{"id":4777,"date":"2017-03-31T07:52:21","date_gmt":"2017-03-31T12:52:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=4777"},"modified":"2020-09-05T03:37:24","modified_gmt":"2020-09-05T08:37:24","slug":"the-storytellers-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-storytellers-part-2\/","title":{"rendered":"The Storytellers Part II"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div><\/div>\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/a><\/h2>\n

Original Fiction<\/h4>\n

<\/p>\n

The Storytellers, a\u00a0 three-part novella, first appeared on Faith Hope and Fiction in 2007 under the title, <\/em>The Legendary Storyteller Sisters. We are pleased to share a slightly updated 10-year anniversary version here, which will be serialized over the next few months.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/i>Read The Storytellers<\/em> Part I<\/a><\/div>
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n

T<\/span>he door stood open, welcoming a balmy breeze off the Intercoastal and a stream of visitors who arrived as my taxi pulled up in front of The Sisters\u2019 house. I paid the driver but didn\u2019t get out of the cab right away. This lunch had been described to me as a get-together with a few people who wanted to meet me. That meant two or three, certainly not more than four. In the minute or so that I sat in the back of that taxi, putting my wallet away and checking my lipstick in the little pocket mirror I carried, I watched about ten guests arrive. This was not ‘a few people’\u2014it was a crowd.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cThis is<\/em> the right place,\u201d the driver said. His statement seemed to imply a question.<\/p>\n

\u201cNone other.\u201d I got out, smoothed the folds of my dress and started up the flagstone walkway. Hearing footsteps behind me, I quickened the pace, not wanting to be barraged with conversation before I got in the door.<\/p>\n

Suddenly a man appeared at my side. \u201cYou must be Kate. Bess and Lillian have told everyone about you. I\u2019m Dennis Rivera, and I\u2019ve known your aunts for years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCousins,\u201d I corrected. \u201cDistant cousins. Yesterday was the first time I met them, although I\u2019ve heard about them all my life.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis paused just inside the doorway. \u201cYesterday, huh? They have a way of getting into your life, though, don\u2019t they? I met them in a restaurant right after I moved down here. They had overheard most of what I said to a client over lunch and had some advice for me. Call me crazy, but I listened to them\u2014and every time after that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had to ask. \u201cWhat was the advice?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis shrugged and smiled. \u201cThat all I had to do was believe deeply in what I was doing. Then I wouldn\u2019t have to try so hard to convince everyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

The night before, Bess and Lillian had given me a vision for my life, of what was possible if I were willing to change my ways and break out of the tight little box of my existence. Last night it had sounded so profound; now, it just struck me as something you\u2019d find in a book of platitudes in an airport bookstore.<\/p>\n

Inside the house, the living room teamed with people; in the dining room, another cluster filled their plates from the table set buffet-style. I found The Sisters in the garden out back, holding court around a large patio table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere she is, our guest of honor,\u201d Lillian sang out.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Dennis, for escorting her,\u201d Bess added.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else would we expect from him?\u201d Lillian smiled. \u201cSuch a gentleman!\u201d<\/p>\n

I started to explain that he had only met me at the door, but stopped, realizing that The Sisters were flirting a little with their guest, who was a good forty years their junior. They all laughed like it was a game they\u2019d played many times before.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone,\u201d Lillian called out, looking around at the dozen or so people on the patio. \u201cThis is our cousin, Kate Conrad. She\u2019s the real<\/em> writer of our family. We only tell stories; she writes them down!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we had written down half of what we\u2019d told over the years, we\u2019d have a whole library by now,\u201d Bess said.<\/p>\n

And on it went. The luncheon was a swirl of conversation and canap\u00e9s, a nibble here and a few words there. I forgot most of the names I heard as I was introduced, and had my hand shaken and clasped so many times my arm was tiring. Several times Dennis appeared at my side, gliding seamlessly into whatever group had nabbed me. Over the course of three intense hours of munching and mingling, I learned the scattered facts of Dennis\u2019 life: that he owned a real estate management company, had grown up in Ohio but moved to Florida back in the 1980s, was divorced with a son in college, and was allergic to crabmeat but not shrimp (he had asked the waiter what was in a “seafood puff” pastry).<\/p>\n

Each time he came back I felt buoyed by the presence of an old friend, even though we barely knew each other. Despite my thirty-nine years of age, in the dating and romance department I have all the confidence and finesse of a 13-year-old at a school dance, my back pressed against the wall, dying for some boy to notice me and praying that he won\u2019t.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Kate, what\u2019s next?\u201d Dennis asked, placing his hand against the small of my back as he guided me toward the divan that had just been vacated by another couple.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, what\u2019s next is a book signing at four o\u2019clock.\u201d I glanced at my watch, shocked to see that it was already quarter to three.<\/p>\n

Dennis chuckled, the smile lines around his eyes crinkling attractively. He looked like someone who plays golf and tennis, and drives around with the top down on his convertible, wind blowing in his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples\u2026<\/p>\n

My own thoughts sounded like a bad novel. I checked my watch again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean, what are you writing now\u2014or don\u2019t you give away any hints about your work?\u201d Dennis said. \u201cPerhaps I can coax it out of you over dinner. Are you free this evening?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d My voice was so constricted with surprise and nervousness, I swear it squeaked.<\/p>\n

We arranged to meet in the lobby of my hotel at seven. Dennis got up, put his hand on my shoulder, and said he needed to speak to someone. I watched possessively as he cut across the room, then relaxed when he engaged an older man in what seemed like a serious conversation.<\/p>\n

By now the crowd had dwindled to a handful and I knew it was time to take my leave. I sought out Bess to ask about calling a taxi. \u201cSo, you spent quite a bit of time with Dennis,\u201d she said, smiling.<\/p>\n

If anyone could give me the lowdown on this guy, my legendary fifth cousins could. Since childhood, they’d told people the stories of their lives. \u201cNice man,” was all I said. “We\u2019re having dinner this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave a nice time,\u201d Bess said brightly. \u201cPerhaps we\u2019ll see you tomorrow. You\u2019re leaving Sunday, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had one more day in Palm Beach and then it was back to New York. Five days ago, I would have said I couldn\u2019t wait to get back, but now I wasn\u2019t so sure. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bess turned to an older couple who stood a polite step or two away, waiting to say good-bye to both of us. \u201cWould you mind taking Kate to her book signing? That way she doesn\u2019t have to wait for a taxi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"The<\/p>\n

The bookstore manager greeted me warmly at ten minutes to four, with noticeable relief that I hadn\u2019t forgotten or otherwise blown off the event. Sipping a glass of water, I paced around the back of the bookstore, looking at displays of books including my own, The Grande Dame of the North Woods<\/em><\/p>\n

I regaled my audience with historical trivia about Giselle du Mont, the main character of my novel\u2014friend and confidante of the two Bonaparte brothers Napoleon and Joseph\u2014the only one among a community of French aristocrats who made the North Woods her home and not just a temporary escape. More than that, I told my audience about me<\/em> and what it was like to write the book. I recounted one attempt to recreate the 19th<\/sup> century on location by parking my rental car and walking straight back into a swamp full of tamarack trees. I didn\u2019t get too far before I stumbled, fell, lost my shoe, got scratched by branches, and was bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes\u2014all to the dismay and amusement of a man who yelled from the porch of his house, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you take the road?\u201d<\/p>\n

The audience roared with delight at this story, and the store manager, leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed over his chest, nodded.<\/p>\n

The turnout was good\u2014not just the twenty-five or so people who had come for the event, but another dozen or more who had seen the crowd, heard the laughter, and wanted in on the fun. I signed fifteen extra books for the store display, thanked the store manager profusely, and headed out of there at ten minutes to six.<\/p>\n

Through the window of a boutique next door, where mannequins with attitude slouched in dresses I probably couldn\u2019t afford, I saw two women locking up for the night. \u201cWe\u2019ll be closing in a few minutes,\u201d one of the women in the store said, gently but firmly.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, because I don\u2019t have more than a few minutes. Just finished my book-signing next door and I have a date tonight. I need a dress.\u201d<\/p>\n

The women sprang into action, sizing me up, eliminating possibilities as to wrong color or style, and sent me into the dressing room with the choice we all liked the best: aquamarine silk, square neckline, the hemline just above my knee. Opening the dressing room door, I pirouetted in front of the double-mirror on the wall. Perfect.<\/p>\n

Dennis was late, thankfully, which gave me time to pace casually around the hotel lobby, admiring my reflection in a gilded mirror each time I passed it. When he bustled in at seven-fifteen with profuse apologies, he actually stopped in his tracks for a moment and looked at me.<\/p>\n

Giselle du Mont would be proud,<\/em> I thought.<\/p>\n

We ate a leisurely meal at a corner table in a crowded restaurant. He asked me about my book signing, and seemed genuinely interested. When my internal monitor told me I’d hogged the conversation enough, I quickly changed the subject back to him. Dennis answered me vaguely, as if bored by too much business talk. \u201cI spend my days explaining development plans to investors and business tenants.” he said. “I\u2019d rather forget about it for a moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two hours later, when we were out of food and talk, Dennis suggested we take a walk. Through charming side streets we strolled toward the Intercoastal, where the running lights on sailboats and yachts reflected in the water. As I gazed into the night-darkened water, the smell of salt and fish tingling my nose, Dennis gathered me up into an embrace and kissed me. My brain was surprised, but my lips remembered what to do.<\/p>\n

I kissed him back.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d Dennis began.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d I replied, not knowing what else to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes our evening have to end here?\u201d He ran his fingers lightly up my bare arm.<\/p>\n

A mental debate raged in my brain until my better sense won out. \u201cI think it does,\u201d I heard myself say with equal parts of relief and regret.<\/p>\n

\u201cToo bad,\u201d Dennis murmured into my hair. \u201cBut you\u2019ll be back. Bess and Lillian told me so.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pulled away from his embrace a little and laughed. \u201cThey did, did they?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTold me it was 100-percent guaranteed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pondered again the story The Sisters had told me the night before, of what was possible if I took a chance. I would leave my comfort zone\u2014literally move away from my little one-bedroom condo in New York City\u2014and write the book I was destined to write. And I\u2019d love a man who would tear down all of my barriers.<\/p>\n

I settled my head against Dennis\u2019 shoulder, deciding I could get used to this. \u201cI am here tomorrow, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dennis explained that he was meeting with clients the next day, and it promised to be a long evening as well. He probably wouldn\u2019t get home until Sunday morning. \u201cA friend of mine has a place down in Del Ray Beach, where I stay when I\u2019m doing business around there,” he offered. “I know that\u2019s where I\u2019ll be crashing tomorrow night.\u201d<\/p>\n

The little fantasy bubble of happiness deflated inside me; I wouldn\u2019t be seeing Dennis again, not on this trip and maybe not ever. As soon as I got back to New York on Sunday night, my adventure would be over, and everything would be back to normal. Normal<\/em>. Routine, regular, predictable, boring.<\/p>\n

Dennis interrupted my brooding with another kiss.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/p>\n

The Sisters called me before nine the next morning, invited me over to lunch and promised it would just be the three of us. Feeling like a native by now, I walked from my hotel, over the bridge, and along the linear park that lined the Intercoastal. It took 45 minutes to reach The Sisters\u2019 house, but I needed the exercise and time alone with my daydreaming.<\/p>\n

The house was empty of guests\u2014but not quiet. From some corner came the sound of repair work being done. \u201cOh, that\u2019s just Danny,\u201d Lillian explained lightly. \u201cHe takes care of our roof. The tiles come off just as fast as we can replace them, it seems. And, this being a stucco house, we’re always on guard against cracks that let in the moisture.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Sisters led me to the patio where, under a wide umbrella, a light lunch of cold cucumber soup and finger sandwiches was served. They inquired about where I had dinner with Dennis, approving his choice of restaurant, but did not pry. Hoping to get some hint of a prognostication from them, I did mention that he’d hoped to see me again soon.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll be coming back,\u201d Bess replied matter-of-factly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAny particular reason?\u201d I asked in what I hoped was a light tone.<\/p>\n

Bess looked at me as if I had asked what planet this was. \u201cBecause you want to, why else?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lillian was far more interested in the book signing and clapped with approval when I explained how I had told my audience funny little stories about writing the book.<\/p>\n

At one point Bess leaned back in her chair and looked up, toward the roof line. \u201cHave you had lunch, Danny?\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t want to interrupt my time alone with The Sisters, but Danny appeared at the table five minutes later, squinting from the sun as he ducked under the shade of the umbrella. Lillian formally introduced us, explaining that Danny Collins was much in demand. Not only as a contractor building new houses, but also for his skill as a restorer of old buildings.<\/p>\n

The rest of lunch was spent talking about houses, and I was glad to be out of the conversational hot seat. I let my mind wander back to the night before, disappointed that I would not be seeing Dennis that evening, and wondering if I would hear from him before I left. If not, I consoled myself, I would call him as soon as I was back in New York. And then what? It seemed ridiculous to contemplate a long-distance relationship with a man I had known less than 24-hours, but Dennis and I did have a spark between us that neither of us could deny.<\/p>\n

I jerked my head up, aware that I was absentmindedly stirring the remnants of my soup\u2014completely in my own world.<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive her,\u201d Bess joked. \u201cShe had a date last night, and hasn\u2019t been the same since.\u201d<\/p>\n

Danny gave me a wide grin. \u201cSeems like you had a good time.\u201d<\/p>\n

My face heated up as I blushed and forced the conversation into a new direction. \u201cIt\u2019s been a busy few days. I\u2019ve been away for nearly two weeks. I\u2019ll be glad to get back to New York tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d Lillian asked. \u201cI thought you\u2019d be making plans to come back by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will,\u201d Bess replied, lifting her lemonade glass in a little salute.<\/p>\n

Danny went back to work, and I lingered at the patio table with The Sisters. When it came time to leave, I hugged them both and thanked them for everything.<\/p>\n

Bess\u2019 eyes lingered on my face. \u201cWe\u2019re the ones who should be thanking you.<\/em> I know you don\u2019t understand that now, but trust me, you\u2019ve given us so much.\u201d<\/p>\n

After crossing Flagler Avenue to walk along the water, I turned toward the house for a last glimpse. The Sisters still stood in the doorway, waving.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/p>\n

I was back in New York for three days, waiting for a call from Dennis but knowing he was very busy, when a letter arrived from Palm Beach. My heart skipped a little beat when I saw the postmark. Then I turned it over and saw the return address written on the envelope flap: it was from Bess and Lillian. The letter was long\u2014four handwritten pages\u2014and they had written it in tandem, a break in the handwriting the only visible seam in this masterpiece of prediction and persuasion. I was at a crossroads, they told me, and my choices were to follow the predictable path or the \u201cone less traveled,\u201d of which Robert Frost had written. That path, they assured me, led back to Palm Beach, although I should not come for any other reason than for my own self, my own life. It needed to be the decision that I felt destined<\/em> to make\u2014they underlined that word in case I didn\u2019t feel the weightiness of it on its own\u2014in order to alter (as they put it) \u201cthe inevitable trajectory toward mediocrity.”<\/p>\n

How could I possibly read that line from anyone\u2014let alone two women who had made their living telling people the stories of their lives\u2014and not give it some serious thought?<\/p>\n

When Dennis called me that evening, explaining that he had been going nonstop since he saw me on Friday night, I told him that I was making plans to return to Palm Beach to stay with Bess and Lillian. \u201cI\u2019m sure they\u2019ll be thrilled to have you back,\u201d he replied. \u201cOf course, I\u2019ll be happy to see you too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will take me a few weeks to get everything in order.\u201d I knew it could be a month before I was there again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to be traveling quite a bit myself,\u201d he replied. \u201cAn investor group in California wants to hire me to manage a project for them. I\u2019m leaving for L.A. in the morning, in fact.\u201d<\/p>\n

We talked about that for a while, as I pushed down the anxious thought that, just when I made a move, he was scampering away to another part of the country. I told myself I was being ridiculous; Dennis traveled for business, but he still lived in Palm Beach.<\/p>\n

Hanging up with a promise to be in touch soon, I remembered a line from The Sisters\u2019 letter: I could not move to Palm Beach unless it was the move I felt destined to make. Bundled up in my winter coat, I took a walk to clear my head. It was cold and damp, as only March in New York can be, and I missed the warmth and sunshine of Palm Beach\u2014even though I would soon be in for a whopping dose of Florida heat and humidity.<\/p>\n

With each block I walked, I waffled from going to staying, until I decided to do something between the two: I would lease my condo for a few months and give Palm Beach a try. I could take my work with me, just as I had throughout the book tour. I had nothing to lose except \u201cthe inevitable trajectory toward mediocrity.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three weeks later I leased my condo for six months\u2014longer than I wanted, but that was what the tenant demanded\u2014and took The Sisters\u2019 up on their offer to stay in their guest suite. I assured them that I wasn\u2019t going to live with them for six months, just long enough to get my bearings and find my own place to live. I packed my clothes and my laptop, but left everything else. I rented my condo fully furnished.<\/p>\n

I settled into The Sisters\u2019 home easily, relieved that they did not dote on me or treat me like a guest. I came and went as I pleased. The only one who made regular inquiries of me was Dahlia, the cook, who each day asked what meals I planned to eat at home. I walked along the Intercoastal every morning, headed over to Ocean Boulevard in Palm Beach for a longer walk in the afternoon, and saw Dennis in the evenings when he was in town and his schedule permitted. Although I thought about writing, It hadn\u2019t actually written anything.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t because Dennis wanted to see me 24\/7; on the contrary, we usually saw each other only once a week. My problem was that I was mentally preoccupied with him. Smitten, infatuated, and wholly unlike myself. I was lucky to keep up with my editing projects, and had to pull some late-night sessions just to meet my deadlines.<\/p>\n

On a lazy Sunday afternoon as we took a drive, he asked if I were writing, or just goofing off all the time. He meant it as a joke, but I took it to heart\u2014mainly because it was true. \u201cI\u2019m thinking of going off in a different direction, perhaps a book set in New York City, maybe historical, maybe not.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shot me a grin. \u201cSounds great.\u201d<\/p>\n

No, it sounded like one big, fat procrastination, but I kept that to myself.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen I\u2019ve got to go back to Los Angeles. I\u2019ll be there for a week or so,\u201d he said casually. \u201cSo while I\u2019m gone, you can get some serious writing done.\u201d He smiled again, and I was grateful for the gentle encouragement in his eyes.<\/p>\n

While Dennis was gone I got down to business, setting a strict schedule for myself: up at six, two hours of writing, a brisk walk, and another two hours of writing. Each afternoon, I dove into freelance editing, which I thought of as my day job.<\/p>\n

The first few days of writing produced little worth keeping, but on the third day I settled into a groove. A new character evolved from my rambling, a character clearly influenced by my own life choices, who was emerging from a routine of responsibility and disappointments into a circle of quirky, like-minded friends. My character had just quit her day job to open a caf\u00e9 in a small town about an hour outside the city, and was trying on the kind of life that had always escaped her.<\/p>\n

On the sixth day, I went to an office supply place and printed out twenty-seven satisfying pages, read them over, and left them on my desk while I went out for a walk to decide whether I should send them to my agent or not. By the time I came back, I’d convinced myself that I was ready to send her a taste of what I was working on. The door to the sitting room that I used as my office was ajar. I pushed it open and froze.<\/p>\n

A drop-cloth was spread on the floor in the corner, on top of which stood a ladder. At my desk stood Danny, my pages in his hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d I shrieked.<\/p>\n

Danny jumped and dropped the pages, which scattered across the floor. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d he apologized. \u201cNow that I\u2019ve fixed the roof, I wanted to paint the corner there. See, where it\u2019s discolored from water seeping in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care about the roof or the ceiling. I want to know why you are at my <\/em>desk, reading my <\/em>private papers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I saw you were out, I thought I could paint that corner before you came back. I was just getting set up when I saw the pages. I didn\u2019t mean to read them, but what I saw was so compelling, I couldn\u2019t help myself\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you did help yourself!\u201d I shook my head and began picking up the pages. When Danny stooped to help me, I hissed that I didn\u2019t want him to touch anything of mine and warned him that he better stay as far away from me as possible.<\/p>\n

Danny left without saying another word, leaving the ladder and the drop cloth in place.<\/p>\n

I stayed in the room through lunch and well into the afternoon. I was so angry at his intrusion that I nearly tore up the pages, but knew that served no purpose. I read and re-read them, tried changing a few sentence, but couldn\u2019t make any progress. Instead I read and napped, and didn\u2019t emerge until nearly dinnertime.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you are,\u201d Dahlia said from the stove where dinner was already underway. \u201cWe missed you at lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t hungry,\u201d I mumbled, and opened the refrigerator to grab a piece of cheese.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t spoil your appetite now. Dinner is going to be served in about a half hour.\u201d Dahlia handed me a glass of wine. \u201cBess and Lillian are outside. Go join them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dahlia turned her back to the stove, and I watched her as she worked: the stoop of her shoulders, her gray hair gathered back in a loose bun. She was my mother\u2019s age, I guessed, and her kindness and care were so overwhelming that I fought the urge to hug her. She turned and smiled. \u201cGo on, now. They have something for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bess and Lillian spoke quietly together, their voices so soft I could not make out their words. They looked up at the same time when I slid open the patio door and stepped outside. Bess handed me an envelope.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d I asked, sitting down on the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust open it up and read it,\u201d Lillian said.<\/p>\n

The letter was an apology from Danny, begging my forgiveness for his invasion of my privacy. After the first page. I got the point: he didn\u2019t mean to intrude and he was sorry. Turning to the second page, I had expected more of the same, and was taken aback to read a commentary on my writing. As much as I told myself that I didn\u2019t care about his opinion, I kept reading. He found the story engaging and the characters believable. He asked intelligent questions about two of the characters, and pointed out an inconsistency in the story development that, quite frankly, was a very good catch.<\/p>\n

I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.<\/p>\n

\u201cDanny was awfully upset by what happened. He told us all about it,\u201d Lillian began.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was an invasion of privacy,\u201d I said tersely.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it was. But your writing was so compelling he said he couldn\u2019t help himself,\u201d Lillian said.<\/p>\n

I huffed an indignant little laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve known Danny for five years and there isn\u2019t a disingenuous bone in his body,\u201d said Bess. \u201cI won\u2019t apologize for him; that\u2019s his responsibility. But if he said he liked what he read, then he did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd why should I care about a roofer\u2019s opinion?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bess\u2019s eyes narrowed as she lasered her disappointment. \u201cCome now, you didn\u2019t really say that, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n

With that, the subject was dropped and dinner was served. Lillian filled up the white spaces of our conversation with chatter. As I ate, my mood improved\u2014the upset was over and done.<\/p>\n

Toward the end of the evening, Bess reached over and laid her hand gently on my forearm. \u201cWe are very happy that you\u2019re here with us,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem much more alive than when we first met you,\u201d Lillian piped up.<\/p>\n

I had Dennis to thank for that and told them so.<\/p>\n

Bess leaned toward me, this time taking my hand in hers. \u201cWhy did you come, Kate? Is this truly what you felt destined to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course!\u201d I replied without thinking. \u201cI love it here. I didn\u2019t realize how much I wanted to get out of New York until I came here. Not that I plan on being your house guest forever.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can stay until the end of time,\u201d Bess interrupted. \u201cI\u2019m asking if the life you\u2019ve embarked on now seems like the path that was waiting for you all along, or if you\u2019ve merely hopped tracks while waiting for something to happen to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clearly Bess and Lillian knew, or thought they knew, something that they weren\u2019t telling me. I felt manipulated by their sudden questions about why I moved to Palm Beach, when they were the ones who encouraged me to come in the first place.<\/p>\n

Lillian made a soothing little noise before she spoke. \u201cWe just want to make sure that you\u2019re happy and that you\u2019re living life for you\u2014not for anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bess put an end to the discussion as abruptly as she started it. \u201cLet\u2019s get the brandy glasses. Dahlia has made something sinful for dessert, and I feel like a drink to go with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

They left me alone at the table with a painful longing to speak to Dennis. I knew from his last text message that he was tied up with clients. Then I realized why The Sisters had asked me about moving to Palm Beach. Everything I felt, even my annoyance with Danny, was about someone else.<\/em> All I had was my own life and the way I chose to live it\u2014starting with my writing.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll join you in a second,\u201d I told The Sisters as I passed them in the kitchen. Grabbing the pages off my desk, I returned to the patio where a slice of banana cake awaited me, along with a snifter of brandy. \u201cSo, do you want to hear a story?\u201d I offered.<\/p>\n

Lillian clasped her hands eagerly and Bess leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. With that, I began to read.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\"The<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/i>Read The Storytellers<\/em> Part III<\/a><\/div>
<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dennis gathered me up into an embrace and kissed me. My brain was surprised, but my lips remembered what to do. 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