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Home Song Page 19

by Thomas Kinkade


  He felt Carolyn watching him as he read it. It wasn’t very long, but it was more conversational than Mark’s last missive. This one described his life at the retreat, and how much peace he was finding in the beauty of the southwestern landscape. Then he asked questions about everyone in his family, especially Rachel.

  Reaching the second page of the letter, Ben still wondered at Carolyn’s happy, excited expression. So far he couldn’t find any news from Mark that had inspired that reaction. Was she merely happy to hear from their son?

  Then, near the bottom of the page, he read, “Coming here was good for me. It’s helped me a lot to sort things out. I may come back to this retreat someday, but a month or so feels like enough for now. I’m thinking of heading back East to see you folks. But I’m not sure. There are other possibilities, too. I will be in touch soon and let you know.” Finally he concluded, “Stay well. Love to all, Mark.”

  “He sounds good,” Ben said, looking up at his wife.

  “I thought so,” Carolyn agreed. “More relaxed or maybe more secure. This is the first time he’s said he might come home. Wouldn’t that be something? To have him here for Christmas and Rachel’s baby?”

  “Yes, it would be.” Ben could see that his wife was trying to control her anticipation but couldn’t help hoping. “He doesn’t say definitely, though,” Ben cautioned her. “I don’t think we should count on it.”

  “Yes, I know.” She nodded, a swatch of thick blond hair falling across her cheek. “But I think it’s a good sign.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. He slipped the letter back into the envelope, feeling pensive. His visit to the orchard had put him in a strange mood today, melancholy and restless.

  “Want to write him back tonight, after dinner?” he suggested.

  “Yes, let’s write him back right away. We need to let him know how much we want to see him. And that he doesn’t have to be afraid to come home.” She glanced at her husband quickly. “Afraid of us forcing some big confrontation, I mean.”

  “I understand,” Ben said. “But I also think he might be ready to hear what we have to say.” He started taking the apples out of the box, putting them in a blue ceramic bowl. “I think we need to let Mark know we want to talk things out finally, each of us taking responsibility, so we can truly make amends.”

  “I’m not sure we should tell him all that right now. We might scare him off,” Carolyn said worriedly.

  “Possibly,” he acknowledged. “But it seems dishonest to me to have that hope for his homecoming and not tell him how we really feel. If Mark reacts badly, we’ll just have to try again.”

  “No, Ben.” Carolyn’s voice was quiet, but Ben sensed a steel resolve beneath it. “You want to have everything out with him and heal the old wounds. You want to fix everything. And that would be a wonderful thing to do, but it may not be possible right now. Mark might not be ready for that.”

  “I realize—” Ben started.

  “Hear me out,” she insisted, cutting off his protest. “I don’t want Mark to feel we’re waiting here to pounce on him with some big reckoning. He won’t come back if he thinks that. I know he won’t. I’m his mother, and all I want is to see him again.”

  Ben met his wife’s clear blue gaze, seeing a rare fierceness there. He knew what she said made sense. But up at the orchard he had felt time’s keen blade pressed to his skin, the touch that reminds you life is so very short. He wanted to open his heart to his son. If they were ever going to set things right, he needed to be honest with him, and he wanted to start tonight.

  But maybe that was the wrong approach, appeasing his own needs instead of considering Mark’s—or Carolyn’s, for that matter. Carolyn’s hopes had been so high when he’d walked in the door. Now she was afraid. He didn’t want her to feel that way—or to blame him if what she feared came to pass, he realized. This time they would try things her way. He owed her that much.

  “I understand,” he said finally. “Don’t worry.” He touched her arm. “Why don’t you write back to him, and I’ll just add a note at the end?”

  She nodded and moved toward the table. “All right. I’ll do it after dinner. We can take a walk and mail it.”

  The table was already set. Carolyn had put two low candles in the center. Her hand moved gracefully as she lit them. “Thank you, Ben, for letting me do this my way,” she said.

  She sat down and unfolded her napkin. She looked happier again, he thought. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “I hope he does come back, dear. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

  “We all would be,” she pointed out.

  He nodded. “Yes, of course.” But he knew in his heart that her disappointment would be the greatest somehow. He wished he could protect her from that possibility, and he knew all too well that he couldn’t.

  ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT EVERY SEAT IN THE VILLAGE HALL AUDITORIUM WAS filled. Emily sat at a long table, shoulder to shoulder with Luke McAllister and the New Horizons Boston-area program director, Dr. Jim Santori. Two other members of his team were there as well, a psychologist, who counseled the kids in the program, and one of the teachers.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Emily began. “Since Luke McAllister’s proposal to bring a New Horizons program to Cape Light is causing so much controversy, it seemed that it would be useful to have the facts, and to give you a chance to ask questions of the people who run this program.”

  Then she introduced each speaker and sat down to listen while Dr. Santori and the others explained the program.

  “Since New Horizons started fifteen years ago, over five thousand young men and woman have attended,” Dr. Santori began. “Most have either returned to school full-time or finished a GED and gone into our job training and placement program. We also make continued support available after their twelve-week stay at a New Horizons center.

  “As you can see from the fact sheets handed out at the door, our success rate is measured in the number of residents who enter the workforce full-time by age twenty and remain employed and out of jail for five years. That figure is over seventy-five percent.” Jim Santori paused. “Now, that may not sound to you like a picture-perfect record, but if we were playing baseball, we’d be batting .750.”

  “The Sox could use you next year!” Harry Reilly shouted out, drawing a laugh.

  But Emily sensed that the tension in the room was high. She felt tense herself, waiting for the question-and-answer period to begin. She saw Charlie sitting a few rows back from the front, flanked by his campaign supporters. Dressed in a gray suit and tie, and tapping a pile of index cards on his knee, he looked primed to make another speech. Emily wondered how Dr. Santori and his staff would field those line drives.

  Alice Gerber, a psychologist and social worker, and her colleague, Phillip Engel, a specialist in remedial education, each spoke about their role in the program. Alice offered a story about a boy who had dropped out of school at age sixteen and was picked up for shoplifting before his referral to the New Horizons center in Minneapolis.

  “He graduated law school two years ago and has been working as an assistant DA in Minneapolis–St. Paul,” she added proudly. “Which is not to say that all of our kids go to college or even should be pointed in that direction. But I think it’s solid proof that our program really can work.”

  Emily watched the audience reaction carefully. She felt that the speakers from New Horizons were making a good impression. They presented the facts in a clear, professional manner, their dedication to the program unmistakable.

  When it was Luke McAllister’s turn to speak, he seemed nervous walking to the podium, his slight limp obvious as he moved across the stage. He had not dressed up for this moment in the spotlight, Emily noticed. Luke wore a black crewneck sweater and jeans with a worn leather jacket, looking every inch the outsider and not about to hide it. He was the take-it-or-leave-it type, she thought, and she liked that about him.

  “Thank you for coming here tonight,” he read f
rom a sheet of paper. “I hope the presentations of Dr. Santori and his staff have given you more information about our plans. I hope the facts have answered your questions and helped to erase the fear that this center will ruin Cape Light.”

  He paused and took a sip of water. Then he looked directly at Charlie, who shifted in his seat. “I think most of you realize now, that’s just not true,” Luke said slowly.

  He put the speech down and scanned the audience. Emily followed Luke’s gaze and saw him find Sara, sitting in a seat near the front. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Luke continued.

  “I know I’m an outsider here. There’s a lot of talk around town about me, too. Some of it is even true,” he added wryly. “I didn’t come up here to purposely ruin your town, like some of you think. A few years ago I was a police officer down in Boston, trying to do some good for people. I can’t be a police officer anymore, but I still want to do some good. You have a choice, too, about what you want to do.

  “You can share the peace and purity of this place with other people—kids who maybe need it even more than any of you and are getting one chance to turn their lives around.

  “This center isn’t going to take anything away from any of you,” he insisted. “It might even make you prouder to say you live here.”

  He stopped abruptly, seeming suddenly self-conscious of the emotional turn his words had taken. “Thank you,” he said, and stepped away from the podium.

  Emily took the microphone on the table. “I’ll open the floor to—” She saw Charlie jump up and scramble to the microphone set up in the aisle. “—to questions,” she concluded quickly.

  “My question is for Dr. Santori,” Charlie spoke up. “We heard a lot of nice stories about how these kids are ending up lawyers and doctors and model citizens after they go through your program. But not too much about where you find them. I’m hearing shoplifting, assault, suspended sentence because the kid’s a first time offender—”

  “What is your question, Charlie?” Emily interrupted.

  “My question, Mayor, is who are we opening our doors to? A bunch of juvenile delinquents with no respect for the law, some who have already broken it and been caught red-handed.”

  “Not all of our referrals are from the court system,” Dr. Santori replied. “Many are from the schools or social services.”

  “Okay,” Charlie continued, “so every night seven out of ten are going to go to their rooms and do their homework. Meanwhile, the other three are maybe going to jump the fence and cause havoc around here.”

  The audience murmured, sounding as if they agreed with him.

  Emily leaned toward the microphone. “That’s still not a question, Charlie.” She turned to Dr. Santori. “Can you speak to this point?”

  “We’ll always have some kids who don’t follow our house rules,” Dr. Santori admitted. “After three warnings, they have to leave the program. There are also some isolated incidents of problems in the surrounding neighborhoods with kids who leave the center without permission—”

  “I thought so,” Charlie said with satisfaction.

  Oh, dear, Emily thought. That was just what they didn’t need to hear.

  “But these events are very few and usually minor,” Dr. Santori concluded.

  Everyone in the audience was talking again. Did anyone even hear him at that point? Emily wondered.

  “How few?” Charlie challenged.

  Dr. Santori glanced at his colleagues, clearly on the spot.

  “I don’t have specific numbers, but I would say that there’s no significant rise in crime in the neighborhoods hosting centers.”

  “Really, why not? You have figures for everything else.” Charlie waved the information sheet. “Of course he doesn’t have the information. They don’t want us to know the truth,” Charlie said, glancing around for support.

  “Address your questions to the speakers,” Emily cut in. “And I don’t think that accusation is fair or appropriate,” she added.

  She was about to say something stronger and more definitive when Warren Oakes caught her eye. He sat in the front row, red-faced and looking ready to explode. Emily couldn’t tell if he was angrier with Charlie or her.

  “Next question, please,” she said, encouraging Charlie to step out of the way so that the next person in line could speak. Charlie didn’t seem ready to give up the microphone, but then Betty Bowman stepped up. Wearing her cheerleader smile, she edged him out of position in a determined but ladylike fashion.

  Emily watched her warily. Betty being her friend and supporter didn’t mean that she was for the center.

  “The fact sheet notes that real estate values are not affected in neighborhoods where there are New Horizons centers,” Betty began. “Can you talk a little more about that, Dr. Santori? I’m a realtor here in town, and I know that’s a big concern.”

  Thank you, Betty, Emily said silently to her friend. Give him something positive to talk about. Good move.

  While Dr. Santori answered the question, Emily had a chance to get her bearings. Fifteen minutes left to the meeting and emotions were rising. She wondered if they would make it to the finish without another outburst from Charlie.

  Emily looked down to see Lucy step to the microphone. Charlie turned around in his seat, scowling, but Lucy paid him no attention.

  “I noticed the fact sheet says that kids might go out in the community and work for free, to get some practical experience. What kinds of work do they do?”

  “I’ll let Alice answer that,” Jim Santori said, passing the microphone down the table.

  “They won’t find any jobs in a diner, I’ll tell you that!” someone shouted out, evoking more laughter.

  Looking positively livid, Charlie got up from his seat and stood next to his wife. Emily had a feeling that he would have happily dragged her away; the only thing stopping him was his fear of embarrassing himself.

  “Thanks for bringing that up,” the social worker said smoothly. “We sometimes do an outreach in the community, with our kids working on some project that will benefit the neighborhood. Like building a playground, for example, or cleaning up a park or a beach. Local businesses can also get an intern for a few hours a week, who would learn useful job skills.”

  “That sounds just lovely,” Charlie interrupted. “They’re going to come and build a new playground for us. Isn’t that good news? But I’d like to get back to this crime question.”

  “Charlie!” Lucy protested.

  “You said before that the rise in crime is insignificant,” he went on, ignoring her. “Is that right?”

  Dr. Santori’s expression was wary as he said, “Yes, that’s right. That’s what I said.”

  “But insignificant . . . that’s a relative term, don’t you think?” Charlie persisted. Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “I mean, what’s not so bad to you, doesn’t mean it would be okay to us. If you’re living in a city, where crimes are happening every five minutes, well, what’s a few more per year? Meanwhile, we hardly have any crime going on here at all—”

  “Except for jerks tossing rocks through windshields, you mean!” Luke shouted out, coming to his feet.

  “You brought that on yourself, McAllister!” somebody else shouted.

  “Go back where you came from, all of you,” another voice called out. “What do we need this for?”

  “We don’t need it,” Charlie answered. “We—”

  “Wait just a minute!” Emily called out, trying to regain order in the room. “We’re getting off the track here—”

  “Not at all, Mayor,” Charlie corrected her. “I think we just got to the real point.”

  The audience stirred, the noise level rising with so many people talking at once that Emily could hardly hear herself think.

  She leaned forward to reply when Warren Oakes caught her attention. His face contorted in an angry scowl, he held up his wrist, pointing frantically to his watch, then slicing his finger across his throat.

&n
bsp; Is that a signal to call time, or is he telling me I’ve just slit my own throat up here tonight? Emily wondered.

  Emily quickly took the microphone. “That will conclude the meeting. Thank you all for coming. If you have any further questions, you can drop them off at the Village Hall, addressed to my attention, and I’ll pass them on to Dr. Santori and his staff.”

  Dr. Santori said a few quiet words to his colleagues, then they all started collecting their papers and packing up to go. Luke sat there, looking frustrated and unhappy.

  Emily barely had time to thank the guests for coming before they made a quick exit from the room. Her campaign advisers stood in a small cluster near the deserted speakers’ table, but didn’t approach her. Emily swallowed hard. She had acted against their advice, and now she would hear about it.

  Luke still stood near and she turned to speak to him. His expression was so downcast, he barely met her eye.

  “It got rough out there at the end,” she acknowledged, “but I still think this meeting was a good idea.”

  “A good idea for Charlie Bates, maybe,” Luke agreed with a sarcastic laugh as Sara walked up to stand beside him.

  “People need time to take in the information,” Emily said. “They need time to think and get used to new ideas.”

  “Sometimes people need someone to tell them what to think,” Sara cut in. “Charlie is certainly doing his share.”

  “I didn’t set up this meeting to get my opinion out,” Emily said carefully. “I held it to get out Luke’s information.”

  Luke glanced first at Sara, then back at Emily. “I guess we have to wait and see. Work on the cottages started on Monday, and we’re going to keep at it. Thanks for trying.”

  “You’re welcome,” Emily said.

  “ ’Night,” Sara said, and walked away with Luke.

  Emily felt drained and misunderstood. She had thought a rational presentation of facts would encourage a rational response. Obviously, that wasn’t the case. And she had thought holding this meeting would be a clear sign that she was trying to help Luke. But the look in Sara’s eyes told her that she was wrong on that count, too.

 

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