Cape Light

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Yes, I remember,” Ben said thoughtfully. “But what if the baby is a boy?”

  “I’ve saved some of Mark’s things, too. That blue sweater with the bear on the pocket, the one your mother made. He was such a beautiful little boy,” she reminisced. “So sweet.”

  Ben heard Carolyn’s voice grow thick and falter. He stepped toward her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “There, now,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “Rachel misses him. We all miss him. He’ll barely speak to us. And it’s all my fault.”

  “Carolyn, darling. You must believe that isn’t so.”

  She looked into her husband’s eyes a moment, then down again. She didn’t always feel this way. In her best moments she held on to the perspective of her faith. But tonight had been so emotional, all the talk of babies stirring up so many memories. Her own babies were now both adults, one loving and close to her, the other, far away.

  “I don’t mean to start feeling sorry for myself,” she said firmly. “But I know the way Mark sees it, the reason he has all this anger bottled up inside. You can’t deny it’s because he thinks I failed him.”

  “You were sick, dear. You couldn’t help that, and Mark shouldn’t have held it against you. But I was the one who lost my temper and pushed him away when I should have helped him. If there’s blame here, it should be mine.”

  Carolyn put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Blame isn’t terribly useful, is it?”

  Ben sighed deeply. “No one is perfect. Not on this side of heaven. Still, it’s difficult when you wish you’d done things differently.”

  Man’s imperfection was not an accident of this mortal life, Ben knew, it was a necessity, essential to His plan. It was our imperfections that created our opportunity to grow in faith, to know and love God, and experience His vast, unconditional love for us. But at times, Ben thought, our all-too-human feelings overwhelmed us, making it hard to see the truth.

  “I’m still sorry and sad for all those difficult years,” Carolyn admitted. “It was so hard for you and the children. I never imagined my life would be that way.”

  “No, of course not,” her husband agreed. “We can never imagine how the story will unfold. We make our plans and think we know, but that’s just our worldly egos, foolish enough to believe they have control when, in fact, every moment is a mystery.”

  “And every person,” Carolyn said.

  Would Mark ever really return to them? Ben wondered. Would he ever let go of this anger and find peace within himself? Mark had spent three years in college studying philosophy. Yet he could not find it in his well-informed epistemology, or his young heart, to forgive his parents for their mistakes. For their human frailties, as Ben saw it. They had tried to talk to him, with counselors and without. They’d asked for his understanding and done all they could to assure him of their love. To his credit, Mark had heard them out, and even said the right words at times. But clearly, he still felt isolated and angry, shortchanged and unloved.

  Ben’s own part in the problem was the irony of his life and faith, this knotty tangle under his own roof, a desperate, painful frustration for him, which, in his darkest moments, had caused him to question and doubt his own faith. Here he was, dispensing advice to his congregation, and his own son wouldn’t even talk to him.

  Ben took Carolyn’s hand. “We can’t change the past,” he told her. “We tried do what we thought was best at the time.”

  Carolyn gave him a brave smile. “Maybe if Mark ever has children, he’ll understand.”

  “In the meantime,” Ben said, “we mustn’t fill our hearts with regret or worries about what will be. You did your best. You’ve always loved your children with all your heart. You were always a good mother to them both, and I have treasured you as my wife,” he assured her as he took her gently into his arms.

  “Let’s be thankful for what we have, and trust the Lord to work this problem out in His own time,” he counseled.

  Carolyn nodded into his shoulder, taking comfort from his loving words and insight.

  She pulled back and touched the end of his beard with her fingertips. “You’d better go work on your sermon,” she reminded him. She knew that he always liked to look over his notes on Saturday night. “I’ll finish up here.”

  “All right, dear.” He released her and kissed her on the cheek. “I won’t be long,” he promised.

  There were only a few pots left to wash, and Carolyn was glad for some physical task to distract her. Ben had been right, that the course of one’s life was a mystery that we generally took for granted. Carefully curled within each moment was the potential for some unforeseen, startling experience, taking our lives on a sudden detour around an unanticipated corner.

  Her depression had been a mystery, a puzzle that took years to unravel. It had moved in on her like a large dark cloud, shortly after Mark was born. At first she and Ben had thought she just felt overwhelmed with two small children and the busy life of a minister’s wife. But soon they had to face that it was something more, an affliction too complex and insidious to be cast off by a weekend away from the children or some help with the housework.

  It had abated for a while, then when Rachel was about nine and Mark five or so, it returned. There had been a time when she could barely get out of bed in the morning. Dark days full of dread and a feeling of total helplessness, when Ben would come home to find the house in a shambles, the children left largely to their own devices, the simplest task overwhelming to her. A time when even her music seemed meaningless.

  Carolyn had seen doctor after doctor, but the condition was not as easily diagnosed back then. The medications were hit or miss, working for a while, then failing and leaving them back at square one.

  Finally, with a combination of new drugs, therapy, exercise, and her own determination to get better, she felt her life come under control again. It was not a steady, straight ascent, but a jagged, often frustrating course, with countless setbacks.

  Carolyn knew she never would have made it without Ben’s love and patience. He’d never lost faith in her, never treated her as less than a whole person. Even when she felt like an empty shell, he made her feel that she was still talented and beloved, the center of their family.

  No one’s life is free of challenges, Carolyn had learned. Everyone gets knocked down. The trick of it is, how you get up. God is always there, stretching down a hand to grab onto. Once she had truly come to accept that, she couldn’t be afraid again. Not even on the days she woke feeling the familiar uneasiness, the dread. Is it coming back again? Then she’d catch herself and close her eyes to see God’s hand stretch down to her. She would reach for her Bible. Or simply recall a verse that she knew by heart, “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them, for the Lord thy God, He it is that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”

  The fear would ebb and her strength rise up again.

  How ironic that, just as she seemed to get her bearings, Mark’s rebellion had begun. He’d never gotten enough from her, enough love and nurturing. Would she ever be able to make it up to him? Would he even let her try?

  Dear God, she prayed as she scoured out the rice pot, please bring Mark back to us. Help him feel our love and find forgiveness in his heart. Help him find your love, heavenly Father. And your peace.

  JESSICA GLANCED AT HER WATCH, WONDERING HOW long it would be before the movie was over. She’d been trying to lose herself in the film, a suspense story about a woman on the run, but her thoughts kept drifting. Maybe it was because the sight of so many couples out on Saturday night dates kept reminding her that she was alone. Her friend Suzanne from work was supposed to be at the movie with her, but at the last minute Suzanne had begged off with a bad cold. Jessica had been determined not to stay home, curled up in her bathrobe with a video. I don’t need a boyfriend to have a life, she reminded herself, so even without Suzanne she’d dressed up and gone ahead with their plan
s.

  Finally the movie ended, but it seemed too early to go home. Jessica walked down Main Street toward the harbor and decided to stop into the Beanery. She hadn’t tried it yet and was curious. The small café had drawn a crowd, and she had to wait by the door for a seat.

  She looked around, remembering the rather nondescript stationery store that used to occupy the space. The Beanery was definitely an improvement, she decided. The pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, and the walls were now painted a muted coral color with a hand-rubbed sepia glaze. Ceiling tile had been pulled away to reveal the original tin ceiling, painted high-gloss black and rimmed by a thick mustard-colored border on the upper part of the walls. Black stools were lined up against a long black lacquer counter, where customers sat sipping their coffee and eating delicious-looking desserts.

  Behind the counter a huge brass cappuccino machine was the center of the action. Jessica spotted an older man filling orders and giving direction to the young staff. He was a bit bald on top but still had long white hair tied back in a short ponytail and a full but neatly trimmed beard. He wore a black apron over a black T-shirt and jeans. From his manner, Jessica assumed he had to be Jonathan Bean. He seemed quite comfortable working the hissing coffee machine, and not at all out of his element away from a college classroom.

  In counterpoint to the sound of the cappuccino machine, jazz played on the sound system. Jessica recognized one of her favorites, Billie Holiday, singing, “Come Rain or Come Shine.”

  Small black bistro tables filled the rest of the floor space, except for one corner where a curved purple couch and two armchairs with print upholstery were arranged like a cozy living room.

  She spotted Felicity Bean moving easily among her customers. The former college professor was slim and petite and looked quite fit. She wore no makeup, but her thick gray hair was cut in a short, spiky sort of hairdo that Jessica knew was very high-style. Jessica liked Felicity’s outfit, too, a loose-fitting top in a rough, wine-colored cotton, a long gray muslin skirt, and a necklace of large amber beads. Felicity had the arty, natural look typical of Cambridge but somewhat unusual in Cape Light.

  More customers came in, and Jessica moved up to make room. Hearing a familiar voice behind her, she turned around and felt a sudden jolt. Sam Morgan had just come in with a woman, clearly on a date. The woman was attractive, Jessica had to concede. Most men would think so, anyway, though to Jessica her hot-pink T-shirt and black pants were a little . . . obvious. The woman took no notice of Jessica, flipping her long blond hair away from her face, her gaze glued to Sam.

  Sam noticed Jessica almost the second she noticed him. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met, and she felt her cheeks grow red. He was too far away to say hello, but he smiled and nodded at her. She forced herself to smile back. Then his date drew his attention once more, talking to him.

  Jessica turned away sharply. She decided not to wait for a seat any longer. What if she was seated right next to Sam and his . . . blonde? She’d feel much too awkward and self-conscious.

  She walked up to the take-out space at the counter and ordered a cappuccino. She couldn’t help a backward glance at Sam. It was a mistake. Jessica felt a hot stab of jealousy as the blonde put her hand on Sam’s arm and he smiled at her.

  A teenage boy behind the counter handed Jessica her coffee, and she left, relieved that she wouldn’t have to see any more of Sam and his date.

  It wasn’t very late and the harbor front was crowded, more couples and families strolling together, reminding Jessica yet again that she was spending the evening alone. She found a bench near the water and drank her cappuccino. She had told Sam she had plans for tonight, and then he’d seen her by herself. That was embarrassing. It hadn’t taken him very long to recover from her rejection, she noticed. The woman he was with was very pretty, too. When Jessica remembered seeing Sam smile down at her, she felt . . . jealous. Then she got mad at herself for letting him get under her skin. She was just lonely tonight and feeling down about Paul being away all summer. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself.

  She dumped her empty cup in the trash and headed home. She planned to get up early tomorrow and work on the flower beds before it got too hot. Thinking of the garden reminded Jessica again of Sam. This is nuts, she told herself. What’s wrong with me? Why is my every thought leading to Sam?

  SARA WAS BONE TIRED BUT COULDN’T SLEEP. SHE’D worked at the diner until closing tonight, then stayed to help Lucy set up for the Sunday-morning breakfast rush. Now she sat up against the pillows in the long T-shirt she wore for bed, her hair still wet from the shower. She stared at the TV and didn’t even know what she was watching, a lot of noise and talking that made no sense to her. She picked up the remote and clicked it off. The silence in the motel room was instantly soothing.

  She had to be up by six for work. The small digital clock on the nightstand read 12:33. Still, Sara didn’t feel ready to sleep. Maybe it was this room. It was getting on her nerves, tonight more than ever. The motel was run-down, the bed lumpy and the room musty, even on the sunniest day. Sara had tried not to let it bother her. She knew it was only short-term. Besides, she didn’t think she could afford anything better.

  Lucy did, though. “That place is a dump. You can definitely find something nicer for the summer,” she told her.

  “I don’t know. I can’t afford much. It is a dump, but a dump in my price range,” Sara answered.

  “Don’t be silly. It isn’t expensive around here, like Cape Cod. We get some summer people, but we’re sort of off the beaten track. There are plenty of nice guesthouses and cottages closer to the village than that old motel.”

  “Really?” The idea of leaving the motel had caught Sara’s interest. “Do you really think I can find something?”

  “Hey, I know just the place for you,” Lucy said suddenly. “Dr. Elliot owns some cottages on the Beach Road, right near the Warwick Estate. He rents them out cheap, too. I bet it might be even less than the motel. It’s pretty there, and you can walk right down the beach.”

  “Sounds great.” Sara felt encouraged. Her own cottage would be nice, she thought. She could do some cooking and be much more comfortable than she was at the motel.

  “Let me call him for you,” Lucy offered. “We can run over there later if he’s free. Since you’d be renting for the season, maybe he’ll give you a break.”

  Sara was usually a very private person, a real loner at times, and she barely knew Lucy. But for some reason, she didn’t mind Lucy’s friendly interference. Lucy was such a sweet person, always looking out for others. Sara was sure her husband didn’t really appreciate her.

  Later that day, during the break between lunch and dinner service, Lucy drove Sara over to the cottages. Despite Lucy’s assurances, the small faded sign on the road that read Cranberry Cottages didn’t look very promising. A pitted, gravel-covered drive led to the property. But the cottages—five in all—appeared to be in good repair, each with a wood-burning stove for the cool weather. The cottages were set at decent intervals apart, and the tall old trees between them gave each cottage an air of seclusion and privacy that Sara liked.

  Sara already knew Dr. Elliot by sight from the diner. He met them at the property, and he and Sara soon struck a deal. Lucy came up with idea of Sara moving in the next afternoon, when things at the diner would be slow.

  Now that Sara had found the cottage, she was eager to move out of the motel. Maybe that was why she couldn’t settle down to sleep tonight. She thought about packing. It wouldn’t take long. She hadn’t brought much with her; she’d never thought that she would be away for the entire summer.

  It was funny how this had all worked out, deciding to live here and even taking a job. Now another commitment, renting a cottage. She felt herself getting in deeper every day, deeper into a life that felt so false in some way, so deceptive. The friendlier she became with Lucy, the guiltier she felt about not being totally up front with her. But she c
ouldn’t confide in Lucy, or anybody, about Emily.

  Seated on the edge of her bed, Sara picked up her journal and flipped it open. She came to a passage she wrote a few months ago, before graduation.

  . . . I talked to my parents tonight. They know I’m ready to start looking for her. They tell me they’re worried about me, how it will turn out. I know it must hurt them, too, to see me so hung up on this. Even though they try not to show it.

  I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. It’s just something I have to do. I told them that I’ve already contacted the adoption agency and found out that Emily Warwick was there, about ten years ago. She left information in case I ever wanted to try to find her. That has given me hope. Maybe she wants to find me, too.

  EMILY HAD ADMITTED AS MUCH HERSELF THAT FIRST time they talked in the diner. She said she had gone down to Maryland about ten years ago. On business. The statement had given Sara goose bumps. She turned the page and read some more. . . .

  I remember, after my parents first told me I was adopted, I used to have this fantasy about my “real” mother. She looked like a fairy princess, of course. I’d imagine that she would hug me and cry and tell me how much she loved me and how happy she was that we were finally together. Then she would take me away with her, and she’d be the perfect mommy—we’d play together, whatever I liked. She’d never say she was too busy, and she’d never scold me or tell me to clean up my room or do my homework. Sometimes in the daydream I’d hurt myself or get sick, and she would take care of me.

  I remember telling Mom about my fantasy once. I guess I was mad at her for something and yelled that my real mother was coming to take me away from her because she wasn’t my real mother. Mom didn’t get angry or anything. She hugged me close. Then she told me that would never happen. My birth mother didn’t even know where I lived now. She didn’t know anything about me.