by Terri DuLong
“I think it takes an enormous amount of courage, so I’d like to think the main ingredient for that action is love.”
“Love for the baby?”
“Yeah, giving up the child to assure he or she has a much better life than the birth mother could provide.”
“You could be right,” Dora said, wiping her lips with a napkin. “And your daughter…you have a good relationship with her?”
I grinned. “Well, that depends on which day you’re asking me. I’d say we get along okay, but Monica is very self-involved. I suppose part of that is my fault—a bit of spoiling, since she was an only child. We’ve had some warm moments but since her father passed away, I think she’s taking her anger out on me.” I paused to take a sip of wine. “I get the feeling that she feels had I been more independent and a stronger woman, I could have fixed her father’s addiction with gambling.”
“Hmm, I understand. Sometimes children only see things through their eyes. Marin and I have had our moments also. Mothers and daughters have a very mysterious type of relationship.”
“What about you, Dora? What was it like growing up on this island during the thirties and forties?”
My question brought a smile to her face. “I thought it was the best place in the world for a child to grow up, but we were pretty isolated. We didn’t have the things available that kids in large cities had. Yet we had other enjoyments they couldn’t begin to understand. Most of our time was spent on or near the water—boating, fishing, crabbing. We didn’t have to worry about crime, so after school or during the summer we just ran free. And of course, everybody knew everyone else so the kids behaved for the most part. If you didn’t, you could be assured that by the time you got home, your mama already knew what you’d done.”
I laughed. “Yeah, small towns are like that. So both you and Sybile loved growing up here?”
Dora hesitated before answering. “I love it—I’m not sure I can say the same for Sybile. We didn’t have much, but then everybody back then was poor. Clothes were passed around to wear and getting something new was pretty exciting. Once Sybile turned about twelve, it bothered her a lot. I believe that’s when she made the decision that as soon as she turned eighteen, she was leaving the island. Our daddy used to tell her she had pipedreams and his nickname for her was Cinderella.” Dora shook her head. “But nobody could ever tell Sybile a thing and sure enough, the June she graduated high school, she was gone. She’d worked at the local fish houses and other odd jobs for five years saving money to make that happen.”
I took a deep breath. “But she did make it happen, and I guess that’s what counts. So she found her happiness.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Maybe in her own way, she did. I’m not one to judge.”
I declined Dora’s offer to help and began clearing the table.
“I have some oatmeal cookies for dessert, but I can’t claim credit. Alison made them for me.”
“Oh, my, no. I’m stuffed. That was a delicious supper, Sydney, and I’d like to have you over to my house soon to repay the invitation.”
“I’d like that. How about some tea?”
“That would be a perfect ending to such a nice meal.”
For the first time since moving to the island, I had trouble falling asleep. Thoughts swirled in my head. Would I ever get my business up and running? And more important, would it be a successful income for me?
And Sybile. Based on what Dora had told me, there certainly wasn’t much evidence to think she could be my birth mother. The time frames would fit, but beyond that…no proof whatsoever.
Floating in and out of all my thoughts was the image of Noah Hale’s face. What was it about him that drew me in? Sure, he was good looking. And if I were honest with myself, I had to admit I did feel a certain attraction. Some of the things he said to me also felt like flirting, but since it had been over thirty years since I’d indulged in that act, I probably couldn’t be depended on to know the difference.
11
“I didn’t really learn much of anything from Dora,” I related to
Ali a few days later.
“And I wasn’t going to say anything to you, but this is getting downright bizarre.”
“What?” I questioned, sitting up straighter in the lounge chair while lighting a cigarette.
“I bumped into Miss Sophie at the post office the other day. Said she met you at Cook’s recently.”
I was meeting so many different people, it was becoming difficult to keep everyone straight.
“She told me she couldn’t get over the resemblance you had to Sybile Bowden and asked if you were a niece or something.”
“Are you serious?” I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Do you think I look that much like her?”
“Apparently not as much as other people seem to think. But as I’d told you, yeah, I do see a similarity in your eyes.”
I shook my head. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m living in a sci-fi movie. Even if this were true, and I still can’t believe it is, I mean, what? I can’t just approach Sybile and say, ‘Hey, are you my mother?’ Wouldn’t that be a pisser though? I don’t even like her as a person. Maybe I don’t want to know the truth.”
Ali nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But remember the old saying, the truth can set you free.”
I could feel the tingling of annoyance setting in. “I don’t recall saying I wanted to be set free.”
“Look, Syd, I know you’ve never bought into my feminist ways, but at some point in our life we’re all searching for that inner mother. That deepest part of us that fulfills our completion. Maybe finding the woman who gave you life is what you need to take you where you need to be. But it’s entirely up to you. And I do have to partially agree—you could be opening quite a large can of worms. I mean, God, what if it is true? Would Sybile want everyone on this island to know that not only did she give birth years ago, but that she gave that daughter away? She has a right to her privacy too.”
“So you’re saying I should just forget about it? Not try and find out?”
“I’m not saying that, Syd. I’m just saying be careful. You might want to ask Saren some discreet questions. They might not get along today, but there was a time when they were pretty tight.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“It’s just another piece of island info that isn’t mentioned much. But yeah, people say that when Sybile left for New York, she and Saren were involved. Some people thought they’d end up getting married. But she stayed in New York and he left the island for Paris and his painting. I do know they continued to keep in touch via letters though. Dora told me that once.”
I was surprised about this revelation and was beginning to feel that eventually all secrets have a way of coming to the surface.
“According to the little that Dora told me, he was pretty sweet on her. Saren never did marry, so maybe he still is. That’s what was so surprising when Sybile returned to the island—guess everyone thought they’d get together again, but she kept her distance from him.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Hmm, maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to pay a visit to Saren Ghetti.”
Sipping tea in Saren’s living room the following day, it was easy to see the man was lonely. No wonder he jumped at my offer to pay him a visit.
“You have a lovely place,” I told him. “And your artwork—I feel like I’m in a gallery.”
Saren’s living room was like stepping back in time. I sat on a horsehair sofa that was similar to one from my childhood. White crocheted doilies rested on the arms and back. Small mahogany antique tables held wide-base lamps with white fringe dangling from the shades. I was certain my grandmother had had the same pattern rug that covered the center of the hardwood floor. Many people decorate with antiques, but I knew this house was Saren’s childhood home and the furniture was what he’d grown up with—all lovingly and meticulously cared for.
“Thank ya, Miss Sydney. T
here’s something comforting about growing old in the home you grew up in. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I sure did enjoy living and working in Paris—but I always agreed with what Dorothy said about Oz.” He chuckled while reaching for his tea cup.
“Yeah, there’s no place like home.” Unsure exactly how I should broach the subject of Sybile, I questioned, “And you never married? In small towns many people end up marrying childhood sweethearts.”
Saren nodded his head slowly. “That’s true, but no, I never married. Too busy workin’ on my painting, I reckon. Had a sweetheart though—yup, I loved her for a long time.”
I remained silent.
“Betcha you’d never guess who it was.” Without waiting for my answer, he said, “It was Miss High and Mighty. Yup, Sybile Bowden.”
“Oh, Miss Dora’s sister. She’s quite a character. So you grew up together, huh?”
“We sure did. Many a day we spent out on my daddy’s boat. Sometimes catching fish and sometimes just smoochin’.” A crimson flush spread up his neck. “She was a looker, she was. Downright gorgeous. But it was those looks of hers that took her off the island.”
“Yeah, I’d heard she went to New York to become a model. So I guess you lost touch then?”
“Nah, we wrote to each other. Not what you’d call love letters. Just news about her modeling and my painting, and we’d exchange information about New York City and Paris.” Saren took another sip of his tea. “We’d had a big fight the night she told me she was leaving Cedar Key. I told her she was nuts—nuts to think she’d make the big time in the big city. Oh, not because she wasn’t beautiful enough. But I knew how hard it was to make it in painting, and I knew modeling would be even tougher. But she didn’t listen—off she went, with her head in the clouds. Saw her briefly in New York before I left for Paris and a couple months later her first letter arrived. So we wrote back and forth for years. By the time I came back to the island, she was already back. Thought maybe we could pick up where we’d left off. But oh no, she wanted nothing to do with me. I knew she’d been married for a short time, but she was divorced. She’d bought herself that fancy dancy lighthouse and blew me off like she never knew me.” A sigh of sorrow escaped him. “Still got every darn one of her letters, I do,” he said, as an afterthought.
“You do?” I asked with excitement, but the sorrow of the doomed love affair now seemed more important than the letters. “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out for the two of you, Saren. Believe me, it was Sybile’s loss.”
A look of gratitude crossed his face. “Why, thank you, Miss Sydney. What a kind thing to say.” For a few minutes he appeared lost in the past and then he focused his eyes on me. “I know this is silly, but is there any chance you’d like to look at those letters with me? I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. They’re packed away and it’ll take me a couple days to find them, but I’d sure enjoy going through them with you.”
The letters might contain some relevant information—but even more important, Saren considered me worthy of sharing an exceptional part of his past.
Reaching over to touch his hand, I said, “I’d be honored, Saren. Call me when you’ve located them.”
I realized it had been over a week since I’d heard from Monica and dialed her number. I also thought the time had come to tell her I had begun a search for her biological grandmother.
The minute I heard her voice I knew something was wrong.
“No, everything is okay,” she told me.
Call it mother’s intuition, but I knew different. I let it go and said, “Well, I thought you should know—I’m beginning a search for your biological grandmother.”
I heard a gasp on the other end of the line and then silence.
“Are you still there, Monica?” I questioned.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I can’t believe you’re finally going to do this.”
“Does that mean you think it’s a good or a bad idea?”
“I’ve always thought it was a good idea. I never could understand why you didn’t pursue this years ago. It might be too late now.”
She was right. “I know that and it’s a chance I’ll have to take. But I think the timing is right.” I paused, not sure whether to mention Sybile and decided what the hell. “There’s a little more to this…It’s actually too bizarre to be believable, and I know you’ll think I’m a definite candidate for a nursing home, but…”
I went on to explain about Sybile Bowden. The comments from people in town, Alison’s agreement on a similarity in looks, and the fact that Sybile was in Manhattan during the time I’d been born there. I also told her about Sybile’s self-imposed exile and isolation on her return to the island.
“Oh, my God,” Moncia exclaimed. “This is stuff movies are made of.”
My sentiments exactly.
“Could it be possible?” she asked. “What does she look like? Do you really look like her? Are you going to just ask her?”
“Whoa, slow down. I guess it could be possible, but it’s highly improbable. And don’t get too excited. Her personality is a cross between Rosie O’Donnell and Joan Rivers. In all honesty, Monica, I don’t even like the woman. And no, of course not, I’m not going to ask her. What I’ll probably do is question her sister, Dora, and an old friend of hers, Saren. I’ll have to be discreet, so I’m not sure how much information I’ll even get.” I paused before asking, “Do you think I’m totally insane?”
“I admit it’s a long shot, Mom. But all of what you told me does seem a bit of a coincidence. And you have to admit, all of this sure puts a whole different slant on your life.”
That was putting it mildly. “So I’ll play detective for a while, I guess. Okay, enough about me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Reminding me of the fourteen-year-old Monica, she blurted out, “As of next week, I’m without a job. The publishing company is downsizing, and I’m one of the unlucky ones. And added to that…On the ski trip last weekend, I had a nasty fall and broke my arm, so I’m in a cast for the next six weeks.” Without missing a heartbeat, she questioned, “Mom, can I come down there and stay with you for a little while?”
Before I had a chance to answer, sobs came across the telephone line.
My God, was the broken arm more serious than a fracture?
“Monica, are you alright?”
“No,” she said, between hiccups. “No, I’m not alright. I miss Dad. I visited his grave this morning and…I still can’t believe he’s gone. That I’ll never see him again.”
I’d been so caught up in my own drama that I’d failed to pay attention to my daughter’s loss. She was grieving for the death of a parent and while I missed Stephen, I resented the situation he’d left me with. My grief had quickly been replaced with survival.
Moisture filled my eyes and I wished I could pull her into a comforting embrace. “I do understand, honey,” I told her. “He was a good father and you were so close to him. Focus on all the good memories you shared. That’s what he would want.”
“I know,” I heard her say, followed by the sound of sniffles. “And I know I’ve been tough on you, Mom. Dad wouldn’t have wanted that. It just…It just hurts so much to have him gone. I do love you.”
My throat tightened with emotion. “I love you too, Monica.”
12
I’ve always been a believer of that saying life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. From the moment I got the news about Stephen’s accident, my life seemed to be going in directions that were totally foreign to me. And once again I was being subjected to something that I neither wanted nor welcomed.
When Monica moved out of our home at age eighteen to attend college, while I may have felt a bit sentimental, I certainly wasn’t one of those empty-nest mothers. Around the time she turned sixteen, we’d found it difficult to agree on much of anything. The sweet, calm personality of Monica’s youth had been replaced by an opinionated and strong young woman. Many college break visits back home found us barely speaki
ng to each other.
I loved my daughter. I was proud of her education and her intelligence, her ability to make decisions, and her self-confidence. But live with her again? Oh Lord…This was more than my life suddenly going awry…this was the supreme sacrifice as a mother. And of course I told her yes.
Monica assured me it would only be until she could get back on her feet…or more accurately, resume the use of her right arm again. She thought she’d return to the Boston area at that time, but then again, she wasn’t sure. Knowing that Gainesville was only an hour’s drive away, she hinted at doing some job hunting there. So all in all, her dilemma was solved. Mine was only beginning.
It would be tight, but I assured her she could stay at the Tree House apartment with me. We’d manage somehow. She was planning to arrive in about two weeks—just about the time I was hoping to open Spinning Forward.
The telephone interrupted my thoughts and I briefly wondered if it might be Monica calling back to change her mind, but I answered to hear Ali’s voice.
“You about ready? Paul and I will meet you in the garden in an hour.”
I’d completely forgotten I’d agreed to have dinner with them at the Island Hotel. “Yes,” I lied. “I’ll need the full hour though. Just got off the phone with Monica.”
“Not a problem. See you at seven.”
After dressing, I appraised myself in the full-length mirror. Black slacks and a pale pink cashmere sweater. Twirling this way and that, I smiled. Not bad. The few pounds I’d lost and hours of exercise were beginning to show. Guess it was worth giving up the ice cream. Grabbing my handbag, I bent down to give Lilly a hug. “You be a good girl,” I told her. “I’ll be back later.”
Paul and Alison were waiting in the garden when I came down the stairs.
“It’s so nice out this evening, let’s walk downtown,” Ali said.
I nodded and fell into step with them.