Secrets on Cedar Key (4 page)

I
had always found needlepoint, like my knitting, to be a soothing way to pass time. But by Sunday afternoon neither of my current projects held my interest. I was consumed with a million questions in relation to the letter from the attorney's office.

Who was this Bianca Caldwell? Somebody Andrew knew from years ago? A woman he was having an affair with before he died? And Fiona Caldwell? Why would Andrew have arranged for her to receive money upon his death? As much as I hated to admit it, over the past few days it had been becoming more clear to me that she had to be his daughter. But how was that possible? And how old was she? A small child now left motherless? The attorney's office was located in Boston, as was the bank. Did that mean Bianca Caldwell had also lived in Boston? Had Andrew ever been there? Although he had traveled a lot over the years for teaching seminars, I honestly couldn't recall his itinerary. So many questions and three more days to wait for the answers.

I looked up from the needlepoint canvas I held in my hand and let out a deep sigh. I normally loved the peacefulness of sitting on my mother's patio overlooking the water, watching ibis and heron sweep across the saw grass. But today nothing seemed to settle me or diminish the unease I felt.

“Doing okay?”

My mother settled herself in the lounge beside me and removed the sweater she was working on from her knitting bag. Although she had to have known that I picked up the correspondence from Mail Boxes on Friday, she hadn't questioned me about the contents. But that was my mother. Never one to pry. Always allowing me to open up to her in my own time.

“Not really,” I said, getting up to go in the house to get the letter.

Walking back out to the patio, I passed the envelope to her. “Here. I'd like you to read it. This is what was in Andrew's mailbox.” My mother removed the paper, adjusted her eyeglasses, and began to read.

When she finished, she swung her legs to the side of the lounge to face me. “Do you know what this is all about?”

“No. I have no idea.”

“Did you contact the attorney's office?”

I nodded. “Yes, and James Coburn won't be back in the office until this Wednesday. I've been going nuts trying to figure it out.”

“From what I can gather, this Bianca Caldwell was killed in a car crash this past April. It would appear that this law firm has no idea that Andrew has also passed away. They're requesting his signature in order to transfer funds from an account to Fiona Caldwell.”

“Right,” I said, and could feel anger slowly beginning to build inside of me. “And who the hell is this Fiona? Did you see the bank statement? Fifty thousand dollars. It has to be a mistake . . . either a mistake or a joke, but I'm not finding it humorous at all.” I jumped up and began pacing the patio. “How could this happen? Did Andrew have a secret life I didn't know about? I don't understand. I just
don't
understand.” But even as I said it, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I did understand.

My mother remained silent for a few moments and then let out a deep sigh. “You knew Andrew better than anybody, Marin. Is there any chance that this Fiona could be his daughter?”

I felt moisture stinging my eyes. “Do we ever
really
know anybody?” I shook my head back and forth. “Anything's possible, isn't it? Secrets are buried all the time. Look at what your own sister did—gave birth to Sydney, gave her up for adoption, and never told a soul.”

“Very true, but secrets usually have a way of surfacing just like Sybile's eventually did.”

“I don't even know how old this Fiona is. The attorney's office and the bank are in Boston, but that doesn't mean she definitely lives in that area. I don't know a thing.”

My mother reached over to pat my hand. “And you won't until Wednesday, I'm afraid. But there's one thing that you must remember, Marin.”

My head shot up. “What's that?”

“The reason you found out about any of this now is because it was Andrew who gave your cell number to Mail Boxes as an emergency number. That tells me that if something happened to him, he wanted you to get any correspondence related to this situation.”

My mother was right. “But why? Why the hell would he want me to find out after he was gone about money he had provided for somebody? Why couldn't he just tell me when he was alive?”

“Shame. Fear. There could be a number of reasons, but until you get the entire story, I don't think you'll know for sure.”

“You're right,” I replied as the doorbell sounded inside the house.

“That's Sydney,” my mother said as she stood up. “I hope you don't mind, but with Noah away for a few days, I invited her to have supper with us. And it's up to you if you want to share any of your news with her.”

 

“Aunt Dora, that was delicious,” Sydney said. “Nobody cooks up mullet like you do.”

My mother laughed. “Good thing your mother isn't here to hear you say that. She always thought she cooked mullet better than anybody on the island.”

I smiled as I reached for the wine decanter on the table and refilled our glasses. “That's one thing you and I never experienced,” I told my cousin. “We were both only children, so no sibling rivalry.”

“Yeah, that's true. I told Monica if that begins with her four, I'm afraid I'll have no advice to give on that subject. How about your boys, Marin? Any rivalry there?”

I took a sip of wine and shook my head. “Not really. Oh, the usual squabbles when they were little, but for the most part they got along and I never noticed any jealousy. I think girls might be more prone to that anyway, don't you?”

Sydney nodded. “Could be. Look at what Chloe and Grace went through. Chloe's jealousy caused a ten-year estrangement between them. I've always felt, though, that if somebody is happy and adjusted with their own life, it doesn't leave any room to want what others have. But I don't think it's just between sisters. I see it with the younger girls, like Clarissa. They all have to have the same clothes, the same style hair. It drives Monica crazy, and she's trying to teach Clarissa to be her own person. To be an individual and different. I do think raising daughters can be more complex than raising sons, though.”

“Hmm, probably. But I wouldn't know. My mother had one daughter, your mother had one daughter, and you had one daughter. Yet I was the one to have two sons. It was Andrew who got the daughter,” I said, and as soon as the words were out I felt the anger returning and saw the confused expression on Sydney's face.

The three of us sat there in silence for a moment, and then I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Yeah, well, at least I'm pretty sure he has a daughter that I only recently found out about,” I said and went on to explain the story to my cousin.

When I finished, she took a sip of her wine and patted my hand. “I have to be honest and say that I'm not that surprised.” When she saw the look on my face, she went on, “No, no. I have no reason at all to even think that Andrew cheated on you. It's just that at this stage of the game, Marin, not too much surprises me. You have to remember what I went through when Stephen died and then coming here and discovering my biological mother. All of my own experiences have only forced me to believe that truth truly is stranger than fiction.”

She was right. If anybody could understand, it would be Sydney. Finding out two weeks after she buried her husband that he had been a compulsive gambler was bad enough, but being evicted from her posh home, which she'd thought was long paid for, had rocked her world as she knew it.

“Sydney's right,” my mother said. “Of course this is shocking to you, Marin, but it's life. Shocking and bad things happen. But it's how you choose to get through it that will be important. Just know that you have people who love you, and we'll be there for you, no matter what.”

I heard the words, and while I appreciated them, they didn't take away the anger that surged through me. “But damn him. Damn him for doing something like this. I thought we had a good marriage. I thought he loved me. We always got along so well, had so much in common, and enjoyed each other's company. How many times other people even commented on what a great couple we were and how perfect we were for each other. It was all a lie, a sham. Here I am grieving for a husband who was nothing but a fraud.” I felt the tears sliding down my face and didn't bother to wipe them away. “This is what Andrew left me with. Not his love . . . but his secrets, and I hate him for that.”

I felt my mother's arms around me as Sydney passed me a tissue. “That's not entirely true,” she said. “I felt the same way when Stephen died. I knew nothing about those loans he took on our house, which ultimately caused me to be evicted. You have a right to be angry, Marin. Damn angry. But that doesn't cancel out the love that you did share with each other. It doesn't wipe away the fact that you raised two sons together or the good times and happy moments. Those
did
happen. You might not want to admit that right now, and that's only natural. But I agree with Aunt Dora—what's important now is how you go forward from here.”

I wiped my eyes again with the tissue. They were right. I knew that. But I also knew that the happy couple Andrew and I projected to family and friends was probably as much of a fraud as I now felt he was to me in death.

I
woke at five-thirty after a fitful night of tossing and turning. Too much to think about. It was still dark as I brushed my teeth, threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and then headed to the kitchen.

I waited for the coffee to brew as I stared out the window to the sky over the water getting lighter. After filling my insulated Starbucks cup, I made my way through the family room to the front door. No sign of my mother or Oliver. Slipping into the golf cart, I turned the key and headed downtown to the City Beach.

The sun was just peeping over the horizon as I sat on one of the benches watching a new day begin. The only sound was water splashing onto the shore. I thought back to shortly after I met Andrew. I was teaching at the university and sharing a small house in Gainesville with Bella, my friend and colleague—now known to the reading public by her full name, which graced her book covers, Orabella Vitale. I had invited Andrew to Cedar Key for the weekend to meet my parents, along with Bella and a fellow she had been seeing at the time. Bella stayed with me at my parents' home, and the fellows got a room at the Island Hotel.

The weekend was pleasant enough. My parents seemed to like Andrew, but I recalled a bit of awkwardness during the Saturday evening dinner my mother prepared for all of us. Sitting around the table with coffee and dessert, Andrew began questioning my father about some best-selling novels on the
New York Times
list, asking if he had read them and what his opinion was. My father was a fisherman. He worked from dawn to dusk providing a decent living for us. Many days he barely had time to scan the newspaper before falling into bed shortly after supper.

I saw the embarrassed expression that crossed my father's face at the same time that Bella did.

“Yes, well,” she said. “We can't all be bookworms, can we? Tell me, Mr. Foster, which do you find to be more popular, crab or oysters?”

My father visibly relaxed as he launched into an explanation of both, depending on the season, and I wanted to lean over and kiss my friend's cheek. It was the first time that I suspected Andrew was an academic snob, but it wasn't the last.

Another incident on Sunday afternoon was mentioned by Bella later that evening. The four of us had taken my father's pontoon boat out for a ride. It was August, hot and steamy, so Bella and I had worn our swimsuits under shorts and tops. I had grown up on the water, knew how to drive and operate a boat from the time I was ten. But for some reason Andrew seemed hesitant about me being at the helm. Bella's friend cajoled him, saying he had the utmost faith in me.

We headed out from the City Marina, through the channel, and I steered the boat north. I could see the tide was going out, and after a ride to North Key I turned the boat around and headed back. As luck would have it, I hit a sandbar and we got stuck. For those of us who had grown up on the island, it wasn't a big deal. The water is pretty shallow, and with a bit of pushing and prodding, a boat was easy to dislodge.

Bella and I began laughing when we realized what had happened. I whipped off my shirt and shorts and said, “Not to worry,” as I jumped over the side of the boat into the water, where I was quickly joined by Bella. The two of us were now giggling as I sputtered out instructions to Andrew and Bella's friend to back the boat up as we pushed. It was then that I saw the look on Andrew's face: a mixture of anger and, if I wasn't mistaken, fear.

Within a few minutes we had the boat off the sandbar, Bella and I jumped back in, and we were on our way.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I heard Andrew yell; I honestly didn't know what he was talking about.

I turned around and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Getting us stuck like that and then jumping in the water. You could have been injured,” was what he said, but I had a gut feeling it was more his safety that he was concerned about, rather than mine.

“I'm fine,” was all I managed to say. I remained cool toward him the rest of the afternoon and during the drive back to Gainesville that evening.

After we got home, I now recalled Bella saying, “Are you sure he's for you, Marin? I'm afraid a fellow like that could suck the spirit right out of you.”

I blew out a breath before draining the last of my coffee and standing up. Had my spirit disappeared over the years with Andrew? I wasn't sure. I got in the golf cart to head down Second Street to the coffee café and wondered if Andrew had not only diminished my spirit but also betrayed me in a way that I wasn't sure I'd be able to forgive.

 

Monday mornings at the coffee café were always busy—tourists leaving the island after their weekend wanting to get that cup of coffee for the drive home and locals gathered to catch up on news. But when I walked inside, the chatter from the locals sitting in small groups at the tables was louder than usual.

I spied Chloe and Grace and joined them. Solange sat in her stroller gumming a teething biscuit and looking around at everybody talking at once. I bent down to kiss her forehead.

“Hey, sweetie,” I said and was rewarded with a huge smile before I sat down.

“What's going on? Did somebody win the lottery?”

Chloe laughed. “Not quite. Seems Mr. Carl was in the Welcome Center yesterday and overheard something. According to him, the phone rang and the volunteer answered. Of course he eavesdropped, and bear in mind that his hearing isn't the best. But he insists that he heard a conversation about a film company wanting to come to Cedar Key to make a movie.”

This
was
big news. “Are you serious?”

“That's just it,” Grace said. “Who knows? The volunteer was Martha and she's not talking. Said it was a private conversation and Mr. Carl shouldn't have been listening, never mind spreading gossip.”

I shook my head and laughed. “Yeah, but we all know that gossip is what this island thrives on. Any small town does. Imagine if it's true, though, the income it could generate for the merchants.”

Chloe smiled. “Hmm, I wonder how many of the crew or cast are knitters? This could put Yarning Together on the map.”

“I think I'd hold off ordering extra yarn for a while,” Grace said.

“Ah, well, it's fun to dream, isn't it?”

Suellen came over to the table laughing and shaking her head. “Can you believe this? Mr. Carl has really started something. Your usual, Marin?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said and heard somebody standing in back of me say, “Well, they just might be looking for extras, and I was chosen as Clara in
The Nutcracker
in fifth grade.”

I turned around to see the one speaking was Mr. Carl's wife, Raylene, and couldn't control my laughter.

“Oh, my God! Is she for real?”

Suellen nodded. “ 'Fraid so,” she said before heading to get my coffee.

“Well, you do have to admit Cedar Key would be a beautiful place to film a movie. With the water and nature everywhere. We're a funky little fishing village, but I think we have a lot to offer.”

Chloe took a sip of her coffee. “If it's true, I'm wondering what type of movie it would be. Small Southern town? Maybe based on a novel?”

“Only time will tell,” I said as Suellen returned with my coffee.

Chloe leaned toward me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I haven't seen you since you picked that letter up on Friday. Is everything okay?”

I stared into my coffee mug, shook my head, and took a sip. “Not really.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Anything you want to talk about?”

Why not?
I thought. If it was true that Andrew had a daughter, and I was pretty sure that it was, the word would make its way around the island eventually.

I proceeded to explain the call from Mail Boxes to Grace and then brought them both up to speed on what the letter contained.

“Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry, Marin.” I felt Grace squeeze my hand.

“Do you think this could really be Andrew's daughter?” Chloe questioned.

“Well, I don't have any proof yet, but why else would he have money in an account for this Fiona Caldwell?”

“And you say her mother died in a car crash this past April?”

I nodded and took another sip of coffee.

Chloe blew out a whoosh of air from between her lips. “Wow. It was bad enough when Parker left me to marry his trophy wife a couple years ago and their baby arrived just after they exchanged their I dos . . . but I did know Wifey Number Two was pregnant. I can only imagine what a shock this has been for you. How old is the child, do you know?”

“Nope, I don't know a thing. And I won't for two more days. The attorney who sent the letter won't be in the office until Wednesday.”

Chloe got up and scooped me into a tight embrace. “Well, no matter what you find out and no matter what happens, I want you to know that we're all here for you, Marin. Right, Gracie?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, right before I felt moisture stinging my eyes once again.