by Terri DuLong
“We are a family, aren’t we?”
A look of surprise crossed Adam’s face. “Of course we are. Did you have any doubt?”
I pushed around the scrambled eggs on my plate. “No…not really. It’s just that I wasn’t ever sure that Clarissa would feel at home with us, but I think she does. She doesn’t want to have to be with Carrie Sue.”
“I know. There isn’t a thing I can do about it, but she might have to travel to Georgia once a month to stay with her. It doesn’t seem right uprooting a child like that, but we both know most of the time the court doesn’t do what’s right.”
“After that episode with the social worker, I feel that Clarissa and I have gotten closer. I can’t explain it, but it’s like something changed inside me. Do you think that’s possible?”
Adam reached across the table for my hand. “I think it’s absolutely possible. People change, situations change—sometimes for the good.”
I still wasn’t sure I could go so far as to say I loved her, but I felt a distinct fondness growing inside me. “Do you think that’s what happens when women are pregnant? Maybe they’re not all that excited about the idea of a baby at first—but then with time, this…this attachment grows?”
“I think that could be true, and the same goes for a guy. You have to realize he isn’t even the one that carries that baby for nine months, and yet a love and a bond somehow develop.”
I knew Adam must have experienced this when Carrie Sue was pregnant with Clarissa. “Do you remember when you felt that way? The exact moment that you knew you loved your daughter? Was it before she was born?”
Adam thought for a few moments and nodded. “Yeah, I know it was long before she was born. But I can’t tell you precisely when. I guess…it just happened. But when it does—there’s no turning back.”
I wondered if I would ever experience that fierce love that a parent has for a child.
A little girl crying on the other side of the restaurant drew my attention. A couple in their thirties was trying to console the child, who looked to be about four. A middle-aged woman with white hair took the girl in her arms.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I heard her say. “I’ll see you again soon. When Grandpa gets better, we’ll come to visit you.”
This didn’t seem to comfort the child as her sobs grew louder. “But…I…don’t…want you to leave. I’ll miss you.”
I glanced across the table at Adam. It was heart wrenching to see a child filled with such despair, and I felt moisture burning my eyes. I now wondered if a child would ever love me as deeply.
We spent the rest of the day walking around in the downtown area. I loved the shops that dotted Centre Street, and we took the time to browse.
My eye caught the sign of Books Plus. “Oh, let’s go look in there,” I told Adam.
Walking into the independent book store reminded me of some that I’d visited as a child. A large, well-lit space greeted customers on entering. Displays and shelves were lined with books. I saw that one entire wall offered books by local authors or about Southern culture. Cushy chairs invited patrons to sit awhile as they browsed.
“What a great, cozy feel this place has,” I said.
“Yeah, every time I ever visited here I couldn’t resist stopping in.”
My attention was drawn to the back of the store. A gazebo with comfy cushions beckoned for children, and I found myself heading in that direction. Surrounding the gazebo were walls of children’s books. Everything was so colorful and brightly lit.
I got lost in all the wonderful books available for girls ages seven to ten.
“Find anything interesting?” I heard Adam say.
“Yeah,” I said, holding out my arms loaded with books. “Look at these.”
He smiled and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Books about ballerinas and little girls with dogs? Shopping for Clarissa?”
I felt a grin crossing my lips. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. Do you think she’ll like these?”
“She’ll love them.”
Walking out of the shop, clutching the bag in my hand, I realized this was the first time I had left a bookstore without a purchase for myself.
Across the street at the Christmas Shop, we found some adorable ornaments for our tree. Each one had our name painted on the front, and we also got a dog-shaped one for Billie.
“Where to now?” Adam questioned.
“Afternoon coffee would be good,” I suggested.
“Great idea,” he said, taking my hand and heading toward a coffee shop farther down the street.
I grabbed a table outside while Adam went in to order. Looking up and down the street at pedestrians, I let out a sigh. Couples strolling past holding hands, mothers pushing baby carriages—I liked this town, and it felt good just being here.
“Here ya go,” Adam said, placing a cup of coffee in front of me.
“Thanks. I’m so glad we came here, Adam. I like it a lot.”
“I thought you might. It’s a fun place to visit and has a nice small-town feel to it. Will you be sorry to go home tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “No. Not in the least. This has been great, but I’m afraid my heart belongs to Cedar Key.” I took a sip of coffee. “And that still surprises me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I remember when my mother moved there. I just couldn’t understand how she could leave the Boston area for some island off the coast of Florida. But then…I visited, and it didn’t take long for me to figure it out. I guess I’m more like my mom than I ever thought. We’re both Yankee girls—and yet, there’s something about these small Southern towns that feels like home.”
“I know what you mean. I think it could be that people up north have just become too busy. We really do have a slower pace here in the South. And when you slow down, that gives you time to appreciate what’s around you.”
“I’m so glad you booked here,” I told Adam as we sat in the brick courtyard enjoying an after-dinner drink. A sprawling 350-year-old oak tree created a canopy above us as camellia bushes filled the evening air with their scent.
“The Florida House Inn is one of the popular places to stay here. I thought you’d like it.”
“Do you think there’s a ghost here?” I asked him, unsure where that thought had come from.
He laughed. “Are you still thinking your grandmother’s ghost is at our house?”
“I don’t know what to think, Adam. You have to admit it’s pretty odd that Clarissa named her dog Billie, and how about that woman she said told her things? What woman is she talking about? How would she even know about Atsena Otie?”
Adam remained silent.
“I think Dora thinks it’s possible. She feels that Sybile might be hanging around to give me a message or tell me something. That’s creepy, isn’t it?”
I felt Adam place his hand on my thigh.
“I’ve always felt that most anything is possible, Monica. I can’t say I actually believe in ghosts. I’ve never encountered one—but then again, who’s to say for sure. Maybe Dora’s right. Maybe Sybile does have something to share with you before she can be at rest.”
I placed my hand on top of his. “I just wish the hell I knew what it is she wants me to know.”
25
“Here ya go,” Grace said, walking into the shop loaded down with shopping bags.
I jumped up to help her. “What have you got there?”
“What I hope will put Mr. High and Mighty out of business. T-shirts.”
She removed a neon pink one from the bag. Across the front, in bold, black letters, it said Support Grace’s Place and, below that, Not Developers.
I smiled as I turned it over and saw a large mug of steaming coffee on the back.
“You will wear it around town and especially in front of his shop, won’t you?” she asked.
“Of course I will. Do you think this will help?”
“Well, I’m thinking it’ll stir up some conversation, and conver
sation is good. What I’m hoping is that tourists will stop to question what it all means and then all of us can give them our spiel. About how he purposely opened that place to put me out of business because what he really wants is my property.”
“Makes sense to me. When are we doing this?”
Grace reached into a tote bag and produced a spiral-bound notebook. Flipping through pages, she said, “Well, people are signing up to do shifts. I could use you on Sunday from two till four.”
I grinned at her organization. “So I just walk around downtown for two hours?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to actually pop in there and get right in his face. That way customers will definitely see your T-shirt, and of course you’ll go out of your way to make sure they do.”
“Okay. Have you got one in there for Adam and Clarissa?”
Without hesitation, she whipped out a large size in bright orange and a children’s size in a putrid shade of lime green.
I laughed as I reached for them. “You haven’t left a stone unturned. Lots of people signed up?”
“More than I would have thought. Opal will be out tomorrow, and even Saren and Dora agreed to join her.”
Yup—no doubt about it. Small-town people stuck together.
“So when’s Adam leaving for Georgia?”
“Monday. The hearing is Tuesday afternoon.”
Grace went to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Any word if mother of the year will be there?”
“Since she’s the one that instigated all of this, I would imagine she will be.”
“Do you really think she’s interested in Clarissa?”
For the first time, I could honestly say, “No. Not in the least. It has more to do with her pride and winning. She’s not about to let Adam come out on top.”
Grace shook her head. “Nice. Instead of being more concerned what’s best for the child. Oh—did you hear Sandy passed away last night?”
“Oh, God. Zoe’s mom? Do you think they’ll tell the kids in school today?” How would Clarissa deal with this? Not only the death, but with the loss of her best friend.
“Probably. I feel bad for Clarissa. It’s not going to be easy when Zoe moves up north.”
“I know.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m going to close up a little early. I want to make sure I’m at school to get her when she comes out.”
I could tell the moment I saw Clarissa’s face coming out the front door of school that the children had been told.
“Are you all right?” I asked as she walked toward me.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, falling in step beside me.
“Grace told me that Zoe’s mom passed away. I’m so sorry.”
“I am too. Zoe wasn’t in school today. I wonder if she’ll ever be back.”
We headed down G Street toward home. “If she doesn’t return to school, I know she’ll be in touch to tell you good-bye before she moves up north.”
Clarissa looked up at me. “Do you think so? I wanted to give her something.”
“Yes, I do. If you don’t hear from her, maybe you could call her next week.”
Clarissa remained silent for the rest of the walk home.
When we walked in the door she greeted Billie and then took her out in the yard. I watched them from the kitchen window and knew this was very difficult for Clarissa. Losing a friend at any age isn’t easy, but a childhood friend must be especially hard. I wondered what Clarissa was thinking and wished there were something I could do to make her feel better.
After spending some time in the yard, she came inside and without saying a word went straight to her room with Billie tagging along behind her. I heard the door close softly.
I was preparing to stuff the chicken for dinner when the front doorbell rang. Walking along the hallway I saw a strange woman standing on the porch—dressed in a suit, briefcase in hand, looking official. Oh God, this was my reprieve—the social worker.
I opened the door with a tentative smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Shelly Conway, a social worker with the Department Children and Families. Are you Monica Brooks?”
I nodded as I opened the screen door to let her in. This was a different one from the last time. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. “Yes. Come on in.”
“Thank you. Is Clarissa Jo also here?”
“She is. She’s in her room. I’m afraid she got some disturbing news today. Her best friend’s mother passed away last night.”
An expression of genuine sorrow crossed the woman’s face. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I’m sure this isn’t a good time for her, but would it be possible to ask her a few questions?”
“Sure,” I told her, leading the way into the kitchen. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll get her. Would you like some coffee or sweet tea?”
“Thank you, but no.”
I headed to Clarissa’s room and was grateful that at least this time my house was in order. Knocking on the door, I heard Clarissa holler, “Come in.”
I explained that a social worker was here and needed to talk to her.
“Okay,” she said and followed me to the kitchen.
“Hello,” the woman told her. “I’m Miss Conway with the Department of Children and Families. I’m very sorry to hear about your friend’s mother.”
“Thank you. Zoe will have to move away now,” Clarissa told her, settling herself into a chair at the table.
“Oh,” Miss Conway replied, shooting a glance to me. “Why is that?”
“Because Zoe’s parents were divorced, and now she’ll have to go live with her dad and his wife up north.”
“I see.” The social worker nodded in understanding. “I imagine that’s going to be very difficult for you when she leaves.”
“Oh, it will be. I’m going to miss her a lot, but her dad said she can come back here for vacations to stay with us.”
“That will be nice. I’m sure you’ll both enjoy that. How would you feel if you had to move away, Clarissa?”
A look of concern crossed my stepdaughter’s face. “Do I have to?”
“No, no,” Miss Conway assured her, reaching across the table to pat Clarissa’s hand. “No, I’m just wondering what your thoughts on that might be. Your mother lives in Georgia. Would you want to go back there to live with her?”
Without a second’s hesitation, Clarissa said, “No. I like it here. Besides, my mother doesn’t like dogs and I wouldn’t be able to take Billie—and Billie would miss me an awful lot.”
Miss Conway smiled as she glanced down at Billie curled up at Clarissa’s feet.
“How are you doing in school? Do you like going to such a small school?”
“Yes, I like it a lot and I’m getting straight As. My dad teaches history at the school, you know.”
“Yes, I did know that, and goodness, you’re a great student. I’m sure your dad is very proud of you.”
“He is.”
A grin crossed Miss Conway’s face. “So what is it that you like here? Do you have lots of friends? What do you do on the weekends?”
“Well, Zoe is my best friend—she always will be, but yeah, I have other girlfriends. I like being here with my dad and my grandmother.” She paused for a fraction of a second. “And Monica. We do fun things together like going for walks and playing games and I get to have sleepovers with my friends.”
“Didn’t you do those kinds of things with your mother?”
I swear Clarissa looked at the social worker as if she had two heads.
“No, never,” she said, emphatically. “My mother is always busy. She doesn’t have time to play games with me, and I was never allowed to have sleepovers because she went out most nights and she said Trish couldn’t be paid to watch all of us.”
Miss Conway was writing into a blue notebook. “I see,” she said and continued to write some more. “And Trish? Is this the nanny who cared for you when your mother was gone?”
“Yes. She was very nice to me. Sometimes she’d read to me and
we’d play games.”
“How about school? Did you get straight As at your other school too?”
Clarissa bent her head for a moment, looking like she wasn’t sure how to answer. “No,” she replied softly. “I didn’t. I knew I could because I’m smart, but I didn’t try very hard, except in art.”
“Why was that?” Miss Conway questioned.
“Because nobody really cared.”
Miss Conway capped her fountain pen, replaced the notebook in her briefcase, and stood up. “So—would I be correct in saying that you’re very happy living here with your dad and Monica?”
A huge smile crossed Clarissa’s face. “Oh, yes,” she replied excitedly. “I’m very happy here. I don’t ever want to leave—not even when I get to be a grown-up.”
Miss Conway laughed and looked at me. “I think I have all of the information I need. Thank you so much for your time—both of you. And, Clarissa, you make sure you keep in touch with Zoe. Childhood friends are very special.”
She turned to leave the kitchen and I followed her to the front door.
“Thank you again, Mrs. Brooks. The hearing is scheduled for next Tuesday up in Georgia, and I’ll be faxing my report to the court there by tomorrow.”
Without any indication as to what that report might say, she opened the door and headed to her car.
I walked back into the kitchen to find Clarissa giving a dog biscuit to Billie.
“Do you think we did okay this time?” she asked.
I smiled. “I think you did pretty darn good.”
26
For a Tuesday, the yarn shop had been more crowded than usual. Dora was kept busy doing purchases while I tended to orders from the Internet. Within a week of developing my Web site, orders were already beginning to come in for Ewedora Stockings. I was glad that Dora was so motivated and thrilled that she was such a rapid knitter. I had put up posters in the window for knitting classes to begin after the first of the year and was pleased to see that so many people were interested.
“Whew,” she said as a group of four women left the store loaded down with bags of yarn. “I swear somebody drove a bus onto the island this morning.”