by ANN HYMES
Gypsy was waiting inside the kitchen. The Jeep was not yet a familiar sound, and Theresa could hear cautionary barks as Red Rover got near the house. Coming into full view, Theresa could see an excited dog in the window, running to the door and back again. All was well.
“Hi, Gypsy. Did you miss me?” Theresa called as she opened the screen door. “We have some detective work to do.”
The dog continued wagging her tail, with mute acceptance of whatever was to come. Perhaps the gift of language was a hindrance to relationships. Theresa laughed to herself and kneeled down to hug her devoted pet. Can people develop unconditional love? Communication through words could twist intent and shift the foundation of trust. She never had to worry that Gypsy was in a bad mood or had misinterpreted something she had said. Eat, sleep, give love, and be loved—simple ingredients for a full and satisfying life.
“Who said, ‘it’s a dog’s life’?” She laughed aloud, rubbing Gypsy’s neck enthusiastically. Her furry companion dusted the floor with brisk, sweeping strokes of her wagging tail. “You’ve got it made, sweet girl,” Theresa pronounced, with a final pat. “Now let’s see about a light show. We could have the ultimate in Christmas lights!”
She tried several wall switches, flicking each with the hope that the tower lights might come on, but instead, different parts of rooms lit up. Several switches brought no response, inside or out, but each time she still checked outdoors for a glimmer of red or green.
Finally, they headed upstairs to Grandmother’s bedroom. Theresa realized that she should stop thinking of it as her grandmother’s room and accept the transition from the past. “Thank you, Grandmother,” she said, as she entered the yellow room and surveyed again the paintings and antiques and knickknack memories. “I love your house, and I’m sorry I could not be here for you; I just didn’t know.” She sighed deeply, taking in the details of the room.
Branches from the tall oak tree tapped against the window, as if trying to get her attention, and as she glanced in the direction of the beckoning sound, she saw a switch above the far bedside table. “Bingo!” she said, moving towards the bed.
She turned the switch while looking out the windows facing the ocean. The evening sky was transformed from a dusky haze punctuated by stars to the glow of a million colored flashlights pointing heavenward. Sky and earth fused in the hue of awakened darkness. She strained her eyes to see the water, but, like a mirror, it reflected back the lights of Whimsy Towers. All celestial competition was subdued, and the moon gave up like a ghost.
Theresa ran down the stairs and through the house. Gypsy followed close behind and barely made it through the screen door as Theresa hurried out onto the lawn. She ran about fifty feet before stopping to catch her breath and turning towards the house.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Incredible! Grandmother, what in the world is this about?”
Gypsy made a few staccato barks to register her participation in the excitement, and Theresa stood looking at the two brightly-lit towers in stunned silence.
The tower on the right side, the one painted red above her grandmother’s bedroom, beamed out the red light; the green tower, the green light. The lights did not blink or rotate; they were focused straight toward the ocean, piercing the darkness with single-minded pursuit. The sides of the light casings in the towers blocked any sideways distraction or beams, and the house sat perched like a space ship awaiting visitors from the deep.
“Let’s leave them on awhile,” she said to Gypsy. “We’ll let Whimsy Towers strut her stuff for tonight. The old girl is back in business!”
Several weeks would pass before Theresa discovered true meaning in that statement, but the lights stayed on all night, and she slept soundly with the soft glow of red and green filling her yellow bedroom.
It was Gypsy who first heard the sound of someone driving toward the house. The long driveway provided ample opportunity to see advancing cars after they cleared the wooded area, but the ocean could muffle the sound of an engine and the crunch of gravel if the waves were kicking up. Theresa had let the dog out and then returned to bed with a cup of coffee and a book about gardening. Gypsy stayed close to the porch, lying in the grass and snoring contentedly, with the morning sun soothing her slightly plump body. Occasionally, her front paws jerked in an odd motion, as if she were trying to run while lying sideways.
Perhaps she felt the truck’s movement through the ground, or perhaps her protective sense never quite fell asleep, but long before the shiny truck with green lettering arrived at the corner of the house, she was on her feet and barking.
“What is it, Gypsy?” called Theresa from the window, unable to see the truck from her angle. “What’s up?”
Three short honks reminded Theresa of her delivery, and she left her coffee behind as she grabbed her robe.
The man called Rick was still sitting in the truck when she arrived on the scene. Gypsy had stopped barking, and he was talking to her through the open truck window. Her tail wagged tentatively.
“Good morning,” he called. “Sorry if I’m too early. Guess I should have called.”
“Oh, no, you’re fine. I just don’t seem to pay much attention to the time here. It’s such a beautiful morning to relax and enjoy.”
“I’m not sure your dog shares in that!” He laughed. “Can I get out?”
Theresa approached the truck and stood next to Gypsy. Her eyes were almost level with Rick’s as he sat behind the wheel. His light brown hair was tousled and bleached in front from the sun; a small twig was caught in a curl over his ear, and she resisted the urge to pluck it out. He had on a clean shirt for the new day, and she could smell the lemony scent of shaving cream or aftershave. Embarrassed by her observations, she backed up a step.
“Oh sure,” she replied. “Just say her name, and she’ll lick you to death. It’s Gypsy.”
The door opened, and Rick stepped out, with his hand extended to the dog. “Come here, Gypsy,” he said. “Come here, you noisy old girl. Where’d you get the energy for all that barking?”
Gypsy eagerly accepted the attention and petting and gave approving sniffs to man and truck. She was quick to expand her circle of acquaintance.
“Shameful!” Theresa laughed. “Jack the Ripper could give you a biscuit or a pet and you’d welcome him right in! So much for my security system.”
“I think your system is okay. She did bark and wait to see what I would do. Most men would not take a chance with a loose dog, especially a big one. And I don’t think you have to worry much around here, unless you’re expecting some unsavory visitors.”
Theresa’s thoughts raced back to the boathouse and the bits of food left at her doorstep. “I hope you’re right. By the way, I’m Theresa.”
“I know. I have the ticket, remember?” A huge, Cheshire-cat smile slowly formed on his face, showing beautiful white teeth, and his blue eyes sparkled with relaxed mischief. “I’m Rick.”
His eyes were even bluer than Kevin’s, and she wanted to ask him whether he wore contact lenses. “Yes, I remember from last night.”
“Are you the new owner here?” he asked.
“Is that a condition for delivery?”
“No, no, I just wondered. I used to take care of this place for the bank. I love it here; it’s so private, and the view is wonderful. I’d come do the work and then sit and read or do crosswords. It’s lucky they didn’t pay me by the hour! My contract was for weekly maintenance, but during the summer and vacations, I would pop over for a couple hours’ peace at sunset or to watch the geese migrating. This property is a hidden treasure.”
“Did you know my grandmother?” Theresa blurted out, hardly believing she was talking to a direct link to her past.
“You don’t mean the lady with her son?”
“No, an older lady. The woman you’re talking about was her nurse and companion.”
“No,
when the bank hired me, the nurse was about to move out and leave the place empty. She and her son had taken care of the yard and things, I guess, for many years. She told me they always had repairs made immediately and tried to keep everything in good order. These old houses can be a money pit, especially if they get behind in maintenance. I got the feeling it was hard for her to leave.”
Theresa was silent.
“Are you here for long?” he continued.
“Long enough to plant these bushes and enjoy my new table,” she answered, pulling her robe together as it started to slip open. “I inherited the house and have just come up from Virginia to see the Cape.”
“For the first time?”
“More or less,” she answered, deciding not to go into the story of her childhood over bagged lilacs and mulch.
He accepted her answer and did not pursue the subject.
“Do you have garden tools? Like a basic shovel?”
Theresa laughed. “I really don’t know! I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe in the cellar.”
“Tell you what,” he continued. “How about I lend a hand in planting these for you? I have a shovel and a little extra time before picking up my next job. We’ll call it ‘on the house’—or maybe in exchange for a cup of coffee.”
“That’s a deal I can’t refuse,” she replied, liking the look in his blue eyes and holding out her hand to seal the bargain. His grip was firm, not the wishy-washy kind of limp handshake that many men offer women. They lingered for just a moment longer than required for the business at hand, their hands and eyes locked together; and her robe slipped open again with the shaking of her arm.
“Thanks,” she stuttered, grabbing at the robe with her free hand. “I think I’ll just change my clothes real fast and bring you that coffee.”
“Sounds great. I’ll start unloading.” Rick smiled and watched her as she headed back into the house. She felt his gaze following her, but she didn’t want to turn and acknowledge it. She didn’t want to feel curious about this man, and if truth be told, she didn’t want him seeing her looking so unkempt.
“Where do you want the bushes?” he called, as she was halfway up the steps.
Without hesitating, she looked back at him and answered, “Along the porch. Remember your promise about the intoxicating fragrance?”
“Consider it done,” he replied, bending forward in a deep, comical bow as Theresa reached for the screen door.
Fifteen minutes passed before she emerged from the house, carrying two cups of coffee. She had debated taking time to shower and wash her hair; it dried quickly with a rub of the towel, but instead she squeezed almond mousse on it and ran her fingers through the soft curls, pulling on them to add body.
She’d tried on several outfits; one looked too fussy and the others too drab. And then she chastised herself for caring what she wore while a man muddied himself for a cup of coffee and some pleasant conversation. The clothes piled up on her bed, and she slipped into a comfortable pair of old jeans and a tired T-shirt.
“‘Vanity, vanity. All is vanity,’” she sighed as she passed the hall mirror and stopped to decide if she should add a touch of lipstick. “Bushes, Theresa. For heaven’s sake, you’re just planting bushes!”
She skipped down the stairs, following the fragrant trail of fresh-brewed coffee. She loved this kitchen; it didn’t take itself too seriously. There were no long expanses of counter tops holding gadgety equipment that never got used—or appliances so clean and shiny that no one had obviously ever turned them on, or cared to. This kitchen had heart. It had paintings and drawings and color and carpets. It sang out with cozy welcome and an invitation to sit and feel the wonder of the place.
Theresa poured strong coffee into mugs embossed with tropical fish. The steamy aroma of roasted hazelnuts filled the kitchen, and she wished the fresh coffee smell would cling to her like perfume. It was bold and inviting, and Theresa felt the tingle of a bright Cape Cod morning and the new beginnings of friendship and exploration.
“Cream and sugar?” she called, pushing the screen door open with her hip.
“No thanks, just black.”
“You’re easy,” she answered, instantly wishing she’d chosen a different word.
“I don’t want to miss the flavor of the bean,” he joked. “Besides, it’s just less bother.”
“Well, this bean is pretty strong. Let me know if it’s too much. I do have milk. The cupboard is stocked up.” She wondered if “less bother” was appropriate only for the moment or if it was his style in general.
She handed him the fish mug, and a wedding ring sparkled in the light as he pulled off his left glove and took it from her. She turned her eyes away, looking toward the water. Crows screamed from the trees behind the house. The new table sat on the grassy lawn, its umbrella closed and tied like an upturned fist.
“That looks great there,” she said, without much enthusiasm.
“I didn’t know if you wanted it closer to the house or to the water. We can carry it either way.”
Rick sipped his coffee and watched Theresa as she stared out at the ocean. The morning tide brought a softness to the roll of the waves. Their edges curled over with a silvery flicker, and seagulls rode the gentle crests.
“I think it’s just perfect right there. Do you have time to sit a minute?” she asked.
Rick looked at his watch and then at the four holes he’d dug next to the porch. “I think I’m allowed a coffee break.” He smiled.
“I really appreciate your help, Rick. This is above and beyond the call of duty or the meaning of service. You’ve created a devoted customer.”
“That’s our aim—service with a smile. My parents started the business with that motto many years ago. And I told you how much I love coming here. But don’t worry; now that I know the place is occupied, I won’t drop in. Besides, your ferocious dog might attack me.”
Gypsy lay close to the truck, her side heaving with deep sleep.
Theresa laughed and said, “Yes, she is a mean, man-eating thing.” She wanted to say, “Please come back anytime,” but that did not seem a very appropriate invitation to a married man—or from a married woman. She remembered the bank trustee telling her that Rick had lost his wife a few years back, and she wondered how soon he had remarried. He seemed relaxed and happy.
“I understand you teach at the community college,” she began.
“Wow, you do have some unexpected information.”
“The bank gave me your name and number and thought I might like to call you about taking care of the house. I didn’t realize last night that you were the same Rick.”
“Will you be living here alone?” he asked, looking down at his coffee.
“I … I’m not sure exactly. My plan is to stay a few weeks and think some things through. I live in Virginia.”
“What do you do there?” he asked, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.
“I write children’s books and do illustrations. I always loved to doodle and draw, and one day I found myself writing stories to go with the pictures, and people started paying me for them. It’s a career that I created by mistake; there was no plan. I love it, though, and I can set my own schedule and work at home.”
“Then why not work here?” asked Rick.
Theresa fidgeted in her chair, unconsciously twisting her wedding ring around on her finger. She was ashamed of herself for not wanting to tell him that she had a husband and a life that were expecting her back. Uncertainty was choking her. She liked this new place and the new feelings that were coming with it, and she was not ready to confront the decisions that waited.
“It’s not that easy,” she replied.
“Do you have children?” he asked.
“No, no children. But I do have a husband and a house and a mortgage and responsibilities.” She sighed and stared at the distant horiz
on, where blue met blue.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . ”
“No, it’s all right,” she interrupted, smiling at him with the sun on her face. “I just have to sort through some changes in my life and see what’s important. Do you ever feel tossed into a situation and unable to decide where to go next?”
As soon as she’d said it, she felt foolish and insensitive, remembering what she had been told about his past; but she continued before he could speak. “It’s just that sometimes, when life throws painful surprises at us, it’s hard to regain one’s footing and continue. The path is no longer so certain and clear as it had been.”
Rick was silent for moment. “Theresa, I can only say that hurt does heal. Change does make us stronger, and as trite as it sounds, life moves on. We grow. Each day is an opportunity to prove it. Each day that beautiful sun rises again.” He lifted his face toward the rays of sun climbing to midday. They sat quietly, absorbed in the warmth of memories and the maze of choices and chance, loss and new beginnings.
“Guess I better get digging,” started Rick. “Two more holes and then I’ll get the bushes in. I’d like to water them down before it’s too hot.”
His voice startled and comforted her at the same time. She was happy just sitting there with him, just listening to the waves and the birds and the reassurance that life was a challenge that she could master. The death of loved ones brought hearts together to grieve and rebuild. She wanted to love life, she determined; more than anything else, she wanted to love life.
Gypsy awoke as Rick hauled the first of the lilac bushes off the back of the truck. She stretched and quivered and then curled up to resume her sleep. Theresa came over to help unload, smiling at the dog lying in the direct path of work. “Great spot,” she said to deaf ears.
The bushes were not too heavy, and she carried them to the holes that Rick was filling with peat moss and loose dirt.