Читать книгу Spinning Forward - Terri DuLong - Страница 10

Sitting in the quiet garden was quickly becoming my favorite way to start my days. While my Lexington neighborhood wasn’t overly noisy, it did have a fair amount of sound. Car doors slamming, the roar of a motorcycle in the distance, or the faint voice of the WBZ disc jockey floating onto my patio from the radio next door. But here on the island, it was utter and complete silence during the early morning. Occasionally, I’d hear the engine of an air boat across the water. But even that I found to be a soothing hum.

After my conversation with both Ali and Monica the evening before, I’d decided this was the day I’d head downtown and attempt to find some type of employment. I looked up to see Ali and Winston walking toward me. Lilly immediately ran to her new best friend and both dogs took off to explore the garden.

“Feeling better this morning?” Ali questioned, pulling up a chair beside me.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. My life is spinning out of control, and I know you’re right. I’m the only one that can change that. So first on my list is to beat the pavement downtown and try to find a job.”

“It’s a good start.”

I was feeling extra emotional this morning. “After all that Stephen did to me—the lying, the betrayal, the secrets—I still miss him,” I said, as tears formed in my eyes.

“Well, of course you do, Syd. God, you were married to the man more than half your life. Even couples with marriages not made in heaven have a certain attachment and fondness for each other. Stephen wasn’t a mean person.”

I blew my nose into a tissue and nodded. “You’re right. I think he meant well. He just had this terrible addiction to gambling, I guess. But why the hell couldn’t he tell me about it? I mean, I knew he loved playing the lottery. I even went with him a few times to Suffolk Downs and to Rockingham for the races, but I never realized he was a compulsive gambler.”

“He was ashamed. Admitting this to you would have meant he was…well, flawed. And Stephen was a very proud person. He was the doctor. The one to always fix things. People and situations. But this was something he couldn’t fix. Not alone. And obviously, he never sought help for his addiction.”

“Half of me misses him. You know, the physical presence of him. And the other half of me…hates him. I hate him for doing this to me. For leaving me completely alone and on my own.” I felt the tears streaming down my face once again as Ali stood up and leaned over to put her arms around me.

Looking down at my face, she said, “We’re going to get through this, Syd. It’s just going to take time. Like everything else in life.”

I enjoyed walking along Second Street in the downtown district. On a weekday, it was quiet with few vehicles or pedestrians. The weekends were when tourists flocked to the island for a respite from city life, but by Monday afternoons, the locals had their town back to themselves.

Lilly trotted along in front of me on her leash as I passed the Historical Museum and then stopped to browse in the corner bookstore. A brand-new release by Debbie Macomber was in the window, and I realized that spending twenty dollars for a book was something I’d never given a second thought to. Twenty dollars now had much more meaning for me. I paused in front of Pelican Realty to browse at photos of homes for sale. Thinking of my house in Lexington brought a sick feeling to the pit of my stomach. Haven Isle Gift Shop caught my eye with an attractive display of stuffed animals, glass Victorian balls in vivid shades of blue, pink, and lilac, and brass wind chimes. I passed the Jiffy store, the post office, and city hall. And then I saw a sign that made my heart beat faster. HELP WANTED, it said on a piece of cardboard nailed to the post in front of Cook’s Café. I took a deep breath and headed to an empty table at the outside patio area.

“I think we might be welcome here,” I said to Lilly as she curled up under the table. That was one of the things I liked about this town. It was dog-friendly and outside establishments allowed well-behaved canines to visit.

When the waitress came out, I ordered coffee. Lighting up a cigarette, I glanced across the street to the empty shops and knew those were the ones that Ali had referred to.

“Here ya go, sweetie,” the waitress said, placing coffee in front of me and a bowl of water down for Lilly.

“Thank you. I’m sure she appreciates that.”

She bent down to pat Lilly and smiled. “She sure is cute. Visiting the island for the holiday?”

In the week I’d been with Ali, I hadn’t given a thought that Thanksgiving was on Thursday. My first one in years without Stephen or Monica. My first one alone.

“Yeah, I guess you could say I am. I arrived last week from the Boston area and I’m staying with my friend, Alison Marks. You might know her. She owns the B and B.”

The waitress put her hands on her hips and laughed. “I sure ’nuff do. Honey, you’ll soon find out that everyone knows everyone on this island. Ain’t no secrets here. And you must be Sydney. Alison told all of us ’bout you comin’.”

I felt foolishly pleased. I’d lived in Lexington for thirty years and barely knew my next-door neighbors.

“Welcome to the island,” she told me. “How long you stayin’?”

I laughed and wasn’t used to such abrupt questions. “I really don’t know. Maybe permanently. Actually, I need a job and I saw the sign you have looking for help….”

“We sure ’nuff are. I’m Ida Mae,” she said, extending her hand. “Me and my husband, Gus, we own this here place. My Gus though, he had a heart attack a few months ago and can’t help as much as he used to. Needs to rest, the doctor told him. Rest? How on earth can ya rest when ya have a restaurant to run? Listen to me babbling on. What I need is somebody to open for me at seven o’clock four mornings a week…my other girl, she works the other days. So the hours are from seven till two. You’d cover the breakfast and lunch crowd. That would be twenty-eight hours for the week. Nice crowd here too. Mostly locals. You have waitress experience, do ya?”

“Not in over thirty years,” I said honestly. “But I’m a quick learn.”

“I bet you are. Aw, there isn’t much to waitressing. Let me get you an application,” she said, heading back inside.

For the first time in weeks I felt a jolt of encouragement. Lifting my coffee cup to my lips, I realized that the woman sitting a few tables away was staring at me intently. At least I thought she was. It was difficult to tell with ebony-shaded glasses covering her eyes. Feeling under scrutiny, I lit up a cigarette and glanced away. But not before I noticed the outlandish outfit the woman was wearing. She appeared to be early seventies, but was valiantly attempting to look thirty. A large, straw crimson hat covered her head and clashed terribly with curly hair that was just this side of orange. Dangling from around the brim were small, white circular things that reminded me of cotton balls. The woman’s purple elastic tube top would have been more suited on a younger girl and the tight capri-style pants, with the same dangling white balls down the side, brought a grin to my face. Completing the outfit were assorted gold bangle bracelets that clinked each time the woman took a drag off her cigarette.

Ida Mae returned with the promised application. “Here ya go, honey. You just fill this out and bring it inside when you’re finished. Can I give you a call at Alison’s place?”

I realized that I didn’t even have a phone number to call my own. “Yes. That’ll be fine and thank you.”

I filled out the application without much hope. I didn’t even have former job references to put down. Not unless you counted the hospital where I’d worked years before. I brought the paper inside and left it on the counter. When I unclipped Lilly’s leash from the leg of the table and began to walk away, I swear I could feel the eyes behind the ebony glasses following me.

The sound of drills and hammers from across the street caused me to cross and take a peek inside. Contractors were working on a restoration, and I tugged on Lilly’s leash to enter one of the empty shops. Long French doors at the corner space were open. I stood in the middle of the brick-walled room and saw tin buckets of paint, various carpentry tools, drop cloths, and ladders. Beyond seeing the construction, I visualized the space being turned into a quaint retail shop. Because of the restoration, it would have a definite Victorian ambiance. I walked over to run my hand along the original brick of the wall and was startled to hear Lilly growl at the same time I heard a male voice.

“Interested in renting some space here?”

Leaning down to quiet Lilly, I looked up to see a middle-aged man standing in the doorway. His height was slightly below the door frame. Wearing tan Dockers and an Irish knit pullover sweater, his curly silver hair contrasted in a pleasing way with the bronze of his tan. Mahogany eyes observed me.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I mumbled. Had I ever seen a shade of brown eyes that deep?

His smile only increased his pleasant looks. “Well, that’s good. Because I’m thinking of placing first dibs on this particular space. And I’ve never accepted competition well.”

As I was trying to decide if the cockiness in his tone implied humor, he extended his hand.

“Noah Hale,” he said.

“Sydney Webster,” I replied, surprising myself by not wanting to release his grip.

After a moment, he let go, raising both arms to include the space. “So I don’t have to worry about you stealing this from me?”

At that precise moment, I wasn’t so sure. An idea had begun to form in my head at the same time I experienced that long-ago sensation when I worked in the emergency room—of being in control to make an important decision.

I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “Why would you want this space?”

“I’m an artist and returned from Key West last year to look after my mother. My family has lived on the island for five generations. I’m planning to open a gallery.”

“An artist?” Somehow he struck me more as an outdoors-kind-of-person.

Noah shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you have something against artists?”

“Not at all,” I replied, heading toward the door. “As long as they don’t think being a native and an artist gets them superior treatment. See ya,” I tossed over my shoulder, as I tugged on Lilly’s leash and crossed the street.

“Noah Hale?” Ali repeated, as we finished up dinner.

I had explained my afternoon encounter with him. “Yeah. Why? Do you know him?”

“Not personally, but I know of him and Paul kind of hangs out with him when he’s here visiting.”

“Hmm. Well, he seems a bit arrogant to me. Just his tone of voice and implying that I’d better not even think of renting that space because he wants it.”

“His family has been here on the island since the eighteen eighties. You know that huge, gorgeous house on the corner of Fourth and F Street? It’s called the Hale-Johnson House. He lives there with his mother.”

I got up to help Ali clear the table and begin the dishes. “Still lives at home with mom? Is he gay?”

Ali laughed. “I doubt that very much. In case you failed to notice, he’s pretty damn hot. Very good looking and I’d say Cedar Key’s most eligible bachelor.”

“He’s never been married?”

Ali placed dishes into the sudsy water. “I’m not certain, but I heard rumors that he was married years ago. To a French girl. That was when he was painting and teaching in Paris.”

When I remained silent, Ali said, “So…are you interested?”

“In Noah Hale? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ali looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Actually, I was referring to being interested in the retail space.”