A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  “That was a tough break.” Matt nodded in agreement. “It really stinks to be left behind like that. Is that park fun? I’ve never been there.”

  Jill looked at him in disbelief. “Yeah, I’d say it’s fun.”

  “Jill, don’t be fresh.” Molly gave her a warning look.

  Matt touched her arm. “Well, your mom and I didn’t get to go, either. Maybe we could take you and a few of your friends sometime.”

  Molly turned and stared at him. She had heard he had a nice bedside manner, but he really didn’t need to go that far.

  “Could we, Mom?” Jill’s expression brightened so dramatically, she hardly looked sick anymore.

  “We’ll see. You just get better for now, okay?”

  “Yes, let’s get you better. Let me take a look down your throat, Jill. Say ‘ah’ for me. Nice and wide now.”

  Matt gave Jill a quick examination then took her temperature. He diagnosed the problem as a virus, hopefully the twenty-four-hour kind and recommended bed rest and lots of fluids. He offered Jill the ice pop, and she ate it eagerly.

  Molly rose from the bed, preparing to leave the room. “Would you like to read a book or watch a video?”

  “Would you play a game with me, Mom?” Jill asked hopefully. “Can we play Bamboozle?”

  Normally Molly would. What else was there to do with a sick kid? But now she had Matthew to consider. She didn’t think it was fair to subject him to board-game torture.

  “What in the world is Bamboozle? I’ve never heard of that one.” Matthew smiled at Jill, and Molly waited for her explanation.

  “It’s really cool. It’s like a trivia game where you have to answer these hard questions about stuff . . . you know, geography and history and stuff. But if you don’t know, you can make up an answer, and if you trick everyone you get points. But if you don’t trick them and they know they answer instead, they get points. Or if you don’t want to try to trick people, then you have do something stupid. Like balance stuff on your head or something. Or you lose points.”

  Matthew frowned at Jill. Molly could tell she had lost him early in the explanation and nearly laughed out loud at his polite, perplexed expression.

  “I see,” he said slowly. “Sounds like fun.” He glanced at Molly. She could tell what he was thinking.

  “No, really. You don’t have to play. It’s okay. She can watch TV.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Just for a little while.”

  “Please, Mom? Dr. Harding says he wants to.” Before Molly could stop her, Jill hopped out of bed to get the game.

  “I’m great at trivia games. You guys don’t stand a chance,” Matthew bragged.

  “Really?” Jill returned to the bed with the game and began to set up the board. “Mom says people who know a lot of trivia have their brains stuffed with useless information.”

  Matthew laughed and glanced at Molly. She could feel her cheeks turning red. “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Jill insisted.

  Matt grinned. “She might be right. Your mother usually is.”

  Molly smiled back at him. “How true. You get extra points for that.” In my book, anyway, she thought.

  They gave Matthew a few more instructions and began to play. Jill won the first round, and Molly won the next two. Matt seemed dumbfounded. He clearly wasn’t used to losing.

  “Okay, I guess that’s enough for now.” Molly tried to end the game, giving Matt an easy way out.

  “Just one more?” Jill pleaded.

  “I’ll play again.” Matt looked determined to win.

  “Okay, one more.” Molly shrugged and set up the board again. For a while it seemed as if Matt would finally win, but then Molly impressed them all by not only seeing through Jill’s bluff but also knowing the name of President Harding’s dog.

  “Laddie,” Molly announced.

  Jill suddenly looked sleepy and decided she wanted a nap. “We’ll play Monopoly later, okay?” she asked as her eyes began to close.

  “Sure. I’m even better at Monopoly,” Matt promised.

  “That wouldn’t take much,” Molly teased him. She kissed Jill’s forehead, then followed Matt out of the room.

  Once they were alone, the glow of her board-game victories faded, and Molly felt nervous. “How about some lunch?”

  When in doubt eat something. That was her motto.

  “Sounds good. I’ll take care of it. There’s all that food I brought over in the fridge. I have a cloth for the floor, too.”

  “A cloth for the floor?” Molly didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about.

  “We’re having a picnic in the living room, right?”

  She had thought he was joking about that this morning. It seemed he was perfectly serious.

  A few minutes later she and Matt had set up a picnic lunch on her living-room floor. Molly sat back, leaning against the couch. Sunshine streamed in the window, warming her face, and she closed her eyes, pretending she was outside in a sunny meadow.

  “Take a nap if you like.” Matt walked in with cans of soda and sat down nearby. “You must have gotten up early.”

  Molly opened her eyes. “I was just pretending I was outside.”

  “That reminds me. I forgot my recording of nature sounds.” She could see from the look in his eyes that he was joking.

  “I have an alarm clock that’s supposed to sound like ocean waves . . . but it’s more like the washing machine on rinse cycle.”

  Matthew smiled, handing her a plate and a sandwich. Molly took it from him, feeling a little thrill. She wasn’t accustomed to being served, especially by a man.

  “Maybe we can go sailing next weekend. Or out to the beach or something.”

  She liked the way he said that or something part. As if it was a definite idea in his mind that they’d see each other, one way or another. Still, maybe he was just trying to make up for another fouled-up date.

  “It’s nice of you to stay today like this, Matt. You probably have lots of things to do.”

  She was trying to give him an out in case he didn’t want to hang around after lunch.

  He stretched out on his side, eating his sandwich. “I’m in no rush. They’ll be other sunny days around here. Besides I wanted to spend time with you today. The sailing didn’t matter to me, really.” He glanced up at her and smiled. Molly felt her breath catch at his words.

  He speared an olive with his fork and popped it into his mouth. “So . . . how’s it going with Phil these days?”

  Molly was surprised at his sudden change of subject. “About the visiting you mean? We’ve worked it out. He’s trying not to be so last minute about calling and coming over here, and I’m trying to be more flexible.”

  Matt nodded. “That sounds like a good compromise. He looked pretty comfortable at Lauren’s party.”

  Comfortable? Now what did that mean? Molly felt herself flush. Did Matt think there was something going on between her and Phil?

  “He always got along well with my family. They were mad at him for the way he acted after the divorce. But they can see he’s trying hard to make it up to the girls.”

  “And make it up to you,” Matt added.

  Molly paused, not sure how to answer him. “Yes, to me, too. He even offered to help finance my business.”

  “He did?” Matthew suddenly sat up. He looked upset or as if he had bit into something that didn’t agree with him. “That was big of him.”

  “I thought it was good of him to offer. But I didn’t accept. I just didn’t think it was right. And I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression,” she added.

  Matthew didn’t answer at first. He sat back against the couch and stretched out his legs on the checkered cloth. “What impression was that?”

  Molly turned to face him, suddenly distracted by his nearness. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Phil had some expectations or something, some fantasy that we might get back together again. I know he really wanted to help me start the
business. But I also think he thought it would get us more involved with each other, more tangled up beyond the girls.”

  “And that’s not what you want?” Matthew’s dark eyes held a serious light.

  “No, not at all. I mean, I’m glad he came back and that we’ve worked things out. I think we can be good parents together for the girls now and even good friends. But nothing beyond that.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you worked that out with him. I couldn’t really tell what was going on at Lauren’s party. I thought maybe you two were getting back together. Or at least, you were thinking about it.”

  Molly felt her heart skip a beat. “Maybe Phil was thinking about it. But I never gave it a thought. Not really.”

  “Good. I was hoping that’s what you’d say.” His tone was even and nonchalant, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. Then he reached over and wiped his thumb across her cheek. Molly felt mesmerized by his touch.

  “Just a dab of mayonnaise. You’re perfect now.” He met her gaze with an intense stare, and Molly’s mouth went dry.

  He was going to kiss her again. She just knew it. She held her breath, unable to move.

  “Mom! Can I get up and watch TV now?”

  Jill’s voice broke the spell, and Molly jumped back, as if waking from a dream. She glanced at Matthew, and he shook his head, nearly laughing. She could see a faint hint of color high on his cheeks, and she knew she had guessed his intentions.

  “I’ll be right there, honey. Just a minute.”

  Molly got up and left the room, hoping Matt didn’t notice how her knees were shaking.

  Well, I guess he’s definitely had a change of heart from the “let’s be friends” conversation, she thought. Though at this rate it might take years to figure out what—if anything—was going on between them. But it was encouraging to realize that, even though he saw Phil as competition last weekend, he was still eager to keep this date with her.

  Very encouraging, Molly thought.

  Jill came in to watch TV, wondering about the picnic cloth and the food on the floor in the middle of the living room. She flicked on her favorite kids’ channel, and the sound of the kids’ show totally dispelled the last trace of romantic ambience. Molly and Matt picked up their mess and carried everything back into the kitchen.

  “That was fun. Thanks,” Molly said quietly.

  He glanced over at her. “It was just practice. We’ll have the real thing next time. Promise.”

  Molly met his gaze and smiled back at him. She warned herself not to get her hopes up again. But she couldn’t help it now.

  She heard the sound of Matthew’s beeper and watched him fish into his pocket for it and check the number.

  “My service. I’d better call in.” Using Molly’s phone, he called his answering service. Molly could only hear half of the conversation, but it sounded as if Reverend Ben Lewis needed Matthew’s attention.

  Matthew hung up from the service and then called Reverend Ben. They spoke for a few minutes, with Matthew asking a few questions. “I think you ought to have me take a look, Reverend. Can you meet me at my office in, say, half an hour?”

  They ended the conversation, and Matthew turned to her. “Sorry, Molly. I have to run. Reverend Ben has some stitches on his arm. It sounds as if they might be infected. I have to see him right away.”

  Molly felt a pang of disappointment but said, “That’s all right. I understand.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon.” He stared down at her, looking like he was unwilling to go. He moved toward her and cupped her cheek with his hand. Molly held her breath, bracing herself for another of his quick exciting kisses.

  “Mom? Can I have something to drink?” Jill’s voice, calling from the living room, broke the heavy silence between them. “And can we play Monopoly now? There’s nothing on TV.”

  Molly sighed and shook her head. “Sure, honey. Just a minute.” She looked up at Matthew. “I’ve been summoned.”

  “So I noticed.” Matt smiled and stepped back. He picked up his cooler and headed for the door. “By the way, you can’t lose if you build a hotel on Park Place. That’s the whole trick.”

  Molly walked him to the door and opened it. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll try to remember that.”

  She smiled to herself, watching him walk down the hallway, tilted sideways to balance the cooler.

  It had almost been like a real date. Good practice at any rate, she thought, remembering his words.

  BY MONDAY, TUCKER FELT NO CLOSER TO FINDING CARL THAN WHEN he had arrived in Portland five days ago. He had visited every shelter and soup kitchen in the city; he’d checked with the police, the hospitals, and all types of offices for destitute men and women. He’d done all he could think of and then some but still had no clue to Carl’s whereabouts.

  On a tip from a social worker in one of the city offices, Tucker went to an empty lot on the east side of the city where men who were looking for day work gathered early in the mornings. Many were immigrants without working papers and many looked like Carl, lost souls hanging on by their fingernails, desperate for a day’s wages. Trucks would drive by, and foremen would pick out a lucky few.

  Tucker stood in the lot, sipping from a cup of coffee, trying to blend in, though he knew very well that he didn’t. He waited for several hours, searching the faces that moved through the gates, looking for Carl but not finding him. The place felt to him like a phantom world, a depressing scene that made him feel both more discouraged about finding his brother and, at the same time, even more determined.

  He returned to his motel room that night, feeling exhausted. The desk clerk passed him two pink message slips. As Tucker expected, the first was a call from Fran. The second, though, was from Ralph Newman, the man who ran that first shelter, Tucker recalled. Hoping for good news he returned to his room and quickly dialed the number.

  “I saw your brother,” Ralph Newman told Tucker. “He stopped by late this afternoon to see if there were any more letters for him. Then he gave me a forwarding address. Have a pen handy? I’ll give it to you.”

  Tucker quickly scribbled down the address, wondering who Carl expected to hear from. Was he expecting another letter from Reverend Ben? Or did he think the reverend passed along the address and perhaps I would write? Tucker felt a pang of guilt. He’d had the address for almost two weeks and had never gotten around to contacting Carl, though he meant to. This would have been so much easier if I had, he realized.

  Tucker thanked Ralph and hung up the phone. He grabbed his car keys and headed out again, stopping to ask directions from the desk clerk.

  He drove for about fifteen minutes, heading into a neighborhood of brick and brownstone row houses. Most looked rundown, some were abandoned with boarded-up windows, and a few showed signs of hopeful renovation.

  Tucker wondered if the address Carl had given was another shelter, but he soon found himself in front of a three-story brick building with a long flight of steps leading up to the front door. He climbed the stairs and peered through the glass on the outer door. Checking the names on the mailboxes, he finally spotted a strip of tape with the name “C. Tulley” and realized Carl was living down in the basement.

  His heart hammering, Tucker went down the front steps again to the sidewalk. Under the staircase he saw a battered black metal door. He rang the buzzer and sent up a silent prayer. Please let Carl be all right. A few moments later, the door swung open, and Carl stared out at him.

  “Tucker? What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you, too,” Tucker replied. “Can I come in?”

  Carl hesitated, and Tucker wondered if, after all the time and trouble he’d gone through, Carl was now going to slam the door in his face. Not that I don’t deserve it, Tucker thought.

  Carl stepped back and let him in. Tucker followed his brother into a small room where high basement windows let in a little of the day’s dwindling light. The room was sparsely furnished with a table, two chairs, and a cot covered
with army-issue blankets. A sink and an old refrigerator with duct tape on its handle took up most of the opposite wall. A counter held a hot plate and a small portable TV tuned to a baseball game.

  Carl stared at him, his arms crossed over his wide chest. He was clean shaven with a recent hair cut. He looked healthy, too. Tucker felt almost weak with relief to see him looking so well and sent up silent thanks to God.

  “Who’s winning?” Tucker nodded at the TV.

  Carl ignored the question. “How did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t easy.” Tucker glanced around. “When did you move in here?”

  “A few weeks ago. I’m the janitor for this building and the one next door. The room is part of the deal.”

  “You got a job pretty quickly. That’s good.”

  The haunting faces of the indigent men and women he had seen that week rose up to taunt him. Again Tucker sent up thanks that Carl hadn’t been living in the shelters or out in the open all these weeks. This room was hardly a palace, but it was safer and cleaner than the places he’d visited the last few days.

  “The reverend sent me a letter to show around saying what a good worker I was and so on. That helped some.” Carl sat down in one of the two kitchen chairs but didn’t offer a seat to Tucker. “So, you found me. What now?”

  “I came to tell you something, Carl. They caught the kids who broke into the house on North Creek Road. They confessed to it and everything. Your name is cleared. You can come back to Cape Light. No one will bother you.”

  Carl squinted up at him, then shook his head. “Did you come all the way up here just to tell me that? I know I didn’t do it. I don’t need you to tell me I’m innocent.”

  Tucker felt his jaw go tight. He deserved that. He sighed and sat down at the table across from Carl. “I’m sorry I doubted your word that night, Carl. That wasn’t right. I believed you mostly. But there was a lot of pressure in the station, and I didn’t know what to believe there for a while. That was wrong. I should have taken your word and not let it sway me.”

  Carl stared at him, his expression unreadable. “All right. You said your piece. I got the news.”