Slow Moon Rising (26 page)

“Gorgeous, isn't it?” Ross asked me.

I nodded. We sat at a small table; my elbows rested upon it. I'd clasped my hands together and brought them up under my chin. “Takes my breath away, Ross. I wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like to have been a part of the Timucuans. To have lived off this land. This water. Everything here is . . . it's a glance to another time. Another way of life.” I rested my cheek against my hands and smiled at my husband. “No wonder you wanted to bring me here. And no wonder you and Joan wanted to buy the house when you first found Cedar Key.”

Before sitting outside, we'd ordered quiche and coffee. When the red door from the middle of the wraparound porch opened, Edie—one of the café's owners—stepped out, carrying two plates. “Here you go,” she said.

I rubbed my palms together. “Yum, yum.”

The door opened again; Edie's husband Joe stepped onto the porch, bringing the coffee. “Edie made that herself this morning,” he said, obviously proud of his wife's abilities. “And you really ought to try the cobbler she made for dessert.”

“Peach?” Ross asked.

“With ice cream,” Edie answered.

“We'll take two,” Ross said.

“Make it one,” I answered. “One of us has been trimming down.” I jerked my head in Ross's direction. “And one of us has not.”

“Don't think you're taking a bite of my cobbler,” Ross said.

I picked up my fork and speared the quiche. “Oh, I'll take a bite, all right.”

Edie and Joe left us to our lunch. When we'd eaten the quiche and Ross had managed to save one bite of the cobbler for me, we returned to the inside of the café to thank them and to wish them a happy Saturday.

A few new customers had walked in and were milling around the dining area. We said good-bye and turned to leave just as the door opened.

Rosa and her son Mateo entered.

“Well, hello there,” Ross said, reaching to kiss Rosa's cheek.

“Dr. Ross.” She returned the gesture. She looked back to her son, who towered behind her.

He extended his hand, shook Ross's. “Dr. Claybourne,” he said.

“How are you doing, son?”

“Good, sir.”

“I can't get over how tall you've gotten,” I said.

Another patron of the café opened the door; we all shifted toward a small table to the right of the door where coffee condiments were placed.

Rosa looked up at her son and smiled. “After twelve or thirteen, boys just seem to shoot up.”

I folded my arms. “How old are you now, Mateo?”

“Fifteen,” he said. Perfect white teeth beamed behind his honey complexion and beneath coal-black eyes. “Hey, Dr. Claybourne, Chase and I decided we're going to fix up his stepdad's pontoon for the Christmas boat parade.”

It was Ross's turn to fold his arms and beam. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. We're building what looks like a Christmas train, painting it. It'll go on the front of the boat. We'll line the boat
with those little traveling lights, you know what I mean? Put a caboose on the back.”

“Where are you working on it?”

“Mr. Steven's shop behind the house.”

“Oh, I see. Well, you boys let me know if you need any help. I wouldn't mind spending time doing something like that.”

“Who do you have set to ride with you?” I asked. I looked at Rosa to share a smile but held back. She watched her son with such intensity—pride mixed with anxiety.

“Chase and me, of course. Cody, maybe.”

“So, just the two, maybe three, of you?” I asked.

“No girls?” Ross added with a laugh.

Mateo blushed. “Well, you know . . . maybe. That's why it's a maybe for Cody.”

The four of us laughed together. Ross patted Mateo's upper arm.

Rosa spoke up. “If there are girls, Dr. Ross, then
I'll
be on that boat.”

“Mom,” Mateo said, “you are not going on the boat with us. No way, no how.”

We laughed again.

Ross shook Mateo's hand again. “Son, you let me know. I'll check with Chase or Steven to see when you boys might be working on the train again.”

“Thank you, Dr. Claybourne.”

Ross and I said good-bye to Rosa, said good-bye again to Joe and Edie, and stepped outside onto the porch. We slipped our arms around each other's waists and walked toward our car.

I looked at my husband's face. He was positively beaming.

Saturday evening I hung up the phone and went to the living room where Ross was watching television. “Guess what,” I said.

He smiled at me. “Gray and Ami are coming for Christmas.”

I frowned. “How'd you guess?”

He laughed lightly. “I could hear you talking on the phone.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen where I'd been. “You're only a room away, you know.”

I returned to where I'd been sitting before the phone rang, before I'd left for that one room away, so as not to bother Ross. “I know, I know. You're brilliant.” I clasped my hands together. “Oh, Ross, won't it be wonderful? Kim is already here. I bet we could get Heather and her family to come here as well.” I jumped from my seat, dashed down the hall and into our bedroom, returning moments later with a pad and pen, jotting names and ideas within the lines.

“Now what have you got going there?” Ross asked. He held the remote up and paused his show. “Woman . . .”

I sat again. “Just making a list. Do you think Toni and
Tyler are going to be home from college this year? They were hardly around last year.”

“Somehow,” Ross said, leaning his head back, “a ski trip in Colorado took precedence over being with family. Call them crazy.”

I made a note to find out what Heather's family plans were. “You're in fine form tonight, Dr. Claybourne.” I tapped the paper with my pen. “I'm going to call Jayme-Leigh and beg her and Isaac to come. Hanukkah started last night . . .”

“Mmmhmm.”

“The boat parade is next Saturday.”

“Steven says the boys have the boat ready.”

I looked up from my doodling. “Did you ever go by and help them with it?”

He shook his head. “No. I guess they got it done by themselves.” He exhaled heavily. “But I look forward to seeing it.”

My heart felt heavy. “Are you okay, Ross?”

He closed his eyes. “Just tired.”

“It's these trips to Orlando,” I said. “Right smack dab in the middle of the week. Why don't you think about fully retiring? Or maybe work just one day a week. Like on Thursdays? We can go over on Wednesday night, return on Friday. Wouldn't that be better?”

He answered with a faint smile.

“Ross?”

“I'm just thinking about how Southern you've become.”

I felt my shoulders drop. “Now where did that come from?”

His eyes opened and he looked at me. “Right smack dab?”

I purposefully drew myself upright. “I will choose to ignore
that.” My eyes fell to the paper in my lap. “If Heather and her family can come and Jayme-Leigh and Isaac can come . . . I'll ask Kimberly if Heather's family can bunk over there. We'll be full up here, but . . . oh, Ross. Won't it be marvelous?” I repeated. “The whole family here?”

He didn't answer. I watched him carefully. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The relaxed state of his lips. He'd fallen asleep, leaving me to frown instead of wonder at how handsome he remained. Oh, how much I loved him! So much more than I ever thought possible.

I stood quietly, pulled a throw from a basket where I kept a stack of them, and laid it gently over my husband before stepping down the hallway into our bedroom, where I called Heather to discuss the possibilities of their coming.

My suggestion was met with a few uhs and ohs before she added, “You say Ami and Gray are coming?”

“They said they'd be here the twenty-first. The winter showcase is next Saturday, the studio is closed all next week, but they have office work to attend to and then they have loads of shopping, she said.”

“How did she sound?”

“Happy. In spite of the strains during these first months of marriage.”

“I'm so glad. I've been worried.” She chuckled. “But you know me. I'm always worried when it comes to Ami.”

“You've been a good sister.”

“No, I haven't. But I'm working at getting better. At letting her be an adult. Now, a wife and, one day, a mother.”

“Oh, gracious. I can hear what your father would say if he heard you say that.”

Heather put on her best “Dad” voice. “Now, let's not go racing ahead of time, Heather.”

I smiled. It felt good to banter with Heather. It had been too long in coming. “So, what do you think? Christmas? What are the kids doing this year?”

“They'll be home. I absolutely demanded it. Last year was one thing, this year is another. I refused to have Christmas two years in a row without my babies.”

“So, when do you think you could come in?”

“I'll need to talk to Andre, of course, but if Ami and Gray are coming in on Friday, I suspect we'll come in on Saturday. Give them some time with you guys before we arrive. Have you talked to Jayme-Leigh?”

“No. And, to be honest, I need to call Kimberly and see if you guys can stay there.”

“Or we can rent one of the condos near the park. I'll call Boo. You call Jayme-Leigh.”

After we hung up, I did just that. She said she was open to coming but had to check their schedules. Who was on call and whatnot. When we'd exhausted all talk of the holidays, I told her I wanted to talk about something else. “Let me go check on your father first,” I said. I tiptoed down the hall to make certain Ross was still asleep. He was. I returned to the bedroom, sat in one of the two cream-colored upholstered chairs I'd just brought in from Orlando, crossed my legs, and looked around in an effort to gather my thoughts.

Since marrying Ross, I'd redecorated this room twice. The first time because Ami had reminded me that the original master bedroom had been where her mother and father had resided during their trips to Cedar Key. Ross gave me
carte blanche when it came to making the beach house my own, and I had done just that. For years we slept in what had originally been the girls' room, but when he and I decided to live in Cedar Key on a more permanent basis, I thought it time to turn the larger room back into the master suite. Ross gave me a wink and said, “Knock yourself out.” And I had.

I'd had the walls painted the creamiest of white. Brought in Country French furniture, added occasional pieces in dark wood, created a sitting area that faced away from the bed and toward the water. I bought a thick cream-colored area rug that allowed the dark hardwood to peek out from under the walls and windows. The only artwork I hung were portraits of our grandchildren on one side of the room and portraits of the girls and their spouses on the other.

The pictures had been taken on the beach of Atsena Otie, among the driftwood and the ancient oyster shells.

Just being in this room gave me a sense of belonging. Of peace and contentment. I could not help but be happy here. No one could.

“Jayme-Leigh,” I now said into the quiet of the room. “Are you still there?”

“I'm here.”

“I want to talk to you about your father.”

“What about him?” Her voice held the same no-nonsense tone it always did. If there was an iota of concern, she never allowed herself to drop to the dramatic.

“I'm concerned. He's been so tired lately. More tired than I think he should be at his age.”

“He's nearly seventy-three, Anise.”

“I know that. I know. But I also know his virility, if I may be so bold to discuss that. Not just intimately, mind you. In every way.”

“I see,” she said, sounding almost professional in the remark. “I'd hoped his working two days a week would help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back in September—when he first approached me about this—he said he was getting too old for five days a week and wanted to spend more time puttering about. More time in Cedar Key. Of course, I'd noticed his aging. And I'd thought dropping back to two days a week would help.”

“It did. Then it didn't,” I said. “At first, he seemed better for having made that decision. But in the last couple of weeks he's just not been himself. He's napping more than usual. We were talking just a few minutes ago and he dropped off to sleep without so much as a yawn.”

My stepdaughter said nothing at first, then, “Anything else?”

I thought of the nosebleed. Of how Ross had said it had happened a few times before. I decided to mention it along with, “I've also noticed he's lost a few pounds. He's been pretty smug about it, but I can't say his appetite has changed all that much. Not enough to account for it.”

“Hmm. He hasn't said anything to me when we've been at the office about the nosebleeds or the weight loss.”

“See if you can't coax something out of him, Jayme-Leigh. His annual is a few months off, but I don't feel good about waiting.”

“Ah, doctors. We do make the worst patients.”

“So I've heard.”

“All right, Anise. I'll talk with him on Tuesday when I see him, encourage him to make an appointment.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I'll let you go. Please call me when you know more about Christmas.”

“I'll find out something tomorrow. I promise.”

We hung up. I absentmindedly pulled the December/January issue of
Coastal Living
magazine from the table between the chairs, dropped it into my lap, and opened the cover, which boasted a beachfront living room with a white Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments of seaside colors. As I thumbed through the pages, my eyes fell to a photo of a festive wreath, sprayed with baby's breath, starfish, pinecones, and tied up with a big red ribbon.
I could do that
, I thought, momentarily missing my work at the floral shop.

I walked over to the bed, retrieved the pad and pen I'd left there, and added a few notes for our next trip to Orlando.
Go to Michaels. Get wreaths. Baby's breath. Starfish.

Our home, I decided, would be more festive than ever this year. Our children would be here. All of them. I knew it. It would be the most marvelous Christmas since Ross and I'd married. Absolutely.

Ross and I returned to Orlando late Monday evening. I drove; Ross had insisted he was fine, just too tired to drive in the dark.

In December, dark came too soon.

With the exception of the gentle piano of Philip Wesley
playing on the CD player, we traveled in silence. I kept my eyes on the narrow two-lane roads between Cedar Key and Ocala. I glanced toward the shadows of trees and bushes, and the outline of fences, which set the boundaries of horse farms. I looked for the familiar stretch of rolling land where nothing stood but an ancient oak, naked arms stretching upward while Spanish moss dripped toward the ground like an old man's beard.

Once we reached the highway, I sped past the billboards announcing the fun life Central Florida had to offer. The attractions. The shopping centers. Ron Jon. Neon signs over convenience stores and drive-thru restaurants were no more than a blur. I no longer had to think about the path I was taking. Where I was going. When to go straight and when to turn. This had all become familiar.

But my life had taken a new road and I knew it. Loving and marrying a man over twenty years my senior came with a price, and this was it. Ross had been so energetic when we'd met. I'd seen men twenty and thirty years younger unable to keep up with him. There were times I wondered if I could. His work had always been demanding, but he rose to meet it with vigor. On our weekends in Cedar Key, he enjoyed taking the boat out, walking down trails, and exploring. Both there and in Orlando, he enjoyed participating in the social activities. He read voraciously, staying up late when he couldn't put a book down, rising early the next day without complaint. And in our intimate moments, he was nothing short of amazing.

But, even that seemed to be dwindling away. Becoming fewer and farther between. I missed it, but more than that, I
missed
Ross
. I missed our rousing conversations. Our never-ending efforts at one-upping each other. I missed his energy around me, drawing me, spurring me onward. Still, I knew—I
knew—
that if we'd reached that time when he slowed down while I remained “youthful for fifty,” I would grab hold of this new era of our lives with the same love and devotion I'd had from day one.