was doing.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said into the phone.

  “Josie, can you come over to the house? When do you get a break for lunch?”

  “Actually, I’m leaving now to go home. Why? What’s up?”

  “No, no. You can’t go home. Come here to eat. I’ll have Delilah fix you something nice. I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’ll keep till you get here. See you soon.” And with that, she disconnected the call.

  I let out a sigh.

  “Everything okay?” Dora questioned.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure it is. Just my mother in her drama queen role. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  My mother had the front door open before I barely got out of the golf cart. Now I was worried.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, running up the steps. “Is it Dad?”

  She shook her head from side to side. “No, no. We’re fine. Come on into the kitchen. Delilah prepared you a nice crabmeat croissant.”

  I followed my mother to the back of the house and sat down at the table while she began to pace the floor.

  “It’s CC,” she said. “She called me this morning.”

  Now I detected agitation in her tone. CC—whose given name was Catherine Carol—was one of my mother’s close college friends. Five of them belonged to a group that they had dubbed Sisters of ’68, the year they graduated college. Elly Bishop, Maggie Seymour, and Jane Carlisle, who was Mallory’s mother, composed the rest of the group. Although they had been scattered along the East Coast since graduation, they had managed to stay connected and had forged a strong female bond. As an only child, I had adopted all four as my surrogate aunts and always looked forward to their visits.

  “Is CC okay?” I asked with concern.

  “Okay?” My mother threw her hands up into the air. “I think she’s gone mad. She’s making no sense at all.”

  I felt a sense of dread, wondering if perhaps she was showing signs of Alzheimer’s. “What do you mean?”

  “It seems,” my mother said, pausing only long enough to take a quick sip of her sweet tea, “that CC has taken up with a younger man. Much younger.”

  So far I was failing to see any crisis; I waited for her to go on.

  “Somebody that she met at that fancy advertising firm in New York where she works. They’ve been together for about a month now, and since the relationship is still going on, she wanted me to know and asked if it would be all right if she brought him here during her Christmas visit.”

  CC was divorced, had no children, was sixty-eight years old, and I was still failing to see the problem.

  “Mom, I guess I’m missing the point here. So maybe she’s happy.” I took a bite of my sandwich as my mother continued to pace.

  “Happy? How can she be happy with somebody young enough to be her son?”

  “How much of an age difference are we talking about?” I asked between bites.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her hand in the air. “About twenty years, I guess. And what does that matter anyway?”

  Excuse me? I thought the age difference was the problem. But I had to admit that I was a bit surprised at this revelation. CC had always struck me as an elegant, well-put-together career woman, so I did think it was a bit out of character for her.

  “Oh,” was all I said as I continued to wolf down my sandwich.

  “This is just insane,” my mother continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I do think CC should finally be out there dating. After all, she’s been divorced for five years. But dating a kid? I can only imagine what the others will think.”

  I took the last bite of my sandwich and smiled. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t bother the rest of the group nearly as much as it seemed to be bothering my mother.

  “Well,” I said, standing up and wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think you need to be so upset about this. CC is a grown woman. She’s always been responsible. So let her be.”

  I headed toward the front door. “I need to get back to the yarn shop. Thanks for lunch. I’ll call you later, but cut CC some slack. It might be just a fling.”

  “I should have known better than to think you’d agree with me,” were my mother’s parting words.

  I couldn’t argue with her on that.

  5

  By the end of the following week, I’d given up on Simon Mancini calling me for a job interview. I figured if he was interested, I would have heard from him by now. But gossip was circulating the island about a new doctor coming to town.

  I was in the yarn shop with Dora when Raylene Samuels—known as the island busybody—walked in.

  “Have you heard?” she asked, while swiping a tissue across her brow. “Have you heard we’re getting a doctor here on the island?”

  I wasn’t about to divulge what I already knew, and Dora remained silent, both of us certain that Raylene would continue.

  “Yup,” she went on. “It was just confirmed to me. He bought the house on the corner of Twenty-Fourth and D Streets. There’s a contractor in there now doing all kinds of renovations. He told me. Seems the new doc is going to live upstairs and his office will be on the first floor. After all these years . . . now why would a doctor want to come here to Cedar Key?”

  “To heal the sick?” Dora asked, and I caught the smile on her face.

  I had to admit that Raylene did have more information than I did, since I hadn’t known where Dr. Mancini would live or set up his practice.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Just seems mighty strange to me. And I wonder how his wife will take to living in such a small town.”

  How on earth did she know he had a wife?

  “Raylene.” Dora shook her head. “Why must you always lean toward the negative? Are you saying he has a sinister reason for coming here to set up a practice? Don’t you think it could simply be that he likes the location, realizes we have no doctor on the island, and might want to help the community?”

  Raylene remained silent for a moment, giving an indication that no, she hadn’t considered that option at all.

  “Well,” she sniffed. “It just seems mighty odd to me, that’s all I’m saying. I wonder where he’s coming from. You think he’s a big fancy doc from the north? A lot of them like coming down here for the golf. Not that we have a golf course on the island, but there is one in Chiefland.”

  “He’s coming from St. Augustine,” I blurted. When I get annoyed, I have a tendency to just blurt things out.

  Dora and Raylene both stared at me.

  “And how do you know that, Miss Josie?” Raylene questioned.

  Damn. I hadn’t intended to share my possible news with anyone just yet. Especially since it looked like it wasn’t going to work out for me anyway.

  “The coconut pipeline,” was all I said. Everybody on the island referred to the vehicle for gossip as the coconut pipeline.

  “Hmm.” Raylene pointed a finger at each of us in turn. “See, why would he leave St. Augustine to come here?”

  Dora shook her head and laughed. “Why wouldn’t he? Raylene, I think you’re reading too much into this. Remember the movie company from last year? You let your imagination run away with you.”

  I felt a smile cross my face. Raylene and her husband, Carl, had been convinced that a film company was coming to Cedar Key to use the town as the setting for a movie. She was determined to get a walk-on part. Raylene had be
en correct about a crew coming to the island to do some filming. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a Hollywood film producer. It was a few fellows from the university who came to do a short documentary on Cedar Key as a fishing village.

  Raylene tossed her chin and headed for the door. “Well, mark my words. He just might be up to no good,” she said without even a good-bye.

  Dora and I burst out laughing.

  “Good Lord,” Dora said, still chuckling. “I wonder if every small town has a Raylene Samuels.”

  “Probably,” I replied, and returned to emptying a box of scrumptious baby alpaca when my cell phone rang.

  I fished the phone out of my handbag to hear Mallory’s voice.

  “Hey, working girl. How about meeting me for lunch at the Pickled Pelican?”

  I glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw it was just before noon.

  “Sure,” I said. “How about in an hour?”

  “That’ll work for me,” she said. “See you at the Pelican.”

  Mallory had already secured an outside table on the deck and was sipping sweet tea when I arrived. She got up to give me a hug.

  “I like you working right here on the island,” she said. “This beats Gainesville, doesn’t it?”

  Being able to have lunch with my BFF on a weekday was definitely a plus. “It does,” I said, sitting down across from her.

  “So what’s up?” she asked. “Any word yet from Mystery Doc?”

  I had confided in my best friend a few nights before I realized that my possible job offer was unlikely to materialize.

  I waited for the waitress to take our order before I replied.

  “Nope. Nothing. Not a word. He probably changed his mind.”

  “Now, now,” she said, reaching over to pat my hand. “Think positive. He’s probably pretty busy trying to get everything organized. Oh, did you hear he bought the house on the corner of Twenty-fourth and D Streets?”

  Sometimes that coconut pipeline got a glitch, leaving me on the slower end of receiving news.

  “Yeah. Raylene just came into the yarn shop to tell us. That’s a good spot for a doctor’s office. Right downtown and convenient for people to get to. By the way,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “Did your mother mention anything to you about CC dating a younger man?”