Farewell to Cedar Key (7 page)

12

B
y the following week, I still hadn't heard from Simon even though I knew the interview with Brandy had gone well and she had been hired. It was Brandy who excitedly shared the news with me and not him.

Who cares anyway,
I thought. I was simply going to be his nurse in a working relationship, so he certainly had no obligation to be in touch.

I was applying my makeup before heading to the yarn shop for my first men's knitting class when the phone rang.

I answered to hear Simon's voice, and all thoughts of
Who cares?
vanished.

“Josie, I've been meaning to call you and I'm sorry it's taken a while. Something came up with my daughter and I've been busy since I left Cedar Key last Friday.”

“Oh. Not a problem,” I said.

“I'm sure Brandy told you that I hired her as our receptionist?”

I smiled. “Yes, she did. She's pretty excited about her upcoming job.”

Simon's laughter came across the line. “She's quite a character, but I think she's exactly what a doctor's office needs. Somebody who doesn't get too stressed. She knows the locals, and I think she'll be both competent and easy to work with. So I want to thank you for recommending her.”

“I totally agree, and it was my pleasure.”

“I also know I mentioned getting together last Friday when I was here, but I had to leave as soon as I did the interview with Brandy.”

“Oh . . . no . . . that's fine. I understand.”

“Thanks, but I'd like to take you to dinner. Are you free this evening? I know it's short notice, but figured I'd ask.”

I felt my heart drop. Damn. “Oh, geez, no. I'm sorry. I have my first knitting class in about an hour.”

“Well, I'm here till Friday morning. Would you be free tomorrow evening?”

I normally went to the knitting group on Thursday evenings, but let's see—Doctor McDreamy or knitting group? “Actually, yes, I am.”

“Great. How about if I make a reservation for seven at the Island Room? Would that work for you?”

“It would,” I said, knowing I was feeling more excited than I should be.

“Great,” he said again. “So we'll meet there at seven?”

“Sounds good,” I told him before hanging up.

You silly goose,
I thought. I'm meeting him at the restaurant. That doesn't really constitute a date. Does it?

 

I looked across the table at four men with anxious expressions on their faces.

“Okay,” I said, leaning forward. “First rule of knitting. Relax. Have fun. No need to be stressed.”

I heard four collective sighs, and my dad threw me a smile and a wink.

“First I'm going to teach you to cast on. There's lots of ways to do this, and over time you'll learn different ones, but I think the easiest for a beginning knitter is the long tail cast on.” I proceeded to demonstrate how to hold the yarn and the needles and slowly began casting on as I explained to them. “So take your time, there's no rush, and if that's all you learn tonight, that's fine.”

I watched as Doyle, Saxton, Gabe, and my dad fumbled with their yarn and needle.

“Like this?” Doyle questioned. “Am I doing it right?”

I got up to stand behind him and check his work. “You are,” I told him. “Yay for you.” I peeked over the shoulders of the others and saw the only one who seemed to be a bit clumsy was my dad. I leaned over to position his fingers a bit better. “Try holding it like this.”

After a few moments he nodded. “Much better. Thanks, Josie.”

Within a few more minutes it was easy to see that all four men had gotten the hang of it.

“Okay,” I said. “Now I want you to take that apart and start over. This time cast on thirty stitches, not too tight, not too loose.”

I did the same with my sample as I kept one eye on them.

When they had finished, I inspected their work. “Perfect,” I said. “You guys are born knitters. Now I'll teach you how to do a knit stitch.”

Again, I demonstrated while sitting with my back to them and holding my knitting to the side so that they could see it from the correct position. Slowly I inserted my right needle while explaining what to do. I finished my row and turned around.

“Any questions?” When all four men said no, I said, “Okay. Now you try. I'll walk behind to make sure you're getting it.”

They were slow, they were a bit clumsy, but by golly, they were knitting stitches.

At one point, Saxton got a little tangled with the yarn and Doyle realized he'd dropped a stitch, but I helped them out and they kept going.

“So if I kept doing this, I could make a scarf?” my father questioned.

“You could, and that would be the garter stitch. You just knit every row. So let's do a few more rows and then I'll teach you how to purl. When you alternate with a row of knitting and a row of purling, that's the stockinette stitch. In many basic patterns, those two stitches will be all you'll need to know.”

The room became very quiet as each of them plodded along. After a few minutes, I said, “We can talk, you know. Knitting doesn't have to be a silent pastime when you're in a group.” They all laughed and I saw them relax a bit more. “When you're working on a lace pattern or cables you'll probably have to focus, but straight knitting and purling allows you to socialize.”

My father began chatting with Gabe, asking him questions about spending the winter on Cedar Key. “How do you like the island so far?”

“I like it a lot,” Gabe said. “Quiet and beautiful scenery. I'm very much enjoying the wildlife.”

“Do you fish?” Doyle asked.

“I do, although I haven't had the chance in a few years.”

“Well, you'll have to go out with us,” Doyle told him. “I have a boat, and the three of us try to get out there at least once a week. You're welcome to join us.”

“That sounds great. Thanks.”

The conversation went back and forth as they discussed current events, sports, books, boating, and fishing. I smiled as I listened to the male chatter. It wasn't any different from females getting together over knitting. The topics might not be the same, but the result was the same. Bonding. Making a connection with other people. Socializing.

I saw that all four of them now had a few rows finished. “Okay,” I said. “Ready to learn how to purl?”

I heard a resounding yes and proceeded to teach them the purl stitch. This proved a little more difficult as they had to learn the exact opposite of knitting by inserting the right needle in front of the left one. I helped each one individually and, except for Gabe, I could see this stitch slowed them down a bit and created a bit more clumsiness.

“It's just going to take practice,” I explained. “Once you've done purling for a while, it will feel almost as comfortable as knitting. But the main thing tonight is that you're learning the difference between knit and purl stitches.”

“I don't think I like this as well as straight knitting,” I heard Doyle say, and I laughed.

“Don't feel bad,” I told him. “Many knitters would much rather knit than purl, so you're not alone. But it's a needed stitch, as you'll see when we begin working on your scarf.”

I checked my watch and was surprised to see we had been working for an hour and had only thirty minutes left to the class.

I got up and walked to the counter area. “You guys keep going. The coffee is ready, and I brought some cranberry bread that I made this morning. During knitting night we always end with a snack, so I thought you guys would enjoy this too.”

I proceeded to slice the bread and heard Gabe say, “I'd be more than happy to bring something to go with the coffee next week. I make a pretty good pound cake.”

“Ah, so you're a chef too?” I heard my father kid him.

“Well, I've been divorced for years, so it was either starve or learn how to cook properly,” he said, causing the others to laugh.

“That would be great, Gabe,” I told him as I placed the platter of bread on the table. “Thanks. You guys can stop anytime you want. I'd say you did exceptionally well for your first class. So keep practicing all week on that piece, and next week I'll teach you how to increase. Many patterns call for adding an extra stitch. Help yourself to the coffee and bread,” I said, and looked up as the door opened and Chloe walked in.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Is the class still going on? I just wanted to drop by and say hi.”

I saw her eyes dart directly to Gabe, and I smiled. “No, we're finishing up, and you're just in time for coffee and cranberry bread. Come and join us.”

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing the empty chair next to Gabe.

The men said hi, and I heard Gabe say, “Nice to see you again. How's that arm doing?”

“It's putting a real damper on my knitting, but no discomfort.”

“More of an annoyance, huh?” he asked, standing up. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

I sat there and observed the interaction. Call me silly, but I was pretty sure I saw some interest between them.

“So the class went well?” Chloe asked.

“It did,” I told her. “I think we have some natural knitters here. They've done very well learning to cast on and knitting and purling.”

“Wonderful. Who knows, we might just have a potential master knitter in our group.”

Gabe placed the coffee in front of Chloe and sat back down. “Yes, on my flight down here from Philly I noticed a man in first class knitting away. I struck up a conversation with him, and he was working on a gorgeous lace shawl for his daughter. Told me he's been knitting for about ten years now and has even written some books with unusual designs for socks.”

Chloe nodded. “Oh, right. Not only are more and more men learning to knit, many are so creative. Hey, knitting is an art just like writing or music. Some do it only as a hobby or pastime, but we have some great male designers around now. It's a terrible stereotype to say knitting is only for women.”

“Hear, hear,” said my father, holding up the piece he'd been working on. “Remember that saying years ago, ‘Real men don't eat quiche'? That was downright false. Like masculine men choose steak and gravy and hearty meals over something like quiche? It isn't always true, and people shouldn't lean on stereotypes.”

“Is that why you took up knitting, Dad? To dispel this idea?”

My father laughed. “Not really, but now that you mention the idea, it never hurts to be a bit of a rebel.”

“While I certainly agree with you, Joe, let's bring a little testosterone into the conversation,” Doyle said. “Who's free to go fishing on Friday?”

By the time the men left the carriage house of the yarn shop, plans had been made for a day of boating and fishing.

“That really seemed to go well,” Chloe said as she helped me clear off the table and I began washing the cups and plates.

“I think it did. I'm glad I mentioned the idea of this class and agreed to teach it. I think it'll be fun. And so . . . what's up with you and Gabe?”

She turned her back to remove the last of the cups from the table. “Me and Gabe? Nothing. I don't even know him.”

“Right,” I said, and felt a smile cross my face. “But I'm betting anything you'd sure like to have that chance.”

13

O
rli had just left for school and I was savoring my first cup of coffee when I answered the phone to hear my mother say, “Is it true? Did Ben really get some woman up in New York pregnant?”

A groan escaped me. Hearing my mother's drama queen tone of voice was not my idea of waking up slowly.

“How the heck did you hear about that?” I questioned.

“What does it matter where I heard it? Is it true?”

“Yes. It's true.”

“And it never occurred to you to tell me this?” I heard the annoyance in her voice.

“Why? It's not like you could change anything, and besides, I honestly don't care.”

I heard her sigh of aggravation come across the line.

“You don't care? You've been dating him for a couple years now and you don't care?”

“Mom, look. I'm still not quite sure what Ben and I had together. At best, it was a long-distance relationship that was simply going nowhere. I liked him well enough in the beginning, but . . . there just was never any . . . sexual chemistry with him. And it's pretty tough to even attempt a relationship with over a thousand miles between you.”

“Hmm. He certainly seemed to find some sexual chemistry with whomever he got pregnant. So . . . you're okay with all of this?”

“Yes, I'm perfectly fine with it.” The initial stab of rejection I'd felt had disappeared within a day or so of hearing his news. “And I'm still planning to attend Mr. Al's memorial next week.”

“Won't that be awkward?”

“Not at all. I don't plan to go out of my way to speak to Ben. I'll go to the church and skip the gathering after. Not a big deal.”

“Okay,” my mother said, and I heard the hesitancy in the word. “Well, personally, I never thought you two were suited for each other, so it's probably all for the best.”

I had a feeling that, in my mother's opinion, Grant would probably always be the only man she thought was suited for me.

“Your father said the knitting class went very well. He seemed to really enjoy it.”

“I think it did too. They're a nice group of men, and it was fun. I think all four of them caught on pretty fast with the basic stitches.”

“I'm about to make some meatballs and sauce to go with pasta tonight for supper. Are you and Orli able to come?”

Damn. I really didn't want to tell my mother about dinner with Simon. “Well . . . I'm sure Orli can make it, but . . . I've already made other plans.”

“Oh, really? For dinner? Who are you having dinner with?”

“Simon. Dr. Mancini.” It was times like this that I thought living anywhere but in the same town as my mother might be a good thing.

“Oh!” There was a pause. “So you have a date with him?”

“It's not a
date,
Mom.” I heard the aggravation creeping into my tone. “I had suggested Brandy as his new receptionist. He interviewed and hired her. So he just wanted to thank me, and I'm meeting him at seven at the Island Room.”

“Oh, I see,” was all she said.

“I have to go, but I'll tell Orli to give you a call about dinner.”

I hung up before she could ask any more questions and took my mug of coffee out to the patio.

Sitting on the lounge I relished the great autumn weather that had arrived on the island over the past week. A definite drop in humidity, cooler mornings and evenings. I loved this time of year in Florida. I let my mind wander and found myself wondering what I should wear for dinner. I wanted to look nice, of course, but I didn't want to appear too dressy. Thinking of the advice I'd given Brandy, I thought perhaps a sundress, sweater, and flats might work well. I'd be home from work by two, so I had plenty of time to think about that.

The phone rang again, interrupting my thoughts.

“I didn't wake you, did I?” Grant asked.

“Not at all. I'm just enjoying my coffee. What's up?”

“I wanted to let you know that the flights are all booked for you and Orli. First class on Delta, Gainesville to Atlanta, and then on to Boston. You'll leave on Monday, the twenty-second, and are back on the thirtieth, as we discussed. I'll e-mail you all the info, and you can print out the boarding passes the day before, okay?”

“It's great, but Grant, you didn't have to book us in first class. Really.”

I heard his laugh across the line. “I know I didn't
have
to. I wanted to. Hey, my two girls deserve the best, right?”

Even after sixteen years, even with no certificate of marriage—he still considered me his
girl,
causing me to smile.

“Well, that was very nice of you, and Orli will be thrilled. I'm really looking forward to the trip. So how's your condo? I take it you like it there? Seen any ghosts yet?”

I heard Grant laugh again. “Not yet. I like it here a lot, and I have very nice neighbors in my building. You'll meet them all when you come up. I think you'll really get a kick out of one in particular.”

“Why's that?”

“Well, Estelle Fletcher is a hoot. Elderly woman who lives in the condo across from mine. Her husband passed away last year, but she's pretty independent, not to mention feisty. In addition to being a psychic.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “No! Seriously? She thinks she's a psychic?”

“Oh, trust me. She doesn't
think
it. She says she has the gift, and she's dead serious.”

The building where Grant now lived had been part of the ancient and historic Danvers State Hospital. Perched high on a hill overlooking the town, it had closed its doors in the 1990s and then over the years fell into a state of disrepair with numerous rumors about ghosts and spirits. A developer had bought the land and turned the buildings into a luxury condo complex.

“Hmm,” I said. “Interesting. I remember your mother driving me past there once when I was visiting, and she told me quite a few stories about the structure and patients. It sounded like a horrible place; just the sight of that gothic structure gave me the creeps. I couldn't believe it was the same place when you sent me the photos. Maybe this Estelle just got caught up in the drama of the history behind the building.”

I heard Grant chuckle. “Yeah, maybe. Listen, I have to run. I'm due in court. So I'll e-mail you the flight info. Will you tell Orli to give me a call this evening?”

“Will do,” I said, hanging up the phone. I smiled as I thought about Estelle and Danvers State. I felt it was all hooey, but I knew that somebody like Berkley Whitmore would gobble up something like this. She was originally from Salem, the next town to Danvers, so no doubt she had a lot of background on the place.

 

I scarfed down a quick sandwich for lunch at the yarn shop, locked the door behind me, and headed to the chocolate shop down the street.

“Hey,” Berkley said as I walked in. “Here to replenish your chocolate supply?”

“I am. Orli reminded me last night that we need more Cedar Key clams and some truffles. So I'll take a pound of each. Can't have us running out of our chocolate. How's things with you?”

“Great,” Berkley said, putting on a pair of plastic gloves before bending down to reach into the glass display case. “Oh, Saxton seemed to really enjoy his first knitting class last night. Gosh, he was up till after midnight knitting away on that practice swatch.”

I laughed. “That's great. Yeah, I think it went very well, and I was surprised at how quickly they all seemed to catch on.”

“What's with this new man in town? Gabe Brunell.”

“He's here for the winter, and he's in the class too. Why?”

Berkley continued to fill the box with chocolates and looked up to shoot me a smile. “Well, Saxton said that Chloe arrived just as you were finishing and about to have coffee and that she settled herself next to Gabe. He said they were still chatting away when he left.”

“Yeah, although she won't admit it, I think she's attracted to him. He seems like a really nice guy too. From Philly, retired teacher, divorced. They did seem to hit it off, so who knows.”

“I think it would be nice for her to have a male companion again. She had Cameron for a while, but that really didn't go anywhere.”

I nodded. “Oh, hey. I wanted to ask you about Danvers State Hospital. Do you remember it from when you lived in Salem?”

Berkley stopped putting chocolate in the box and stood up. “Oh, yeah. Why would you want to know about that gruesome place?”

“That's where Grant purchased his new condo.”

“Oh. Really?” She bent back down and continued reaching for chocolates.

“A developer has turned what was left of the buildings into a luxury condo unit.”

She nodded and closed both boxes with her signature gold seal. “Yeah, I'd heard that. In all honesty, I couldn't imagine anybody wanting to
live
there.”

“Why not?”

She shook her shoulders and made a distasteful sound. “That place is so creepy. All the horrors that took place there over so many years with those mental patients. God, some of the stories I heard made it sound like a snake pit. I just don't think that, after so much sorrow, that place would have very good energy. You know . . . all that bad karma hanging around.”

I laughed. “Oh, Berkley, you don't really believe that, do you?”

She totaled up my sales on the register and shrugged. “I do believe in energy and karma . . . but I don't mean to offend Grant or his choice of residence. I just know that I couldn't live there.”

I reached for the bag. “Thanks. He told me his neighbor is a real character. She sounds like a few people here on the island. Elderly woman, and she claims she's a psychic.”

“Really? Well, don't be so quick to dispute that. People with gifts are drawn to certain places for various reasons. I'll be interested to hear what you think of the place after you visit there over Christmas.”

On the ride home I replayed the conversation with Berkley in my mind. I knew she was into all the New Age stuff with crystals and horoscopes and anything to do with the occult. But I wondered if what she'd said could have any truth to it. I knew there were many claims about old houses harboring ghosts. We even had our fair share of those on the island, and I recalled how Saren Ghetti, Sydney's father, had insisted a lovely ghost named Miss Elly used to visit him every evening for cognac, but most of us just chalked that up to a vivid imagination on his part. By the time I pulled into my driveway I realized that in addition to visiting with Grant and his mother, I was also very much looking forward to meeting Estelle Fletcher.