“It really is so pretty here.” Leigh turned again, watching out the window. “I’m surprised. . . . I’d never even heard of the place before last night.”
“It’s a very well kept secret. I’ve come to think the locals like it that way, too.” James glanced at her and grinned.
It was a place out of time, he thought, an ideal pit stop for his recovery, though he sometimes wondered if Cape Light was too relaxing for him, almost too idyllic.
“There’s a diner down here on the left,” he added, pointing out the Clam Box. “The atmosphere isn’t much but the food is pretty good.”
James turned and drove down a side street then stopped and parked in front of Dr. Harding’s office. “This is it. I’ll take you in and introduce you.”
“No need. Vera said they’re expecting me. I can manage from here.” Leigh opened her door and smiled at him. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Here’s my number. Call me at the church if there’s any problem.” James fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Let me know what time you’ll be done. I’ll give you a ride back.”
Leigh looked surprised. “Aren’t there any taxis around here?”
“Believe me, I’m more reliable—and cheaper, too.”
She sighed and smiled then leaned over the open car door. “All right. I’ll let you know. But if I’m going to stay a few days, you’ll have to stop treating me like visiting royalty. I’m only pregnant. It’s happened to quite a few women before me.”
“Okay, I’ll try to remember that. Good luck in there.”
“Thanks. See you later.” She slammed the car door shut and waved briefly at him, then turned and began walking toward the small house that held the doctor’s office.
James turned at the corner and headed back down Main Street toward the church. Was he being overly protective? he asked himself. In his years as a missionary, he’d certainly encountered pregnant women in far worse circumstances than Leigh Baxter: malnourished and often diseased, giving birth on dirt floors in huts without running water or any hope of medical assistance.
Still, he felt responsible for Leigh. He couldn’t help that. Maybe it was because of the accident or hearing about her husband’s death. Maybe it was because she intrigued him.
And of course, being a minister, he couldn’t help wondering if God had brought this woman into his life for some reason. He had to help her, he realized, in any way that he could. Even if she were only here for a few days. That was both his calling and his nature.
LEIGH PAUSED IN THE DOORWAY OF DR. HARDING’S WAITING ROOM AND took in the scene. It wasn’t exactly bedlam, as Vera had described it, but it certainly was busy, with patients of various ages milling about, babies crying, and small children vying for attention.
A woman about her age with dark curly hair sat at a desk on the far side of the room, speaking on the phone in a loud, animated fashion while shuffling through some papers on the desk. The infamous Molly Willoughby, Leigh assumed. A few people stood near the desk while others sat reading magazines.
For a moment, Leigh felt tempted to turn around and slip back out the door before anyone could notice her. Was it wise to put herself in a place where so many people would see and possibly remember her? Wouldn’t it be smarter to just hide out at Vera’s house and wait for her car to be repaired?
But before Leigh could decide whether to stay or go, Molly looked up and practically gasped with relief. “Are you Leigh?”
Leigh nodded and before she could answer, Molly ran across the room to greet her. “Thanks so much for coming. I promised Matt—Dr. Harding, I mean—I’d help him today. But I’m catering a wedding tonight and we’re nowhere near ready. I’ve been on the phone all morning with my crew—”
“You’re a caterer?”
“Mostly. I have a shop around the corner. Takeout and catering.” Molly had led Leigh over to the desk and now motioned for her to sit down. “I’ll bring you some lunch. I always bring Matt something on Saturdays. Soup and sandwiches. How’s that sound?”
“I’m hungry already,” Leigh admitted.
“Amy stashes some pretzels and cheese crackers in the lower right-hand drawer of the desk. Help yourself if you need a snack.” Molly pulled the appointment book out from under a sheaf of insurance forms and sat on the edge of the desk. “Here’s the book. Basically, all you need to do is figure out who’s coming and going and give Matt the files. I already took out most of them. They’re in this pile over here. And I made this list. . . . If someone calls to make an appointment, just fill it in as you go along. The spaces have time slots. Ask Nancy or Matt if you’re not sure how long he’ll need for the visit.”
“Nancy?”
“Nancy Malloy, Matt’s nurse. Sorry, I almost forgot. They’re in with a patient now, giving stitches. They should be done soon.”
“That sounds simple enough.” Leigh was in awe of the speed at which Molly spoke, her flashing blue eyes, and changing expressions. Molly hadn’t even bothered to ask if she actually wanted the job.
Leigh wondered again if she should do it. She certainly needed the money. This is such an out-of-the-way place, she reminded herself, and it will only be for a day or two. It probably doesn’t matter if a few more people around here see me. Isn’t there some expression about “hiding in plain sight?”
“It’s a snap. You’ll be fine.” Molly’s optimistic words broke into Leigh’s wandering thoughts.
Molly quickly reviewed a few more essentials of the job—how to schedule appointments and collect any fees.
“Any questions?” Molly grabbed her coat off the back of Leigh’s chair and pulled it on.
Leigh did have a few but could see that Molly was desperate to go, so she simply shook her head. “I think I can manage.”
“Of course you can.” Molly lightly touched her shoulder, then reached for her handbag on the floor beside the desk. “Vera told me about your car accident. Tough break, but if you’re struck with a lemon, make lemonade, right?” Without waiting for Leigh’s reply, she added, “Well, see you later. Good luck!”
Before Leigh could say good-bye, Molly was out the door. Leigh turned, noticing a blinking light on the phone. She hit the button and picked up the call.
“Dr. Harding’s office. Can I help you?”
The woman on the other end of the line told Leigh about an earache that had kept her up all night. Leigh made some sympathetic sounds and scheduled an appointment for two o’clock. The woman hung up, sounding pleased and grateful.
So far, so good, Leigh thought.
The door to the doctor’s office opened and a patient came out followed by a tall, dark-haired man in a lab coat who, Leigh assumed, must be Dr. Harding. His warm smile put her instantly at ease. “You must be Leigh. Thanks for helping out.”
“That’s all right. Nice to meet you, Dr. Harding.”
“Call me Matt. This is Mr. Wilkie. He slipped on the ice this morning,” he said, turning to his patient, a middle-aged man with a large bandage on the top of his bald head. “He needs to come back on Tuesday so I can take off that bandage.”
“Lucky I’m so hard-headed,” Mr. Wilkie mumbled. “At least that’s what my wife says.”
“Yes, you are lucky.” Matt patted his patient’s arm and then turned to the exam rooms again.
“Um . . . next Tuesday, let’s see.” With a small smile, Leigh turned to the proper page in the book and arranged Mr. Wilkie’s next visit.
When she looked up, a woman wearing a nurse’s uniform stood by the desk. “I’m Nancy Malloy, Dr. Harding’s nurse,” the woman said as she reached down for the list of patient names that lay beside the appointment book. “It’s wild in here this morning. But it should calm down in an hour or two.”
“It does seem busy. It might take me a while to figure out which file is which.”
“That’s all right. If you have any questions, just let me know.”
Nancy was a large woman in her early forties with a wide fac
e and large brown eyes. She had a friendly but no-nonsense air and seemed to Leigh someone who would remain completely calm and focused in any emergency. Her straight, chin-length auburn hair and lack of makeup seemed to suit her efficient manner.
Nancy glanced down the list of names again and called the next patient. Leigh quickly found the right file in the stack Molly had showed her and handed it up to her.
“Thanks, dear.” Nancy took the folder and flipped it open. “By the way, we need to take care of a little bookkeeping. I’ll need to make a copy of your Social Security card and some photo ID. Your driver’s license would be fine.” She closed the folder and looked down again.
Leigh felt a tightening in her chest but tried to act unfazed by the request. “Sure . . . I think I have my license with me. . . . I don’t know about my Social Security card, though.”
“Oh, well, as long as you know the number, I guess that should be all right for today.” Nancy turned to follow the patient to the exam room. “We’ll take care of it later.”
Leigh nodded and turned back to the desk. Of course they would need some identification, even if she only worked here one day. Why hadn’t she thought of that this morning before she agreed to let James drive her over here? She considered getting up and walking out but quickly discarded that idea, realizing it was bound to arouse suspicion.
She did have identification. It just wasn’t authentic. Though it looked like the real thing—and she had certainly paid dearly for it—she wasn’t comfortable showing it around. Last night was the first real test. To her profound relief, Officer Tulley hadn’t batted an eye when he checked her license and registration.
It would never have even occurred to her to get counterfeit anything if it weren’t for Alice. Leigh knew she had to change her name in order to hide from Martin, but Alice was the one who’d suggested the false documents. Alice had a nephew who had been in trouble with the law and had what Alice called “contacts.” Though reformed, her nephew was happy to offer his felonious knowledge for a worthy cause. Leigh had simply given him money and he had taken care of everything.
The fake ID passed for real with a police officer, Leigh reminded herself, so it should satisfy Nurse Malloy. If not, I’ll need to leave here in a hurry—without a car. No, it won’t come to that. I’m just panicking now.
Leigh put the worrisome thoughts aside, forcing herself to get acquainted with the stacks of files on the desk. She answered the phone and tried her best to help the patients who came to her with questions.
The hours flew by and Leigh found herself so busy she didn’t have time to worry about her car, her fake ID, or any of the secret troubles that so often circled her heart and mind like baleful, scavenging birds.
JESSICA PUSHED OPEN THE KITCHEN DOOR WITH ONE SHOULDER, PLASTIC sacks of groceries dangling from each arm. She dropped the grocery bags on the counter and stared around at the messy evidence of Sam’s cooking: a Sahara Desert of crumbs drifting across the countertop, a greasy fry pan and spatula, and a half-melted stick of butter on the stove. On the table two empty soup bowls and two plates with crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches lingered alongside an open bag of chocolate cookies.
It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to guess the menu or to discern there had been a guest for lunch. A guest who was probably still here, she realized.
She listened to the quiet in the house. No sound of voices. “Sam? I’m home. . . . Are you around?”
No answer. Then she turned and glanced outside. She saw a sudden movement through the window of the barn where Sam had set up his home workshop.
Jessica slipped on her jacket again and headed out the back door. She walked across the yard, noticing two sets of footprints in the snow, one Sam’s size, the other set much smaller.
The door to the barn stood open and she soon heard voices, Sam and a boy. Before she even entered she realized it must be Darrell Lester, the boy from the New Horizons Center. Jessica had been curious to meet him; still, she was surprised that Sam had brought him back to the house for a visit. Well, there were no rules against that sort of thing, she guessed. Somehow, though, she doubted that most of the people in town who volunteered at the center got quite so involved with the kids there.
Jessica stood at the open door a minute. Sam was using a small power tool, a hand-held sander, and Jessica knew he wouldn’t hear her over the sound.
A small, dark-haired boy stood by his side, focused on his every word. Sam ran the sander across a piece of wood, then shut it off and handed it to the boy, who seemed hesitant to take over.
“Go ahead, you can do it. This is just practice.” Sam’s voice was calm and reassuring. “We won’t use the good wood until you’re ready.”
The boy took the sander, turned it on, and made a face. “Man . . . that feels weird. Feels like it’s alive or something.”
Sam laughed and helped him guide it over the wood. “You can use two hands if you want. That’s okay.”
Jessica walked over to the workbench and finally caught Sam’s eye. “Hi, honey.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “How long have you been standing here?”
“Just a little while. How’s it going?”
“Good. We were looking for a sled, but Darrell wanted me to show him around the workbench and we got started on a project.”
Jessica smiled at Darrell but he avoided her gaze. Dark, with thick curly hair, bright eyes, and a round face, he wasn’t quite what she’d pictured from Sam’s stories. A husky boy, he looked as if he spent too much time cooped up inside, watching TV. And he was younger than she had imagined, about eight or nine. He definitely seemed young to have been tossed around in the social services system, tossed around and toughened by it, she guessed, like most of the kids that ended up at New Horizons.
“Hi, I’m Jessica, Sam’s wife.”
She saw the boy glance uncertainly at Sam. Then he ducked his head and nodded at her. “Hi.”
“What are you making?”
“Oh . . . nothing. We’re just fooling around on some old wood.” He looked down and rubbed the toe of his sneaker against the floor. No boots, she noticed, despite the high snow outside. He seemed either shy or annoyed to be interrupted during his shop lesson. Or maybe a bit of both.
“Darrell wants to make a jewelry box for his mom. For a Christmas present. We’re going to use this piece of mahogany.”
Sam showed Jessica a piece of wood. She really ought to know the difference by now—between pine and walnut and all the rest—but she really didn’t. She nodded admiringly and made an effort to sound enthusiastic. “That’s going to be great. I bet your mom will love it.”
Darrell met her glance for an instant but didn’t smile back. She sensed that talking about his mother was sensitive ground and suddenly felt awkward, sure that she had sounded inanely chipper.
Darrell’s sullen expression changed as Sam reached across the table and handed him a little cardboard box.
“Hey, buddy. Check this out. I knew I had one of these around for you.”
Darrell opened the box and took out a small metal gadget. He looked up at Sam, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”
At first Jessica didn’t recognize it either; then she realized it was the inner workings of a music box.
“It plays music. See, here’s the key.” Sam found the key at the bottom of the carton and wound it up. He set it back on the workbench and it began to turn. “We can put this in your mom’s jewelry box, and it will play music when she opens the lid.”
Jessica heard the tinkling notes of “You Are My Sunshine,” which always made her smile. She watched Darrell listening, his expression growing brighter.
“Maybe I should just send her that part. I don’t know if I can make a whole big box for it.”
Sam laughed. “Sure you can. One step at a time.”
Darrell didn’t look convinced. “Okay. But if it doesn’t come out good, I’ll give it to my grandma. She likes any old thing I make for her.”
Jessica
had to smile at his honesty. He wasn’t intentionally insulting his grandmother, just stating a fact. At least his grandmother was a nurturing presence in his life. From what he didn’t say, though, she sensed that pleasing his mother was something he worried about more. “Maybe after you make the music box for your mom, you could make something just for your grandmother,” she suggested.
Darrell gave her a blank look, as if she couldn’t possibly say anything that interested him, and Jessica felt herself flush with embarrassment. This was nuts. She was feeling awkward—like she was intruding—in her own home.
Sam didn’t seem to notice. “Ready to fire up that sander again?” he asked the boy.
“I guess I’ll get back to the house,” Jessica said. “I have to unpack the groceries.”
“What’s for dinner? I thought maybe Darrell could stay and I could bring him back to New Horizons later.”
Jessica thought a moment, not really wanting the boy to stay but also not wanting to give in to such uncharitable thoughts. Then she remembered what day it was. “Gee, I don’t think that works out, honey. We’re going to that play in Newburyport with Suzanne and her boyfriend.”
“Oh, right. I completely forgot.” Sam shook his head, and she realized he had already invited the boy and was now in a bad spot.
She glanced over at Darrell. He was examining the music box intently, acting as if he wasn’t listening to them but not missing a word. She saw the way his shoulders slumped when she announced that he couldn’t stay, and she instantly regretted not phrasing her words in a softer way. She might not be exactly comfortable with the boy but she didn’t want to hurt him.
“I’m sorry, Darrell,” Jessica said. “Maybe we can have you over some other night.”
“Sure. We’ll figure it out,” Sam said.
Darrell stared at her; the bright expression he had worn listening to the music had turned moody and grim again.
“No problem. Whatever,” he said. Then he turned and picked up a block of wood, casually smacking it against the workbench, as if to test the sound it would make.
A Christmas Promise Page 4