Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  The two men left a few minutes later, and Emily picked up the phone to call Luke and Sara. But where would she find them? There were dozens of motels and inns between the village and the hospital in Southport. She couldn’t try them all, she realized. It would take hours.

  She set the phone back in place and took a moment to think. She would have to catch up with them tomorrow. The best help she could offer to Luke—and the only olive branch she could offer to Sara—was to finish this letter.

  Sitting here, working on a letter that voiced support for the center and then hearing about the fire, had been the strangest coincidence, Emily realized. Certainly this latest event made the letter seem even more urgent.

  Whether or not the fire was set deliberately remained to be seen. But the fact that both the police and fire departments suspected it was arson said something to her. If there was enough toxic feeling in this town to even suspect a resident of arson, surely it was well past time for her to take a stand.

  If her campaign committee deserted her, so be it. If these were the compromises she needed to make to succeed in politics, then she didn’t need a career in politics. If she lost the election, it might be a blessing in disguise. Something else would come along to fill her days and give meaning to her future.

  God will open a new door for me, she told herself as she began to steadily type away, if I would only stop staring at the closed ones. . . .

  EMILY STOOD AT THE GLASS DOOR TO THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE, HOLDING A brown manila envelope containing her letter. She had expected to shove the envelope into the mailbox for Dan to find first thing in the morning. But even though it was nearly eleven P.M., all the lights were on and Dan Forbes was still working at his computer.

  The office was a large open space. Half a dozen desks, each topped with a computer terminal, filled the center of the room. A long table that held several printers and fax machines flanked one wall, and bookshelves filled with reference books lined another. An artist’s layout board and tools were tucked away in a corner. The decor was spare: whitewashed walls and a few front pages mounted in thin black frames. An egalitarian, no-frills atmosphere for a no-frills guy, she thought.

  She knocked on the glass and Dan looked up, surprised to see her, she thought.

  He came to the door quickly and swung it open.

  “I didn’t think I’d still find you here. I just wanted to drop this off,” she said, handing him the envelope. He looked down at it curiously.

  “It’s a letter to the editor, supporting the New Horizons Center,” she explained.

  He started to say something, then stepped aside and opened the door for her. “Come in a minute.”

  She followed him inside, where he sat on the edge of a desk. “You heard about the fire, I guess,” he said.

  She nodded. “I had a meeting with Ed and Jim tonight, just after the fire trucks returned.” She dug her hands in her pockets. “It’s funny because I was staying late at the office to write this when Ed called me. Then I really had something to write about.”

  He gave her a long hard look. “I knew you would do it.”

  The confidence in his voice made her feel good. She hadn’t really been so sure herself.

  “Took me long enough,” she admitted. “But at least I got off the fence. It was getting uncomfortable up there.”

  “I can imagine,” Dan said. “But now your camp is going to make it uncomfortable down here.”

  “I’ll just have to deal with it. Why don’t you read the letter, see what you think,” she added. “You might not even want to use it.”

  “I can’t imagine that,” he said, opening the envelope and pulling out the letter.

  Emily felt nervous watching him scan the pages. It was grueling to have someone read your writing right in front of you, especially Dan.

  He lifted his head, his expression impossible to read. “This is wonderful. Honestly. It’s direct, well informed, and right from the heart.”

  “You think so?” she asked, not quite believing him.

  “ ‘The people of Cape Light have never been mean-spirited,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘Helping others, giving them the benefit of the doubt and a second chance if necessary—those are acts that have always typified the people in this town. What have we become if we give in to fear and prejudice, if we ignore the facts and let panic override the spirit of compassion?’ ”

  Dan smiled at her. “I’m not saying people are going to change their minds overnight about this whole mess. But this is going to make a dent, Emily. I almost guarantee it.”

  “I hope so,” she said sincerely. “It made me feel better to write it, but that wasn’t really the point. Do you think you can fit it into tomorrow’s edition?” she asked hopefully.

  “Tomorrow?” He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Emily. I already ripped up the entire layout to fit in the story about the fire. I just sent it into the printer, and he’s probably working on it right now.”

  “That’s okay. I knew it was a long shot,” she said, feeling disappointed.

  “It will be in Monday’s edition for sure. No matter what,” he promised. “Besides, if I redo the layout again, I’ll feel obliged to include the wise insights of one Charlie Bates on the cause of the fire.”

  “Charlie? What did he have to say?” Emily asked curiously.

  “He called here tonight, claiming one of the kids from the program set the fire, and the whole thing just proves that he was right when he predicted that the center will ruin the village.”

  Emily felt her jaw drop. “Are you going to print that?”

  “We couldn’t reach you for a quote, so we had a good excuse to bag it.” He smiled, looking like a schoolkid who had played a trick behind the teacher’s back and gotten away with it. “Equal time for the candidates, you know.”

  “Saved by the old ‘equal time’ rule . . . but no one even called my office for a quote.”

  “I know. What if you had picked up? Then we would be stuck printing Charlie’s baloney, too.”

  Emily had to grin. “You’d better stop right there. I thought you were this hard-nosed, objective newsman. You’re ruining your image.”

  “Yes, well . . . there’s a lot you don’t know about me, I guess.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, either,” she countered quietly.

  “I already suspected that,” he said.

  Dan crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her a long moment, and she felt—better. As if she had redeemed herself in his eyes. Not up on a pedestal, by any means. But then again, a pedestal put you at a distance from people, and she liked being down on the ground, closer to him.

  The phone rang, breaking the silence. Dan walked over to his desk to pick it up. “Could be the printer with a problem. You may need to cover your ears,” he warned.

  “I’d better go, then. Thanks again for taking the letter.”

  “Thank you for bringing it to me, Emily,” he said sincerely. He turned and put the phone to his ear, and Emily let herself out the door.

  She wished the letter were going to appear in tomorrow’s paper. Somehow Monday didn’t seem soon enough. But the fault was partly her own for waiting so long to take a stand. It would have to do, Emily reasoned.

  LUKE MADE HIS WAY THROUGH THE LABYRINTHIAN CORRIDORS OF THE Southport Hospital and finally found Digger’s room. It was Saturday morning, and visiting hours had just begun. Digger was already sitting up in bed, wearing white-and-blue striped pajamas and drinking what appeared to be an ice-cream milkshake out of a big red plastic cup.

  Not hospital food, Luke thought, noting the name of a local fast-food stop on the cup.

  Luke entered and smiled, a bunch of flowers in hand. “Hello, everyone,” he said.

  “Hi, Luke.” Digger paused just long enough to greet him.

  The Reverend Ben stood on the other side of Digger’s bed, facing the door. He met Luke’s eye and nodded.

  Grace Hegman and Harry Re
illy were hovering over the patient with their backs to the door, and didn’t even turn to glance at him.

  “I know he asked you for it, Harry. But it’s really not good for him,” Grace said to Harry Reilly as she regarded her father with an exasperated expression.

  “The man nearly died yesterday. He can at least have a milkshake if he wants it,” Harry argued.

  “Oh, my, you can’t win.” Grace sighed to herself. She leaned over and smoothed the sheet over Digger’s chest. Then she turned to see Luke. “Oh, hello, Luke. I didn’t even hear you come in.” She walked over to him and took the bouquet. “I’ll get some water for these. Look, Dad, Luke brought you some flowers.”

  Digger paused another second. “Very pretty. Thank you,” he said to Luke.

  “How are you doing today, Digger?” Luke asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “The doc will probably let me go this afternoon. Nothing wrong with me. It was just a precaution. They need these beds for sick people, you know, not malingering old men. From the way Grace has been acting, you would think the Reverend was here to write my epitaph.”

  “You can hardly blame her,” Harry said, sitting down on the edge of Digger’s bed. “You put a good scare into her last night. I shouldn’t have even brought you that milkshake, come to think about it.”

  “If you were a real friend, Harry Reilly, you would have brought me my pipe and tobacco pouch,” Digger countered. “That’s another reason I want out. No smoking in this dang place, that’s for sure.”

  “What did the doctor say about your pipe, Digger?” the Reverend asked. “Don’t you need to give your lungs a rest?”

  Digger made a pouting face, which made him look a great deal like a gnome, with his long whiskers and knitted cap.

  “My lungs are having a rest right now. They’re resting so much, they’re bored to tears,” he grumbled. “And just for the record, I inhale more smoke blowing out the candles on my birthday cake these days than I did in that fire.”

  Luke smiled but felt a pang of guilt. Digger was making light of it, but Luke had seen him doubled over, gasping for breath the day before. He hated to think that Digger was hurt working on his project.

  Grace returned, carrying a glass vase filled with the flowers. “Aren’t these pretty,” she said again. “I’ll put them by the window, Dad. They’re very cheerful.”

  “Yes, indeed. Unlike yours truly,” Digger complained, crossing his arms over his chest. Luke wasn’t sure if Digger was really cranky or just hamming it up. Maybe a little bit of both, he decided.

  “Cheer up, Digger. You said it yourself—you’ll be out of here in no time,” the Reverend reminded him.

  “Here, let’s play some checkers,” Harry suggested. “That will take your mind off your troubles.”

  He picked up a board and a box of checkers from the side table near Digger’s bed and began to set up the game.

  “Are you going to stick around and cheer me up all day, Harry?” Digger asked.

  “I’m here for Grace,” Harry bantered back. “She needs someone to keep you in line, looks like to me.”

  Luke met the Reverend’s glance, and they both softly chuckled.

  “Who wants to play the winner?” Digger asked, looking hopefully at Luke.

  “Sorry, I’ve got to get going. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine, young man,” Digger assured him in a hearty voice. “Maybe something dreadful could have happened to me. But it didn’t,” he pointed out. “There’s no sense in worrying about things that didn’t even happen, is there?”

  “No, I guess not,” Luke agreed.

  Digger nodded. “Fine, then. You start cleaning up. I’ll be back on the job the day the building starts again,” he promised.

  “We won’t start without you,” Luke promised. He said good-bye to Digger and then to Harry and Grace.

  “I’d better go, too,” the Reverend said. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Digger. I know it’s hard to be stuck in bed. But go easy on Grace and Harry,” he pleaded in a humorous tone.

  “I’ll let Harry win a few games,” Digger said, eyeing the checkerboard. “I don’t want his feelings getting hurt.”

  Luke and the Reverend left the hospital room together and walked to the elevator. “It’s good to see Digger making such a quick recovery. I was worried about him,” Luke said.

  “He’s quite amazing. I’m sure he will be back on the job site in no time,” the Reverend replied.

  The elevator reached the lobby and the two men got out. Luke stared straight ahead. “I didn’t want to say anything up there, but I’m not sure there will be a job for him to come back to. I spoke to Dr. Santori last night. He was concerned. There’s no proof that the fire was arson, but the police aren’t ruling it out. Dr. Santori thinks there might be too much opposition in the town to carry on.”

  The Reverend stopped walking and faced Luke, looking very concerned. “I can see why he would feel that way,” he said slowly. “How do you feel about it?”

  “Terrible,” Luke admitted with a shrug. “I guess I had some strange idea that the negativity was dying down and the worst was over. I believe in this project. I really want to make it happen. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt over it. Thank God, no one was seriously hurt yesterday. What if the kids had all been there? What if it had happened at night?”

  The Reverend reached out and touched his arm. “Frightening scenarios, I agree. But like Digger said, there’s little to be gained by worrying about things that didn’t happen. You’re shaken up. You may not be seeing things clearly right now, you know.”

  “I realize that,” Luke said. “But I’m not sure anymore if Cape Light is the right place for the center. What if this is harassment and it continues? I don’t think I could handle having it on my conscience if someone really got hurt.”

  “Give it time,” the Reverend advised. “Why don’t you wait for the investigation and see how that turns out before you make any major decisions?”

  “We can’t really do anything more until that’s over with and we clean up,” Luke replied. “The kids can help, I guess, but that’s not the kind of work they came here to do. I’ve been thinking of sending them back to Boston for a while.”

  “That’s too bad. I’m sure they’ll be disappointed,” Reverend Ben said. Then he stopped walking and touched Luke’s arm again. “I have an idea for you. An inspiration, actually,” he added. “What if this group of kids works at the Potter Orchard for a while? Gus is just home from the hospital, and I know he and Sophie could use the help. It’s not just keeping up with the orchard, either. Since Gus’s health has gone down, the entire place needs fixing and painting. There’s plenty of work over there, believe me.”

  “That a great idea,” Luke said, his spirits lifting for the first time all morning. “I can check with Dr. Santori. Do you think the Potters will agree?”

  “I can almost guarantee it. I know Sophie felt very positively about the center, and knowing her, she’ll probably offer to put them all up in her house as well.” The Reverend glanced at his watch. “As a matter of fact, I was going to stop there this afternoon. I’ll talk to Gus and Sophie about it and call you later. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with the idea.”

  The solution was almost too good to be true, Luke thought. It would also buy him some time. “Let’s see if we can work this out. Thanks for the help, Reverend.”

  “Don’t thank me.” Reverend Ben shrugged. “I’ve found the Lord is amazingly efficient sometimes, answering two prayers with one solution.”

  LUKE LEFT SOUTHPORT FEELING HE’D AT LEAST SOLVED ONE PROBLEM THAT morning. He wasn’t looking forward to facing the mess at his property, but it had to be done. Going back this first time would be the hardest, he told himself. It would get easier after that.

  Sara would be back by now, too. He had spoken to her briefly, before he left to see Digger, and she told him she wasn’t planning on going to work today. Just as
well, he thought. She needed the day’s rest, and he wanted to have a long talk with her.

  When he reached the cottages, he found a police car and the fire chief’s car in the lot. Chief Rhinehardt, two of his men, and a police officer were examining the area where the fire had presumably started.

  Ed walked over to greet him. “We’ll be here awhile, rooting around. It would probably be best if the others don’t come back right away,” he told Luke.

  “I understand. I’ll keep them out of your way,” Luke replied.

  “All right, then. We’ll keep you informed,” Chief Rhinehardt said. He turned to go back to work, and Luke turned toward Sara’s cottage. He had seen her car in the lot and caught sight of her silhouette as she moved past the curtained windows.

  He stepped up to her door and knocked, then vividly recalled crawling through smoke yesterday and finding her limp body on the floor. He swallowed hard and pushed the image aside. The worst didn’t happen, so no sense worrying about it, he told himself. Still, when he spotted her familiar smile through the window, he felt a wave of relief all over again and gave silent thanks that she had made it through unharmed.

  “How are you doing?” he asked once he got inside.

  “Oh, I’m okay. How’s Digger?”

  “He looks fine. He might be out of the hospital by tonight.”

  “That’s good,” Sara said.

  He watched her moving around the kitchen. She looked nervous and a bit tired, he thought.

  “What are you up to?” he asked, following her. “I thought you were going to rest today.”

  “Just trying to clean up a little. There’s this black sooty stuff all over everything.” She held up a sponge that was black on one side. “I admit, I am domestically challenged, but this stuff just won’t come off.”

  He took the sponge out of her hand and put it down on the counter. “Come here a minute,” he said, leading her over to a seat in the living room area. “I need to talk to you.”