“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.”
