Page 22 of The Witches Catalogue of Wanderlust Essentials (Natural Magic #2)

Chapter 12

Lost and Found

“A fter you.” Cosimo held the door open to The Knot and Kettle Cafe for Goldie, and she stepped into the dim interior quickly. Normally she would have chosen a cafe with an ocean-facing patio and space heaters. But considering Cosimo’s condition, she settled on a smaller, homier, and darker place.

“Sit wherever you like.” The hostess looked up from her crossword puzzle. “Looks like you’re our only diners this morning.”

“Charming place,” Cosimo commented, taking in the worn furnishings crowded into the lamplit interior. Goldie didn’t think she detected any sarcasm in his voice, and even if she had, she wouldn’t care. Cosimo pointed to a table in the far back corner next to the fireplace. It was the farthest from the door and windows, which were already conveniently shuttered and shaded. Tiny brass lanterns illuminated the interior, which was hung with fishnets and other nautical decor. Goldie always felt that being in this restaurant felt like being in the belly of a boat. She could almost sense the floor rocking gently beneath her feet.

When they reached the table, Cosimo gallantly pulled her seat out for her. It was such an insignificant gesture, and yet it almost brought a lump to her throat. When was the last time anyone held a chair for her? She was lucky if someone held out a hand to steady her while stepping on and off the ferry. And that, she suspected, was only out of concern that the old lady might fall in and delay the departure.

“It’s not fancy, but I rather like it here.” Goldie scooted herself back in the well-padded dining chair. It was just close enough to the crackling fire for her to bask in the heat. “Mostly locals and the coffee is excellent. It’s unpretentious.”

“Seems perfect.” Cosimo sat himself down in the seat opposite and after a quick glance around the low-lit space, he even seemed reassured enough to remove his hat and gloves. “You chose well.” He placed them on an empty chair beside him. “It’s quite cozy and I’m grateful not to have to cover up indoors.”

Goldie was pleased that he approved. She felt a rush of warmth that wasn’t just from the fire. “Good,” she responded. “Hopefully, you’ll like the food as well.”

She studied Cosimo’s angular face. Still so familiar to her. Not being able to place it was like having an itch that couldn’t be scratched. She couldn’t stop staring at him. But he didn’t seem to mind. Much to her surprise, he seemed unbothered by it. In fact, he seemed like he might even be enjoying it a little. He stared back at her, eyes flickering with reflected firelight.

Finally, Goldie broke it off. “Excuse me. I’m just a silly old lady. I don’t mean to stare at you. I still can’t shake the feeling that I know you. Or perhaps I knew your parents?”

“I highly doubt that,” Cosimo said, flipping through the menu. “To tell you the truth, I’m not particularly hungry, but I could do with some coffee. What else do you recommend here?”

“The pancakes aren’t half bad.” Goldie shrugged. She didn’t even have to look at the menu. She always ordered their French toast.

“And the French toast?” Cosimo’s eyes were dancing as he glanced at her over the top of his menu. “Do they make it properly here?”

“They do.” The question surprised Goldie. She didn’t know many people who were as particular as her about French toast. “Just to be clear,” she added, “they use a nice, thick, day-old challah bread, and plenty of cinnamon.”

“As it should be.” Cosimo sighed his approval.

“Do you two know what you want, yet?” the server called out as she cleared a couple of coffee cups and some dishes from another table.

“The usual.” Goldie set aside her menu. “And coffee for me.”

“I’ll have the same.” Cosimo tucked his menu behind Goldie’s.

“Okay,” the server replied. “I’ll just bring the coffee in a carafe, if you don’t mind.” She rushed off somewhere, balancing the mugs and plates from the other table as she went.

“So tell me about yourself, Goldie.” Cosimo said. He paused ever so slightly before saying her name. As if he’d had to think about it. Maybe he’d blanked on it for a moment, and needed extra time to process. It sent a shiver of dread down her spine to realize, yet again, how quickly and easily she could be forgotten.

“There’s not much to tell.” Goldie shrugged. “I’m an old lady. I live on an island.” Alone. She’d been about to say “I live alone on an island,” but thought better of it while speaking to a stranger.

“And you’re an artist here? What’s your medium?” Cosimo ran a hand through his jet black hair. Somehow it had managed not to be flattened by the damp air and the hat. It sprang back, thick and impossibly glossy. She wanted to reach out and touch it, to see if it was real. Such an odd urge. She patted her own long silver-streaked waves instead. She wore her hair long for her age. It was still damp from her walk.

“I dabble,” Goldie admitted. “Painting and some pottery. But mostly I enjoy mosaics.” This was the truth. Particularly with old dishware. It was incredibly satisfying to make something new from the discarded pieces that had once been a part of someone’s everyday life. She loved smashing them up and salvaging the good bits. Sometimes she incorporated shells and bits of old jewelry into her sculptures as well.

“That sounds interesting.” Cosimo nodded, urging her to continue. “Is there a gallery or shop where I might see your work?”

“Oh no.” Goldie shook her head vehemently. “It’s only for me. I don’t exhibit or sell my work. I’m fortunate enough to live off my retirement and not foolish enough to pursue a full-time career in the arts at my age.”

This was only one reason why her pieces weren’t sold in any gallery. The biggest reason was that she hated to part with them. Her oversized sculptures were part of the landscaping in her own compact yard and garden. She lovingly referred to the installation as her “grotto.”

“Well, that’s a pity.” Cosimo looked up as the server appeared with their coffee. He took the carafe and pitcher of creamer from her. “I should have loved to see your work.” Cosimo poured two cups of coffee. He stirred sugar into one and added cream into the other. “Is there a theme to your sculpture?”

He handed her the coffee with cream, and without thinking, she closed her eyes and took a sip. It was hot and perfect. But when she opened her eyes again, she realized he hadn’t asked her how she took it. To her surprise, she found her hands shaking. Self-consciously, she set down the cup.

“How did you know how I took my coffee?” she asked.

“Lucky guess.” Cosimo sipped at his own mug. “So tell me, how long have you lived on Catalina? What brought you here?” He rested his chin on one hand, looking at her curiously. His gaze was intent, as if he actually wanted to know. Goldie felt flustered. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. At least they were no longer shaking.

“I came here quite a bit when I was younger,” she said. “It was always a happy place for me.”

“So you grew up in California, Goldie?” Cosimo stared down into his coffee mug, as if searching for the answer in its depths.

“No,” she answered truthfully. “I spent my childhood back east. But really, there’s nothing remarkable to tell you about that. Enough about me. Tell me about yourself. What brings you to the island? You’re not a tourist, you say?”

“I didn’t say, actually.” Cosimo’s smile was slow but satisfying. “And it seems we’re at an impasse. Neither one of us seems to like to talk about ourselves very much. Whatever shall we talk about until the French toast comes?”

“Did you spy any whales on the way over this morning?” Goldie was no stranger to small talk. “I hear there’s been several orcas spotted recently besides the grays.”

“They prey on the gray whale calves, don’t they?” Cosimo asked.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Goldie frowned. It was one reason she never went whale watching when there were orcas around. Some locals gloried in the opportunity to watch them hunting sea lions and dolphins. But she wasn’t interested in witnessing predation, particularly when it involved whale calves.

“Do you like whales?” Cosimo asked.

“Well, that’s a strange question.” Goldie laughed. “I suppose I do.”

“It’s no stranger than asking whether you like cats.” Cosimo noted. He turned over his hand and pushed back his sweater, revealing a small tattoo on his wrist. The image was one of a stately cat, basking in the sun’s rays. The design looked vaguely Egyptian. Goldie was certain she’d seen the motif before. Perhaps in a museum. “I like cats.”

He turned his hand back over, but Goldie stopped him, placing a single finger on the tattoo. “Hang on. Let me get a better look.” His skin was surprisingly cool to the touch. Or perhaps it was just that her hands were warm from holding the hot mug of coffee. The lacelike rash that he’d shown her early was also gone. She traced the image with her finger. The sun covered the part of his wrist where one might normally expect to take a person’s pulse, but she couldn’t feel his heart beating. Her warm fingertips were too busy thrumming with her own.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo.” She sighed as she released his wrist.

“Thank you. It was a souvenir from a trip to Egypt, when I was a much younger man,” Cosimo said.

“Do you have a cat?” she asked.

“Not in this life,” Cosimo answered. “I move around too much.”

“That’s a shame,” Goldie said. “I don’t have any pets at the moment, either, unless you count Kitty.”

“And who is Kitty, then?” Cosimo sipped his coffee, barely suppressing a smile.

“Kitty is a humpback whale.” Despite her efforts to maintain a certain level of decorum, Goldie grinned like a child. “She visits with me quite often whenever I leave the island. I’ve known her for years.”

Cosimo didn’t say a word, but he nodded slowly as he continued to study her. He was either charmed, and thought this made sense, or he was convinced she was crazy.

“Kitty is a local legend,” she explained. “She comes out to meet the ferry pretty frequently. Happens almost every time I go out.”

“Well.” Cosimo’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “I must say, that’s a new one. I’ve never had breakfast with anyone who has a whale familiar.” He held out a congratulatory hand, as if to shake. Without thinking, she placed her palm in his.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Goldie said. “She’s more like a whale friend . She’s spotted frequently in these waters. I just seem to have more luck than most at spying on her. She really seems to like this area. I do, too.” She was really prattling on now.

“Mmm hmmm.” Cosimo wasn’t shaking her hand. He was just holding it and gazing at her. And the strange thing wasn’t that this much younger stranger was holding her hand and gazing into her eyes. It was that she really didn’t want him to stop. She couldn’t tear her gaze away.

The clatter of plates broke their trance. Goldie snatched her hand back. She clutched her hands together beneath the table, twisting at her cuff, the way one might tug a naughty child by its collar.

“Watch it, the plates are hot,” the server warned. Gingerly, she set the plates down in front of them. Goldie inhaled deeply. Nothing would ever compare to the French toast her father used to make from leftover challah bread every Sunday in their tiny Brooklyn flat. The French toast here was acceptable, though, if a little stingy on the toppings.

“Take my fruit.” Cosimo offered her his strawberries.

“Are you sure?” She hesitated. It was almost as if he could read her mind.

“I won’t eat them.” He slid a fork under a lush berry and transferred it to her plate.

“Thank you.” Goldie waited while he transferred the other two. Four or five berries would have been more than enough. Six almost was an embarrassment of riches. “I feel spoiled.” She savored one of the sweet berries and drizzled some syrup on the bread.

“As well you should be.” Cosimo spoke quietly, as he sliced into his French toast. He dissected it with the precision of a surgeon, reducing the slice to a pile of squares so perfectly similar and symmetrical, she might have used them as tiles in her artwork.

“Seriously, though,” Goldie said once she had swallowed the berry. “Tell me more about you. Why are you here?”

And why did you want to have breakfast with me ?

She sliced her own French toast in irregular-shaped triangles.

Cosimo sighed, and Goldie sensed a certain reluctance on his part. It was almost as if he didn’t want to tell her something. Did he know something? She set down her utensils.

“What? What is it?” she asked.

“Well, you were right. I’m not a tourist,” Cosimo admitted. “I’m an astronomer of sorts. And also a film buff. I used to write a column ages ago. You might say I’m somewhat obsessed with old stars.” He smiled wryly.

Goldie’s heart thumped a little harder.

Cosimo closed his eyes and shook his head slowly at his own joke. “I’m sorry, that was probably the worst joke I’ve told this century.” He set down his utensils. “The long and the short of it is that I’m in town for the film festival next month. Did you know it coincides with a significant eclipse? The island is right in its path. I came a bit early to get the lay of the land. There’s also someone I’m hoping to run into and catch up with while I’m here. Someone I’ve been missing.”

“It’s not me, is it?” she blurted. Now she was blurting as well as prattling on. Whatever was the matter with her?

“Are you a missing person?” His smile was surprisingly kind.

“There’s a difference between going missing and being missed.” Goldie wrinkled her nose. She’d certainly done her share of the first. She wasn’t so sure about the second. Goldie placed her hands back on the table, willing them to behave this time.

“I’m sure you’d be sorely missed if you went missing, Goldie.” Cosimo squeezed her hand with one of his, still cool to the touch. Then he reached backward into his jacket, hanging on the chair. He pulled out a brochure for the film festival. The image on the cover was an old poster for The Mermaid’s Whisper , her blockbuster film that was shot on the island.

Cosimo tilted his head and studied her. “Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like this actress, Ondalune?”

Goldie leaned forward. She pretended to study the image, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart. She summoned more acting skills than she had for the entire film when she leaned back again, shrugging nonchalantly. “I told you, people mistake me for someone else all the time.”

“Yes, you said.” Cosimo nodded, tapping the photo. “But you have to admit, there’s something special about her. Something … timeless.”

He met her eyes coolly, scanning them for a reaction. She couldn’t hold that gaze. She had to look away. Instead, she stared down at her wrinkled hands. She counted the age spots, scattered across the backs, like constellations.

“I’m familiar with her work,” she mumbled. “Comes with the territory.”

“And what territory is that?” Cosimo asked. She didn’t have to look up to know he was still staring at her. Studying her. She could feel it.

“Collecting old projectors,” Goldie said. She counted to ten slowly in her head, before she risked looking up again. “Old projectors run old films.” She met his eyes again. “In fact, I’m running her films on my old projectors for the film festival.”

“Have you heard anything about the lost footage?” Cosimo asked. He glanced back down at the brochure. “I read that they’re planning to screen some never before seen footage at the festival.” He looked at her conspiratorially. “You haven’t seen it already, have you?”

“I haven’t.” Goldie speared a chunk of French toast and dipped it in syrup. “We haven’t received that footage yet. It might have been a PR stunt on behalf of the organizers. Supposedly, someone wrote to the film institute that they’d found the footage in an old warehouse. Who even knows if it’s real?”

She stuffed the French toast in her mouth and began chewing. She was talking far too much. Next she’d be telling him that the entire event committee was in a state of panic because the lost footage they’d promised had yet to materialize.

“Anyway.” She attempted to change the subject when she finished chewing. “Tell me about this mysterious woman you’ve been missing. Is she from the island? Perhaps I know her.”

No amount of syrup was enough. Her breakfast suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth, tainted as it was with jealousy. How ridiculous she was. An old woman. She’d had her time. She had no right to feel this way, particularly about a total stranger.

“Perhaps you know her.” Cosimo was the one to look away now. He stared down at his plate of untouched food. His expression was troubled. “But I’m afraid to say who she is right now. I’m afraid I’ve wronged her terribly, and if she knew the truth … If she knew I was here, she would hate me.”

“Oh dear.” Goldie laid down her knife and fork and reached out for his beautiful hands again. She held them between her own, wishing there was a way to comfort him. “I can’t imagine that’s true, Cosimo. But whatever happened, tell her the truth. Give her the opportunity to make up her own mind.”

“I’m a coward,” he murmured, still staring down at the table. She squeezed his hands. Finally, he looked back up at her, staring deeply into her eyes. “But I did what I thought I had to do, to ensure her safety. And much as it gutted me to do so, I would do the same again. And again. I would choose her every time.”

“You must have loved her very much,” Goldie said.

She couldn’t tear herself away from the intensity of his gaze. It was almost as if he was looking at that woman while he was looking at her. She didn’t mind being the stand-in. Nobody had stared at her with that kind of love before. Not in 125 years of living, nor in her acting career, had she found herself the focus of such exquisite, nearly feral emotion. It ought to have been frightening. But it made her sad. Sad for the woman, and sad for this strange man, because whatever had transpired to tear them apart, it had probably left both of them far from whole.

Cosimo leaned back and looked away suddenly. He checked his watch and gathered his things. “You’ll tell me if you hear about the lost reels?”

Goldie’s mind flashed on the image she’d thought she’d seen in the Casino theater. The flash of light and the academy leader counting down on the screen. Where exactly had Cosimo been when she fell? Could he have been in the projection booth?

She was being ludicrous. The police had settled on the same explanation as her. It was the work of kids, or the door had been left unlocked and blown open on its own.

But that did not explain the properly threaded film that was still sitting in the projector. She did not know who, besides her, could have loaded it. Or started it running. She could feel the furrow in her own brow deepening as she pondered this.

“Goldie?” Cosimo touched her cheek, gently. She saw he was putting his coat on now. He checked his watch and frowned. “Excuse me a moment?” he said. “Do you think the owners might let me use their phone?” Cosimo reached for his gloves, and as he stood, he put on his hat. Given the shards of daylight that were cutting through the windows up by the front desk where the phone was located, she supposed that was prudent. She gave Cosimo credit for walking around in daylight. She never dared venture into the ocean, not even to go wading in a full body wetsuit.

“I’m sure they’d let you use the phone,” Goldie said. “Especially if it’s not a long distance call.”

While she waited for Cosimo to return, her mind spun yarns with more speed than a spinning wheel. She invented colorful stories about Cosimo as well as twisted ones. She’d had no shortage of imagination. But the more she let her imagination roam free, the more tangled the tales became. None of it felt right.

Cosimo seemed rushed when he returned to the table. He didn’t remove his gloves and hat.

“I’m so sorry, Goldie. I lost track of the time. I don’t like to stay out much past ten. The sun is very strong here and I’ve got to get back to my hotel room before the marine layer burns off.”

“You’re leaving?” Goldie asked. She felt her heart sinking, as if she were being jilted by a date. As if it were her fault, and the hour was just an excuse. How silly for her to pout like that. He was nothing to her. And yet she had to fight the urge to beg him to stay a little longer.

“I’m afraid so.” Cosimo’s eyes were sad. “I wish it weren’t so. I would have liked to spend more time with you this morning, and hear more about your life.”

“It’s fine.” Goldie waved her hand magnanimously. “I’ve got the bill. Go be safe. The sun can be relentless here.”

“Thank you, but I’ve already paid, my dear.” Cosimo removed his hat, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She gazed up at him and he lowered his chin to meet her gaze. As his eyes locked with hers once more, she forgot to breathe again.

When Cosimo bent to kiss her cheek, she could feel his long lashes brush against her. They felt damp, presumably from the fog. Reflexively, she reached up and buried her hand in his hair. It was just as thick and soft as she’d expected.

But just as quickly, the strands were slipping through her fingers, slick as seaweed, and he was sliding away.

Cosimo straightened and donned his hat. He took three steps away before turning back one last time.

“You have my card if you need to reach me.” He tipped the hat. “Till we meet again, Ondalune.”