by Terri DuLong
“Thanks,” I said, watching him walk away. “He seems like a nice guy. Is he from here originally?”
“Oh, yeah,” Saxton told me. “Doyle Summers was born and raised here. A really nice guy, and we’ve become very good friends since I moved here.”
Born and raised on Cedar Key, huh? I wondered if Doyle Summers might be able to assist in filling in some pieces to my puzzle. A local, in the same age group my mother was, and he might have known her during that summer of 1972.
7
On Thursday morning I was folding clothes that I’d removed from the dryer when I got a call from Jill.
“Hey, girlfriend,” I said. “How’s everything going up in Maine and how are my Bosco and Belle?”
“Everything’s great and they’re just fine. More to the point—any answers yet down there?”
Jill knew my story and the main reason why I’d relocated to Cedar Key. It was actually Jill who encouraged me to make the move. She was one of the few people I knew who had actually been raised in a family that resembled The Waltons television show. Her parents were loving, supportive, and forgiving, and she had maintained a good relationship with her two brothers and three sisters, something that I’d always envied. It was Jill who felt I needed to finally find out why my mother had left that summer, and it was Jill who listened to my stories and theories over so many years.
“No,” I told her. “Nothing yet, but I have to admit that I haven’t been trying that hard either.”
“And why not?”
I smiled. Jill had always been a no-nonsense type of person. Honest and to the point, she’d always been a follower of the creed, If not now, then when?
“Well, I’m slowly getting to meet the locals. And . . . I don’t know. Maybe this is a silly idea. Maybe nobody will remember my mother at all, and if they do, maybe they won’t tell me a thing.”
“Right,” she said. “And if you don’t start inquiring, you’ll never know anything. Don’t be like your mother, Berkley. She was a fearful person. The two most daring things she ever did in life were to leave home for college in California and then the trip she made to Cedar Key. Other than that, she never took chances.”
Jill was right. It still astounded me that my mother had actually done those two things, because the rest of her life seemed to be spent worrying or procrastinating. I recalled how I’d try to talk her into traveling with me somewhere for a vacation. My grandmother would encourage the trip, my mother would say she’d give it some thought, but in the end her answer was always no, with unfounded excuses.
“She also made that trip to Cape Cod for a few months before she got sick last year,” I said, knowing it was another attempt on my part to try and justify my mother’s actions.
“Sure, and when you found those postcards and discovered that Cedar Key was a coastal town, you wondered if her going to the Cape could have been for her to recapture that summer. Face it, Berkley, you felt rejected because she left you and the secrecy about all of it only made it worse. You’re there now, where she was, and now is the time for you to get your answers.”
Once again Jill was right, and I knew that. “Well, I’m going to a knitting group at the yarn shop this evening. There’ll be a few women there that have lived here all their lives, so maybe I’ll begin to ask some questions.”
“Very good idea. Listen, another reason I called is because I wanted to tell you that I’ll be shearing the alpacas next month. Any chance you’ll make a trip up here for that? I’d love to see you again.”
“Gee, I don’t think next month will be possible. I really need to be here for a few months during the busy season to get my shop established.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. How’s business going?”
“Pretty well for the first weekend, and next month is the Arts Festival, so that should be a great weekend for business. But I’m told that September and October are fairly quiet here on the island, so I’ll probably come up to Maine then.”
“Oh, good. So besides Chloe, have you made any other new friends?”
I immediately thought of Saxton Tate III, and I was pretty sure that having two glasses of wine with him a few nights ago constituted the fact that we were now friends.
“Well, there is this guy . . .”
I heard Jill laughing across the line. “Leave it to you, Miss I’m Not Interested in a Relationship, and yet you have men drawn to you like a magnet. I should be so lucky.”
I joined her laughter. “Yeah, right. And I never actually said I wasn’t interested in a relationship. It’s just that none of them have ever worked out for me.”
“Hmm, gee, and of course that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re so compulsive and won’t settle for anything less than Mr. Perfect.”
“First of all, I’m not compulsive. All of us have quirks, and maybe I have a fair share of those, but . . . hey, why should I settle anyway? I’m happy with my lifestyle. You never hear me complaining about that. And you know as well as I do that there was never a lasting connection with any of the guys that I’ve dated.”
“All true, and I’m just teasing you, so tell me about this new friend.”
“Well, his name is Saxton Tate the third and . . .”
Before I could go further, Jill’s laughter echoed across the line again. “You are kidding, right? That’s not really his name!”
I smiled as I recalled my identical reaction the day he had introduced himself. “It is, and it fits him. He’s British, fifty-eight years old, and he’s an author, not to mention he’s pretty good looking.”
“Wow,” was all Jill said.
“He’s very nice and easy to talk with. He came into the shop, bought some chocolates, and then invited me out for some wine Tuesday evening. We got to know each other better, and I do like him as a person—as a friend.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just . . . interesting. I’m pretty sure I know about every guy you’ve ever dated, and this is the first time you’ve ever used those two words to describe one. Nice and friend.”
I smiled as I digested what Jill had said. She was right. Saxton was nice, and I already considered him a friend.
“Okay, Ms. Pearson, I guess interesting might be correct, but you can retire cupid’s arrow because I seriously doubt this will ever go beyond friendship.”
“Famous last words, and I have to get going and get some work done. Call me next week with some updates—on everything.”
I heard the line disconnect and shook my head. Jill was my best friend, but it didn’t mean she knew me better than I knew myself. Did it?
After I finished the laundry, I cleaned up the kitchen and then began filling trays with chocolate clams to take downstairs to the shop. Placing each one precisely one eighth of an inch apart, I recalled what Jill had said about me being compulsive. I liked things orderly, yes. And I also liked everything done in a timely fashion, but compulsive? I didn’t think so.
At six-thirty that evening I walked into the kitchen to get my knitting bag from the chair and noticed that my plant was looking a bit droopy. This plant was special to me. It had belonged to my grandmother for as long as I could remember, and before she died she had entrusted it in my care. I had no idea what kind of plant it was, but it had sat in the kitchen of our chocolate shop. Medium size, it resembled a bonsai plant and was in a bright orange terracotta pot. Although we never told our customers, my grandmother always clipped off a bit of the leaves to add to the chocolate she was preparing. Not only did I not know what kind of plant that it was, I also had no idea why she added that ingredient to our chocolates. Whenever I’d question her, she’d smile and say, “Berkley, it’s magic. Pure magic.” As a child, I was always delighted with her answer, and as an adult, I had stopped asking the question but never failed to also add it to my chocolate recipe.
I filled a small pitcher with water and wet the soil before touching the leaves. Silly, I know, but that
plant always made me feel extra close to my grandmother.
I then got my knitting bag and headed to the yarn shop.
I arrived to find quite a few women already seated on the sofas and chairs. Dora saw me and grabbed my arm to pull me closer to the group.
Clapping her hands together, she said, “I want everyone to meet our newest member. This is Berkley Whitmore, who opened the chocolate shop down the street, and she’ll also be providing us with some wonderful alpaca yarn from Maine that you’ll be able to purchase.”
I recognized Flora, Corabeth, Liz, and Betty from our meeting earlier in the week, and the four other women seated across from them smiled and introduced themselves.
“Chloe called and is on her way,” Dora told me. “She had to go to Gainesville earlier and should be here shortly. Have a seat and join us.”
I settled myself in a cushy chair and glanced around at the various knitting projects the women were working on. Gorgeous cable sweaters, an entrelac baby blanket, and a few scarves with intricate lace patterns. I reached into my tote and brought out the tank top I was making for myself in an apricot-colored yarn of pima cotton. I thought it would add to my wardrobe for the coming summer.
“So are you settling in well?” Liz asked me.
“Yes, I am. I love my apartment, and business was good at the chocolate shop last weekend. I think I’m going to really like it here.”
“Here we are,” I heard Chloe say, and everyone looked up as she walked in with her aunt. “I got stuck in traffic in Gainesville and then swung by to pick up Aunt Maude.”
“Hi, everyone,” Maude said, pulling up a chair beside me. She patted my hand. “Oh, it’s good to see you here, Berkley. I’m glad you could join us.”
“Me too,” Chloe said, settling herself on the sofa. “I went to get my beauty treatment today and ended up spending three hours at the spa.” She held out her bright red manicured nails while lifting her legs in the air so we could inspect her matching toenails peeking out from gold sandals. “But it was worth it.”
“Very pretty,” I told her, and realized it had been at least twenty years since I’d gotten my nails done professionally.
Flora waved a hand in the air. “Well, at my age that would be a total waste of time.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Betty said, as her knitting needles clicked away. “I got a manicure and pedicure last year for my granddaughter’s wedding and I rather enjoyed it.”
“Speaking of weddings, does anyone know if Grace is coming tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” Chloe told us. “I spoke to her this morning and she said she was going to spend a quiet evening at home with Lucas.”
Liz let out a chuckle. “Yeah, if I had that Frenchman at home, I’d do exactly the same thing,” she said, bringing forth laughter from the other women.
“I’m sure she’s keeping him quite entertained with all those wedding shower gifts we gave her,” somebody said.
Chloe laughed and nodded. “We had a nice shower for my sister, and some of the gifts were a bit risqué,” she explained, “in addition to some lovely lingerie. Too bad you weren’t here for that. It was a lot of fun.”
“Yes,” Corabeth said. “We were terribly sorry to hear about the loss of your mother. Had she been sick for a while?”
“Actually, my mother had never been in the best of health, but it was only a few months before she died that doctors discovered she had hemochromatosis.”
“Goodness,” Dora said, looking up from her knitting. “I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
“It’s a form of iron overload disease, and it’s inherited,” I explained. “It causes the body to absorb and store too much iron. Healthy people usually absorb about ten percent of iron contained in the food eaten, but people with hemochromatosis absorb up to thirty percent and over time they absorb five to twenty times more iron than the body needs.”
“I read something about that,” Betty said. “So it’s a fatal disease?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be if it’s diagnosed before any organ damage is done. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with my mother. It can be very tricky to diagnose because the symptoms mimic many other diseases. For instance, my mother developed arthritis around age fifty, and she was treated for that the rest of her life. Doctors tend to focus on the conditions caused by hemochromatosis like arthritis, liver disease, heart abnormalities, thyroid deficiency, and those kinds of things.”
“Wow,” Chloe said. “What a shame. So there are really no definitive symptoms? How about blood tests? Couldn’t they diagnose it with that?”
I nodded. “Yes, a blood test would determine if the iron level is too high, but the disease is considered rare and doctors may not think to test for it.”
“And what if it was diagnosed early?” Corabeth questioned. “Is there a cure for it?”
“No, there’s no cure. However, there is a simple treatment. Phlebotomy. Just removing blood the same way it’s drawn from donors at blood banks. Based on the severity of the iron overload, a pint of blood is taken once or twice a week for several months to a year or longer. Once the levels return to normal, then maintenance therapy is started, which involves giving a pint of blood every two to four months for life.”
“My goodness,” Maude said. “I had never heard of this either. Do you know if you have it, Berkley? Have you been tested?”
I nodded. “My mother’s doctor highly recommended that I go through the genetic testing not only to see if I had it but also to determine if I was a carrier. Because sometimes if it’s only inherited from one parent, you don’t necessarily have hemochromatosis, but you can be a carrier and pass it on to your children. But I tested negative on both counts. Thank God.”
“And why isn’t everyone just routinely tested during an annual physical?” Liz questioned.
“Hmm, that would be great if that could be done, but I’m afraid that as with most things in health care, it has to do with money. Early detection and treatment would be very effective, and many researchers, educators, and advocacy groups have suggested widespread screening. But a simple, inexpensive, accurate test for screening doesn’t exist. The genetic test does provide a definitive diagnosis, so I was fortunate to have good health insurance that covered that.”
“Gosh, such a shame,” Dora said. “To think that if your mother had known she had this . . .”
“Exactly, and the thing is, when I think back, she had the classic symptoms of the arthritis and fatigue. She was fairly active, but she always complained of being tired. After so many years of complaining about it, everyone just thought she had low energy. What’s really disturbing, though, was the cause of death on her death certificate—cirrhosis of the liver.” I let out a deep sigh and shook my head. “My mother barely drank her entire life. Sure, she’d have a glass of wine or gin and tonic now and again, but a drinker? Not at all, and yet that was the cause of death, because hemochromatosis destroyed her liver.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about all of this,” Maude said. “But thank you for sharing it with us, Berkley. I think you’re doing a great service to your mother by sharing your knowledge and allowing people to be aware.”
I nodded. “There is an American Hemochromatosis Society, and strange enough, it’s located right here in Florida, in Lake Mary. But of course, I didn’t even learn about it until after my mother died.”
Dora stood up and patted my shoulder. “I think it’s time for some of the delicious monkey bread that Corabeth brought this evening. The coffee and tea should be ready to enjoy with that.”
“I’ll help you serve,” Chloe said.
No, I hadn’t shared about my mother being here in Cedar Key. And no, I wasn’t any closer to solving my puzzle. But I did feel a sense of completeness. I hadn’t realized that I’d had a need to share any of this part of my mother’s story—but I now knew differently.
8
I had just finished cleaning the shop when I looked up to se
e a young girl standing outside the door. Damn. Most likely a customer, and the floor that I’d mopped was still wet. It was only nine-thirty, a half hour before I was due to open. She was looking toward Second Street and not inside the shop, so maybe she wasn’t a customer.
I went into the back room to check on my stock for the weekend, but when I returned just before ten she was still there. I flipped the sign to Open, unlocked the door, and opened it, causing her to jump.
She swung around and faced me. Tall and painfully thin, she looked like she could use some chocolate for the calorie value alone.
I sent her a smile and said, “Sorry if I startled you. Were you waiting for me to open?”
“Yeah,” was all she said as she entered the shop.
I saw her glance at the gems on the table before she focused her attention on the display case filled with chocolate.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
She flipped a strand of her long honey-colored hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m not here to buy anything. I was, ah . . . wondering if maybe you needed somebody to help in your shop?”
“You mean like a job?” I questioned, and she nodded. “Oh, I’m afraid not. I just opened recently, and I’m not busy enough to hire any staff. Do you live on the island?”
She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, so I wondered why she wasn’t in school.
“We just moved here. We live out on Twenty-four. I could really use a job, though.”
“Wouldn’t it interfere with your school studies? I’m Berkley, by the way,” I said, extending my hand.
“Oh, I’m not in school anymore,” she said, returning the handshake. “My name is Paula. Do you know of anybody else in town that might be looking for help?”
I knew the economy was bad across the country, and I also had a feeling that this girl wasn’t out of school by choice. “What type of work are you looking for?”
“Anything,” she said without hesitating. “I can do cleaning or work a cash register. I tried the restaurants, but they didn’t have any waitress jobs.”