Chasing Sunsets (7 page)

Revving motorcycles and voices caused me to look over my left shoulder. Two un-helmeted bikers leaned into the curve, then drove past me. I followed them with my eyes, then looked over my shoulder once more. There were people standing near one of the docks, talking about their upcoming tour, wondering when the guide was going to arrive.

“We reserved for 11:00,” a woman in the small group said.

“Then he should be here any minute.”

I smiled, then looked back toward Atsena Otie. Here these people were, in a hurry to take a relaxing boat tour. No sooner thought than I heard a boat’s motor. I looked again to see a boat with “Granger Tours” painted in dark green on the side. A man sat near the back, in the shade of the covering, navigating.

It wasn’t Mr. Granger.

I lowered my eyes and wondered if Mr. Granger—a man my father’s age—might have passed away. Perhaps someone had taken the business over, had kept it going. I stood, turning back to where I’d left my car on 2nd Street, which forced me to walk past the dock where the man welcomed the group on board. I squinted behind my shades, trying to make out who the man might be, but he wasn’t even vaguely familiar.

Most likely a teenager Mr. Granger had trained to do the work Steven had done so many years ago . . . before he’d left for college.

Past the docks and the marina, I looked back a final time. While the group had all managed to get settled in the boat, the man remained standing on the dock. He looked at me then raised his hand in a friendly hello, and I returned it.

I continued to my car, feeling alive.
This is Cedar Key
, I thought. Casual, hot, and—above all—friendly.

I’d almost forgotten.

Max was more than a little happy to see me when I returned to the house. We played outside for a while, then returned inside, where I made the poster to take to the market. That done, I asked Max if he wanted to take a ride. He assured me he did.

The market stood on the corners of 3rd and D Streets. The small warehouse’s blue façade front had double doors held wide open, three newspaper stands on their left, and a Coke machine plus two ice freezers on the right. A large window over the newspaper stands was plastered with various colorful advertisements; the side of the building boasted a mural of life on Cedar Key when Indians alone had lived here. On both sides was a variety of golf carts, cars, and bicycles.

I left Max in the car with the windows half down. “Stay put,” I told him. He barked in obedience.

Inside, Maddie stood at the cash register. “Oh, you brought it, did you?” she asked, spying the white between my finger and thumb.

I held it a little higher and smiled. She walked to a bulletin board near the front door filled with other such papers, coupons, and a few old high school announcements held by tacks. Maddie popped several of them away with her thumbnail. The old papers floated to the floor and landed about her feet. I bent down to retrieve them as she said, “Hand me your flyer, Kimberly.”

I did.

“There you go,” Maddie said. “You’ll be getting calls in no time.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“Meanwhile, if you need someone to give the place a good cleaning, I know someone who might do that.”

I felt myself brighten. “You do?” If Maddie knew someone, I’d be home in a couple of days.

“One time only, though,” she said as if she’d read my thoughts.

“Oh.”

“But she might know someone . . .”

“Well, that’s true.” I sighed. “Okay, let me get a few things. I left Max in the car with the windows cracked, but it’s still too hot out there.”

“You do that. I’ll call my friend and let you know something.”

I gave Maddie my cell number with appreciation for her help, got my groceries, and then returned to the register. Scanning the items, Maddie asked me, “Will you be going down to see the sunset tonight?”

“I’ve thought about it.” I didn’t have to ask where. I knew where the locals gathered; the place my mother and I used to go . . .

“You should. Days like today the sunsets are always so pretty.”

“Will you be there?” I asked, helping by bagging my groceries.

“Sure will. I think my friend might be there too.”

I looped my hands through the handles of the plastic bags. “That would be wonderful. I’ll see you there.”

I pulled the sheets off all the furniture in the house, going room by room, neatly folding the coverings and making a stack of them on the round wicker and glass dining room table. Max had gone exploring and promised to be back before supper. When I was done with my task, I sent a text to Chase, who texted right back. Yes, they were fine. Dad was behaving. So far. I told him I missed them both and to give Cody a hug for me. He said he would.

Max was not home in time for supper. I stood on the deck outside the door and called for him. When he didn’t return, I went back inside, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and went out to search. It didn’t take long to find him. He was next door, having made friends with the neighbor’s cat.

“I’m afraid they don’t know they’re natural enemies,” the lady of the house said to me from an open window. Her house, like Dad’s, was raised. Two cars were parked under the flooring of the house, and a wooden staircase led to the front door.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and said, “No, I don’t suppose they do.”

“Hold on a sec there and I’ll be right down.”

I waited until the door opened. The woman stepping out onto the front deck was much older—probably in her late seventies—thin and humped at the shoulders. Her hair—silvery gray—was pulled straight back, braided, and then wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t difficult to see how beautiful she had been as a young woman.

She wore slacks and a long-sleeved shirt with a light sweater, in spite of the heat. I felt bad that she should have to come all the way down the stairs, but she beat me to the bottom step before I was able to cover the distance.

“I take it you are Ross and Anise’s daughter,” she said.

She extended a hand and I took it. It was—of all things—cold; the skin was as delicate as an onion’s. For a moment I thought not to correct her, but then said, “Actually, I’m Ross’s daughter, Kimberly. My mother passed away in ’99.”

A glimpse of empathy crossed her wrinkled face and then vanished. “Darlin’, I didn’t realize.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“I love your daddy and your stepmother. They are two precious people.”

I nodded, then added, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

“No. I moved here permanently about—oh, I don’t know—five years ago. Used to come here for vacations and such. Then, just after my beloved passed on into glory, I decided to make Cedar Key my home.”

It was my turn to express my sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, about your husband.”

“You married, darlin’?”

“No. Divorced. Two boys.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I had three of my own. Three boys, two girls. Lost one son and one of my girls . . . but the Lord is good.”

I blinked, not knowing exactly what I should say. Finally, I said, “I didn’t get your name.”

The woman laughed then and said, “I didn’t give it, now did I? I’m Patsy.”

“Nice to meet you, Patsy.”

She took my hand, this time, I knew, for support. “I tell you what. Since your dog and my cat are still visiting, why don’t you come in and have a bite of some supper with me.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want—”

“Wouldn’t want what, hon? To be a bother?”

“Surely you weren’t expecting anyone . . .”

“Never.” Her voice was laced with poignancy. “But there’s always hope.”

“I have Max’s food poured in his dish.”

We turned to look where my dog and her cat were rolling in the grass together. “Clearly he’s starving,” she quipped.

I continued to hold her hand as she led me toward the stairs.

“Did you already have your supper planned?”

“I honestly hadn’t thought about it.” We were at the door. I turned back to where Max and the cat were now looking up at their owners. “By the way, what’s your cat’s name?”

“Oreo,” she said. “See that milk mustache?”

Oreo—who looked as if he had dressed for the black-white ball—yawned at us. “We apparently bore him to tears,” I said.

“He’s my buddy,” she said, then patted my hand. “And he’s faithful.” Patsy opened the door to her home and shuffled in. “Like the Lord.”

I followed behind her, saying nothing.

The home was decorated with simple beach-style furniture and the occasional antique piece, perhaps—I wondered—from her years of being a wife and mother. The only wall hangings were portraits of those I assumed to be family members, some born before Patsy and some after.

“I made a casserole,” she said as I closed the door. “Do you like casserole?”

“I suppose it depends on what’s in it.”

Patsy chuckled, but she didn’t answer. While she moved gingerly in the direction of what I assumed was the kitchen, I stepped over to an antique Bombay table decorated only by small framed photos. “Are these some of your family members?”

“I would assume so. Can’t see displaying the faces of folks I don’t know.”

From anyone else, the words would have seemed sarcastic, but not from Patsy. Her words didn’t bite, they nibbled. “You’ll have to tell me who they are,” I said. I picked up a three-by-five of a well-put-together couple with their two picture-perfect children sitting in front of them. They all wore blue denim jeans with pressed white shirts.

“That’s my granddaughter,” Patsy said as she came up beside me. She pointed to the young woman. “Lauren. And her husband Brandon. Their kids.” She tapped the glass behind which two cherub faces smiled for the camera. “Their names will come to me sooner or later.” She chuckled then shuffled back toward the kitchen.

“Where do they live?” I asked.

“California.”

“That’s a long way away.” I followed behind her. “Can I help you with anything?”

Patsy’s kitchen was decorated in peach and sea foam green. The window over the sink had neither valance nor blinds, and the late afternoon sunshine crept in. The view of the marshes was calming; the bright greens of midafternoon had changed to deep.

“Plates are up there in the cabinet. Why don’t you set the table over in the corner there?”

A table big enough for two was pushed against a wall in the corner. I moved about in the room as though I knew it well, finding plates, napkins, and forks. Patsy had some sweet iced tea in the refrigerator; I poured two tumblers full and placed them on the table. A few minutes later we were eating tuna casserole in silence.

Finally I said, “So you had five children?”

“I did. Thirteen grandchildren, and a whole pile of great-grans.” She cocked her head to one side. “It’s something else, clearly it is . . . seeing one generation come in, then another, and another.”

I smiled.

“What about you? Two, you said?”

“Two. Both boys. Chase and Cody.”

“Do you work? Outside the home, I mean?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“God bless you. I wouldn’t want to be a teacher in this day and time.”

“It’s a challenge.”

Patsy shoved another spoonful of tuna and noodles and green peas between moist lips. “I never worked outside of the home. Goodness knows inside kept me plenty busy.”