“More like wallowing in it. Feeling sorry for myself—and feeling guilty about something that, I see now, I probably couldn’t have changed, no matter what I did differently.” Luke glanced away, at the white line of foam on the sand.
“We have less control over our lives than we think,” Ben said.
“I didn’t think that way before,” Luke told him. “But maybe I do now.” He shrugged. “I’ve been hanging around here, trying to sort things out. I wasn’t getting too far, though. Then what you said, it just all hit home. It made me see I should be grateful for my life, not wasting it. Not angry and down on myself and making everyone around me miserable.” Luke hesitated, then went on. “Something terrible happened, but I was spared. I was spared so I could live on. But I haven’t been living.”
Luke had shared enough for Ben to understand what he was going through. The details really didn’t matter. The young man’s life seemed to be taking a positive new turn. Ben said a silent prayer of thanks for allowing him to help Luke McAllister.
“Do you ever pray, Luke?”
“Not really . . . not since I was a kid,” he replied. “I did that night, when I was scared out of my skin about what was happening to me. I prayed my—” He caught himself and flashed a quick grin. “I prayed really hard,” he amended.
“Perhaps God answered your prayers,” Ben said.
“Maybe,” Luke conceded. “I guess I thought so at the time, when I woke up in the hospital. But then my life turned into such a mess, I guess I lost track.”
“Maybe you’re back on track now.”
“I might be,” Luke agreed. “I don’t know, I think part of it is coming up here again. It just feels right to me. I’ve been thinking of staying here permanently.”
“Have you? It’s a great place to live,” Ben assured him.
“I have some money now, from this accident I was in. I might buy a piece of property that’s for sale outside of town, the Cranberry Cottages. That’s where we used to stay. I heard it’s for sale, and I had this sort of intuition when I was looking around for a more permanent place to live.”
“It must bring back good memories.”
“Yes, very good memories.” Luke nodded. “I was just a kid then, but I felt very sure of myself, the way kids do sometimes. Like I knew who I was and exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Life was simpler then, of course. But I have to say back then I felt . . . invincible.”
Empowered with faith, you could feel that way again, Ben wanted to say. But he kept his silence. The young man had been through a lot, a rough ride he had only hinted at. Luke needed to find his own way. Ben knew better than to push him.
This mention of Dr. Elliot’s land was surprising, though, especially after all the controversy in town about who the buyer would be. Maybe God has some real-estate plans of his own, Ben reflected, amused.
Luke traced a circle in the sand with his toe. “I’m not sure about buying the land. I’m going to see the real estate broker tomorrow.”
“Betty Bowman.” The reverend nodded. “She’s very professional, very knowledgeable about the area.”
“Well so far, it’s just a thought.”
“Talk to Betty about it . . . and to God,” Ben suggested. “Give it time. See if your intuition remains strong. Maybe it’s not clear now what you should do with the property. But one step leads to another. Once you start, things have a way of falling into place.”
“Yes, I can see that. Like running into you down here. I hope I didn’t impose on you, Reverend. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me like this.”
“No need to thank me. I think we did have an appointment tonight. It just wasn’t in my book,” he said with a smile. “That happens to me fairly often.”
Ben brushed off some sand. Out on the rocky jetty the Durham Light had just become visible in the gathering darkness.
“There used to be four whale-oil lamps up there,” Ben noted. “Now it’s an electric bulb, of course. With a light that can be seen more than twenty-five miles away, someone told me.”
“Did the town build it, do you know?”
“It was the Durham family, actually. They owned this neck of land. They bought it from the Wampanoag Indians in the late sixteen hundreds. Joshua Durham built the light just after the Revolution. He even had the lens brought over from France. It’s still the same one, too.”
Luke continued to watch the light. “So it’s more than two hundred years old, then? That’s remarkable.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder how many boats that light has guided safely past the harbor. A countless number, I’d imagine,” he said as he bent to gather his belongings.
“Let me help you with your gear,” Luke said, lending him a hand.
When Ben turned, carrying his fishing gear, Luke stood smiling at him. “I like your T-shirt, Reverend. ‘God Answers Knee-mail,’ ” he read aloud.
Ben returned Luke’s grin. “I got it at a conference last summer. Truth in jest. He does, you know,” he promised Luke as they walked up toward the parking area together.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IFI KNOW, THEN CHARLIE MUST KNOW BY NOW, too, Emily decided, snapping open her newspaper. He always had a way of ferreting these things out before her. But I won’t bring it up and I won’t gloat. That wouldn’t be either dignified or Christian, she concluded.
Yet, as she sat in her usual morning spot at the Clam Box, sipping coffee and scanning the Messenger, the temptation was nearly overwhelming. For once she was actually looking forward to seeing Charlie Bates.
Tucker came in and sat down next to her. “Good morning, Mayor.”
Emily looked up. “How are you today, Tucker?”
“Above average, I’d say.” He nodded to himself with a cheerful air that did seem above average.
Sara came by and poured him a mug of coffee. “I have some news for Charlie. But you might as well listen in. I think you’ll both be interested,” Emily said.
“About Dr. Elliot’s land, you mean?”
Tucker’s cheerful expression dropped like a deflated balloon, and Emily regretted trumping him. “How did you know?”
“Dr. Elliot. He told my mother and she told me.”
“And here I thought I had the inside line with Fran,” he said, mentioning his wife, who worked for Betty Bowman. “Of course, she’s not allowed to say anything until it’s a done deal. But this one seems to be.”
“Yes, it does—if the closing goes through without any problems,” Emily said.
“I hear there won’t be,” Tucker offered, sounding pleased to have some authority on the subject.
Charlie came out of the kitchen and walked toward them.
“So did you hear?” Tucker asked him. “That guy from Boston, the ex-cop who’s been hanging around town lately, he bought Elliot’s land. Says he just wants it as an investment. He may not even rent out the cottages anymore.”
“I heard,” Charlie said grimly. He barely glanced at Emily.
Now that he was an official candidate in the election, he seemed to think that it was inappropriate to carry on any personal conversation with the current mayor. Which was fine with Emily.
He suddenly surprised her when he met her gaze. “Go on, say it. I know you must be busting to say something.”
“Me?” She put down her mug and managed to keep a straight face. “I don’t have anything to say about it, one way or the other. I never really did,” she reminded him. “Of course, I’m glad Dr. Elliot found a buyer that no one seems to object to.”
Emily was sure that Charlie felt foolish now for overreacting. There was also the fact that the new deal with a nondeveloper dissolved one of Charlie’s main campaign issues. That couldn’t be improving his disposition, either.
“Well, we still don’t know much about this McAllister guy,” he pointed out. “Except that he seems to have an awful lot of money for an ex-cop. He says he’s just going to hold on to the land, but who knows what he might h
ave up his sleeve.”
Tucker glanced at Emily. Charlie was reaching now, and they both knew it.
“It sounds as if he’s had his problems, but he seems like a stand-up guy to me,” Tucker said with a shrug. He gave Charlie a shrewd look and smoothly changed the subject. “So how’s the speech coming, Charlie? Still working on it?”
The candidates were scheduled to speak at the upcoming Blueberry Festival, which was the unofficial start of the campaign. As the incumbent, Emily knew she had the advantage. The mayor always appeared at a number of the weekend’s events, which gave her automatic visibility. But Charlie had his supporters and would draw a curious crowd, she was sure.
“I’m working on it,” Charlie grumbled. “I like to speak in my own words, you know. I don’t have anyone else writing these things for me.”
He glared pointedly at Emily, as if she had a team of professional speechwriters hidden in her attic.
“I’ll be interested to hear what you say, Charlie,” Emily said. She didn’t mean it as a joke, either. She had never heard Charlie give a real speech. So far she had only heard him hold forth from behind the counter of his diner.
“You’ll get a run for your money, Mayor,” he assured her. “Don’t worry.”
Emily grabbed her briefcase and left some money for the check. “I’m not the worrying type,” she reminded him. “Good luck with your speech, Charlie,” she added as she left the diner.
On the way out she passed Sara Franklin, who was busy waiting on her tables. Emily smiled a greeting and left.
WHEN LUKE MCALLISTER CAME INTO THE DINER later that day, Sara was the only waitress on duty. She’d overheard talk all morning about his real-estate deal and knew that he was now her new landlord. She wondered what this would mean. Would he want her to move out or raise her rent? If he didn’t bring it up, she would have to.
“Hi, Sara. What’s good today?” he asked, glancing at his menu.
“There’s a barbecued-chicken special. You can have a sandwich or a platter. It’s pretty spicy, though.”
“I’ll go for the platter. I’m celebrating today.”
“About buying the cottages, right?” she asked as she jotted down the order.
“You know!” He sounded disappointed. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Sara shrugged. “It’s a small town. News gets around quickly.”
“Very quickly. We just came to terms last night. So I guess this makes you my new tenant—and future neighbor.”
Sara felt a small shock of surprise. She also felt Luke watching her, gauging her reaction. “You’re taking one of the cottages, then?”
“I think so. I’m going to make some improvements, too. So just tell me if you need any repairs.”
“That’s okay. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying around here.”
She saw a flash of surprise in Luke’s eyes. He hadn’t expected that.
“Oh . . . I thought you’d mentioned staying through the summer. But maybe I misunderstood.”
“I may have said that. I’m sort of scattered these days. I don’t really know if I’m coming or going.” She shrugged and pushed her pad into the pocket of her apron. “I should go and put in your order, though.”
“Sure.” He nodded, handing her back his menu. “See you later.”
Sara was sure that Luke thought she was a flake. Maybe that was good—it might make him less interested. Luke was definitely attractive, and that was the problem. She wasn’t ready for another layer of complication in her decision.
She honestly didn’t know whether to stay or to go. Her mission was accomplished, she realized. She had gotten to know Emily and even Lillian. But lately she felt more and more like a fraud. She had even begun avoiding Emily, feeling the pressure of her secret every time they spoke.
Sara was thinking she might just leave Cape Light without telling Emily about their true relationship—without causing any problems for her. That meant she really should go before the election campaigning started up.
Sometimes that seemed like the right thing to do.
HELD ON THE SECOND WEEKEND OF AUGUST, THE annual Blueberry Festival marked the beginning of the end of summer. Perhaps that was why the village went all out in their celebration of the small but formidable berry.
The festival started on Saturday morning, with a ten-kilometer race through town that attracted runners from all over the country. Emily ran in it every year, just for fun, since she was the slow-but-steady type of jogger. Lillian, of course, disapproved, thinking it terribly unfitting for the mayor to gallop all over town in her track shorts, getting all sweaty and red-faced. None of that bothered Emily. She didn’t want her office to set her apart. She enjoyed being out there, taking part. People in the town seemed to like it, too.
In the gazebo on the Village Green, musicians, a magician, a juggler, and Mr. Lucky and His Amazing Dogs performed. There was also a crafts fair with a row of long tables where cakes and concoctions—all containing blueberries, of course—were offered for free by local restaurants, bakeries, and ice-cream shops. Of course, there was a prize for the best blueberry pie, and another for the fastest blueberry pie eater.
Though Emily had been attending the festivals since she was a girl, she was still amazed by the sheer number of blueberry-connected events that the program committee came up with. Probably the most popular was the ceremonial crowning of Miss Blueberry and her glide down Main Street on a float that looked like a giant blueberry sundae. Least popular was the inevitable speech by the official representative from the National Blueberry Foundation, relating more information about blueberries than most people ever wanted to know. Emily had the facts practically memorized by now, including the scientific proof that the modest blueberry contained more antioxidants than almost any other readily available fruit.
For Emily it was a demanding two days. Her schedule called for introducing a number of events, giving several speeches, and doing her best to meet as many of the voters as possible. The most dangerous part was that restaurant chefs and amateurs alike all wanted the mayor to sample their blueberry creations. The last time she campaigned, she gained ten pounds, then quickly had to work off fifteen.
On Saturday afternoon, after yet more blueberry concoctions were forced on her, Emily started toward an empty table, balancing several paper plates. She stopped as she caught sight of Sara Franklin standing nearby.
“Hello, Sara. Want to join me? I have enough dessert here for a family of five, I think.” She glanced down at the plates in her hand. “You’ve got your choice of pie, cheesecake, ice cream, sorbet, and—cooked up by the health-food store—a blueberry-tofu muffin.”
Sara glanced at the dishes and smiled. “You never order dessert at the diner. I guess you’re making up for it now.”
“Come on, help me out here,” Emily coaxed her. “There are two seats, right over there.”
Sara seemed tempted, but she shook her head, her long, straight hair falling against her face. “Thanks, but I’d better not. . . . I’m on my way to meet someone at the crafts fair.”
“Oh, sure,” Emily replied, but Sara’s reason struck her as strange. She had never seen Sara with any friends in town, she realized. Not that it’s any of your business, Emily chided herself. Maybe the girl was just shy.
“Well, feel free to bring your friend over,” she suggested to Sara. “Everything looks really yummy . . . except maybe the muffin,” she added.
“Maybe I will . . .” Sara met Emily’s gaze, then stared down at the ground. Emily thought Sara looked as if she wanted to say something more—something hard for her to put into words, she sensed.
“I’m probably leaving town soon. I’m not sure yet,” Sara said finally. “I just wanted you to know . . . because of Lillian and all.”
“Oh . . . I’m not sure what to say,” Emily said honestly. She finally set down her dishes on a nearby table. “My mother will be sorry to hear that. So am I. . . . When are you leaving?”
; “I’m not sure. I thought I would speak to Lucy about it this week. I don’t want to leave her shorthanded. It’s hard enough for her lately, with Charlie campaigning.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Emily still felt surprised at the news, though she knew Sara never meant to stay. “Well, that’s nice of you to think of her. I hope you won’t go without saying good-bye?”
“Of course not. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” Emily reached out and touched Sara’s bare arm. She was really such a pretty young woman, seemingly without any awareness of it. Emily smiled at her gently. “Have fun.”
“I will, thanks.” Sara grinned. “Don’t eat too many blueberries.” Pushing the strap of her backpack a bit higher on her shoulder, Sara turned and walked away.
Emily watched her until her slim figure disappeared into the crowd. With a sigh, she sat down at a table with her dishes of blue desserts. They all looked rather unappetizing now. She took a halfhearted taste of the pie with her plastic spoon and gazed around at the milling crowd. The festival had drawn a record number this year. She would get the official numbers tomorrow, but Sunday afternoon was usually the height of it.
She didn’t know why, in the midst of so many people, she suddenly felt so alone. So . . . invisible. She was probably just tired; low energy always lowered her spirits. But Sara’s news had unexpectedly made her feel sad. She didn’t know the girl well, and yet she was going to miss her. Jessica would be leaving soon, too. Just when they were starting to grow closer. It didn’t seem fair.
Maybe it was just the start of another election, Emily reflected. All that chatting up of acquaintances and strangers somehow made it so much more acute that she had no strong ties in her life. So many friends, acquaintances, supporters, connections . . . but no husband. No child.
She liked being mayor, doing a job that she felt made a difference. But she knew she struggled daily not to lose her authentic self. It was easy to get caught up in the vivacious, hand-shaking role of mayor, to the point where she started to believe that role was her real personality . . . or more accurately, all there was to her.
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