Jonathan’s face tore into a smile. He’d rarely smiled in his youth, but his marriage to Angelica made him the smilingest man in Haven. After she died, a smile became as rare as when they were boys. If a little thing like catching a fish could make him smile, maybe all Jonathan needed was a little pleasure instead of psychoanalysis.
Jonathan reeled in the bass and measured it.
“Well?”
“Twelve inches…but they’re my bass, aren’t they? Here…throw this in your basket with the other one.” Jonathan re-baited and re-cast, staying in the shallows. “Maybe that guy’s big brother’s in there.”
“Seems kind of cruel when you put it that way, fishing…I mean.”
“We humans are cruel to the core. Don’t you know that?”
Change the subject…Don’t go to the deep end with Jonathan. “So about that question…I teach history…that doesn’t make me a legal expert by any shake of the imagination.”
“Yeah. I know. I realized that after I called. What about your new girlfriend?”
“Sam?”
“Whatever her name is.”
Zack bit his lower lip. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a stranger in Haven, is all. Besides, she banged herself up pretty bad, and needs to rest. I don’t think it’s fair to put her to work.” His bobber dipped twice. “Got another one!” Zack yanked to his left. “Gotcha!” He reeled it in and measured, more out of curiosity than necessity—eighteen inches. He took out a dollar from his wallet and placed it on the rock between them. “Let’s see who hauls in the most, like we did when we were kids.”
“No contest. You’re the hunter and fisherman. Me? I’m a wanna-be naturalist. I spend my days either painting, or taking long walks around Dawn’s Hope. I like to watch the deer, not shoot them.”
“There are some folks who envy that kind of life.”
“Let them. Most days, I think I’m going to start painting something other than landscapes…but lately, I’ve been remembering too much.”
Zack didn’t want to remember, either. “So why do you want to hire Sam?”
“Sam who?”
“Sam Knowles. The attorney they found on your property. Why hire her? Why not Aaron?”
“Aaron was Father’s attorney.”
“So?”
“So you know how well Father and I got along.”
“About as good as a gazelle and a lion.” Zack recalled his boyhood visits to Dawn’s Hope. The tension between father and son was so thick, the air bent with hostility, and even more so after Jonathan’s mother died. But when Angelica came, fresh breezes blew at Dawn’s Hope. Zack re-baited his hook and cast again at the deep end. “Might as well stick with a good thing. Want a soda?”
“No, but I’ll have more pizza. I feel hungry all of sudden.” Jonathan reeled in, hooked his line on the rod, put his pole on the ground by his empty basket and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box between them.
Zack reeled in his line to recast. “The fish must have moved to another spot, or maybe all our talking scared them away.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s OK. We haven’t talked about much of anything since…” Why open Jonathan’s wounds again? Zack wanted to avoid talking about Angelica’s death as much as Jonathan. They’d known each other, considered each other a friend, since grade school, though more through church than school. Zack had avoided Jonathan at school functions, fearful his association with “Glum Boy,” as the others called Jonathan, would cost Zack his popularity. Outside of school, though, Zack enjoyed being with Jonathan, fishing and hiking their common ground. That, and being the only two boys in youth group with fifteen girls, cemented their friendship.
Jonathan stared over the lake, not to the other side, more like under the water. “I guess I’ll talk to Aaron about the will. I have to go to the art supply store tomorrow, anyway.”
“Good thing you’re too fussy to have them delivered. You’d never come off this mountain otherwise.”
“I’m not a hermit. I don’t like social situations. Is that a crime?”
“No, of course not. Sadie worries about you.”
“Sadie worries about everybody, including you. She says you’re still not over Ellie. Are you?”
Zack bristled. “Don’t go there, Jonathan. She’s ancient history in my book.” He’d come here to help his friend, not be analyzed by a textbook neurotic. Zack reeled in his line, hooked it to his pole, stood, and picked up the basket. “I’d better go home. I still have a pile of papers to correct and lesson plans to get ready for next week. Enjoyed the fishing, Jonathan.” He had enjoyed most of it, anyway. “Up to taking the ATVs out for spin next weekend?”
“Maybe. Depends on the day.”
“How’s that?”
“You know, Zack. Sometimes I wish I was at the bottom of the lake so I could see Angelica, again.”
Not now, not when Zack’s patience had been tested to the limit. He replayed the smile when Jonathan got a bite. No. Jonathan would get through it, maybe like an ice-age, but his pain would melt in time. However deep the sorrow, Jonathan’s will to live and a faith he once treasured would pull him from the depths of despair. “And is today one of those days?”
“No.”
7
A rap on the door brought Sam from the depths of slumber to the warmth of her sun-drenched room. “Is everything alright, dear? It’s Sadie.”
She looked at the clock. Nine. She’d slept through the night for the first time in three years.
“Of course. Come in, please.”
“Door’s bolted.”
Still groggy, Sam teetered to the door and pulled the knife handle to disengage the latch, but it stuck. When she jiggled the handle, a screw from the bolt assembly fell to the floor; the knife dangled along the door jam. “Oh, dear. I think I broke your beautiful handle, as well as the bolt. I’m so sorry.”
Sadie pushed the door and brought in a breakfast tray. “No need for apologies. That door sticks all the time. I’ll see if Aaron will put up a temporary hook ’til I can conjure up another decoration. A young girl should have some privacy.”
One hook?
Her apartment door contained a dead bolt and five locks as well as an alarm. Most of her friends settled for three, but a girl couldn’t be too cautious. Sam shooed away the worry. Nothing much a thief could take from her now—Tracey’s clothes, dime store toiletries, stuck-together credit cars, and the twenty dollar bill so wet, it might crumble in the thief’s hand. Maybe she could wrap it in tissues to soak up the excess moisture.
“Don’t worry about it, Sadie. I don’t think I’ll be here more than a few days. I’ll manage.”
Sadie shrugged her shoulders. “Might as well stay until court, Thursday. Makes no sense to hurry off someplace then have to scoot back here so soon. All that driving will wear a body out, and the Good Lord knows, you need your rest. Besides, I hoped you’d like us enough to stay a bit longer than a few days. I brought your supper up last night, but you didn’t answer my rap, so I left the tray outside. When I found it untouched this morning, I got worried. Hope I didn’t startle you.”
Sadie’s concern soothed like a mother’s sweet lullaby. “You know, I feel really good this morning.” Sam took off the sling and rotated her shoulder—only a slight twinge. “Thank you for breakfast. But I don’t think it’s necessary to be carting my tray up anymore. I’ll join the group for lunch. What time?”
“Noonish. Folks kinda wander in and out. Breakfast starts at six, lunch noon, and supper at six. Doc Henson is particular about the times he eats, though. Sugar, don’t you know.”
“He’s diabetic?”
“Don’t tell him I told you. He don’t like it broadcast.”
Sam moved her fingers across her lips. “Sealed, like a juvie’s record.”
Sadie set the tray on the bedside table. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”
“I don’t want to stay in bed, that’s for sure. Zack’s picking me up aroun
d ten to get my things from Josiah’s. He managed to get Lucille’s trunk opened and salvaged my pilot case. Not that it matters. The clothes are probably mildewed by now, and the laptop is probably ruined.”
“You could take it down to Bert’s Tackle shop. Their son is a genius about computers. I heard tell he got one up and running that’d been in a fire.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam’s gaze scooted toward the landscapes. “Since I have an hour to kill before Zack gets here, I’d like to wander around your store. Aaron said you had more Gladstone landscapes there. Then maybe I’ll take a walk down Main Street. Familiarize myself with Haven.”
Sadie shot an indefinable glare—concern, like the way Justine stared when Sam went days without sleep. Mothers, so some say, have a way of disciplining their children with certain glances. Not Mama. Mama kept her gaze cast towards the floor. Once, after Daddy ran out of the house in a drunken fit, she glanced up, and Sam saw Mama’s swollen eyes, a slit underneath her right one.
Sadie’s eyes twinkled, as if her mood belied her admonition. “Don’t get your life reorganized all in one day, dear. Plenty of time for that. Mind your doctor, now. Goodness gracious. A body that’s had to sleep for twenty hours probably needs a tad more rest, yet.” She turned and left, closing the door behind her.
Sam gobbled all her eggs and toast, surprised at her ravenous appetite, then headed for the shower, lingering fifteen minutes, rather than the environmentally recommended ten—one day of self-indulgence would not bring the world to an end.
Putting on Tracey’s tan Capri pants and a pink sequined, floral tee, Sam checked her outfit in the closet wall mirror and winced, imagining Justine’s laughter if she could see Sam now. At least these clothes were clean and comfortable, not to mention a near fit. Sam slipped on the sandals, wondering if glitter clashed with sequins. She imagined Judge Normandy’s scowl if she showed up in his court with this getup.
Sam eased down the steps, remembering Dennis’s warning that she’d be prone to dizziness for a few more days yet. Seeing no one in the lounge, Sam pushed open the hinged shutters separating the lounge from Sadie’s store and took a hesitant step inside a foreign world. Wind chimes rang over her head, and an assortment of paints and easels littered the storefront, while Sadie’s cluttered counter took up most of the back. Barrels of paint lined either side. A lanky man, probably in his mid thirties, hovered over the farthest barrel, a rustic sort, with faded jeans and an open flannel shirt over a wrinkled thermal undershirt.
As she scanned Sadie’s inventory, Sam found the landscapes on the wall near the street entrance. She gazed intently at the larger one, about five by three feet, panoramic, but a similar vista as the smaller landscapes in her room.
With Justine getting married, chick flick nights would come at a premium. Time to pursue a hobby of some kind—why not art? If she bought this landscape, hung it over her fireplace, then she could officially call herself an art collector.
She supposed she should squint, cock her head and offer an, “Ah” and “Ooh.” But she couldn’t see past the cartoonish, heavy-set lady with the garden hat standing in front of her. Sam tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I’d like a closer look at that landscape if you don’t mind.”
The woman smiled and moved aside. “I’m sorry, dear. Didn’t know anyone was behind me.”
“Is that a Gladstone?”
“Sadie only displays Gladstones. He’s the most popular artist in these parts. I’m partial to the large one myself. But then, I’ve seen that lake a dozen times for real. My husband fishes up there most mornings with Aaron Golden. If Aaron can’t go, I sometimes go with my husband so he won’t pout.”
“I thought Aaron fished with Doc Henson.”
“That would be my husband. I’m Cynthia Henson. You must be Sam Knowles, Aaron’s new guest. The moose lady.”
“Yes.”
Unobstructed, Sam studied the landscapes, wondering why they all featured the same lake, different seasons yet the same scene, painted from the same viewpoint. As if bonded to the land in some inexplicable way, Sam knew she had to see it for its stark beauty. “I’m sorry to bother you again, Cynthia.”
“No bother.”
“I understand the lake is posted. Is there any way someone who doesn’t fish can see it?”
Cynthia leaned in and changed her tone to a whisper, casting a glance toward the long-haired man near the paint supplies. “You have to get Jonathan’s permission.”
“How do I do that if he’s as reclusive as everyone says he is?”
Cynthia winked and pointed towards the paint supplies. “He’s right over there. I think Sadie’s probably the only one he talks to besides Zack Bordeaux. But you can try.” She giggled like a fan-crazed teenager. “That’s why I come in here so often…on the outside chance Jonathan’s come down from the mountain.”
Did she dare talk to this hill-dweller? Reclusive people could not be trusted. Well, that might be a bit judgmental since Justine criticized Sam for being a borderline hermit. “If you didn’t have a job to go to every day, you’d probably never leave this apartment,” she’d said at least a dozen times, gushing condemnation, designed to guilt Sam into going to a movie.
Sam forced her right foot forward and bristled over to where Jonathan stood enamored by a barrel of oil paints, or maybe water colors, not that she could tell them apart. Some art collector she’d be.
She picked up a tube of green something or other, and pretended to examine it while she studied Jonathan’s height. Sam was taller than most women, maybe not WBA-tall or can’t-wear-regular-size-pants tall, but certainly not petite. She dwarfed next to this Gladstone guy, the top of her head an inch above his shoulder. “Excuse me. Are you Jonathan Gladstone?”
“Ah. There it is. Fuchsia.” He plopped the tube onto the counter. “Yes. I am. Who’s asking?”
“Attorney Sam Knowles.”
Most people hauled to attention in the presence of a lawyer, and even Jonathan abandoned his paints and stared down at her. She remembered a cruise she took with Mama to the South Pacific. Sam saw her first coconut on that cruise. That’s what Jonathan’s eyes reminded her of…coconuts, large, round, marble-like coconuts.
Mama’s eyes were blue, but Jonathan’s looked like hers, eyes that demanded pity.
“What would a lawyer need from me?” His smile was unnerving, not in a sensual way like Zack’s—more like she’d pierced him, penetrated his shell of indifference.
“I want to see your lake. I’ll pay any price you ask.”
“You are direct, I’ll give you that. I don’t charge admission to my lake.” His lips parted into something that resembled a grin, convoluted by his caved cheeks, not unattractive, and sufficient to highlight wind-blown lips. For a recluse, Jonathan appeared to spend a great deal of time outdoors.
“I’m buying your painting. Would that help?”
A chuckle. “Look, Miss Knowles. The only people who see my lake besides me are fishermen. They like the bass I supply. Sometimes I sketch them while they fish—a symbiotic relationship. How would your seeing my lake help me?”
Until now, everyone in Haven seemed cast from the same civil mold, mysterious, but with a go-out-of-their-way friendliness. Jonathan was a dime out of time…a hippie in a Norman Rockwell painting, or maybe Haven was the anachronism.
“I’ll give you free legal service. Need a will drawn up, or anything?”
“Actually, I do need some legal advice. Drop by tomorrow morning. Nine.” He scribbled a note for Sadie then disappeared with two tubes of Fuchsia paint and a hundred unanswered questions.
8
Sam wrote a note to Sadie asking her to set aside the large landscape until she could figure out whether to ship it, or take it with her when she returned to Manhattan. Sam started out the street entrance as Sadie came in from the lounge.
“Good to see you up and about, Sam. I saw Jonathan leave in an awful hurry. He said you’d be going to his place tomorrow.�
�
“I think so.”
“That’s nice. Jonathan doesn’t have much company, especially over the last few years.”
Sam joined Sadie at the counter. “I’d like to buy that landscape on the wall. I left you a note. Can you hold it for me? It’ll take me a couple of days to scrounge up the cash. Not that I’m broke, I need to switch some assets around. My credit cards are no good…damaged that is. Can’t get the numbers off them, either.”
“Um….sure…no problem…it’s that well, I don’t know how much Jonathan wants for it. I’ll have to ask.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can afford it.”
Sadie skewered a look.
Sam realized that most young ADAs couldn’t afford luxuries of this magnitude, and Sadie might be wondering where Sam’s money came from. “I have independent resources.”
Sam shuddered at the sound of that. How long would it be before the gossip trail suspected her wealth came from corruption?
Better to let Haven’s town folk be suspicious, than explain her inheritance or why she rarely spent it.
“I’ll put this out back in a safe place until you’ve come to some decisions,” Sadie said. “Anything else I can help you with today?”
“I won’t know what I need until I see what’s going on with my car. I’d like to hang around Haven until the weekend, maybe longer. If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m sure Josiah can fix you up with some kind of transportation.”
“Everyone has been kind.” Except for that Jonathan. “I wish there was some way I could show my appreciation.”
Sadie wrapped the picture in bubble wrap as she spoke. “We’re used to strangers here. Tourism is our bread and butter. Maybe you could put in a good word about our town to your city friends. Drum up some business for us.”
She’d do just that—tell all her four friends. Word of mouth advertising from Sam Knowles would hardly cause a blaze of interest. Not even a spark. “I’ll be certain to spread the word as best I can. Thanks for keeping the picture. I still have half an hour before Zack gets here. Think I’ll take that stroll, now. Looks like a good day for exploring.”
The Other Side of Darkness Page 6