by Terri DuLong
“Getting us stuck like that and then jumping in the water. You could have been injured,” was what he said, but I had a gut feeling it was more his safety that he was concerned about, rather than mine.
“I’m fine,” was all I managed to say. I remained cool toward him the rest of the afternoon and during the drive back to Gainesville that evening.
After we got home, I now recalled Bella saying, “Are you sure he’s for you, Marin? I’m afraid a fellow like that could suck the spirit right out of you.”
I blew out a breath before draining the last of my coffee and standing up. Had my spirit disappeared over the years with Andrew? I wasn’t sure. I got in the golf cart to head down Second Street to the coffee café and wondered if Andrew had not only diminished my spirit but also betrayed me in a way that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to forgive.
Monday mornings at the coffee café were always busy—tourists leaving the island after their weekend wanting to get that cup of coffee for the drive home and locals gathered to catch up on news. But when I walked inside, the chatter from the locals sitting in small groups at the tables was louder than usual.
I spied Chloe and Grace and joined them. Solange sat in her stroller gumming a teething biscuit and looking around at everybody talking at once. I bent down to kiss her forehead.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said and was rewarded with a huge smile before I sat down.
“What’s going on? Did somebody win the lottery?”
Chloe laughed. “Not quite. Seems Mr. Carl was in the Welcome Center yesterday and overheard something. According to him, the phone rang and the volunteer answered. Of course he eavesdropped, and bear in mind that his hearing isn’t the best. But he insists that he heard a conversation about a film company wanting to come to Cedar Key to make a movie.”
This was big news. “Are you serious?”
“That’s just it,” Grace said. “Who knows? The volunteer was Martha and she’s not talking. Said it was a private conversation and Mr. Carl shouldn’t have been listening, never mind spreading gossip.”
I shook my head and laughed. “Yeah, but we all know that gossip is what this island thrives on. Any small town does. Imagine if it’s true, though, the income it could generate for the merchants.”
Chloe smiled. “Hmm, I wonder how many of the crew or cast are knitters? This could put Yarning Together on the map.”
“I think I’d hold off ordering extra yarn for a while,” Grace said.
“Ah, well, it’s fun to dream, isn’t it?”
Suellen came over to the table laughing and shaking her head. “Can you believe this? Mr. Carl has really started something. Your usual, Marin?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said and heard somebody standing in back of me say, “Well, they just might be looking for extras, and I was chosen as Clara in The Nutcracker in fifth grade.”
I turned around to see the one speaking was Mr. Carl’s wife, Raylene, and couldn’t control my laughter.
“Oh, my God! Is she for real?”
Suellen nodded. “ ’Fraid so,” she said before heading to get my coffee.
“Well, you do have to admit Cedar Key would be a beautiful place to film a movie. With the water and nature everywhere. We’re a funky little fishing village, but I think we have a lot to offer.”
Chloe took a sip of her coffee. “If it’s true, I’m wondering what type of movie it would be. Small Southern town? Maybe based on a novel?”
“Only time will tell,” I said as Suellen returned with my coffee.
Chloe leaned toward me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I haven’t seen you since you picked that letter up on Friday. Is everything okay?”
I stared into my coffee mug, shook my head, and took a sip. “Not really.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Anything you want to talk about?”
Why not? I thought. If it was true that Andrew had a daughter, and I was pretty sure that it was, the word would make its way around the island eventually.
I proceeded to explain the call from Mail Boxes to Grace and then brought them both up to speed on what the letter contained.
“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, Marin.” I felt Grace squeeze my hand.
“Do you think this could really be Andrew’s daughter?” Chloe questioned.
“Well, I don’t have any proof yet, but why else would he have money in an account for this Fiona Caldwell?”
“And you say her mother died in a car crash this past April?”
I nodded and took another sip of coffee.
Chloe blew out a whoosh of air from between her lips. “Wow. It was bad enough when Parker left me to marry his trophy wife a couple years ago and their baby arrived just after they exchanged their I dos . . . but I did know Wifey Number Two was pregnant. I can only imagine what a shock this has been for you. How old is the child, do you know?”
“Nope, I don’t know a thing. And I won’t for two more days. The attorney who sent the letter won’t be in the office until Wednesday.”
Chloe got up and scooped me into a tight embrace. “Well, no matter what you find out and no matter what happens, I want you to know that we’re all here for you, Marin. Right, Gracie?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, right before I felt moisture stinging my eyes once again.
8
I woke Wednesday morning after another sleepless night. The digital clock on the bedside table read five-fifteen. I wasn’t due into the yarn shop until two in the afternoon. It was going to be a very long day. I decided to get up, get dressed, and grab some coffee, and instead of taking the golf cart, I’d walk downtown with Oliver. Good exercise for both of us. After leaving a note for my mother to let her know that I had the dog, we stepped outside just as dawn was breaking.
We walked along Gulf Boulevard and turned onto Whiddon. Only one vehicle passed us, a truck pulling a boat, most likely headed to Anchor Cove to launch the craft for a day of fishing. Not pleasure fishing but working for their livelihood, like my daddy had done for so many years.
Walking along G Street, I glanced out at the tide coming in and once again thought of Andrew and my father. My dad had never held that initial snobbery against my future husband. He was always friendly toward Andrew, but I often wondered what he really thought of my choice, whereas I had always felt, although she never said a word, that my mother wasn’t all that pleased with Andrew for her son-in-law. What was it that she might have seen and I hadn’t? Or more honestly, what was it that maybe I had preferred not to see?
As I approached the City Park, there was a figure farther down the beach with a dog on a leash, and when I got closer I realized it was Worth. He turned around, saw me, and waved.
“Good morning,” he said, walking toward me.
I smiled and returned his greeting. “And who is this?” I asked, putting my hand out for the Labradoodle to sniff.
“Ah, my best girl. Meet Suzette.”
“She’s beautiful, and this is my mom’s dog, Oliver. I’m not sure if you met him yet in the yarn shop.”
Worth also extended his hand for Oliver to sniff and shook his head. “No, I’ve never had the pleasure. What a handsome fellow.”
“Do you let Suzette loose? I was going to let Oliver run a bit.”
Both dogs were already doing the requisite sniffing of each other.
“Yes, I like to give her a bit of exercise before I leave her to go in to work,” he said as he unclipped her leash.
I did the same and we watched the two dogs run off together through the park. Worth and I took a seat on one of the benches to watch them.
“How’ve you been?” he asked. “I was a little concerned about you over the weekend, and your shop has been closed for two days.”
I nodded. “Right. We’re closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I’m doing okay. I think. I’ll know better later this morning after I speak with that attorney.”
“This is a rough thing for you to go through. I hope whatever he tells you won’t be too disturbing.”
/> “The thing is, I have a million questions. I just hope he’ll be able to answer them.”
“I have some good news for you. That bay window will be installed this afternoon. Will you be in the shop today?”
I nodded. “That is good news. Yeah, I’ll be there around two.”
“Good. I think that will make a big difference. After I get the window installed, I’ll begin working on the ceiling and walls.”
“That’ll be great. That windowsill will allow me to display some finished pieces, which might entice people passing by.”
“I don’t know much about this type of thing, but is your needlepoint similar to tapestries? I’ve seen a lot of those in France.”
“They’re actually pretty similar. It’s the technique and methods that might differ. Needlepoint is done on open-weave canvas using wool, silk, or cotton threads. Many designs use only a simple tent stitch, which relies on color changes to construct the pattern.”
“So you do needlepoint in addition to knitting?”
I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, most women have a variety of handwork that they enjoy doing and usually a favorite. I go back and forth on both knitting and needlepoint, depending on my mood.”
We both turned around as barking caught our attention. Suzette was bowing low, and as Oliver ran toward her, she spun in circles, forcing him to chase her.
“They seem to be having a great time,” I said.
A smile crossed Worth’s face. “Yeah, I’m afraid she’s flirting with him.”
My smile matched his. “Nothing wrong with that.” I glanced at my watch and saw it was going on seven. “Oh, gee, I have to get going. Come on, Oliver,” I hollered.
“I wish you luck with that phone call, and, well . . . I was wondering if maybe you’d like to have dinner with me this evening.”
I clipped Oliver’s leash to his collar. “That’s really nice of you. I think I would. Thanks.”
The smile on his face broadened. “Great. How about I pick you up at seven? And is the Island Room okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you later today at the shop.”
As I headed home I had the comforting thought that no matter how the phone conversation went with the attorney, I had a nice dinner to look forward to. With quite a handsome man.
I waited until my mother had left for the yarn shop and then placed the call to James Coburn in Boston, Massachusetts.
I explained to the secretary who I was and requested to speak with the attorney. My hand grew clammy as I gripped the phone tighter and listened to a piece of classical music on the line.
A few moments later, I heard, “James Coburn. How may I help you?”
Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m Marin Kane. Wife of Andrew Kane, one of your clients.”
“Mrs. Kane,” he said, and I heard the surprise in his voice. “I’ve been attempting to reach your husband since April.”
“Yes, well . . . My husband passed away in March, and I’m calling to find out about the letter you sent him in reference to Bianca and Fiona Caldwell.”
“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry for your loss. My deepest condolences. I had no idea. Was it sudden?”
“Thank you,” I replied, detecting sincere sympathy in his tone. “Yes, it was. A heart attack.”
“Again, I’m so sorry. Well, this does complicate the situation a bit.”
“Perhaps you could start at the beginning and explain to me who these women are. Why was there a bank account for this Fiona Caldwell?”
A deep sigh came across the line. “I take this to mean that Andrew never did explain the situation to you?”
“Never. The first I heard of it was when I was contacted about a piece of correspondence at his Mail Boxes account that I also knew nothing about. Andrew had given them my cell number as an emergency contact. That was how I came to receive your letter sent to him in May.”
“I see.” Another sigh. “This is a bit awkward, and I hate to have to be the one to tell you. I really thought that over time Mr. Kane would explain the situation himself.”
“Which he did not,” I said as my anger began to build.
“Right. Well . . . Fiona Caldwell is the daughter of Mr. Kane and Bianca Caldwell.”
There. The words had been spoken. What I was pretty sure I knew had just been confirmed. There was no turning back now. And yet, I could feel hurt and betrayal spreading through me. Hearing it said out loud made it all heartbreakingly real.
“Mrs. Kane? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m here.”
“Not that hearing something like this in person would make any of it easier, but I hate having to do this by telephone.”
He was right. Finding out something like this would not have been one bit easier in person, but without seeing his face, I focused more strongly on his voice. And I couldn’t deny the compassion I heard.
I swiped away the tears that had started to fall. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s certainly not your fault. I need some answers, though. I need to know about this . . . girl. This Fiona Caldwell. How old is she? Does she live in Boston? Does she know Andrew is her father? Was he still in touch with her mother?” I felt the questions tumbling out of me as my tears subsided and the natural desire for answers took over.
“I don’t know the entire story,” he said. “Andrew and I were classmates in college, but we had lost touch until he contacted me about this situation, so I’ll tell you what I know. Fiona is not a child. She turned nineteen this past April, born . . .”
I heard him rustling through papers.
“Ah, I have the file here. Born April 22, 1994.”
My mind did a quick calculation. April of 1994. That would mean she was conceived in July of 1993. Andrew and I were married. Jason would have been five years old and John three. I couldn’t think beyond that.
“What else?” I questioned. “How did Andrew know the mother? Where did she live?”
“From what I recall Andrew telling me, Bianca Caldwell was a colleague of his. They had both been teaching a course at the same college. She did live in Amherst, Massachusetts, when he first came to me. About five years later she relocated north of Boston to Marblehead.”
Amherst. The summer of 1993. A teaching position that Andrew had been offered. Could it be possible? While I stayed behind in Gainesville to care for our two sons, he was having an affair with another woman?
“And did Andrew continue seeing her? Did he visit . . . his daughter?”
“I can’t answer that for sure, but I think not. That was why he came to me. He wanted to set up an account to provide for the child until age eighteen. So I can assume he had no further contact with either the mother or the daughter. All of the financial arrangements were done through my office and the Boston Bank and Trust Company.”
“But I don’t understand,” I said. “If he was providing money for that girl’s support, why is there still fifty thousand dollars in the account?”
I heard the attorney clear his throat. “Well, over the eighteen years Bianca Caldwell only withdrew a portion of what the balance was, and I have no idea why she never took the full amount, which continued to grow monthly, and it accumulated interest as well. But as my letter stated, sadly, Bianca Caldwell was killed in a car crash in April. That was one of the stipulations that Mr. Kane had put in place. If anything were to happen to Bianca Caldwell, he was to be notified, we would send him the required documents to be signed, and the balance of the account would be put in Fiona Caldwell’s name.”
“It seems my dearly departed husband thought of everything,” I said and heard my sarcasm. “Except factoring in his own death. So now what?”
“This is where it becomes a little complicated. Because you are his legal spouse and next of kin, it now becomes necessary for us to obtain your signature on the documents.”
I couldn’t suppress the chuckle that bubbled forth. “So you mean to tell me that my sign
ature is what stands between my husband’s love child, this Fiona Caldwell, receiving the handsome sum of fifty thousand dollars and getting nothing?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “That’s precisely what I’m telling you.”
I shook my head. How ironic, I thought. Andrew was the one who cheated, but I now hold the final card.
“I don’t even know this girl. I know nothing about her. Why would I pass over fifty thousand dollars to a total stranger?”
“You’re very right,” James Coburn agreed. “You’re certainly justified in your thinking. However, I do want you to know something else. I have an updated contact number for Fiona Caldwell that was given to me by the bank. They are handling her mother’s estate and had been in touch with Fiona. The bank manager told her about the account set up by her father, and she contacted me. We spoke for quite a while, and like you, she had many questions that I wasn’t able to answer.”
When I remained silent, he went on.
“This has all been quite shocking for you, and I certainly understand the anger and betrayal you must be feeling. I don’t know you at all, but just from speaking with you on the phone, I have no doubt that you’re a good person. I would just like you to bear in mind . . . no matter what happened, no matter the terrible wrong that your husband and Bianca Caldwell committed, Fiona Caldwell is the innocent victim of two adults behaving badly. She had asked me for your name and phone number, but I didn’t feel at liberty to share that with her. She then asked if I would give you her number and requested that you call her.”
After a few moments, I said, “Give me her number.”
9
After hanging up the phone with James Coburn, I walked out to the patio, plunked onto a lounge, and stared out at the water. What the hell had my life come to?
So I now had confirmation that not only had Andrew been unfaithful but that union had resulted in the birth of a daughter. A daughter he had chosen to tell me nothing about. It was then that the irony hit me. After the birth of our two sons, I would have liked to try once more for a girl. I recalled how Andrew had not welcomed this idea. He felt two children were enough. We should be thankful that we had two healthy sons, he had said. Although I truly would have welcomed a daughter, I didn’t push the subject.