A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Have you lived around here long?”

  “All my life. That sounds horribly boring, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I grew up in Worcester—which isn’t nearly as scenic, I must say—and only left for medical school.”

  “But now you’ve come here.”

  “I have a sister in Newburyport, and I’ve always liked the area. Then word came through Ezra that he’d retired and the village needed a general practitioner, so here we are. It was time for a change, I guess.” Matthew smiled but didn’t say anything more.

  Molly sensed that the decision to move had been hard for him, and he’d come with mixed emotions. She didn’t know what to say. Then her phone emitted a long, shrill beep, saving her from having to make a reply.

  “Excuse me. I think that’s mine.” She found her big black tote bag at the bottom of the staircase and dug out her cell phone.

  Matthew turned his attention to the boxes on the other side of the room, sorting them into two piles.

  “Molly! Thank heavens I caught you! I’m in a total panic. I had a closing today that was absolutely endless and now everyone will be here in two hours and I haven’t even set the table or taken a shower and the mousse is a disaster—”

  “Calm down, Betty. It’s going to be all right,” Molly said, soothing her.

  It was her friend Betty Bowman, the town’s leading real-estate broker and foremost female entrepreneur. Molly admired her tremendously, but Betty was easily the most domestically challenged person Molly had ever met. Their friendship had grown primarily from their common ground as single mothers and from episodes of Betty begging Molly to rescue her from some cooking or entertaining catastrophe.

  Betty had a dinner party planned for that night for just four people, including herself. But that was more than enough to throw Betty, even though Molly had already cooked most of the meal and Betty was buying the rest prepared. All Betty had to do was fix the dessert, chocolate mousse. Betty was set on making that herself to impress her new suitor, Richard Corwin, since she knew it was his favorite.

  “I followed your instructions exactly, but it looks like, well, like brown clay. I can move the spoon through it. That can’t be right.”

  “Um, no. You shouldn’t be able to stir it.” Molly tried not to laugh.

  “Could you run over for a minute and take a look? I don’t even have time to run up to the bakery. . . .”

  “Sure. Just for a minute. I’ll be right over.” Molly said good-bye and glanced over at Matthew.

  “Something wrong at home?” he asked politely.

  “No, thank goodness.” Molly shook her head and smiled. “But I do need to run, if it’s okay with you. A friend of mine is having a little crisis with some chocolate mousse—”

  “—And you have to make a house call?” he finished.

  “Something like that.”

  “You must be a great cook. I mean to get emergency calls on your cell phone.”

  Molly felt a warm flush creep into her cheeks again.

  “I have my moments,” she said lightly. His smile encouraged her, and she continued, suddenly wanting him to know she wasn’t just a housecleaner. “I actually have a cooking business. Well, sort of a business. I’m just starting out really. But I bake for some restaurants in town and for private parties. Things like that . . .” Her voice trailed off quietly.

  It didn’t sound like much, she thought. Not very impressive compared to, say, saving someone’s life.

  Still, he nodded at her thoughtfully. “Sounds like you keep yourself busy.”

  Was he really impressed or just trying to be nice, she wondered.

  “Your husband is a lucky guy, being married to a professional chef,” he added in a teasing voice.

  “He was a lucky guy . . . until I divorced him.” She laughed at her quick reply but also heard the subtle note of anger there. “It was a long time ago,” Molly added with a shrug.

  She started to pull on her jacket and felt Matthew politely helping her. He met her gaze for a long moment, then stepped back. The room was dark enough now that she could barely read his expression.

  She pulled out her bright blue wool gloves and matching hat and tugged them on.

  “I’d better get going. I’ll come back early tomorrow and finish up. You won’t even know I’ve been here.”

  “Don’t rush. Come whenever you like. Why don’t you bring your girls? I know Amanda would love to meet Lauren. Then she’ll have a familiar face in school on Monday.”

  Molly appreciated his offer. Most clients didn’t welcome her children, and she hadn’t quite figured out what she’d do with them tomorrow. Lauren sometimes watched Jill on her own, but it wasn’t Molly’s ideal arrangement, especially on a Saturday.

  “Okay, I will, if you really don’t mind,” she said brightly as she pulled open the front door. “Thanks for the offer.”

  “Not at all. I’m looking forward to meeting them. See you tomorrow, then.”

  “See you.” Molly smiled and walked quickly down the path to her car. He stood in the doorway and watched as she got into her aged hatchback. As she pulled away from the curb, she saw him wave and she waved back.

  He was a nice man. An attractive man. Easy to talk to, she thought. Not at all what she’d expected. They seemed to have something in common, too, once they’d started talking about raising teenage girls.

  And attractive, she noted again. No doubt about that. I wonder when his wife died? Fran said a few years ago. I wonder why he’s still single? He must have somebody, she decided. But if he does, why did he move here all the way from Worcester? Maybe he is unattached.

  But it could never work. He’s a doctor and I’m just a jill-of-all-trades, master of none.

  Don’t even give it another thought, Molly, a sour little voice advised her. He’s out of your league.

  Ten minutes later Molly pulled up to Betty’s house and parked in the driveway. Betty had a lovely home, a classic Federal-style Colonial on one of the best streets in town. Originally built for a ship’s captain in the early 1800s, it was now a registered historic site. Molly secretly dreamed that one day she, too, might own a house like this. It wasn’t just that the house was beautiful and spacious. More than that, it was a symbol to her of Betty’s independence and success, the essence of what Molly aspired to.

  Betty greeted Molly at the door dressed in a pale blue silk bathrobe with hot rollers sprouting from her short blond hair.

  “I followed your directions exactly,” Betty declared as she led Molly into the kitchen. “Maybe the chocolate was stale or something.”

  Molly peered into the makeshift double boiler and prodded the brown, sticky mass. “Looks like water from the boiler got into the chocolate. We have to toss it.”

  “Oh, drat. Is there time to make more?”

  “We’ll manage. I stopped at the store just in case.” Molly opened the shopping bag and took out a box of chocolate, then found a clean pot.

  “You’re a pal, Molly. I owe you one.” Betty stood at the counter and watched as Molly started cooking. “What can I do to help?”

  “Just stand over there.” Molly pointed to the far side of the room. “I don’t want you anywhere near this stuff until it’s time to eat it.”

  “Oh, you’re mean.” Betty laughed, shaking loose a roller. “Where were you when I called before?”

  “At a cleaning job. Fran Tulley’s rental on Hawthorne Street.”

  “Oh, right. The new doctor. Fran said he’s quite good looking. And single,” Betty said.

  Molly slowly stirred the melting blocks of chocolate, vigilantly searching for lumps. “He’s not bad,” she finally offered.

  “You saw him? He’s not due to move in until tomorrow.”

  “He stopped by the house to drop off some boxes. I didn’t know who he was. I almost hit him on the head with a vacuum-cleaner pipe.”

  Betty sighed. “Sounds about right. Go on.”

  Molly shrugged. “There’s not m
uch to tell. He sounded a little sorry to be moving but said he needed a change. He has a sister in Newburyport and a daughter who’s fourteen.”

  “Same age as Lauren,” Betty pointed out.

  “Yes, we covered that.” With a deft twist of her wrist, Molly cracked an egg, separating the white from the yolk with one hand, then picked up another and cracked it.

  Betty looked on in fascination. “I just love the way you do that thing with the egg.”

  “It’s not hard. I’ll teach you sometime.”

  “Deal, but let’s get back to this doctor. He sounds like a possibility to me.”

  A romantic possibility, Betty meant. Betty had somehow deemed herself Molly’s relationship coach, determined to find Molly a man despite her complaints of not having time to date. Molly always gave her a hard time when she slipped into this mode, but she had to admit, Betty often had some good advice.

  Concerning Matthew Harding, Molly thought it best to shut Betty down from the start.

  “He’s not my type. Honestly.” She beat the egg yolks with a fork and added a dash of vanilla.

  “He sounds like anybody’s type to me.” Betty gave her a puzzled look. “What’s going on with that guy Micky, your brother Sam’s friend? Still seeing him?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Molly rolled her eyes. “He’s nice enough, I guess. But he’s just so dull. All he ever wanted to do was call out for pizza and watch sports on TV. One night he lost the remote, and I had to dial nine-one-one.”

  Betty started laughing. “He did not. You’re making that up.”

  “How could I make up something like that? It was the end of the Super Bowl and the channel switched somehow, and he couldn’t find the remote. He got so upset, he started getting dizzy and short of breath. I thought he was having a heart attack. The fireman said it was just a mild panic disorder.”

  Betty could hardly stop laughing. “I can see why that didn’t work out.”

  Molly carefully poured the yellow ribbon of egg yolk into the melted chocolate and beat the mixture together with a wire whisk. “I’m glad you agree. My brother Sam thinks we were a perfect match. He claims I’m too picky.”

  It stung that Sam didn’t think she could do any better than boring old Micky. But she didn’t confide that part to Betty.

  “You’re the one who has to decide if it’s right or not.” Betty patted her shoulder. “It takes courage to drop a nice but boring guy. It’s like clearing out your closet and giving all the dull, old clothes to charity. Now you’ve made room for something new and exciting.”

  Molly glanced at her and smiled. “Does that mean if I clean out my closet, I’ll get a new wardrobe and a new boyfriend?”

  “You never know.” Betty stuck her finger in the satiny chocolate pudding, then popped it into her mouth. “Mmmm. That’s scrumptious.”

  “I think you can take it from here.” As Molly untied her apron, she reviewed the last steps of the recipe with Betty, who looked alarmed to be sent on alone.

  “You can do it,” Molly promised her. “Besides, you want to tell Richard you made it. You wouldn’t want to fib about that.”

  “Me? I’d never do that. What a thing to say.”

  Betty grinned at her. Before they had become such good friends, Betty had often taken credit for Molly’s cooking with dinner guests. They were close enough now to laugh about it.

  “Who else is coming over?”

  “Just Emily and Dan. Things are moving along for those two. I have a feeling they may have a big announcement soon. Emily doesn’t say much, but I think they’re going to get married.”

  “Wow! I didn’t realize it was so serious. How nice.”

  Molly felt odd, even a little shocked, though she didn’t know why the news should matter. She knew Dan by sight and Emily only slightly better. Dan had run the local newspaper most of his life and recently handed it down to his daughter. Emily Warwick was the town’s mayor, and she was now related to Molly by marriage, as the older sister of Sam’s wife, Jessica.

  If there was ever a woman who seemed content with a solitary life, it had to be Emily. But now she was in love and might soon be married. Molly felt happy for her . . . and for some strange reason, sad for herself.

  She picked up her bag and hitched it over her shoulder. “Got to run, Betty. Don’t worry. The party will turn out fine.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Betty nervously plucked a few rollers from her hair and stuck them in her bathrobe pocket. “Thanks again, Molly. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll collect.” Molly was sure it wouldn’t be long before she was asking Betty for some advice or favor. It was good to know she had a friend like Betty.

  Molly left Betty’s house in the village and quickly found her way through the side streets to the Beach Road. Driving beyond the town, she raced along to the turn that marked Sam and Jessica’s house, which was hidden, even in winter, by trees and brush.

  Molly had known Jessica Warwick since high school. She had always thought Jessica was Little Miss Perfect and a snob, just like her mother, Lillian, who had acted like a queen in exile since the Warwick family fortune was lost years ago. Jessica had gone away to college and then taken a banking job in Boston. But after Lillian had a stroke, Jessica moved back to town temporarily to help care for her mother. When Sam started seeing her, Molly was sure that Jessica was just using him for a summer fling. Even after the two became serious, Molly urged Sam to break off the engagement.

  Okay, so she could be a little stubborn and narrow-minded at times. She’d be the first to admit it. But now that they were married, Molly had to confess Jessica was not exactly what she expected.

  Despite her privileged upbringing, Jessica was happily married and content to live in this remote spot in a lovely old house that seemed a never-ending renovation project for her carpenter husband. Jessica also showed a real interest and affection for Lauren and Jill. Her hours at the bank made it easy for her to watch her nieces after school, and Molly had come to depend on her help, which was also a surprise.

  As Molly walked up the path, the front door swung open. Jessica greeted her, wearing an apron over her office clothes, a satin blouse, slim-fitting skirt, and heels. An appetizing cooking smell drifted in from the kitchen.

  “Lauren and Jill are upstairs getting their things together. Sam isn’t home yet, though. Want to come in and wait for him?”

  Molly was relieved to hear she’d miss her brother. She had escaped defending her decision to dump his friend Micky. This time, at least.

  “Thanks but we’d better get going. I promised the girls a movie at the mall tonight, and I want to make the early show.”

  “Yes, I heard all about it. They can’t wait.” Jessica turned and called up the stairs. “Girls, your mom is here.”

  “Lauren, Jill, I’m waiting,” Molly added in her “Commander Mom” tone. “Thanks again for minding them. I was in a pinch today.”

  “No problem. I love having them.” Jessica smiled, and Molly felt her words were sincere.

  As if on cue, Lauren and Jill galloped down the stairs, carrying their jackets and knapsacks. Jill jumped off the steps, hurling herself at Molly in a flying hug.

  Molly grunted in reply. “Thanks, honey. I needed that.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Lauren came down the last few steps more sedately. Molly kissed her on the cheek. Lauren was too old now to act so uncool, Molly thought with a secret smile. She watched as they both showed good manners, thanking Jessica, and each gave their aunt a hug.

  “Sam will be sorry he missed you. But we’ll see you on Sunday, right?”

  Molly had almost forgotten. Jessica and Sam were taking the girls ice skating so she could work. Looked like she would have to face complaints about Micky and more advice about her life then.

  “That’s right.” Molly nodded. “Well, thanks again. Tell Sam I’ll call him.”

  “Bye, girls, see you soon.” Jessica watched them from the doorway and waved as they all walked to the car.
<
br />   VISITING HOURS HAD OFFICIALLY ENDED LONG AGO. THE HOSPITAL rooms were dark and the corridor nearly empty. Reverend Ben Lewis stood beside Gus Potter’s bed. Gus gripped Ben’s hand, his head resting on a pile of pillows. His skin was as pale as the white pillowcase, and it appeared almost translucent.

  His blue eyes were bright, though, and his grip still surprisingly strong. He looked far happier than a man in his condition ought to, Ben thought. Far calmer, too, though he must realize what’s happening to him. His wife, Sophie, knew only too well, and Ben could see her struggling to keep up a brave front.

  “Thanks for coming, Reverend,” she said. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself. You’d better get home. Carolyn must be wondering what’s keeping you.”

  “Carolyn is used to my late hours by now.”

  “How is she feeling?” Sophie asked with interest. “Is she still in therapy?”

  A few weeks after Christmas, Carolyn had suffered a stroke and gone into a coma. That was over two months ago now, Ben calculated. He had nearly lost her. But she’d finally woken with few ill effects and was coming along with the help of medication and physical therapy.

  “She’s doing very well,” Ben reported. “She still has some weakness in her left arm, though, and can’t play the piano yet. But she wants to get back to her students soon. Maybe at the end of next month.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Gus said. “Tell her we were asking for her.”

  “Yes, I will. Maybe she’ll come with me next time I visit. I guess you’ll be home again by then.”

  “The doctor said I can take him home in a few more days. Monday or Tuesday,” Sophie said brightly.

  She met Ben’s gaze a moment, then rested her hand on her husband’s shoulder. An array of tubes and monitors was attached to Gus’s body, and Ben averted his gaze from the tangled paraphernalia.

  “These doctors don’t know anything.” Gus waved his hand weakly. “Listen to them, and you’d be working on my eulogy right now, Reverend.” Ben forced a smile at Gus’s quip but swallowed hard. He knew he’d face that task soon enough.

  “I’ll spring right back. Always do. This is just another false alarm. I’d get up out of this bed and walk home right now if they’d let me.”