Читать книгу Spinning Forward - Terri DuLong - Страница 12

When I returned to the B&B, I found Ali surrounded by bowls, pots and pans, and pie plates in the kitchen.

“Geez, Ali, I had no idea you were such a Martha Stewart. Can I help?”

She swiped a stray piece of hair from her face with her forearm. “Not at the moment you can’t. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you busy tomorrow morning setting the table and assorted chores.”

Four pies sat lined up on the counter ready to go into the oven. Bowls of sweet potato and green bean casserole were on the table.

“There, that’ll take care of ole Tom,” Ali said, as she finished filling the cavity with cornbread stuffing. “I like to get as much done the day before, then we can all enjoy tomorrow.”

“I met one of the guests at the beach. Saren Ghetti. He seems really sweet.”

“Yup, Saren’s the salt of the earth. He’s somebody that could tell you all about this island. Born and raised here. Left during his mid-thirties to pursue his painting career, but by the time he was fifty, the island drew him back like a magnet.”

“Who else will be here tomorrow?”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Alison took a deep breath. “Ah, let’s see. It sometimes changes from year to year. But I think tomorrow I have Saren, Miss Dora, Miss Polly, and Officer Bob coming. Lots of people on the island have no family or anywhere to go on the holidays, so most of us put out an invitation. Miss Dora is Sybile’s sister and for some strange reason, Sybile called a little while ago and canceled. But she’s an odd duck, so I’m not going to worry about it. Miss Polly owns the hair salon on the island and lives alone. Same with Officer Bob. Never married and no family. And you met Saren.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting all of them,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I think it’ll be fun. I’ll be outside spinning the rest of Winston’s fur. Did you manage to brush him and get any more?”

“Yup and I did what you said and put it into the plastic bag. It’s on the porch table.”

I began spinning the fur and the thought occurred to me this would be the first time in over thirty years I wouldn’t be preparing Thanksgiving dinner. When Monica was a baby, we had my parents to our house and I did the cooking. It became our tradition. I also realized that for the first time since leaving high school I had no plan—no direction, no commitments and, except for Lilly, no responsibility. It was both frightening and exciting.

Worrying about lack of money was the scary part, but finding the job at Cook’s helped me to feel a little better. The possibility of discovering me was exciting though. Ali had been right. I’d never had a chance to be alone and figure out that in addition to being a daughter, a wife, and a mother, I was a woman. Somehow my own identity had been squashed as I took on the roles expected of me. I had listed myself on the A.L.M.A. Web site and wondered if I’d ever be contacted by a woman thinking I could be her daughter.

I continued to spin Winston’s fur and thought it might be fun to own my own business. I was an expert knitter. For years I’d taught girlfriends how to knit and suggested different patterns and yarns. It would be fun to be doing this and actually pull in a salary.

My mind wandered to the retail space downtown. I probably had enough in my bank account to put a deposit on it. But I didn’t even know if a knitting shop would be a lucrative business in such a small town. Ali had mentioned I should pay a visit to the bank and speak with Dorothy. She could give me some tips and suggestions about opening a shop. I decided that after I finished my first shift at Cook’s on Friday that was exactly what I’d do.

I wondered about Noah Hale. Although I wouldn’t admit it to Ali, he was pretty damn good looking. I smiled, trying to recall the last time I’d thought that about a man. Other than a TV or movie star. Momentarily, I felt ashamed thinking such thoughts less than two months after losing Stephen. Well, not to worry, I thought. He may have been quite handsome, but I’m not sure I cared for his attitude. Besides, a man was certainly the last thing I needed in my life.

Polly Tyburn was the first to arrive at the B&B for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Yoohoo,” she hollered, entering the hallway off the kitchen. “Anybody here?”

“Just us turkeys,” Alison called out while checking the oven temperature.

Laughing, Polly placed a bowl on the table. “I made my special cranberry chutney,” she said, walking over to give Alison a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“And to you. Thanks for your contribution. You make the best on the island.”

“You must be Sydney,” Polly said. Her eyes squinted, as she adjusted her glasses for a better look. “Welcome to Cedar Key.”

“Thank you.”

Polly was a petite woman, barely five feet tall. She appeared to be late sixties and had brunette curls framing her face.

Leaning closer, she stared into my almond-shaped brown eyes, making me feel a bit awkward.

“You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ve been here over a week. You may have seen me around town.”

“Hmm, could be. Well, welcome again. I hope you’ll like it here.”

The woman then reached to finger my hair, which I’d pulled back into a limp ponytail.

“Oh, my. You could really use a good conditioner, and a cut would add wonders to your looks.”

I was shocked by the woman’s candor, and my hand went protectively to my hair.

“Honey, you come see me tomorrow. We’ll get you all fixed up. A widow today has to do everything possible to snag herself a new man. Lord knows there’s enough competition out there. Look at me—my Harold’s been gone ten years and I’m still alone.”

A man was the last thing on my mind. How dare she insinuate I was looking for a replacement? Unsure whether to laugh or be offended, I stood there mute.

“Lighten up on her, Polly.” Alison grinned. “But if you do want a makeover, Syd, Polly’s the one to see. She can work miracles with a pair of scissors. Not that I’m a very good advertisement for her.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” a male voice called from the porch.

“Officer Bob, come on in,” Alison hollered.

I had questioned the informality of calling a police officer by his first name when Ali told me he was coming to dinner. That was unheard of in New England, but Ali assured me that in the South, it was quite common. I turned to see a heavyset man in a police uniform walk into the kitchen carrying a beautiful bouquet of orange mums.

“For the chef,” he said, handing them to Ali.

“Thank you so much,” she told him. “They’ll look lovely on the table. Bob, meet my best friend, Sydney.”

“Nice to meet ya,” he said, extending a large, calloused hand.

“Same here,” I replied, thinking the man was a dead ringer for Ernest Borgnine.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay on the island, and if you need anything at all, why you just let me know. I’d be happy to help you.”

His sincerity came through in his words. “That’s very nice of you,” I told him. “Thanks.”

Alison was pouring apple cider into glasses arranged on a tray. “Do me a favor, Syd. Take this out to the porch. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes, so we’ll have some cider first.”

Placing the tray on the table, I glanced up to see an older woman coming down the walkway. Silver hair was pulled back into a fashionable chignon. Wearing a two-piece beige pantsuit, she carried herself with an air of elegance.

Walking up the steps, the woman’s eyes met mine, but she didn’t speak.

“I bet you’re Miss Dora,” I said, smiling.

For a fraction of a second, the woman scrutinized my face before replying.

Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m Eudora Foster and you must be Sydney.” Her hand flew to her hair smoothing stray pieces from her chignon.

“Yes, I’m Alison’s friend. Happy Thanksgiving. Would you like a glass of cider?”

“That would be very nice. Thank you,” she said, as the rest of the crowd filtered out onto the porch.

“Ah, Miss Dora, welcome.” Alison greeted the woman with a hug. “Is that your famous squash pie?”

“It is,” Dora said, not taking her eyes from mine as she passed the covered plate to Ali.

“Thank you. I’ll put it in the fridge. Hey, Saren, just in time for cider.”

The elderly man nodded to everyone. I noticed that the baseball cap from the day before was missing and strands of white hair covered his head. In place of the T-shirt was a crisp blue-and-white striped shirt, but the suspenders remained.

“Some of my mullet dip,” he said, passing the bowl to Alison.

“Saren still goes fishing almost every day,” Ali explained to me. “And his mullet dip is to die for. I’ll get some crackers and we’ll have some with the cider.”

I finished handing out the glasses and pulled up a chair with the guests.

“Are you planning to stay on the island long?” Dora questioned.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing yet. Alison was kind enough to extend an open-ended invitation.”

“I see,” Dora said, continuing to inspect my face. “Where is it that you’re from? The Boston area?”

I nodded. “I grew up in Concord, northwest of Boston, but when I married, I moved to Lexington, which is nearby.”

“I’m sorry to hear that your husband passed away,” Dora told me. “Please accept my condolences.”

“Oh, I remember Lexington from history classes,” Polly said with pride. “The battle of Lexington and Concord.”

“Yeah, we have a lot of history in that area.”

“And your family?” Dora questioned. “They’re still living there?”

“My parents passed away and I’m an only child. I have a daughter, Monica, that lives in Boston. Do you have children?”

“I do. I also have one daughter, Marin. She’s married and lives in Gainesville. She and Andrew have two grown sons. They spend Thanksgiving with Andrew’s family in South Carolina and come here for Christmas.”

“That makes it nice to share the holidays. I was sorry to hear your sister couldn’t make it today.”

“Oh, you’ve met Sybile?” Dora seemed surprised.

“Well, no, not formally. But I’ve seen her a couple times and people told me her name.”

Alison joined us and passed around a plate with mullet dip and crackers. “Yeah, what happened to Sybile today, Dora? Isn’t she feeling well?”

“Nothing serious. A bit under the weather with a cold.”

“That turkey sure smells good, Miss Ali,” Officer Bob said.

“And there’s plenty of it, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“Anyone know what’s to become of those restored shops downtown?” Polly questioned.

“From what I hear, Noah Hale’s interested in renting one of them,” Saren said with excitement.

I had a feeling he enjoyed being the first to spread any island news.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Saren,” Ali told him, “but we already knew that. Syd was downtown and ran into him at the corner shop.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Polly said. “This place has always been a selling point for artists and writers. Seems they get what they call ‘inspiration’ here.”

“I can understand that,” I said, biting into a cracker. “It’s really beautiful.”

It didn’t escape me that Dora remained silent.

Officer Bob reached for another cracker, popping it into his mouth. “How’s Miss Elly these days, Saren?”

The elderly man’s face lit up with pleasure. “Fine, just fine. Thank you for asking. I told her I’d be home by evening so we can have our cognac together.”

Now I was confused. I thought Saren Ghetti had no family and lived alone. “You have a wife?” I asked.

My question was followed with Polly clearing her throat, while an expression of embarrassment crossed Bob’s face.

“Saren has a live-in ghost,” Alison explained to me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Miss Elly has been with Saren for over thirty years.”

The man’s face flushed like a schoolboy and he nodded his head. “Yup, that’s right. I couldn’t believe it myself the first time I saw her. There I was, sitting in my parlor enjoying a cigar and cognac and Miss Elly walked into the room. Dressed in one of those long, frilly, old-fashioned dresses she was. And a more beautiful sight, I’d never seen. Wears her dark hair all piled up on top of her head. She’s a vision, she is. Told me I wasn’t much of a gentleman not offering her a bit of cognac. So I jumped up to get her a glass and since that night, she joins me every evening.” He smiled fondly as if just the thought of her brought him pleasure.

I stifled a giggle. Surely, he was kidding. Wasn’t he? But nobody in the group was disputing his story. “Do you talk with her?” I asked, unsure what to say.

“Oh my, yes. We have delightful conversations. Now you’re probably thinking I’m a crazy old man, ’cuz that’s what I thought at first too. Thought maybe I was gettin’ one of those mind problems old people get, ’cept I was only in my fifties when she first paid me a visit. It’s all pretty simple to understand. See, Miss Elly, she was married to a fisherman, and they lived in the house that my family bought in the thirties. Her husband, that would be Mr. Cecil, he drowned at sea. Never did find his body. Miss Elly died shortly after. The town said she died of a broken heart. You believe in that sorta thing?”

My marriage to Stephen had probably been as satisfying as most other couples. Certainly not any more so. When I recalled stories like The Notebook, where Nicholas Sparks weaved a love story of passion that was ageless, my relationship paled in comparison.

I felt uncomfortable with Saren’s question, but managed to say, “Well, yes, I imagine that could happen.”

“Darn right it can. Ya meet that one great love of your life and nothing else equals.”

I wondered if he was speaking from experience. “But then why hasn’t Miss Elly gone on to join him?”

“Well, that’s the strange part. She’s stuck between. Says because Cecil’s body was never found, he could still be here on the island. So I guess she’s still lookin’ for him, but she comes every evening to sit and keep me company.”

Alison was right. The island had its fair share of eccentrics.

“Okay, everyone, dinner is about to be served. So bring your appetite and find a place at the table,” Alison told us, heading to the kitchen.

“I’ll help you carry things out,” I offered, grateful to get off the subject of Miss Elly. “Is he for real?” I whispered.

Alison laughed as she placed the turkey on a platter. “He’s very much real. Can’t prove it by me that Miss Elly doesn’t visit him. Sometimes a little belief goes a long way,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“But everyone out there acts like she’s real too—well, like she’s a ghost.”

“We don’t know that she isn’t. There’s a lot of good energy on this island—some souls might not ever wanna leave. You’ve always been too cynical. Get those bowls and let’s get this feast on the table.”

Surrounded by my best friend and new acquaintances, I clasped Polly’s and Dora’s hand as Alison said grace.

“Lord, thank you for another beautiful day on Cedar Key. Thank you for all that you’ve given us and thank you for the wonderful friends that grace my table.”

“Amen,” we all said in unison.