A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  He knew what she meant. He’d brought Carl here, and now Carl was his problem. She wasn’t going to do much to take care of him.

  Tucker heard the front door slam.

  “I’m home. What’s for dinner?” his son Michael called out.

  “Hi, Mike. How was the game?” Tucker asked as his tall, rangy son came into the kitchen.

  “It was okay.” Michael took a banana out of the fruit bowl on the table and ate it in two large bites. “Coach has me playing forward.”

  “Pretty good. First season on varsity, and he’s playing forward. Did you hear that, Fran?”

  Fran nodded. “I heard. Very good, Michael.” She spared a smile for her son, then turned back to the cooking.

  “You’d better work on your fake shot,” Tucker advised. “I think the snow has pretty much melted from the driveway. I’ll practice with you out back on Saturday.”

  Fran glanced over her shoulder. “Go easy on him, Michael. Your father’s not sixteen anymore.”

  Tucker shook his head. “Thanks, Fran. I almost forgot.”

  “This old guy? He’s still got some moves.” Michael slapped his father on the back as he passed his chair. “What for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Just some stew I had in the freezer. It will be about half an hour before we eat. Do you have homework?”

  “Yup. I’ll do it upstairs.”

  “Wait a second. Your father needs to tell you something.”

  “Sit down, Mike,” Tucker said. “This will only take a minute.”

  Michael stared at him curiously. He looked a little worried, Tucker noticed. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Tucker assured him. “Why? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “No, sir.” Michael looked at him, then up at Fran. “What is this about?”

  “I’ve told you I have a half brother, remember?” Tucker began carefully.

  “Right, his name is Carl. I’ve never met him. He went to jail or something, right?”

  “That’s right.” Tucker paused, wondering if he should explain Carl’s crime to Michael. They had never really discussed it in great detail. “He got into a fight with another man in a bar—”

  “Oh, Tucker, do you have to tell him everything?” Fran cut in.

  “Yes, I do. He’s bound to hear it from some kid in school, so he might as well hear it from me first.”

  “I did hear it,” Michael admitted. “Carl killed someone, right?”

  Tucker took a breath and gave Michael the full story, concluding with his finding Carl in Southport Hospital.

  “So what happened?” Michael asked. “Did he die or something?”

  “No, he didn’t die. He’s still sick, but the doctors said he could leave the hospital. So I brought him here.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. “He’s here? In our house?”

  “He’s staying in the guest room.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Sure you can. Well, he’s resting now. Maybe later. I’ll see if he feels up to it.”

  “He’s not feeling well, Mike. He needs his rest. We don’t want you to bother him,” Fran added nervously.

  “Okay, I won’t. But that’s really cool. A real convict is sleeping in our house!”

  “He’s my brother, Michael,” Tucker said in a warning tone. “I expect you to treat him with respect, the same way you treat me. You might hear some kids talking in school about this, but I want you to just ignore it. Carl’s a sick man, and he needs some help. I want you to be nice to him.”

  “I will. How long is he going to be here?”

  “Not long,” Fran said quickly.

  “Until he feels better,” Tucker said, casting her a dark look.

  Michael looked at both of them. “Can I go upstairs now?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Tucker said. When Michael left the room he said to Fran, “See, that went okay.”

  But Fran just stirred a pot on the stove with a wooden spoon, and didn’t reply.

  Tucker got up from the table. “I’m going to bring Carl some dinner. He’s got a list here of foods he’s allowed to eat.” He found the list on the refrigerator and glanced at it. “A bland diet, it says. Jell-O, applesauce, cottage cheese—”

  “That’s okay, Tucker. I know what a bland diet is. He can have some of these noodles.” Fran shook her head. “There’s some applesauce in the cupboard. We’re out of cottage cheese, though. I’d better buy more tomorrow, I guess.”

  “I guess so.” Tucker touched her arm gently. She had a right to be mad at him, he supposed, for not discussing this with her. But he thought it wouldn’t take too long before she softened up about Carl. Fran could be stubborn but she wasn’t heartless.

  A short time later, he had assembled a tray and brought it to the guest room. Carl was awake, sitting up against the pillows. The radio on the bedside table was tuned to a sports news channel.

  “Was that your boy that came home before?” Carl asked.

  “You don’t miss much, do you?” Tucker set the tray on the night table and sat in a chair by the bed.

  “My body is shot, but the ears still work pretty good.”

  “Here’s some dinner. I don’t know what you like. I just picked some stuff off that list.” Tucker eyed the bottles of pills on the nightstand. He’d have to check later to see if Carl was following his prescriptions. “You’d better eat something before you take those pills.”

  Carl glanced at the food but didn’t move to eat it. “I heard you and Fran going at it pretty good in there. Why didn’t you tell her I’m going tomorrow, like I said? I can’t stay here.”

  “Look, let’s not get into this all over again. I spoke to your doctor today, Carl. You need bed rest, and you have to go back for checkups and tests and whatever. You’re going to stay here until you’re fit and that’s the end of it.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not staying here that long. Your wife won’t put up with it, for one thing,” he joked bitterly.

  “Don’t worry about Fran. I’ll work it out with her.”

  Carl turned away, facing the wall. “This wallpaper is making me dizzy.”

  “So stop looking at it.”

  Carl suddenly turned and met his gaze. “Sorry if I’m not oozing all over you with gratitude. But I never asked you to bring me here. You’re doing it for yourself so you can sleep at night and face your preacher on Sunday. You don’t have to phony up to me, Tucker. I see right through you.”

  Tucker’s chin lifted, feeling the words like a slap across the face. It wasn’t enough that neither his wife nor his best friend gave him any understanding or sympathy in this. Or that his own common sense was fighting him every step of the way. Carl had to fight him, too, paying back his kindness with bitterness, ingratitude, and contempt.

  After twenty years his brother still knew how to push his buttons, he’d give him that much. Carl’s words stung because they rang true.

  “Tucker? Dinner’s on the table. Everything’s ready,” Fran called from the kitchen.

  “Wife’s calling. You’d better run along now.” Carl’s expression was set in a grim line, and then he closed his eyes.

  Tucker stood beside the bed, watching Carl. He smelled the hot food and heard his children and Fran gathering around the table. Carl might scorn and mock him. What did it matter? The blessings in his life were like a coat of armor. He thanked God for all he had compared to Carl, the simple things in his life that he took for granted, even his health.

  Tucker left the room and quietly closed the door, his heart heavy with emotion. It was hard to imagine having nothing and no one—no job, no place to live, no one who cared whether you were alive or dead. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d ever known like that, though as a policeman he’d seen his share of derelicts. But this was different. This was his own flesh and blood. What choice did he really have but to take Carl in?

  CHAPTER SIX

  TUCKER STEPPED OUT OF HIS HOUSE AND TOO
K IN THE CLEAR SKY and the bright sun that had just begun its climb. The wind was sharp and chilly, but the patches of snow that clung to the ground in icy clumps would not last the day, he predicted. It was the beginning of March, and though there might be more snow, the cold weather couldn’t hold out much longer.

  Fran and the children were just stirring when he left. Carl was still sleeping heavily. Tucker had set a tray of breakfast by his bed and a number he could call in an emergency. He would find some time today while he was out in the patrol car to stop home. He knew he couldn’t count on Fran to help right now. But Tucker thought she might pitch in after a while.

  He drove into the village and parked in front of the Clam Box. Main Street was nearly empty, the nearby bank and shops still closed. He usually loved this time of the day, starting off with breakfast at the diner and a chat with Charlie. But this morning his stomach grumbled acidly as he entered, his senses assaulted by the rich smells of coffee, bacon, and home fries on the grill.

  Tucker had seen Charlie a few times since he’d told him he was going to see if the guy in the hospital was Carl, but they’d carefully tiptoed around the topic. Now that Carl was staying at his house, though, Tucker knew he had to be the one to tell Charlie—before he heard it from someone else in town.

  Tucker took a seat at the counter. Charlie was nowhere in sight. But Lucy Bates suddenly appeared beside him, a wide smile lighting up her pretty face.

  “Good morning, Tucker. Coffee, of course.”

  “Absolutely.” Tucker smiled at her as she filled his mug. “I haven’t seen you around much, Lucy. Busy with school?”

  “I’ll say. I have some really tough courses this semester. The reading list is just killing me. Though, I must admit, it still beats working here,” she confided, in a teasing tone. “At this rate, I’ll need a walker for the graduation march, but I’m trying not to think about that too much.”

  “Come on, now. You’ll be done sooner than you think. I admire you, Lucy. I hope you stick with it.”

  “I’m trying,” she said with a wistful grin. “Now, what can I get you this morning?”

  Lucy was suddenly all business, pulling out her pad and scribbling his order, but he sensed his words had pleased her. He was sure she didn’t get much encouragement from Charlie, who had fought so hard against her wish to go back to college that the conflict had nearly ended their marriage.

  “How’s your brother, Tucker? Is he still in the hospital?” Lucy asked as she put in the order.

  “He came out yesterday. He still has a long way to go, though. He’s got a pile of medications to take and needs to see the doctor for a while.”

  “That’s too bad. Where is he staying now?” Lucy had turned to pour two glasses of juice. Tucker paused a moment before answering her. He didn’t know why it should be so hard to admit that Carl was staying at his house. But somehow it was.

  “He’s staying with me for now. Until he gets back on his feet.”

  Lucy glanced at him as she set the juice glasses on a tray. “That’s good of you, Tucker. A lot of people wouldn’t go out of their way like that.”

  “What else could I do?”

  “What else could you do about what?” Charlie asked, coming up behind him.

  Tucker hadn’t even noticed him there, and he now turned in his seat to face his friend. Lucy hurried off with her tray like a small animal in the woods who had just heard a gun shot, Tucker thought.

  Charlie moved to his place on the other side of the counter and stood facing Tucker, the look on his face still expecting a reply.

  “We were just talking about Carl. He came out of the hospital yesterday.” Tucker stirred his coffee. “He’s staying at my place for a while.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “You took him in? What did you do that for?”

  “I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t let him go to some shelter.”

  Charlie stared at him a moment, then turned to the grill, where he cracked open two eggs and set them to fry.

  “I knew he would get to you. Like the frog and the scorpion. Remember that story?”

  “No, I don’t,” Tucker said dryly. “But I’m sure you’ll remind me.”

  “There’s this frog about to swim across a stream. And there’s this scorpion, sitting on a rock. He asks the frog for a ride across the water. Now the frog is a helpful guy. He doesn’t like to see anyone else in a fix. But he’s afraid the scorpion is going to bite him. So he says, ‘All right. I’ll give you a lift. But only if you promise not to sting me.’ ”

  Tucker had an idea of where this was going and sighed. “Go on . . . and check on my eggs while you’re at it. I don’t want them cooked to rubber.”

  Charlie turned back to his cooking without missing a beat. “Well, the scorpion agrees to the deal, of course, and he jumps on the frog’s back. Off they go, sailing across the stream. But once they get to the other side, the scorpion curls his tail and gives the frog a sting. The frog is dying; he doesn’t know what to do. ‘Why did you sting me? You promised not to,’ he says.” Charlie paused and flipped the fried eggs into a dish. “The scorpion just laughs. He says, ‘Why did you believe me, you dumb frog? Because it’s your nature to trust. That’s why. And that’s the same reason I had to sting you. I couldn’t help myself. That’s just my nature.’ ”

  He set the eggs down in front of Tucker with a dish of rye toast on the side. Then he stood back, a satisfied expression on his face.

  Tucker dug into his eggs and shook his head. “Okay, the scorpion stung the frog. It’s a story about nature. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t you get it? If you let Carl ride on your back, you’re going to get stung, my friend. He won’t mean to. But he’ll do it anyway. Mark my words.”

  Tucker stopped chewing, his mouth full of food. He tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t go down. Charlie had some nerve, that was for sure. He was no stupid frog. And Carl . . . well, Carl could be nasty. But that wasn’t the point.

  “My brother isn’t going to hurt me. That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s what you think, Tucker. If you let Carl hang around, you’re just asking for trouble. You think you’re doing a good deed. But something bad is going to come from this.” Charlie sagely nodded his head. “Carl Tulley is trouble waiting to happen. It’s just who he is. And you should have wised up by now.”

  Tucker sat back and wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “Thanks for the fable, Charlie,” he said sarcastically. “But I can handle my brother. I’m not worried about it.”

  “Really? Well, what about your reputation in this town? People will be talking about him, Tucker. They’ll be talking about you. You’re not going to win any popularity contests around here by making it easy for Carl to stick around.”

  “That’s all right, I’m not running for office. And you’re no expert in that department anyway, as I recall,” he added.

  Tucker could tell in an instant his angry retort had hit its mark. Charlie had run for mayor last year against Emily Warwick and lost. The defeat had hurt Charlie badly, and now Tucker had rubbed salt into the wound.

  Charlie spun around and attended to the grill. “If that’s the way you feel, fine. Just don’t bring him in here. I’ll throw him out on his ear,” Charlie stated flatly.

  “All right.” Tucker got up from his seat. “If that’s the way you feel, I won’t come in here anymore, either.”

  He pulled some bills out his wallet and slammed them on the counter. Charlie flinched, but he didn’t turned around. Suddenly Lucy appeared beside Charlie. Tucker could tell she’d heard everything.

  “What is this now? Don’t fight like that, you two. For goodness’ sake, you’ve been best friends since kindergarten.” She touched Charlie’s arm, but he barely glanced at her. “You’re two kids in a school yard sometimes. Come on, Charlie. Apologize to Tucker. You can’t let him leave like that.”

  Charlie sniffed. He pushed at a pile of potatoes with his spatula. “He’s the o
ne who should apologize. I was trying to give him some advice, and he jumps down my throat and insults me.”

  Tucker stood there a moment. He met Lucy’s pleading gaze, but he was too angry to even attempt to smooth things over.

  “See you, Lucy,” he said shortly. “I’ve got to go.”

  He walked to the door.

  “Charlie, please,” Tucker heard Lucy say again.

  “Just let him go. Who needs him. . . .” Charlie muttered disgustedly.

  The bells above the door jingled, the sound ringing in Tucker’s head. The rest of Charlie’s words were lost to him, but Tucker had heard more than enough.

  He turned toward the station house and stopped. Reverend Ben was walking toward him. The reverend was another morning regular at the Clam Box, and running into him at this time of day was no surprise. Sometimes they even had a bite together. Tucker didn’t feel like talking to the reverend right now, but he didn’t see a way out of it. This was not turning out to be a good day.

  “Tucker, I’ve been thinking of you,” the reverend said in greeting.

  Tucker forced a small smile. “Good morning, Reverend. What’s on your mind?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Why don’t we talk inside?” the reverend suggested.

  “I’ve already stopped in, thanks. I’ve got to get to work.” Tucker shifted on his feet, impatient to go.

  “Another time then.” Reverend Ben nodded. “I was in Southport and tried to look in on your brother yesterday, but the nurse said he was gone.”

  “Yes, they finally released him. He’s staying at our house in the guest room.”

  Reverend Ben smiled, but Tucker didn’t smile in return.

  “I’d like to visit him, if that’s okay. How long will he be there?”

  Tucker shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. I thought he’d have to stay at least a week or two until he gets his strength back. But Fran . . . well, she really doesn’t want him there. Even Carl has been giving me a hard time,” Tucker admitted. He laughed sadly and shook his head. “It seems like I’m the only one so far who thinks it’s a good idea.”