Cape Light

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I tried her office before I called you,” Lillian said, making Jessica feel a bit hurt. “She’s out somewhere, at a meeting in the county seat. They weren’t sure when she’d be back.”

  “Did you call her cell phone?”

  “No . . . I didn’t want to alarm her. I just left a message with the secretary to call me. It might not be anything at all.” Lillian smoothed her dress out over her knees. Her hand was trembling a bit, Jessica noticed. “Besides, you’re here. And Ezra . . .” She had omitted Sam, Jessica noticed.

  Sam returned with a tall glass of water. “Here you are,” he said, carefully handing it down to Lillian.

  “Thank you.” She took it in two hands, sparing him a brief glance. After a long sip she said, “What happened to Ezra? How long does it take to find a bottle of pills?”

  “I’m right here, Lillian. Have no fear.” Dr. Elliot walked into the room carrying two pill bottles. “I took the liberty of calling your doctors while I was investigating. We’ve concluded that one of your other medications, the blood-pressure pill, may not mix well with this new one. He’s going to prescribe something else for you. The pharmacy will bring it over later.

  “This reaction you’re having, the dizziness, disorientation, et cetera, should wear off in a few hours,” he added. “The doctor said he’ll call later to check in with you. He also said that you’ll need to see him soon.”

  Jessica felt greatly relieved. She’d hated the idea of running her mother to the hospital and watching her endure a lot of difficult tests. For today at least, they had dodged that bullet.

  “Can the medication hurt her?” Jessica asked.

  “Not this one time,” Dr. Elliot replied. “Of course, she shouldn’t do any highway driving or operate heavy machinery today,” he added in a dry tone.

  Sam laughed quietly, and Jessica had to struggle not to.

  “Very droll, Ezra,” Lillian scoffed. “You ought to consider stand-up comedy as a new career in your retirement.”

  “Excellent suggestion. I’ll look into it,” he replied.

  She turned her face away from him and smoothed out her dress again. “It’s no picnic getting old, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Oh, lighten up, Lillian. You’re going to outlast all of us, I don’t doubt it.”

  “That’s what you all say,” Lillian retorted, a sour expression on her face. Jessica and Sam exchanged a secret smile.

  “Your doctor said to skip the rest of your medication for today. What you need now is a good long nap,” Dr. Elliot advised. “You’ll feel better when you wake up, I almost guarantee it. Why don’t you take your mother into the bedroom, Jessica?” he suggested.

  “I can rest right here, on the couch,” Lillian said. “I suppose I do feel a bit sleepy,” she admitted.

  “Here, let me help you,” Jessica said, taking her mother’s arm as she rose off the chair. Sam stepped over to help lead Lillian to the couch, but she pulled away from his touch without looking at him. She stretched out on the sofa with a long sigh, and Jessica spread an afghan over her.

  “All right. That will do,” Lillian said to no one in particular. Moments later her eyes closed and she dozed off.

  Jessica watched her, wondering how fragile she really was. She heard the phone ring, but it didn’t wake her mother. Dr. Elliot came out of the kitchen carrying the phone and handed it to her. “It’s your sister,” he said quietly. “She wants to speak with you.”

  “Jessica?” Emily had a nervous edge to her voice. “I just checked my messages, and my secretary said Mother called. Is everything all right?” Jessica could tell from the sound of the connection that she was calling from her cell phone, probably in her car.

  “Well, she had a bit of a scare,” Jessica reported, carrying the phone to the far side of the room. “But it’s okay now. She started a new drug today and had a bad reaction. It didn’t mix well with her other medication. Dr. Elliot is here. He’s spoken to Mother’s doctor about it, and they don’t think she needs to go to the hospital or anything like that.”

  “Thank God,” Emily prayed aloud. “Thank goodness you got over there in time.”

  “I was working at home today actually.” She glanced across the room at Sam, who was talking quietly with Dr. Elliot. He met her gaze and smiled. “My car didn’t start, and Sam Morgan gave me a lift,” she added.

  “That was lucky,” Emily replied. If she thought there was anything unusual about Jessica being friendly with Sam, she didn’t mention it.

  “I’m on my way into town,” Emily said. “I can be there in five minutes.”

  “It’s all right, Emily. Honestly. You don’t have to rush. You can stop at the office if you need to. Everything’s under control,” Jessica assured her older sister again. It was almost as if Emily didn’t believe the emergency could be managed without her, Jessica reflected, feeling a bit insulted.

  “How is Mother now? Can I speak to her?”

  “She’s having a rest. Fast asleep, in fact.” Jessica glanced at their mother, who looked peaceful and comfortable in her sleep. “She looks as if she’ll sleep for a while. Dr. Elliot said the reaction should wear off in a few hours.”

  “I’ll come over and stay with her. You’ve done your share,” Emily said. “She’ll need someone there when she wakes up, and you probably have to get back to work.”

  “Well, Sam does, I’m sure,” Jessica said, realizing how long she’d kept him. Aside from working on the ceiling in her apartment, she was sure he had other things to do today. She’d already imposed upon him, using up his entire morning with her family crisis.

  But she already guessed that when she mentioned it to him, he wouldn’t complain, or act as if helping her had been an inconvenience to him. Probably the opposite, as if he’d been happy to do it.

  “Listen, I’ll check in at the office a minute and come over right after that. Then you and Sam can go,” Emily said.

  “That’s fine,” Jessica agreed. “I don’t think Sam will mind hanging around a bit more.”

  “I won’t be long,” Emily promised. “And thank you again for getting over there and taking care of Mother, Jessica. When I got the message, I just didn’t know what to do. I feel so relieved now, knowing you were there.”

  “Well, it didn’t turn out to be much. A false alarm, I guess,” Jessica said, downplaying her part. “When Mother threatened to disown me if I called an ambulance, I knew she wasn’t feeling too badly.”

  “Yes, that’s always a good sign,” Emily agreed with a laugh. “Good work,” she said again, and Jessica felt closer to her sister and quietly gratified to be the one to put Emily at ease.

  “Emily is on her way,” Jessica said to Dr. Elliot and Sam as she hung up. “She should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Why don’t you two go along?” Dr. Elliot said to Jessica. “There’s nothing more you can do here. I’ll stay with your mother until Emily arrives. I need to stay awhile longer anyway, to check on her while she’s sleeping. I’ll bring Emily up to speed,” he added.

  “All right, if you don’t mind,” Jessica said to Dr. Elliot. She glanced at Sam. He’d been very patient so far, but she was sure he was eager to go by now. “Tell Emily I’ll call her here later.”

  “Will do,” Dr. Elliot said. “Don’t worry. Your mother will be fine,” he assured her.

  Outside, Jessica and Sam found that the rain had stopped, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. Once they were back in the truck, Jessica said, “I just want to thank you for helping me out this morning. It was really good of you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m glad that your mother will be all right. And I was glad I could help you,” he added, looking into her eyes.

  She met his gaze for a long moment, unable to look away. Why was he so nice to her? She wasn’t nearly as nice to him. Looking down, she said, “My mother isn’t very polite to you. She’s rude, actually. I’m sorry about that.”

  Sam stared straight ahead, his mouth forming a tight
line as he appeared to consider his reply. She was sure then that her mother’s insults hurt him and even made him angry, more than he would let show.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t take it personally,” Sam said finally. He glanced at Jessica, then looked away again. “She’s not nice to anybody, as far as I can see.”

  Jessica looked up at him, not knowing what to say in reply. She bit back a smile. “She’s never been easy,” she agreed. “That’s just the way Lillian is.”

  “I think your mother is unhappy. Disappointed in her life,” Sam offered quietly. “I guess I even feel a little sorry for her,” he added.

  Sam Morgan feels sorry for my mother? If my mother ever hears that, she’ll really have a stroke, Jessica thought.

  Still, she was surprised at Sam’s insight. How did he get to be so wise about people? she wondered.

  “I think what you said is probably true,” she admitted. “Most people . . . most people just don’t like her. They think she’s a snob.”

  And sometimes I am, too, Jessica realized with a sudden pang of conscience.

  Sam didn’t say anything. He glanced at her, a soft, enveloping light in his dark eyes that made her feel good again. He started up the truck, glanced at his watch, and said, “I have an appointment to give an estimate in an hour, but first . . . I have this old house I’m fixing up. Out on Crab Meadow, near the pond there. Whenever it rains I need to check on it, the land is so low. Want to come with me? It won’t take very long.”

  Jessica thought about it, taking in his hopeful expression. There was that report to write, but that could wait, she told herself. After the stress of dealing with her mother this morning, she needed a break. A ride out on the Beach Road would be just the thing. Besides, she owed it to Sam since he’d been so nice to her. And, if she was going to be perfectly honest with herself, she’d like another hour of Sam’s company.

  “Sure . . . I’d love to see it,” she said.

  Sam drove out of the village and turned onto the Beach Road. After a few miles he veered off on a narrow dirt lane, barely wide enough for his truck. The path was twisting and downhill, covered with puddles and mud from the rain. She noticed Sam’s concentration as he navigated the course, and unconsciously gripped the door handle.

  “You wouldn’t want to do this at night,” she said.

  “Not if you didn’t have to,” he added with a laugh. “I know sooner or later I’ll get stuck in the mud out here and need a tow, but it hasn’t happened yet. When I’m finished with the house, I’ll have this widened and paved. Just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  She glanced out her window at the muddy banks of their narrow road and hoped they wouldn’t get stuck today. Suddenly the narrow passage opened. After the sheltering tunnel of trees, Jessica was nearly blinded by the light.

  She looked out and saw the house. It was absolutely charming, even in its disheveled, half-finished state. Like a house from a fairy tale, she thought, with large wooden shutters, window boxes, and loads of gingerbread trim. There was a balcony on the second floor and a wrap-around porch below.

  It needed work. No question about that. It was the kind of house that would be described by real estate agents as a “handyman special.” But it could definitely be a jewel one day, and it appeared that the right handyman for the job had come along to save it.

  “Well, here it is,” Sam said, turning off the truck. “It’s not much to look at yet. But I’m getting there.”

  “I think it’s great,” Jessica said, turning toward him as she opened her door.

  She climbed out of the truck and took a better look. “How long have you owned it?”

  “Almost two years now. I got a pretty good deal on it since it needed so much work. No one has lived here for a long time.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Jessica said, walking closer.

  She remembered this house from years ago. There was a pond in back that she used to love when she was a kid. Sometimes in the summer she and Emily would swim there, and in the winter they’d ice-skate on it. An older couple had owned the place, she recalled. But that was so long ago. They must have moved away, or even passed on, by now.

  “Honestly, it’s really a beautiful little house,” she said, turning back to look at him. “It will be worth a fortune once you’ve renovated. Is that why you bought it—to turn it over?”

  “Uh . . . no.” Sam shook his head. “I’m going to live here.” He glanced at her, then back at the house. “I’m just thinking ahead, I guess. Plenty of room and it’s pretty out here—still wild looking—but not so far from town.”

  Jessica nodded. Here they were again, talking about the future, marriage, and family. He was, at least. But she wasn’t about to go there.

  “Yes, it’s a very pretty setting. Very private.”

  Sam gazed at the house intently, hands on his hips, his expression unreadable. What was he thinking about? she wondered. Was he picturing coming home to his future wife and a houseful of children? They’d be very good-looking children, she imagined, if they took after their father. Or was he thinking about the sagging roof and crooked shutters, calculating the work left to do here . . . ?

  “Come on,” he said suddenly. “I’ll show you around inside.”

  Jessica followed him through the front door, into a foyer where colored beams of light filtered through stained glass.

  “That wall was boarded over and the window covered up,” Sam said. “Can you believe someone would do that?”

  “That’s almost criminal,” Jessica said, taking a closer look at the intricate pattern of the glass. “But it must have been a nice surprise when you found it.”

  “Definitely,” he agreed, glancing at her. “You get a lot of surprises, fixing up a house like this. Some good . . . some not so good,” he said with an easy laugh.

  He showed her around the first floor, starting with the front parlor, which had a fireplace and a pressed-tin ceiling. “This room was mainly used for guests,” Sam explained. He led her to a smaller room beside it, saying, “This is the side parlor, which they used as a sitting room, or sometimes a music room or library.”

  Jessica followed him toward the back of the house to a room with another beautiful mantel and fireplace and a large bay window with a window seat.

  “The dining room,” he explained. “Look at this wood paneling. It’s walnut,” he said, smoothing his hand over the dark wood. “And it was covered with plasterboard—”

  “But you found it,” Jessica cut in with a smile.

  He looked up at her and smiled. “I suspected something interesting under there from the start.”

  He led her to the next room, a large kitchen with a hearth almost large enough to stand in and fixtures that dated back to the turn of the century, including a deep porcelain sink on metal legs complete with an authentic wringer for laundry. Jessica gave the handle a turn as they passed by. “You could build some real muscles doing this,” she noted. “I guess women back then didn’t need to go to a gym to work out.”

  Sam laughed. “I like a woman with a few muscles.” He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling.

  “Check this out,” he said, showing her a back stairway that led from the kitchen to the second floor.

  “I love a house with a back stairway,” Jessica said as she followed him up. “It’s so . . . mysterious or something.”

  Sam only laughed in reply. At the top of the stairs, she found a center hall leading to four rooms and a bath. As they peered in the first room, Jessica saw that it was almost completely refinished. He’d restored the old-fashioned moldings and floors perfectly, she realized.

  “Now, this will be the master bedroom,” Sam said as they came to a large room in the front of the house. “Those French doors open to a little porch. But don’t go out there. I haven’t fixed it yet,” he warned.

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  On the other side of the room she was drawn by a beautiful rocking chair and matching table, both partially cove
red by a white sheet. The furniture looked brand-new . . . or newly refinished, she thought. From what she could see they weren’t antiques, but their design was definitely influenced by period elements.

  “What’s this?” she asked Sam. “Did you start buying furniture already?”

  “Oh, the chair and table, you mean,” he said, walking toward her. “Just a few pieces I made. I thought they’d go well in the house, so I brought them up here.” He leaned over and pulled off the sheet.

  Jessica studied them. The furniture was absolutely beautiful, like the pricey, one-of-a-kind pieces you might see in some exclusive shop on Beacon Hill.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said sincerely. She reached out and ran her hand over the satiny finish on the tabletop. “Did you design them, too?”

  “From start to finish. It takes me a while to make them, though. I only work on the furniture in my spare time. And I have to have a good idea. The sketches take me forever,” he added.

  “You’re an artist,” she said, glancing at him. “I had no idea.”

  He didn’t reply, but his slow, wide smile showed her how much he appreciated her compliment. Then he said, “Try the rocker. It’s pretty comfortable.” When she looked at him hesitantly, he added, “Go ahead, it won’t fall apart.”

  Jessica sat down in the rocking chair, her hands on the arms. “Very comfortable,” she said. “Just right.”

  She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt self-conscious, sitting in the chair while Sam watched her. She briefly imagined that he’d made this chair with some special woman in mind, the woman who would live with him in this house, have children with him, rock them in her arms at night in this very room. . . .

  She got up quickly and took a few steps toward the window.

  “Have you ever thought of going into business, making furniture like this? I’m sure you could do well if you connected with the decorators and specialty shops in Boston.”

  Sam looked surprised by the question. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve thought about it, I guess. But I’m not quite ready for that yet.”