Farewell to Cedar Key

by Terri DuLong

  Mallory laughed. “She told me last night. CC called her to share her news. Hey, good for her is what I say.”

  “Me too, but my mother doesn’t feel that way. What was your mother’s reaction?”

  “Oh, she’s happy for CC, but a little concerned. Apparently, CC has planned a trip to Tuscany with him next month.”

  “Really?” I doubted that my mother had that piece of information.

  Mallory nodded. “Yeah. I mean it’s great, but my mom’s a bit concerned that he might be taking CC for a ride financially. Guess it sounded like she was footing the entire bill. Airfare, renting a place over there, all of it.”

  “Hmm,” was all I said, but I wondered now if perhaps my mother had been right to worry. “What’s your take on it?”

  Mallory waited while the waitress placed grouper sandwiches in front of us.

  “Well, I’d hate to see her taken advantage of. But . . . CC’s a grown woman. She’s entitled to make her own choices. Good or bad. And hey, if this fellow and the trip make her happy . . . why not?”

  I took a bite of the delicious fish and nodded. I, of all people, should know how important it is for a woman to make her own decisions. Not what somebody else wants. Or what they think you should do. But a decision based on your own wants and needs.

  “Yup, I agree with you,” I said. “But convincing my mother isn’t going to be easy.”

  “She’s that upset?”

  “That’s probably putting it mildly. She calls me constantly to discuss the situation, as she calls it. You know my mother.”

  Mallory laughed. “Oh, yeah. Speaking of decisions, have you decided yet if you and Orli are going to Boston for Christmas?”

  “Not yet. I’m holding off, waiting to see if I get a full-time job. Which, at the moment, isn’t looking hopeful. At this rate, I could be fully unemployed come Christmas. Chloe will be back to work by then, so Dora won’t need me at the yarn shop.”

  We both looked up as the waitress came rushing out to the deck, waving her hands at the few locals seated outside.

  “Hey, did y’all hear? Mr. Al passed away. His housekeeper found him this morning in his bed,” she said before running back inside.

  Mallory and I looked at each other, and I felt my heart drop. Mr. Al had died? The entire town loved Mr. Al—especially my daughter.

  “Oh no,” Mallory said. “How sad. He was such a sweet old guy. But when his beloved Pal passed away last month, everybody said Mr. Al took it pretty bad.”

  “True.” I nodded my head and recalled how Orli and I had stopped by his house to offer our sympathy on the loss of his dog. “He had developed a heart problem this past year, and I think the loss of his best friend made it worse.”

  I was concerned about how Orli would take this news when Mallory said something that added to my concern.

  “Oh, gee. I guess this means that Ben will be returning to the island to make funeral arrangements.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” was all I said.

  “Poor Mr. Al,” Orli said as she helped me clear the supper table. “Maybe he just didn’t want to go on without Pal. He sure did miss that dog.”

  I began filling the dishwasher and nodded. “You could be right. Sometimes people hit a certain age and they feel they’ve lost enough in life. But it was a cardiac problem and I’m glad that he went peacefully in his sleep.”

  “Oh, me too. He was such a sweet man.”

  It was obvious that Orli was bothered by his loss. “But he never forgot the kindness that you showed him, helping clean up his yard and preventing him from going to a nursing home.”

  Four years before, it was my eleven-year-old daughter who was instrumental in bringing the community together to organize a weekend cleanup at Mr. Al’s house. Everybody had pitched in to replace shutters, paint the house, clean up the yard, and tend to the gardening. Even his nephew, Ben, had a change of heart regarding his uncle, and it brought the two of them together, which was also the beginning of our uncertain relationship.

  This brought a smile to Orli’s face. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad I did that. It was a fun weekend, and Mr. Al was able to stay in his own home with Pal. Have you called Ben? Do you know when the funeral is?”

  I was ashamed to admit that I had not. “No, not yet. I heard that the housekeeper notified him. So I thought I’d wait till after supper and give him a call.”

  “Do you mind if I go to Laura’s house when we’re finished cleaning up? We were going to do homework together.”

  “Sure. That’s fine.”

  When Orli left, I stared at the phone for a few minutes working up my courage to dial Ben’s number. It was always awkward when somebody died. No words ever seemed adequate, but what made it worse was the fact that Ben and I had not been in touch since his visit to the island two months before. We had shared a few dinners together, but it became obvious that our relationship had stalled. The original zing that I had felt with him had slowly diminished over the past few years, and during his most recent visit, I sensed that he was less excited too.

  But it wouldn’t be right not to call him and at least offer my condolences, so I dialed his number and after two rings heard his voice on the other end.

  I cleared my throat and began fiddling with the ballpoint pen on the counter. “Ben? It’s Josie. I’m so sorry about Mr. Al. I heard the news this afternoon and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  There was a pause before he said, “Oh . . . Josie. Yes, I’m fine. I knew his heart was getting worse, and I think the loss of his dog just put him over the edge. I’m grateful, though, that we were able to have these past years together.”

  I had to give Ben credit. As he had promised four years before, he had managed to stay in touch with phone calls and infrequent visits, which I knew had made Mr. Al happy.

  “I know it meant a lot to him,” I told him. “Have you made any plans for a funeral yet?”

  “Oh . . . well . . . ah. According to his will, he wanted to be cremated and he had very specific instructions. If Pal predeceased him, he wanted me take their ashes and distribute them from a boat near North Key.”

  This brought a smile to my face. “That sounds like Mr. Al. Have you made the arrangements yet? Will there be a memorial service?”

  “That’s what I’m working on right now. He did arrange for a memorial service at the church, followed by a lunch in the church hall. I’m just so busy at the moment with work. The autumn months are pretty filled at a publishing company. You know how it is.”

  Hmm, no. I didn’t know how it was. Work took precedence over tending to your uncle’s funeral?

  “Oh,” was all I said.

  “So I was thinking . . . I’ll fly down there in about a month. Before the holidays. I’ll stay a day or two and then get back here so I don’t fall behind with the publishing production. As soon as I have a definite date, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks,” I said, before hanging up and realizing that he had not mentioned one word about the two of us getting together.

  6

  The following week I was stocking a new shipment of Euroflax linen yarn on the shelf when I remembered a pattern I’d recently seen calling for this exact yarn to make lace facecloths. I fingered the texture and checked the label to make sure it was machine washable, which it was. With a nice bar of scented soap and tied up with a ribbon, these would make ideal Christmas gifts for Orli’s teachers. I put aside two skeins of dusty rose to ring up for myself later. Mallory had been right. Working in a yarn shop made it difficult to resist purchases.

  I turned around as I heard the chimes on the door tinkle and saw a middle-aged man enter. Probably had a shopping list from his wife.

  “Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”

  A sheepish grin crossed his face as he pointed to my handmade sign in the window. “Ah, yeah. I’m curious about that men’s knitting class.”

  “Oh, great. Well, it’s scheduled to begin on October first, an
d I’ll be teaching the class. You’re certainly welcome to sign up, but I’m afraid so far we have only one other man interested. My father.”

  He chuckled and smiled. “Hmm, did you browbeat the poor man into signing up?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Actually, no. My mother and I are both huge knitters, and my dad said he’d often thought about learning himself. But I do think part of it is because I’m the one teaching the class and he doesn’t want it to fall apart before it even begins.”

  “Well, then. I agree with your father. We can’t have that. Where do I sign up?”

  I walked to the counter to get my notebook. “I can do that for you right now.” I knew he wasn’t a local and he didn’t look familiar to me. “Do you live on the island?”

  He extended his hand in greeting. “I’m Gabe. Gabe Brunell. I do live here for now. I’m renting a house over on Third Street. Just for the winter. Do you think that’ll give me enough time to perfect my knitting skills?”

  I smiled as I wrote his name down. “It should. It’s forty dollars for the four-week class. And then based on interest, we can begin another more in-depth class after the holidays.”

  “Great,” he said, reaching for a checkbook and pen inside his shirt pocket. “Make it out to Yarning Together?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He handed me the check and said, “Now, what exactly will I need for the class?”

  “After I teach you the basics of knit and purl, we’ll be making a scarf. You’ll only need to choose yarn for the scarf and needles, because we’ll supply the scrap yarn for you to practice on.”

  I led the way to the shelves holding yarn that would be good for a scarf. “Any of these would be fine. So this is the fun part, choosing what you’d like. Take your time and browse,” I said as I heard my cell phone ring.

  “Is this Josie Sullivan?” a male voice said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi, this is Simon Mancini. I believe Dr. Clark mentioned I’d be calling you?”

  My first thought was, Yes, he did. But that was two weeks ago.

  “Yes, he said you might get in touch with me,” was what I replied.

  “Great. I’m sorry it took me a while. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit overwhelmed trying to get my new practice up and running. He tells me you’re an excellent RN, and I’m certainly in need of one. Would you be interested in meeting me for an interview?”

  I could feel my excitement starting to build, but I didn’t want to seem desperate. “Ah, yes. That would be fine.”

  “Great,” I heard him say, and I thought I detected a sigh come across the line. “Hmm, let’s see . . .”

  He paused, and I was certain he was checking a calendar. One point for him. He appeared to be organized.

  “Okay. Yes. How would this Friday work for you? Let’s say twelve noon at the Pickled Pelican for lunch?”

  A lunch interview? “Sure. That would be fine. I’ll see you there on Friday, and thank you.”

  I disconnected the call, felt a smile cross my face, and looked up to see Gabe Brunell holding out two skeins of yarn in front of me.

  “Would these work for the scarf?” he asked.

  He had chosen a tweed DK weight in shades of tan and brown.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Now, let’s get you those needles.” I walked to the rack and removed a packet. “Size 10, and I think you’ll like working with the bamboo to start with.”

  “Great. Then I’m all set?”

  “I believe you are. I’ll ring you up.”

  We both glanced toward the door when the chimes rang, and I saw Chloe walk in.

  “Hey, how’re you doing?” I asked.

  Before she had a chance to reply, Gabe said, “Oh, it sure looks like you had a tumble.”

  Chloe laughed and held out her casted arm. “Yeah, I sure did. Right down my stairs.”

  “This is Gabe Brunell,” I said, introducing them. “My second pupil to sign up for the men’s knitting class.”

  I saw him extend his hand to Chloe. Was it only my imagination, or did he seem to hold on to it a bit longer than necessary?

  “Hi,” she said, returning his smile. “How nice you’re going to learn to knit. Is your wife also a knitter?”

  Oh, clever, Chloe. Very clever. I smiled as I placed his purchase into the bag and watched the interaction.

  “Oh, no, I don’t have a wife. I’m afraid I’ve been divorced for many years.”

  “Same here,” Chloe said, without hesitating. “Do you live on the island?”

  Gabe nodded. “I do for the winter. I’m renting a place over on Third Street. I retired last year from teaching, and a few of my friends from Philly have visited here. After a little research, I decided it might be a great place to get out of the cold for the winter months.”

  Chloe’s smile increased. “Well, great. Welcome to the island. Actually, I’m part owner of the shop, with Dora Foster. But as you can see, I’m out of commission at the moment, and we’re very fortunate to have Josie to help out.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, taking his bag of supplies. “Then I certainly know where to go when I have a problem with my knitting. Thanks again, Josie, and I’ll see you on the first.”

  I leaned on the counter, chin in my hands, and stared at Chloe, who was watching Gabe leave and walk down Second Street.

  She turned around to face me. “What?” she said, and I swear that was a blush moving up her neck.

  I smiled. “Hmm, interested?”

  She waved her left hand in the air. “Don’t be silly. But he is good-looking.”

  I nodded. “He is.”

  “And he looks to be around midsixties.”

  I nodded again. “He does.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she said, reaching across the counter to jab my arm. “What else is going on here?”

  “Well,” I said, figuring I’d teased her enough. “It just so happens I might be on my way to a job. An RN position.”

  “Really? Oh, Josie, that’s great. The new doctor called?”

  “He did. Just a few minutes ago. He wants me to meet him for an interview at noon on Friday and lunch at the Pelican.”

  “Aha,” I heard her say.

  “What does that mean?”

  Chloe laughed. “Well, hey, a lunch interview? Whatever happened to a formal interview in his office? He could be like that TV character, Doctor McDreamy. You never know.”

  Now I was positive I was the one who had a blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah, right. Well, first of all, the man does not yet have an office where we can meet. And second, he most likely has a wife.”

  Chloe nodded and a smile crossed her face. “Right,” was all she said.

  I returned home from work late that afternoon to find a message from Ben on the answering machine informing me that a memorial service would take place on Friday, October tenth, at the Methodist church. That was it. No See you there. No Will we get together? Nothing. As I stood there staring at the machine it also hit me how he’d chosen to contact me—not on my cell phone, which I was likely to answer, but rather by leaving a brief message. Was he trying to avoid me?

  I turned around as Orli came in the back door loaded down with her backpack, posters, and a small bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers.

  Extending her hand, she said, “For you,” and placed a kiss on my cheek.

  She had been doing random kindnesses like this as long as I could remember. I knew all children were special, but I always thought my daughter was one in a million.

  “Thank you so much.” I placed a kiss on her cheek before reaching into the cabinet for a vase. “Very pretty,” I said as I began arranging the various blossoms of purple, blue, and yellow.

  “Nana and Grandpa’s for dinner at six, right?”

  Oh, geez. I had completely forgotten and had planned to whip up Orli’s favorite—baked macaroni and cheese.

  “Right,” I said. “Oh, hey, I think I have some good news.”

  “G
reat. Are we going to Dad’s for Christmas?” she asked while removing the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge.

  “Ah, that’s not my good news, but . . . we might be one step closer to figuring out whether I can go.”

  I joined her on a stool at the counter while she munched on a freshly baked oatmeal cookie, courtesy of my mother, and told her about my job interview.

  “That is great news. I’m happy for you, Mom. Really. I just hope if he offers you the job, you’ll be able to get away so we can go to Boston.”

  That was my wish, too, although it seemed pretty doubtful that as a new employee it would be possible, but I planned to stay positive.

  “Well, we’ll know more on Friday. Going to get your homework done before we leave for Nana’s?”

  “Yup,” she said, grabbing another cookie and heading to her bedroom.

  I was putting the kettle on to make a cup of herbal tea when the phone rang. It was Mallory.

  “Holding out news from your best friend, huh?” she said.

  “I only found Ben’s message on the recorder when I got home,” I told her.

  “Ben’s message? I’m talking about your job interview on Friday. Actually, your lunch with the new doc in town.”

  I heard the humor in her tone. “Oh, right. I was going to call you about that, and then I got busy at work and only came in a little while ago. But yeah, I do have an interview. How’d you find out so fast?”

  “I bumped into Chloe at the chocolate shop. You don’t sound very excited about it. What’s wrong?”

  “No, I am excited. But it’s not definite that he’ll hire me, so I don’t want to get my hopes too high. And if I do get hired, it’ll most likely interfere with the trip to Boston that Orli has her heart set on.”

  “Hmm, I see what you’re saying. Well, my fingers are crossed that it’ll all work out perfectly for you. Are you busy this evening?”

  I let out a groan. “Dinner at my mom’s. Why?”