Slow Moon Rising (12 page)

December 20 was the last day of school. Not even a day. A half day. Dad was so eager to get to Cedar Key—to get Anise to Cedar Key—we left our Orlando home around six o'clock.

In the dark.

Three hours later, driving down Highway 24 toward Cedar Key, I watched out the back window of Dad's Mercedes the silhouettes of palms, oaks, and pines as they whirred past us in the dark. In the front seat, Anise and Dad spoke to each other in muted tones. Dad, telling his new wife all about Cedar Key. Its history. How he and Mom had found the house before Kim was born.

It was a story I was certain Anise had heard before, but she hung on every word from my father's mouth as though it were the first time he'd told her. Or had ever even heard him speak.

I wondered if I would ever be in love with a man the way Anise was in love with my father. And, I couldn't help but wonder if Mom had treated Dad in such a way. I strained to remember, but nothing—not a single memory of this kind of devotion—came to mind.

Forgive him, Ami. You must forgive him as I have forgiven him.

Had she? Had Mom forgiven my father for what she'd told me that night, that awful night? Had he even done anything to be forgiven for?

“Ami?”

My head jerked toward the front seat. “What?”

I caught the reflection of Dad's eyes peering at me in the rearview mirror. They crinkled in delight. “You daydreaming back there?”

I smiled. “A little. Just thinking how good it will be to get there. My legs could use a stretch.”

“Well, baby doll, I was just asking if you were getting cold back there.”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.” Actually the chill in the air felt good, a welcomed relief to the heat that never seemed to leave Florida. Perhaps the closer we got to the water, the chillier the air became. I didn't know. All I knew was that it felt like Christmas for the first time in a long time.

We crossed over Bridge Number Four—the first of the bridges one comes to before entering Cedar Key and the one right before Boggie Ridge, the area of Cedar Key where our house is. When Dad didn't slow down the car to turn onto our street, I said, “Dad? Where are we going?”

“I thought we'd take Anise to see what downtown looks like all lit up.”

I nodded. “Oh. Anise, I hope you aren't expecting downtown Orlando or even Winter Park. This is a tiny seaside village, I guess you could say. Well . . . you'll see.”

But if I'd thought Anise would be let down in any way,
I was wrong. She acted like she was seeing New York City during the month of December. “Look how adorable,” she said upon spying privately owned decks jutting out into the marshlands, decorated by tiny, blinking white lights. One had lighted images of dolphin and manatees, starfish and oyster shells.

When we got to 2nd Street we looked up to see the street lamp wrapped in lights and boasting a lit “starfish.” We inched our way up 2nd, observing the different seaside-influenced ornamentation, the occasional Christmas tree shadowed behind storefront windows. I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over the front seat, pointing out things to my stepmother as proudly as Dad was.

Dad turned right onto A Street, which led to Dock Street. To our left and before us, the Gulf of Mexico shimmered in the moonlight. I pointed to the dark images of pelicans and seagulls sleeping on a dilapidated pier. Anise seemed completely delighted by the vision.

The birds aside, Dock Street was still awake. Christmas music wafted from both sides. The weather had dipped into the fifties, so the few people who were out and about had donned sweaters, scarves, and mittens to walk under the neon and holiday lights.

“This is fabulous,” Anise said. “You're right, darling. This does remind me a little of home.”

We turned right onto C Street, which took us to 1st, and then left onto 2nd.

“Dad, where are we going?”

“Just a minute, Ami,” he said.

Dad pointed out the place the locals call “the spit,” and
said, “We'll come here tomorrow night for the sunset. It's something else.”

“Will we go to City Park for sunrise?” I asked, sliding to the back of the seat.

“Uh,” Anise said. “I'm thinking more about sleeping in tomorrow morning.” She twisted her neck to look back at me. “How about the next morning?” she asked with a wink.

I smiled. “Sure. Lazybones.”

Dad laughed. He was happy. Even though three of his four daughters would not be celebrating with him, he had brought his bride and his baby, and that gave him joy. No matter what—no matter where the truth lay in my mother and father's marriage—I couldn't help but feel happiness too.

When we got to the house, I went online to see what time sunrise would occur the next day.

“Dad,” I called from my bedroom, the one I'd shared with my sisters until—with them all grown up—there was just me.

“We're in the bedroom,” Dad called back.

I walked from my room to the one Mom and Dad had shared since 1969 when they'd bought this place. Anise stood on one side of the king-size bed, Dad on the other. Both had their arms crossed, both were staring at the stark white linens and bedding Mom had decorated the bed with. Mounds of pillows rested at the headboard, making the bed look shorter than it actually was.

“What?” I asked, knowing instinctively that the two were in the midst of some deep discussion. “Is everything okay?”

Dad moved first. “Yes, of course it is,” he said. “What did you need, Ames?”

“Um . . . just to tell you that sunrise is a little after seven in the morning. Seven-o-six, to be exact.”

“All right.”

“Do you mind if I take the car down to the docks to watch it? I'll leave here about six-thirty to six-forty-five.”

Dad dug into his pants pocket, pulled out his keys, and tossed them toward me. “Here ya go. Just keep the noise level down when you leave if we're still in bed.”

Anise looked at me, wide-eyed. As though she were in a panic. “Ami, would you mind horribly if we changed rooms tonight?”

“Change rooms?”

Her shoulders dropped and she smiled almost apologetically. “I know it's silly.” She looked at Dad. “I know. But I just don't think I can sleep in this bed.” Her hands clutched each other.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I hadn't even stopped to think . . .”

“I know that. You'd had the master bedroom at the house completely redone before I got there so it wasn't like . . . it was more like . . .” She looked at me again. “Ami, do you mind?”

“I think I get it. I mean, I've never been married and I've never even really had a boyfriend, but I can imagine.” I glanced at Dad. “This,” I said, pointing to the bed, “would be weird.”

I looked around the room. Everything screamed my mother's name. Her taste and style. “So, why don't I take this room for while we're here, and then, Anise, when we get back to Orlando, you and I can start working on redecorating? I'd love to help with that.”

Anise looked as though she could kiss me.

Dad pretended to look defeated, raised and dropped his hands, and said, “I'm suddenly feeling a pain in my credit card muscle.”

Anise practically danced around the bed and into her husband's arms. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she said, planting kisses over his face.

Dad chuckled appropriately.

“One problem,” I said, lifting my index finger.

They turned and looked at me. “What's that?” Dad asked.

“My room has two sets of bunk beds.”

I slipped out of the comfort of my parents' bed, tiptoed across the wide pine boards to the master bathroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee, brushed my teeth and my hair, and, sitting on the closed toilet lid, slipped into a pair of fur-lined boots.

Before leaving the quiet of the bedroom, I retrieved Dad's keys from the dresser where I had left them the night before, and then crept down the hall and into the kitchen. I rummaged through the bags of groceries we'd brought in but had not put away, found the box of instant hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, poured water into a mug from the drinking water jug, set it in the microwave, and waited for it to heat. With a travel mug of hot cocoa and a multicolored knit throw in hand, I slipped out the front door, clicking it shut and locking it behind me. Outside, I bounded down the steps, jumped into the car, and shivered. The weather was decidedly nippy. I loved it.

The car rolled into a parking space near City Park, just steps from the docks and the marina. I made my way to a park bench, huddled under the throw, and waited for the sun to make its debut.

An amber halo lay close to the water; Cedar Key was blanketed in shades of gray. Birds were already dancing in anticipation. I watched the thin clouds change from ashen to pink, to white, and then—as the sun crested—to magnificent gold. By now, my cocoa mug was empty. A boat carrying two fishermen had returned to the dock, and several walkers had stopped long enough to say “Merry Christmas,” “Don't blink or you'll miss it,” or “You're up awful early, young lady.”

I liked the way the locals in Cedar Key spoke. More Southern than Floridian. Laid-back. These are easygoing people. Proud people. Hardworking people.

If I knew nothing else about Cedar Key, I knew that.

With nothing left to observe but the widening of the sun's reflection over the dark gulf water, I picked up, packed up, and drove home. When I pulled into the driveway, a car was parked to the left of where Dad usually parked. It was a car I knew well; the burgundy Buick Century owned by Eliana, the woman who'd cleaned up after us and who'd raised us kids as though we were her own, at least on weekends and during summer breaks.

My heart fluttered. I applied my foot to the brake pedal, rolling the Mercedes to a stop next to it. I pressed my lips together.

What was she doing here?

My breathing grew rapid. I glanced up to the front door, wondering if Anise had gotten up with Eliana's arrival.
Wondering how the two were finding each other. Wondering . . .

I opened the car door, closed it quietly behind me. The car keys jingled as they dropped into the pockets of my jeans. I pressed my hand against where they rested, as though to force them to stay put, and crept up the staircase like a cat burglar. Like a child sneaking in after curfew.

I tested the doorknob to see if the door was unlocked; it was. I opened it, slowly. Closed it even more slowly. From where I stood I could hear them speaking to each other as though they were in church. I strained to hear if there were only two voices. Or three.

Maybe Anise was with them. Maybe I wouldn't interrupt anything more than a getting-to-know-you session. Over coffee. And a plate of Eliana's homemade, steaming cinnamon rolls.

That thought alone made my stomach rumble.

I eased closer to the kitchen, rested my shoulder against the wall. Listened. Only two voices. Dad's and Eliana's. What were they saying? Nothing really.