Spinning Forward. Terri DuLong

in my right temple. All of the stress of the past few months seemed to hit me full force. I’m financially insecure, I have a mediocre relationship with my daughter, and I have a solitary future ahead of me.

      I glanced up to see Eudora Foster crossing the garden toward me.

      “I really hate to bother you,” she said, clutching a canvas tote bag. “But Ali told me you were an expert knitter. I have a bit of a problem with this sweater I’m working on. I wonder if you could help me?”

      “Sure, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair beside me. “Let’s see what you have there.”

      Dora removed a professional piece of work from her bag. “It’s these instructions here,” she said, pointing to a paragraph in her knitting book.

      I had a strong suspicion the knitting wasn’t what brought her to speak to me. But I looked it over and explained the stitches to her, and then waited to see what else she had to say.

      “So you’re enjoying it here on the island? How’s your job at Cook’s going?”

      “I like it here a lot. It’s certainly different from living in a much larger town. And yes, I really enjoy working at Cook’s and meeting all the locals. But I won’t lie, being a waitress was much easier on the body when I was in college. Doing physical work at my age, when you’re not used to it, can be exhausting.”

      “Oh, you’re still very young,” Dora said. “I bet you’re about the same age as my Marin. When were you born?”

      “March of 1955.”

      Dora nodded. “Yes, I was right. Marin was born in 1957, so there’s just two years’ difference.”

      She seemed to think about this for a few minutes and then asked, “You were born in Boston, right?”

      “Actually, no. I was born in New York City.” I had a feeling this was pertinent information for Dora. “I was adopted as an infant,” I added.

      She was inordinately interested in my birth. “Why are you so interested in when and where I was born?”

      Dora shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “How rude of me. I’m sorry to be so inquisitive. I hope you’ll forgive me,” she said, standing up. “Thank you so much for helping me with the knitting. I really appreciate it. And Ali tells me you might be opening a shop downtown. I can assure you, I’ll be your first and best customer.”

      I smiled. “Thank you,” I said, as she walked away.

      Is she just another quirky resident on this island? I wondered. Or was there much more to that conversation?

      7

      “That does seem a bit odd that Dora asked so many questions,” Ali said a few nights later. “I’ve never known her to be a nosy person.”

      “So, what do you make of it?” I asked, and took a bite of my juicy apple.

      “I’m not sure.”

      “Maybe it’s an island thing. People just naturally ask a lot of personal questions?”

      Ali laughed. “Could be. I know when gossip spreads around here, they refer to it as the coconut pipeline.”

      Living in a small town was definitely different from one with more than thirty thousand people. I realized that I’d been here less than a month and already many people knew who I was. I did enjoy the feeling of welcome it gave me though, to be walking down the street and have somebody wave to me. Reminded me of the TV series, Cheers, where everybody knew your name.

      “Heard anything from the adoption Web site?” Ali asked.

      “Not a thing. I checked again this morning. It’s highly doubtful I’ll ever find out any information.”

      “Don’t be so sure of that. Give it time.”

      I took another bite of my apple. “So is Paul arriving tomorrow? I’ll finally get to meet him?”

      Ali smiled. “Yes. He should get here around six tomorrow evening.”

      “How long will he be staying?”

      “He’s never sure, but I penciled him in for a month.”

      “Penciled him in? He stays in the main house?”

      “Yeah, we both still kinda like our space. But trust me, he wakes up in my bed most mornings. By the way, the couple in the Tree House—they’re checking out earlier than they planned. The day after Christmas, rather than January. So you can move in there when they leave.”

      “Oh, no, Ali. Really. You could rent that again and right now, I couldn’t afford to pay you very much.”

      “Don’t be silly. I want you there. It’ll be so much nicer for you and Lilly. So that’s the end of it—be prepared to move within a few weeks.”

      Damn this menopause. Emotion gripped me again as I felt tears forming in my eyes. “Ali, I don’t know how to thank you. You’re truly the best friend a woman could have.”

      “Nonsense,” she said, reaching over to pat my hand. “I’m just being selfish. I love having you here with me.”

      A few days later, I walked outside at Cook’s to collect dirty dishes and was surprised to see Sybile Bowden taking a seat. It looked like I was finally going to meet the mysterious woman. Walking to her table, I smiled. “Can I help you?” I asked in a friendly tone.

      Without removing her sunglasses, she glanced up at me. “Well, I imagine you can, since you’re the waitress here.”

      When she neglected to say any more, I asked, “What would you like?”

      “Two eggs, boiled for three and a half minutes. One slice of toast. Dark, but not charred. Do not bring me any butter, because I won’t use it. If the coffee has been brewed within the past thirty minutes, I’ll have a cup. Otherwise, forget it.”

      I couldn’t help but feel she rattled off her order like she was a customer at the Ritz-Carlton. When I neglected to move, she glared up at me, sunglasses still on.

      “Well?” she demanded. “Get to it.”

      What a nasty woman. It was impossible to believe that she was Eudora’s sister.

      I walked inside the restaurant shaking my head. Sandy, the cook, saw the look on my face and bent down to peer out the window.

      “Oh, we should be honored. Miss Sybile has decided to grace us with her presence.”

      When I attempted to pass her the order slip, Sandy shook her hand in the air.

      “I know exactly what she wants. She never deviates.”

      “Not very friendly, is she?”

      “Nope. That woman has an attitude with a capital A.”

      “Wonder why she’s so miserable?”

      “Have no idea,” Sandy said, preparing to boil the eggs. “Never known her to be any different. My mom tells me Sybile left this island years ago and came back a changed person. And not for the good.”

      “Interesting,” I said, going to tend to my other customers.

      When I placed the meal in front of Sybile, I didn’t even get a thank-you. So she’s not only unfriendly, she’s rude.

      After she’d finished eating, I put the check beside her and was about to walk away.

      “Hold on there,” she hollered after me.

      “Did you want something else?”

      “I hear you’re a friend of Alison’s and staying at the B and B. Planning to be in town long?”

      I was beginning to find it amusing that complete strangers were so interested