Wynn in the Willows (14 page)

“Too bad there isn't a straw patch you could wear.” She teased.

“Yea, it's hard to kick the habit when they keep putting them in your drinks.” He held up an empty foam cup.

“Now just where is your girlfriend's place again?”

“Ex-fiancé.”

“I stand corrected.” She smiled at the feral kitten. “Where is your ex's feral cat preserve?”

“Kewaunee.”

 

 

 

 

18

 

Little spits of rain started coming down.

The kitten had turned restless.

Doug pulled off the road and onto a small gravel path. “Almost there,” he said. There was no mistaking the joy on his face, a sense of anticipation.

Suddenly she felt a rush of concern—what had she been thinking, coming here to meet Clara? Doug was the first guy in Wynn's entire life that ever held her interest. She hoped he wasn't still harboring old feelings. Broken hearts didn't always heal. Did he want to reconnect? The concern hurt.

The sky was a solid gray. It reminded her of the middle of the ocean without the sound. They faced a sprawling field of grass and large kennels with trees and boulders and small ponds. This definitely was a haven.

A woman approached the truck.

Doug left the keys in the ignition, as he rapidly stepped out onto the grass. He held his arms wide. “Hey, Clara.”

“Hey yourself, Doug.”

Wynn couldn't hide her surprise as she got out of the truck.

Clara was in her early forties, at least ten years older than Doug, with short brown hair. She was dressed in jeans with a practical blouse. Her boots were splattered with mud. She smiled, a clear open expression on her face. Clara was attractive without trying

Wynn couldn't help but smile back, for the woman was totally at home among the trees and the rich soil, much like Wynn was home in the water and forest.

“What did you bring for me this time, Doug?” Clara's eyebrows rose as she removed her glasses and looked into the cage. “What a pretty gray kitten.”

“A feral.” There was a smile in his voice.

“Ah, one of the offspring from the cats you trap on your island, I suppose?” she said with a lift of her shoulders before turning to Wynn. “Hi there, I'm Clara.”

“Wynn.” She held out her hand.

Clara set her glasses at the top of her head and took the cage from Wynn. She turned the cage about to stare at the tiny creature. “Poor little baby. You are scared, aren't you? And also a bit malnourished. Tell you what; I'll put the kitten into isolation until I get a chance to look it over later today. What's its name?”

Doug turned to Wynn.

“Sailor.”

“Sailor?”

“I wanted to connect him to where he was found. He might have been dumped at the Federal Reserve by people who might have sailed there.”

“Well, Sailor is a good name for this little guy. I like it. Apparently this kitten belongs to you?”

“I'm hoping to bring him home with me.”

“Well, it won't be today. I need to run some blood work, and vaccinate first. Perhaps Sailor will be ready for you in a few days.”

“I'll be back then.”

“I haven't been to Willow Island in a while and I'd enjoy the trip back. Let me bring Sailor and get him settled in at your place, Wynn.”

“That's very thoughtful Clara, thanks.”

“And Doug, maybe we can have lunch?”

“I'd like that.”

“Come on, let me show you the place, Wynn. Doug, you might be interested in seeing the changes.”

After the tour of the grounds, Wynn hugged Clara goodbye and headed to the truck. She sat in the cab trying not to hear their conversation. Then she watched as Doug walked towards the truck.

Clara hung back closer to the house.

They gave a final wave to one another before Doug climbed in and shut the door. After starting the motor, they headed down the gravel drive.

“I like Clara.”

“Everyone likes Clara. She is a smart, all around good woman.”

“I agree with that assessment.”

“But you're smarter. Sweeter.” He reached over to squeeze her hand and released it.

“Sweeter?” She chuckled, turning to face the window so he wouldn't catch the blush on her cheeks. “Thanks for thinking so.”

“Are you getting shy on me now?”

Her legs were drawn up on the seat as she leaned her forehead against the window. She looked up at the tumbling sky filled with rain and closed her eyes. The space behind her eyelids began to spin.

“What are you thinking, Wynn? You seem so far away.” His soft voice floated in her direction.

She thought of the pictures at the bank, now captured on her camera, and the timeline of her life etched out on a carefully folded sheet of paper. She wondered if she should share this with Doug. Things seemed clearer when she said them out loud to him. But maybe she didn't want Doug to know all her secrets. “Have you ever felt like everyone has been invited to a party, but you?”

“All the time.” He reached over and took her hand. “Tell me. What is this all about?”

“I was at the bank earlier today while you waited for me. I wanted to check the family safe deposit box.”

“I'd like to hear if you'd like to talk.”

“OK, remember you asked. If you get bored, or at any point feel it's too much information, just tell me.”

“Deal!”

“The first time I thought about returning to the island, I was in sixth grade. You see, my uncles and I came across an article about endangered island species. It raised questions about extinction. I needed to know more. I began thinking about Aunt Roxie living on the island filled with vegetation that I wanted to see. Because she was such a distant memory, I also wanted to connect with her again.”

“So why now? Why return now? Why not sooner rather than later?”

“Because I wrote a grant and submitted it. I got it. That's why now.”

“And in the mix of your return, you end up with a police report about a missing corpse, and soon will be the owner of a feral cat.”

“Uh-huh. That, and much more.” Wynn watched the trees go by in a blur. Her mind returned to the day she left the island after her dad's funeral. That was the image she remembered most; along with the sense of loss that never left. Memories of those days living here with her parents were ones she didn't want to throw away. Maybe if she owned something from the island that she could take away to keep, like the kitten, she'd always feel a part of things—reconnected.

“Keep talking.”

“There's talk of a silly island curse.”

“Perpetuated by my Aunt Wilda. I can't figure her out.”

“Speaking of aunts. I have trouble of my own with Aunt Roxie.”

“Trouble with Roxie? Can't be. She's a sweetheart.”

That was the second time she had heard Doug speak of her aunt in endearing terms. It was obvious he had no clue how Roxie really felt about him and Wynn wouldn't break the news. “Perhaps. But I think she may have had something to do with my dad's death.”

“How so?”

“I overheard her tell the ladies of the bridge club, which is really a Bible study, incognito, to keep some secret from me. That piqued my interest. Next, Roxie claims she can't remember how my dad died. Isn't that strange?”

“She is getting older and it was a while ago.”

“How can you forget something like that, no matter how old you get? Then, in the glove compartment of the jeep, which she gave to me, I found a love note written to her from someone by the name of Steve. It just so happens that's my dad's name. I can't help but think this isn't just a coincidence. Perhaps there was a tryst between my aunt and my dad that drove my mom from the island soon after his death?”

“Ask Roxie.” He hadn't raised his voice, yet there was an irritation that made Wynn wince. Did he disapprove of what she was saying?

“If she won't talk about my dad's death, she certainly isn't about to talk about a sordid affair. Roxie has a security box that I opened today.”

“That explains the trip to the bank.” His words were nonjudgmental.

“It was filled with pictures of me as I was growing up. But everyone knows I haven't seen Roxie since I was six. There is even a timeline of my life drawn out on butcher paper. It's very precise. Very detailed, complete with pictures glued onto it. Don't you find that creepy?”

“Not creepy at all. I'd say she loved you very much. And it sounds to me as though someone or something kept you away from her. The other day when you showed me the greeting cards from your mom, you were crying and clearly upset because you felt unloved, unwanted. Seems to me you have found love right here on Willow Island and it's in the form of devotion from afar by Roxie.”

“Then why did she take all the photos and hide them from me?”

“I don't know the answer to that one. You'll have to ask Roxie that yourself.”

“Do you think I should move out of the Tree House?”

“What I think is that you are over-reacting.”

“How can you say that when I've been stalked all my life by my aunt?” She looked at him.

“Stalked is a harsh word. It's overly dramatic with a negative connotation.”

“OK, how about “followed”? Maybe that word is more pleasing to the ear since family is involved. She followed me for most of my life.”

“Ask yourself why. Why would she do this? To harm you?”

“I-I-I don't know. I don't think so.” Wynn wanted to tell Doug about what Roxie had written about causing her dad's accident, but held back.

“I don't know Roxie that well. But I would say she loves you and for some reason wasn't allowed to be a part of your life, so she did the next best thing. She made sure that you were all right. When you love someone, you want contact. You want to be with them as much as possible.”

She felt ashamed.

Doug drifted in and out of the lanes. He sped up without warning, and then slowed through the small towns.

“Tell me…”

“Tell you…what...?” He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“What about Clara? How did you meet and what ended it?” she asked in a rush, her pulse ticking.

“Some things aren't meant to be.”

“Evasive, aren't you? I opened up. Now it's your turn.”

“OK. You asked. But remember if it becomes too much information just tell me.”

Wynn burst out laughing. “Deal.”

“I lived in Chicago at the time. My friends said that I was too good at being single.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

“It means I was really comfortable being alone. I didn't feel the need for anyone to get close. Finally, I agreed to a string of blind dates. All of them were awful. One time, I was in a pub on Lake View waiting for my most recent meet up while talking to a couple of women. She walked in, took one look at me and announced, ‘You are not my type!'” I followed her out onto the street.”

“Clara?” Wynn started to relax, even enjoying the conversation.

“Clara. She said I was a player.”

“Is she right? Are you a player?” Wynn remembered Roxie saying Doug was a heartbreaker.

“Nah! Somehow I convinced her to give me another chance. We had dinner. Talked about what we wanted out of life. It was then things became clearer to me. I wanted to sell my business and return to Willow Island. I was tired of creating things out of metal and pavement. I wanted to restore and preserve nature. Nothing else mattered. It wasn't long after that, Clara moved to the island to be with me. For a while, we were happy. Making wedding plans, and then she bolted.”

“Why?”

“I still don't know.”

“So we have another woman keeping secrets.”

“We have that in common.”

They reached the dock. Afternoon had bled into night.

“We just made it. Last crossing of the day.”

Cars lined up for the journey were a block long. The traffic edged forward and halted.

“Do you miss her?”

“Nah.” His answer was soft.

Was his answer truthful?

 

 

 

 

 

19

 

The ferry navigated the dark, opaque waters. The roar of the engine reverberated across the sea creating a large foamy wake behind the stern.

Doug and Wynn looked over the police report together. The document raised more questions than it answered.

“This is what I'm getting from the report: Boone, while crossing the street, was hit and killed by a truck. His body was taken to the coroner's office, tagged, covered, and put into a cooler. Supposedly, Jackie was called. She identified the body in person, asking for it to be cremated.”

“Odd, isn't it?” Doug leaned over and put his arm lightly around her shoulder.

“What is?”

“No eye witness report. The truck driver was jailed and later released the same day. He has a clear driving record and they feel he wasn't at fault for the accident.”

“Does it say anything about Boone's luggage?” Wynn leaned back, enjoying the feel of his arm on her back.

Doug pulled the report from her and flipped through it, checking to see if she had missed anything. “Not a word.”

“He just came from overseas. There had to be luggage. What happened to it?”

“Think one of the bystanders took off with it? No. There is no mention of it.”

“Or he dropped it off someplace.”

Doug looked into Wynn's eyes and smiled.

Her pulse raced.

Doug ran his finger around her lips. “What are you thinking?”

“Something Aunt Roxie told me when I was little.”

“And what did Aunt Roxie tell you when you were little?”

“If you can't be pretty, at least be mysterious.”

Doug burst out laughing. “But you're pretty and mysterious. So what do I do now?”