Authors: Terri DuLong

Postcards from Cedar Key (11 page)

BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key

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T
he month of May arrived on Cedar Key, touching the senses of both sight and smell. Brightly colored flowers and trees were in bloom with their sweet fragrance mingling with that of clams at low tide. Something that the locals referred to as
Cedar Key perfume
. More boats could be seen offshore. Early mornings and late evenings the sound of air boats pierced the otherwise quiet of the island.

After only two months in Cedar Key, I was beginning to truly feel I was
home
. For the first time in my life I had a sense of belonging. Of being precisely where I was supposed to beâof being in my element.

Many things accounted for this. The warmth and welcome that the community displayed toward me. The success of both my chocolate shop and my yarn business. But most of all, it was the interest and fondness that Saxton showed to me. Being with him felt right. It was
easy,
which was something I hadn't always felt in previous relationships. With Saxton, I didn't feel like I had to work at making it work. It just did. That saying
just be
came into my mind a lot, making me realize that probably for the first time, I could just be myselfâand that was okay.

I headed down Second Street on my way to the post office filled with a feeling of satisfaction. That sense of contentment evaporated when I saw Raylene Samuels walking toward me.

“You're open today, right?” she demanded.

“I'm afraid not. Closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I'll be open tomorrow, Raylene.”

Fully expecting a torrent of verbal abuse, I was more than surprised when I only got a sniff and a mild retort.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, yes, I suppose you must have time off. Right then. I'll be looking for my chocolate bright and early tomorrow morning.” And with that, she walked off.

I felt my eyebrows rise as I shook my head and smiled. “Maybe there's hope for her yet,” I said out loud.

It was known to all who resided on Cedar Key that the post office was the meeting place every morning about ten, and this morning was no exception. I weaved my way inside, nodding and saying hellos, as I made my way to my letter box. When I unlocked it, I was pleased to find a postcard from Grace and Lucas. The Eiffel Tower adorned the front of it. Gathering the rest of my mail, I made my way back down Second Street to the coffee cafÃ©.

“Hey, there,” Suellen greeted me. “Your usual?”

“That would be great,” I told her, settling down at one of the tables as I proceeded to sift through my mail. The postcard from Paris told me Grace and Lucas had arrived in the City of Light and were having a great time settling in for the summer.

Suellen placed my latte in front of me and I passed her the postcard. “Oh, how nice,” she said. “Grace called me yesterday morning. I miss her already, but I'm so glad they went.”

I nodded. “I know. Me too. It must be great to be there with the love of your life.”

Suellen laughed. “I wouldn't know.”

“Aren't you dating somebody that lives in Tampa?”

“Oh, Mitchell? Yeah, we've been dating for a while now, but with him down there and me up here, it's a bit of a transient relationship. He owns a dog grooming business in the Tampa area, so that makes it difficult for him to get away a lot. And I have my job here.” Suellen shrugged. “Hey, I'm happy the way things are. It works for me.”

“What works for you?”

I turned around to see Chloe joining us at the table.

“Good morning,” I said. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks. What are you two talking about?” she asked, sitting across from me.

“My love life,” Suellen said. “I was telling Berkley that whatever it is that I have with Mitchell, it works for me.”

Chloe laughed. “Yeah, I know what you're saying. Same with me and Cameron. He's a nice guy, he really is, and I enjoy the time we spend together, but . . .”

“But?” I questioned.

Chloe flipped a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I'm perfectly happy with the way things are. A companion for dinners or events, but nothing too involved.”

I nodded. Despite the fact that I fully agreed with them, I also wonderedâis that what I wanted with Saxton? Not much more than a companion?

“Can you get me a regular coffee?” Chloe said. “I haven't had my quota this morning.”

Suellen laughed. “Coming right up.”

“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” Chloe questioned.

“Oh, the usual. Cleaning my apartment, cleaning the shop. Doing some spinning. Probably some knitting. Oh, I almost forgot. I'm having a little dinner at my place this Friday to thank Doyle and Saxton for taking us out on the boat. I hope you'll be able to make it.”

“Friday evening? Sure. Count me in. Doyle's a nice guy, isn't he? You'd think some female would have snagged him by now. How old is he, do you know?”

I laughed. “He's very personable. I'd say he's probably early seventies. Why? Do you have your eye on him?”

Now it was Chloe's turn to laugh as she shook her head. “No, no. Not me. I'm happy keeping company with Cameron. I'm just surprised Doyle doesn't have a lady friend in his life.”

“Well, Saxton says that everybody has a story, so I'm sure that Doyle does too.”

Chloe smiled. “Yup, that sounds like the author in Saxton. Speaking of which, have you had a chance to read any of his books yet? They're really good.”

“I read the first one and loved it, and actually I'm going next door shortly to get his second one.”

After finishing coffee and conversation with Chloe, I wandered into the bookshop and saw Corabeth behind the counter.

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Berkley. Looking for anything in particular?”

“Yeah, Saxton's second novel.”

Walking over to one of the bookcases, she pointed. “They're all right here.”

“Thanks. How do you like running the bookshop?”

Corabeth's face lit up. “Oh! I just love it. You know, there's just something about a small bookshop that I've loved since I was a young girl.”

“I know what you're saying, and this one is extra nice.”

Corabeth nodded. “It is. I understand that those e-readers are convenient and certainly decrease space needed for print books, but for me, nothing will ever replace the feel of a book in my hand.”

“My sentiments exactly,” I said, and caught sight of a table display with Lacey Weston novels. “Are you getting aggravation from Raylene on that display?”

“Actually, no. She popped by yesterday, glanced at the table, sniffed, and proceeded to ask if the book she'd ordered had come in.” Corabeth laughed and shook her head. “I guess she figured she'd tried her best to get that poor author banned, but it didn't work in this shop. I know I'm probably wrong, but she seems to be mellowing a bit lately. I wonder what could account for that.”

“Strange. I bumped into her this morning and was pleasantly surprised with her attitude. It did seem a bit less nasty.”

It wasn't until later that afternoon when I was in my kitchen pruning my plant that I recalled my conversation with Corabeth, which made me remember customers to our shop in Salem. As I clipped little pieces of the leaves, I recalled some of the regulars to our shop.

Mrs. Potaski, a Polish woman who visited our shop for chocolate twice a week. She showed up one morning all excited and told my grandmother she was convinced it was the chocolate witches' hats that had changed her husband from a grumpy old man into a very pleasant spouse. She laughingly accused my grandmother of putting special potions into her chocolate.

And Mr. Pelletier, another faithful customer. I was assisting my grandmother the day that he came in and proclaimed it had to be the chocolate. Over the past few months that he'd been purchasing it for his wife, her romance meter had notched up a couple of levels. My grandmother had laughed and said, “Ah, but chocolate has very special properties. I don't think most people realize that.”

But now I recalled bumping into Raylene that morning and what Corabeth had said about her. Could it just be the chocolate? Silly, of course it was. UnlessâI snipped off another leaf and held it to my nose. It did have a very distinct aroma. Something that I couldn't describe and had never smelled in another plant. And after it was ground with the mortar and pestle, it was always an essential ingredient used by my grandmother, and now me, for the making of our chocolate.

Maybe I needed to start paying more attention to my regular customers. I thought of Ava Wells. She had begun coming to my shop the week I opened. Mid-thirties, she lived out by the airport. Her husband was a professor at the university, and I recalled hearing something at the knitting group about her. How sad it was that after ten years of marriage she still had not become pregnant, and the couple was still desperately wishing for a child. Apparently, there was no medical reason as a cause.

What was it she'd said the other day? Something about feeling confident that my chocolate just might work the trick. Surely, she couldn't have meant that my chocolate would actually assist her in getting pregnant, could she?

I let out a deep sigh. So many things in this life were unexplainable. Most of which people chalked up to
coincidence
. But was it?

M
r. Carl was my first customer when I opened the shop on Friday morning.

“Beautiful day, isn't it?” he greeted me.

“It certainly is,” I said. “May is a beautiful month here on the island.”

“That it is. I'll have my usual, Miss Berkley.”

After I boxed his chocolates and took his cash, he remained standing on the other side of the counter.

“Anything else I can get you?”

He shuffled from one foot to the other, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, I was wondering . . . that is, I'm really out of practice . . . and . . . how does a man ask a woman out these days?”

Oh, my goodness. This man in his late seventies was asking
me
for dating advice?

“Hmm, well . . . I don't think the proper procedure for that has changed much over the years,” I told him. “I would say, just ask her.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I mean, what if she said no?”

If the woman in question was who I thought it was, poor Mr. Carl was taking a risk and probably headed straight for a major disappointment.

“Well, yes. That's always a possibility. So maybe you need to take it slow. You know, get to know her a bit better.”

“Oh, I know her mighty well as it is.”

“Yes, well . . . what exactly did you have in mind for taking her out?”

“Maybe a dinner. You know, one of them early bird specials that they have in Gainesville. Then we'd be back to the island before dark.”

Good thinking. Driving on SR 24 in the dark could be a bit dicey with deer sometimes running across the road.

“Okay. That makes sense. Well, is there someplace this woman goes where you could kind of... just show up? This would give you a chance to have some conversation with her. You know, spend some time with her in a social atmosphere before you ask her to go out with you.”

Mr. Carl thought about this for a few moments and then snapped his fingers. “Yeah, the lunches.”

“The lunches?”

“Sure enough. The Senior Lunches over at the church that they have every day. I haven't gone to those in years, but I know that she does.”

“Well, there you go,” I told him. “Going there might be just the thing to break the ice for you.”

A huge smile crossed Mr. Carl's face. “Thank you, Miss Berkley. I think I'll mosey on over there for lunch today. Thanks again.”

When he turned to leave the shop, I could have sworn I saw an extra zip in his step.

I shook my head and laughed as I recalled the quote,
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Perhaps Alfred, Lord Tennyson should have left out the word
young.
When it comes to love, there are no restrictions on age.

Chloe was the first to arrive for dinner. She placed a Tupperware cake plate on the counter.

“My contribution. Pistachio cake.”

I lifted the cover to take a peek. “Yummy. It looks great. Thanks, Chloe. The guys should be here shortly,” I said at the same time there was a knock on the door.

This time Saxton didn't have just a bottle of wine but also a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers, which he passed to me.

“Thank you so much,” I said, inhaling the wonderful fragrance. “Welcome, Doyle. Come on in.”

He passed me a covered bowl. “I thought we might enjoy some of my mullet dip with crackers before dinner.”

“How nice. Thank you.”

“I'll put these in water for you and you can get the crackers,” Chloe said, as she reached into my cabinet for a vase.

“Have a seat,” I told Saxton and Doyle. “The corkscrew is on the coffee table.”

Chloe placed the vase in the center of the set table and joined us in the living room.

“Nice place you have here,” Doyle said, looking around. “It's changed a bit, but not much.”

I looked at him with surprise. “Oh, you've been in this apartment?”

He laughed. “I guess growing up here, I've probably been in most of the houses and apartments at one time or another.”

Chloe had spread a cracker with mullet dip and took a bite. “Delicious. Seems there was a man on the island that was famous for mullet dip years ago.”

Doyle accepted the glass of wine Saxton passed to him and nodded. “That would be Saren. Saren Ghetti. Born and raised here, and he was also an artist. And actually, this here is the recipe that Saren shared with me years ago.”

“Oh, Saren,” Chloe said. “That was Monica's grandfather, right?”

“Yup. He passed away a couple years ago. Was in his late eighties.”

“Right. Grace had told me the story. Now there's a love story that endured over time and probably into eternity.”

I took a sip of wine and nodded. “Yes, I remember you telling me that story. Sybile was Monica's grandmother. Although they never married, from what I heard, what Sybile and Saren shared came full circle in their later years.”

“Right,” Doyle said. “Saren had loved her most of his life, but she spurned him at age eighteen when she left the island to seek her fortune in New York as a model. But years later she returned and in a roundabout way, they were reunited before she died. At least they had that bit of time together before she was gone.”

I was sure I detected a note of wistfulness in his tone. Maybe Saxton was rightâeverybody had a story.

My lasagna, salad, and garlic bread proved to be a hit. The four of us were relaxing with coffee on Chloe's porch.

“Thank you so much for a great dinner,” Doyle said. “I really enjoyed that.”

“My pleasure. We really enjoyed the day out on your boat.”

“Well, then, we'll have to do that again. Maybe go up the Suwannee next time.”

“Oh, that would be fun,” Chloe said. “And can't you go from here by boat over to Shell Mound?”

Doyle nodded. “Yeah, you can. Shell Mound is one of my favorite places. We'll go sometime.”

He now directed his attention to me. “How're you doing trying to solve your puzzle?”

I took a sip of coffee and shook my head. “Not very well, I'm afraid. Nobody can seem to recall a Jeanette Whitmore that spent a summer here. I do think, though, that there was a particular incident that caused her to come here.”

“Why do you say that?” Saxton questioned.

“Well, I was going through the postcards again the other evening, and in one of them she said she was doing as well as could be expected. As well as could be expected. That makes me think something had happened which caused her
not
to be well.”

“Hmm, like maybe she was ill? You'd mentioned before you thought perhaps she was sick when she came here,” Chloe said.

“I had briefly thought that, but she also mentions that her
job
is going well. If she was ill, I don't think she'd be working here. And that's another thingâwhat kind of job did she have? Who did she work for?”

“Yeah, you have a point there,” Saxton said. “If she worked here on the island, you'd think somebody would recall that.”

Doyle leaned over to take a refill from the coffee thermos. “Not necessarily. We have many people who come here briefly, they pick up a bit of work, and then they're gone. You had mentioned your mother's sister. Was she any help to you?”

“Not yet. She's supposed to come next month to visit me, but I haven't heard back from her. I didn't want to ask a bunch of questions on the phone. I figured I'd wait till she gets here. But to be honest, I'm not sure how much help she'll be. Once she left home she didn't stay very close to my grandmother or my mother. Her husband was in the military and they were always traveling around the world.”

Saxton nodded. “Yeah, that's a shame. If families don't stay in touch, sometimes a family member ends up losing a significant part of their history.”

I knew he was thinking of his daughter.

“True,” Chloe said. “I'd been estranged from my aunt and my sister for quite a few years. When we did finally reconnect, I was amazed at some of the things that I found out. We never really ever know somebody completely, but when we lose touch, it's even less.”

“I agree,” I told her. “I always felt that something was missing with my mother. Except for that summer that she was gone, we were together a lot, and yet . . . more and more I feel like I probably never knew her at all.”

“The most mysterious part of human nature, isn't it?” Saxton said. “I've always believed that we're very complex creatures. The picture we project to the public may be entirely different from the person that we are inside. I think that's why I enjoy writing my novelsâit allows me to attempt to discover what, exactly, we're all about.”

I smiled. “I think you're right. Look at that author Lacey Weston. Nobody knows who she is. Only that she writes erotic stories, and yet people like Raylene Samuels can judge her very harshly.”

Doyle nodded. “You know what they sayânever judge a person until you've walked a mile in their shoes.”

I wondered if the discovery of my mother's secret and the reason she came to Cedar Key might cause me to end up
judging
her.

BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key

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