A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  “That’s too bad. Would you like me to stop by so you can file a report?”

  “I’m not going to report it. That’s not why I’m calling you.” The reverend paused. His silence made Tucker nervous. He sensed bad news on the way but couldn’t imagine what it was.

  “The man gave his name as Carl Jones. I didn’t recognize him at first,” Reverend Ben said. “Then later, I realized . . . well, I’m pretty sure he’s your half brother, Carl.”

  Tucker blinked and took a deep breath. He felt as if someone had just slugged him in the stomach. “That’s impossible. I mean, how could it be? Even if he’s still alive, why would he ever come back here?”

  “I asked myself the same question. I don’t know why he’d come back here.” The reverend’s reply made Tucker feel relieved for a moment. “But I feel fairly certain he has. He’s in terrible shape, too. I went to the hospital to make sure he was admitted. I’m going to call later this morning and find out how he’s doing.”

  Tucker hesitated. Did the reverend expect him to drop everything and run down to Southport?

  “I’m on duty today. I’ll look into it, though, Reverend. . . . Maybe tonight, when I get off.”

  “All right, Tucker. I thought you should know.”

  The reverend’s tone was mild, but Tucker felt the heavy burden of his unspoken assumptions. He knew the reverend expected him to visit this homeless man and find out for sure if it was his half brother. That was the right thing to do, the Christian thing to do. But if it was Carl . . . what then?

  “Thanks for the call,” Tucker added half-heartedly.

  “That’s all right. See you tomorrow.” Reverend Ben said good-bye and hung up.

  Tucker rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. He felt a dull ache deep in the center of his head, the start of one of his tension headaches. Just what he needed today. He found a bottle of pain relievers and shook two tablets out into his hand.

  Why in heaven’s name would Carl come back here? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be Carl. There’s no reason to get so worked up, Tucker told himself as he swallowed the medicine. The reverend is mistaken. This is all a false alarm.

  Tucker hadn’t spoken to his brother now in what—over twenty years? The last time he’d seen Carl was through a bullet-proof slice of Plexiglas in the visitors’ room of the state penitentiary where Carl was serving fifteen years for manslaughter.

  Once a month on visiting day Tucker would take the long drive across the state to see him. But Carl didn’t want his visits or his letters. Tucker would show up, and Carl would meet him with cold indifference or acid bitterness. For a while Tucker kept going, out of pity or guilt maybe. It certainly wasn’t out of love. The younger brother’s hero worship he’d once felt for Carl had long since vanished.

  “Forget about me,” Carl had ordered him. “Don’t come here anymore. I won’t come out to see you, understand?”

  Finally, Tucker gave up. But he’d never quite forgotten about Carl, the image of his renegade half brother always lingering on the edges of his memory.

  Now he heard Fran’s slippers scuffing across the floor, and he turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. She blinked sleepily at him, then walked over and kissed his cheek.

  “Who was that on the phone, hon?”

  “Reverend Ben.” Tucker watched her pour a cup of coffee. She took a seat at the table and looked up at him.

  “Is there a problem at the church?”

  Tucker wondered for a moment if he should even tell Fran what the reverend had said. She’d get excited and worried, maybe over nothing. But finally he decided he had to tell her. Married couples shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. It wasn’t right.

  “The reverend found a homeless man in the back of the church last night and checked him into the hospital. The man said his name was Carl Jones, but Reverend Ben thinks he recognized him. He thinks it’s my half brother.”

  “Your half brother?” She set her coffee mug down on the table and shook her head. “That’s impossible. The way he drank and carried on, I doubt he’s still alive. Even if he is, why would he ever come back here?”

  Fran’s frank appraisal took him aback. But she was probably right. Of course, it wasn’t Carl. “That’s what I told the reverend. He thinks I should check though. Just to be sure.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing to do.”

  Tucker heard the note of worry in his wife’s voice and realized that he didn’t entirely disagree with her.

  “Did this homeless man ask for you?” Fran peered at him over the edge of her cup.

  “No. I just told you, he gave his last name as Jones.”

  “That should tell you something.” Fran shrugged and took a sip of coffee. When Tucker didn’t reply, she added, “I just mean, if he wanted to see you, wouldn’t he give his real name? Maybe he’s ashamed to get in touch. He doesn’t want you to see what he’s turned into. It might be kinder not to bother him.”

  “Maybe,” Tucker said. “But I can picture Carl giving a fake name for any number of reasons. Maybe he felt guilty about breaking into the church. Maybe he came to town intending to get in touch but feels awkward after all this time. Maybe . . . maybe anything.”

  Fran took a deep breath and hooked a wayward strand of brown hair around her ear. When she spoke again, her tone was softer. “I’m sure whatever the reverend said made you feel responsible, honey. Of course you feel bad, thinking it might be Carl. Anybody would. But it’s probably just some stranger. Nobody’s seen Carl in years. How would Reverend Ben even recognize him?”

  Tucker considered her words. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “Well, all I’m trying to say is that I don’t see any point in stirring things up. I really think you ought to leave well enough alone.”

  Tucker sat down at the table across from her and sighed. Stirring things up was one thing Fran didn’t like. He knew that by now. She was a wonderful wife and a loving mother. But she liked her world orderly, predictable. It didn’t take much to get her worried or even frightened. That cautious side was what attracted him to her when they were younger. When she’d get this way, he’d find himself filled with an urge to soothe and protect her.

  But by now Tucker knew her anxious nature sometimes made it hard for Fran to see things clearly. A person needed to put her fears aside and get some distance to sort out a tricky situation like this one, he thought.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he told her honestly. “But it’s not so simple. I’m not exactly overjoyed either to hear Carl might be back. But I don’t know if I can just ignore it.”

  Fran sighed. She met Tucker’s gaze and then rose from the table. She took a carton of eggs and the butter dish out of the refrigerator and placed them purposefully on the countertop. “Do you want some breakfast?”

  “No thanks. I’d better get going. I’ll grab something later at the diner. So what are you up to today?” He got to his feet and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.

  “Michael has basketball practice, and Mary Ellen has a party at the skating rink. I’ll drop them off and run into the office for a while, then check on the rental on Hawthorne Street. That new doctor I told you about is moving in today.”

  “Oh, right. Don’t forget his welcome basket and coupon book.” Fran had gone back to work a little over a year ago at Bowman Realty. Tucker was proud of her, though he still had the urge to tease her about it from time to time.

  “Don’t be silly.” She placed a frying pan on the stove and lit the burner. “Will you be home for dinner?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll call you later.” Tucker thought of the homeless man in the hospital again. If he didn’t go to see him, what would he say to Reverend Ben tomorrow?

  Tucker slipped on his jacket, buttoned up the front, then straightened his silver shield. He was a law officer, a father, a husband, a deacon in the church while his brother was an ex-convict and probably a hom
eless vagrant.

  And there, but for the grace of God, go I, Tucker thought sadly. Life was strange. He knew the Lord had a plan for every one, but sometimes it just didn’t seem fair the way things worked out for some people and not for others.

  MOLLY ARRIVED AT DR. HARDING’S HOUSE BY NINE, CLEANING SUPPLIES, vacuum, daughters, and all. While the girls worked on their homework downstairs, she worked on the second floor. The entire house was clean and ready by noon as she’d planned. Then she quickly made some repairs on her own appearance, changing into a blue velour top that was too good to wear for cleaning but didn’t look that obvious, she hoped. She dabbed on some lip gloss and eyeliner, then combed out her long curly hair and pulled it back from her face with a thin tortoiseshell band.

  Not bad, she thought, checking herself out in the mirror. She pulled the long top down in the back, wishing she hadn’t indulged in that ice cream last night. She hoped the girls wouldn’t embarrass her by shouting out something like, “Hey, Mom, why did you change your top and put on all that makeup?”

  Why did I? Molly wondered. Maybe just to feel more at ease around this guy, since I looked so awful yesterday, she told herself.

  Yeah, right. Tell me another one.

  She heard someone pull into the driveway, and she walked to the window. It was the moving van, followed by Matthew’s SUV. Molly felt her stomach do a flip, and she took a deep breath. Get a grip, Molly. You’re just the cleaning lady, remember? Say hello, help the man a little with his moving day and be on your way.

  MATTHEW PARKED HIS LAND ROVER IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE TO LEAVE the movers room to unload. He turned to Amanda and forced a smile. “Here we are, honey. We made it.”

  Amanda pursed her lips and fumbled with her seat belt without answering him. She didn’t even look up at the house, he noticed. She’d already seen it once, about a month ago. But that was before it had been painted and cleaned up.

  “It’s a nice house, don’t you think?” Matthew looked up at their new house, an ordinary but neat Dutch Colonial, newly painted in pale yellow with black shutters and white trim. “I mean, it’s fine for now. Until we find something permanent.”

  “It’s n-nice, Dad. It’s fine.” He could hear her speech faltering, a definite sign that she was nervous. Years of speech therapy had nearly rid her of a frustrating stammer. But whenever she was stressed, it cropped up again. A hard way to start off in a new school, he thought sympathetically.

  “I w-wish Aunt Erica had come,” Amanda said.

  “I know. I do, too. But they needed her at the library. She couldn’t get the day off.”

  Amanda sighed and leaned toward the backseat to get her backpack. He got out, opened the gate, and unloaded their suitcases. When he looked up at the house again, he saw Molly Willoughby on the porch, flanked by two girls, both with beautiful long dark hair, just like their mother’s.

  She smiled down at him and waved. “Welcome home,” she called out. “You made it.”

  He smiled back, feeling instantly brighter. He’d almost forgotten she’d be here. And forgotten how pretty she was. Especially when she smiled like that. He was glad he’d asked her to come.

  “Who’s that?” Amanda turned to him, looking puzzled and even more nervous.

  “That’s Molly Willoughby, the woman who cleaned the house for us. She has a girl your age, and I thought you two should meet. It will be good to have at least one familiar face at school on Monday, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so,” Amanda said doubtfully. She hoisted her knapsack to her shoulder and picked up a small duffel bag.

  Matt thought Molly and her daughters were just what he and Amanda needed today, the perfect distraction from their moving-day blues.

  Matt reached the porch with his bags and put them down near the door. “Well, here we are,” he announced. “Amanda, this is Molly, and these lovely young ladies must be her daughters.” He met the gaze of the older girl who looked determined not to blush at his gallantry.

  “You must be Lauren.” She nodded, and he turned to the smaller one. “And you’re Jill.”

  “Wow, you’re good,” Molly said. She turned to Amanda and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Amanda. I hope you like Cape Light. It might seem tame compared to Worcester, but there’s a lot going on at school. Lauren is going to electrify some poor defenseless worms for the science fair.”

  “Mom!” Lauren gave her mother an adolescent gasp of humiliation.

  “Well, you are, aren’t you? What did I say?” She glanced at Matt, who was struggling not to laugh, then turned to her daughter again. “Why don’t you guys find some place to talk and you can tell Amanda about school and all.”

  “Okay.” Lauren shrugged. She didn’t look that excited by the idea, Matthew thought, and he felt himself tense, worried about Amanda. He knew he tended to worry about her too much, especially since his wife had died. But this was one of those days when he couldn’t help it.

  Then he noticed Amanda’s expression brighten. “I like your hair weave. It’s cool,” she said, complimenting the bright threaded braid in Lauren’s long hair.

  “Thanks. They do them at the mall. There’s this booth.”

  “I know. We had one in Worcester. But my dad won’t let me do it,” Amanda said, casting an exasperated look at Matt.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll work on him for you,” Molly promised. “I want to get one myself. I’m saving up my allowance.”

  The girls laughed, and Lauren rolled her eyes. “My mom is a little weird sometimes. Don’t give her too much attention. It only makes it worse.”

  Amanda met Lauren’s knowing grin. Matt noticed how the girls’ smiles mirrored each other with glittering mouths full of braces.

  “Which is going to be your room?” Matt heard Lauren ask as they walked into the house.

  “The one in the front. Come on, I’ll show you.” Amanda started up the steps and Lauren followed.

  “Wait, I brought my CD player. I’ll bring it up.” Lauren raced back down the stairs and soon returned with her own knapsack. She ran around the adults and Jill like a light-stepping doe and bounded up the staircase again.

  “Can I go?” Jill quietly asked Molly.

  “Sure, go ahead, honey. I’ll tell Lauren it’s okay.” Jill ran after the older girls, and Molly called up the stairway, “Lauren, your sister is coming. Don’t be mean.”

  Molly looked over at Matt. “Well, let’s get to work. What can I help you with?”

  He stared down at her, feeling as if a mini-tornado had just breezed by. Did she have those big blue eyes yesterday? It was so dark in here, he hadn’t noticed.

  Although, to be honest, he really hadn’t noticed women in general since his wife died. Not like this, anyway.

  A moving man stumbled by, carrying two large boxes on a handcart. “These are for the kitchen, right?”

  Matt glanced at them and nodded. “Back there, to the left.”

  “I can start unpacking the kitchen stuff,” Molly said, turning to follow the moving man.

  “Unpacking? I thought you were here to clean upstairs.”

  “Oh, I finished that. I can help you down here for a while.”

  “You don’t have to. You probably have things to do today. I don’t want to keep you.” While he appreciated the offer, he didn’t want Molly to feel stuck here, helping him unpack. She had only been hired by the Realtor to clean. He’d find a way to pay her extra for her trouble. He’d insist on it.

  “I don’t have anything special to do except work on Lauren’s science-fair project, which I am not looking forward to. How did I ever get talked into helping electrify a bunch of mealworms?”

  Matthew laughed. “Well, in that case, I guess the kitchen is a good place to start.”

  “Is there any special way you’d like me to organize things?”

  “Whatever you think makes sense.”

  “Okay. See you later,” Molly said brightly.

  He followed her with his gaze until she
disappeared, feeling strangely light-headed. The scent of her flowery perfume lingered in the air.

  “Where would you like this, sir?” a moving man grunted, bumping into him. Matt turned to see two men staggering into the house, a long leather couch held up between them.

  “In here, against the front windows. That’s a good place,” he said, hoping he was right. It had been a long time since he’d set up a house on his own.

  The next two hours flew by as the movers emptied their truck into the house. Finally, they were gone and the rooms seemed strangely quiet. Matthew stood in the middle of the living room, staring around at the piles of boxes and the overall chaotic mess. Why had he done this? It seemed like a big mistake. He felt the sudden urge to cry, and he blew his nose hard on a hanky.

  Then he heard Molly humming in the kitchen, a sweet, soothing sound. He took a deep breath, feeling suddenly calmer. He couldn’t let her see him falling apart like this.

  He picked up a box that read, “Kitchen,” and carried it to her. He found her sorting out the silverware and arranging it in a drawer. She turned and smiled when he entered. “Don’t mind me. I’m a champion hummer with a tendency for show tunes.”

  “I like show tunes. Perfect for humming. Who can ever remember the words?”

  Molly laughed. “Not me, that’s for sure. I could never be on Broadway.”

  Matt smiled. “Did you ever want to be?”

  “Nope. Broadway star was never one of my job titles. Though there have been a lot of them, I must say.”

  “Really? How many?” He pulled open the box and pulled out some wadded-up newspaper.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Twenty or so at least since high school. I don’t think I ever counted.”

  “Twenty jobs?” He looked up at her. She didn’t seem the flighty type. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who’s had that many jobs. I’m not sure I believe you,” he teased her.

  “Well, let’s see, I was a cab driver, a school-bus driver, a waitress, a check-out clerk at the supermarket, worked in a doctor’s office filing and answering the phone. That was deadly boring,” she added, shaking her head. “I had to go back to the supermarket job after that.”