Secrets on Cedar Key (10 page)

W
ho knew that shopping in Home Depot could be so much fun? At least with Worth it was. He joked with me about being as insistent on the name of the paint as I was about the actual color.

“You're kidding, right?” he said as we stood in front of the display of cards listing all the various paints. “You don't like this shade of blue because it's called Jazz? But you like this one because it's called Beside the Ocean?”

I nodded, and although, yes, he was correct, I had all I could do not to burst out laughing, because hearing Worth say it, I did sound a little nutty.

“But wait,” I said. “Yarn is the same way. I think yarn designers are very careful when they name their various yarns. People like a pleasant name. You know—something catchy.”

I could now see that Worth was having difficulty holding back his laughter. “And does the name of the yarn affect the outcome of the project?”

“Well . . . yes . . . it certainly could. And that's why I think this shade of blue would be much better for the needlepoint shop.”

He put his arm around my shoulder, emitted a deep laugh, took the sample from my hand, and said, “Then Beside the Ocean it is.”

After getting the paint mixed, we put the pails in the shopping cart and headed to the next aisle to look at border prints. Unfortunately, just as I was turning the cart I was distracted by a display of lamps. My cart bumped into a table arranged with stacked balls of twine, causing most of them to topple, flying every which way across the floor.

“Oh! God!” I quickly began running to catch the balls and caught a glance at Worth doing the same. Bending down to scoop up more, I wasn't able to hold back my laughter and saw that Worth was shaking his head and also laughing.

“You're a disaster in a home improvement store,” he said, making me laugh even harder.

I rushed down the aisle to grab a few more balls of twine and returned to the table to see a sales clerk, hands on hips, fighting to suppress a giggle. “I would say you guys are having way too much fun,” she said as the giggle erupted to laughter.

“I am
so
sorry,” I told her. Talk about feeling stupid. “My cart just bumped the table, and, well . . .” I gestured with my hand.

She stooped to pick up a ball at her feet. “Don't worry about it. I told the boss that stacking those like a pyramid was looking for trouble. I figured some kid would knock them over.”

“Thanks.” I looked around. “I think we got all of them, and I'm really sorry.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Not a problem.”

I retrieved my cart and walked down the aisle with Worth beside me.

“You do provide some good entertainment,” he said.

I looked up to see a grin covering his face.

“It wasn't intentional, but I'm glad you enjoyed it. Okay, on to border prints.”

After much deliberation, I was convinced I just wasn't going to find anything that appealed to me, when my eye caught a border print on the highest shelf.

Attempting to reach it, I said, “Oh, that one. I need to see that one.”

I felt Worth's hand go around my wrist. “Ah, no you don't. We don't need the entire shelf coming down. I'll get it,” he said, removing a roll and passing it to me.

“This is it,” I said and felt a strange sensation as I looked at it. It had a pale blue background and some tiny yellow flowers, and dominating the paper were blue dragonflies. I couldn't believe it.

“Really?” Worth questioned. “You like this one?”

“I do. Do you like it?”

“Very pretty, and it'll go nicely with the paint.”

By the time we checked out and got to Worth's house, it was after two o'clock.

“You must be starved,” he said as we walked in and he deactivated the alarm system.

“Well, I am ready for lunch.” I followed him to the kitchen. Even though it was my second time in his home, I was still captivated by the beauty and luxury of it.

He opened the fridge and said, “Some sweet tea?”

“Sounds great.” I settled myself on the stool as he removed a pitcher and filled two tall glasses.

“Thanks,” I said and watched as he placed two plates in the microwave.

“I hope you like quiche, and we have some clam chowder to go with it.”

“I do. But tell me, you didn't actually do this cooking, did you?”

A grin covered his face. “I can't lie. No, I didn't, but I do know how to cook, and actually, I'm not too bad. But my housekeeper got it all prepared for me last night.”

 

“That was delicious,” I told him after we finished eating. “My compliments to your housekeeper.”

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, and when I nodded he removed a French press from the counter and proceeded to prepare it.

I watched as he filled a saucepan with water and placed it on the stove to heat and then removed a bag of coffee from his freezer. He did seem quite comfortable in his kitchen as he placed coffee beans into a grinder. The whirring sound filled the room along with the strong fragrance of coffee.

“I bet you got those coffee beans in France,” I said.

Worth looked up and smiled. “I did. One of my weaknesses. I always bring back a few bags stashed in my luggage. I'm afraid I'm spoiled by the rich, dark French coffee.”

“I agree with that. I really missed it after I returned home from my visit there years ago. Right along with the French wine and chocolate.”

Worth laughed. “Ah, a woman after my own heart. I admire your taste.”

As he filled the press with coffee, added the boiling water, and gently pushed the plunger down so it could brew, I sat there feeling very much at home. I had known Worth for only two weeks and yet it felt so right being with him.

He filled two mugs, passed one to me, and said, “Let's go sit out by the pool. It's nice out there late afternoon.”

I followed him to the patio table and sat across from him as my gaze took in the pool, the landscaping of bushes and flowers, and the woods beyond.

“This is such a pretty spot,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “And this is every bit as good as I remember French coffee to be.”

“I'm glad you enjoy it,” he said, ignoring my comment on his lush surroundings.

We sat there in a comfortable silence, and then I said, “I called her. I called Andrew's daughter.”

I could feel Worth's gaze as I continued to stare at the pool.

“And how did that go?” he questioned.

I let out a deep sigh and turned to face him. “Probably not well. Fiona was very pleasant. Friendly. Me? Not so much. She did know that her father was married to somebody else, but that was about all she knew. She wanted to know how he had died and then seemed very interested to find out she had two half brothers.”

“That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Well, yes. I can understand how finding out she has a blood connection to somebody else might be important to her. I know my daughter has mentioned over the years that she wishes she had a sibling. Somebody to share a history with.”

I was also an only child, and I knew what he was saying. “Hmm, I suppose you're right.”

“So did you find out anything about her that might prevent you from signing the documents?”

“I haven't even given the documents another thought, and what surprised me was the fact that Fiona didn't mention them or money at all during our conversation.”

“Maybe it's not about the money to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe getting information is more important to her. Learning about her father and brothers, being able to make a connection to somebody other than her mother.”

I remained silent for a few moments before saying, “Yeah . . . she asked if she could come down here to meet me and the boys.”

“She did? Well, that certainly sounds like somebody trying to reach out. So what did you tell her?”

I felt a wave of guilt and hated to have to admit my reluctance at having Fiona visit. “Well, I told her I needed time to think about it and I explained that the boys didn't even know about her yet, that I'd be telling them at Christmas and would get back to her after the first of the year.”

Worth nodded. “And she was okay with that?”

“I really didn't give her much choice.”

“This is a difficult situation for everybody involved,” he said, and I knew he was trying to make me feel better.

“Yeah, right. For everybody except Andrew. He conveniently died and left his mess in my hands.” As soon as I said it, I knew I sounded bitchy, but I had no control over the anger that seemed to bubble up intermittently.

Worth didn't appear to judge me, though, as he reached across the table and grasped my hand. “You have every reason to be angry, but I think you handled the call with Fiona just fine. You answered her questions, you explained about the boys, and you told her you'd think about her coming to visit and get back to her. At this point, I don't think she can expect more than that. I have no doubt you'll make the right decision.”

I wished I had his confidence. I nodded and, wanting to change the subject, blurted out, “By the way, I might be moving.”

I saw the startled expression on his face. “You're leaving Cedar Key?”

I realized my hand was still in his and gave it a squeeze before letting go and shaking my head. “No, no. But I'm thinking of purchasing a small house there. It was Maybelle Brewster's house,” I said and went on to explain that Victoria might be selling it.

“I know that house. It's quite . . . different,” he said, and I saw the grin covering his face. “It was Ned who did the original refurbishing of the cottage when Maybelle bought it. Gosh, that was back in the sixties and the summer before I began college. Ned let me go out there with him a few times to help him with the kitchen.” Worth shook his head as he began laughing. “I'll never forget those red appliances and the white cabinets with strawberries painted on them.”

I joined his laughter. “I know. I'll probably have to do a complete renovation of that kitchen. Even when the stove and fridge broke years later, somehow Maybelle was able to replace them with the same vintage red ones.”

“Aw, no. Don't replace them. They add to the quirkiness and charm of that place.”

I laughed again. “Hmm, that depends on your definition of
charm
. I'm not sure I could wake each morning to stare at what resemble giant tomatoes in my kitchen before I've even had my coffee.”

“Seriously, it's a nice little house and a very pretty setting right on the water. Have you made an offer yet?”

“No. Victoria said she'll discuss it with me when she comes down for the memorial service in a few weeks, but I made her promise not to list it with a Realtor until I did have a chance to see it and make an offer if I'm interested.”

“I hope it'll work out for you. As Maybelle proved, it's an ideal house for a woman alone.”

“Yeah, I just wish my mother were a bit more enthusiastic. I was kind of surprised at her reaction when I told her.”

“Maybe she just doesn't want to lose you. She's had you living with her almost eight months now.”

“I don't think that's it. She's normally very open-minded, and she knew that living with her wasn't going to be permanent, that I'd be getting my own place eventually. No, it seems there's more to it. I just wish I knew what it was.”

 

The rest of the afternoon flew by, and before I knew it, Worth was turning onto Andrews Circle, bringing me home. I noticed that when we were together, time seemed to move faster.

Maybe because I was trying to prolong that time, or trying to be hospitable, I said, “Would you like to come in for a while?”

He looked genuinely disappointed. “Gosh, I really can't. I left Suzette with Doyle Summers for the day. He's great for offering to pet sit dogs on the island, but I didn't bring her food, so I need to collect her and bring her to the Faraway to get her fed.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, surprising myself with the disappointment I felt. “Thank you so much for a great day. The shopping was fun and the lunch was delicious.”

“It was my pleasure. I'll keep the paint and border print and just bring them to the shop on Monday,” he said, before leaning over to allow his lips to brush mine.

Feeling flustered, I reached for the door handle and stammered, “Yes, that'll be fine. Thanks,” before getting out, heading toward my mother's front door, and feeling like an awkward teenager returning home from a first date.

T
he following Wednesday ended up being one of those days that reminded me of a bad hair day, Murphy's Law, and the universe being out of alignment all rolled into one.

It began with me stopping by the coffee café to get an iced latte before opening the yarn shop. In the process of juggling my handbag, a tote bag containing my current knitting project, a copy of the
Cedar Key News,
and my coffee cup while attempting to unlock the door, the lid popped off the latte, dousing my white blouse with a large, wet, tan stain.

“Oh, great,” I moaned, making my way inside to drop everything on the counter while managing to hold the coffee cup aloft.

I glanced down at my blouse and realized that I'd mistakenly put on a black bra rather than a white one at the same time Worth stepped into the shop from next door. I also realized that I was probably a good candidate to win a wet-blouse contest.

“Everything okay?” he inquired, and I was positive his gaze had settled where my B cups were visible through the transparent wet blouse.

Grabbing one of the display shawls hanging from a hook, I wrapped it around my upper body as I nodded and mumbled, “Yup. Fine. Everything's fine. Just spilled some coffee.”

I heard him say, “Okay. Just checking,” but not before I saw the grin on his face as he turned to go back into the needlepoint shop.

My mother was coming in to work at noon, so I put in a distress call requesting that she bring me a clean, dry blouse.

About an hour later, as I was trying to stock yarn and maintain a grip on my shawl, I looked up to see Mr. Carl walk in.
Lovely,
I thought.

“Mornin', Miss Marin. Oh . . . are you not feeling well?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“I'm fine. Why?”

He pointed to my shawl. “It's almost eighty degrees out there. Are you cold?”

“No, I'm not cold. Spilled some coffee on my blouse earlier. What can I do for you?”

The confused expression on his face told me he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Right. My Raylene sent me over. She needs two more balls of that there yarn.”

“Which yarn?”

“Um . . . well . . . you know. For the thing she was working on.”

Yup. It was going to be one of those days.

“Mr. Carl, Miss Raylene probably has about three projects going. Do you know which one, exactly, she needs the yarn for?”

The look on his face told me he did not.

“Okay,” I said. “Let's start over. Do you happen to know what color the yarn is?”

He shook his head slowly as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“Look, just give her a call. You can use the phone right there,” I said, pointing to the one on the counter.

“Oh, Lord, I couldn't do that.”

Was that fear now covering his face?

“And why not?” I questioned.

“Raylene would kill me. She's always telling me that I forget everything.”

Yup. That was definitely the look of fear.

“Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Carl. But I just don't see how . . .”

I was interrupted as he removed his hand from his pocket and began waving a paper in the air. “I have it! I have it! She wrote down what it was she needed.”

I reached for the paper and shook my head. I wasn't sure if I was happier for Mr. Carl or for myself.

“Right,” I said, walking toward the wall. “Two skeins of baby alpaca with this dye lot number.”

I rang up the sale and passed him the bag.

“Thanks so much, Miss Marin. Oh, hey, do you think your new shop will be finished by the time the film company gets here to do the movie?”

Oh, God, not that again,
I thought. But all I said was, “I certainly hope so.”

He nodded, hollered good-bye, and left.

About an hour later I looked up from the needlepoint catalogs I'd been browsing to see a woman enter the shop. Nobody I knew and most likely a tourist. And one that looked out of place wearing a designer dress and stiletto heels and carrying a Coach handbag.

“Hello,” I said. “May I help you?”

Ignoring both my greeting and my question, she walked to the cubbyholes filled with yarn, examining each one, and then waved a manicured hand in the air.

“Is this all the yarn you carry?”

We were normally told by tourists that we had an excellent selection.

“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked.

“Cashmere,” she said in a tone that made me feel like I should have known that. “Don't you carry cashmere?”

I got up and walked to the bottom shelf. “We do have a few skeins down here,” I said, removing one in a shade of pale pink. “But because it's so pricey, there aren't many requests for cashmere.”

“Really?” she said, surprise covering her face. “Well, that color will never do. My dog is a male and wouldn't be caught dead wearing pink.”

“Your dog?” She was joking, right?

“Yes, I want the cashmere to make a sweater for Lucifer. We live in a cold climate and he needs to be kept warm.”

Nope, she wasn't joking, and I could feel the beginning of a headache across my forehead.

“Hmm, well, I'm sorry,” I told her. “I guess the best we could do would be an alpaca or wool.”

She walked toward the door, shaking her head. “No. That won't work. He's allergic to those.”

And with that, she was gone. What on earth was she even doing on Cedar Key? Did she not realize that we're just a small fishing village without all the upscale amenities found in large cities? And did she not know that this was precisely how we liked it?

By the time my mother arrived with my clean blouse, I was more than ready to escape to lunch for an hour. I had brought a smoothie that I'd prepared that morning and decided to sip it as I drove around the island on the golf cart getting some fresh air. I found myself taking a left at Whiddon and heading out toward the airport. Pulling off the road, I sat and stared at the Gulf in front of me. A perfect late October day. Sun shining, no humidity, and the kind of weather many people in the North move to Florida for. I let out a deep sigh as my mind wandered to the recent conversation with my mother about my call to Fiona.

After I told her everything we'd discussed, she was quiet for a few moments and then said, “So this girl is going to be alone for the holidays?” making me feel like the child she would reprimand when I didn't want to share toys with a friend. I told her I really had no idea what Fiona had planned for the holidays and left it at that. But I wondered when it had become my responsibility to find out what she was doing for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I released the brake on the golf cart, got back on the street, and took a right farther down, following the dead-end road to the end and Maybelle's cottage. Getting out, I opened the black wrought-iron gate attached to the fence enclosing the small side yard. Walking to the back, I stared out at Safe Harbor as ibis and blue heron circled farther out above the water. I felt enveloped by peacefulness, a tranquility that I hadn't felt in a long time. Taking in deep breaths and releasing them, I then noticed the dragonflies—a swarm of them hovering above bushes close to the shore. After a few minutes, I turned toward the house, hoping to peek in some windows, but all of the blinds were drawn tight. Getting back on the golf cart, I turned it around to head back to the yarn shop, gave a last look to the house, and knew without a doubt that
I
was meant to live there.

 

By the time late afternoon arrived, my headache had subsided and I was feeling better than I had that morning.

My mother had run down to the post office to collect the mail and I'd just finished waiting on a customer when Worth walked into the room.

“Busy?” he asked. “Have you got a second?”

“Sure. What's up?”

“Well . . . I really hate to have to tell you this, but . . . I'm afraid we've run into a problem.”

“The ceiling light?”

“No. Actually the light arrived this morning. I'm afraid it's a bit of a larger problem than a light.”

I could feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach but remained silent.

“It's . . . ah . . . the ceiling. I cut into it a little while ago, prepping it so we could get the light installed . . . and . . .”

“And?”

“There's been some major water damage in that ceiling, which leads me to think there's probably a leak in the roof. So that will have to be repaired and then . . . a whole new ceiling put in. All the wiring will have to be checked, too, and then, of course, everything will have to be inspected.”

I stood there, biting my lip, shaking my head, and desperately trying not to cry. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and whispered, “How long? How long will all of this take?”

I heard Worth clear his throat, and my eyes flew open.

“Well, I'm not certain.” He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture I'd never seen him do before and which led me to believe he was nervous. “But, in all honesty, it won't be done in time for you to open before Christmas. November first is Friday. I don't even have anybody lined up to do the roof. I can do the ceiling, but I'll need some help with it and Kyle doesn't have enough experience. I'm so sorry, Marin. I know how much you were counting on all of this to be finished by early December.”

We both turned toward the door as my mother walked in, saw the expressions on our faces, and said, “What's wrong?”

I grabbed my handbag, my knitting tote, and the keys to the golf cart. Walking to the door, I said, “Worth will tell you. I need to go home a little early,” and as I stepped outside onto the pavement, I knew exactly what I needed to do.