Casting About Page 5

  “Monica,” I heard Adam say, with an edge to his tone. “Sit down and eat.” He focused his gaze on Clarissa. “I guess we’re going to have to have some rules in this house. Listen, Clarissa Jo, I have no idea what or how you ate when you lived with your mother. But things will probably be different here. Monica is not a maid. She goes to a lot of trouble to make very good and nutritional meals every evening. And you will be expected to eat them. Understand?”

  I now recalled hearing parents talk about how stubborn their children were and knew I was getting a preview of this very trait. Clarissa sat and said nothing.

  “Did you hear me?” Adam asked in a raised voice.

  “Yes,” I heard her mutter.

  “Do you like mashed potatoes, green beans, and salad?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “Then you’re expected to eat that, and I want you to take at least three bites of the chicken. If you don’t begin eating a little of the foods you don’t care for, you’ll be a fussy eater all your life.”

  With that, Adam picked up his fork and began eating.

  Our suppertime was normally filled with conversation. Eager to share with each other our time apart, we always talked about things that had happened in the yarn shop or at school. But tonight, for the first time since we’d married, our dinner table was silent—and uncomfortable.

  When we finished eating, Adam made Clarissa help me clear the table and fill the dishwasher. She didn’t whine, but she didn’t look happy about it.

  After we finished, he said, “How about all of us take a walk downtown?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, punching the button to turn the dishwasher on.

  Again, no response from Clarissa.

  She walked between us down First Street and along Dock Street. I thought I caught a glimmer of interest in her eyes when she spied the Big Dock.

  “The rebuilding of the dock was completed since you were here. Everybody goes fishing from there,” Adam told her. “You and I can go fishing this weekend. Think you’d like that?”

  By now I’d come to expect her one-or two-word answers.

  “Yeah,” she told him.

  We walked along Second Street and headed back to the house—Clarissa silent the entire way.

  When we got home, I backed off and let Adam deal with her bedtime. I heard him tell her since she wouldn’t be starting school till the following week she could stay up until 9:00. But on school nights, bedtime was 8:00.

  She walked into her bedroom, closed the door, and a few minutes later I could hear her shower running.

  I plopped down on the sofa beside him. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “It’s not going to be easy. I know that. She’s a sweet girl, Monica. She really is. I have a feeling she had full run of the house with Carrie Sue, so it’s going to take a while to teach her things will be different here.”

  “What am I going to do about meals? I have no clue what she might like. Should I ask her?”

  He thought about this for a minute. “No, not right now. Cook what you normally would. If she’s at least trying the things she says she doesn’t care for, then we’ll see what kind of foods she does like.”

  Made sense to me.

  After her shower, Clarissa came out to join us in the great room to watch TV—still clutching the Raggedy Ann doll. When Adam told her it was 9:00, she got up without a word and started to head to her bedroom.

  “Hold on,” I heard Adam say.

  She turned around, a blank look on her face.

  “Say good night to Monica and I’ll tuck you in. Every night one of us will be tucking you into bed.”

  The look on her face struck me as one of surprise and a moment later, she said, “Good night, Monica.”

  “Good night,” I told her. “Sleep well.”

  When Adam returned, he said, “I’d bet anything that Carrie Sue never once put that child to bed when she was home. Probably just let her go on her own.”

  “I think you’re right. Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Gosh, I’m beat. I’m glad I have the rest of the week off. What do you say we turn in and watch TV in bed for a while?”

  After changing into my nightgown, I snuggled up beside him. He began gently stroking my inner thigh and within a few minutes, I knew he wanted to make love. I slid down onto the pillow as his lips met mine. The intensity of his kisses increased and all of a sudden I pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “God, Adam, she’s in the house. What if she hears us?” I whispered.

  “Are you saying we’re never going to make love again until she’s grown and moves out?”

  “Well, no…that’s not what I’m saying. But, gee…this is her first night here and what if she comes walking in our room? What if…”

  Adam rolled over onto his back and grasped my hand. “Unless it was an emergency, I seriously doubt that she’d just barge in here with the door closed. But I can tell you’re not in the mood. It’s fine,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. “I love you. Ready to shut off the light?”

  “Yeah.”

  Adam snapped off the lamp and said, “It’s okay. Really. But don’t think I’ll let you get away with this next time.”

  I heard the humor in his voice. “Yes, darling,” I replied in an exaggerated tone. “Guess a woman must perform her wifely duties.”

  His hand reached for mine and gave it a tight squeeze.

  I awoke at two in the morning to a strange sound. Sitting up in bed, I listened but wasn’t sure what it was. Adam was snoring lightly beside me.

  Slipping into my bathrobe, I tiptoed through the house and stood in the great room. What was that noise? I realized it seemed to be coming from Clarissa’s room.

  Tiptoeing down the hallway, I stood in front of her door listening.

  It was sobbing. That’s what it was. She was crying.

  Oh God, what should I do? Wake Adam? Go in and see what’s wrong?

  I stood there a few more minutes and the sound began to diminish. Deciding to leave her alone, I headed back to my bedroom. Climbing into bed, I lay on my side snuggling into Adam’s warm body and prayed everything would get easier.

  7

  Adam was still sleeping soundly at seven-thirty when I opened my eyes. He’d had a grueling week and I wanted him to sleep in. Tiptoeing quietly out of the bedroom, I was surprised to find Clarissa Jo sitting on the sofa in the great room—that Raggedy Ann doll still clutched in her arms.

  I’m slow to wake up in the morning. One of those people who doesn’t utter a word until I’ve had my first cup of coffee. But I forced a smile to my face and made the supreme effort to be friendly.

  “You’re up early. Did you sleep well?”

  Clarissa glanced up briefly and then continued kneading the doll’s hair between her fingers.

  “I guess.”

  That seemed to be her pat answer for everything. What was it with kids today? Was that all they could do was guess? Didn’t they have strong feelings about anything?

  “Your dad’s still sleeping,” I told her as I walked into the kitchen to prepare the coffee. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  I prayed she wouldn’t request some kid food that I wasn’t familiar with.

  “Cereal,” was the response I got.

  Cereal I could deal with. I began pulling boxes out of the cabinet as Clarissa wandered into the kitchen.

  “We have plenty of that,” I told her, lining up boxes of Kashi, Special K, granola, and raisin bran.

  When she stood staring at the boxes, I knew I was in trouble again.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I like Froot Loops or Cap’n Crunch.”

  Ah, that stuff loaded with sugar that made dentists rich. I blew out a puff of air. Shit, I hadn’t even had my first sip of coffee yet and glared at the coffeemaker, urging it to drip faster.

  “Hmm, well…we don’t have th
at cereal in the house. How about some eggs? Or French toast?”

  Clarissa shook her head. “I like pancakes.”

  I could do pancakes. “Okay,” I told her and saw the carafe had filled with that welcoming brown liquid. Grabbing a mug, I gratefully poured myself some coffee. After taking a sip, I said, “Pancakes it is. Give me a few minutes to get it ready.”

  Clarissa climbed onto the stool at the counter. With chin in her hands she proceeded to watch my movements. I wasn’t used to an audience while I prepared food. As I whipped up the batter and heated the griddle, I felt like I should be conversing with her, but I had no clue what to talk about. Being with this mute eight-year-old wasn’t only awkward, it was unpleasant.

  After I placed the pancakes in front of her, I picked up my mug of coffee only to find it had grown cold. I added more to the mug to heat it and told Clarissa I was going outside to get the newspaper.

  Stooping down to pick up the Gainesville Sun, I noticed Tilly Carpenter in her yard pruning her rosebushes.

  “Good morning, Miss Tilly,” I called over.

  “Mornin’,” she said and resumed her cutting.

  She’d been Adam’s neighbor since he’d moved in, but seldom spoke more than a few words to us. This was unusual for a Cedar Key resident. Normally, bumping into somebody was cause for a thirty-minute conversation about anything and everything. People were just naturally friendly on the island. But Adam had told me that Miss Tilly had had a tragedy involving her husband and young son about forty years ago, and since she’d retired as art teacher at the school a few years before, she’d been sinking into a deep depression that had locals concerned.

  I walked into the kitchen to find Adam pouring himself a cup of coffee while Clarissa finished up her pancakes.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, placing a kiss on my cheek.

  I smiled as I joined him at the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah, I think I was tired from the trip.”

  Not to mention the subtle stress that seemed to be in the air since Clarissa’s arrival, I thought.

  “You like pancakes, huh?” he asked Clarissa.

  “Yeah, they’re okay.”

  “You know, I was thinking,” Adam said, after taking a sip of coffee, “we should have a party.”

  “A party?” both Clarissa and I said at the same time.

  Adam laughed. “Well, maybe not exactly a party, but a gathering with family.”

  Good idea, I thought. “Sure. What have you got in mind?”

  “We’ll have a barbecue tomorrow evening. Invite my mother, Aunt Dora, and Saren. And Grace, of course. Grace is Monica’s best friend,” he explained to Clarissa.

  “Oh,” was her response.

  Sounded good to me, and maybe Clarissa would be more talkative with a few people around. “I’ll call them later and let them know. What are your plans for today?”

  He looked at Clarissa. “Anything special you’d like to do?”

  She paused for a moment and then said, “Could we take a boat ride out to Atsena Otie?”

  “Sure, we can do that. They have trips out there from the City Marina, and we’ve never done that during your summer visits. Wanna come with us, Monica?”

  An odd sensation had come over me. “I think I’ll stay here,” I told him. “I need to call everyone about coming tomorrow night. You two go. Clarissa will enjoy that.”

  Adam finished off his coffee. “Okay, I’m hitting the shower. You get ready, Clarissa, and we’ll take off.”

  When he left the room, I looked across the counter at her. “Why’d you choose the boat ride to Atsena Otie?” I questioned.

  Her eyes shot up to meet mine. She seemed hesitant to say anything and then replied, “The lady told me,” before leaving the kitchen.

  “So how’s she settling in?” Dora questioned when I called her.

  “It’s really hard to tell. She barely talks at all. She’s a very fussy eater. Chicken didn’t work last night. I heard her crying in her room about two this morning. I don’t know, Dora—I don’t know if she’ll be happy here with us.”

  “She’s just a child. You have to give her a chance. This is quite an upheaval for her, and although Carrie Sue isn’t the best of mothers, she is her mother. She’s probably missing her. Has she mentioned her at all?”

  I’d heard that before—that no matter the environment or circumstances, a child was usually loyal to the parent they lived with. “No, not a word. She isn’t showing any signs of missing Carrie Sue.”

  “They usually don’t. They hold it all inside. Has Adam considered counseling for her?”

  “Not yet, but it might not be a bad idea eventually.” I went on to tell Dora about our planned gathering for the following evening.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her. I’ll be there.”

  My next call was to Opal and then Saren. Both also accepted the invitation. I glanced at the clock and saw it was after ten.

  Before heading into the shower, I walked into Clarissa’s bedroom to make sure she’d made her bed. I momentarily thought perhaps a hurricane had hit that part of the house and left the rest unscathed.

  Piles of clothes lay in heaps on the floor. The wet towel from her shower the night before was now balled up on the carpet in the bedroom. Crumbs from an empty potato chip bag were scattered across the bureau. How the hell could a kid demolish a room in less than twenty-four hours? Walking into the bathroom, I saw toothpaste splattered across the mirror, and the tap in the sink had been left dribbling.

  “Whoa!” I said to the empty room. “This is not acceptable!”

  I slammed the door shut behind me and headed to my neat and orderly bedroom.

  I saw a grin crossing Grace’s face after I’d shared the events of the morning with her. “You think it’s funny that she left her room like a pigsty?”

  “Monica, she’s testing you. I bet you did the very same thing in various ways at that age. And because of what’s happened in her life, she’s going to test you even more.”

  I passed Grace a mug of coffee and settled down on the sofa. Glancing around the yarn shop, I shook my head and let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, well, I’m not putting up with this. There’s no reason for her to leave her room looking like that.”

  “She’s getting back at you.”

  “For what?” I could feel anger bubbling up inside me. “What the hell did I do to her?”

  “She’s angry and resentful. What life she knew has been taken from her and she has no control over anything. From what you’ve told me, it seems that child was pretty much her own boss. And now she has to take orders from you and Adam. It’s not going to be easy, Monica.”

  “No shit.”

  Grace reached over to touch my hand. “It’ll take time, but you’ll get through this.”

  I wished I could feel as confident as she sounded.

  “I want this to work,” I said. “As much for Adam’s sake as Clarissa’s.” I couldn’t bring myself to explain that my own feelings concerning Clarissa seemed to be emotionally uninvolved—and even worse, I had no explanation as to why or if this was even natural.

  8

  “Any ideas yet on new services you’ll be offering?” Grace inquired the next day when she dropped by Spinning Forward.

  “Dora suggested I offer knitting classes—the yarn would be purchased here and then I’d charge for the classes.”

  Grace nodded. “That’s a good idea. Lots of women would love to learn to knit or take a class to learn new skills.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “Hey, have you thought about offering a knitting service?”

  I laughed. “You seem to forget, that’s exactly what I do here. I sell yarn, patterns, and supplies.”

  “No, no. That isn’t what I mean. I mean actually knitting for other people. I read something on the Internet recently—that women today are often too busy to devote time to handmade gift items. Yet they find themselves wanting to give something more personal t
han running into a department store or Walmart and grabbing a quick gift. The article talked about one woman up in Vermont—she had started a small business catering to baby boomers who wanted homemade jams and jellies for Christmas gifts. The business ended up growing so much she had to hire a couple other women to assist her.”

  “Hmm,” I said, recalling that I’d heard about various women doing something like this. “Yeah, I remember seeing a woman on Oprah or someplace that developed her own line of personalized bath products for gifts. Not only did she make everything herself, she’d create a fancy label with the name of the product being whatever the customer wanted. She said girlfriends loved giving and receiving these because to see your own name on the label of a shower gel or lotion made it very special.”

  “Exactly.” Grace snapped her fingers in the air and leaned forward. “I’ve got it,” she said with enthusiasm. “Hand-knitted Christmas stockings. It would appeal to both moms and grandmothers. You could personalize them with the child’s name, date of birth, that particular year—whatever they requested. Something like that turns into a family heirloom and a treasured memento.”

  I recalled some of the things passed on to me by my mother—hand-knitted Christmas ornaments that I could never part with. “You might be on to something. But how would I begin?”

  “The same way your mother did. Develop a Web site, come up with a name for your stockings—something unique and appealing. Do lots of Internet advertising—Facebook is great for that. Send out flyers with some photos of finished ones. And like anything else, it’s word of mouth. Other moms and grandmothers will see them and want one for their kids.”

  My mind was racing with thoughts, and I felt Grace’s idea had a lot of potential.

  “You’re very talented with designing patterns, Monica. You could use the ones you designed last year on the scarves you made—just incorporate the pelicans and dolphins onto stockings. They even had red bows around their necks, remember? Design the child’s name across the top and I think you have yourself a very popular and unique gift item.”