by Jane Peart
“I was in a dead-end job and a dead-end relationship. I thought I’d give myself a new start.”
“Sometimes the best thing you can do is just that. And don’t look back. Clean slate.” He paused, then said almost shyly, “I’m glad you decided to stay in Rockport.”
Coryn felt inordinately pleased by the way he said it and by the way he was looking at her.
The waitress came with their check and to refill their coffee cups.
Mark told Coryn the subject of his next feature story, coastal lighthouses. “They’re almost obsolete now, I mean, the romantic idea of the lone lighthouse keeper keeping the light burning for lost ships at sea, that sort of thing. But they’ve got a great history, one that shouldn’t be forgotten. It means making some short trips to Mendocino and up the coast of Oregon. They’re beautiful drives, and talking to some of the old-timers should be fascinating.”
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when they left the diner.
In the car, Mark turned on the car radio and as they drove along the winding roads to the Dodges’ house in Chestnut Hills, they listened to a concert of semiclassical music with lots of strings.
Coryn felt a little tension start to creep over her. The other times she’d been with Mark they’d met by chance. This was their first real date. A date date.
The moment she always dreaded on “first dates” was fast approaching. Would he or wouldn’t he? And should she or not?
When Mark turned in the driveway, the piece hadn’t quite finished. They sat there listening until it ended. Coryn mentally held her breath.
The decision was made for her. Mark got out of the car, came around, opened the door on the passenger side for Coryn. They walked up to the front door and Coryn put her key in the lock. “Thanks, Mark, I enjoyed the evening.”
“Next time we’ll try for lighter entertainment,” he said.
Coryn felt pleased. There would be a next time then. She pushed open the door and stepped inside the entryway. As she turned, he took her hand and drew her back. With one hand he brushed back her hair, then leaned toward her and kissed her.
Her hair was silky against his hand, her mouth was soft.
The kiss, light and very sweet, surprised her a little. Yet she returned it.
“Good night, Coryn,” he said quietly. “I really enjoyed being with you. I’ll call you soon.”
“That would be great,” Coryn replied realizing she meant it.
She stood there as he walked back to his car, got in, backed out of the driveway. She felt a little ripple of happiness. A feeling she almost didn’t recognize. It had been so long since she had felt this way. And Mark’s kiss. Had that really happened? Had she liked it as much as she thought she did?
Chapter Eleven
In the first weeks of the new year, Coryn often asked herself why had she never asked her mother about the Christmas presents in the trunk of her car? Coryn had gone along on another shopping trip with her mother, helping her pick out gifts for the same people whose presents were already wrapped, tagged. Was it just because she loved her mother, hadn’t wanted to embarrass her? She had seen her cringe with humiliation when Coryn’s father had brought up some lapse of memory or some omitted errand. Or was it because she was afraid? Afraid her mother hadn’t remembered buying and wrapping them? Afraid there might be something seriously wrong with her mother?
With a tiny clutch of fear she thrust that thought away. It was probably only a temporary condition, maybe something to do with menopause. Coryn didn’t want to accept the fact that her always youthful, vibrant mother was getting older.
Besides, Coryn’s thoughts and time were more and more centered around Mark Emery. He had followed through on his promise to call. They had gone out several times after that. Mostly impromptu, casual dates. They’d met for lunch, gone to the movies and attended the opening of a new gallery in Old Town together. This appearance had occasioned introductions to some of Coryn’s old friends. Cindy and her husband had also been there. Cindy had looked very curious when she saw who Coryn’s escort was. She had phoned the next day for a report.
“So how long have you been seeing Mark Emery?” she asked. “I know a half-dozen people who have invited him to social events and he always turns them down. What’s your secret?”
Coryn had laughed and tactfully dodged Cindy’s probing.
“Just my charm and intelligence,” she teased, then added, “We just have a lot in common.”
“You do?” Cindy sounded doubtful. Then, “Well, if I decide to throw a dinner party or something will you bring him?”
“Sure, that is, if he’ll come.” Coryn agreed. “His work keeps him very busy and he has a little girl he spends a great deal of time with.”
That seemed to satisfy Cindy for the moment. But after she put down the phone Coryn wondered if observers were already pegging them as a couple?
Besides these dates, on a couple of Sundays she had gone with Mark when he took Ginny to the park and the zoo. These times had been particularly enjoyable. Coryn had never been around children very much but she found Ginny a very sweet and endearing child.
Coryn realized that in a very short while she was spending substantial time with them and thinking about them. Mark’s remark about Ginny’s reluctance to wear her eye patch had stayed with Coryn. How to get her to do what was necessary and yet make it fun was the problem. Could she figure out a way to help them both? To make wearing the patch a happy experience and somehow make Ginny feel special?
Coryn wasn’t exactly sure when she got the idea but once she did, she wasted no time starting the project. Why not make covers that would slip over the leather patch, pretty ones, colorful, fanciful to match some of Ginny’s outfits?
Coryn went to the fabric store and bought squares of different colored fabric and felt, assorted ribbons and trim. At home, she cut out two for samples; one she made like a sunflower with brown center and bright yellow petals, the other she made a clown face.
When she finished them she had a few second thoughts. Would Ginny like them or think them silly? Would Mark think she was being too pushy, insinuating herself, her ideas into a private family matter. Well, the only thing to do was to find out.
Taking the two patches, she drove over to Mark’s house. She’d never been there. She looked up the address and ventured over one weekday morning. She thought Mrs. Aguilar, the housekeeper, would be the best one to approach first. She was curious to meet this paragon, whose praises both Mark and Ginny sang unreservedly.
Mark’s house was a sloping-roofed, brown shingle, the style known as California bungalow popular in the 1920s. There was a front porch and a huge holly tree, red with berries, on one side of the flagstone path leading up to the house.
She heard the old-fashioned doorbell echo inside the house and a few minutes later the door was opened by a plump, middle-aged woman, in a flowered apron. Her salt and pepper hair was braided in a coronet above a round face with very dark, shiny brown eyes.
“Yes?” she said as if Coryn might be selling something.
“Hi, I’m Coryn Dodge, a friend of Mark’s. And Ginny’s, too, of course. And you must be Mrs. Aguilar.”
Did Mrs. Aguilar’s expression change from caution to suspicion? Coryn wasn’t sure but plunged on. This was a potential adversary that must be won. Without analyzing it, she realized she wanted the housekeeper to like her. It suddenly seemed important that she did.
“Mark told me he was having some trouble getting Ginny to wear her eye patch and I know it’s really necessary that she does. So, I-” Coryn was watching Mrs. Aguilar closely as she pulled the two patch covers out of the bag she was carrying and held them up “—so I thought putting these on top might help.”
A smile broke on Mrs. Aguilar’s face.
“Why, if that isn’t the cleverest thing! Well, if anything will help get the child to wear her patch these will. How kind of you to go to all that trouble.” Mrs. Aguilar’s voice was genuinely pleased an
d the sharp eyes had softened.
“I’m so glad you think so. I wanted to get your opinion. That’s why I brought them by now when I knew Mark would be at work and Ginny at school. I thought you’d know best if this would work.”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t! My, aren’t they pretty?”
Coryn hesitated, then thought she’d come this far why not? She took a deep breath. “I wondered if she had a favorite dress or an outfit that I could make a special one for her to wear with it?”
“Of course! Won’t you come in and I’ll show you Ginny’s things. I’ve just been ironing and have some of them handy.”
She opened the door wider for Coryn to come inside and led her through the hall to a utility room behind the kitchen, where an ironing board was set up in front of a small portable TV set on the counter.
Mrs. Aguilar clicked it off and one by one held up a red and green plaid dress with ruffled collar, a bright blue jumper and striped blouse. “And then her red parka she wears every day. Maybe you could make one for that.” The housekeeper was really entering into the project enthusiastically.
Coryn jotted some quick notes in the small notebook she kept in her handbag.
“This is awfully kind of you, Miss Dodge,” Mrs. Aguilar said. “To take such an interest—” her voice trailed off. She looked directly at Coryn, an unspoken question in her eyes. Coryn suddenly felt self-conscious and glanced away. Then Mrs. Aguilar continued, “I worry about both of them. I do what I can but there’s something missing in a house when there’s no mother,” Mrs. Aguilar said with concern then her manner turned cheerful again. “Won’t you stay and have a cup of coffee or tea with me?”
Coryn felt she had passed some invisible test and smiled.
“Why, yes, thank you, that would be lovely.”
Mrs. Aguilar busied herself with the kettle and getting out cups and saucers. She arranged some gingersnap cookies on a plate and set it on the table. Coryn had the feeling that the housekeeper was considering saying more. The tea brewed, the housekeeper brought the china teapot to the table, then sat down across from Coryn and held out the plate to offer her a cookie.
“As I say, I do my best,” she said as she filled Coryn’s cup with the steaming fragrant tea. “And Mr. Emery is certainly a fine man. A child couldn’t ask for a better father. But nothing makes up for losing your mother. Especially for a girl, I think.”
The housekeeper was definitely giving Coryn an opening. But Coryn felt too shy to take it. All she could manage was to say, “I’m awfully fond of both Mark and Ginny.”
“I’m glad. Ginny’s talked about you often.” Mrs. Aguilar seemed satisfied. They chatted for another fifteen minutes or so then Coryn left, leaving the eye patch covers for Ginny. It was such a simple gesture, actually, yet as she drove away from the small, brown-shingled house, Coryn felt inextricably bound to it and its occupants. It was a sense of belonging that she had never quite experienced before. It had all sorts of happy possibilities.
That night Ginny, in pyjamas, robe and furry slippers, brought the tattered copy of her favorite book into the living room for Mark to read to her. Smelling sweetly of shampoo and talcum, she cuddled up in the crook of Mark’s arm beside him in his armchair. “Now read,” she directed, and he opened The Velveteen Rabbit.
He had read it a dozen times before, over and over, because it was usually Ginny’s request. Sometimes he persuaded her to choose an alternate one but it was to this story that they returned the most often. Why, then, tonight, did the words he had spoken so many times in the past seem to ring true in his ears, as if he were hearing it for the first time? They seemed to have special meaning, as though they had been written especially for him to hear, to absorb.
Mark tucked Ginny in, kissed her good-night, received several hard hugs in return, turned on the night-light and walked back into the living room. The book, with its worn edges, faded cover of the floppyeared rabbit, was beside his chair. He picked it up and held it, looking at it thoughtfully. Love is what makes a person real. Genuine, authentic, truthful—vulnerable. As if he heard it spoken, this came through to him very clearly. Unless you allow yourself to be real, you’ll never know love again.
Love requires sharing yourself with another person. Sharing your true feelings takes courage. Risk. Faith.
He remembered Shari once teasing him, saying, “If anything should happen to me, if I should die first, you better get married again quick. Otherwise you’ll start getting too many picky bachelor habits—Mr. Neatnik.”
He picked up one of the eye patch covers Coryn Dodge had made for Ginny, fingered it thoughtfully. She had acted spontaneously, out of compassion for a little girl’s embarrassment about looking different and turned it into something that made her feel special. She had done it out of kindness and affection and caring. He felt touched and warmed by it. Ginny had been so happy. It was something he would never have thought to do. Even Mrs. Aguilar was impressed. Why would Coryn have bothered if she didn’t feel something real for them? For him as well as Ginny. What was he so afraid of? Of being real? Of being hurt? What was it the book said, loving you run the risk of being hurt? But he wouldn’t have missed loving Shari even knowing what had happened, even knowing the hurt that would be his after her accident. No one could have predicted that. If he and Coryn went on—if something real developed between them—So be it! Mark decided he was willing to risk it.
A few days later in her mail, Coryn received a laboriously printed note from Ginny extravagantly decorated with crayoned daisies, colorful stickers and an arched rainbow.
DEAR CORYN,
THANK YOU FOR THE PRETTY PATCHES.
THEY MADE ME HAPPY.
LOVE GINNY
The next week, after watching a foreign film at the University theater Coryn invited Mark in for coffee and homemade brownies. In the kitchen, Coryn let Ranger in from the utility room and he and Mark made friends. Mark sat on his heels stroking the Lab’s head and looked up at Coryn as she measured out coffee. “Great dog.”
“Yes. He’s been my pal since sixth grade.”
“Children and pets, go together. As I’ve been told!” he laughed. “Ginny wants one but I don’t want to put another burden on Mrs. Aguilar. She has enough to do just looking after us.”
Ranger took his place under the kitchen table when Coryn brought their cups and a plate of brownies.
Mark took one and bit into it, holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger making a circle, indicating it was delicious.
“You know there’s something familiar about all this,” he said, then asked, “Did I ever tell you about the uncanny feeling I had when I first saw you in the San Francisco Airport—that I might have met you?”
Coryn shook her head.
“Well it was just a quick flash. Then I knew, of course, I hadn’t,” he paused, smiling. “I would have remembered.” He went on, “But now it just seems so natural—I mean, like we’ve known each other for a long time, been friends.”
“I feel that way, too. Not that first meeting, but now.”
Mark looked around with satisfaction. “Kitchens are cozy places. The heart of a home. I think they say a lot about the people who live there, don’t you?”
“I guess so, I just never thought about it.”
“I remember my grandmother’s kitchen. I loved going there when I was a kid. There was always this wonderful smell, something cooking or baking. It gave me a good, secure feeling.”
“Where did you grow up, Mark? I don’t think you ever said.”
“A small mid-west town, in Ohio, a place you never heard of. I had the typical Norman Rockwell boyhood, little league, Scouts, swimming at the lake, going fishing with my dad—Sounds corny, huh?”
“No, it sounds wonderful!” Coryn said. “Ideal. The kind of childhood everyone wishes they had, the kind everyone wants for their own children.”
Mark reached across the table and took Coryn’s hand.
“You, too, Coryn? You wou
ld opt for the vinecovered cottage with the white picket fence?” His tone was half teasing, half serious.
“Of course! In a heartbeat!” As soon as the words were out of her mouth Coryn’s cheeks got warm.
“I would have thought that maybe you wanted something more sophisticated—” He squeezed her hand, “I’m glad I was wrong.”
Mark started to ask, How about kids? Do they go with the picture? Even someone else’s kid? But he thought he might be pushing his luck. Or worse still, leading to subjects he wasn’t quite ready to discuss and letting Coryn know just how serious he was beginning to feel about her, about them.
Any further discussion was sharply interrupted when Ranger, a husky growl deep in his throat, scrambled to his feet, his nails scratching on the vinyl floor, he skidded to the back door and began to bark.
Coryn rolled her eyes and got up, saying to Mark, “Chipmunks in the backyard. They drive him crazy. He used to have great fun chasing them away. Now all he can do is bark.”
She gently tugged Ranger back by his collar, talking soothingly to him and patting him at the same time.
Mark rose. “I’ve got to be on my way.” He leaned down to pat Ranger’s head. “Too bad, ol’ fella, but my car will probably do the job for you when I turn on the headlights.”
As Coryn walked through the house to the front door with him, he held her hand. In the hall, their goodnight kiss was longer than usual.
Chapter Twelve
It was one of those rare days that happen sometimes on the north coast in winter, a cloudless blue sky, bright sun, brisk wind. In the morning, Mark called.
“School’s closed, county teachers’ meeting. I’m playing hooky from the paper and taking Ginny to the beach. Want to come along?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Coryn said, “Yes.”
“Good. How soon can you be ready?”
“Half an hour?”
“Great. We’ll pick you up then.” He rang off.
Coryn put down the phone, scrambled to change into a warm sweater, flannel-lined jeans. Even on a sunny day, north-coast beaches could be cold. When she came downstairs, she glanced out to look for Mark’s station wagon then went into the kitchen to tell her mother where she was going.