Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  That is what she would do, Jessica vowed, and silently thanked her sister for the reminder.

  “MOTHER, IT’S ME. . . .” EMILY’S VOICE ECHOED THROUGH THE EMPTY rooms. “Anybody home?”

  “In the kitchen,” Lillian called back.

  Emily followed the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she found Lillian sitting at the table and Rachel Anderson putting on her jacket.

  “Hello, Rachel. I didn’t know you had a session here today,” Emily said, smiling.

  “Tuesday isn’t our regular day,” Rachel acknowledged, “but I missed an appointment last week. We’re just catching up.”

  “Catching up? She worked me ragged,” Lillian complained.

  “You’ll get a good night’s sleep, then,” Emily replied.

  Rachel glanced at Lillian, and in her patient smile Emily saw the image of her father, Reverend Ben. With her rosy complexion and long brown hair pushed back from her face with two clips, Rachel seemed very young. Then she tugged her wool jacket over her rounded stomach, and Emily realized she was quite far along in her pregnancy.

  “How are you feeling?” Emily asked. “Everything going well with the baby?”

  “Just fine,” Rachel said cheerfully as she picked up her bag. “I feel tired sometimes, but that’s normal.”

  “When is the baby due?”

  “At the end of December. I’ll be taking a few months off,” she added, “but I’ve found another physical therapist to take over my patients. She’s going to call your mother and set up an appointment to meet.”

  Lillian’s expression became markedly sour at the mention of the other therapist. Her mother didn’t like change, no matter the reason, Emily knew. She probably felt deserted.

  “Maybe I should meet her, too,” Emily suggested.

  “Yes, if you like. I’ll call your office, Emily.” Rachel turned to Lillian. “I’ll see you Friday, Lillian. If your hip hurts later, a warm bath might help.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll try that,” Lillian said stiffly.

  “Thank you, Rachel. Good to see you,” Emily added as the young woman let herself out the back door.

  When the door closed, Lillian sighed. “Thank goodness. I thought she would never go. She absolutely exhausts me.”

  Of course, if Rachel didn’t show, her mother complained about that as well, so Emily didn’t bother addressing the comment. She put the bag of groceries she was holding on the counter.

  “I can’t stay long, Mother. I just dropped by to say hello.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you until this evening,” Lillian remarked. “Of course, since I’m an invalid, and rarely leave the house, people do feel free to drop in whenever it’s convenient for them.” Then she went to the stove and began stirring something in a pot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m heating up some soup. Occupational therapy, Rachel calls it.” Lillian peered into the pot. “It smells odd for Cream of Mushroom. I wish you would try another brand, Emily.”

  Emily glanced at the empty can on the counter. “That’s because it’s Clam Chowder.”

  “Chowder?” Lillian picked up the empty can and stared at it. “Well, they make the labels identical. How is a person supposed to tell one kind from another? It’s just ridiculous.”

  Emily sighed. She can’t even admit to opening the wrong can of soup. What chance do I have of persuading her to change her mind about Jessica’s wedding?

  “So, why are you here so early?” Lillian persisted.

  “I have to prepare for the debate tomorrow. It may go late.”

  “Oh, yes, the debate. That should be interesting. Ezra has offered to take me. You needn’t worry.”

  Emily had wondered how she would get her mother to the Village Hall and still do all she had to do tomorrow night, especially since Lillian was certain to refuse a ride from Jessica.

  It was nice of God to take care of these small niggling details for her when she had so much on her plate. She would have to thank Him, and Dr. Elliot as well.

  The soup was ready, and her mother poured some into a china bowl on the counter. “Would you like some?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. I’ve already had my lunch.”

  The table was neatly set for one with a bone china plate, a cloth napkin, and sterling flatware. Lillian maintained her standards, even when no one was watching, Emily thought with grudging admiration. Alone on a desert island, she would find a way to live like an aristocrat.

  “You can bring that soup to the table for me, if you please,” she told Emily as she took her seat.

  Emily carried the bowl to the table, glad her mother had not attempted the task one-handed with her walking cane.

  As her mother began to eat, Emily’s mind returned to the reason for her visit. She had to tell her mother the news about Jessica and Sam—and somehow not let Lillian interpret it as a moral victory. Was it possible to make her mother see the hurt she was causing?

  “You’re very quiet today, Emily. Worried about the debate?”

  “No, not at all. I’m prepared.” She picked up a cracker, put it down again, then got up and poured herself a glass of water.

  “What will you wear?” her mother asked with interest.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Don’t wear green or brown,” her mother advised. “They make you look sallow. Navy blue is a good color for you.”

  “Navy blue. All right, I’ll make a note of that,” Emily replied distractedly.

  “What about your sister? Is she coming? It doesn’t look right if the candidate’s own family is not out there, showing support.”

  “She’s coming.” So, here they were. No avoiding it now. “But something has happened with her and Sam.” She glanced at her mother. “They’ve decided to postpone their wedding.”

  Lillian’s head popped up, her eyes wide. “Postponed it? Is that a polite way of saying it’s off?”

  “No, it’s not off. It’s definitely still on,” Emily assured her. “They just need a little more time to prepare.”

  “Oh. Something with the caterer gone awry?” Lillian turned back to her soup, looking a bit disappointed, Emily thought.

  Emily was tempted not to give any further details. Her mother certainly didn’t deserve them. Then she felt a pang of conscience. She couldn’t be dishonest. It wasn’t right.

  “Jessica has been and is upset because you won’t come to the wedding,” Emily said. “Now Sam is concerned, too. It puts pressure on them as a couple, too much pressure.”

  Lillian dabbed her mouth with the edge of her napkin. “They’ve barely been engaged a month. I knew it wouldn’t last, but this is beyond even my fondest expectations.”

  “Mother, please!” Emily said sharply. “Don’t you have any sympathy for Jessica? She’s heartbroken over this. She’s miserable.”

  “Better for her to be miserable now than five, ten, or fifteen years from now. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I would not say. She loves Sam. They belong together. But you’re making it impossible for them to get a fair start.”

  “Me? Making it impossible?” Her mother’s expression of innocence was classic, Emily thought. And totally infuriating. “I don’t see that I have any part in this—change of heart. I haven’t spoken to Jessica in nearly two weeks.”

  “And why not, do you think?” Emily asked quietly. She sat down at the table again, her hands pressed together.

  “Because she doesn’t care to see me,” Lillian said, shrugging a thin shoulder.

  “She needs to see you, Mother. She needs your help and support. Can’t you put your own feelings aside and think about Jessica, about her future?” Emily implored.

  “I am thinking about her future,” Lillian countered. “As for putting my feelings aside for the sake of my children, that has been the story of my life,” she stated flatly. “The only words of support I might offer to Jessica now are my congratulations for fin
ally showing some common sense.”

  “There are more important things in life than common sense, Mother. Like following your heart, instead of your head. Doing something that doesn’t make sense to the outside world and yet you know deep inside it’s right—”

  “What in the world are you babbling about, Emily?” Lillian put her spoon down carefully. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”

  Emily looked at her mother but didn’t reply. She was remembering how Lillian praised her for agreeing to give up her child. For finally showing common sense in that matter. Now she was saying the same thing about Jessica. Only I was in a hospital bed, a captive audience to your guidance, Emily thought bitterly.

  Abruptly she stood up and walked to the sink, turning her back to the table.

  “Is something wrong? Do you feel ill?” Lillian’s sharp questions cut into her thoughts.

  Emily couldn’t answer for a long moment. She turned on the water again and let it run, feeling the cold against her fingertips.

  “No . . . I’m all right,” she said finally. “I just have a lot on my mind today.”

  Lillian didn’t reply and Emily sensed her mother watching her. “You are acting very oddly today, Emily.”

  I am about two seconds away from losing it, Emily realized. She willed herself to be calm, quickly sending up a prayer.

  Dear God, please help me have more patience with her. Reverend Ben said I must try to forgive her. Oh, God, I really try. I just can’t forget. Please help me to do better. . . .

  Finally she felt calmer. She let her glass fill with water again and shut the tap. Then she returned to the table and sat by her mother again. Lillian watched her curiously.

  “I need to get back to the office,” Emily said.

  “Yes, of course you do. I suppose I’ll vegetate in front of the television for a while.”

  “Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “No, thank you. I can take care of myself. I’m used to it by now.”

  She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek, but Lillian turned sharply aside, so that all she managed to kiss was the air next to her downy gray hair.

  “Good-bye, Mother,” Emily said as she left the room. She was not surprised when Lillian did not reply.

  EMILY USUALLY DIDN’T JOG LATE AT NIGHT, BUT SHE HAD MISSED HER USUAL workout routine for weeks and was determined to get back on track. Even if it meant going out for a run at nine o’clock.

  Besides, I need something to calm me down, she thought as her feet pounded the pavement. She breathed deeply, focusing on the rhythm of her breath.

  The night sky was clear, a deep, blue-black with pinpoints of white starlight and a silver slice of moon floating behind the treetops.

  The meeting tonight with her campaign committee had been grueling, dragging on much later than she wanted. They had cornered her into a rehearsal of the debate, with Warren Oakes playing Charlie Bates, and Betty Bowman firing the questions. Emily tried to get into it, but she was tired and edgy, still upset from visiting her mother.

  She was tired of feeling upset about her mother, she realized. She was forty-two years old, for pity’s sake. Wasn’t there some sort of statute of limitations on this?

  She rounded the corner on Main Street that led back to her neighborhood, feeling winded but energized. Emerson Street was the next right, but first there was a long hill on Beacon Road, and Emily pushed herself to keep a steady pace on the incline. She suddenly heard footsteps behind her—another jogger. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dan Forbes coming up behind her.

  He smiled and fell into step beside her. “Taking your run late tonight?”

  “Better late than never. . . . This last stretch is a killer,” she confessed through short breaths. The muscles in her legs burned, but she pushed herself to keep pace with Dan’s long strides.

  Dan didn’t say anything until they reached the top of the hill. “Yeah, that was bad,” he agreed as they turned on to Emerson. “But I’d better get used to it.”

  She glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I just bought that ugly little house up on the left.” He pointed up ahead to the yellow cottage a few doors down from her own house. The Bowman Real Estate sign stuck in the lawn now had a “Sold” sticker slashed across the middle.

  “Oh . . .” was all Emily managed. She didn’t bother to deny that it was ugly.

  He slowed his pace to stop in his new driveway, and she did the same.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood.” She smiled at him breathlessly and wiped her sleeve across her forehead.

  “Thanks. It’s not exactly my dream house, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t plan on spending much time here.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “My son, Wyatt, is finally coming back to take over the paper. With any luck, I’ll be cruising through the Caribbean by Christmas.”

  “Oh, right . . . you told me at the party,” she said, forcing a brightness in her voice she didn’t really feel. “That’s great. I bet you’re excited.”

  “I love the paper, but I’ve put my time in. Besides, I’ve always wanted to take a small boat out and wander without any real plan or timetable.”

  “Sounds like you’re planning a real adventure,” she said.

  “Exactly.” His eyes were bright, his smile flashing white against his tan complexion.

  She felt that puzzling twinge. A sense of losing out on something that could happen with him—but never would.

  “Ready for the debate tomorrow?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. We rehearsed so long tonight, I feel as if I’ve already done it.”

  “I still can’t imagine what you two are going to argue about,” he admitted. “There just aren’t any big issues. Pretty boring from a reporter’s point of view.”

  “But pretty good from mine. Boring race favors the incumbent. Dare to be dull. That’s my new campaign slogan,” Emily joked.

  “Come on, you know what I mean. Besides, you’re the last woman I’d ever call dull.”

  He was laughing, but the flash in his gaze was more than friendly. She knew he was attracted to her. But he was taking off for some Caribbean island adventure, and she was signing up for another tour of duty as mayor, so what was the point in even thinking about it?

  “Want to see my house? It’s not officially mine until the closing. But I know where the key is hidden, and I know no one will mind.”

  She was tempted. But it was late and she had a big day tomorrow. And on top of that, she didn’t know that it would make her feel any better to spend more time with him.

  “I’d like to, but I really ought to get home.”

  “Sure, you need to rest up for the debate. You never know about Charlie. He might surprise you.”

  “If Charlie surprised me . . . it would be a surprise.” Emily knew she wasn’t exactly making sense, but when she met Dan’s gaze he seemed to get it perfectly.

  “Yeah . . . me, too,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “See you tomorrow,” he said with a wave.

  “So long, Dan. Welcome again to the neighborhood.” She waved back and turned to walk up the street to her house.

  Dan Forbes, her new neighbor? Now, that was a surprise. . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  M Y QUESTION IS FOR MR. BATES.” PHYLLIS WAGNER, a member of the board of education, leaned toward the microphone. “There’s been some talk about passing a law to keep skateboards and these awful scooters off Main Street. Would you be in favor of that ordinance?”

  Charlie cleared his throat, and took a sip of water. “I believe all the children in this town should have clean, safe facilities for recreation. And those facilities should be properly maintained. I think that goes without saying. . . .”

  If it goes without saying, then why say it? Emily countered silently as her opponent nattered on.

  The audience shifted restlessly, looking as wearied by the proceedings as she felt. Only
her mother, who sat beside Dr. Elliot in the first row, leaned forward eagerly, following every word. She carefully avoided meeting Emily’s eye, however. Emily knew that no matter how angry her mother was, she had come both because she felt it was her duty and because she wanted to see Emily reelected. Lillian Warwick liked having a daughter who was mayor.

  “. . . but we cannot stand by while innocent pedestrians, going about their business, shopping in our stores . . .”

  Eating at my diner, Emily filled in.

  Her thoughts drifted. Scanning the audience, she spotted Digger and Grace Hegman sitting alongside Harry Reilly. Sam was not with them, she noticed, nor was he sitting with Jessica, who was a few rows back with her friend from work, Suzanne Foster. Not a good sign.

  Dan Forbes sat in the last row, jotting furiously in his notebook, though Emily couldn’t imagine why. “Candidates Bore Voters into a Stupor” could be tomorrow’s headline. The hall had been filled at the start, but now she saw members of the audience discreetly drifting to the exits.

  “You have thirty seconds to conclude, Mr. Bates,” the moderator warned.

  “What? Oh, right.” Charlie looked annoyed at being interrupted, and seemed to lose his train of thought. “Well, we can’t let these wild kids on scooters ruin our fair streets and create a safety hazard!” he nearly shouted, rushing to get it all out. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been a serious accident, and—”

  “That’s time, Mr. Bates,” the moderator cut in.

  “—and some big lawsuit leveled against the town on account of it. Something ought to be done,” he concluded, turning and glaring at Emily.

  As if I’ve been out on my scooter, leading the pack, she thought, struggling to keep a controlled expression.

  “Mayor Warwick, your turn to address the question.”

  Emily stood up very straight and looked out at the audience.

  “The problem is annoying and perhaps, potentially dangerous,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t believe every bothersome situation should be addressed by writing a new law. Time and resources here in Village Hall are limited and must be used efficiently. I have confidence that the citizens can address and correct such issues on their own, with a minimum of bureaucratic intervention.”