At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)

by Bretton, Barbara

  The sparkle in his eyes grew brighter and she knew that he knew exactly what she meant. Her heart, already overflowing with emotion, attached itself firmly to her sleeve.

  "Part-time dogsbody or full-time?" he asked.

  "Full time during the summer; part time when school's open." She leaned back on her heels and went for broke. "I'm saving up for college," she said, "and time's running out." You might as well know it all, Noah. I'm plain and smart and poor. A real triple threat.

  He didn't even blink. Instead he leaned forward and said, "Where do you want to go?"

  She listed her top three choices. "They all have great veterinary programs but I'd have to win a scholarship in order to be able to afford any of them."

  "Do you have the grades?"

  She nodded, feeling undeniably proud. "Senior year's gonna be tough. It's make-or-break time for me."

  He didn't say anything and she wondered if she'd bored him to tears with her goody-goody plans for the future. Guys hated that kind of thing. She should have steered the conversation to music or movies. Something fun and normal and meaningless. She'd never done very well with meaningless.

  "So which college are you planning on?" she asked, looking to shift the focus to him. "I'll bet you can have your pick of any one of them."

  "Not if they check out my SAT scores," he said. "The only way I'll get into a decent school is if my old man's checkbook opens the door."

  "That's been known to happen."

  "He'd better be able to pay off the headmaster at St. Luke's too."

  "Uh oh," she said. "You're in trouble."

  "A-yup," he said, mimicking his father's Down East tones, "and I'll be up shit creek when my parents find out."

  "Your secret's safe with me."

  "I know it is," he said.

  She leaned forward to adjust Wiley's collar as Noah leaned forward to scratch him behind his other ear. His fingertips accidentally brushed the top of Gracie's head and her breath caught sharply in her throat. She prayed he hadn't heard the sound. She would die of embarrassment. You'd think she'd never been this close to a guy before... close enough to catch the scent of soap and sunshine on his skin... close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His touch was light, gentle, a whisper of a touch. She understood why Wiley was looking up at him with something close to adoration. Given half the chance, she would happily do the same thing for the rest of her life or longer.

  #

  Noah hadn't thought about Gracie in years. Whatever memory he had of her was of a sad-eyed, skinny little girl who knew how to read and write before the rest of them could tie their shoes. She was still skinny and still smart but the sad look in her eyes had been replaced by determination. She was going places. You only had to spend five minutes with her to know that she had her life planned out to the last detail.

  She was busting her ass so she could go to college and make something of herself, while the rest of her pals screwed around on Hidden Island. No wonder she'd given him such a peculiar look when he told her he'd been kicked out of St. Luke's. She probably thought he was a real loser, one of those rich kids who end up pissing away their trust funds before they turn twenty-five. He had a kind of sixth sense when it came to people and he felt the change in her attitude right away. She'd been interested in him right up until that moment and then it all disappeared and he'd felt as if someone had turned off the sun.

  She'd been brisk and efficient with him, writing up a receipt for Wiley's care, scheduling his next appointment for shots, telling him to say hello to his mother and be sure to mention how Wiley needed to be thoroughly brushed every day. That was it. No flirting. No attempt to make him stay a little longer. She almost seemed relieved to see him go.

  He glanced over at Wiley. "I think she likes you better than she likes me."

  Wiley wagged his tail but he didn't argue the point.

  #

  Gramma Del didn't leave her small cottage very often these days. Ever since the Chases had told her they no longer needed her services, she'd been in a slow but steady decline. Not even Gracie, who couldn't bear the thought of a world without her grandmother in it, could deny what was happening and she made it her business to see that Gramma Del ate properly, had regular medical checkups, saw her friends as often as she liked.

  It wasn't like Gracie could rely on Ben to see to it that his mother was taken care of properly. Oh, her father was a lot better than he used to be, but his was still an all-or-nothing personality which meant when he wasn't drinking, he was off getting married. She'd lost count after the fourth wife and eighth fiancée. Sometimes she wanted to haul off and hit him in the head with one of the two-by-fours leaning up against the tool shed, anything to get him to notice she was alive, but she knew it was a lost cause. He was never cruel to her, not in any overt way. He didn't beat her like Mary Ann's father did, or touch her in the night like Sarah's father. Sometimes she thought that what he did hurt her more than any physical beating ever could: he looked right through her like she was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Like she wasn't his flesh and blood at all.

  "Gramma." She tapped on the door and inched it open. "Are you awake?" It was more a formality than anything else, a way to preserve what remained of Del's independence.

  "Wheel of Fortune's about to start," Gramma Del said. "Don't think you can start any conversations with me until I see what Vanna's wearing tonight."

  "I brought over some supper." Gracie lifted the lid on the casserole she carried. "Mac and cheese. I thought I'd make you a little salad and—"

  A commercial for an auto repair shop flickered on and Del tore her eyes from the television set. "You going to eat with me?"

  Gracie shook her head. "I grabbed a lobstah roll around four o'clock."

  "Who made the macaroni?"

  "I did." She bit back a laugh at the look on her grandmother's face. "I used your recipe."

  "Well, then," said Del as Vanna floated onto the screen, "maybe I'll try just a little."

  Gracie took the casserole into the kitchen where she fixed a tray for her grandmother then poured herself a glass of iced tea. She carried everything back into the tiny living room and helped Gramma Del sit up straighter in her recliner. Once her grandmother started eating, Gracie sprawled on the floor next to her and offered up a running commentary on Vanna's hair and gown and shoes that soon had Gramma Del laughing despite herself.

  When the show ended, Del switched off the power and turned to Gracie. "Spit it out, missy."

  Gracie leaned on her elbows and looked up at her grandmother. "What makes you think there's something to spit out?"

  "You learn something about human nature in eighty-two years of living, Graciela, and I can see you're about ready to pop."

  Gracie had never been able to keep anything from her grandmother. "Noah Chase is back in town."

  Gramma Del's smile thinned until her mouth was nothing more than a thin line of Maine granite. "Passing through, no doubt, same as every year."

  "I don't think so," Gracie said slowly. "I think they're all staying in town this year on account of Mr. Chase's heart attack."

  "None of our business," Del said. "They live their lives, we live ours."

  Gracie swallowed. "He came into Doctor Jim's to pick up Mrs. Chase's new dog."

  Gramma Del was paying close attention to her now.

  "He's not for you, Graciela." Kindness softened the stern warning. "Better you know that now."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Gramma. I was just passing on some town gossip."

  "Look at me, missy. Let me see your face."

  "Don't be silly." Gracie pushed her grandmother's hand away.

  "Graciela."

  "Okay, okay." She forced a laugh, trying to make a joke of Gramma Del's demand. "Here's my face." Gracie turned toward her and crossed her eyes. "Are you satisfied now?"

  Gramma Del caught her face between her hands. To Gracie's horror, she realized her grandmother's eyes were filled with tears. "There
isn't a man on this planet worth your dreams, Graciela."

  "Gramma!"

  "Listen to me!" Gramma Del's hands trembled as they held her face captive between them. "You can be anything you want to be if you hold tight to your dreams."

  "Gramma, I haven't had a date in months. I'm working around the clock with Doctor Jim. I get up, go to work, come home again, all because I'm focused on a dream. If you think I'm going to let anything come between me and my future, then you don't know your granddaughter."

  It was the first time Gracie ever lied to her grandmother, but it wouldn't be the last.

  Chapter Five

  He's an old man, Noah realized as his father paced the book-lined study the next morning. When he'd gone off to school in September, his father had been tall and strong, a man in the latter years of his prime. Now, nine months and two heart attacks later, everything had changed. Simon looked as grey and weathered as the town. He walked as if each step required major effort. Only his voice, that deep rich baritone, retained the power Noah remembered.

  "... a disappointment," his father was saying. "Your mother and I expect more from you than this juvenile act of rebellion..."

  Noah tuned out. He knew the drill. He' d heard it a million times before. It didn't change anything. It didn't mean his father wanted to know one damn thing about his life.

  "There are responsibilities that come with being a Chase... we expect excellence... you're very luck to be part... how do we explain... you've disappointed me, Noah... hurt your mother... think about the future..."

  When Noah was a little boy, he would have given his pitching arm to be the focus of his old man's undivided attention. His father was a busy man, pillar of the community, owner and editor of the best newspaper in all of New England. He had responsibilities that went far beyond what happened at home. He didn't have time to spend listening to the problems of his small son.

  Still Simon Chase had been Noah's idol, more than Superman or Batman or even Carleton Fisk. He didn't want to be a ballplayer or action hero. He wanted to be a newspaperman just like his father. He wanted to stand up for what he believed in and, with his words, make others stand up for it too.

  His father had that power. With just black type on white paper, Simon Chase moved mountains. His influence in Idle Point was legendary and, thanks to a Pulitzer Prize in 1979, that influence had been felt around the world, if only briefly.

  The staff at the Gazette loved Simon. Noah's chest used to burst with pride each time he saw the way the editors and reporters gathered around his father when he spoke. They hung on his every word. They jumped when he barked out an order. They loved him and they respected him. "He's a great man, your father," Wendell Banning had told Noah after the heart attack at Christmastime when they all thought they were going to lose Simon. "If you turn out to be half the man your father is, you'll be better than most."

  Noah didn't deny that when it came to the Gazette his father was a great man but the wide-eyed hero worship of his childhood had given way to bitter acceptance of the fact that he and Simon would never be close. Not in the way he had dreamed about as a little boy.

  Simon stopped pacing in front of Noah and looked down at him. "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

  Noah shrugged. "Not much." Even less than his father would be willing to hear.

  "What are your plans for the summer?"

  Okay. Now's your chance. Take a deep breath and go for it. "I'm supposed to start work in Colorado the end of next week."

  "Those were your plans before you were expelled from St. Luke's. What are your new plans?"

  "I don't have any new plans."

  "Then I recommend you come up with some by this time tomorrow."

  "What wrong with Colorado?" He knew he was pushing it but he didn't care. It wasn't like Simon had any idea what was going on in his life.

  "Out of the question."

  "Why?"

  "Because I said so."

  "Great reason," Noah muttered, slouching lower in his chair.

  "I'll thank you to watch yourself, son. As long as you live under my roof, you'll do as I tell you."

  Noah couldn't help it. He laughed in his father's face. "I haven't lived under your roof since I was six years old."

  Simon looked stricken. "You're my son. This is your home."

  "The hell it is." Noah was on his feet, facing down his father in a way he'd never done before. "That cell at St. Luke's was more my home than this place will ever be."

  "Don't talk like a fool."

  "You think I wanted to be there all by myself? I was scared shitless. I cried myself to sleep that first year."

  "You got over it."

  "Why did I have to? This house is a fucking hotel and you didn't have room for me."

  "I won't tolerate that language while you're under my roof."

  "Don't sweat it, Pop," he said. "I'm never under your roof for long."

  #

  The early years had been everything Simon could have wished for. The long arid desert of his barren marriage had suddenly blossomed with the boy's unexpected arrival and for the first time their house felt like a home.

  There had been so many disappointments along the way to that golden time. So many mistakes, so many secrets tucked away in dark corners of the heart. He could still remember the crushing weight of regret, of a grief so black and desperate he thought it would swallow him whole.

  Through it all there was Ruth. Steadfast, resolute, more constant than the tides. He had pushed her far away once and she had chosen a path neither one had ever imagined. Who was he to say what was right and wrong? He had never been sure if she forgave him his transgressions or merely found a way to live with them. In truth, he had never asked. She loved him. She always had. And because she loved him, she had come back.

  Once, not that long ago, he had been willing to give up everything for love too. His self-respect. His sense of honor. His work. His family. Everything he held dear. He would have walked away and never looked back, not even for the sake of the son he had waited so long to welcome into his life.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Ruth appeared in the doorway. Her gentle face looked drawn with worry.

  "Is everything alright?" she asked. There was nothing jarring about Ruth, nothing loud or vulgar. She was a lady to her marrow. "I heard Noah roar down the driveway."

  He told her what had transpired between them. He and Ruth had been together almost forty years. She knew how to read between the lines. He used to love me, Ruthie. He used to look up to me. What happened? Where did it all go so wrong? Why do I keep pushing him away?

  "The trip to Colorado would do him good," she said, patting him on the left forearm. "Work off some of those high spirits."

  "I'm not going to reward him for being expelled from St. Luke's."

  "Hard work is scarcely a reward," she pointed out.

  "No," he said. "Is a summer at home such an inhuman punishment?"

  "He was looking forward to working on that ranch."

  "He can work here."

  "You know that isn't the same, Simon. His friends will be on the ranch."

  "His future is here in Idle Point."

  Ruth sighed. "There's time enough for that," she said gently.

  "It's time now, Ruth," he said. "It's time our son came home."

  #

  Ruth couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that settled across her shoulders. Simon went upstairs to rest while she wandered through the house, unable to settle down to her correspondence or her reading or anything else. Twice their new cook Greta asked if she could fix Ruth a pot of tea but both times she had brushed off the poor woman with the merest shake of her head. Her mind was elsewhere.

  For over ten years she had dreamed of having her son home to stay, only to discover that the reality of it filled her with unease.

  Gracie.

  Mona Taylor's sad-eyed daughter. Who would ever have imagined that plain brown-haired girl would c
atch the eye of Ruth's golden son? He had been filled with talk of Gracie last night as mother and son sat together on the front porch. How hard she worked, how capable she was, how smart, how funny. There was a quality of innocence about Noah as he spoke of Mona's girl that struck terror in Ruth's heart.

  Life wouldn't be that cruel.

  She had always harbored a deep affection for Gracie. She could still remember the feel of that tiny fragile hand in hers on those afternoon walks home from kindergarten. Del had been working for the Chases back then and with Ben Taylor being the way he was, Gracie had needed a place to stay until her grandmother was ready to leave for home. How Ruth had loved seeing Gracie bent over a coloring book at the kitchen table while Noah built a skyscraper at her feet. Sometimes Ruth pretended they were both her children and the feeling of joy in her heart was so intense that it stole her breath away.

  More and more, the young people were striking out from Idle Point to make their living in Boston or Hartford or maybe even New York. The Gazette was losing subscribers and Simon seemed distracted and worried which meant Ruth saw very little of her husband. When she wasn't volunteering at the hospital, she was often at the school, overseeing one of the Chase family's many bequests. She used to find Gracie curled in a wing chair near the window, engrossed in Dr. Seuss or one of the many Golden Books available. She had felt awkward around Gracie after that incident with the Christmas sweater, unsure just how much the little girl knew about the situation between Simon and Ben, so more often than not she disappeared back into the shadows without saying hello.

  But how Gracie's face lit up each time she saw Ruth. The poor little thing had been starving for a woman's touch. For a mother. Ben had gone off and gotten himself married again right after that terrible Christmas; he and Nora Fahey had moved up the coast to pursue a job possibility for Ben, leaving Gracie home with her Gramma Del. Ruth and Del had worked out a way to care for Gracie but still keep her presence in the Chase home a secret from Simon.