Page 3 of Wisteria Winds (Wisteria Island #2)

C lara Whitman sat at her weathered kitchen table, looking at the unpacked boxes stacked against the wall.

After thirty-six years of marriage, she had certainly accumulated a lifetime of memories, but they were all now condensed into sad cardboard containers labeled with her husband’s neat handwriting.

“Kitchen – Fragile,” one box read.

Her Robert had always been so organized, so methodical. He would have had this cottage unpacked and arranged in less than a day, but she’d been here for nearly a week and had barely even managed to unpack her clothes. She just couldn’t seem to force herself to do it.

She reached for the framed photograph beside her - a picture of her beloved Robert conducting the symphony orchestra, his face full of passion, his arms raised up in mid-gesture.

That’s how she always wanted to remember him: as this person who was so vibrant and alive, not as she’d seen him in the final days of his life, so withered and weak from cancer that claimed him far too soon.

They had met a little later in their lives and never had children—something that bothered Clara even today.

Oh, how she wished she had a big family.

How she wished she had kids and grandkids and was simply waiting for great-grandkids.

She wished she lived on some big property somewhere where all her kids and grandkids would gather around her and have big Sunday dinners.

She sometimes dreamed of sitting on her front porch on some big piece of land, watching one of her grandkids run toward her with arms open wide.

But now she lived on a tiny island with a bunch of other people who either didn’t have families that wanted them around or just needed a place to go in their older years that didn’t reek of lemon-scented cleaner and sadness.

She’d quickly learned that Wisteria Island was full of the same kinds of people.

There were the people who wanted to be there.

Some people needed to be there, like her, simply because they had nowhere else to go.

And then there were the people whose families had sent them there because they didn’t want to deal with them, because they were too eccentric or problematic.

It sometimes seemed times had changed a lot from when she was a kid.

Back when elders were revered instead of ignored.

Back when their wisdom was important to younger generations.

Or maybe she was just wallowing in self-pity and anger that her life had been so destroyed by the death of her husband.

Her best friend. The rock she’d held onto for so many years.

She felt adrift now, like a tiny leaf in the wide open ocean.

She was thankful that she’d had the choice and the funds to come to a place like this, to grow old with people around her to care for her, at least in some way. She was thankful the island had a nurse, and she had people who might become her friends one day.

But right now, she was so stuck in her grief that she didn’t know when that could happen.

A knock at the door startled her.

“Mrs. Whitman, it’s Bennett Alexander. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she heard him say from the other side of the door.

She quickly wiped away a stray tear and smoothed her hair before opening the door.

“Mr. Alexander, please do come in. And you can call me Clara.”

“Well, only if you’ll call me Bennett,” he said, smiling as he stepped into the cottage. “I just wanted to see how you’re settling in. Danielle mentioned that you might need some help unpacking. I can certainly come over here after work.”

Clara felt a rush of embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’ve been a little slow to get organized,” she said, forcing a smile.

Bennett seemed very kind, with no trace of judgment.

“You know, grief moves at its own pace, Clara. There’s no timeline you have to follow.

Many of the people on this island have experienced grief, just like you have.

” He looked around the cottage. “But you know, if you want some help, we have a bunch of volunteers here who can help you get settled. They’ll be efficient and understanding, I promise. ”

Clara hesitated, feeling her natural independence bubbling up to the surface. But it was at war with the overwhelming fatigue that had been her constant companion since losing the love of her life.

“You know, I…” she said, trailing off. “Actually, that would be very kind. Thank you.”

Bennett nodded. “Consider it done. I understand you’ve been in the world of music for a long time?”

“Yes. Robert and I actually met when we were both conducting. I was a rare female conductor, so I stood out like a sore thumb. We both played instruments as well, but mostly piano.”

“Music has always been a real passion of mine, though I lack any real talent,” Bennett said, laughing. “We do have a small music program here on the island. It’s nothing fancy, but some residents get together and play. They’ve been looking for someone with experience to guide them.”

She felt a flicker of interest for the first time in months. “Really? What sort of ensemble?”

“Well, they’re quite a motley crew, to be honest. I think we have a violinist, a cellist, a clarinetist, and a very enthusiastic but somewhat unorthodox pianist. They call themselves the Wisteria Philharmonic, which seems a little ambitious given their number.”

Clara found a small smile forming on her face. “That sounds interesting.”

“Well, they meet on Thursday afternoons at the community center. There’s no pressure at all, but if you want to, go ahead and stop by, even if it’s just to listen.”

When he left a few minutes later, Clara stood at the window watching him walk down the sidewalk. She felt a little spark of possibility for the first time since she arrived on the island.

Maybe there was still some music left in her life after all.

* * *

D anielle finished examining Gladys’s blood pressure and then smiled. “You’re looking good, Gladys. That medication change is working really well.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was worried I would have to give up my pickle addiction,” Gladys said, rolling down her sleeve.

“Well, moderation is still key,” Danielle reminded her. “But yes, your numbers are much better than last month.”

She made notes in Gladys’s chart as her phone buzzed with a text from her mother. She quickly glanced at it.

Called several venues in New York. The Plaza is available June 15th. Perfect timing for a summer wedding. Sending you their brochure and pricing. XOXO, Mom.

Danielle sighed and put the phone aside without saying anything or responding to her mother.

“Wedding troubles already?” Gladys asked. As irreverent as Gladys could be, she was perceptive.

“My mother has some ideas about what my wedding should be like.”

“Oh, I see. And they don’t match yours?”

Danielle smiled. “Not even close. She wants this big, grand New York City society affair, and I want a simple beach ceremony right here on the island.”

Gladys patted her hand. “Oh, mothers and daughters. Always complicated relationships. Well, my own mother insisted I wear her wedding gown. A monstrosity of satin and lace that made me look like a walking meringue.”

“Did you wear it?”

“Oh, good Lord, no. I accidentally ” - she used air quotes - “spilled red wine all over it two weeks before the wedding.” Gladys winked mischievously. “Sometimes you must be a little crafty to get your way.”

Danielle laughed. “Well, I’m not sure sabotage is exactly the answer, but I think I need to start being more firm with my mom.”

“You just remember this, dear. It’s your day. It’s not hers. And that handsome man of yours only has eyes for you, whether you’re in a fancy gown at The Plaza or barefoot out there on the beach. Just watch out for those jellyfish that keep washing up.”

After Gladys left, Danielle looked at her schedule and saw she had a short break before her next patient. She would use that time to call her mother to establish boundaries. But just as she was about to dial, there was a knock at her office door, and then Morty entered in his normal flamboyant way.

“Oh, Danielle, darling, I have the most fabulous news.”

He looked like he was practically vibrating with excitement as he clutched a tablet to his chest. Of course, Danielle couldn’t take her eyes off his hot pink golf shirt and his brightly striped knee shorts. Sometimes, she needed sunglasses to look at him.

“What’s up, Morty?”

“I’ve been working on your wedding plans. Now, before you say anything, look at what I’ve put together,” he said, holding up his hands.

He thrust the tablet into her hands, revealing a meticulously organized Pinterest board titled Beach Boho Glam Wedding Extravaganza .

Danielle scrolled through the images and was surprised to find that many of them actually aligned with what she’d envisioned—a simple ceremony on the beach with natural decorations that had elegance, and then a big reception under the stars.

“Morty, this is beautiful despite the title that goes a little over the top. And way fewer sequins than I would think.”

He beamed with pride. “I just knew you’d love it.

I’ve already spoken to Esther at the bakery about the cake.

She’s thinking of a naked cake with fresh berries and edible flowers.

Now, you tell me if you want buttercream, and I’ll make it happen.

Edwin has offered to play violin for the ceremony.

Oh, and I just thought we could set up the reception on the beach behind Bennett’s cottage, because then we can string the lights in the trees and just set the tables right up on the sand. ”

As Morty continued to detail his vision, Danielle actually felt a new wave of affection for her quirky, generous friend, who had just thrown himself into planning this special day without her input at all.

“Thank you, Morty.”

“This means a lot to me to be able to do this for you. You and Bennett gave me a family when my own turned their backs. This is the least I can do for you.”