Farewell to Cedar Key (4 page)

6

T
he following week I was stocking a new shipment of Euroflax linen yarn on the shelf when I remembered a pattern I'd recently seen calling for this exact yarn to make lace facecloths. I fingered the texture and checked the label to make sure it was machine washable, which it was. With a nice bar of scented soap and tied up with a ribbon, these would make ideal Christmas gifts for Orli's teachers. I put aside two skeins of dusty rose to ring up for myself later. Mallory had been right. Working in a yarn shop made it difficult to resist purchases.

I turned around as I heard the chimes on the door tinkle and saw a middle-aged man enter. Probably had a shopping list from his wife.

“Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”

A sheepish grin crossed his face as he pointed to my handmade sign in the window. “Ah, yeah. I'm curious about that men's knitting class.”

“Oh, great. Well, it's scheduled to begin on October first, and I'll be teaching the class. You're certainly welcome to sign up, but I'm afraid so far we have only one other man interested. My father.”

He chuckled and smiled. “Hmm, did you browbeat the poor man into signing up?”

I shook my head and laughed. “Actually, no. My mother and I are both huge knitters, and my dad said he'd often thought about learning himself. But I do think part of it is because I'm the one teaching the class and he doesn't want it to fall apart before it even begins.”

“Well, then. I agree with your father. We can't have that. Where do I sign up?”

I walked to the counter to get my notebook. “I can do that for you right now.” I knew he wasn't a local and he didn't look familiar to me. “Do you live on the island?”

He extended his hand in greeting. “I'm Gabe. Gabe Brunell. I do live here for now. I'm renting a house over on Third Street. Just for the winter. Do you think that'll give me enough time to perfect my knitting skills?”

I smiled as I wrote his name down. “It should. It's forty dollars for the four-week class. And then based on interest, we can begin another more in-depth class after the holidays.”

“Great,” he said, reaching for a checkbook and pen inside his shirt pocket. “Make it out to Yarning Together?”

“Yes, please.”

He handed me the check and said, “Now, what exactly will I need for the class?”

“After I teach you the basics of knit and purl, we'll be making a scarf. You'll only need to choose yarn for the scarf and needles, because we'll supply the scrap yarn for you to practice on.”

I led the way to the shelves holding yarn that would be good for a scarf. “Any of these would be fine. So this is the fun part, choosing what you'd like. Take your time and browse,” I said as I heard my cell phone ring.

“Is this Josie Sullivan?” a male voice said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi, this is Simon Mancini. I believe Dr. Clark mentioned I'd be calling you?”

My first thought was,
Yes, he did. But that was two weeks ago.

“Yes, he said you might get in touch with me,” was what I replied.

“Great. I'm sorry it took me a while. I'm afraid I've been a bit overwhelmed trying to get my new practice up and running. He tells me you're an excellent RN, and I'm certainly in need of one. Would you be interested in meeting me for an interview?”

I could feel my excitement starting to build, but I didn't want to seem desperate. “Ah, yes. That would be fine.”

“Great,” I heard him say, and I thought I detected a sigh come across the line. “Hmm, let's see . . .”

He paused, and I was certain he was checking a calendar. One point for him. He appeared to be organized.

“Okay. Yes. How would this Friday work for you? Let's say twelve noon at the Pickled Pelican for lunch?”

A lunch interview? “Sure. That would be fine. I'll see you there on Friday, and thank you.”

I disconnected the call, felt a smile cross my face, and looked up to see Gabe Brunell holding out two skeins of yarn in front of me.

“Would these work for the scarf?” he asked.

He had chosen a tweed DK weight in shades of tan and brown.

“Perfect,” I said. “Now, let's get you those needles.” I walked to the rack and removed a packet. “Size 10, and I think you'll like working with the bamboo to start with.”

“Great. Then I'm all set?”

“I believe you are. I'll ring you up.”

We both glanced toward the door when the chimes rang, and I saw Chloe walk in.

“Hey, how're you doing?” I asked.

Before she had a chance to reply, Gabe said, “Oh, it sure looks like you had a tumble.”

Chloe laughed and held out her casted arm. “Yeah, I sure did. Right down my stairs.”

“This is Gabe Brunell,” I said, introducing them. “My second pupil to sign up for the men's knitting class.”

I saw him extend his hand to Chloe. Was it only my imagination, or did he seem to hold on to it a bit longer than necessary?

“Hi,” she said, returning his smile. “How nice you're going to learn to knit. Is your wife also a knitter?”

Oh, clever, Chloe. Very clever. I smiled as I placed his purchase into the bag and watched the interaction.

“Oh, no, I don't have a wife. I'm afraid I've been divorced for many years.”

“Same here,” Chloe said, without hesitating. “Do you live on the island?”

Gabe nodded. “I do for the winter. I'm renting a place over on Third Street. I retired last year from teaching, and a few of my friends from Philly have visited here. After a little research, I decided it might be a great place to get out of the cold for the winter months.”

Chloe's smile increased. “Well, great. Welcome to the island. Actually, I'm part owner of the shop, with Dora Foster. But as you can see, I'm out of commission at the moment, and we're very fortunate to have Josie to help out.”

“Wonderful,” he said, taking his bag of supplies. “Then I certainly know where to go when I have a problem with my knitting. Thanks again, Josie, and I'll see you on the first.”

I leaned on the counter, chin in my hands, and stared at Chloe, who was watching Gabe leave and walk down Second Street.

She turned around to face me. “What?” she said, and I swear that was a blush moving up her neck.

I smiled. “Hmm, interested?”

She waved her left hand in the air. “Don't be silly. But he
is
good-looking.”

I nodded. “He is.”

“And he looks to be around midsixties.”

I nodded again. “He does.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said, reaching across the counter to jab my arm. “What else is going on here?”

“Well,” I said, figuring I'd teased her enough. “It just so happens I might be on my way to a job. An RN position.”

“Really? Oh, Josie, that's great. The new doctor called?”

“He did. Just a few minutes ago. He wants me to meet him for an interview at noon on Friday and lunch at the Pelican.”

“Aha,” I heard her say.

“What does that mean?”

Chloe laughed. “Well, hey, a lunch interview? Whatever happened to a formal interview in his office? He could be like that TV character, Doctor McDreamy. You never know.”

Now I was positive I was the one who had a blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah, right. Well, first of all, the man does not yet have an office where we can meet. And second, he most likely has a wife.”

Chloe nodded and a smile crossed her face. “Right,” was all she said.

 

I returned home from work late that afternoon to find a message from Ben on the answering machine informing me that a memorial service would take place on Friday, October tenth, at the Methodist church. That was it. No
See you there
. No
Will we get together?
Nothing. As I stood there staring at the machine it also hit me how he'd chosen to contact me—not on my cell phone, which I was likely to answer, but rather by leaving a brief message. Was he trying to avoid me?

I turned around as Orli came in the back door loaded down with her backpack, posters, and a small bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers.

Extending her hand, she said, “For you,” and placed a kiss on my cheek.

She had been doing random kindnesses like this as long as I could remember. I knew all children were special, but I always thought my daughter was one in a million.

“Thank you so much.” I placed a kiss on her cheek before reaching into the cabinet for a vase. “Very pretty,” I said as I began arranging the various blossoms of purple, blue, and yellow.

“Nana and Grandpa's for dinner at six, right?”

Oh, geez. I had completely forgotten and had planned to whip up Orli's favorite—baked macaroni and cheese.

“Right,” I said. “Oh, hey, I think I have some good news.”

“Great. Are we going to Dad's for Christmas?” she asked while removing the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge.

“Ah, that's not my good news, but . . . we might be one step closer to figuring out whether I can go.”

I joined her on a stool at the counter while she munched on a freshly baked oatmeal cookie, courtesy of my mother, and told her about my job interview.

“That
is
great news. I'm happy for you, Mom. Really. I just hope if he offers you the job, you'll be able to get away so we can go to Boston.”

That was my wish, too, although it seemed pretty doubtful that as a new employee it would be possible, but I planned to stay positive.

“Well, we'll know more on Friday. Going to get your homework done before we leave for Nana's?”

“Yup,” she said, grabbing another cookie and heading to her bedroom.

I was putting the kettle on to make a cup of herbal tea when the phone rang. It was Mallory.

“Holding out news from your best friend, huh?” she said.

“I only found Ben's message on the recorder when I got home,” I told her.

“Ben's message? I'm talking about your job interview on Friday. Actually, your
lunch
with the new doc in town.”

I heard the humor in her tone. “Oh, right. I was going to call you about that, and then I got busy at work and only came in a little while ago. But yeah, I do have an
interview
. How'd you find out so fast?”

“I bumped into Chloe at the chocolate shop. You don't sound very excited about it. What's wrong?”

“No, I am excited. But it's not definite that he'll hire me, so I don't want to get my hopes too high. And if I do get hired, it'll most likely interfere with the trip to Boston that Orli has her heart set on.”

“Hmm, I see what you're saying. Well, my fingers are crossed that it'll all work out perfectly for you. Are you busy this evening?”

I let out a groan. “Dinner at my mom's. Why?”

“Oh, okay. I had a question about that new sock pattern I'm working on. Not a big deal. I'll be at the knitting group tomorrow evening and you can help me then. It's not as if I don't have another dozen or so projects in the works that I can do this evening.”

I let out a chuckle. She was right. Was there any serious knitter who didn't have way more than one project going at the same time?

“Okay,” I said. “If I don't see you before, I'll see you at the shop tomorrow evening.”

7

“T
hat was delicious, Mom,” I said as I helped her to clear the table. Although Delilah did cook most of the meals for my parents, on her evenings off my mother proved herself to be a very adequate cook.

“Oh, thank you. I was lying down for most of the afternoon, so I wanted something that would be easy to put together. The chicken dish was a recipe from an old
Good Housekeeping
magazine. I'm glad you liked it. I can copy the recipe for you.”

“Great,” I said, knowing I'd probably never use it. While I wasn't a bad cook, I tended to lean toward the simple, and I knew that despite what she said, the chicken had involved at least an hour of prep time. “You're not feeling well again?”

She waved a perfectly manicured hand in the air. “No, it was nothing. Just a tummy twinge and could have been something I ate.”

Orli began to help my mother fill the dishwasher.

“Want me to get the coffee ready?”

“Yes, that would be good, Josie. We'll have it outside on the patio.”

After I filled the paper coffee filter and poured the carafe of water into the machine, I reached into the cabinet for the tray and arranged three mugs along with the sugar bowl and creamer. So far, so good with mealtime conversation. We had kept it light, mostly about the current novel my mother was working on, some local gossip, and Orli's school activities.

“So,” my mother said as the four of us sat at the patio table. “Hasn't Ben even contacted you about the memorial service for his uncle?”

I took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Actually, he did this afternoon. It's being held in a few weeks.”

“Yes, I knew that. October tenth at the Methodist church, with a lunch after. Sydney called and told me all that. But what else did Ben have to say? Will he be keeping Al's house and stay there when he visits? Is he going to move here permanently now?”

“I have no idea.”

“No idea? What on earth
did
he tell you?”

“He didn't actually tell me anything. He left a message on my home machine with only the details about the service. That was it.”

My mother shook her head. “I swear, Josephine, you have the strangest relationships with men. I'll just never understand. You two barely see each other, it doesn't seem you're in contact very much, his uncle passes away, and you don't seem to know anything. You call this a romance?”

I knew I was gnawing on my lower lip and didn't care. “I've never called
this
a romance—whatever it is. It's not one of your novels. Ben and I have been trying to figure out exactly what it is we have. Which at this point doesn't seem like very much. So let it go, Mom. Please.”

My mother was about to say something more, but my father interrupted her. “So, Josie, am I still the lone pupil for those knitting classes?”

Bless my dad. “No, actually, you're not. I had a man sign up today. He's new in town and renting a place on Third Street for the winter. He's in your age group and seems very nice.”

“Terrific. I look forward to meeting him. I think it'll be a fun class.”

“Oh,” my mother said, “and I forgot to tell you, I bumped into Doyle Summers at the book shop earlier today and he plans to drop by and sign up too. So you'll have at least three.”

“Very good. And maybe there will be a couple more,” I told her, grateful that she'd gotten off the subject of Ben. “And . . . I think I have some good news to share. You know the new doctor who's opening a practice here? Dr. Clark had recommended me, and Dr. Mancini called me today to set up an interview for Friday.”

My father reached over to squeeze my arm. “That
is
good news, Josie. It would be great if you could work right here in town instead of having to do the commute to Gainesville.”

When my mother didn't comment, I looked over at her, waiting for a reaction.

“Well . . . yes. That does sound promising. Of course, there's a huge difference between working for a small-town doctor and a large city hospital. But . . . of course that's your choice.”

Yes, Mom,
I thought,
it is.

“So,” she said, “I don't think I've told you. The foolishness with CC? It's only getting worse. Now she tells me she's planning a trip to Tuscany with this young guy. Not only that, it seems she's picking up the tab. Can you imagine! I have no idea what on earth has gotten into her.”

I caught the wink that Orli sent me across the table and smiled.

“Mom, maybe he makes her happy. Did you ever stop to think about that? Just because she's paying, it doesn't mean he's taking advantage of her. Maybe she enjoys his company, he couldn't afford his share of the trip . . . and rather than not go at all, CC is paying.”

My mother waved her hand in the air. “Crazy. That's what it is. Just downright crazy. And Jane? I spoke to her again today and she doesn't seem to have a problem with it either.” My mother shook her head before taking a sip of her coffee.

I let out a deep sigh. “Maybe Jane's right. Maybe CC's reached an age when she's entitled to do stuff like this. Act silly. Be spontaneous. Enjoy the moment.” Saying this, I realized that my mother had probably never once experienced any of those things.

 

After we got home, Orli curled up at the other end of the sofa to watch a rerun of
Downton Abbey,
the British TV series that we were both hooked on.

With Clovelly stretched out between us, I began casting on stitches for the first facecloth I planned to make.

During a commercial, Orli glanced over and said, “Oh, pretty. I love the color. What's it going to be?”

“A lacy facecloth. I thought they would be nice Christmas gifts for your teachers, with a bar of scented soap wrapped inside.”

“Perfect. Sometimes I think my teachers are thrilled to have me at the beginning of the year because they can count on a nice hand-knit Christmas gift from you.”

I looked over and saw the smile on her face. “Oh, I doubt that. They know what a superb student they're getting. Speaking of which, any more thought about where you'll be applying for college? Is the university in Gainesville still in the running?”

“Oh, definitely. I'm just not sure if I want to go to a town I'm so familiar with. Maybe it would be better to go to school in the northeast.”

I could feel a lump forming in my throat at just the thought of Orli leaving home for college, but I nodded. “Yeah, time to spread your wings, huh? Like where? Boston area?”

“Hmm, maybe. Or New York. There's lots of great colleges there too.”

The show resumed and I stayed quiet, lost in my own thoughts while I knitted. Who was I to say anything? I had done exactly the same thing when I graduated high school. Left my small-town life and headed to Emerson College in Boston. And of course, I'd never regretted it for one minute. It was where I had met Grant. It was where I had conceived my daughter. But still . . . the thought of Orli so far away made me feel sad.

I recalled the conversation earlier with my mother about CC. Here I was thinking that my mother had never done anything silly or spontaneous. But had I? Sure, I'd left home for college, but that wasn't so remarkable. Sure, during my first few months in the dorm, I drank beer under age, took a few hits of pot, but beyond that, when was the last time I'd done anything that wasn't responsible or practical? After having a daughter at nineteen, I'd chosen to skip those silly moments, trading them in for motherhood instead. And I wasn't sorry. Not in the least. But now at age thirty-five, I could understand even more why CC wanted to make her moments count—no matter who didn't agree with her.

Orli had gone to bed and I was still sitting on the sofa knitting when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock on the mantel as I headed to the kitchen. Who would be calling at close to ten-thirty?

I answered and was surprised to hear Ben's voice.

“Josie?” He hesitated before saying, “I'm sorry to be calling a little late, but I wanted to discuss something with you.”

His voice sounded odd. Had he been drinking?

“No, it's okay. I'm still up. What's going on?”

“Well—” He hesitated again before saying, “Well . . . um . . . you see. It seems that I've met somebody. . . .”

Now I realized that what I heard in his voice was nerves and uncertainty.

“It
seems?
” I asked.

I heard a forced chuckle before he said, “Right. Well, I
have
met somebody. Her name is Dawn. She works with me, you see. A fairly new editor at the company. It started off with just a drink after work. You know.”

Why did he always assume that I
knew
things? When I remained silent, he went on in a rush.

“One thing led to another, drinks and then dinners and then, well, ah . . . Dawn informed me this evening that she's pregnant. She just found out. She's about ten weeks along. I thought you should know.”

On wobbly legs, I found my way to the stool at the counter and managed to plunk down while trying to absorb what he'd just told me. He'd met a woman. She worked with him. They had drinks. Dinners. And now she was pregnant? There was no assumption involved on my part to
know
that he'd slept with her.

“Oh, I see,” was all I could say. Yes, this time I did actually see what he was saying, and doing a quick calculation in my head, I realized he had slept with her in July, either before coming to Cedar Key or shortly after returning to New York.

“Good. Good,” I heard him say.

Good? For who? For him? For me?

“And so . . . where does this leave us?” I asked, and then let out an exaggerated chuckle. “Oh, wait. There is no
us,
right?”

“Well, no . . . not anymore. I wanted you to know before I came there for my uncle's memorial. And I thought it might be easier to tell you on the phone. Dawn and I are planning to get married, but we're not sure when. I just wanted you to know.”

“Gee, that was really generous of you,” I said, and didn't try to disguise the snarkiness in my tone. “Well . . . thank you so much for telling me, Ben. I do appreciate that, rather than finding out from somebody else.”

“Oh, good,” I heard him reply, followed by a deep sigh across the line. “And just so you know, Dawn won't be coming with me to Cedar Key next month. I'm going to get my uncle's house listed with a realtor and put it up for sale. I'm really sorry it didn't work out for us, Josie. You know how it is.”

“I certainly do,” I said before hanging up the phone.

I stood at the counter for a few minutes, not exactly sure what I was feeling. Sorrow? Rejection? Happiness? Relief?

I walked to the fridge, removed an open bottle of Pinot Grigio, took a wineglass from the cabinet, filled the glass halfway, and then took a long sip. I sat back down on the stool and shook my head as laughter bubbled out of me.

“What the hell just happened?” I said out loud to the empty kitchen.

I took another sip of wine and shook my head again. One thing I knew for certain—sorrow was not among the emotions I was experiencing.