“I haven’t seen him. Maybe he crawled under the table again.” Jessica leaned over, trying to see under the table through the kitchen doorway. She didn’t see Darrell there.
She tried to ignore a rising sense of alarm. After all, Darrell wasn’t going to get lost inside the house. But she didn’t like the idea of him roaming around alone, able to get into all kinds of mischief—able to break any number of her mother’s fragile, irreplaceable treasures.
“I don’t see him.” She glanced at Sam, trying to hold on to her temper.
“I guess I’ll go back upstairs and take another look around.” He looked a bit unnerved, too, she noticed. Not a good sign.
“What’s going on in there? What’s all that whispering about?” Her mother’s shrill voice caught Jessica off guard.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Then why are you whispering?” Lillian demanded. “Did something break? Some of my stemware?”
Not yet, Jessica nearly answered aloud. She glanced at Sam and could tell they were both thinking the same thing.
Suddenly, a strange cry broke through the silence, a mixture of both terror and delight that reminded Jessica of the way people yell on a roller coaster. And in the background, there was an odd bumping noise, like a suitcase tossed down the steps. Everyone stood stone still for an instant then ran toward the noise, which seemed to be coming from the foyer. Lillian, moving as quickly as her bad hip would allow, brought up the rear.
Before they reached the foyer, Jessica heard the sounds again: the muffled, bumping noise and the roller-coaster scream.
Then came a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and a different kind of crying. Real crying, with tears.
CHAPTER FOUR
“DARRELL, ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT HAPPENED IN HERE?” SAM reached the boy first, with Jessica close behind him. Darrell was sprawled facedown on the floor of the foyer. He lifted his head and Jessica saw blood stream out of his nose.
Sam quickly pulled a hankie from his pocket and covered Darrell’s nose and mouth. “Just sit up slowly and lean your head back.” Sam turned quickly to the rest of them. “Can somebody bring some ice, please?”
Jessica suddenly realized that she, Emily, and Dan were all just standing there, frozen in place.
“I’ll get it.” Dan ran back to the kitchen while Darrell tilted his head back, as Sam had instructed. The wadded-up hankie covered most of his face and all Jessica could see were his dark eyes, wide with fear and glossy with tears.
One of her mother’s Persian wool area rugs, which usually covered a stretch of the second-floor hallway, was crumpled up beneath him. Jessica wondered how it had ended up downstairs.
“Is he hurt—other than his nose, I mean?” Jessica asked Sam.
Darrell shook his head as best he could. “I’m okay,” he mumbled from under the hankie. Sam checked him anyway for broken bones, but there didn’t seem to be any serious damage.
Except for one small item, Jessica realized. An antique Oriental bean jar, prized for its unusual ceramic finish, now lay in shards, scattered like pieces of jigsaw puzzle across the foyer floor.
Dan returned with a plastic bag of ice and handed it down. Sam pulled the hankie away and replaced it with the ice bag. Darrell winced but didn’t say anything.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Jessica turned to see her mother standing in the doorway, her face ashen white.
Lillian looked down at Sam and Darrell. Then Jessica saw her gaze shift to the blue shards of pottery.
“My bean jar! It’s demolished! That piece has been in our family for over a hundred years!”
She tottered precariously on her cane, her hand pressed to her throat as if she couldn’t breathe. Jessica was afraid she was about to faint—or maybe even have another stroke—and started toward her. But Emily and Dan reached her first, each grabbing an arm to hold her upright.
“Come back into the living room, Mother.” Emily’s tone was quiet but persuasive. “You need to sit down.”
Lillian let herself be led away from the demolition site, her voice carrying clearly. “I loved that jar. It’s positively irreplaceable. It was a wedding gift to my great-grandmother.”
“Yes, it was a lovely piece,” Emily agreed. “But you have so many lovely things, you can find something else to put there. You probably won’t even miss it.”
“Don’t tell me I won’t miss it! I most certainly will. They showed a jar just like that last week on that rambling antiques show. It was worth a bloody fortune. That awful little boy! I knew he’d do something like this. I knew it from the moment I set eyes on him. A little rabble rouser. Like the rest of those . . . those delinquents at that rehabilitation farm—”
“Mother, please. Control yourself. He’s right outside—”
“Don’t tell me to control myself! What do I care if he hears me? Who invited him here today anyway? I certainly did not!”
“Lillian, please calm down. Do you want your pills?” Dan asked.
Her mother’s voice finally grew softer but Jessica didn’t need to hear more. She walked over to Sam, still crouched near Darrell and holding the ice pack to the boy’s nose. “Is he okay?”
“I think so. Just shook up.” Sam looked at Darrell again. “What happened? What were you doing in here?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t break stuff and give you a bloody nose,” Sam pointed out.
Darrell stared at Sam, his eyes wide with fear. Jessica could see he was struggling, wanting to confide in Sam, but afraid.
“Don’t worry. Just tell me the truth and it will be okay. No one is going to hurt you.” Sam touched the boy’s shoulder. “I promise.”
Darrell took the ice pack off his face. His nose was red and his upper lip a little swollen. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to break anything. I was just playing, fooling around.”
Sam nodded at him. “Playing with the rug?”
“Yeah, with the rug. I was sliding on it in the hallway. Then I tried it on the stairs. Like a snowboard.”
Jessica blinked in astonishment, picturing Darrell’s inventive game. “You rode down the stairs on the Persian rug?”
Darrell finally looked at her and shrugged. “It was really fun . . . until I came down too fast and wiped out.”
“Until you slid into the wall and knocked the jar over, you mean?” Sam’s voice was firm but quiet.
Darrell nodded, looking scared again. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even see it. I’m really sorry. Will you tell that lady Lillian I’m sorry?”
Sam sighed and stood up. “I think you should tell her yourself.”
“Do I have to?” Darrell look terrified and Jessica sympathized.
“Yes, Darrell, you do. But first I want you to go upstairs, wash your face, and tuck your shirt in. Then come back downstairs and we’ll go talk to her.”
“Okay.” Darrell slowly stood up, his head hanging.
“And take the rug with you and put it back where you found it.”
“Sure, Sam.” Darrell gathered the rug in his arms and headed for the staircase.
Jessica felt what she recognized as an uncharitable surge of righteousness. She had known from the start that bringing Darrell to Lillian’s was a terrible idea. But she also couldn’t help marveling at the way Sam handled the boy’s misbehavior. He’d been calm but firm, making his point without flying off the handle. He’ll be a great father someday, she thought. Someday soon, I hope. Maybe then he’ll no longer need a surrogate kid.
Sam watched Darrell climb the long stairway then turned to her. “I guess I’ll clean up this mess. Should I save the pieces?”
“Probably . . . though there’s really no point to it.”
He gathered up more of the jagged pieces, his expression grim. “I’m sorry. I should have kept a better eye on him.”
“Obviously.”
“It could have been worse. I mean, he could have broken his neck pull
ing a stunt like that.”
“Yes, it’s lucky he wasn’t really hurt.” Jessica knew her tone sounded curt but she couldn’t help it. “Honestly, Sam. I knew something like this was going to happen. You never should have brought him here.”
Sam looked up at her, his eyes narrowed. “I was trying to give him a nice day, an afternoon away from the center when he could have some companionship and attention. Was that so wrong?”
“Of course not. But clearly he has some behavior problems. He doesn’t know how to act appropriately in any place other than a playground or a gymnasium.”
“Jessica, come one. You’re not being fair. You sound just like your mother,” he muttered.
Jessica felt her face redden. It was true. She did sound like her mother, and the realization made her even more annoyed at Sam and Darrell and the entire unnecessary situation.
“Maybe for once in her life my mother is right,” she said. “Let Darrell apologize and we’ll go. We can drop him at the center on the way home. Luke will understand.”
Sam stared at her a moment. “Okay. I’ll go upstairs and get him.”
Jessica knelt down to see if there were any shards they had missed. She heard a sound at the top of the staircase and realized Darrell was on his way down again. She looked up at him, wondering if he’d heard her. She couldn’t tell. He just looked terribly unhappy. Which was not the point of the day at all.
She suddenly felt embarrassed by her outburst, then angry that she should be embarrassed at all. She wasn’t the one who went snowboarding down the staircase.
She got to her feet as Sam joined the boy at the bottom of the staircase. Sam glanced at her then back at Darrell. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. Jessica honestly wanted to but couldn’t think of what to say. Should she be apologizing when Darrell was the one who had behaved so badly? That didn’t feel right, though neither did berating him. She didn’t want Darrell to feel worse; she just wanted this whole uncomfortable situation to go away.
Finally, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything, Sam took Darrell’s hand and led him toward the living room. “Let’s go tell Lillian you’re sorry and say good-bye.”
Darrell nodded, looking contrite. “Okay, I will.”
Left alone in the foyer, Jessica saw another piece of the bean jar near her foot and picked it up. She didn’t want to be mad at Sam. It wasn’t entirely his fault. But she had tried to tell him that bringing Darrell here was a recipe for disaster. Why hadn’t he just listened to her? Sometimes Sam’s good intentions were such a blind spot.
Now she had Sam and Darrell and Lillian mad at her. It just didn’t seem fair.
LEIGH SAT WITH VERA IN THE SMALL FRONT PARLOR, THE SUNDAY paper spread out on her lap. She scanned the headlines, unable to focus on a single article. She hadn’t slept well the night before, disturbed by her conversation with Alice. Now she felt too drowsy to concentrate on anything other than the clicking rhythm of Vera’s knitting needles. Vera was working at an impressive pace, she noticed. It was one of the few times Leigh had ever seen the older woman refrain from conversation.
Leigh put down her paper and watched. “What are you making?”
“A cardigan, for my granddaughter, cable-knit. I have to keep careful count of the stitches.” Vera glanced up and smiled. “Do you knit, Leigh?”
“I never learned how. I sew a little,” she added, hesitant to reveal even the most minor detail about herself.
“I could teach you if you like. It passes the time in the winter around here. Of course, you’ll have your hands full once the baby comes.”
“I’m sure I will.” Leigh glanced at the paper, wanting to change the subject. “Do your grandchildren live nearby?”
“Not far. Down in Hamilton. There’s my latest picture, up on the mantel.”
Leigh rose and picked up the framed photograph. The children were adorable, a girl with long wavy blond hair, missing her front teeth, and a boy, who looked a bit older. They were playing in a pile of leaves with a big yellow dog, their two parents in the background.
“They’re beautiful,” Leigh murmured. A perfect, happy family. Hardly the picture of my future, she realized sadly.
“They look cute, but don’t get fooled. Those two can be a handful.” Vera shook her head and turned her work over.
Leigh smiled at that frank comment, though the thought that her own child would be growing up without grandparents made her spirits sink again. She sat down and picked up another section of the Boston Globe, the business news. She turned to the second page and her gaze fastened on a headline and the familiar names in the article beneath. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She glanced at Vera, who was counting stitches again, her lips moving soundlessly while she scanned her handiwork.
Leigh quietly tore off the article and slipped it in her pocket. Then she sat back and took a deep breath, trying to collect herself.
Vera glanced at her. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You look a little . . . peaked.”
“I’m okay. I think I ate too much lunch. Everything was very good.”
Vera looked back at her knitting. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
Leigh stared down at the newspaper, pretending to read while her thoughts scattered in a thousand directions. She didn’t even realize that James had come into the room until he stood right next to her chair.
He had changed from the suit and tie he wore for church that morning into jeans and a heavy gray turtleneck, with a dark green parka over it. He was also toting a strange object over his shoulder that she couldn’t make out at first. She smiled as she realized it could only be a set of bagpipes.
“You’re going down to the beach with those pipes again?” Vera shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Leigh noticed James flush a bit, as if Vera’s comment had embarrassed him, though she didn’t understand exactly why.
“Vera, please . . . you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I don’t?” She made a hurrumphing sound as she pulled more yarn from the ball in her lap. “Excuse me, then. But I think somebody ought to.”
“I feel great,” James said. “Besides, I can use the fresh air.”
Leigh put the paper aside and looked up at him. “Would you mind if I came with you? I’d love to see the beach. Isn’t there a famous lighthouse there?”
“I don’t know if it’s famous, but it’s very pretty.” James smiled at her. “Get your things. I’m in no rush.”
“You’re both crazy, if you ask me. The beach, at this time of year? I bet there’s no one out there but Digger Hegman.”
Leigh didn’t understand the reference but it made James laugh. “Yes, he probably will be.” He turned to Leigh. “Digger is an old fisherman, a former clammer and lobster man. He’s failing now, but no one can seem to keep him away from the shore when it’s low tide.”
“Digger’s half daft. A person ought to have better sense is my point.” The older woman cast Leigh a disapproving look, thinking about her pregnancy, Leigh guessed. But she really did need to get out. If she sat here much longer, she’d go crazy, too.
Leigh rose abruptly. “If I get too cold, I’ll wait in the car.”
“Suit yourself.” Vera shrugged. “There are some extra gloves and scarves in the mudroom.”
Leigh dressed quickly in all her heaviest clothes and two pairs of gloves. She laughed as James helped her into his car. “I hope I don’t fall on my back in this outfit. I’ll get stuck, like a turtle.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll roll you over. Just give me a signal or something.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes flashing with good humor as he started up the car. “You should have brought some earmuffs. Or at least some cotton for your ears.”
“Because of the wind?”
“I meant my playing. Most people don’t like the sound of bagpipes.”
“I like the bagpipes.” He glanced at her doubtfully. “Honestly, I really do.”
It was a nice compliment but she didn’t know what to say. He smiled again, his eyes fixed on the road. He had a strong profile, she thought, a long straight nose and even features. Tiny lines crinkled attractively at the corners of his eyes. She hadn’t noticed that before.
Leigh realized she was staring at him and deliberately turned her attention to the scenery. They were driving on the same winding road that led to town—the Beach Road, she thought it was called. But she noticed that James turned in the opposite direction this time.
“What made you take up the bagpipes?”
“It was more like who. A music teacher at school. He was a piper and insisted I learn to carry on ‘our proud heritage, laddie.’ ” James spoke the last few words in a perfect Scottish brogue. “He gave me lessons every Friday afternoon, free of charge—while I was itching to get out and play baseball with the other kids.” James laughed to himself, remembering. “He was an excellent piper. I’d love to watch him in parades in our town. I think he must have marched until he was over eighty.”
Leigh smiled at him. “Did you grow up in New England?”
He nodded. “In Essex, not far from here.”
They reached the beach and James pulled into the big, nearly empty parking lot. It took Leigh a bit of effort to lever herself out of the car, but once she stood up and looked out at the water, she was transfixed. The day was surprisingly mild, the bright sun melting away most of the snow.
The sun was still bright and the sky was clear, turning the ocean a deep shade of blue. The waves were high, laced with frothy caps, curling to great heights and crashing with a booming sound against the long, flat shoreline.
Down on the beach, Leigh saw the distant figure of an old man digging in the sand. A big yellow dog ran around in circles, racing between the man and a woman, who sat some distance away on a driftwood log.
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