Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I am trying.” He was gripping the edge of the table, and she could see he was trying hard to hold on to his temper. “Maybe we don’t need a wedding date, we need a deadline.”

  “A deadline?” She let her hand drop off his arm.

  “For you to decide if you’re going to marry me or not,” he said simply.

  His pride was hurt. She could see it in his eyes and feel it in the tone of his voice. Still, she didn’t like the sound of this at all. He was pressuring her, with no compassion and no understanding. Is this what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life? Why was she so eager to marry someone so completely—pigheaded?

  “Well, that’s so understanding of you.” She could hear the acid in her voice—sounding uncannily like Lillian—and yet she couldn’t stop herself. “It’s not enough that I’m getting pressured by my mother. Now you’re giving me ultimatums.”

  Sam stared at her, his expression tense. “All I’m saying is, it seems to me that sooner or later you’re going to have to choose, me or your mother. She didn’t just suddenly decide she disliked me. She never liked me. But you said you didn’t care. You said you wanted to marry me, no matter what.” He turned his back toward her and started working again. “Now it sounds like you do care, more than you want to admit.”

  Jessica summoned a last reserve of patience. How could she make him see that this was an impossible choice? “You know I love you, Sam. . . . I just need more time to talk to her.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “You keep saying that, Jessica, and I know you really mean it. You think this is all about changing your mother’s feelings. But it’s not. It’s about knowing what you feel,” he said forcefully.

  Jessica didn’t know how to answer. Was that true? She did know how she felt. She wanted to marry Sam and have her mother at her wedding. Was that so much to ask?

  She suddenly felt so frustrated with him and the entire situation, she wanted to scream. But she forced herself not to. She glanced at her watch and swallowed hard.

  “I have to get back to the office.”

  She turned to go but he reached out and touched her shoulder, stilling her.

  “Wait, Jess.” He looked suddenly regretful, his soft expression more like the Sam she knew. “Don’t go like this. Don’t go so upset—”

  “How do you expect me to feel? You say you understand, but then you ask me to make a choice that will tear me in half.” She pulled away, instantly missing the warmth of his touch.

  Without looking back, she walked out of the shop and into the harsh sunlight.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON LUKE FINISHED GIVING SAM A TOUR OF HIS PROPERTY and a rough idea of the kind of construction he had in mind. Sam had taken it all in, asking the occasional question.

  “So when can you start?” Luke tried, but couldn’t hold down the note of eagerness in his voice.

  Sam didn’t seem to notice. He was still making notes on the clipboard he carried. He was a serious guy, Luke thought, and seemed somehow distracted as they talked about Luke’s ideas for renovating the cottages. But Luke had heard Sam was getting married soon. Must have a lot on his mind, he thought.

  “I can start next week.” Sam stuck the clipboard under his arm. “If you’re going to help, too, I’ll just need to hire Digger to help me with some of the carpentry.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Luke told him. “The program director said he wanted to send up some kids to work here with us. Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure, no problem.” Sam shrugged. “The more, the merrier.”

  Digger Hegman, who had wandered off somewhere while Sam and Luke were talking, now returned, puffing on his pipe.

  “Everyone in town is talking about this project of yours, Luke. That’s all you hear about. Charlie Bates will stop you if he’s able,” Digger warned.

  “I think he’s trying to drum up some votes,” Luke said. “It’s just like anything else. People will talk about it for a while, until something else catches their attention. I figure, if we just start the work and they see I’m serious, sooner or later, they’ll get used to the idea and give up.”

  Sam glanced at Digger, and Luke could see the two men were trying not to smile. “Maybe where you come from they do,” Sam said. “But not around here. I’m not sure you realize what you’re getting into.”

  “Then you’re getting into it, too,” Luke countered. “Are you having second thoughts about working for me?”

  Sam shook his head. “Not at all. I respect what you’re trying to do out here. A lot of people agree with me . . . but a lot don’t. I’m just warning you that the ones that don’t won’t give up so easily.”

  “People around here take things to heart, which is a good thing usually. But not in this type of situation,” Digger added thoughtfully. “When I told my daughter I was coming out here, you should have seen her face. She was fit to be tied. But I agree with Sam,” he assured Luke. “And I’ll do as I please without apologizing to anyone.”

  Luke had never really spoken with the old fisherman and was surprised at his spunk.

  “Grace never liked change much,” Digger added as he relit his pipe.

  “Seems to me a lot of people around here feel the same as your daughter. But we start on Monday, right?” Luke said.

  “We’ll be here,” Sam promised.

  Five minutes later Luke stood watching Sam’s truck disappear up the gravel drive, a puff of dust flying out from under the rear wheels as they headed for the Beach Road. He sat down on the front steps of his cottage, feeling undaunted by Sam’s warnings and ready for this next phase of his life to begin.

  The bright September day had darkened into a steely gray afternoon. A pale orange sun began to sink behind the pines, lighting up the bank of clouds that clung to the horizon. He thought about Sara, imagined her sitting beside him, watching the sky.

  But it was too early for Sara to be back from work. At least she would be coming back, he reminded himself. She had postponed her plan to go back to Maryland. He hoped so, anyhow.

  He had heard her leaving her cottage early that morning and had rushed to his window, checking to see if she was loading any suitcases or cartons into her trunk, making a secret getaway. He was relieved to see her dressed in her waitress uniform and jean jacket, looking as if she were about to start an ordinary day.

  He noticed it was dark now, as if some invisible hand had reached into the woods and clicked off the light. He got to his feet. His bad leg felt stiff and sore, but he ignored it. Once he started working with Sam Morgan, it was going to feel a lot worse.

  A few hours later Luke heard the sound of Sara’s car pulling up to the cottages. She needs that muffler checked, he thought, turning down the sound on the TV. He saw her go inside, then wondered if he should go over and talk to her.

  No, a bad idea. Not after last night when you snooped on her phone conversation. She’s going to feel like you’re crowding her, then she’ll really have a reason to take off.

  He sighed and stretched out again on his couch, flipping through the channels. One hundred and three, and there was nothing on. It seemed impossible and against all mathematical odds, but it happened too many nights for him to really be surprised.

  A sharp knock on the door surprised him. He shut off the television and went to answer it, recognizing Sara’s silhouette through the glass window. He ran his hand over his bristly short hair and tried to straighten out his shirt. As if that will help, he thought wryly, pulling open the door.

  “Hi.” Sara looked nervous, her hands in her jacket pockets. “I just came by to tell you what’s happening with me. I’m going to stay.”

  She had changed out of her uniform and now wore jeans and a cream-colored turtleneck sweater. She looked very pretty, he thought.

  “Good. That’s good,” he said sincerely. “Hey, you want to come in?” Before she could refuse, he opened the door and stepped aside.

  She hesitated a moment, then walked in and gazed around
. “Nice place . . . looks just like mine.”

  “It’s eerie that way, isn’t it?” he agreed, glancing around the large room that did, in fact, look exactly like Sara’s except for a few homey touches she had added over the months. “Even the same dishes,” he pointed out, picking up an empty coffee cup. “I was thinking of renaming this place the Cranberry Twilight Zone.”

  “I don’t think that would attract the right kind of clientele,” she said with a laugh. She sat down on one of the armchairs in the living room area but didn’t take off her jacket. “Besides, you have your new plan now. No more tourists.”

  “Absolutely. Renovations start Monday morning, bright and early. Sam Morgan is going to do the work.”

  “I didn’t hear that.” Sara shifted in her seat and crossed one long leg over the other.

  “What did you hear? Plenty, I bet, in the diner.”

  “I heard you applied for the building permits. Charlie Bates told the mayor she should try to hold you up. But Emily said she wasn’t going to,” she reported.

  Sara had felt a little better about Emily when she heard her standing up to Charlie—but not enough to come out from the kitchen and speak to her.

  “Good work,” Luke said, sounding impressed. “You really are a champion eavesdropper.”

  He saw two spots of color appear on her cheeks.

  “I was right there. I couldn’t help it,” she protested. Then her tone became more serious. “Dr. Elliot is taking some heat, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s too bad. He’s a nice guy,” Luke said with concern. “Maybe I’ll try to go see him.”

  He pulled open a cupboard. “I have nothing to feed you but microwave popcorn and diet soda.”

  “As long as it’s not a clam roll, or in any way resembles a clam roll, I’ll take it,” Sara said.

  Luke tossed the popcorn package into the microwave and pulled out a bowl. “Sounds like I was smart to stay out of town today.”

  “If I were you, I’d stay out of the Clam Box indefinitely. Charlie is practically frothing at the mouth.”

  “I’m sure it’s hard to listen to, but so far it’s just talk,” Luke assured her. “The work is going to start Monday, and next week, I meet with the attorneys to wrap up the details.”

  The sound of breaking glass shattered the deep silence of the night. Sara got up from her chair as Luke walked quickly into the living room and pulled open the door to look outside. “Stay back, Sara,” he said curtly.

  Sara stayed where she was, noticing how he stood with his body behind the doorframe, like the detectives she had seen on TV shows. His tense, alert attitude alarmed her. Just as quickly, he shut the door and stepped inside again.

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like somebody threw a rock through my windshield.” He sat on the couch and pulled on his hiking boots.

  “What are you going to do?” She followed him to the door.

  “Wait here,” he told her as he headed outside with a flashlight. “I’m pretty sure they took off, but I want to make sure.”

  Sara watched through the window as the beam of Luke’s flashlight darted around the property, illuminating the deserted cottages and the thick fringe of trees.

  At last Luke circled back to his truck. The windshield was completely smashed. He opened the driver’s door, looked inside, and took something from the front seat.

  A few minutes later Luke returned to the cottage. He set the flashlight on the kitchen table, along with a big gray rock. The rock had a note tied to it with string. As Sara watched he pulled it out and unfolded it.

  “ ‘Quit while you’re ahead. Before somebody gets hurt,’ ” he read aloud. He nodded. “Very original.” He turned to Sara. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “You’re not?” She heard a thin note of fear in her voice and felt embarrassed.

  “Sara? Hey, it’s okay.” He rested his hand on her back, under her hair, and rubbed in a small, soothing circle. “Whoever did this is just—an idiot. I’m not going to be scared off by a broken windshield.”

  Luke picked up the rock, testing the weight in his hand. “The cops in town will like this. It’s a nice hefty piece of evidence, though it may not do them much good.”

  “I guess it would be impossible to trace,” Sara agreed.

  He still stood with his hand on her back, and when she turned toward him she felt his arm curl around her shoulder. She found she didn’t mind at all. She felt calmer, though still a little nervous.

  “You will call the police, right?”

  “Right away,” he promised. He gazed down at her. “But what about you? I don’t like the idea of you sticking around here with some jerk tossing rocks through the windows. Maybe you should move off the property, find a place in town.”

  His concern touched her. She was shaken but had never thought of leaving. “I don’t need to go. Why give the guy the satisfaction? I don’t want to leave you here alone,” she told him. “Looks to me like you’ll need all the friends you’ve got in this town.”

  “I could count them on one hand, too.” Luke smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. “There’s you and Reverend Ben. And maybe Sam Morgan and Digger Hegman.”

  “It would help if you had Emily Warwick in your corner,” Sara said. “She could dispel a lot of the negative opinion in town.”

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But she seems to be sitting on the fence.”

  Sara didn’t reply. She still felt angry and disillusioned with Emily for staying neutral about the issue, but she was afraid that if she said more, she’d give her secret away.

  “Well, maybe she’ll get off the fence,” she said.

  “Yeah, maybe Charlie will push her off, but I’m not counting on it.”

  “No, you’d better not,” she agreed with a sigh.

  “But you’re sticking with me, huh?” he asked.

  She nodded, not quite able to speak. His eyes looked bright and full of emotion. She thought he was going to kiss her again, but he only pressed his lips to her hair for an instant, then leaned back again.

  “All right. We’ll see what happens.”

  His tone was light, but she could see he was touched by her loyalty. She felt their uncanny connection, even stronger than she had the night before. Her doubts didn’t seem to matter. She was getting more involved with Luke day by day. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop it, and she didn’t really want to.

  He put his other arm around her, and this time he did kiss her. Different from the last time, the pressure of his mouth was soft and lingering. When he lifted his head, he kept his arms around her, and she pressed her head against his shoulder.

  Luke held Sara close, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair. He didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of their crisis. He just didn’t feel like letting her go just yet. He was worried about her, more than he’d let on. But her willingness to stay had touched him, overriding his fears. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret that.

  I’ll just have to keep an even closer eye on her from now on, Luke thought with a smile. That shouldn’t be too tough. . . .

  “HERE’S THE ROCK—AND THE NOTE.” CHIEF SANBORN PLACED TWO PLASTIC bags on Emily’s desk. “No prints on either.”

  Emily picked them up and examined them. “When did it happen?”

  “McAllister says he heard it crashing through his windshield a little after nine. He was in his cottage, with Sara Franklin.”

  Hearing that Sara was there worried Emily. She had never felt totally at ease with Sara staying on at the cottages after the summer season. Now this had happened. She wished Sara would move into town.

  “. . . He says he went out with a flashlight and looked around, but didn’t see anything,” Chief Sanborn continued. “Dixon took the call and went out there. He searched the grounds again, but he didn’t find anything, either.”

  “What was Luke’s reaction?” Emily asked.

  Chief Sanborn shrugged. “Dixon says he was c
ool as a cucumber. Didn’t seem fazed at all. But I guess he’s seen worse. He was a Boston cop, you know, a detective.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Emily picked up the rock again. It was gray with wide white stripes and some dark streaks of dried seaweed staining one side—the kind of rock anyone could pick up on the beach or might have in their garden, bordering a flower bed.

  “This disturbs me,” she said. “I know no one was hurt, but I don’t like people in this town being threatened.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” the police chief replied. “But I have to tell you right here and now, Mayor, we have about as much hope of figuring out who did this as finding a needle in a haystack. Unless of course, somebody starts bragging about it and we hear.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Emily nodded and sat back in her chair. “What can we do to make sure nothing else like this happens?”

  “I’ve already assigned extra patrols to the area. Maybe McAllister needs to hire a night watchman or some private security.”

  “A security guard at Cranberry Cottages?” Emily mused. “A week ago that idea would have been laughable.” She pushed the rock and note back toward the police chief. “I guess we just have to wait and see what happens.”

  Sanborn collected the evidence and came to his feet. “Did the building permit go through?”

  “Yes, I signed off on it myself.”

  After the confrontation at the diner, Emily had returned to Village Hall, tracked down the paperwork, then guided it through the process personally. She knew Charlie had friends in the building and zoning departments, and Luke’s application might somehow get “lost” moving from one desk to another.

  Sanborn didn’t look exactly cheered by the news. He nodded and tucked the folder under his arm. “I’ll let you know if we come up with anything more. But like I said, don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I understand,” Emily said, watching him go.

  She knew it was not totally reasonable, but she felt responsible for what had happened last night. Partly responsible, at least. If she had voiced support of Luke’s plans when she had the chance, maybe Charlie’s hysteria wouldn’t have taken hold.