Casting About

by Terri DuLong

  “What?” I exclaimed. Carrie Sue lost Clarissa in Walmart? “Oh, my God. Did Carrie Sue get her?”

  Tilly pursed her lips and made a face. “Oh, yeah, she showed up—hobbling across the floor barefoot to the courtesy desk.”

  “Barefoot?” What the hell!

  “Yeah, it was obvious she’d been getting herself a pedicure there at the front of the store. What kind of mother leaves a nine-year-old alone to get her toenails painted?”

  The question of the century. “Was she okay? Was Clarissa all right?”

  “She seemed to be. I was gonna walk up to them, but I stood in the aisle watching. Trying to mind my own business, ya know. So I hung around to see what was happening. She took Clarissa back with her to the salon, got her shoes on, paid what she owed, and walked out of the store. I followed them to the parking lot, just to make sure everything was okay, and I saw them both get in the car and take off.”

  “Oh, my God, anything could have happened to Clarissa.” I could feel anger bubbling up inside me.

  “Well, yes, exactly. That’s why I thought I should tell you. Mind you, I don’t like gossip, but as I said, when it involves a child….”

  I leaned over and hugged Tilly. “No, no, you did the right thing. Thank you, Tilly. I really do appreciate it.”

  I walked toward the house and dreaded having to lay this on Adam.

  An hour later my anger still hadn’t subsided. “Can you believe this?” I said to Adam after revealing Tilly’s story. “What the hell kind of mother does something like that?”

  His voice was controlled but I knew he was as upset as I was. “One who just doesn’t think. Typical of Carrie Sue. Thank God Clarissa was smart enough to go the courtesy desk.”

  “She’s a bright little girl,” I said, placing French toast in front of him. “Now what? Are you going to have it out with Carrie Sue?” I wanted her punished. She didn’t deserve the right to have Clarissa.

  Adam stirred cream into his coffee. “I will, of course, but not in front of Clarissa. When we pick her up this afternoon, why don’t we take Billie with us, and if you wouldn’t mind, you could walk back with Clarissa and I’ll stay and talk to Carrie Sue. I’ll be instituting a new rule—no way is she to take that child off the island. She either visits with her here or not at all.”

  Didn’t sound like much of a punishment to me, but I trusted Adam’s judgment. “Okay. Are you going to discuss it with Clarissa?”

  “I’d rather she tell us what happened, see what she says.”

  I waited in the parking lot with Billie on her leash. The poor dog had moped all weekend. A few minutes later Clarissa came running down the stairs and straight to Billie.

  Scooping the dog up in her arms, she cooed, “Oh, Billie, I missed you so much! I’m sorry I had to leave you.” She buried her face in the dog’s fur.

  “She missed you a lot too, but I gave her extra attention. How’re you doing? Have a good weekend?” I asked as we started walking home.

  “It was okay. Thank you for being so nice to Billie.”

  We walked along in silence the rest of the way home.

  Walking in the kitchen door, Clarissa put her backpack and knitting bag on the counter, unclipped Billie’s leash, and said, “Is it okay if I go check my e-mails? I haven’t been able to talk to Zoe.”

  “Of course it is. I’ll empty your backpack and put the dirty clothes in the laundry room.”

  Hmm, not one word about her escapade in Walmart.

  After emptying the backpack, I peeked in her knitting bag and was astonished—the entire scarf was finished except for binding off. When on earth had she found the time to do all that knitting? Didn’t Carrie Sue spend any time with her?

  Adam arrived home about forty-five minutes later and I could tell by his face that the confrontation with Carrie Sue had only provoked his anger.

  “How’d it go?” I asked. “Coffee? I just made a pot.”

  Coming over to give me a hug, he said, “Yeah, that’d be great. It went like I thought it would. At first she denied what happened—”

  “Denied what happened?” I cut in. “How could she? Tilly witnessed it.”

  “She’s a pathological liar, Monica. But I had her backed into a corner when I described exactly what happened. She wanted to know how I knew, and of course I wasn’t about to tell her. According to her, she says she brought Clarissa to the toy department, told her to look around and then come to the front of the store to the salon.”

  “Even at that—you don’t leave a nine-year-old alone in Walmart. Not with all the nuts out there today! Do you believe her?”

  “Not at all, because knowing Clarissa, I think she would have preferred to sit in the salon and wait for her, rather than be alone in the toy department. Has she said anything to you about it?”

  “Not a word, but I noticed her entire scarf is finished. How the heck did she manage that? Didn’t Carrie Sue spend any one-on-one time with her?”

  “Probably not. I told her she is never to drive Clarissa off the island. Actually, that didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Where’s Clarissa now?”

  “On the computer, talking to Zoe.”

  “When she comes out, we’ll discuss it and hear her side of the story.”

  We were finishing up our coffee when Clarissa wandered into the kitchen, Billie close at her heels.

  “Clarissa, come sit down,” Adam told her. “I want to ask you about something.”

  Her glance shot from me to Adam as she slid into the chair. “What?”

  “Did you go to Walmart yesterday with your mother?”

  “Yeah,” was all she said, not volunteering any further information.

  Adam gave her a few moments and then went on. “We happen to know that you got left in the toy department. How’d that happen?”

  Clarissa’s head shot up and then she began fingering the place mat in front of her.

  “Clarissa?”

  “Did Mama tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. Somebody else did.”

  “Oh, the lady that helped me?”

  I was sure she didn’t mean Tilly, because Tilly would have told me if she’d gotten involved.

  “Which lady?” Adam asked her.

  “You know, the nice one. The one that always helps me.”

  Goose bumps formed on my body and I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Was she referring to Sybile?

  “Tell us what happened,” Adam encouraged her.

  “When we got there, she asked if I wanted to look in the toy department with her and choose something for Christmas. So I said okay. I looked at different things and then we went into the book aisle. I had looked at a few books and I thought Mama was right there, in back of me, waiting. But when I turned around, she was gone. She wasn’t there. So I went in the next aisle and all the other ones in the toy department—but I couldn’t find her. I started to get a little scared. It was a big store and lots of people and I didn’t know what to do. And that’s when the lady came to me. She was standing in front of me and asked if I needed help and I told her yes, I couldn’t find my mother. She told me to walk up front to where a big desk was and there’d be a woman there to help me. So that’s what I did.”

  “You’re a very smart and a very brave girl,” Adam told her. “And then they announced your name on the loudspeaker and your mother came?”

  Clarissa nodded. “Yup. She was getting her toenails done, because she came over barefoot with a funny, pink rubber thing between her toes. Then we came home—I never did get the toy.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. Carrie Sue had intentionally left her daughter in the toy department to keep her occupied while she got her pedicure.

  “Don’t worry about the toy, Clarissa,” I told her. “Our tree will be overflowing with toys for you.” I got up and leaned over to hug her and I saw a small smile form on her face.

  Later that evening, I was sitting on the sofa knitting while Adam graded papers beside me. Clarissa w
as curled up in the chair reading.

  He put the papers aside and stood up. “Time for bed, princess,” he told Clarissa.

  Carefully inserting her bookmark between the pages, she closed the book and set it on the table. “Good night, Monica,” she said.

  She walked toward me, leaned forward with arms extended, and gave me a huge hug. My arms automatically went around her as I kissed the side of her face, and I admit it—I melted. To have this child come to me of her own accord for a good-night hug said volumes to me—much more than the actual physical act. I glanced up over Clarissa’s head to see Adam standing there, a huge smile on his face.

  “Good night, Clarissa. Sweet dreams,” I told her.

  Watching them walk out of the room, I wondered again about the woman who helped Clarissa. Could it be possible? Could Sybile have designated herself my stepdaughter’s guardian angel?

  38

  The following morning over breakfast Clarissa informed us, “Oh, by the way, Mama can’t come to my Christmas play tomorrow night—because she has a date.” This was related without an ounce of disappointment in her voice.

  A date? Adam was right—this woman was hot to trot. She’d certainly wasted no time hooking up with somebody.

  Adam looked up from his scrambled eggs and bacon. “Oh, okay. Well, you’re going to have a lot of groupies there anyway.”

  “What are groupies?” she asked.

  Adam laughed. “People who adore you and are anxious to see your stage debut.”

  Clarissa glanced at me with a smile and I sent her a wink.

  “Are you at the yarn shop today?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah, just till two, so I’ll get Clarissa after school.”

  “When do we get to put up the tree?” she asked.

  “Friday night,” I told her. “And it’s turned into a bit of a celebration. Your grandmother’s coming, along with Aunt Dora and Saren. So I’m going to have Christmas cookies and eggnog.”

  Clarissa clapped her hands together. “Oh, wow, it’ll be a tree-trimming party, just like in one of my books. Will Gracie come too?”

  “I’ll ask her when I see her today. I’m sure she will.”

  “That’ll be fun,” Adam said, getting up to clear the table. “Ten minutes, Clarissa, and we have to get going.”

  She headed to get her backpack as I began filling the dishpan with soapy water.

  Walking back into the kitchen, Clarissa asked, “Do I have to go with Mama on Christmas?”

  I’d been wondering about that too but hadn’t brought it up with Adam.

  “No. The new custody papers state that this Christmas is spent with me, but that your mom has you on Sunday because it’s her weekend for visitation.”

  I could have sworn I heard her mutter “Good” as she walked out the back door.

  Hearing the wind chimes, I glanced up from the computer to see Grace stroll into Spinning Forward, the usual two lattes in her hand.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I told her, raising my arms above my head and stretching.

  “Lots of mail orders?” she asked, placing the cups on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, must be that time of year. When Christmas approaches people begin to think how nice a personalized stocking would be for a child or grandchild. Dora and I can barely keep up, but I’m sure not complaining.” I plopped onto the sofa and reached to uncap my coffee. “So what’s up with you?”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can top your news about Carrie Sue.”

  I laughed. I’d filled Grace in on the phone that morning before I left for the yarn shop.

  “By the way, do we have to endure her presence tomorrow evening at the Christmas play?”

  “No—seems she has a date.”

  “A date? Damn. What? She’s been here less than two weeks and that woman already has a date? Christ, how does she do it? I can’t seem to get a date.”

  I shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “Is he from the island?”

  “Haven’t a clue. I suppose she could have gone trawling in Gainesville. Might be somebody from there.”

  “Damn,” Grace repeated. “Ah well,” she sighed, “maybe I’m just destined to be a spinster.”

  I laughed. “Do they still call it that?”

  “Actually, probably not. Loser might be more appropriate.”

  “Aw, Gracie, you’re too hard on yourself. Look at you—extremely attractive, very intelligent, great sense of humor—Mr. Right will find you. It all has to do with timing.”

  “Yup, and my time will probably be when I’m in a nursing home, hobbling around with a walker.”

  Grinning, I said, “From some of the stories I hear, social life in a nursing home can be pretty active.”

  The wind chimes tinkled again and Miss Polly walked in.

  “How’re you gals doing?” she asked, joining us on the sofa.

  “Great,” I said. “I can make some coffee, would you like some?”

  “No, thanks. I just popped by between customers to pick up that yarn you ordered for me.”

  “It’s in the back room,” I told her, going to find it.

  “So he really sold it, huh?” I heard Grace say as I walked back into the shop.

  “Who sold what?”

  “Dick sold the bookshop,” Polly explained. “Says he’s been ready for retirement since he put it up for sale.”

  I totaled the amount for the yarn and slipped it into a shopping bag. “Oh, that’s good. I know he was ready.”

  “Who’s buying it?” Grace asked.

  “Some fellow from Georgia. Seems he has a shop there as well. I heard he has somebody to manage that one for him while he gets this one set up.”

  “That’s great,” Grace said. “I’d hate to see the island without a bookshop.”

  “Yeah, that reminds me—I need to pop over there and pick up some books for Clarissa for Christmas.”

  Polly reached for the shopping bag. “Thanks. I need to get back for a color. See you gals later.”

  “Hmm,” Grace said.

  “What?”

  “I’m just wondering if Mr. Bookshop Owner has a wife he’ll be bringing with him.”

  I’d put chicken breasts in the oven for supper and Clarissa was sitting at the table doing her homework. I smiled as I recalled her dislike for chicken when she first came to us. Based on the way she ate it now, I wondered if it had had more to do with just being ornery rather than a true dislike for chicken.

  “Do we leave for the play at six o’clock?” she asked.

  I nodded as I picked up my knitting bag and headed to the great room. “Yeah, that’s why we’re eating at five tonight.”

  A few minutes later she joined me on the sofa, watching as I knitted.

  I looked up and smiled. “Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to bind off and then your scarf will be finished and ready to wear. What’s your next project?”

  “I thought maybe I’d do another scarf. But this time for Zoe, and I can mail it up to her.”

  “That’s a great idea. It’s good to keep practicing with your knit and purl rows, but I bet Zoe will love that. Plus it’ll keep her warm up there. How’s she doing lately?”

  “Good,” Clarissa said, leaning in closer to get a better look as I knitted. “She really likes Julie. She got to go shopping with her to pick out things for the baby’s room, and the crib that they got—it was the one that Zoe liked best.”

  Smart woman, I thought. Including Zoe in the process. I was coming to understand children didn’t require as much as I’d always thought. Attention, affection, and most of all love. The rest of it pretty much took care of itself. For a woman who a year ago considered herself maternally challenged, I was surprised with the daily insight that I seemed to be absorbing.

  “Do they have any names picked out yet?” I questioned.

  “Zoe says it’ll probably be either Caleb or Zac. She likes Zac because then they’d both have a name starting with the letter ‘z.’ I like Zac better too.�
��

  “Me too. That’s a very nice name.”

  “What’s that you’re doing there?” Clarissa questioned.

  “This stitch is called knit two together. See, watch,” I said, inserting my needle into the two stitches and knitting them together to slide onto the opposite needle.

  “You ended up with one stitch.”

  “Right. It’s pretty simple. You might want to try this on your next scarf.”

  “I like that,” she said, gently touching the one stitch. “They were two—but they became one.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that this could be a metaphor to describe the way my relationship with Clarissa was evolving.

  39

  Christmas evening I sat on the sofa beside Adam marveling at how incredibly different the holiday had been this year with a child around. I took a sip of wine and smiled at Clarissa. She was involved playing with one of the toys she’d received.

  I’d been awakened that morning with shouts of “Santa came! He came!”

  Adam and I had made our way to the great room to find Clarissa literally jumping up and down, unable to contain her excitement. Not to be outdone, Billie was running back and forth barking.

  Despite not having my first cup of coffee, I laughed at the chaos that reminded me of my own Christmases as a child. The saying Christmas brings out the child in all of us took on new meaning for me.

  “Look, look,” she’d told us. “Santa brought me my very own TV and DVD player.”

  Adam and I had thought maybe Clarissa would like that for her bedroom, and it was an obvious hit.

  Not at all familiar with Christmas-morning protocol for children, Adam had explained that the gifts that weren’t wrapped were from Santa and the rest were from us.

  “And he brought me all the Clementine books in the series, and look,” she said, holding up cases of DVDs, “Movies to watch on my new player.”