“Mother, please. Look, it’s Reverend Ben. I never thought he would be able to give a service today,” Emily said sympathetically.
Ben started the service, amazed to see how many had attended today. There would be the same showing at Carolyn’s funeral, he thought sadly.
That morning he had woken at dawn with a start, as if shaken by some unseen hand. It was still dark outside, and he thought about the service, sure he wasn’t going to be able to do it. He’d nearly called his old friend Reverend Simpson, who was standing by to take his place.
He had dressed quickly, then went over to the hospital and looked in on Carolyn. There was still no change. She was clinging to life, and he knelt by her bed and prayed for a while. He knew she would want him to give the service today, so he’d turned around and come back to town, with just enough time to ready himself and get to the church on time.
The words and the music, which he knew by heart, carried him along for a while, the ritual acting as both a bulwark and support to his flagging spirit and energy.
Ben sat listening as the celebrant read today’s Gospel. He barely heard the words, his attention on the sermon he was about to give. He looked down at his hastily written notes and then out over the rows of sympathetic faces. His gaze fell on those of his own family, Rachel, Jack, their new baby, and Mark.
How long had it been since Mark had sat in this church? he wondered. Several years at least. Everyone must be talking about it, the prodigal son who has finally returned home. But this version was not much like the biblical tale. Here, the past problems that plagued the family had never been resolved—and everyone in Cape Light knew it. Ben looked at Mark and felt his own deep inadequacy. He wasn’t fit to be a minister, to preach to these trusting people when he couldn’t even solve the problems in his own home. He felt it keenly, like a sharp blade pressed against his heart.
But it was time to give the sermon. He took a deep breath and walked to the pulpit, looking far more assured than he felt.
“Stop and smell the roses,” he began. “How often have you heard that one? It’s so corny and trite. The simple words have lost all meaning for us. Who has time to stop and smell anything these days? Even the food that we eat to fuel our bodies is tossed to us through a car window and hastily consumed before we reach the next traffic light. . . .
“What about lying out in a field and watching clouds roll past? Or purposely taking a walk in the snow or in the rain? Do you ever have time for those things? What about watching the sunrise? Who here has made time and room in his life for any one of these useless, unproductive pursuits?
“Life is too short, people often say. Is it too short to be wasted waiting with a child for the first star to appear? What would be a better use of that time—watching more TV? Balancing a checkbook? Keeping your house neat enough to be in a magazine, or even working overtime? Do you think your children will remember that the house was clean or that you made cookies with them? Will they remember that the family had a new car or that you were home early enough to read them stories every night?”
He paused, not sure if he had the energy to go on. “Life must be more than earning and spending and worrying. We can get so focused on being responsible, on working and keeping up with our to-do lists that we forget to just stop and enjoy the harvest that our efforts have produced. More importantly, we forget to enjoy and appreciate those nearest and dearest to us.
“Each day is a precious, sacred gift, my friends. We walk this earth for a blink of an eye. As we face our final moments, does anyone say, ‘Gee, I didn’t work enough. I didn’t worry enough. I wasted too much time, enjoying beauty, God’s wondrous creation. Oh, and I told my family that I loved them way too many times. . . .’ ”
A few nervous laughs erupted. Ben paused, quickly wondering when he had last told Carolyn he loved her. He couldn’t remember. Distracted, he lost his place in his notes.
His gaze fell on the empty space where Carolyn should have been, the sight hitting him full force in the center of his being. For a moment he could barely breathe, but he held on to the edges of the pulpit and steadied himself. He saw concern on Rachel’s face and then on Mark’s.
He rallied and continued. “We take so many little things for granted. It’s only human but not one of our finer qualities.” His gaze fell on Mark again. His son stared up at him, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Ben could see that he was growing uncomfortable; the sermon was upsetting him, but Ben couldn’t help that.
“Some people think that they have forever on this earth to hold a grudge or a grievance, to avoid facing a problem squarely and making amends. We put it off. It’s hard work and unpleasant. And painful,” he added, looking at Mark again. “We make excuses and let ourselves off the hook self-indulgently—not realizing how we might be hurting others and ourselves. Not realizing that the golden tomorrow when we planned to say, ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Please forgive me,’ may never come. . . .”
Mark jumped up from his seat and pushed his way out of the pew, as if someone had just yelled fire. He ran quickly down the center aisle and out of the church.
The building was so silent, Ben heard his heart pounding in his chest. The familiar creak and groan of the church’s heavy front door sounded seconds later, followed by a loud slam.
Ben suddenly realized that everyone was staring up at him. He could barely believe what had just happened. Rachel looked horrified. Jack put his arm around her shoulder and whispered something to her.
Ben pulled a hanky from his pocket and pressed it to his forehead. Then he turned abruptly, left the pulpit, and walked across to the altar. He forced himself to focus on the liturgy and continued the service, all the while feeling as if he, too, wanted only to run out of the church and hide his head in shame.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“WELL, IT’S SWOLLEN,” DAN EXPLAINED TO HIS DOCTOR, ON Monday morning. “Swollen and . . .”—he put down the phone briefly to check his leg—“a little bluish around the ankle. I’ve been putting ice on it, but that hasn’t helped much.”
“Did you fall or turn your ankle?” the doctor asked.
“I don’t think so. I was shoveling snow on Friday—”
“Shoveling snow? With the cast I gave you?”
“It didn’t fit under my snow boots,” Dan hedged. The truth was, he’d barely worn it at all.
“Hold on for a minute, Dan. I need to pull out your file,” the doctor said wearily.
While Dan waited, Lindsay drifted into the room, dressed and ready to go out. He wondered if she had an interview, but hesitated to ask her.
“Good morning. There’s coffee,” he said. He looked up at her, and she smiled slightly.
“Aren’t you going to work today?” she asked curiously.
“Not yet. I needed to talk to the doctor.”
“Oh,” she replied, not even glancing at his leg. She picked up a section of the newspaper and started reading.
They were on speaking terms but just barely. He’d tried to talk to her about their argument, but she refused to discuss it. Now she and Scott were about to sign a lease on an apartment in Ipswich, and they planned to move out by the end of the month. Dan had told Lindsay that wasn’t at all necessary and offered them the house while he was away on his sailing trip. She’d flatly refused him. He only hoped by the time he left, they would have a chance to set things right. Of course, when the sale of the paper went through, she would be angry all over again. That might take her years to forgive, he thought. He still had not struck a deal with Crown but expected to any day.
“Okay, I have it. You need to come in for an examination and an X ray. We may need to give you another hard cast. And I want you in here today,” the doctor said curtly. “No excuses. You don’t want to end up walking with a permanent limp, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Here’s the receptionist. I’ll see you later.”
Dan let out a long slow breath. Another hard cast. H
ow long would he have to wear that? he wondered. He knew he couldn’t sail alone with a hard cast on his leg. With my luck lately, I’d be washed overboard and sink like a stone.
The receptionist came on and offered him an appointment in the middle of the day. He had no choice but to take it, even though it meant he wouldn’t get anything done at the paper, what with getting to the doctor’s office and back.
He slammed down the phone so hard, the ice pack slipped off his leg. When he bent to pick it up, he slammed the back of his head into the edge of the kitchen table.
“For crying out loud!” he groaned, grabbing the back of his head.
“Dad? What in the world is going on?” Lindsay finally put the newspaper down long enough to look him in the eye.
He shook his head. “I’m a complete idiot. But that should be no news to some people around here.”
“What’s with your leg? Does it hurt again?”
“I’ve done something to it.” He sighed. “I need to go to the doctor today . . . and I can’t drive like this. I know it’s an imposition, but do you think you or Scott could take me? You could just drop me there. It may take a while.”
“I’ll take you,” Lindsay said. “What time is your appointment?”
“At eleven. But they make you wait for at least an hour to see the doctor and then wait for the X ray and then wait to talk to the doctor again. And he sounds pretty sure he’ll have to put another cast on, so there goes another hour.”
“That does sound miserable,” Lindsay said. “What about the paper? Who’s going to cover for you?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and tried to get the ice pack to balance again. “I’m going to call in and go over their assignments, but there’s nobody there who can put the paper together. I guess I’ll just have to miss an issue.”
“Dad, did you hear what you just said?” Lindsay asked.
“I know what I just said.” Of course, it sounded strange to his daughter. But she had no idea how he’d been feeling lately about the paper—about everything. Hopeless.
He couldn’t talk to her about it, though, and he no longer had Emily to confide in. He really missed her. Since she’d stopped visiting, the days had taken on a flat, empty quality. His life seemed a mess lately, collapsing around him in all directions, and sometimes it seemed all he could think about was Emily.
“You can’t miss an issue,” Lindsay said. “You haven’t missed an issue since . . . before I was born.”
“No, not even when your grandfather died,” he said, thinking back. “I don’t think he ever missed one either. But I can’t be in two places at once. The doctor said if I don’t take care of this right away, I could end up with a permanent limp.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Scott will take you to the doctor. I’ll put the paper out.”
He hesitated, surprised by her generosity. “You don’t have to do that, Lindsay. It’s good of you to offer. And I’m grateful, honestly. But you really don’t have to go to all that trouble. Especially after . . . after our argument. I’ll—”
“I’m not doing it for you,” she cut him off. “I’m doing it for the paper. The Messenger isn’t going to miss an issue. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you anymore, but it does to me,” she stated flatly.
Dan sat dumbfounded. Even after all she’d said to him about the paper when they had argued, even after all she’d done for the paper while Wyatt was still here, he had still been blind to the depth of her attachment, her commitment, and her passion for the Messenger.
Wyatt would never have gone to such lengths, Dan thought, wondering what to say to her. But Scott lumbered into the room. Yawning, he walked over and kissed his wife. He’d worked the dinner shift last night and looked like a bleary-eyed bear.
“Morning,” Scott said, sitting down next to Dan at the small, round table. “Hurt your leg again?” he asked kindly.
“Scott, you need to take my father to the doctor today. He can’t drive, and it’s sort of an emergency.”
“Oh, okay. Sure thing,” Scott said agreeably. “Do you have an interview or something today?”
“I did, but I’m going to cancel it. I have to go down to the paper.”
Dan looked up and caught her eye. She stood before him, her travel mug filled with coffee in one hand.
“I hope it goes all right at the doctor,” she said. “Call me at the office when you get back.”
“Okay, honey. I will,” Dan promised. He felt his mouth form a small, apologetic smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said. She kissed Scott good-bye and left the two men together.
Scott was shaking cereal into a bowl while reading the sports section. Dan thought it odd that his son-in-law was such a gourmet, yet he still had a surprising penchant for Cap’n Crunch every morning.
LUCY HEARD THE DOORBELL RING FROM UPSTAIRS. SHE WAITED FOR HER mother to answer it. She knew it was Charlie, bringing the boys back. She just hoped he wouldn’t ask to speak to her.
“Lucy?” her mother called up, from the foot of the stairs. “Charlie is here. He’d like to speak with you.”
No such luck, Lucy realized. She put down the book she’d been reading for school and checked herself quickly in the mirror. She picked up a hairbrush, then put it down again. She didn’t care anymore what Charlie thought about her looks.
He was in the living room with the boys, who were fooling around with their jackets still on. “Come on, boys. Put your things away and get ready for bed. It’s almost nine,” Lucy said.
“Have they done all their homework?” she asked Charlie.
“Jamie had to do a report on the solar system. I had to take him to the library,” Charlie said, as if he had taken their son all the way to the moon.
“The library. Wow. I guess it’s been a while for you, Charlie,” she said dryly. Now he had a taste of what she’d been going through with homework assignments ever since the boys had started school.
Charlie glanced at her but didn’t rise to the bait, she noticed. “Okay, boys, come on and kiss me good night and get upstairs,” he said to his sons.
She noticed he’d become more affectionate with the kids since the separation. He never used to kiss and hug them half as much, so that was one benefit.
When the boys were upstairs, he said, “I wanted to talk to you. Can we talk?”
“Sure, go ahead.” She sat down, steeling herself for what might be coming next. Since they separated nearly a month ago, Charlie had only asked to talk to her twice—the first time about making a set schedule for visiting the boys, the second, about getting their broken family together for at least some part of Christmas. Lucy had compromised with him on both matters. In general, though, she tried to avoid speaking to him, not saying more than hello or good-bye when he had the children.
Now she wondered if he had met with a lawyer and wanted to finally work out a legal separation. Maybe it was time, she mused sadly as she watched him sit down.
“I’ve been doing some thinking, Lucy,” he began slowly. “The house is empty. I’m just rattling around in there by myself. There’s no one around to distract me from my thoughts,” he tried to joke.
She forced herself to smile a little, wondering where this was going. “Do you want to sell the house or something?”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head. “I meant I’m all alone. I’m lonely. With a lot of time on my hands,” he stated bluntly, staring at her.
“Oh . . .” She felt nervous and looked away.
“I miss the kids. Even their fighting and the way it got on my nerves. I haven’t tripped on a toy truck or a building block in weeks now. I miss Bradley,” he added, mentioning their dog. Lucy hadn’t thought twice about taking him along to her mother’s. The boys loved him, and Charlie just complained about walking him and how the dog’s fur stuck to his clothes.
“You miss Bradley? I don’t believe that,” she said doubtfully.
“Sure I do,” he insisted. He paused, looking nervous. “I miss you. I miss you a lot.”
“Well, I’m runner-up to the dog, but at least I made the short list,” she said, with a nervous laugh.
“Now, Lucy . . .” His voice began to go up a notch, but he stopped and took a breath. She wondered for a moment if he was counting to ten.
“What I want to say is, I want us to get back together again. I’m tired of this . . . this separation. I’ve learned my lesson,” he announced, looking her straight in the eye, his face a picture of regret and repentance.
“And what was that, Charlie? What was your lesson?” she asked, trying not to sound as cynical as she suddenly felt.
“I have to learn to keep my temper, for one thing.”
“That’s one,” she agreed.
“I have to . . . hear you out. Not just act like I know what’s best all the time for everybody.”
What had he been reading in the library tonight? she wondered. Some self-help book? This did not sound like the man she was married to.
“All right. That is something that you do that I won’t put up with anymore,” she agreed.
“I know there’s more. I would go to see a counselor again, if that’s what you want,” he offered. “I’d go back to see Reverend Ben and try to talk things out.”
“And not start yelling at me and run out of the room?”
“I lost my temper,” he admitted. “Talking like that isn’t my style. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But I would do it,” he hastily added. “I think I’m ready now to try again.”
He stared at her hopefully. She could hardly believe it. He was still the same old Charlie. She knew that. But he seemed more reasonable somehow. A little more self-aware, maybe?
Still, Lucy didn’t feel tempted to rush back into their marriage, their old patterns, their familiar pain.
“So, what do you say? I thought I could take off from work tomorrow afternoon and move you and the kids back,” he offered.
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