Terri DuLong - Spinning Forward

When I visited Cedar Key for the first time, in 1994, I knew I was in my elementsurrounded by water and Mother Nature. But when I relocated there in 2005, my love for the town deepened because I found that it was the people who were the soul of the island.

The locals made me feel welcome and gave me a sense of belonging. I was inspired by their strength, their compassion for neighbors, and their love for family. Without them, my story wouldnt have been possible, so I owe a huge debt of gratitude to each and every one.

A few in particular touched the writer in me. By sharing their own childhood stories, Cedar Key history, and island folklore, they unknowingly allowed my imagination to create a fictional story. My deepest thanks to Dottie Haldeman, Mary Rain, Frances Hodges, Rita Baker, Jan Allen, Beth Davis, Dr. John Andrews, Marie Johnson, Shirley Beckham, and so many others who enabled me to feel the true essence of Cedar Key.

Thank you to Alice and Bill Phillips, owners of the Cedar Key Bed & Breakfastfor your in-depth tour and enthusiasm for my story.

For Alice Jordan, my high school friend, I cant thank you enough for renewing my interest in knitting, turning me into an addicted knitter, and always being a phone call away to answer any knitting questions. For Bill Bonner, my friend and writing partner, your belief in my work made the tough times easier. And huge thanks to both of you for reading this story and giving me your constructive advice and loyal support.

Thank you to my children, Susan Hanlon, Shawn, and Brian DuLongfor your love and enthusiasm.

Most sincere gratitude goes to my editor, Audrey LaFehr, for your professional support and for making my story a reality. And to the entire team at Kensington for bringing it all to fruition.

Thank you to my husband, Ray, who gave me wings to soar, encouraged my destiny, and has kept me airborne with belief in myself.

And to you, my readerthank you for including me on your bookshelf.

W hining drew my attention to the fawn-colored Boxer curled up beside the bed. Lilly had been my constant companion for four years and now she was my salvation. With my home, my assets, my life as I knew it taken from me, Lilly was my one factor of stability.

Living on an island off the west coast of Florida wasnt something that I planned to be doing at age fifty-two. Twenty-eight years of marriage to a successful physician provided a lifestyle that I not only enjoyed, but took for granted. Okay, so maybe Stephen wasnt the most passionate and romantic man on the planet, but he created a sense of security in my life. That is, until his Mercedes crashed into a cement barrier on I-495 in Lowell, leaving me a widow with no sense of direction and no knowledge of a secret he harbored.

Two weeks following his funeral, I had been working my way through the grieving process when I was zapped with another shock. I opened the door of my Lexington, Massachusetts home to find a sheriff standing on my front porch, knowing full well this wasnt going to be good news. My first thought was concern for Monica, my twenty-six-year-old daughter.

Are you Sydney Webster? hed questioned.

Yes. Yes, I am. Whats wrong? Despite the chill of the October day, beads of perspiration formed on my upper lip.

Hed cleared his throat and with downcast eyes passed me a large envelope.

Maam, Im sorry to have to deliver this to you, but its a certified notice for your eviction.

My what? I felt lightheaded and gripped the door frame.

Eviction of premises. You have thirty days to pack up your belongings and vacate the house.

Id thought it was a joke. Somebody had seen Stephens funeral announcement in the paper and was playing a prank on me. The house had been paid for years ago. Nobody could just show up and kick me out of my own house. This didnt happen to law-abiding citizens.

Clutching the envelope with sweaty palms, Id torn it open and removed an official-looking piece of paper. All I saw was a blur of words, making no sense out of what was happening.

Im sorry, Mrs. Webster, hed told me. I really am. Ill return in thirty days at nine A.M . to make sure your belongings are removed and obtain the house keys from you.

This is a mistake, I babbled. A major mistake. Closing the door, I slid down the length of the wall, my sobs shattering the quiet of the house.

And here I was five weeks later on an island off the west coast of Florida. In a quaint but small room at the Cedar Key B&B, and I knew for certain none of it had been a mistake. Stephens secret vice of gambling and the events that followed were what had brought me to this small town of nine hundred permanent residents, relying on the hospitality of my best friend Alison.

Come on, girl, I said, swinging my legs to the side of the bed. Time for you to go out and for me to get some coffee.

The bedside clock read 6:15. At home I never woke before 9:00 and was amazed that in the week Id been staying at Alisons B&B, I didnt sleep beyond 6:30. Slipping into sweat pants and a T-shirt, I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and with Lilly close at my heels we descended the stairs to the porch.

Opening the door to the small L-shaped dining room, I saw a middle-aged couple quietly conversing over coffee and made my way to the kitchen.

Mornin, Twila Faye said as she removed freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven.

Twila Faye was Alisons right hand running the B&B and I liked her. Shed raised her only son alone after her philandering husband had left town twenty years before with a tourist visiting from Macon, Georgia. Raised in the Boston area, I didnt know much about Southern women, but I knew Twila Faye represented what they called true grit .

Pouring myself a cup of dark, strong coffee, I asked if Alison was around.

Lord, child, shes already out for her walk with Winston.

I should have known. I felt slothful when I had discovered that Ali woke seven days a week at 5:00 A.M . She never varied from her routine. Up at five, she prepared muffins, brewed the coffee, squeezed oranges for fresh juice, and by 6:00, her guests had breakfast waiting for them. Then she rounded up her Scottish terrier for a walk downtown to the beach.

I looked at the clock over the table and saw it would be another twenty minutes before she returned.

Im going to sit in the garden with my coffee, I told Twila Faye.

Take one of these muffins with you.

Patting my tummy, I shook my head. Im trying to lose the twenty pounds I packed on this past year. Ill have some cereal later.

Settling myself on the swing in the far corner of the garden, I lit up a cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, it crossed my mind once again that perhaps smoking was another bad habit I should consider discarding.

I watched Lilly sniffing around the artfully arranged flower beds. Bright, vivid azalea bushes in shades of red. Yellow hibiscus gave forth cheer even on a dreary day. And dominating all of it was the huge, four-hundred-year-old cypress tree. I looked up at the leaves creating shade over the garden and wondered about something being on this earth that length of time. Having withstood tropical storms and hurricanes, drought and floods, it stood proud and secure. Right now secure was the last thing I was feeling. I had an overpowering urge to climb the tree. All the way to the top. And maybe absorb some of the positive energy that it seemed to contain. But with arthritis recently affecting my knees, I decided to stay put on the swing.