They parted reluctantly, but with the reassuring thought that they'd be together again in a couple of hours. Maddie made her way back to Rosedale cottage with every hope that their escapade would go undiscovered.
She lucked out. Her mother, never an early riser, was still asleep, and so, of course, was Tracey. George liked to get up early, but not on the Cape. Maddie's own door was as she left it: closed.
Once inside the sanctuary of her bedroom, she set the alarm for nine, then fell on her bed as she was and dropped into an immediate, deep sleep. Deep, but brief. The brutal ringing of the wind-up clock would've made her downright vicious if it weren't for the fact that she was so much in love. Tired but almost mystically happy, Maddie showered, changed into a yellow top and a denim skirt, and went to the kitchen in search of caffeine. In two short hours, she'd be back with her lover.
Lover. The word was so joyously inadequate to describe what Dan meant to her. Her life just then was a fairy tale, her sense of malaise, a vague memory. Had she really once been worried and unhappy? It seemed so hard to believe. She had a smile on her face that stayed there through her brother's dry greeting.
"You seem pretty cheerful for someone who didn't get to bed until three," said George pointedly, heading for the fridge to pour himself some orange juice.
Not a clue, then. Excellent!
Grinning, Maddie said to her brother, "We raised ninety-two thousand dollars last night. Isn't that great?" It was a perfectly valid—and true—reason for being happy.
"What a waste of money," George muttered. He stood in front of the open door of the fridge and emptied his glass in one swig, then refilled it from the juice carton. "You know, you might think about making friends with women who have more in common with you," he added in his toast-dry voice. It was no secret that he considered Norah vulgar and Joan much too downscale.
Maddie smiled and touched a finger to her brother's chin. "You missed a spot shaving. And you just dribbled OJ on your shirt."
George looked down his nose at the cream-colored polo shirt and swore. "I'm teeing off in twelve minutes!"
"Most people won't even notice it," Maddie said generously.
He was already on his way back up the stairs. Maddie caught the words "lunch" and "client" thrown over his shoulder.
In other words, George had no time either to lecture her or to deliver a third degree.
Yes! She was on a roll!
Maddie cleaned up the kitchen during her first cup of coffee, and explained the lighthouse project to Claire during her second. By then it was after ten and her mother still hadn't emerged from the downstairs bedroom. Since Sarah hadn't slept well, it wasn't surprising, but Maddie found herself hovering at the door to her mother's room, more worried than not. She gave in to her impulse and eased the door open, just to be sure.
Her mother was asleep, obviously exhausted. She was lying on her back, her mouth slightly ajar. The reassuring sound of her light snoring was tempered by the sight of a bottle of her sleeping pills on the bedstand: Sarah, proud and conservative, had come to rely on sedatives since the death of her husband.
Maddie watched her mother sigh and roll over onto her side, a hint of a smile hovering on her lips. Was she dreaming of her beloved Edward? Maddie hoped so. Leaving her mother in peace, she closed the door silently and went upstairs to Tracey's room.
There, she had better luck. Tracey had showered and was towel-drying her long hair. Mother and daughter exchanged glances in the walnut-framed mirror above Tracey's bureau: appraising glances, on both sides.
Maddie said, "Mind if I come in?"
"Mom! Why would I mind?"
This was new. Bemused, Maddie said, "I guess I got the wrong idea from your 'Keep out!!!' sign underlined three times."
"Oh, that," Tracey said breezily. "I forgot it was hanging." She began untangling her hair with a styling brush, scrunching her face with every pull.
"Here, let me do that," Maddie said, longing for physical contact with her only child. "Did you use conditioner?"
"I'm out."
Which meant she'd refused to use her mother's conditioner. Which meant she'd still been sulking as recently as ten minutes ago. So why the turnaround?
"Your dad was going to stop by last night," Maddie said offhandedly. "Was he able to make it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well ... good." Maddie worked at the tangles with short, businesslike jabs as she searched for a way to find out whether Michael had tried to poison Tracey's mind against Dan. He could be so very good at things like that.
But Tracey seemed to have an agenda of her own. "Mom, I wanted to ask you ... you know how Grandma always talks about your first job, the one walking dogs? If I wanted to do something like that instead of babysitting, that'd be okay, wouldn't it?"
"Well, it's harder work, certainly, and I'm not sure you'd be all that thrilled about the cleaning up part. But if you really were willing to line up the business and follow through on it," Maddie said, fanning her daughter's hair, "I don't see why not."
"Well, maybe not exactly walking dogs, but something like that."
"What, for example?"
Tracey shrugged as she took her brush back. "I don't know."
Mystified, Maddie said, "When you've thought your plan through a little more, we certainly can talk about it."
"Promise?" Tracey's eyes were shining with anticipation, as if all that remained were to cash her first check.
Maddie smiled and said, "Sure."
A wide grin lit up the girl's face, hinting at the beauty that one day would come. Her next words were music to Maddie's ears.
"What's for breakfast, Mom? I'm starved!"
****
Maddie turned out bacon and waffles for Tracey and left some extra warming in the oven for her mother. She knew that they wouldn't get eaten, since her mother had a lunch date with her old friend Lillian. The waffles were a peace offering, pure and simple.
Stepping outside into brilliant sun, Maddie aimed her Taurus in the direction of Harwich Port, where she planned to have a long, leisurely lunch with Dan. Chatham was prettier, but Chatham was farther. They wouldn't be that interested in the view anyway.
Still, Maddie was aware that the blue, white-capped water of Nantucket Sound looked especially glorious. It was a perfect summer's day, bright and dry, with a stiff breeze from the west. A dozen sailboats dotted the horizon, helmed by sailors with places to see and currents to catch.
She and Dan would have to get their hands on a sailboat of some kind. Nothing big, just a daysailer to go bopping around the bay in. Or maybe something with a cuddy just big enough to sleep two, in case they decided to stay overnight at an anchorage. After all, Tracey spent a weekend every month with Michael. And really, it should have a berth for Tracey, too. Tracey liked to sail—she used to, anyway. Somehow they hadn't got around to it the last summer or two.
Tracey. How would she take to the man who'd replaced her father in her mother's heart? Girls weren't as possessive of their mothers as they were of their fathers, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad. But Tracey and Dan had started off on the wrong foot. Tracey was to blame for that, but Dan had embarrassed her, nonetheless. And girls never—ever—forgot their Big Embarrassing Moments. Tracey could live to be a hundred and twelve; she'd still remember, as if it were yesterday, the night Dan Hawke caught her in the lighthouse and marched her back home.
If it weren't for Dan ...
"Thank you, Dan Hawke! I love you, Dan Hawke!" Maddie shouted, and laughed out loud at the sound of her joy.
Chapter 18
Dan's car was one of only five or six in the parking lot of Hollyhocks. Not a big crowd, then. Good. Maddie wouldn't have to feel guilty if they decided to linger over lunch, holding hands and gazing into one another's eyes.
The restaurant was an unpretentious affair a little off on its own, a gray-shingled structure with dark green awnings over the west-facing windows, and windowboxes bursting with pink and white geraniums. The best
thing about it was its Fisherman's Platter. The second best thing was its outdoor patio, bordered on two sides by banks of old-fashioned hollyhocks in little-girl pink and racy dark purple.
Maddie parked alongside the red Jeep and eyed the umbrella-shaded tables as she walked past them toward the main entrance. On a day like this, outside was the place to be. On cue, Dan emerged through a side door behind a hostess who was headed for the corner table of the patio.
Maddie did a quick detour, profoundly happy to be with Dan again, thrilled to see a smile light up the depths of his dark eyes as soon as he saw her. A look like that from a Daniel Hawke was more genuine than a hundred easy grins from a Michael Regan.
Almost shyly, Dan pulled out a chair for her and asked her what she'd have to drink. Too sleep-deprived for wine, Maddie opted for an iced tea. Dan ordered the same.
One other patio table was occupied, by a much younger couple. They were talking in low, easy voices over the remnants of their meal.
"They can't possibly be as much in love," Dan said, reading Maddie's thoughts.
Maddie nodded. "It's hard to believe we once looked the way they do," she said wistfully.
"Are you kidding? Check out his sneakers. I still can't afford shoes like that."
She laughed at the quip, aware that Dan would never be comfortable with his wealth. How could he, when his career had been spent covering those in the world who had nothing?
"Do you reckon they're married?" Dan asked her.
She shrugged. "People that young like to commit even less today than when we were their age."
Dan said in a murmur, "In that case, I feel like going over there and smacking the guy on the head. What's he waiting for?"
They watched as the young man broke off a bit from his hamburger and tossed it to a dog who had been skulking in the shadow of the hollyhocks. The animal, a mutt with some golden retriever in him, was young and skinny and collarless. He ran forward, scarfed up the morsel, and retreated to the hollyhocks.
"I wonder where he came from. It's too early for the summer renters to be dumping their pets," Maddie said. She knew, all too well, how callous some of the groups could be: every September the local shelter became overrun with unwanted cats and dogs. "Maybe he just got loose from someone's yard."
Dan shook his head. "I've seen dogs behave like that the world over. He's a stray."
The guy they were watching dangled a french fry at dog level. The mutt dashed forward, took it gingerly, and returned to his hiding place. Another french fry, and another, and soon the dog felt secure enough to plop down on his haunches, his tail wagging cheerfully at the prospect of a meal, such as it was. He had wonderful, soulful eyes in a sweet, good-natured face.
"Oh, this is sad," Maddie said, distressed. "He should have a home, and someone to feed him and take him for walks on the beach. I'm going to ask the manager if the dog has been hanging around here for—"
Her question got answered before it got asked. A kid in an apron came out from the restaurant to bus one of the tables, took one look at the dog, and grabbed a stone from a small pile on the garden's edge, hurling it at the animal and sending him running off with a yelp.
Dan jumped up and grabbed the boy's arm. "Hey! Pick on someone your own size!"
"We're s'posed to chase him away," the busboy said sullenly. "He bothers the cust—"
The sound of brakes and a shrill cry of pain brought the episode to a tragic close: they turned to see that the dog had been hit by a passing car.
Dan swore under his breath and ran out to the road with Maddie hard on his heels. The animal lay without moving, his head haloed in blood. His gaze, still soulful, was glassy-eyed. The driver of the car that struck him had pulled over and was rushing back, a look of horror on her face. Inside her car, Maddie saw two children.
"He ran out so fast ... oh, God ... I never saw him ... I hit the brakes, but ..." Tears were streaming down the young mother's face.
The busboy had been hanging back. Now he sprang to life and said, "I'll call the dogcatcher!"
He ran inside. Dan pitched Maddie his car keys and said, "Park my Jeep behind the dog and leave the blinkers on." Maddie ran to the lot to position the car. By the time she got it into place, the young man who'd fed the dog the french fries had come out with the dismal news that they'd got an answering machine and not the animal control officer.
"Oh, for—" Without looking up, Dan told the busboy, "Go find a storm window, plywood, anything." To Maddie he said, "Look up the nearest animal hospital; call and get directions."
By the time Maddie returned with the route scrawled on the back of a take-out menu, Dan had moved the injured animal onto a plywood stretcher and was loading it, with the help of the others, into his Jeep.
Maddie jumped into the front seat and divided her attention between the wounded animal behind her and the cryptic scrawl of her directions. "Oh, Dan, he doesn't look good," she said, dismayed. The dog's breathing was becoming more labored.
And yet the poor creature seemed to respond to her attempts at comfort, so she kept up a steady, soothing stream of endearments as Dan wove the Jeep through midday traffic until they arrived at the nondescript building that housed the animal clinic. Maddie ran in to warn the staff that Dan had the dog in his car, and an assistant came out to help them bring him inside.
The dog was taken into surgery at once; there was nothing now for Dan and Maddie to do. She said rather timidly, "Do you want to wait?"
"Definitely."
They went outside and sat on a stile fence at the edge of shade being thrown by a huge maple tree. After the burst of activity, waiting now seemed exhausting. Hungry now, and more tired than ever, Maddie watched absently as a sedan pulled slowly into the parking lot. A middle-aged woman climbed out, then coaxed a gray-muzzled, obviously failing setter out of the car and hooked a leash into its collar before walking it slowly to the entrance. It was clear that she cared deeply for her pet; the contrast between her dog and the neglected stray was painful to see.
Maddie's eyes stung with tears. She sighed and said softly to Dan, "You didn't have to take responsibility for the dog back there. But I love that you did."
Through the haze of her sadness, she heard his answer.
"I could relate to him, I guess," Dan said pensively. "Living on the occasional scrap of kindness—it's how I grew up."
She thought about that, and about love and loss and what might have been. After a long silence between them, she said, "Tell me about the fire, Dan. Tell me what really happened."
Her question had come out of the blue, but he didn't seem surprised by it. "Do you really not know?"
She said softly, "I know that the physics building was a converted mansion, and very flammable. I know that the sprinkler system wasn't up to code. I know that my father reentered the building to try to save his files. That he got trapped by the flames but managed to escape. And that he never had a clue afterward how he did it."
Dan took so long to answer that Maddie began to believe she would never learn the truth—the whole truth, anyway. But then, in a voice that sounded subdued and remote, he said, "I'm the one who came up with the plan to occupy the physics building. Understand that."
He looked away from her and fixed his gaze on a place she could not see.
"Some of the students wanted Lowell to reconsider the research it was doing with nuclear energy back then," he began. "They were sincere but disorganized. Hell, their grandparents were doing a better job of demonstrating against the risk of nuclear power than they were. Hollywood made a pretty good movie about it. And I—I, in my infinite wisdom, led the charge to take over a physics building."
"But it wasn't your idea to set the building on fire," she said. "It could never have been."
His laugh was bleak. "No, I can honestly say that the brilliance of that strategy never occurred to me. I still don't know who started it. I wasn't in the building at the time. I'd sneaked out the back to try to set up a meeting with the dean of
students. He declined to see me, naturally. By the time I got back, the building was in flames."
"But ... that means the dean would've been able to exonerate you. Why didn't he?"
Dan shrugged and said dryly, "This is just a wild guess on my part, but I'll bet that by the time the hearings took place, he wasn't feeling all that charitable toward me."
"But still! That's not right!"
Now he turned and looked directly at her, and he was the one surprised. "Maddie, it wasn't right to lead a bunch of firebrands into a building without understanding the risk. I was older and smarter than they were. I should've assumed that one of them was going to run amok. I was the one playing with fire," he said bitterly.
Rebuked, she murmured, "I'm on your side, you know."
"I do know," he said, dropping down from the stile. "It's just that I have to live with it, and it's hard. Especially now."
"It could've been so much worse."
"Yes."
In the pause that followed, a yellow swallowtail fluttered past, an instant of joy in their moment of pain.
"You were in the building, weren't you," she said, somehow convinced of it.
"Yes. It's not as if I've forgotten it."
He sighed, and then he began the unburdening. "I ... went back into the building through a window, after I heard someone shout that people were still in it, one of them your father. I didn't think about the students. I didn't think about the protesters. I thought only of him. Because of you."
His voice was filled with self-loathing as he said, "Is it possible for someone to behave more selfishly than that?"
She had no answer for him, but let him go on, spilling his heart to the butterfly lifting and falling around them.
"I saw your father face down on the floor, not that far from an exit. He was unconscious. And then suddenly his shirt was on fire. I saw it catch—poof—like that ... as I was making my way through the smoke. I was driven back ... I had to drop down and crawl, to be able to breathe ... it slowed me down ... and his shirt ... his shirt, Maddie, it was burning. And then there was a crash—something fell on me, I don't know what ... heavy ... hot ... I rolled out from under it ... more time wasted ... it all went so slow, in slow motion. There was a chair in the hall with a loose cushion. I used it to put out the flames, but his shirt, by then it was ... and then I dragged him the rest of the way out. He'd almost made it ... so close ... on his own. The firefighters took him ... and then I ran. I ran. And I haven't stopped until now. Forgive me. God ... forgive me."
A Charmed Place Page 18
