Page 9 of That Last Carolina Summer

“The brown-headed cowbird doesn’t build a nest or raise offspring. They lay their eggs in the nests of other unsuspecting birds and leave it up to the adoptive parents to feed and nurture their young. Yet another candidate for worst parent in the animal kingdom.”

Excerpt from the blog The Thing with Feathers

Phoebe

OPHELIA AND I walked the short distance to Pitt Street and to the quaint cottage that housed the Gala Café and Bakery.

We entered the brightly lit shop through a porch with a blue painted ceiling, and I let Ophelia select a pastry for each of us.

I added avocado toast along with yogurt and granola to share.

A mint-green iron table with two matching chairs became available on the porch, and we made our way outside. I watched as my niece placed her napkin on her lap before taking a bite out of her cannoli.

Between bites, she said, “If we walk back really fast, we can burn all the calories from our pastries so we don’t get fat.”

I stopped chewing, then swallowed. “Ophelia, you’re only nine years old.

You shouldn’t even know what a calorie is.

For the rest of the summer while I’m here, let’s play a game to see how long we can go without thinking about calories and in stead think about fun ways we can be active, okay? Like riding your bike.”

“But—”

“I know. Your tire’s flat. I can get that fixed, and while I’m at it, I can take a look at my own bike and see what it needs to make it functional. Then we can go for bike rides together. How does that sound?”

She took another bite of her cannoli and nodded, her mouth closed over a wide grin.

A dog barked, and Ophelia peered through the porch railing to the sidewalk. Sliding back her chair, she jumped up and ran down the steps. “Miss Celeste! Miss Celeste!”

I turned to see a tall and slender older woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and holding the leash of a medium-size fluffy brown-and-white dog.

Both the woman and the dog recognized Ophelia, who dropped down on her knees in the middle of the sidewalk to scratch the little dog behind her floppy ears and to allow wet licks all over her face.

Before I could say anything, a man crossed the street and stopped next to the woman. Holding out a set of keys, he said, “I almost forgot to give these back. And yes, I locked the front door. If Will leaves his stuff at your house again, he’s going naked.”

The woman took the keys and smiled. “Thanks again for lunch.”

He waved and began crossing the street, turning his head to watch for traffic before heading toward a line of vehicles parked at the curb.

I stared at him, and not just because he was attractive.

There was something else about him, something familiar.

Something that stirred in me a jumble of emotions I couldn’t unravel or understand.

I watched him until he’d climbed into a pickup truck and drove away.

Unwilling to abandon our food to the flies, I stood and leaned over the railing. “Hello,” I said. “I’m Phoebe Manigault, Ophelia’s aunt.”

The woman’s smile dipped briefly as she greeted me. “Phoebe. How nice to see you. I’m Celeste Fitch, and this,” she said, indicating the little dog, “is my Annie, who, as you can see, adores your niece.”

“My aunt’s visiting from Oregon,” Phoebe announced.

To me, she said, “Miss Celeste teaches art at my school sometimes.” She was now sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk with the dog in her lap.

Realizing that Celeste needed to be rescued, I wrapped up in napkins what food I could and shoved them in my old high school satchel I’d found buried in the back of the closet.

“I’m a substitute,” Celeste explained as we both tried to corral the girl and dog to the side of the sidewalk.

“The art teacher was away on maternity leave for the last part of the term, so students considered me a permanent fixture. I was occasionally allowed to bring Annie, and she developed quite the fan following.”

“Ah, that explains it,” I said, looking into the woman’s face for the first time.

White hair mixed with blond strands curled around her face where they’d escaped from her hat.

A thin web of wrinkles radiated from her mouth and eyes, but her skin was otherwise remarkably smooth.

She wore pale pink lipstick and a small gold earring in the shape of an egret dangled from each ear.

But it was her dark green eyes that caught my attention. “Have we met?” I asked. I was sure we hadn’t, but there was something vaguely familiar about her so I had to ask.

“No,” she said without pause. “Although I’ve met your parents. Years ago. We have a house on Shem Creek, so not exactly neighbors.”

“Do you live in the Old Village now?” I asked curiously.

She shook her head. “No. Same house I’ve always lived in.

I did move away for a short time but came back because I missed it too much.

I retained ownership of my cottage and allowed my grandson to put it in a rental program so I was able to move right back in when I returned and the last tenant moved.

I come to the Old Village to run errands and walk Annie for a change of scenery. ”

“Was that your grandson I just saw? He looked familiar, but I can’t think of why.”

“Yes, that was him.” She stopped speaking, as if waiting for me to say more.

“Can I walk Annie now?” Ophelia asked, her voice close to pleading.

“I don’t think—” I began.

Celeste interrupted. “It’s fine with me if it’s all right with your aunt. I’m done with my errands, and I’d enjoy the company. I know Annie would love it.”

I thought about the business card in my pocket and the appointment I needed to make but figured it could wait a little longer. “Sure. We don’t have any pressing plans.”

We guided Ophelia off busy Pitt Street and onto Venning Street where there were fewer pedestrians and cars and more tree shade.

We walked slowly while Ophelia patiently waited for Annie to take her time sniffing blades of grass and mailbox posts, allowing for Celeste and me to talk.

I kept stealing glances at Celeste, wondering what it was about her that seemed so familiar.

“How long are you here visiting?” she asked.

“Only until the end of summer. I’m an eighth-grade science teacher in Oregon, so I’ll need to go back for the start of school.”

“That’s so far away. I’m sure your family misses you.”

It took me a moment to prepare my response.

“I miss home.” I thought for a moment to come up with a way to verbalize the one thing that made me feel the absence of home the most. “I miss the light after a storm and the way the marsh smells. I never thought it was possible to grieve for a place so much.”

I felt her green eyes assessing me, as if she’d heard everything I’d said as well as all that I hadn’t. “You talk like an artist. Are you?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t move beyond stick figures and a round, smiling sun, I’m afraid.

But I am a good noticer , for lack of a better word.

I notice the things in nature that most take for granted, which is why I’m a science teacher.

I have my aunt Sassy to thank for that. She was deaf, so her other senses were a lot more attuned to what was going on around her. ”

“Does she still live here?”

I shook my head. “She died of pancreatic cancer when I was in high school. She was obsessed with birds, which is where I acquired my interest, I guess.”

“No doubt. I’ve always been a painter. My dream since I was a little girl was to go to art school.

But then...” she gave an elegant shrug beneath her white linen blouse “...things changed. I married young and had my daughter nine months later. Then my husband died of a heart attack when Lucy was still in diapers.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“Thank you,” she said. “At the time I thought it was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. It was a struggle to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I gave up my dreams of becoming a painter and went to night school to become a nurse instead.”

I felt for Celeste. I understood the cost of having to push dreams aside, the depths of loss that I could never adequately express in that single, stupid word.

Celeste reached down to untangle Annie’s leash from an elderberry shrub then continued.

“Nursing was never part of the future I imagined for myself. I was only interested in obtaining my nursing degree as a means to provide for my daughter and me. Which meant that I was resentful for many years because I could only focus on what I’d lost. But eventually, I found my calling working as a nurse at a retirement community where I also incorporated art therapy.

It brought me a joy I’d never expected.”

“Your daughter must be so proud of you.”

She turned to look at me, but the sun shone in her face hiding her expression. Instead of answering, she said, “What about you? Did you always want to be a teacher?”

I shook my head. “No. Never. I’m still kind of amazed when I realize I’m a science teacher in Bend, Oregon. It seems like it’s someone else’s life.”

We stopped to allow Annie to sniff a small patch of grass, and I felt Celeste’s assessing gaze on me. “What did you envision your life to look like?”

“Don’t laugh, but I wanted to be the weather girl on TV.

” I felt myself flushing, embarrassed at having admitted it.

Feeling the need to explain, I said, “I survived being hit by lightning when I was nine and ever since became a little obsessed with the weather. I never missed the morning news because I wanted to hear the forecast. I even kept a chart of the accuracy of the meteorologists on each of the local stations. I thought being hit by lightning was a sign that the weather was my calling.”

“Mama was a weather girl,” Ophelia announced. “Before I was born. Mimi showed me pictures.”