Casting About Page 3

  “He went to pick up Saren. They’ll be here shortly.”

  “Hello, hello,” Dora called from the hall.

  Opal leaped off the stool to run toward the front of the house.

  “Well, Eudora Foster, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I heard Opal say in greeting. “It’s been much too long since I’ve seen you.”

  I turned from slicing tomatoes for the salad to see both women walk into the kitchen.

  Dora kissed my cheek and handed me a plate of her delicious lemon squares.

  “Thought these might go nicely with Opal’s pie.”

  “Thanks, Dora,” I said, giving her a warm smile.

  It was Dora who suspected long before anyone else that her sister had given birth to my mother. The first time they’d met, Dora admitted later, she knew in her soul that Sydney Webster was the daughter Sybile had given up for adoption, and adding to her certainty had been a segment she’d seen on The Today Show—two brothers in Maine, living in the same town, coworkers at the same furniture company, slowly putting together the pieces and discovering they were biological brothers.

  Dora and Sybile were as different as roses and weeds. My grandmother was considered self-centered and ornery by some, but everyone was fond of Miss Dora. Sweet and easygoing, she was easy to love. Even before it was confirmed that my mother was her niece, they’d developed a very special relationship. Not until Sybile was at the end of her days did my mother and grandmother bond and come to understand each other.

  “How long will you be on the island?” I heard Dora ask Opal.

  “Oh, who knows.” Opal’s laughter filled the kitchen. “I’m just like a butterfly—flitting here, there, and everywhere. But I think poor Naomi needed a bit of a break from her mama. Not that I’m difficult to get along with, but I guess we all need our space.”

  Adam arrived with Saren, and Grace was right behind them, so our gathering was complete.

  “Would everybody like some red wine? I have a nice Sangiovese.”

  I saw a bewildered look cross Adam’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Standing in front of the wine rack, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m positive I had two bottles of that wine in here. Do you know where they are?”

  “No, I saw them there last night when I was checking the wine supply. That’s odd.”

  Adam began to open kitchen cabinets while I checked the cabinets under the island in the center of the floor.

  “Nothing,” I told him.

  Everyone sat quietly observing our search and then Saren said, “My, my. Ah, yup. That is mighty odd. Two bottles of wine don’t just go missin’.”

  “Oh, Saren. Now don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Dora said.

  Not understanding what they were referring to, I questioned, “What conclusions?”

  Dora giggled. “Now, Saren—you don’t honestly think that Miss Elly is here in Monica’s house, do you?”

  I may have neglected to mention—while most people on Cedar Key are the best in the world, many do tend to be a bit quirky. Just a tad eccentric and what we islanders refer to as characters. Miss Elly was a ghost that had lived in Saren’s house for many years. He claimed she visited him each evening to have cognac and conversation. Now, mind you, nobody else ever witnessed Miss Elly, so of course everyone chalked it up to a vivid imagination on Saren’s part. However, when my grandmother came back into his life after all those years—suddenly Miss Elly departed and never returned.

  “Heck, no,” he said, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m just a wonderin’ if perhaps Miss Sybile has decided to pay us all a visit.”

  Goose bumps broke out on my arms as I recalled the misplaced telephone and the blue sweater I still hadn’t found.

  Opal broke the tension with her laughter. “Oh, Saren, are you still believin’ in those ghosts? Well, if Miss Sybile is here with us—Adam, sweetie, find another bottle of wine and let’s give a toast to her.”

  My husband caught the look on my face and quickly produced two bottles of Pinot Noir.

  As everyone lingered over dessert and coffee, Adam cleared his throat and said, “Actually, Monica and I had some news to share with everyone tonight. That’s why we wanted to have this gathering.”

  Opal jumped up from the table, clutching her hands to her chest. “I knew it! I knew it! You’re pregnant, aren’t ya, sugar?” she said, directing her happy gaze toward me.

  I broke out laughing and shook my head as I caught the raised eyebrows on Grace’s face.

  “Ah, no. That is definitely not the news,” I told four staring faces that were waiting for my verification. “I can absolutely confirm that I am not pregnant.”

  Like a deflated balloon, Opal sank back into her chair. “Oh. Then what is the news?”

  Adam shot me a smile. “No, Monica’s not pregnant. However, we will be expecting a child in the house. My daughter Clarissa Jo will be coming to live with us this week.”

  Silence filled the deck as everyone waited for an explanation.

  Adam went on to explain about the car accident, Carrie Sue losing custody, the call from social services, and his trip to Georgia the next day.

  Dora was the first to break the silence. “That poor little girl. Ending up in foster care. Thank goodness she has a wonderful father like you who loves her. And you, Monica, that’s very loving of you to take in a child you don’t know that well.”

  Opal jumped up again, running around the table to kiss Adam. “My granddaughter? My granddaughter’s comin’ here to live on the island? Lord above, I may never return to Naomi’s house. A week every other Christmas and a month during the summer was never enough time for me to enjoy Clarissa Jo. Oh, Adam, this is wonderful news.”

  I was rather surprised at Opal’s reaction. In many ways she reminded me of Sybile. Heck, that woman didn’t even want me calling her Grandma—so I came up with the pet name of Billie. But Opal seemed happy at the prospect of having her granddaughter around full-time.

  Saren was his usual sweet self. “Well, doesn’t that just beat all. So now we’ll have another female member in the family. I’m looking forward to meetin’ her.”

  “So does this mean you’ve changed your mind on purchasing the yarn shop?” Aunt Dora questioned.

  Adam spoke up. “No, Monica will still be the new owner. Well, unless she doesn’t want that. We’ll hire a babysitter for any evenings we want to go out. I know this isn’t what we’d planned when we got married six months ago.” He shot me a look of understanding. “But Monica has been wonderful about it. It’s not going to be easy for any of us and will be quite an adjustment, but I think we’ll manage.”

  “Of course you’ll manage,” Dora said. “And please, count on me for any babysitting chores. My grandchildren are all grown now and I adore being around young people.”

  “And you know I want to get to know my granddaughter even better,” Opal told us. “She can come to the cottage and spend a few nights with me whenever she’d like.”

  I caught the smile on Grace’s face as she winked at me and I knew she was thinking, “See, I told you it would be fine.”

  For some reason I felt teary. I should have known—I should have known that on this island, nobody goes it alone. No matter what the problem is, people pitch in to help. No, it wasn’t going to be easy—but it was comforting to know I wasn’t going to be alone.

  4

  After Adam left for Georgia on Sunday, I began doing laundry and getting the house ready for Clarissa’s arrival. I hadn’t gotten to her room the day before, so I decided to tackle that first.

  When I walked in, I let out a loud gasp. There on the bed, folded up neatly, was my blue sweater. I felt a shiver go through me as I stood rooted to the spot. After a moment, I walked to the bed and tentatively put out a hand to touch the blue wool. How the hell did the sweater end up in here? I hadn’t been in this room in ages. And yet—there it was, all folded neatly on top of the spread.

  As I
picked it up, I suddenly became aware of a fragrance floating in the air. Gardenias—my deceased grandmother Sybile’s favorite scent.

  Oh, this is insane, I thought. I’m just stressed out with Clarissa’s arrival. Could I have absentmindedly put the sweater in here? I sniffed the air, looking around the room. Two twin beds done up with white eyelet comforters and shams, a mahogany table between with a crystal lamp. Except for an antique comb and brush set, the bureau top was empty. No perfume bottles or potpourris of gardenia.

  For a split second I recalled what Saren had said the day before about Sybile’s spirit. I didn’t believe in ghosts. There was no proof of such a thing.

  Taking the sweater, I walked to the front hall to hang it up and saw Aunt Dora coming up the walkway.

  “Hey,” she said, through the screen. “I brought you some blueberry muffins. Got time for a coffee break?”

  “Sure,” I told her, pushing open the door.

  She followed me to the kitchen.

  I measured coffee into the filter, my mind still on the appearance of the blue sweater.

  “You’re quiet today. Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I poured the water into the coffeemaker and joined her at the table. “The oddest thing just happened,” I said and went on to tell her about the sweater and the gardenia scent in the room.

  To my surprise, she didn’t laugh or admonish me for being silly.

  “Hmm, interesting.”

  “Interesting? That’s all you have to say? I mean, I suppose I could have put the sweater in there—but I don’t see why I would’ve done that.”

  Dora remained silent for a few minutes before speaking. “Well, you have to admit, my sister was a pretty strong personality. Who knows…maybe Saren isn’t as silly as we think.”

  “So what are you saying? That you believe in ghosts?”

  “All I’m saying is, the older you get—things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes we should let go of preconceived notions and just be more open to what’s around us.”

  “Okay, so let’s just say that Sybile’s spirit is hovering around this house. What’s the purpose? Why would she be here?”

  “You were very close to her, Monica. You hit it off the first time you met and seemed to have a connection. Maybe she’s here to give you a message or some comfort.”

  “A message? About what? And why would I need comfort from her?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Is that coffee ready?”

  I got up to get the cups and turned around to face Dora. “Would you go with me into the bedroom? See if you can smell the gardenias?” That room was beginning to give me the creeps, and now I was wondering if perhaps I should put Clarissa into the other bedroom.

  “Sure,” my aunt said, leading the way.

  We walked over the threshold and stood there for a few moments. I could no longer smell the scent. Everything seemed in order. Sunlight streamed through the windows creating cozy warmth, making me feel foolish for allowing myself to be frightened.

  “I don’t smell a thing,” she said, looking over at me.

  “I don’t either. It’s gone. Okay, let’s just forget the whole thing.”

  Dora walked farther into the room. “I would imagine Clarissa will love this room. It’s so pretty and feminine.” She put a finger to her lips, and I knew she was thinking.

  “What? Something wrong with the room?”

  “No, not at all. It’s beautiful, with the white eyelet comforters and matching curtains. It’s just so—sterile.”

  “Sterile?”

  “Yeah. Little girls like frills and lace, but it needs something more. Like maybe you could replace those pictures on the wall with something more little girlish.”

  I glanced at the framed photos of the water and pelicans I’d taken. She was right. Probably not very exciting for an eight-year-old.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “A theme. You know, like ballerinas or Dora the Explorer or even dogs and cats.”

  “Good idea. How can I do that?”

  “The yarn shop’s closed tomorrow. Why don’t we go into Gainesville? Make a day of it. We’ll get some pictures for the walls, a few throw rugs to match the theme, even linens that will appeal to a little girl. There’s a lot you can do to make the room more personal. Get some stuffed animals, maybe hang a mobile in that corner. Oh, and a desk. Talk to Adam about getting her one. All little girls love to have their own desk—gives them their own space to do their homework and that kind of stuff.”

  I leaned over to kiss Dora’s cheek. “You’re a genius. Thanks. It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at nine and we’ll hit the big city.”

  We walked back to the kitchen to have our coffee.

  “How’re you really doing with all of this, Monica?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and let out a sigh. “I’m not really sure. It all got thrown at us so fast. There wasn’t much time to prepare, let alone really think about it.”

  “You’re doing the right thing, you know. Sounds like that poor child hasn’t had a very stable childhood.”

  “When I met Adam and found out he had a daughter, I guess I never gave it much thought. She lived in another state and I knew we’d have her with us during the year for visits, but that’s not the same as being a full-time stepmom. I’m still not sure how I feel about having my own children. Sometimes I think I’m more like Sybile than I realized.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was very honest right from the beginning when she had my mother. Having children was not in her life plan. She never regretted giving her up for adoption. I know my mom had a hard time understanding that, but Sybile was honest about it. She lived her life on her terms, and getting married and raising a daughter wasn’t part of those terms. I remember when she told my mother that not every female is cut out to be a mother—not all of us are born with those maternal genes.”

  “So what you’re saying is you think you’re lacking those genes like Sybile?”

  “Could be. All I know is I have no experience with children. I was an only child. Hell, I never even babysat. It didn’t interest me, and I preferred having a paper route to make extra money. I can’t even recall having a special doll like other little girls. If I did, I don’t remember.”

  Dora smiled. “Being a tomboy or enjoying things other than dolls doesn’t mean you’re not cut out to be a mother. Monica, I think you’re worrying too much about all of this.”

  “I’m not even sure Clarissa Jo likes me. Adam and I weren’t married last summer when she came to stay here for a month. I was living at the Lighthouse with my mother and only saw Clarissa Jo when Adam would invite me to go somewhere with them. I tried to talk to her, but she pretty much ignored me.”

  “Well, she’s not going to be able to ignore you living here. She’ll have to listen to you and mind you and behave. But she’s been through a rough time too. Keep trying to remember that.”

  “That’s another thing. I’ve never had to discipline a child. God, I’ve never even owned a dog that required discipline. And she’ll probably end up resenting me if I have to correct her or punish her. I’ll just leave that to Adam.”

  Dora reached across the table to take my hand. “Monica, listen to me. First of all, nobody gets a set of instructions, even when they birth their own babies. It’s trial and error. You do the best you can and you learn from your mistakes. But you cannot put the entire burden on Adam. You’ll be spending a lot of time alone with her. She has to know you and Adam are on the same page. You have to show a united front when it comes to discipline.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. God, it’s so incredible how one’s life can change in a heartbeat.”

  “Don’t I just know that,” she said and I got the feeling she was probably recalling the day she found out that my mother and I were related to her. “Have you inquired about a bank loan yet?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet, but our inventory is pretty high and I thin
k we’ll be all right for a while. I’m just concerned, though. I hope I don’t lose too much income without the mail orders for the spinning.”

  “Well, then…you’ll just have to get a little creative with other ways to increase your sales.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…. Have you considered doing knitting classes? I don’t mean the weekly get-together. I mean actually offering various classes and advertising this fact, and of course, you’ll charge for this. You could offer various ones—ones for adult knitters, maybe one to teach young girls to knit. Do you know if Clarissa Jo knits?”

  That was only one of the many things I didn’t know about Adam’s daughter. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Well, it might be nice to have a class with girls in that age group. And even something for mothers and daughters. And you could keep them theme oriented. In other words, in August or September you could be doing a class to make a Christmas ornament or stocking and then in the spring, maybe a lightweight cotton scarf.”

  “You’re full of great ideas,” I told her.

  Dora laughed. “Just don’t worry about it. We’ll certainly put our two heads together and come up with projects to keep the sales coming.”

  I prayed Dora knew what she was talking about.

  5

  On Tuesday I returned home from the yarn shop at 2:00, made myself a quick salad with tea, and launched into turning the sterile bedroom into a little girl’s delight. Aunt Dora and I had shopped for hours and we came home loaded down with all kinds of items for a child. I had to admit, I was excited about transforming the bedroom into something more appealing for an eight-year-old.

  Just as I was about to unload the bags and get to work, Grace called.

  “Need some help, Mary Poppins?”

  I laughed. “Sure, come on over. But be sure to bring me a double latte. I have my work cut out for me and need the energy.”

  “Be there within a half hour,” she told me.

  When she arrived, I had a few quick sips of coffee and we set to work. Pulling throw rugs, towels, sheets, stuffed toys, and assorted items from the bags, we got to laughing so hard that it struck me that this was what Christmas morning with siblings might have felt like.