by Terri DuLong
“So that’s enough about me,” I now heard her say. “Tell me about Sybile or better yet, tell me about Noah. What’s developing there?”
I laughed. “There isn’t much to tell about Noah. His party is Sunday evening, so you’ll have a chance to get to know him a little better. You are still going, aren’t you?”
“Definitely, and he said it’s okay if I bring somebody. I have a new friend that I met a few weeks ago. He lives downstairs from me. His name is Ian—originally from England and he’s teaching at the university also. Very proper British accent and all that. Quite handsome.”
In addition to time lessening the hurt of Stephen’s death, I felt perhaps a new love interest was responsible for creating my daughter’s change in attitude. It had been a while since harsh words had passed between us and she was appearing a lot happier recently. My daughter was definitely becoming easier to get along with.
“Okay, on to Sybile,” she said. “She’s home from the hospital, right?”
I nodded. “She came home yesterday. I went over last night to check on her. They sent her home with oxygen, which she isn’t happy about at all. But I imagine when her breathing gets worse, she’ll be forced to use it. She’s determined to have that lunch tomorrow, so I told her we’d be there about one.”
Alison got up and began clearing the table. “Will Saren be there for the lunch?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, picking up dishes to take into the kitchen. “Sybile didn’t say.”
“Time for dessert,” Ali said, “and I’ll have you know your mother made the blueberry cobbler.”
Surprise crossed Monica’s face. “I didn’t know you took up baking.”
“Actually, Sybile’s been giving me a few lessons. This recipe belonged to your great-grandmother. From what I hear, she was quite the cook and Sybile learned from her.”
“This is delicious,” my daughter said. “I’ll have to get the recipe from you. How’s your business going? Has it picked up any?”
I nodded. “More so than when I first opened. And enough that I was able to finally leave my waitress job last week. My feet are eternally grateful for that. Mail orders have increased a lot, so slow but sure, I’m building up my business.”
“You never considered returning to nursing, did you?”
“I have to say I didn’t. I love owning the shop and I enjoy all the people that stop by. But like any new business, it’s just taking a while to build a clientele.”
Monica stifled a yawn. “This island air really makes me drowsy. Thanks again, Ali, for letting me stay in one of your empty rooms for a few nights.”
“Not a problem. I’m glad you came. I’m going to tend to the dishes, so the two of you enjoy visiting.”
When Ali left the porch, Monica leaned across the table. “Okay, truth. So what do you really think of Sybile?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure what to say. Truthfully, I feel closer to Dora than I do to Sybile. She can be a tough cookie. Sometimes almost abrasive. She says what she wants and doesn’t worry about the consequences. Obviously, all her life she did what she wanted and gave no thought to the end result.”
“Unlike you, huh?”
I sat up straighter in the chair. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that I’m not a little girl anymore. I just think you should have been more involved with Dad. You really allowed him to run the whole show. You made it pretty easy for him to indulge his gambling addiction. I’m not blaming you, Mom, really I’m not. It’s just that had you been more involved in the finances and household things, you might have realized something was wrong. But you thought it was the right thing to do, because he said so. You never challenged him. Not ever.”
I inhaled deeply and blew out the air. “Because I trusted him.”
“Exactly. You wanted to avoid confrontation, so you let it all slide. Look where that got you. On the street without even a roof over your head. Literally. That’s the kind of person you are. I may have been close to Dad, but I never condoned his behavior. By the time I was a teen, I realized he was in charge of everything. And I swore if I ever got involved with a man, it wasn’t going to be that way. Equals or nothing. Your lack of interest really pissed me off when I got older. I don’t think you ever once made a decision in that marriage, Mom. Everything was decided by Dad. And it wasn’t right. That’s one thing I admire about Sybile—she made a decision, on her own, without any input from anybody.”
“Why are you defending her? What she did was wrong—never telling my father that he had a child. Whoever he might be. And then giving away that child so she could pursue her own fame and fortune.”
“So you resent that?”
I remained silent for a few moments. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what I feel. I guess I just feel she was selfish.”
“One of the first things you ever taught me was that we’re all different. Remember Sally in my third-grade class? How I came home from school crying because she refused to go to summer camp with me? She was my best friend—I wanted her there with me. And you told me, we’re all different. We don’t always like the same things, we may not agree on certain things. But it didn’t mean that Sally wasn’t a good person and a good friend.” When I made no reply, Monica went on, “And just because Sybile didn’t do what you thought would have been the right thing, you’re judging her.”
All these months I’d insisted it didn’t bother me that Sybile had relinquished me for adoption. All these months since knowing Sybile was my birth mother, I had accepted that the woman made her choices in life. But is that how I really felt? And what about this nagging feeling concerning my father? Could my suspicion be true? Could it possibly be Saren? Did I really resent that Sybile refused to share that name with me? For the first time since finding out the truth, I had to be honest with myself and admit that yes, I was judging Sybile. And yes, I resented the woman’s choices.
While admitting this in my own mind, I wasn’t ready to share the truth with my daughter. Getting up, I said, “Let’s leave this discussion alone for now. Come on, I’m tired. Time for bed.”
Monica got up, put her arm around me, kissed my cheek, and said, “Good idea.”
31
I drove the golf cart onto the gravel driveway in front of Sybile’s house. “Oh, shit.”
“What’s the matter?” Monica asked.
“I was hoping Dora and Marin would be here by the time we arrived.”
Monica patted my hand. “It’ll be fine. Come on,” she said getting out of the golf cart. “Wow! Look at this house and that view.”
I marveled at the lack of nervousness my daughter displayed. Certainly not like me. Following Monica up the wooden stairs I realized the saying like mother, like daughter didn’t always apply. Tapping on the screen, I slid it open, hollering, “We’re here, Sybile.”
She emerged from her bedroom tying a lemon-colored scarf at the base of her neck. Wearing a flowing caftan the shade of mustard, her eyes were fixed on Monica. She paused for a second, as if searing the image in her memory. “Well, so you’re my granddaughter,” she said, walking up to both of us. “You resemble me, you know, when I was younger.”
Her gravelly voice had that familiar edge to it, making me feel uncomfortable. But Monica laughed and without hesitating, she folded her arms around Sybile.
“And you’re my grandmother. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she said, as Sybile endured the hug for a few moments.
Pushing herself out of the embrace, she stared intently at Monica’s face. “Why on earth would you be looking forward to meeting an old woman like me?”
“Maybe I wanted to see what I’d look like at your age.”
Now it was Sybile’s turn to laugh. “Touché,” she said. “Hopefully, your genes will be kinder to you.” Walking toward the kitchen, she returned with a tray of iced tea. “Come on, granddaughter of mine, let’s go get acquainted,” she said, leading the way to the sofa.
I stood watching the scene unfold in front of me, feeling like I was invisible. How could this meeting with Monica be such a drastic change from what I’d experienced the first time Sybile admitted she was my birth mother? Why did Sybile seem so relaxed? My God, I thought, my mother and daughter had been bantering. Bantering and enjoying it. For a fraction of a second, I felt a ripple of jealousy surge through me. Brushing it aside, I saw Monica sit beside Sybile on the sofa. Taking the club chair, I remained silent but it wasn’t lost on me that Sybile hadn’t uttered one word to me since I’d entered the house.
“So, granddaughter, what do you think of my island?”
I was surprised at my annoyance. I wanted to yell, “She does have a name, you know.” But it was obvious that Monica wasn’t slighted in the least.
“Well, Mom was holding back on me. I didn’t realize this entire island was yours.”
For the first time since meeting her, I witnessed Sybile at a loss for words.
Then the woman threw her head back laughing. “It damn well should be. Or at least it should be yours. You’re fifth generation, you know. Yup, my grandparents came here from Jacksonville in the eighteen hundreds. Never left. Good fishing off these waters and that’s how they made their living. I’ve got albums of photos I’ll show you.”
It occurred to me that Sybile had never told me any of this information. Had never offered to show me family photos. Only the ones of herself as a model. But then, I had never mentioned I’d like to see them either.
“That would be great,” I heard Monica say. “I have a million questions for you and I want to see your portfolio photos from your modeling career.”
“We’ll get to all of that.” And then as if seeing me for the first time, she said, “Well, you sure are quiet today.”
I shook my head and shrugged. “I wanted to let the two of you have the time you need,” was all I said.
Making no reply, Sybile looked at Monica, taking in her features. What she probably saw were features that reminded her of herself at that age. Same dark hair. Same almond-shaped dark eyes.
“I see a resilience, a confidence, in you. You have spirit. It shows.” Sybile took a sip of iced tea and smiled. Taking a deep breath, she patted Monica’s hand. “So are you involved with anybody?” she questioned. “Don’t think I’m telling you all about me and you’re not going to bring me up to snuff on your life.”
Monica laughed and appeared undaunted by Sybile’s abruptness. “I do happen to have a special somebody. Although it’s a brand-new relationship.”
I raised my eyebrows as that ripple of jealousy returned.
“Mom knows about Ian but just recently, our relationship has gotten a bit more serious.”
“Serious like getting married serious?” Sybile questioned. “Or just living together serious?”
I was taken aback by Sybile’s familiarity with somebody she’d only just met. That old saying about blood being stronger than water came into my mind.
“Well, now, we’re not sure. For the time being we’re keeping our separate apartments and we’ll see what happens.”
“What’s he do for a living? What kind of family does he come from? Does he make good money? Does he want children?” Sybile rattled off the questions like a Jewish matchmaker.
I was interested in these answers too because Monica hadn’t shared much more with me than his name.
“Now—wait a sec, I don’t even know what to call you and you want all these answers.”
Sybile pursed her lips. “You can call me anything you like. Sybile will do fine. I’m not sure I could get used to Grandma after all these years of not being one.”
“Oh, no, Sybile won’t do. What I call you has to be special. For me. I know,” she said, throwing an arm around the woman sitting beside her. “Billie. That’s it. I’ll call you Billie—short for Sybile and it’ll be my special name for you.”
I waited for my mother’s reaction, certain the woman wouldn’t accept her new title. Instead, I saw a smile cross her face and heard her say, “Billie. I like it. Nobody’s ever called me that and I’ve never had a granddaughter. So it suits me fine.”
Monica let her arm remain around Sybile’s shoulders, and leaning in close, she said, “Okay, Billie, now for those answers you wanted. Ian is a professor at the university also. Teaches English lit. and actually comes from England. We only met about a month ago. He lives downstairs from me and we met at the mailboxes. It was one of those meetings where I just knew it would develop into more than being neighbors. We’ve been together just about every night since then. His parents live in England, the Cotswolds. So of course, I haven’t met them yet, but…if all goes well, I just might fly over there with him at Christmas. Does he want children? We haven’t really discussed that, but I’d say yes, he probably does. Ian is ten years older than I am. And although you didn’t ask—he adores animals and has a cocker spaniel, Sally. He loves to go sailing, is an avid reader, and enjoys traveling through Europe. There. Did I miss anything?”
While I contemplated all that my daughter had just shared, I heard Sybile ask, “Is he good in bed?”
I sat on the sofa, legs crossed, observing the interaction surrounding me. Taking a sip of the coffee that Sybile had prepared following lunch, I silently watched the other four women talking and laughing.
Not surprisingly, the meeting with Monica, Dora, and Marin had gone very well. Embraces were exchanged, laughter filled the room, and my daughter was enveloped into the fold of family.
When I went out on the deck for a cigarette, Dora followed me outside to question my quietness.
“You seem withdrawn today. Is everything alright?”
Attempting to shake off the mood that I couldn’t account for, I smiled. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
But watching Sybile and my daughter sitting together on the sofa regaling us with stories of Sybile’s modeling days and Monica’s years at college and the publishing house, I wasn’t so sure I was fine at all. Ever since we’d arrived, I had felt a sense of aloneness descend on me. What baffled me most was that in the company of Sybile, Dora, and Marin this emotion had been absent. Witnessing the camaraderie between my mother and daughter is what had caused this feeling to emerge. From the moment we’d arrived at the Lighthouse and Monica had met Sybile, I felt excluded. The two women seemed to have bonded immediately—like they’d known each other forever.
“Isn’t that true, Mom?” I heard Monica ask.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Monica repeated what I’d missed in the conversation. “It’s true that I have two left hands when it comes to knitting, isn’t it? I didn’t get any genes for that talent from you or Dora.”
I smiled. “We all have different talents.”
“Don’t feel so bad,” Marin said, placing her cup and saucer on the table beside her. “I’m afraid those knitting genes eluded me as well. Mom tried to teach me when I was a girl, but—all I did was get tangled up in yarn.”
“I’d much prefer to purchase knitted items,” Sybile proclaimed. “All this hand-made stuff is highly overrated.”
“Speak for yourself, Sybile,” Dora replied. “Knitting happens to be quite fashionable these days.”
“Hey,” Marin said. “One of you tell Monica and Sydney about your blue-moon celebration when you were younger.”
I sat forward with interest. “What’s this all about?”
Sybile waved her hand in the air. “It’s just a bunch of hooey. Silly teenage girls. That’s all it was.”
“Aw, come on, Billie,” Monica said, nudging Sybile. “This sounds interesting. I want to hear it.”
“It wasn’t a bunch of hooey when we did it,” Dora said. “I still look back on that gathering with nostalgia. The men on the island had their rituals—you know, to do with their fishing and male stuff. So I think it was the year I was fourteen and Sybile was sixteen. We’d heard that in June that year there was going to be a blue moon.”
“T
here’s really no such thing, is there?” Monica asked.
“Oh, but indeed, there is,” Dora said. “It’s the second full moon in a calendar month. The first of the full moons must appear at or near the beginning of the month so that the second will fall within the same month. And the average span between two moons is twenty-nine and a half days.”
Monica nodded. “I have heard about this but never paid much attention to it. So how did you celebrate?”
“I think there were five or six of us girls and we’d decided to meet at the beach at City Park at dusk. We brought food and cold drinks and Polly was there. Remember she brought her flute and somebody else brought a guitar?” Dora looked over at her sister. “So we had music. We’d collected wildflowers and we sat on the beach and wove them into wreaths for our head. We danced. We sang. We were downright silly. We ran into the water with our clothes on and all of us spent the night right there on the beach. We’d brought blankets to sleep on. As I recall, not much sleeping got done that night. We watched the moon come up over the water and it turned into a celebration of the female spirit.”
“Oh,” Monica replied, clearly mesmerized by the story. “What a wonderful thing to do. Women should do that more often.”
I was surprised when Sybile nodded and said, “It was fun. You’re right, Dora. It was a magical night that I haven’t thought about in years.”
I detected wistfulness in my mother’s voice.
“Well, then,” Monica said. “We’ll just have to do it. When will we have a blue moon again?”
“Late July,” Dora said. “Two months from now.”
32
“I remember Polly telling me that story when I first moved here. The blue-moon celebration for the girls,” Alison said, kicking off her sandals and curling up in the chaise lounge next to me.
“The most remarkable part of the story was the nostalgia that seemed to come over Sybile.”
“I can understand that. It took her right back to a time in her life when she was content. Before the urge to leave this island had set in.” Alison sipped her iced tea thoughtfully. “So? Are you guys going to do this in July? Did Monica say she’d come to the island for it?”