A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  He looked down at Carl. “It’s an insurance thing. They don’t want you to slip in the lobby and sue somebody.”

  Out in front of the hospital, he left Carl sitting in the wheelchair in the patient pick-up zone and went to get his car. As he drove back, he spotted Carl from a distance, huddled into his worn clothes, clutching the crutches and the plastic bag. He might have been a stranger, Tucker thought, the kind you don’t want to look at too long. Tucker felt a twist in his stomach. His brother was a pathetic sight, a ruined man.

  Tucker took the bags and helped Carl out of the wheelchair.

  “Nice wheels,” Carl said, nodding at the patrol car. “Don’t you want to read me my rights before I get in?”

  Tucker ignored him and stashed the crutches and folded wheelchair in the trunk.

  “You might be more comfortable in the back. You can stretch out your leg,” Tucker suggested.

  “Yeah, I usually ride in the back of these taxis,” Carl replied. “Cops don’t invite guys like me into the front seat very often.”

  Tucker could well imagine his brother’s many rides in police cars. He opened the back door without comment, and Carl hobbled over and fit himself inside. He clamped his jaw down hard as he settled in, and Tucker knew he was in pain.

  As Tucker began the drive back to Cape Light, the only sound was the police radio with the volume turned low. Carl was quiet, and Tucker thought he had fallen asleep until he glanced into the rearview mirror and saw that Carl was wide awake, staring straight ahead.

  “This spare room of yours, is it up in the attic?” Carl asked.

  “On the first floor. It’s half of the two-car garage. There’s no climbing. You’ve got a bed, a dresser, and a little table with a TV. There’s a bathroom with a shower there, too. Fran’s mother uses it when she stays over.”

  “Great. I bet it even has wallpaper with little flowers,” Carl grumbled.

  “Yeah, there’s wallpaper. And wall-to-wall carpet,” Tucker noted.

  “Just like the Copley Plaza Hotel. Remember when I brought you there?”

  Carl’s hard living had scrambled his brains, Tucker thought. Then he did remember. Carl was right.

  “Yeah, I do. My wedding night,” Tucker said.

  He and Fran stayed at the Copley Plaza on the first night of their honeymoon, before they left for Bermuda. It was one of the best hotels in Boston. Charlie Bates had been best man, but Carl was the one who had driven them into the city after the wedding. Tucker had been just a rookie cop then, fresh out of the academy. Carl had already lost his lobster fishing permit, his life quickly sliding downhill.

  Funny to think of that now, all things considered.

  THURSDAY NIGHT’S SNOWFALL WAS NEARLY MELTED, A SURE SIGN THAT spring wasn’t that far off, Molly thought. Unmindful of the slushy pavement beneath her high-heeled boots, Molly nearly skipped up the path to Betty’s real-estate office. She stepped inside and found Fran Tulley working at her computer. Fran looked up when Molly entered, greeting her with a wan smile.

  “Are you here for your bucket? I think it’s in the back. Betty has that extra check for you from Dr. Harding.”

  “Oh, that. I nearly forgot.”

  “He was certainly singing your praises,” Fran added. “He would be a good client for you, Molly.”

  “I might be phasing out the cleaning business soon,” Molly announced breathlessly. “But I can recommend someone. Is Betty here?”

  “She’s in her office. You can just go on back.” Fran looked at her curiously.

  Molly knocked on Betty’s half-open door, then walked in.

  Betty was on a phone call, but she quickly excused herself and hung up the phone. “So? How did it go? Did you get the order?”

  Molly nodded and couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a whopper, as we say in the business.”

  Betty leaned back in her bouncy leather chair and clapped her hands together. “Bravo! The Spoon Harbor Inn, that’s a big deal around here. You’ve got quite the client list now.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a list,” Molly hedged. “More like a little lump of clients at this point.”

  “A list, a lump. What’s the difference? You’re really on a roll. So what about the cleaning business?”

  Molly had mentioned to Betty last night that if she got a good order from the Spoon River Inn, in addition to last week’s new order from the Beanery, she might be able to phase out house cleaning. But now that she had the order in hand, she was definitely getting cold feet.

  “I’m not sure about that yet. I really have to rework the figures and check my expenses.” Molly slipped off her good wool coat and left it folded on a chair. She wore black wool pants that she liked because she thought they made her look considerably slimmer and a turquoise-blue sweater set the girls had given her for Christmas. It was her favorite appointment outfit and also the only one she had in her closet.

  “What about that money from Phil? That should help right about now.” Betty sat up, talking excitedly, a bunch of gold bracelets on her arm jangling as she gestured. “You really need to take the leap, kiddo. You’re definitely ready.”

  Molly sighed. She knew Betty was right. It was a now-or-never kind of moment when you got right down to it.

  “Well, timewise it looks as if something’s got to give,” she admitted. “If I don’t give up the cleaning, I won’t have enough time to do the cooking and deliveries. So I guess I’ll have to give up cleaning in the next week or so.”

  “Molly, that’s great news.” Betty popped out of her chair and gave Molly a big hug. “I’m so happy for you. I was hoping you’d make this kind of change.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You know that.”

  And meeting Matthew had pushed her over the edge, Molly admitted to herself. Last week, when she’d first met him, she didn’t want to tell him she cleaned houses for a living. It was odd; she’d never felt embarrassed about her work before. Even if nothing more came of their relationship, she’d always have him to thank for that sudden moment of motivation.

  “I only hope I can get all this work done. I’ve bitten off a real big chunk here. I’m not sure I can do it.”

  “You have to hire a helper. This is just what I’ve been telling you. You’re at the next level. You have to grow the business.”

  Molly laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t think I qualify yet for business-school lingo.”

  “Of course you do,” Betty insisted. “If you start thinking of your efforts as a real business, it will be a real business.”

  “How can I afford to hire someone? It’s going to be a stretch just to stock up on all the ingredients.”

  “Find a teenager. You can afford that. Call up the high school. They have a list of kids who want part-time jobs. If you have some help, you can really increase your output and pay the helper from the profits, which should be double,” Betty advised smoothly. “If it doesn’t work out, you can cut back again. But it will work out. I feel really good about this, Molly. You’re making a big move.”

  “I guess so.” Molly had arrived feeling elated with her news, but now that they were discussing the practicalities, she felt a little overwhelmed. “I don’t mean to sound like a wimp, but I’m scared. I don’t know if I can do this. Maybe I should cancel the orders. . . .”

  “Don’t be silly.” Betty put a settling hand on her shoulder. “Of course you can do it. You have to do it,” she insisted. “If you want your life to be different, you have to make some changes, Molly. If you keep doing what you always do, you’ll just get what you’ve already got.”

  “Who said that? Benjamin Franklin?”

  Betty shook her head and smiled. “Another great American philosopher. Ann Landers. Oh, I nearly forgot. Speaking of profits, I have a check for you from that doctor. He couldn’t stop talking about you. What did you do to that man?”

  Molly felt herself blushing. “I just organized his kitchen, for goodness’ sake. Besides, if he were reall
y interested in me, he could have called and dropped the check at my house. He didn’t have to leave it here.”

  “Some men are a little backward. They outsmart themselves. You know that. He may have dropped the check off here just because he is interested.”

  Molly did know. That was just the problem. Men were so convoluted sometimes. It hardly seemed worth the effort it took to figure them out. Molly bit her lip. She did want to talk to Betty about Matthew; she was dying to, actually. But she didn’t want to make too big a deal about it. She could think of a thousand reasons why she wasn’t right for him and it wouldn’t work out. It was better not to get her hopes up, she thought.

  “You could still hear from him. You never know,” Betty said breezily.

  That did it. Molly couldn’t hold back anymore.

  “I saw him last week. Thursday night. Lauren made friends with his daughter, so he came by to pick her up and ended up staying for dinner. You know, with the snow and all.”

  Betty’s eyebrows went up in a knowing expression. “There wasn’t that much snow.”

  “It was nothing. Just a last-minute invitation. But the girls are going to be in a chorus concert on Saturday, so he asked me to go with him . . . and we’re all going out for dinner after.” She saw Betty’s eyes brighten at the news and quickly tried to discourage her. “But it’s not a date or anything, Betty. Honestly. He’s glad Amanda made a friend, and he’s just trying to be nice.”

  “Nobody’s that nice, Molly. He wants to spend time with you.”

  “It’s not like that, really. Maybe he likes me as a friend, but I don’t think it’s anything more than that. He still misses his wife. And I’m really not his type.”

  “Okay, it’s nothing.” Betty shook her head and raised her hands in a sign of surrender. But Molly knew her well. She could tell from the soft expression on Betty’s face that she sensed her real dilemma about Matthew. Molly was afraid. She had finally met a man she really liked, but what if he didn’t like her? What if he didn’t think she was good enough for him? That would really hurt, and she didn’t want to get hurt anymore.

  “So, I know it’s not a date. But what are you going to wear?”

  Molly sighed, surveying her friend’s slim figure. “Hopefully something that makes me look ten pounds thinner.”

  “Molly, please. You have a great figure. Haven’t you heard? Real women have curves.”

  “Yeah, they don’t get more real than me.” Molly smiled in spite of herself.

  The phone rang, and Betty took the call.

  Molly sat back, thinking that Betty was full of perky little sayings today. Not surprising from a former head cheerleader and high-school class president. Betty always managed to find a positive side to a problem and hardly ever seemed to let life get her down. Not that her success had been achieved without setbacks and hard work.

  Maybe I should pipe down and listen more to Betty, Molly thought. I could learn a lot from her.

  Betty hung up the phone and checked her slim gold watch. “Lunch time. Want to grab a bite?”

  “Sure.” Molly picked up her coat and her bag. “Where would you like to go?”

  “How about the Beanery? We can grab a quick bite and then run over to that new store around the corner. They’re having a big sale. I saw the perfect dress for you in the window.”

  Molly’s first impulse was to refuse. She loved Betty, but she didn’t need her to pick out her clothes. Even Lauren hated that by now. Then Molly realized Betty was only trying to help.

  Maybe it’s time I learned to accept a favor now and then, Molly thought ruefully. It wouldn’t kill me to see the dress Betty thinks is perfect. It might even be fun.

  “Okay, I’ll take a look. You do have great taste.”

  “Yes, I do. Kind of you to notice.” Betty smiled brightly at her as they swept out the door.

  “TUCKER? CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THESE GROCERIES?” FRAN CALLED from the front door.

  Tucker walked quickly to meet her. He took one bag from her hand and two others she had dropped just inside the door.

  “You got home early,” Fran remarked, dropping her load on the countertop.

  “Where are the kids? I thought they’d be home by now.”

  “Michael has a game. I thought you were going to drop by and catch the last quarter.”

  “Oh, man. I guess I forgot.” Tucker rubbed his forehead. “It was a hectic day.” Fran didn’t know the half of it.

  “The coach will give him a lift home. Mary Ellen is at chorus practice. She’ll be there late a few nights this week—practice for the concert. Mrs. North is going to drop her home about six. It’s our turn to drive tomorrow. Could you do it?”

  “Um, sure. I can pick them up. Just write me a note or something so I don’t forget.”

  He grabbed a box of rice out of a bag, confused for a moment about where it should go. He was relieved to hear the kids would not be home for a while, though if they were, it might help Fran keep her temper under control when he told her about Carl.

  There was no good time for it. He really had to tell her. He had to do it right now.

  “Fran, I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to get upset,” he began.

  She closed a cupboard and turned to him. “Did something happen at work? Are you okay?”

  The concern in her voice was touching. Fran always worried about him getting hurt in the line of duty, even though it wasn’t very likely in Cape Light. Tucker almost wished he had been in some dangerous situation. It would be easier to tell her that then his real news.

  “Carl is here. I picked him up at the hospital around noon.”

  “Tucker, you didn’t! I thought he was going to that shelter in Beverly.”

  “That one was full. They were sending him to one in Lowell. That place is a real pit. I couldn’t let him go there,” Tucker insisted.

  Fran stared at him wide-eyed, obviously not knowing what to say. She abruptly turned her back and pulled a can out of a grocery bag. “How did you even know that?”

  “I went down to Southport on my lunch break.”

  “So you intended on taking him home all along, I guess.”

  “Yes, I did. But I wasn’t sure he’d come,” Tucker slowly admitted. “When I heard where he was going, I knew I had to.”

  Fran turned to face him again. Her dark eyes were shining. At first he thought she was about to cry, then realized she was furious.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me this morning that you intended to do this? You could have at least talked to me about it.”

  “I wanted to, Fran. But I couldn’t. I knew if I did, you might make me change my mind again, and I didn’t want to change my mind. I need to help him. I really think this is the right thing to do.”

  “There are other ways to help him, Tucker. He doesn’t have to stay here.” Fran placed a can of coffee in a cupboard and slammed the door shut.

  “Quiet down, will you? He’s asleep in the spare room.”

  “You put him in my mother’s room?” Fran was aghast.

  “That’s the guest room. It’s not just for your relatives. Where did you think I was going to put him, in the toolshed?”

  “I didn’t think you were going to put him anywhere.” Fran’s voice rose on a shrill note. “It’s my house, too, Tucker. I should have some say in this . . . this situation.”

  “Hello, Fran. Nice to see you, too.”

  They both turned and saw Carl in the doorway, leaning on his crutches, smiling bitterly. Tucker watched Fran’s face go white as snow.

  “Carl . . . I didn’t see you there . . .” Tucker said, feeling his own face flush scarlet with embarrassment.

  “Doesn’t matter. I heard everything. We don’t have any argument, you and me,” Carl said to Fran. “I told Tucker this wasn’t going to work.”

  “Go back to bed, Carl. Fran and I will figure it out.”

  “I heard what she said. I don’t have to stay here. I should have gone to Lowell whe
n I had the chance. I can probably get a bus there tonight, if you’ll lend me the fare.”

  “Just give us a minute to talk this through,” Tucker told him. “Besides, you’ve lost your place there by now. You’ll just end up sleeping on the street.”

  Fran didn’t say anything. She pursed her lips in a tight line and stood staring at Carl. “There must be someplace for him.”

  “There is. He’ll stay here.”

  “Didn’t you hear her? Your wife doesn’t want me around. I told you this wasn’t a good idea, but you—”

  Carl began to cough furiously. His face grew beet red, and he gasped for air. He tilted so far forward on his crutches, Tucker was sure he would tumble to the floor.

  “Oh no! Oh my goodness . . . Tucker, do something.” Fran covered her mouth with her hand, frozen where she stood.

  Tucker ran over to Carl, slung his brother’s arm around his shoulders, then half carried, half dragged him back to the guest room. He set him down on the bed, propping him up against the pillows. Finally Carl’s coughing spell passed, and he sucked in wheezy breaths of air.

  “You still need the oxygen. I’ll get some set up here for you tomorrow.” Tucker stared down at him. The coughing had exhausted him; Carl leaned back, his eyes closed.

  “Are you hungry?” Tucker asked.

  Carl shook his head. “Just leave me be. Go on inside and talk to your wife.”

  “She’ll be okay. Don’t worry about her.”

  “Tell her I’m going in the morning.”

  Right, in the morning. Maybe some morning a month from now, Tucker thought. But he didn’t reply. He left the room and closed Carl’s door behind him.

  In the kitchen, Fran had started making dinner. She glanced at Tucker, then set a pan down on the stove top.

  “He’s very sick. I told you he needs help.”

  “I can see that. He looks awful.” She shook her head. “I would never have recognized him. How can a person let himself go like that?”

  Tucker glared at her. “Quiet, Fran. He’ll hear you.”

  Fran sighed. She put a bowl from the freezer in the microwave and set the timer. “I guess we’re stuck with him for a day or two. But don’t expect me to turn into Florence Nightingale.”