by Terri DuLong
My mind was racing, but I refrained from blurting out the million questions that I had. Saxton sat beside me on the sofa, patted my knee, and looked as surprised as I felt.
Doyle passed us a wineglass and then took the chair that directly faced the painting. Holding his glass up, he said, “Here’s to Jenna. Somebody that I’ll never forget.”
I glanced up at the painting and felt a multitude of emotions. But the strongest one was that I could not ever recall seeing my mother look like that. Happy. Her face exhibiting pure bliss. She had a certain sense of confidence that the artist caught perfectly, in the toss of her head, the uplifting of her chin, hair caught by the breeze, arms straight up in the air as if to say, “Life is good.”
“I met Jenna the day after she arrived here. I happened to be in the restaurant when she came in to fill out an application for a waitress job. A lot of people don’t believe in love at first sight. I can emphatically say . . . it is possible. Because it happened to me. I was at the counter, turned around, and there she was. I knew in a heartbeat that something shifted inside of me. That I’d never again be the person I was before I turned around and saw her. And I could almost feel that she felt the same way. We made mundane talk about the job, the hours, that sort of thing. But the entire time I felt like I was enveloped in a . . . cocoon. Like the entire rest of the world had simply drifted away. Conversation from guests at the tables was muffled, making me feel like we were the only two people left in the world.”
Doyle stopped to take a sip of his wine while I tried to comprehend what he was telling me.
“Jenna got the job, and we began seeing each other immediately. She had a sadness about her. I saw it in her eyes, and sometimes a quietness would come over her. She told me she was from Maine, that she had come here because she had been ill and needed to recover.”
I leaned forward on the sofa, gripping my wineglass. “Ill? My mother hadn’t been sick. What did she mean by that?”
“There are all kinds of different ways of being sick, Berkley.” He let out a deep sigh. “I know you’re not going to be happy about this, but I’m not at liberty to tell you the rest of the story.”
Anger began surging through me. “What! That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me? Obviously, you know why she came here and you won’t tell me?” I felt on the verge of tears built by years of frustration.
Doyle stood up, patted my hand, and walked to a small wooden chest on the desk. “It isn’t that I won’t tell you, Berkley. I can’t. It’s a promise I made many years ago.”
My anger now mixed with confusion as I saw Doyle remove a yellowed envelope from the chest before sitting back down.
“You’re determined to find your answers. And you will. But you have to be patient. I hope that you’ll trust me and trust your mother. She gave me this letter to give to you a few months before she died and . . .”
“Before she died?” It was getting more and more difficult to wrap my brain around everything he was telling me. “You were in Salem? You came to see her?”
He shook his head. “No, not Salem. I met her at the Cape. We had arranged that trip months before. It was the first time we had seen each other again after forty years. But during that time we had never lost touch.” He leaned over to pass me the envelope. “This is for you. Your mother wrote it. It was no mistake that you found those postcards, you know. She could have thrown them all out . . . and you wouldn’t be here right now. But she felt you did deserve answers—she just wasn’t able to give them to you.”
I fingered the envelope in my hand and looked down to see my mother’s familiar scrawl with my name on the front. “Can I open it now?” I asked in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.
Doyle nodded, and I carefully slit open the envelope. I removed two pages of stationery and held them so Saxton could read along with me.
My dear Berkley,
If you’re reading this, then I’m no longer here with you. And if you have these pages in your hand, then you did what I thought you would. You followed the trail and it has led you to Cedar Key—where I managed to keep all of my secrets hidden.
I know you were angry with me for leaving you behind the summer that you were five years old. I know you desperately wanted the answers as to why. I simply wasn’t brave enough to give them to you. I knew when you found the postcards that you would pursue it and finally find the answers.
You need to know that Doyle was the love of my life. He was my soul mate. That one person on earth that was meant for me. Unfortunately, due to circumstances, we were not able to be together. But that doesn’t mean we ever stopped loving each other. Therefore, I have entrusted him with my secret. When we saw each other again on Cape Cod, we had lengthy discussions about all of this. We are both at peace with what is. I hope eventually that you will be too.
Doyle knows my story. He knows why I came to Cedar Key. He knows why I returned to Salem. But he has promised that until you finish the rest of the journey, he will not tell you what happened.
So, my daughter, I want you to be the one to actually find out what happened. Not with somebody telling you, but with you seeing it for yourself. You will need to return to Maine, because that’s where the answers are. Go to the Curtis Memorial Library in Brunswick. Ask to see the microfilm of the newspapers from May and June of 1972. And you will find your answers. Please don’t ask Doyle for the information. He has promised to abide by my wishes. And when you return to Cedar Key, as I know you will, then sit with Doyle and get the rest of the story that he and I shared.
When you find the answers, I can only hope that you will forgive me. That you’ll forgive my fear, my cowardice and my choices. Because above all, you need to know that I love you so very much, from the bottom of my heart. Doyle may have been the love of my life, but you, Berkley, were what sustained my life.
All my love always, Mom
I realized that by the time I finished reading the letter, tears were streaming down my face. Doyle jumped up and put a box of tissues in my lap. I swiped at the tears, trying to absorb what I had just read.
I let out a deep breath. “So you have the answers and won’t . . . can’t . . . tell me? I have to make a trip to Brunswick to find out?”
Doyle nodded but said nothing. I looked at Saxton.
“When do you want to leave?” he asked, and I felt my heart turn over. I wasn’t going to have to complete this journey alone. Saxton was going to be there for me. Every step of the way.
Later that evening after Saxton had left, I sat curled up on the sofa sipping herbal tea. I looked over at the urn that held the remains of my mother. I knew for certain that I had not known this woman at all. I knew Jeanette Whitmore, mother, daughter, sister, chocolate shop owner. But Jenna Walsh, the woman? I didn’t have a clue who she was. But I was going to find out.
Saxton and I had discussed it and decided that with Christmas only a few weeks away and then Mr. Carl’s wedding, we would fly to Maine on New Year’s Day. He would make the arrangements for our flight and book a place in Brunswick for a few nights. The answers were all beginning to come—and I was very grateful that I had Saxton in my life, by my side, to share them with me.
33
I thought I would go crazy with the impatience of waiting to get on that flight from Tampa to Maine. But all of the holiday activities managed to keep me busy. Christmas in Cedar Key brought an extra amount of tourists to the island, and all of them seemed to find their way to my chocolate shop. Handmade chocolates make a special Christmas gift. I had to put in increased orders with Angell and Phelps to make sure I had plenty on hand. And I was busy in my own kitchen making up double batches of my signature chocolate clams.
Saxton and I attended the Christmas party that the Historical Society sponsored, along with other parties that various merchants held. But the big party I was looking forward to was the one that Dora was having at her home a few evenings before Christmas.
I normally had lunch with Saxton most days, bu
t today was his day to be at the school for the reading program with Lola. So I decided rather than go upstairs to my apartment, I’d hop across the street to the coffee café and just get a baked good for lunch.
I was happy to walk in and see Grace sitting with Chloe. She jumped up to give me a huge hug.
“I was beginning to think you really hadn’t come back from Paris at all,” I told her. “Are you feeling better now?”
Grace laughed. “I know. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make the knitting group, but I’ll be there tonight. I promise.”
“And you’re finally going to share some news? Tell us all about your trip and everything?”
“Absolutely.”
“And of course you can’t give me a hint now, right?”
Chloe laughed. “Hey, you’ve waited years for information about your mother. You can wait till tonight to hear from Grace.”
“That’s right,” Grace said. “Chloe filled me in about Doyle and your mother. And now you have to go to Brunswick?”
“Thanks, Suellen,” I said as she placed my usual coffee in front of me. “And can I get a blueberry muffin too? Yup, we have a flight to Boston on New Year’s Day. Then we’ll rent a car and drive to Jill’s place in North Yarmouth for a night before heading up the coast to Brunswick.”
Grace shook her head. “Amazing story so far. You never knew anything about Doyle?”
“Nothing. But then, I knew very little about any of that summer.”
“Tell her about the painting,” Chloe said.
“Doyle did a gorgeous painting of my mother. On his boat. Actually, he’d taken a snapshot, and then when she left the island he had the picture to refer to. I was blown away by it. Not only the talent, but how he captured a mother I never knew. She looked so carefree and happy in the painting. Something I didn’t see much of when I was growing up.”
“Such a shame,” Grace said. “It’s so sad that they never got together again permanently. I wonder why not. They were obviously very much in love.”
“Well, I’m hoping to find that answer too after I go to Maine. My mother said in her letter to get with Doyle after I return and he’ll give me the details.”
“At least they did see each other once more before she died. Call me sentimental, but that makes me feel good.”
I nodded. “Actually, it makes me feel good too.”
I arrived early at the yarn shop and walked in to find only Dora there.
“Hey,” she said, coming to give me a hug. “Glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? Tonight’s the night Grace has some news for us.”
“That’s right. She’s been under the weather since she got back. I think she caught that bug going around the island. I just hope she’s not going to tell us that she and Lucas are moving to France permanently.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee from the newly brewed pot. “Oh, no. I didn’t even think of that. Gosh, I hope not. I like Grace a lot. I’d hate to see her leave.”
“And I’ve heard all about your news on your mother, Berkley. I’m so happy for you. That you’re beginning to find some answers.”
“Yeah, it’s taken a long time, but things are finally getting pieced together. I just hope whatever I find in Maine won’t be too devastating. My mother said she hoped I’d be able to forgive her, so it might be something I’d rather not know after all.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I saw a faraway look in Dora’s eyes. “I’ve always felt it’s better to know. No matter how difficult, I think we’re better off knowing. It’s the worst thing in the world to always wonder. To never have answers as to why something happened.”
I didn’t miss the wistful tone to her voice, but before I could question her, four of the knitting ladies walked in. Grace arrived a little while later. All knitting projects got put in our laps as we all leaned forward and said, “Well?”
Flora piped up with, “Yeah, I heard you have some news for us, and inquiring minds want to know.”
Grace laughed and set aside the cabled beige afghan she was working on to stand up. Clapping her hands together, she said, “Well, actually it’s Lucas and I both that have this news to share with you.”
“Oh, no!” I blurted out. “You’re not moving to France, are you?”
She waved her hand in the air. “No. Definitely not, because . . . Lucas and I are having a baby.”
Stunned silence filled the room for a few seconds, and then everybody began talking at once.
“Oh, my God. You’re pregnant?”
“And you thought at thirty-seven your chances were gone.”
“Well, that’s a sexy Frenchman for ya.”
“When are you due? How do you feel?”
Grace held both hands in the air as she joined our laughter.
“I know. Isn’t it amazing? I really did think that at thirty-seven my chances were pretty slim. I’m due in April and . . .”
“April?” Dora said. “You don’t even look pregnant!”
“Oh, but I do,” she said, lifting the loose-fitting sweater she was wearing to reveal a medium size bump in her tummy. “I’ve just been trying to hide it till I could tell all of you. The only ones who have known were Chloe and Aunt Maude.”
“And lemme tell ya, it’s been damn hard not slipping and saying something,” Chloe said.
Maude laughed. “I have to agree.”
“Congratulations,” I told her. “And you’re feeling okay?”
“I had some morning sickness while we were still in France, and I was feeling better till I caught something right after Thanksgiving. But much better now and . . . it’s a girl! We’re having a daughter.”
This news brought whoops and more laughter.
“Well, I’ll be,” Flora said. “That just proves, never say never. I’m so happy for both of you.”
“So the island will have two new residents come spring,” Ava said. “My baby boy is due in March and you’re April.”
“And they can both come to my day care center when they’re a bit older,” Leigh said.
Monica jumped up to give Grace a hug. “I’m just thrilled for you, but don’t go trying to up me by having quadruplets.”
Grace laughed. “No chance of that. I’m only carrying one baby girl.”
“Any names picked out yet?” I asked as I resumed knitting on my lace socks.
“We’ve chosen Solange . . . Solange Genevieve, after Lucas’s daughter.”
“What a beautiful name,” Dora said. “Solange Trudeau. Very nice, and I like that you chose Genevieve in memory of her sister. Lucas must be over the moon about all of this.”
“Oh, he is. He’s waiting on me hand and foot. I’m sure he’s thrilled I’m finally telling you tonight, because he’s been chomping at the bit to tell his own friends he’s going to be a father.”
“Enjoy the pampering,” Monica said. “Once the baby gets here, that’ll slow down a bit. Although I do have to say, Adam is really incredible with the triplets. He knows they’re a lot of work and is always trying to pitch in.”
I looked around the room and felt the joy and happiness all of us were sharing. Which made me wonder why my mother had never returned to Doyle. Had she done so, I could have finished my growing up years right here on Cedar Key. But she had chosen otherwise. And I was getting more and more anxious to find out the reason.
After more baby talk, the conversation switched to Dora’s upcoming party and who would bring which covered dish, dessert, or snacks. After that was figured out, Maude said, “Raylene, how are the wedding plans coming?”
We had held a mini-shower for her a few nights before, and she had been like a blushing bride when she opened some of the frilly and sexy nightwear, but it was all in good fun and we knew that Raylene had appreciated it.
“Very well,” she said. “And . . . I asked Corabeth to stand up for me, and she agreed.”
All heads swiveled toward Corabeth. The woman who wrote erotica? The author whose books Raylen
e at one time wanted banned?
“Yup,” Corabeth said, obvious pride in her voice. “I’m to be a bridesmaid. Can you imagine? And Mr. Carl insists it’s all due to Berkley’s chocolates.”
Everyone laughed, but for once, I wondered . . . was there any truth that my chocolates did in fact bring about good changes in people? I’d probably never know for sure, but it gave me a good feeling that I might possibly have given something back to this island I was growing to love more and more.
34
During the holidays, with all the events going on, it gave one a chance to dress a little more formally than usual. I had decided to wear my long black velvet dress with black strappy heels. Just as I had sprayed Chanel No 5 on my neck, I heard Saxton at the door.
“Oh, my,” he said, pulling me into an embrace. “Berkley, you look stunning.”
I took in his tan sport jacket, white shirt, and chocolate slacks and said, “You look pretty good yourself.” And he did. I loved to see a man with a shirt and sport jacket, and Saxton carried it off exceptionally well. I realized that this was the first time either of us had been out together so formally dressed.
“If you’ll take the cake plate, I’ll get the spinach pie,” I told him. Pistachio cake with green frosting and my grandmother’s spinach pie recipe was my contribution for Dora’s party.
We arrived at Dora’s house to find Christmas lights blazing outside and in. My first Christmas in Cedar Key, and I loved how the light displays in Florida rivaled any in the northeast. Dora’s bushes, pine trees, and walkway sparkled with multicolored lights.
We entered her spacious living room to find a crowd had already gathered. In the corner was a tree touching the ceiling, complete with white lights, red bows, and assorted ornaments.
“Welcome, welcome,” Dora greeted us. “Come on in.”
“Your outside lights and tree look beautiful,” I told her.
“Thank you. All due to my grandsons’ efforts. I don’t know what I’d do without them this time of year. They always come to help me decorate. You can put that in the kitchen, straight through the house to the back, and then I’ll introduce you to my daughter and grandsons.”