“You know, when people say that, I know it’s true,” he began slowly. “That was my first reaction, too. I know I should be grateful. Of course I am. But I have to tell you, it’s darned cold comfort if you’re sitting here, unable to get up and walk across the room and just get yourself a glass of water.” He heard his voice getting louder, harsher. He saw the tense look on her face, but he couldn’t control it or stop himself. “Like, ‘Gee . . . it could be worse. I could have come back without any legs.’ Now that would have really been bad. . . .”
She stared back at him. She looked stung. As if she might just turn and run out on him.
He wondered if she would. Well, that would tell him something, too. He wanted to be honest with her, of all people. If she couldn’t take the plain truth about what he was going through, well, that would just make it easier for him to get over her, wouldn’t it?
But Christine didn’t run. She looked down at her hands a minute and then back up at him.
“Sure,” she said quietly. “I understand.”
He wondered if she really did. He could see she was trying. He had an urge to reach across the table and take her hand. He wondered what she would do. Probably pull away from him.
“I just feel so . . . frustrated sometimes,” he said in a more reasonable tone. “Everyone keeps telling me I have to be more patient.”
“Everyone is right.” She still wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look as if she wanted to run out of the house anymore. David felt relieved. He wanted her to stay a little.
“How’s the therapist? Is he good?” she asked.
“The therapist is a she. And she’s very tough.”
“Well, tough is probably a good thing, right?”
“That’s what she tells me,” David replied.
He caught her gaze and held it. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, important things. All of it, whirling around in his head at once, so that finally, he couldn’t say anything at all. Nothing that was very important, anyway.
They both turned at the sound of the front door opening.
“Hey, Dave, we’re home,” his father called out.
“I’m back here, in the kitchen,” David called back. He realized Christine had parked behind the house, so his family hadn’t seen her car and didn’t realize he had a visitor.
Kate ran ahead of the grown-ups and soon appeared in the kitchen doorway. She flung herself at David, and he caught her in his arms and lifted her into his lap.
“Hey, Muffin-Head. What’s up?”
“We stopped at the bakery. I got cookies.” She held up a small white bag. “For after lunch.”
“Hmm. Any for me?”
She thought about it a moment. “Maybe,” she said seriously. She patted his head. “You’re all sweaty. You need a shower, David.”
“Yeah, I do,” he agreed.
Christine laughed, and Katie suddenly noticed her.
“That’s my friend, Christine Tate,” David explained. “Christine, this is my little sister, Kate.”
“Hi, Kate,” Christine said. David could tell by the look on Christine’s face that she was totally charmed.
“Hello,” Kate said, suddenly shy. “I’m David’s new sister,” she explained.
Jack and Julie walked into the kitchen. David saw his father’s expression change when he saw their visitor. Julie smiled curiously.
“Christine . . . for goodness’ sake.” His father’s happy reaction was deeply embarrassing. “I didn’t know you were here. How are you?”
“I’m good, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Do you remember Julie? I think you met last winter, when we ran into you at the drugstore?”
“Yes, I do,” Christine replied.
Julie and Christine said hello to each other. Kate slipped off David’s lap and walked over to her mother.
David took a breath, wondering how long this tea party was going to last. With the noisy arrival of his family, the magic spell in the quiet, dim kitchen was suddenly gone.
Christine stood up and started buttoning her coat. “I guess I better be going. Nice to see everyone . . .”
“What’s the rush?” Jack asked. “Why don’t you stay and have lunch with us?”
“Yes, please stay,” Julie urged her. “We’re just having sandwiches, nothing special.”
Christine looked at David. He could tell she didn’t know what to say.
“I think Christine has to get going. She has a lot of studying to do,” he said. Then he saw her expression change and realized she had wanted to stay.
She reached for her hat. “Um . . . yeah, that’s right. I have all these finals and term papers to write.”
“Oh, sure. Busy time for everybody. We’ve got our hands full at the tree stand this year,” Jack said, commiserating.
“That bell just does not stop ringing,” Julie agreed as she set platters of cold cuts and cheese on the table.
Jack stood at the counter, cutting bakery rolls on a board. As if to prove Julie’s point, the bell at the stand began to sound. Jack glanced outside, then put the knife down. “I better get out there.”
“I’ll bring your lunch out later,” Julie promised as he left. She turned back to David and Christine. “We really need some help this year, even for a few hours a day or just on the weekends.”
David knew what Julie said was true; they needed to hire someone this year. But the innocent comment hit a nerve, reminding him that he should have been out there with his dad. He felt embarrassed for Christine to see how useless he was around here.
“I’m looking for a Christmas job,” Christine said to Julie. “I need to earn a little money for shopping.”
“Really? That sounds lucky for us.” Julie set down a pile of dishes on the table. “Why don’t we go outside after lunch and talk to Jack about it?”
David felt his stomach clench in a knot. He stared at Julie, trying to catch her eye. She didn’t seem to notice. Did she know how he felt about Christine?
Of course, if his father had kept private conversations private, then she couldn’t know the whole story, that he had given up on winning his old girlfriend back—and that having her around all the time would be sheer torture for him.
In fact, David suddenly realized, Julie might even think she was doing him a favor by hiring Christine. How ironic was that?
“We also need someone to help make items for the Christmas shop,” Julie continued. “And to keep an eye on Kate at times.”
“I love kids,” Christine said. “I’m majoring in elementary ed at school. I’ll be student teaching next semester.”
“Really? I teach art at the elementary school in Hamilton. I just started there in September. It’s a great district. . . .”
The two women began talking about the ups and downs of teaching. Meanwhile, Julie persuaded Christine to stay for lunch, after all. David could see that Julie also wanted Kate to get to know Christine a bit, since it seemed very likely Christine would be her new babysitter.
David made himself a sandwich and began eating. He wondered if anyone would notice he was still in the room.
Katie seemed smitten with Christine, peering at her across the table. Finally, Kate interrupted, drawing Christine’s attention. “This is Lester,” she said, introducing her favorite toy.
Christine gave Kate and the stuffed rabbit a wide, warm smile. “Wow, he’s a big guy. What’s in his backpack?”
Kate quickly opened the pack to show her.
That did it. David felt instantly displaced. Kate had a new favorite.
He never minded babysitting for Kate. But he didn’t always feel up to it, and Julie knew it was not realistic to count on him. He knew that his stepmother was just trying to be considerate, but he suddenly felt as if his one responsibility in the household had been taken away now.
As Julie prepared to serve some tea and a carrot cake from the bakery, Christine quickly rose and helped her clear the table. She came over to David, ready to take his dish.
“Finished?”
“I can do it,” he said quickly. He used the table to lever himself up, then grabbed his walker and carefully carried the plate to the sink. With about two steps left though, his fork and knife slid off, along with the remaining bits of his sandwich. The entire mess hit the floor with a noisy clatter.
The sound of the silverware startled him, hitting a nerve. With a shout, he jumped back and crouched down, covering his head with his hands, as if protecting himself from gunfire. The plate fell to the floor as well.
The room went silent. Everyone in the kitchen was staring at him. David felt his face turn beet red. He stood up again, taking in a long, deep breath.
“Are you all right, David?” Julie asked. She had seen this reaction before and wasn’t totally surprised. Christine, though, looked a little shaken.
“I’m fine. No problem,” he snapped. I just thought the kitchen was being fired on by the enemy. What’s so strange about that?
Hanging on his walker with one hand, he made a half hearted attempt to lean over and grab up some of the mess. But it had all fallen on his bad side, and he wasn’t flexible enough or mobile enough to even touch it.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.” Julie turned and grabbed some paper towels. Before he could answer, she had crouched down, grabbed the plate and silverware, and wiped up the food.
“I’m sorry,” David mumbled.
“Don’t be silly. It’s nothing.” She put the silverware in the sink and grabbed some more towels and the spray cleaner. David awkwardly turned the walker in the small space, hurrying to get out of her way. Or trying to hurry. He couldn’t look at Christine as he ambled out of the room.
“Do you want some tea or coffee, David?” Julie called after him.
“No thanks.” He kept moving and didn’t turn around.
He knew he was being rude. He hadn’t even said good-bye to Christine. Did it matter? Obviously, he was going to be seeing more of her around here. And she would be seeing more of him—seeing what his life was really like, the ugly truth of it. How getting a dirty dish from the table to the sink was a major challenge. Even inspiring a battle flashback.
That should make up her mind about him, once and for all.
That should really do it.
BY THE TIME BEN RETURNED HOME FROM CHURCH, IT WAS LATE IN THE afternoon. Unlike most people, for him Sunday was a workday, the most important of the week. After the service there were often meetings or other events he needed to attend.
Today, he had met with the trustees right after the coffee hour in order to review bids for an emergency repair of the church boiler. Then there was a class with the middle-school students who would be confirmed in the spring. That was always an enlightening experience. No matter how often he taught that course, each group of adolescents had a lot to teach him.
He let himself into the parsonage and hung up his hat and coat on a coat tree in the foyer. The delicate notes of a piece by Handel floated out to greet him. Carolyn, playing one of her favorite pieces. He moved extra quietly as he walked through the house, careful not to interrupt her.
The music was lovely and instantly put him at ease. He was a lucky man to have such wonderful music in his life. After so many years of marriage, he had taken that gift for granted. But during the time Carolyn was unable to play, he felt a great loss. Ever since, he had remained mindful, certain that he would never take it for granted again.
By the time Carolyn finished, he was sitting in the family room, reading the newspaper.
“Ben, I didn’t expect you home so early. Why didn’t you let me know you were back?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you, dear. I was enjoying the private concert.”
She sat on the sofa next to his chair. “So, did you ever find out who it was?”
Ben put down the paper. “Find out what?”
“Who gave the Millers the refrigerator.”
“Oh . . . right.” Ben had been so busy all day, he had forgotten all about the mystery. He shook his head. “No, I didn’t hear a word about it. No clues so far.”
Carolyn looked disappointed. “I was sure someone would have told you or at least given a hint. It’s hard to keep that sort of thing a secret. And people do want to get some credit for good deeds from their pastor.”
Ben laughed. “Yes, they do, don’t they? Though I really don’t have any more influence than the next person.”
He meant, with God. It had always been a peculiar feeling, even uncomfortable at times, when people expected him to judge their actions. They didn’t understand that his role wasn’t to judge whether they did right or wrong. He was there to encourage and support them and to be understanding when they made mistakes.
“Well, who could it be then? It would have to be someone of means,” Carolyn speculated.
“That would make sense. Though it often seems that the people who have the least give the most.”
“That leaves the field wide open. It could be anybody.”
“Could be,” he agreed. “But it would require a combination of generosity and modesty. A fairly rare combination.”
“As rare as hen’s teeth,” Carolyn said, more willing to speak frankly. “How about Sophie Potter? She’s generous to a fault and wouldn’t care about taking credit. But I don’t think she has the extra money to spare right now.”
Ben saw it the same way. Sophie would have motivation but not the means.
“Lillian Warwick? She certainly has the money,” Carolyn said. “But how would she have managed taking care of all the details? I just can’t see her making the effort for a total stranger. She hardly bothers with her own family.”
Carolyn sounded a bit judgmental, he thought. But Lillian’s distant, aloof air was well-known. She was not the type to go out of her way for a stranger, he thought, then felt bad for not giving her the benefit of the doubt.
Anything was possible, wasn’t it?
“I honestly can’t guess,” he told his wife. “But I will say it’s made me reflect about my own attitudes. It’s a lesson in generosity for all of us. And maybe, for you and me right now, in not being so judgmental of everyone.”
“I suppose.” Carolyn nodded and picked up her knitting basket. “Still, it’s fun to speculate.”
“True. But maybe it’s better not knowing. Then we can credit lots of people for being so generous.”
“Of course you’d say that. You’re a minister,” Carolyn replied with a laugh. “I have to be honest, Ben. I still want to know.”
Ben glanced at her. The truth was, he wanted to know, too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“MOTHER? IT’S ME, JESSICA. I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW that I won’t be by until three. I forgot that it’s Thursday, and I have to see Tyler’s teacher after school. But I’ll pick you up in plenty of time for your appointment at the podiatrist. So don’t worry. Call me on my cell if you want. I’m out doing some errands.”
Lillian hit the flashing button on her phone machine, meaning to shut the annoying thing off, but only succeeded in replaying her daughter’s message.
“Mother? It’s me, Jessica. I just wanted—”
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Lillian said aloud, quickly pressing every button on the phone console.
Finally, Jessica stopped talking. Lillian heaved a sigh of relief.
Well, thanks for nothing, Lillian decided. She had been waiting since noon for Jessica to join her for lunch.
Time to take matters into her own hands. She peered into the refrigerator, wondering what to eat. Nothing looked very appetizing. Another problem with getting old. So many foods disagreed now, and she had never enjoyed a terribly adventurous palate.
A lovely wedge of cheddar caught her eye. A grilled cheese sandwich would be nice. Not nice for her cholesterol count, of course. But she had not indulged in some time, and her next blood test was at least a month away.
Lillian figured she didn’t have all that long left in this world, and it was important to have some smal
l pleasures. Like a cheese sandwich, for pity’s sake. Did they have to take that away from her now, too?
She carefully grated the cheese on a board then set a pile of it between two slices of bread. She dropped a pat of the healthy spread Jessica chose for her in the fry pan and watched as it melted into a bubbly pool.
Lillian had never been interested in cooking. While she was growing up on Beacon Hill in Boston, her family had employed servants, a cook and maids, to do all the housework. She could never recall her mother making herself even a cup of tea.
Besides, Lillian always wanted to be recognized for her mind, not for her flaky piecrust or the height of her soufflé. Her husband, Oliver, had respected her intelligence, though he had also made her feel like the most beautiful creature in the world, which was hardly the response she got from most men.
Oh, she drew enough attention when she was young to know that she had a certain look. But very few admirers had any staying power, not once the conversation got going and they saw what she was made of.
These days, it was different for young women. But not necessarily better, Lillian thought. Look at her daughters: One was a banker and the other the mayor of this town. Her granddaughter was now a reporter on a big newspaper. Meanwhile, they were all still expected to look like fashion models, be devoted mothers and wives, and bake a perfect soufflé. Jessica probably could, she reckoned.
Sometimes she felt relieved that she wasn’t young anymore. Sometimes.
She poked the bread with a spatula and slipped on her reading glasses to check the progress. The bread was toasty, but the cheese had not melted much. Why was that? She wasn’t sure. The flame was probably not high enough.
She turned the sandwich carefully, put a cover on top, and turned up the heat.
Out in the parlor, where the radio was tuned to the classical station, she heard the opening bars of one of her very favorite operas, Bizet’s Carmen , with Maria Callas singing the role of the doomed temptress. There never was a better Carmen, in Lillian’s opinion, and never would be. Callas’s passion and voice were both at their height in this recording, the combination peerless.
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