A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  Sometimes it seemed to Tucker that Carl had always drawn the bad breaks. Sure, he was responsible for his actions and the consequences, just like anyone else. Still, it seemed as if his half brother had been handed a heavier load than most and asked to walk a far tougher road. If I’d been treated the same, constantly told I was worthless and would never amount to anything, maybe I would have turned out like Carl, too, Tucker thought.

  “You’re awful quiet.” Charlie scraped the grill with his metal spatula. “Strolling down memory lane?”

  “I was just thinking how Carl and my father were exactly alike.” Tucker shook his head and sipped his coffee. “Always angry, always blaming someone else for their troubles. Turning to drink when things didn’t go their way. Always with some grand scheme that didn’t work out. Ever notice that?”

  “I know what you mean,” Charlie agreed. “Meanwhile your old man ran around saying he wasn’t even sure if Carl was his son.”

  “Oh, that old story.” Tucker shook his head. “My father could never swallow the way his first wife ran off and left him with a baby. He couldn’t get back at her, so he had to blame it on Carl. Carl was his boy, all right, when he was out on the football field scoring a touchdown. But when he got into trouble, my father would disown him. Walter Tulley was a hard man to live with. He was lucky my mother stuck with him.”

  “She was a good woman. She did her best by Carl, too. She tried to help him.” Charlie wiped a spot on the counter with a rag and rearranged the napkin holder and sugar shaker.

  She did try, Tucker thought. She always told Tucker that Carl was his brother, period. Never mind the “half” part. Tucker knew his mother would have urged him to go to the hospital tonight and help Carl if he could.

  “It might not be Carl. I might be worried over nothing,” Tucker said, thinking out loud.

  “Maybe. But if it is Carl, the only reason he’d come back is because he needs something, and he’s got no one else to go begging to. He probably wants money or some place to crash awhile. It certainly isn’t because he wants to visit with your wife and kids and see how your life is coming along.”

  Tucker had already come to this conclusion. He nodded and stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

  “I’m telling you, Tucker. Don’t get involved. Don’t let that pushy preacher tell you what to do, either.”

  Tucker shook his head, his patience wearing thin. This conversation hadn’t helped him one bit.

  “So it’s okay for you to tell me what to do but not Reverend Ben. Is that it?”

  “Come on, pal. You know what I mean. I’m trying to give you some friendly advice. Some practical advice.”

  “You’re not getting it, Charlie. I know Carl is trouble. I don’t need you to tell me that. But what if it’s him in that hospital?”

  Charlie shook his head. “He’ll just sucker you in. Mark my words. I know him and I know you.”

  A slow burn went through Tucker. He’d come to Charlie for some friendly sympathy—not to hear his brother’s disreputable history recounted and then to be insulted.

  He tossed some bills on the counter and pulled on his hat. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you.”

  Charlie looked surprised. “You hardly ate a bite. Want me to wrap this up?”

  “No thanks,” Tucker said, as he walked away. “The bacon didn’t turn out to be such a good idea after all.”

  “DO YOU THINK THEY’LL LET ME BE IN A FEW OF LAUREN'S CLASSES?” Amanda tugged her corner of the quilt, helping her father make up her bed.

  “We’ll ask the guidance counselor on Monday,” Matt promised. He watched Amanda pick up a towel and her toothbrush and head for the bathroom. “Are you nervous about starting school?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “But at least I know Lauren. She’s really nice. So is her little sister and her mom.”

  “Yes, they’re a very nice family,” he agreed. Amanda left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts of Molly.

  Molly was more than nice. She was bright and funny and a good mother, too. He thought she was beautiful, though he could see she felt awkward about her weight. She didn’t have that starved, aerobically tortured look women seemed to think was ideal. But he didn’t mind her curves. Not at all.

  She was the first woman he’d really noticed since his wife’s death, and he wasn’t quite sure if his strong reaction to her was simply because Molly was so intriguing or because he was changing. Maybe something inside of him was waking up again.

  But he wasn’t sure he could handle dating. He had so much to do, getting Amanda adjusted to this new place and setting up a new practice. No, it wasn’t the right time to start dating again, he decided as Amanda emerged from the bathroom. He wasn’t ready.

  With her face scrubbed clean and her long hair pulled back, Amanda slipped under the quilt. Matthew sat down on the edge of her bed.

  “We got a lot done today, and we still have tomorrow to work on the house. We might be in pretty good shape by Monday.”

  “I guess so,” she said. “Everything seems like such a big mess, though.”

  “We’ll get there,” he promised. “I thought we’d go to church tomorrow. We can try the one on the green, Bible Community Church. That will be a good way to meet more people, too, don’t you think?”

  Amanda nodded. Matt had never been very religious. He’d always left churchgoing to his wife and Amanda. But when Sharon got sick, he found himself more aware of his spiritual side and of his own mortality.

  “Would you like to say a prayer together?” he asked.

  Amanda nodded, then folded her hands and bowed her head. “You start,” she said.

  “Um, okay.” Matt thought for a moment and then began, “Dear Lord, thank you for helping us find this new place to live and for a good moving day. We only found one or two things broken so far, despite my sloppy packing,” he joked. “Please help us get settled here. Help Amanda make friends at her new school and help me with my practice.” He turned to Amanda. “Anything else?”

  She glanced at him, then lowered her gaze again. “Please bless Mom and keep her safe with you in heaven. We hope she knows we’re thinking of her. We know she’s watching over us.”

  Matt couldn’t speak for a moment. “Amen,” he said finally.

  He stood up and kissed Amanda good night, then left the room.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, he unpacked a sack of groceries. He found a bundle wrapped in newspaper on top of the refrigerator and opened it: the family photo, with the broken glass. He’d stashed it up there this afternoon to get it out of the way.

  He stared down at the picture, thinking how unhappy his wife had been with him. She said he gave everything to his patients and left nothing for his family. They were often angry at each other, distant. They could never work it out and had nearly separated right before they found out about her cancer.

  He’d tried hard to be a good husband to her then, but it was too little too late. When she died, he was left with a kind of grief that was like an overstuffed closet. Nothing had ever been resolved, and three years later, he still couldn’t quite close the door.

  He wrapped up the picture again and set it on the kitchen table so he’d be sure to take care of it. His own regrets and shortcomings were much harder to repair. He knew he was a good doctor, but maybe Sharon had been right. Maybe he couldn’t be a good doctor and a good husband at the same time. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out that way. He thought he’d done well with Amanda since her mother passed away, though he still had to be careful not to get lost in his work and shut her out, which was his automatic way of coping whenever things were difficult.

  How could he think of dating again? Especially someone like Molly Willoughby. She was the type who would be looking for a serious relationship. Not just dinner and a movie on weekends. Matt couldn’t imagine marrying again.

  No, it would be better not to start anything. He’d drop off the bucket with an extra check for her, at the real-estat
e office. Like she said, it was a small town. If and when he was ever ready, he’d know where to find her.

  THE MAN ASLEEP IN THE HOSPITAL BED LOOKED NOTHING LIKE CARL, Tucker decided. This had all been a huge mistake. A false alarm.

  A huge wave of relief washed over him. He watched the man sleep, breathing heavily, an oxygen apparatus hooked to his nose. His battered face told the story of a hard life, the heavy dark folds around his eyes, a squashed-looking nose that appeared to have been broken a few times, a jagged scar on his cheek. Carl was about fifty by now. But this man looked much older, in his sixties, Tucker would guess. Under the loose sheet Tucker caught sight of a swollen leg, puffy and discolored.

  It wasn’t Carl, thank God.

  He took a deep breath and began to walk away. But then he felt as if he were being watched. He quickly turned and saw that the man in bed was looking at him. They locked gazes for a second and the sick man closed his eyes again, his expression unaltered.

  But it was too late. Tucker knew. He felt his heart turn to lead. It was Carl. From somewhere down in that wreck of a body his half brother peered out with a familiar light. He’d been pretending to be asleep, waiting for Tucker to go. That was exactly the kind of thing Carl would do.

  Tucker stood at the foot of the bed, tempted to walk out the door and never look back. Who would ever know? He wasn’t even sure why he’d come in the first place. Still, he’d driven all this way. Might as well go through with it.

  “Are you awake?” He waited.

  Finally the sick man opened his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “You know who I am. And I know you’re not Carl Jones.”

  The man drew a raspy breath and glanced to the side. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, mister. I ought to know my own name by now.”

  “Get off it, Carl. We’re both too old for games.”

  “If you say so.” The man sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Tucker waited for him to speak again, and Carl let him wait nearly five minutes before saying, “I tried to let you off the hook. But you never could take a hint, could you, Tucker?”

  “Still playing the tough guy, huh?”

  “Why not?” Carl shrugged. “You’re still playing the Eagle Scout. Still got the uniform, I see. I didn’t want you to come here. But I guess you couldn’t help yourself.”

  Tucker took a step closer, feeling strangely immune to Carl’s insults. Nothing Carl could say had the power to hurt him anymore.

  “Why did you come back? Were you looking for the old man?”

  “Are you crazy? What would I want to see him for?”

  “He died about three years ago. I tried to get in touch with you before the funeral, but I couldn’t find you.”

  Carl took another labored breath and shifted against the bed. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have come.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Tucker persisted. “I don’t get it.”

  “There’s nothing to get. I was on my way up to Maine to see this friend of mine in Portland. Figured I’d stop in Cape Light, see what’s become of the place. I didn’t plan on making any social calls.”

  “I see,” Tucker said, wondering whether Carl was really passing through with no intention of getting in touch or whether this was yet another of Carl’s stories.

  Carl began coughing again, a choking cough that sounded as if he couldn’t catch his breath. “Do you want a nurse?” Tucker asked quickly.

  Carl shook his head and waved his hand. “It’ll pass. Just let me be.”

  Tucker sat in the chair near the bed, his hat in his lap. The coughing abated, and Carl turned to him. “So, you found me. You’ve done your duty. You can leave now.”

  Tucker ignored him. “I heard when you got out. A guy I know called me. What’ve you been doing all this time?”

  Carl grinned, showing a row of stained, jagged teeth. “I’m a big shot on Wall Street. Can’t you tell?”

  “I mean besides that,” Tucker said, without smiling.

  “Making my way. What difference is it to you? I kept myself out of jail, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

  Tucker felt weary. Weary and sad. He’d rarely seen a man who had done such a poor job of making his way in the world.

  Carl started coughing again; this time the violent spasms forced him to sit up. His face grew beet red; his bloodshot eyes bulged. It sounded as if Carl were about to cough out his insides. Tucker quickly leaned over and pressed the call button for the nurse.

  He stood up and touched Carl’s shoulder. “Easy now. The nurse is coming.”

  “Water . . .” Carl managed.

  Tucker poured out a cupful from the plastic pitcher near the bed, and Carl took it in a shaky hand. Only a few drops reached his mouth, the rest spilling on the sheet and hospital gown.

  The nurse arrived, and Tucker stepped aside. “Just lay back, Mr. Jones. I’m going to turn up your oxygen. Just try to relax,” she coaxed him, pulling the curtain around the bed. “The patient needs some privacy,” she told Tucker. “You can wait in the hall if you like.”

  “I was just leaving.”

  Tucker tried to catch Carl’s eye, but it was too late. The curtain was closed. He heard Carl continue to cough violently on the other side.

  Finally he turned and left the room. Carl was in bad shape. He might even die. That would let me off the hook real fast, Tucker thought. Then he felt horribly guilty. He didn’t want anyone to die. He just wished Carl hadn’t turned up here after all this time.

  Maybe Charlie and Fran were right. Maybe he should never have come here. He should have left well enough alone.

  Tucker sighed and punched the button for the elevator. He had a problem now, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “ILIKE THE QUIET CHURCH BEFORE THE SERVICE BEGINS,” RALPH Waldo Emerson once said. But Ben often thought of the quote as the service ended and he stood in the back of the sanctuary while the choir finished singing its response to his benediction. He loved the quiet in the church at that moment, as the voices harmonized and held one last note, the congregation standing with heads bowed having just received a final blessing. In that silent moment before the bodies began to stir and make their way back into the world, he felt the indescribable peace of the Lord, invisible yet tangible, filtering down on them all like shafts of colored light through the stained-glass windows.

  Then the notes of the postlude sounded and the worshipers began to leave their pews, lining up to say good-bye.

  He saw Tucker Tulley approach and greeted him.

  “Thank you, Reverend, that was a fine service,” Tucker said appreciatively.

  “You’re welcome, Tucker.” Ben leaned closer, talking in a more private tone. “I was wondering, did you have a chance to check on that man in Southport?”

  Tucker nodded. “I went down there last night. It was Carl, just as you thought. We talked a few minutes. Then the nurse shooed me out.”

  Tucker’s tone was not encouraging. Ben could see his brother’s return was going to be a challenge for him—a great challenge. Ben hoped Tucker would turn to him for help. Yet he didn’t want to press and have Tucker shut him out.

  “Maybe you can visit again sometime. It sounds to me like he’ll be in there awhile, from what the doctor said.”

  “I didn’t get to speak to a doctor. What exactly is wrong with him?”

  “Oh, a number of things. Emphysema, to start,” Ben began. But before he could go on, Fran Tulley appeared. She quickly greeted him, then turned to her husband. “Excuse me for interrupting, honey, but I was just going out with Michael for those cartons for the food drive. Could you give us a hand when you get a chance?”

  Each fall and spring, the church gathered donations of nonperishable food items and stored them in a pantry that was available to those in need. Reverend Ben now recalled that Fran was in charge of the spring collections and doing an impressive job.

  “More donations?” Reverend Ben a
sked, pleased. “This could be the best drive we’ve ever had.”

  Tucker smiled at his wife with pride. “Fran’s really put her all into it, Reverend. She’s sending out flyers, knocking on doors. She even went up and down Main Street and got donations from all the restaurants and merchants.”

  Fran blushed, looking embarrassed by her husband’s praise. “Oh, it’s not such a big deal. Everyone’s been very generous.”

  “Thanks to your efforts, Fran,” the reverend put in. “We all appreciate it.”

  “No thanks necessary. I enjoyed doing it, honestly. Oh, there’s Michael coming in with a box. I’d better show him where to go. See you later.”

  “I’d better go help them,” Tucker said. “See you, Reverend.”

  Ben said good-bye to Tucker, feeling it was unfortunate that they hadn’t finished talking about Carl. But if Tucker was truly interested in his half brother’s diagnosis, he could surely find out on his own. Ben wondered if he would make the effort.

  Sophie Potter stood next in line. Her oldest daughter, Evelyn, and next born, Una, had brought her to church today along with another young woman whom Ben guessed must be a granddaughter. Sophie had so many, he could never keep track.

  “Lovely service, Reverend,” Sophie said. “I appreciate you mentioning Gus. I’ll tell him what you said.”

  After asking the congregation to remember in their prayers those who were sick, Ben had talked about Gus Potter—his work for the church and his place in the community. He hadn’t said much but Sophie had been deeply moved.