Farewell to Cedar Key (12 page)

21

D
uring the week following Thanksgiving I made a point of stopping by my parents' house more often than usual. If my mother was suspicious, she didn't say anything. Mallory had called me after the holiday weekend, and although she had questioned her mother, there was nothing to report. Jane had assured her daughter that Shelby was fine, just tired. And I had to admit that my mother did look a bit better than she had on Thanksgiving.

I awoke on Tuesday morning with a sense of anticipation. I was having dinner at Simon's apartment that evening. I turned over and hugged the pillow to me while I let my mind wander. Thinking about Simon made me realize that in many ways he reminded me of Grant—good looks, an abundance of sex appeal, and easy to be with. Not for the first time I wondered if maybe I'd been wrong not to give Grant a chance years ago. Although he had never come right out and asked me to marry him, there had been an instance when Orli was about three years old and he was visiting us. He hadn't said it in so many words but had definitely hinted that perhaps I'd changed my mind about our relationship. I was quick to brush him off because I was pretty sure he definitely had marriage on his mind. I tried to analyze what it was, exactly, about the thought of marriage that I was so against, and once again couldn't come up with a solid reason.
Ah, well, too late for hindsight now,
I thought as I headed to the shower.

 

Later that evening I was putting the finishing touches to my makeup when Orli walked into my room and plunked down in the middle of my bed.

“Hey, what's up?” I asked, reaching for my silver hoop earrings.

“I was just wondering . . . did you love Dad?”

I spun around to face her. “What brought this up?”

She pulled her legs up to her chest, grasping them with her arms. “I was just wondering.”

I went to sit beside her and patted her knee. “Yes. I did love him. Very much. I
still
love him, Orli. How could I not? He gave me the greatest gift ever. You.”

This brought a smile from her. “How did you know? How did you know that you loved him?”

My inner mom radar went off. This really wasn't about Grant and me. It was about our daughter.

“It's difficult to explain exactly how one knows, and of course everybody is different. Why? Somebody special in your life?”

I saw a faint crimson tinge her cheeks, and she nodded. “Yeah. Jared Stevens.”

I racked my brain, trying to remember which fellow he was in her class. “Oh, the one who works at the Market part-time?”

She nodded.

“Nice-looking guy. You have good taste,” I said, causing her smile to grow wider. “So what's the problem?”

“I'm not sure he likes me. How'd you know that Dad was interested in you?”

“Geez, that was so long ago, Orli,” I said, forcing myself to think back to my freshman year of college. Those exciting, exhilarating, sometimes over-the-top days. “Well, he flirted with me, for one thing. I was at a local coffee shop with some of my friends, and he was sitting at a table across from us with a group of guys. I could feel him staring over at me, but I thought it was my imagination. He was drop-dead gorgeous.”

Orli laughed. “He still is.”

She had a point. “I remember it was pouring out—I mean raining cats and dogs—and when I gathered up my books to leave, between trying to balance my textbooks and open my umbrella, my books landed everywhere, and before I knew it—your dad was there, ready to help me. When I saw him up close and looked into his eyes . . . I don't know . . . I just knew there was something extraspecial going on.”

“Oh, I remember the story now. Didn't he get your phone number from your girlfriend and call you for a date?”

I nodded. “Yup. He did, and the rest is history.”

Orli laughed again. “Well, that's just it. I
think
Jared is interested, and Laura's boyfriend, Mark, is good friends with him and said that he is. But he hasn't even called me yet.”

I pulled her into a hug. “Stop stressing. Give it some time,” I told my daughter. “Sometimes the wheels of romance turn very slowly.”

 

I walked up the back steps to Simon's apartment while trying to balance a wrapped gift and a bottle of wine.

“Hey,” he said, opening the door wide and gesturing with his arm. “Come on in, and welcome to my new place.”

I stepped into the kitchen and smiled. “This is gorgeous,” I told him, and it was. Not in an overstated way, but the stainless steel appliances, granite counters, painted yellow walls and oak table and chairs would lure any chef. From the exquisite aroma filling the kitchen, it already had. “And something smells yummy.”

“My signature spaghetti sauce is simmering with meatballs and sausage. But I can't lie; most of it is my mom's recipe.”

“I think I'm in for a treat. Here,” I said, passing him the bottle of wine and gift. “Just a little something as a housewarming gift.”

“Thanks, Josie. That's really nice of you.” He read the wine label. “Perfect. The Chianti will go great with the meal. Should I open this now?”

“Definitely,” I said as I watched him remove the paper and bow from the package.

“Oh, Josie, this is beautiful.” He held the framed and matted print out in front of him. “What a gorgeous shot of the Gulf with the pelicans. Was this taken near the Seabreeze?”

I nodded. “Yes. Taken by a local photographer. I found it at the Arts Center.”

“Thank you so much. I have the perfect spot for it.” He then brought the print closer and read,
Always flow like the water,
which was written at the bottom. “A good saying for everybody to keep in mind. Thank you again. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the place.”

The living room was cozy and comfortable, done in tones of green and blue.

“I love your sofa and armchairs,” I told him. Wide stripes of celery green and a deeper green covered the fabric. I glanced around and saw a large flat-screen television, CD player, and pine tables, all of which coordinated with the hunter green walls. “Very nice.”

“I have to give all the credit to Gloria. Bedrooms and baths are this way.”

I followed him down a short hallway. Both bedrooms and their attached bathrooms were also tastefully decorated, but it was easy to see which one would be Lily's space. Lavender and pale pink dominated the room. A twin maple sleigh bed was filled with stuffed animals and a gorgeous rolltop oak desk took up half a wall, in addition to an armoire and a smaller flat-screen TV perched on a maple table.

“Your daughter is going to love this,” I said, and then felt a catch in my throat. But she wouldn't be able to
see
any of it.

“I hope so. Let's crack open that bottle of wine.”

I settled myself on the stool at the counter that acted as a divider between the kitchen and the living room and noticed that the table had been set with brightly colored yellow and blue placemats, nice dishes, and glassware. Simon Mancini seemed to have a bit of experience in being a dinner host.

He passed me a wineglass, and this time I made the toast first. “Here's to your new home. I hope you'll have years of happiness here.”

“Thanks, Josie. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour. Let's go downstairs so I can show you the office.”

I followed him down the stairs, around the side of the house, and to the porch. He slipped a key into the lock, and we stepped inside to a waiting room that was both professional and comfortable. A chocolate brown leather sofa, love seat, and three matching armchairs lined the wall, which was painted a pale blue with a border print of small blue and yellow flowers. In an alcove to my right were a large oak desk, leather office chair, and two cherrywood file cabinets. Behind the desk was a printer and fax machine.

“Oh, Simon, this is a beautiful office. It looks wonderful.”

“You think it's okay?” he asked.

“Okay? God, patients are going to love coming here, and Brandy will think she's in heaven working at that desk.”

He laughed. “Good. I guess Gloria got it right again. And over here is your office,” he said, leading me down the long hallway.

“My office?” I'd had no idea that I'd actually have an office.

He opened the door to reveal a medium-size room with another oak desk, two armchairs in a buttery yellow leather and a file cabinet, all of it overlooking the bay window that looked out to Second Street.

“Sure. You have to have an office too. You can bring patients in here to talk with them, go over their meds, that sort of thing.”

I felt excitement bubble up. “God, I love it, Simon. I've never had an office before. I really love it.”

“Good. I'm glad.” I saw a huge smile cross his face. “Here's my office down here.”

I followed him to the end of the hallway to a larger version of my office, and then he showed me the three exam rooms along the inner part of the hallway.

We walked back out to the reception area, and he said, “So. What do you think? Will you be happy working here?”

“Happy? That's putting it mildly,” I said, then laughed. “Gosh, yes. This is so perfect. All of it. I'm going to love working here.” And I knew that I would.

We went back upstairs, and Simon refilled our wineglasses before draining the pasta that had been on a slow boil and sliding garlic bread into the oven.

“Can I do something?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nope, I'm all set.”

I watched him scoop sauce, meatballs, and sausage over the spaghetti. This man looked quite at home in his kitchen. I recalled the discussion that I'd had at the yarn shop about stereotypes and smiled. Simon Mancini oozed masculinity—even cooking. No doubt about it.

“Oh, Josie, could you get the salad plates out of the fridge, please?”

I jumped up and found the glass plates covered with plastic wrap, which I removed before putting them on the table.

“I think we're all set,” he said.

 

Following his delicious dinner, we both opted for wine rather than coffee, and Simon opened a bottle of cabernet before we settled on the sofa and resumed our conversation.

“So Lily is arriving here on Friday. I'll go to Gainesville and pick her up,” he told me.

“That's great. I have no doubt that she'll love this place.”

“I hope so,” he said, and then got quiet for a few moments. “There's something that I want you to know, Josie.” He paused again. “My daughter is blind.”

“Oh,” was all I said. I felt like a phony, having already known this fact. “I'm sorry.”

He smiled. “Oh, don't be. Lily reminds me a bit of you. She's extremely independent, despite her lack of sight. She has a guide dog, Leo, and they're quite the team. There's very little that Lily isn't able to do.”

I took a sip of wine. “That's wonderful. She sounds like quite a young woman. You must be so proud of her.”

He nodded, but I noticed sadness in his eyes. “Lily wasn't born blind. She lost her sight at age eight.”

“Was it an illness?” I wasn't sure which was better—to be born without sight or to lose it after knowing what it was like to see.

Simon shook his head. “No, it was an accident. A car accident. I was driving her to her ballet lesson, and we were hit by a reckless teen driver who thought it was more important to text than keep his eyes on the road.”

“God, I'm so sorry,” I said, and instinctively reached over to touch his hand.

I felt him grasp mine and gave his hand a squeeze before he took a gulp of wine and nodded. “Yeah, it was a pretty rough time for a while for all of us.”

I wondered if, even though Simon wasn't at fault, he felt a certain amount of guilt.

“But . . . we got through it,” he said, placing his empty wineglass on the coffee table. “And as I said, Lily does exceptionally well. After she recuperated from the accident and we realized her vision was permanently gone, we got her enrolled at the Florida School for the Deaf and Blind in St. Augustine. I credit them with making Lily as independent as she is.”

“That's wonderful. And to think she's such an accomplished knitter. She really does sound like one very special young woman.”

A smile covered Simon's face. “She is, and I think you'll enjoy meeting her.”

“I look forward to it,” I said, and glanced at my watch. I brought it closer to my face. Surely it was wrong. Eleven-fifteen?

“Oh, my God. I can't believe it's so late!” I exclaimed, and heard Simon laugh as he glanced at his own watch.

“We do have a way of getting carried away talking, don't we?”

I took the last sip of my wine and nodded. “Yeah, I really have to get going.”

“I'll walk you home,” he said, standing up.

“No, it's just down . . .”

But he cut me off. “I know it's just down the street and I'm walking you there.”

When we got to my front door, I smiled. “Thank you so much, Simon, for such a lovely evening. Gosh, I had a great time and the food was delicious.”

“I enjoyed it just as much,” he said, and then moved a bit closer, grazing my lips with his. “I'll see you soon, I hope.”

22

T
he following Wednesday morning I'd had the shop open about an hour when I heard the chimes tinkle and looked up to see Simon accompanied by a young woman and a huge golden retriever. I knew this was his daughter, and quite simply, she was stunning. Tall, slim, with thick, dark hair that fell to her shoulders in waves. Her hair color and olive skin made it obvious that she'd gotten most of her genes from Simon's Italian side of the family. She walked into the shop with an air of confidence, the leash clasped in her hand, the dog leading the way, and designer sunglasses covering her eyes. Had I not known, I never would have guessed that this striking young woman was blind.

“Good morning,” I said.

The sound of my voice seemed to direct both Lily and the dog toward me.

“Josie, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Lily, and this is Leo.”

Lily extended her hand, which I grasped in both of mine.

“It's so nice to meet you,” I told her.

“Same here,” she said. “My dad's told me a lot about you, and I couldn't wait to visit your shop.”

I let out a chuckle. “Oh, I'm afraid I'm only working here part time till I start working for your dad. Is it okay to pat the dog?”

“Oh, yes, it's fine. Leo's very friendly.”

“He's gorgeous,” I said, running my hand along his thick coat. “Have you ever thought about getting his fur spun into fiber for knitting? That fur would make a nice scarf.”

Lily laughed. “I have heard about that, and I should do it.”

“The original owner of this shop, Sydney Webster, started her business by doing just that. She spun dog and cat fur into yarn. People seem to like the idea of always having a keepsake from their beloved pets. Would you like to look around the shop?” I asked, and then felt stupid. It was obvious that she couldn't
look
around the shop.

But she surprised me by saying, “Yes, I'd love to. If you could just verbally cue me as to where the yarn is located, I think Leo and I can manage.”

I proceeded to explain that there were four display tables in the center of the room and the rest of the yarn was in cubbyholes along the two walls.

“Thanks,” she said, and moved toward the first table with Leo beside her.

I watched her hand reach out and begin stroking a skein of Elsbeth Lavold ViSilk.

“Oh, this is nice,” she said.

“It is. It has the touch of silk with matte tufts that provide a contrast to the smooth viscose. Perfect for comfortable warm-weather garments, and it's made in Italy.”

“Does it come in any shades of green?” she asked.

“It does. I have it available in a celery green, grass green, and a deep emerald.”

She nodded. “Thanks. I'll keep browsing.”

I glanced at Simon and saw the look of pride on his face. He had been right—he had one very independent daughter.

“She's lovely,” I said. “Such a pretty girl.”

“Thanks. Lily arrived Friday, and I spent the weekend letting her get used to the apartment and taking her around the island. But she couldn't wait until you opened the shop this morning.” He laughed. “You know. That knitter thing.”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah,” I said as I watched Lily making her way around the shop like any other sighted customer. “I'm leaving on Monday for Boston, but I'd love to have you and Lily to dinner before I go. Any chance you're free Saturday evening? Orli said she's anxious to meet both you and your daughter. But . . . I'm not sure I can guarantee such a delicious dinner as you prepared.”

Simon laughed. “I tend to doubt that, and yes, I think so. Lily.” He called over to his daughter. “Josie would like to have us for dinner Saturday evening, and you can meet her daughter, Orli.”

Lily turned around and a smile crossed her face. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that sounds great. I'd love to go. She's not allergic to dogs, though, is she? Leo goes everywhere I do.”

“No, she's not, and we both love dogs. Of course Leo is also invited.”

“Great,” she said before resuming her yarn browse.

“So are you all packed and ready for your trip?” Simon asked.

I let out a chuckle. “Not quite. I'm usually pretty organized, but I've been busy Christmas shopping, wrapping gifts, that sort of thing. After tonight's yarn class I'll be officially finished working here. Today's my last day in the shop, so that'll give me a few days to focus on packing.”

“Will tonight be the end of your knitting classes too?”

“Well, it's the final night for the sweater class, but Dora said if the men want to do another class after the first of the year, its fine with her. So we'll see what they say. It won't interfere with my day job, because it's in the evening.”

“You seem to really enjoy the class, so I hope it'll continue for you.”

I noticed that Lily had found the wicker basket for purchases on her own and had quite a few skeins of various yarn filling it.

“Well, I think this will keep me busy for a while,” she said, walking back toward the counter.

I peeked inside and saw that she had good taste in yarn. “Nice choices,” I said. “Will that be all?”

“I think so.” She reached into the bag that hung from her shoulder and removed her wallet.

Simon's hand shot out to stop her. “My treat,” he said.

“Dad,” she groaned. “I have money. You don't need to be buying my yarn for me.”

Yup, she did remind me of myself in that respect, and I smiled. I hated it when my mother did the same thing when we were out shopping together.

But Simon was adamant. “I know you do, but this is my little ‘welcome to the island' present for you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, leading me to believe this happened a lot, but she smiled, gave her father's arm a squeeze, and said, “Thank you.”

I began ringing up the purchases, and a thought hit me. “Oh, Lily, we have a knitting group that meets here every Thursday evening. We're off till after the holidays, but I'd love for you to join us after the first of the year. We meet from seven till nine and then have coffee and tea and some goodies after. I'm afraid everybody is older than you, but you might like to join us.”

The smile on her face increased. “Thank you so much. And absolutely, I'd love to come. I've found that when it comes to knitting, age is totally irrelevant.”

“Great,” I said. I liked this girl. She might not have her sight, but she didn't lack in other truly important qualities.

 

“I seem to be the one lagging behind here,” Saxton said that evening at our class. “I have the front of my sweater finished, but I'm just starting the back.”

“Not to worry,” I assured him. “Knitting isn't a race. We all knit at different speeds, plus we all have different schedules for our knitting time.”

I glanced over at Gabe, who was finishing up his final sleeve. For a new knitter, he had developed amazing speed, not to mention the fact that knitting for him seemed to come quite naturally. He seldom asked me a question or was stumped by any of the techniques.

“I have to say, Gabe, you've really caught on fast. If I didn't know better, I'd think maybe you're not a beginner at all,” I joked with him.

I saw a flush creep up his neck.

“Oh . . . well.” He cleared his throat.

The other three men stopped knitting and looked at Gabe, waiting for an explanation.

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Doyle said. “You really caught on fast, and you're sure much further along on the sweater than the rest of us.”

Gabe placed his sweater in his lap and looked across the table at me. “Well . . . maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been with you, Josie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I've been knitting for a while. Quite a while.”

My father laughed and shook his head. “So you've been holding back on us. For how long?”

There was a pause before Gabe said, “Ah . . . since I was four years old.”

“What?” all of us exclaimed at the same time.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I'm afraid so. I'm a fraud.”

Doyle laughed. “Well, I wouldn't say that, but why the hell would you lie to us?”

“Because the sign said
beginners'
knitting class. I very much wanted to join the group. You know, get to know some guys, be part of the crowd. So I figured I'd join and just keep a low profile.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Well, you dirty dog, you,” Saxton said, clapping Gabe on the back.

A grin covered my father's face. “And did you think you'd never get caught?”

Gabe laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

I shook my head. “But, geez, Gabe, you still could have attended the class. I wouldn't have booted you out.” But then another thought occurred to me. “Ah, you didn't want to intimidate the new knitters, did you?
Or
the instructor, for that matter. Just how proficient are you in knitting?”

A sheepish grin crossed his face. “Well . . . my mother owned a yarn shop up in Philly. I was teaching kids to knit by the time I was six or so. Mothers would come to the shop with their kids, who would see me sitting there knitting, and before you knew it, both boys and girls were asking how to do it. So before long my mother got the idea of having me teach a kids' class while the mothers shopped and then joined the women in another room for their own classes.”

My father shook his head. “Well, I'll be darned. That's really great. So you've been knitting all your life.”

Gabe nodded. “Pretty much.”

“And I'd bet anything you're certified, aren't you?” I asked.

He pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. “Yeah . . . I'm a master knitter with TKGA—The Knitting Guild Association.”

Again the room filled with laughter.

“Well, good for you,” my dad said. “So see, once again this proves that knitting is
definitely
for men.”

All of us looked up as Chloe walked into the room.

“Hey, guess what?” Doyle said to her. “Gabe's come out of the closet.”

I saw her face blanch as she said, “What? You mean he's
gay?
”