by Terri DuLong
“Yes, Brandy’s pretty excited,” I said. “I think she’ll be good for the office.” I felt a surge of sulkiness come over me and remained silent while my parents and Jane continued to talk about the weather, news on the island, and other mundane subjects.
“Joe,” I heard my mother say, “it’s time for the turkey to come out of the oven. It’s always best to let it sit for a while before you carve it. Orli, did you select the Christmas CDs to play after dinner?”
Orli jumped up and headed inside. “I’ll do it now.”
The uneasy feeling that I’d had since I arrived slowly began to dissipate. My mother’s instructions to my father on the turkey removal and to Orli were the same things I’d been hearing since I was a little girl—the selection of music used to be my job as a child. It was my mom’s tradition that after Thanksgiving dinner Christmas songs would be played for the first time that season. Everything seemed to be back in sync, making me think that perhaps I’d been overreacting about my mother.
By the time Mallory arrived with Troy and Carter, I was feeling more relaxed. Of course three glasses of wine might have also accounted for that.
“Hey,” she said, pulling me into a bear hug with one arm while trying to juggle a covered pie plate with the other. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Same to you, but how come you get to bring some dessert and I’m not allowed to?”
Mallory laughed as we headed to the dining room. “Your mother didn’t allow me—I just baked a pecan pie and here it is.”
“I stand up to her all the time. Never seems to do me much good. Hey, Carter, how’re you doing?” I ruffled the top of his head and gave him a hug before hugging Troy. “You look great, as usual,” I told him.
“Must be all of Mallory’s devoted attention,” he said with a smile.
After all the holiday greetings and hugs were exchanged, Mallory and I headed into the kitchen to begin preparing the coffeemaker, uncover pies, and place items on two trays. That was one chore that my mother had always allowed Mallory and me to do from the time we were around twelve.
“Hey,” I whispered to her. “After dessert, take a walk with me down near the water.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Just wanna discuss something with you.”
She nodded, and we each carried a tray into the dining room.
About an hour after dessert the cleanup began—a chore in which everybody took part. By the time the dishwasher was loaded, food covered and put away, my father and Troy were ready to chill out in front of the TV with one of the many football games being televised. My mother, Jane, and Orli headed to the patio with coffee.
I caught Mallory’s glance and nodded.
“Josie and I are going to walk down by the water,” she said.
My mother smiled. “Ah, Christmas secrets beginning already?”
“Something like that,” I said as we quickly exited the patio, walked around the side of the house, and headed to the far end of the yard.
The sun was just about ready to call it quits for another day. The sky was streaked with pinks and blues, and I knew that no matter how many sunsets I witnessed, I’d never tire of them. We both remained silent for a few minutes until we reached the bench near the fence and sat down.
“So what’s up?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Has your mother mentioned anything about my mother?”
“Like what?”
“Like my mother not feeling well?”
Mallory shifted on the bench to face me. “No. Not at all. Is something wrong?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Things just don’t seem right. She’s been having what she calls tummy twinges for a couple months now.” I went on to tell her about Delilah assisting Mom yesterday with the baking and preparation.
“Hmm, that is unusual. The day before a holiday that kitchen is normally off limits to everybody except your mother.”
“Exactly.” And then I told her the strange thing she’d said about my aunt.
“Yeah, she never mentions her. Actually, she’s gone out of her way over the years to avoid talking about her sister. Geez, Josie, I don’t know what to think.”
“Neither do I.”
We were both silent for a few moments, and then she patted my arm. “Well, don’t worry about it. It might be nothing at all, but I’ll see if I can get my mom to talk. She’s going to be here till Saturday. If there is anything going on, we both know that my mother already knows about it.”
I nodded and put my arm around her shoulder for a hug. “Thanks, Mallory. I knew I could depend on you.”
21
During the week following Thanksgiving I made a point of stopping by my parents’ house more often than usual. If my mother was suspicious, she didn’t say anything. Mallory had called me after the holiday weekend, and although she had questioned her mother, there was nothing to report. Jane had assured her daughter that Shelby was fine, just tired. And I had to admit that my mother did look a bit better than she had on Thanksgiving.
I awoke on Tuesday morning with a sense of anticipation. I was having dinner at Simon’s apartment that evening. I turned over and hugged the pillow to me while I let my mind wander. Thinking about Simon made me realize that in many ways he reminded me of Grant—good looks, an abundance of sex appeal, and easy to be with. Not for the first time I wondered if maybe I’d been wrong not to give Grant a chance years ago. Although he had never come right out and asked me to marry him, there had been an instance when Orli was about three years old and he was visiting us. He hadn’t said it in so many words but had definitely hinted that perhaps I’d changed my mind about our relationship. I was quick to brush him off because I was pretty sure he definitely had marriage on his mind. I tried to analyze what it was, exactly, about the thought of marriage that I was so against, and once again couldn’t come up with a solid reason. Ah, well, too late for hindsight now, I thought as I headed to the shower.
Later that evening I was putting the finishing touches to my makeup when Orli walked into my room and plunked down in the middle of my bed.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, reaching for my silver hoop earrings.
“I was just wondering . . . did you love Dad?”
I spun around to face her. “What brought this up?”
She pulled her legs up to her chest, grasping them with her arms. “I was just wondering.”
I went to sit beside her and patted her knee. “Yes. I did love him. Very much. I still love him, Orli. How could I not? He gave me the greatest gift ever. You.”
This brought a smile from her. “How did you know? How did you know that you loved him?”
My inner mom radar went off. This really wasn’t about Grant and me. It was about our daughter.
“It’s difficult to explain exactly how one knows, and of course everybody is different. Why? Somebody special in your life?”
I saw a faint crimson tinge her cheeks, and she nodded. “Yeah. Jared Stevens.”
I racked my brain, trying to remember which fellow he was in her class. “Oh, the one who works at the Market part-time?”
She nodded.
“Nice-looking guy. You have good taste,” I said, causing her smile to grow wider. “So what’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure he likes me. How’d you know that Dad was interested in you?”
“Geez, that was so long ago, Orli,” I said, forcing myself to think back to my freshman year of college. Those exciting, exhilarating, sometimes over-the-top days. “Well, he flirted with me, for one thing. I was at a local coffee shop with some of my friends, and he was sitting at a table across from us with a group of guys. I could feel him staring over at me, but I thought it was my imagination. He was drop-dead gorgeous.”
Orli laughed. “He still is.”
She had a point. “I remember it was pouring out—I mean raining cats and dogs—and when I gathered up my books to leave, between trying to balance my textbooks and open my u
mbrella, my books landed everywhere, and before I knew it—your dad was there, ready to help me. When I saw him up close and looked into his eyes . . . I don’t know . . . I just knew there was something extraspecial going on.”
“Oh, I remember the story now. Didn’t he get your phone number from your girlfriend and call you for a date?”
I nodded. “Yup. He did, and the rest is history.”
Orli laughed again. “Well, that’s just it. I think Jared is interested, and Laura’s boyfriend, Mark, is good friends with him and said that he is. But he hasn’t even called me yet.”
I pulled her into a hug. “Stop stressing. Give it some time,” I told my daughter. “Sometimes the wheels of romance turn very slowly.”
I walked up the back steps to Simon’s apartment while trying to balance a wrapped gift and a bottle of wine.
“Hey,” he said, opening the door wide and gesturing with his arm. “Come on in, and welcome to my new place.”
I stepped into the kitchen and smiled. “This is gorgeous,” I told him, and it was. Not in an overstated way, but the stainless steel appliances, granite counters, painted yellow walls and oak table and chairs would lure any chef. From the exquisite aroma filling the kitchen, it already had. “And something smells yummy.”
“My signature spaghetti sauce is simmering with meatballs and sausage. But I can’t lie; most of it is my mom’s recipe.”
“I think I’m in for a treat. Here,” I said, passing him the bottle of wine and gift. “Just a little something as a housewarming gift.”
“Thanks, Josie. That’s really nice of you.” He read the wine label. “Perfect. The Chianti will go great with the meal. Should I open this now?”
“Definitely,” I said as I watched him remove the paper and bow from the package.
“Oh, Josie, this is beautiful.” He held the framed and matted print out in front of him. “What a gorgeous shot of the Gulf with the pelicans. Was this taken near the Seabreeze?”
I nodded. “Yes. Taken by a local photographer. I found it at the Arts Center.”
“Thank you so much. I have the perfect spot for it.” He then brought the print closer and read, Always flow like the water, which was written at the bottom. “A good saying for everybody to keep in mind. Thank you again. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
The living room was cozy and comfortable, done in tones of green and blue.
“I love your sofa and armchairs,” I told him. Wide stripes of celery green and a deeper green covered the fabric. I glanced around and saw a large flat-screen television, CD player, and pine tables, all of which coordinated with the hunter green walls. “Very nice.”
“I have to give all the credit to Gloria. Bedrooms and baths are this way.”
I followed him down a short hallway. Both bedrooms and their attached bathrooms were also tastefully decorated, but it was easy to see which one would be Lily’s space. Lavender and pale pink dominated the room. A twin maple sleigh bed was filled with stuffed animals and a gorgeous rolltop oak desk took up half a wall, in addition to an armoire and a smaller flat-screen TV perched on a maple table.
“Your daughter is going to love this,” I said, and then felt a catch in my throat. But she wouldn’t be able to see any of it.
“I hope so. Let’s crack open that bottle of wine.”
I settled myself on the stool at the counter that acted as a divider between the kitchen and the living room and noticed that the table had been set with brightly colored yellow and blue placemats, nice dishes, and glassware. Simon Mancini seemed to have a bit of experience in being a dinner host.
He passed me a wineglass, and this time I made the toast first. “Here’s to your new home. I hope you’ll have years of happiness here.”
“Thanks, Josie. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour. Let’s go downstairs so I can show you the office.”
I followed him down the stairs, around the side of the house, and to the porch. He slipped a key into the lock, and we stepped inside to a waiting room that was both professional and comfortable. A chocolate brown leather sofa, love seat, and three matching armchairs lined the wall, which was painted a pale blue with a border print of small blue and yellow flowers. In an alcove to my right were a large oak desk, leather office chair, and two cherrywood file cabinets. Behind the desk was a printer and fax machine.
“Oh, Simon, this is a beautiful office. It looks wonderful.”
“You think it’s okay?” he asked.
“Okay? God, patients are going to love coming here, and Brandy will think she’s in heaven working at that desk.”
He laughed. “Good. I guess Gloria got it right again. And over here is your office,” he said, leading me down the long hallway.
“My office?” I’d had no idea that I’d actually have an office.
He opened the door to reveal a medium-size room with another oak desk, two armchairs in a buttery yellow leather and a file cabinet, all of it overlooking the bay window that looked out to Second Street.
“Sure. You have to have an office too. You can bring patients in here to talk with them, go over their meds, that sort of thing.”
I felt excitement bubble up. “God, I love it, Simon. I’ve never had an office before. I really love it.”
“Good. I’m glad.” I saw a huge smile cross his face. “Here’s my office down here.”
I followed him to the end of the hallway to a larger version of my office, and then he showed me the three exam rooms along the inner part of the hallway.
We walked back out to the reception area, and he said, “So. What do you think? Will you be happy working here?”
“Happy? That’s putting it mildly,” I said, then laughed. “Gosh, yes. This is so perfect. All of it. I’m going to love working here.” And I knew that I would.
We went back upstairs, and Simon refilled our wineglasses before draining the pasta that had been on a slow boil and sliding garlic bread into the oven.
“Can I do something?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope, I’m all set.”
I watched him scoop sauce, meatballs, and sausage over the spaghetti. This man looked quite at home in his kitchen. I recalled the discussion that I’d had at the yarn shop about stereotypes and smiled. Simon Mancini oozed masculinity—even cooking. No doubt about it.
“Oh, Josie, could you get the salad plates out of the fridge, please?”
I jumped up and found the glass plates covered with plastic wrap, which I removed before putting them on the table.
“I think we’re all set,” he said.
Following his delicious dinner, we both opted for wine rather than coffee, and Simon opened a bottle of cabernet before we settled on the sofa and resumed our conversation.
“So Lily is arriving here on Friday. I’ll go to Gainesville and pick her up,” he told me.
“That’s great. I have no doubt that she’ll love this place.”
“I hope so,” he said, and then got quiet for a few moments. “There’s something that I want you to know, Josie.” He paused again. “My daughter is blind.”
“Oh,” was all I said. I felt like a phony, having already known this fact. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “Oh, don’t be. Lily reminds me a bit of you. She’s extremely independent, despite her lack of sight. She has a guide dog, Leo, and they’re quite the team. There’s very little that Lily isn’t able to do.”
I took a sip of wine. “That’s wonderful. She sounds like quite a young woman. You must be so proud of her.”
He nodded, but I noticed sadness in his eyes. “Lily wasn’t born blind. She lost her sight at age eight.”
“Was it an illness?” I wasn’t sure which was better—to be born without sight or to lose it after knowing what it was like to see.
Simon shook his head. “No, it was an accident. A car accident. I was driving her to her ballet lesson, and we were hit by a reckless teen driver who thought it was more important to text than keep hi
s eyes on the road.”
“God, I’m so sorry,” I said, and instinctively reached over to touch his hand.
I felt him grasp mine and gave his hand a squeeze before he took a gulp of wine and nodded. “Yeah, it was a pretty rough time for a while for all of us.”
I wondered if, even though Simon wasn’t at fault, he felt a certain amount of guilt.
“But . . . we got through it,” he said, placing his empty wineglass on the coffee table. “And as I said, Lily does exceptionally well. After she recuperated from the accident and we realized her vision was permanently gone, we got her enrolled at the Florida School for the Deaf and Blind in St. Augustine. I credit them with making Lily as independent as she is.”
“That’s wonderful. And to think she’s such an accomplished knitter. She really does sound like one very special young woman.”
A smile covered Simon’s face. “She is, and I think you’ll enjoy meeting her.”
“I look forward to it,” I said, and glanced at my watch. I brought it closer to my face. Surely it was wrong. Eleven-fifteen?
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe it’s so late!” I exclaimed, and heard Simon laugh as he glanced at his own watch.
“We do have a way of getting carried away talking, don’t we?”
I took the last sip of my wine and nodded. “Yeah, I really have to get going.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he said, standing up.
“No, it’s just down . . .”
But he cut me off. “I know it’s just down the street and I’m walking you there.”
When we got to my front door, I smiled. “Thank you so much, Simon, for such a lovely evening. Gosh, I had a great time and the food was delicious.”
“I enjoyed it just as much,” he said, and then moved a bit closer, grazing my lips with his. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”