Читать книгу Spinning Forward - Terri DuLong - Страница 13

I had survived my first week as a gainfully employed woman. Sure, my legs ached from all the walking and carrying trays of food. And I had to admit, it was pretty menial work, but I felt good with a sense of accomplishment. Making it enjoyable were the customers—mostly locals, all of whom were friendly. But even the tourists were chatty and appeared happy just to be on the island visiting.

Stepping on the bathroom scale, I was thrilled to discover I’d lost five pounds since arriving in Cedar Key. Even workouts at the gym in Lexington hadn’t brought about the loss of weight I’d hoped for.

I looked into the bathroom mirror and frowned. “God, maybe Polly was right. I’m a mess,” I said, pulling my hands through hair that refused to do anything but droop like wilted flowers.

Lilly was sitting in the doorway, staring up at me with furrowed brow.

“I’ve managed to lose five pounds,” I told her. “Maybe it’s time for a new hairstyle.”

After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I wondered if Polly could squeeze me in. It was my day off and I had no plans.

“Come on, girl,” I told Lilly. “We’ll phone her and find out.”

Polly confirmed a 2:00 appointment for me.

Walking to the salon along Third Street, I was still grinning at the name of the shop—Curl Up and Dye. I hoped that Polly Tyburn showed the same creativity with styling hair as she did with words.

Opening the door, I noticed that the buzz of chatter ceased as I stepped inside.

Polly was putting the finishing touches on an older woman’s hair. The silver bouffant style was similar to what my mother had worn in the fifties, and I wondered if perhaps I’d made a mistake booking with Polly.

“Come on in, sweetie,” she told me. “I’ll just be a sec. Hey, everyone, this is Sydney. Alison’s friend from Boston.”

Murmurs of hello accompanied smiles as everyone looked me up and down.

Feeling like I was on display, I nodded and slipped into a chair. Glancing around, I saw that even the shampoo bowl and dryers had a vintage look. God, I’ll probably walk out of here looking like Little Orphan Annie.

A few minutes later I was enjoying the most relaxing and invigorating shampoo I could remember. I recalled the high-priced salon I had frequented before Stephen died and thought that shampoo girl could take a lesson from Polly.

Following twenty minutes with conditioners on my hair, I sat in front of the mirror as Polly stood with her head cocked this way and that. Finger to chin, she pursed her lips and then nodded her head. “Yup, I think I know what will look great on you.”

Deciding to leave the fate of my hair in Polly’s hands—literally—I sat back and took a deep breath.

One hour later I peered into the mirror with a huge smile on my face. “My God, Polly. I look fabulous.”

“Told ya you needed a change.”

Turning my head from side to side, I couldn’t believe I was the same woman who had walked into the salon earlier. Gone was the limp ponytail and in its place was a chic cut—chin length, it was swept behind my ears with long bangs covering my forehead. I swear Polly had removed ten years.

Feeling embarrassed for my prior anxiety, I said, “Polly, I can’t thank you enough. I just love it.”

“Thought ya would. Next time you might want to consider some foil. You know, a few highlights here and there to brighten it up a bit more.”

This woman walked on water as far as I was concerned. “I think you’re right. We’ll do it.”

Walking from the salon to the post office, I couldn’t resist catching my image in each shop window I passed. Amazing what a new hairdo can do for a woman.

“Hey, Miss Sydney,” the postmaster greeted me. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Very nice.”

“Thanks, Sam. I kinda like it myself.”

“Have a big package for you in the back. Hold on a second and I’ll get it.”

I looked around the small post office. All of my life mail had been delivered to my front door, but I loved coming here to pick up mail from the numbered box. It had a small-town feel to it which was beginning to grow on me.

“Have ya got the golf cart with you? It’s pretty hefty to walk with,” Sam said, putting a good size carton on the counter.

Glancing at the postmark, I saw the return address of Lucille Graystone in Connecticut. “Hmm, I think you’re right. I’ll have to go back to the B and B to get the cart. This is the dog fur.”

“Dog fur?” Sam questioned, scratching his head in bewilderment.

“Yeah, dog fur. I’ll be back in a little while.” I chuckled, leaving Sam to ponder the contents.

Walking out of the post office, I figured it wouldn’t be long before Sam would add me to the list of quirky island residents.

The following Monday I was doing my shift at Cook’s when I heard a male voice behind me say, “Well, I guess you changed your mind.”

I turned around to see Noah Hale sitting at one of the outside tables. “Excuse me?” I questioned.

“Since you’re now working here, I guess you changed your mind about renting the space across the street.”

Damn, but this guy was good looking. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt with And Your Point Is? across the front, he had a youthful appearance. Which made me wonder how old he was. Late fifties?

“Don’t be too sure of that,” I shot back. “What can I get you?”

“Hmm, a woman of few words.” He chuckled and then said, “I’ll have the meatloaf special.”

As I was scribbling the words on my pad, I could feel him staring up at me. “Anything to drink?”

“Sweet tea, please. Hey, I know why you look different today. Did something with your hair. Looks nice. I like it.”

My hand trembled and I could feel heat creeping up my neck. Damn. Another hot flash at a most inopportune moment. In thirty years of marriage to Stephen, I couldn’t recall one single time he’d commented on my hair. Good, bad, or indifferent.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling like a flustered high school girl. “I’ll get your order in.”

I laid the slip of paper on the shelf for the cook, and then peeked through the window. Noah had opened up a newspaper. Putting on a pair of small glasses, he began to read. I wasn’t sure if I was more disturbed over the fact that he’d scrutinized me close enough to notice a change in hairstyle or that it felt oddly reminiscent of flirting.

I managed to busy myself with other customers until Noah’s meal was ready. Setting it in front of him, I started to walk away.

“Hey,” he called. “Come on, you can tell me if you’re still interested in that space. I won’t say anything.”

“Are you still interested in it?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I think it would be perfect for a studio with all the windows for lighting. But I was up in St. Augustine recently and found a great shop for lease there too.”

“Oh, so you’ll be leaving the island?” Why did this matter to me? I wondered.

“Well, that’s just it. I love this place. I left years ago for college and then came back. Then I left again in my late twenties. That time I was gone about thirty years—to Paris.”

He paused, waiting for my reaction, I guess. I recalled that Ali had mentioned that to me and I remained silent.

Stirring his tea, he said, “So, I don’t know. I think at sixty-two, my roots are now firmly planted here.”

Sixty-two? He didn’t look his age. “Then it seems you’re the one that will be taking the lease on that space.”

“If you were to open a shop there, what type of business are you considering?”

I smiled. “A tattoo parlor,” I said and walked away laughing. For the first time in a long time, it felt good to laugh.

Rummaging through the fridge in Ali’s kitchen, I found the bottle of chardonnay I’d purchased a few days earlier. Pouring myself a glass, I went to sit in the garden with my feet up. Another seven-hour shift behind me and on Friday, I’d be receiving my first paycheck in years. My tips were adequate, but all of it was a far cry from the financial freedom I was used to.

Taking a sip of wine, I thought about my meeting with Dorothy at the bank. She’d told me that just a knitting shop probably wasn’t a great venture for a small town. But since I was going to specialize in spinning dog and cat fur, she thought it had a lot of potential. She advised me to get a computer, set up a Web site, and begin doing mail orders via the Internet. She felt that like most businesses on the island, my weekends would bring in tourists and also day-trippers from Gainesville and nearby towns. Dorothy also explained that I could apply for an American Express Small Business Card and that would enable me to order some stock and begin selling yarn and accessories right away. Hopefully, I’d make enough to pay the monthly installment charge the card required.

God, who would have thought I’d be starting over like this at fifty-two? I felt a wave of nausea at the same time a throbbing began in my right temple. All of the stress of the past few months seemed to hit me full force. I’m financially insecure, I have a mediocre relationship with my daughter, and I have a solitary future ahead of me.

I glanced up to see Eudora Foster crossing the garden toward me.

“I really hate to bother you,” she said, clutching a canvas tote bag. “But Ali told me you were an expert knitter. I have a bit of a problem with this sweater I’m working on. I wonder if you could help me?”

“Sure, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair beside me. “Let’s see what you have there.”

Dora removed a professional piece of work from her bag. “It’s these instructions here,” she said, pointing to a paragraph in her knitting book.

I had a strong suspicion the knitting wasn’t what brought her to speak to me. But I looked it over and explained the stitches to her, and then waited to see what else she had to say.

“So you’re enjoying it here on the island? How’s your job at Cook’s going?”

“I like it here a lot. It’s certainly different from living in a much larger town. And yes, I really enjoy working at Cook’s and meeting all the locals. But I won’t lie, being a waitress was much easier on the body when I was in college. Doing physical work at my age, when you’re not used to it, can be exhausting.”

“Oh, you’re still very young,” Dora said. “I bet you’re about the same age as my Marin. When were you born?”

“March of 1955.”

Dora nodded. “Yes, I was right. Marin was born in 1957, so there’s just two years’ difference.”

She seemed to think about this for a few minutes and then asked, “You were born in Boston, right?”

“Actually, no. I was born in New York City.” I had a feeling this was pertinent information for Dora. “I was adopted as an infant,” I added.

She was inordinately interested in my birth. “Why are you so interested in when and where I was born?”

Dora shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “How rude of me. I’m sorry to be so inquisitive. I hope you’ll forgive me,” she said, standing up. “Thank you so much for helping me with the knitting. I really appreciate it. And Ali tells me you might be opening a shop downtown. I can assure you, I’ll be your first and best customer.”

I smiled. “Thank you,” I said, as she walked away.

Is she just another quirky resident on this island? I wondered. Or was there much more to that conversation?