A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Sure, maybe by the time she’s in college,” he railed.

  Molly was shocked at his temper. Matthew was normally so easygoing. She knew the hair thing was bad, but he was overreacting just a bit, wasn’t he?

  “Matthew, girls do things like this to themselves from time to time. It’s really just part of the territory.”

  “Not my territory! This wouldn’t have happened if they had been at my house, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Oh, really?” Now Molly felt angry, too. He wasn’t such a perfect parent. If anything, he didn’t give Amanda enough breathing room. “You know, after a certain age, parents really don’t have all that much control. But I don’t think you’ve really faced that. Maybe Amanda just needed to experiment, to express herself.”

  Amanda and Lauren glanced at each other, shocked to hear Molly defending their case.

  Matthew’s face turned red, either with embarrassment because he knew what she said was true or because he was now even madder at her.

  “Thanks for the insight. I didn’t know you were a psychologist now, too. I guess the advice comes with the new hairstyle—a package deal?”

  “No charge,” she snapped back.

  “Come on, Amanda. Where are your things?”

  “By the door,” she squeaked.

  “Okay, let’s go.” He glanced at Molly. “I’d thank you for having her over, but—”

  “Skip it. I won’t tell Miss Manners on you.”

  Molly stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t even look at him as he walked past.

  Matt picked up Amanda’s duffel and sleeping bag. “Say good-bye, Amanda. I’ll be waiting in the car.” With that he swept out the door.

  Amanda glanced back at Lauren, who now trailed behind her.

  “Bye, Lauren. See you in school Monday. . . if my father doesn’t ground me for the rest of my life.”

  “He won’t.” Despite her mood, Molly had to smile.

  “Don’t worry,” Lauren reminded her in a whisper. “You know how they get. He’ll get over it in a day or two.”

  “I hope so.” Amanda stopped in front of Molly. “I’m sorry he yelled at you. But thanks for telling him for me.”

  “That’s okay, honey.” Molly reached out and touched her hair. “It doesn’t look so bad. I’m kind of getting used to it.”

  Amanda smiled, her braces glittering. “Thanks. I am, too.”

  A few moments later Molly and Lauren stood by the window and watched the Land Rover disappear down Main Street.

  She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. Well, another relationship goes down the drain, Molly thought. If only the henna had disappeared so easily.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRAN DECIDED TO WEAR HER NEW SUIT TO CHURCH. IT WAS linen and had a long jacket in a tasteful toast color that went well with her reddish-brown hair. She buttoned the jacket, smoothing the edge of her silk blouse underneath. It would do, she thought. She had to run an open house today in the estate section near Lilac Hall, the old Warwick mansion. She still had a million things to do: set up the signs, check to make sure the house was in order, set up the flowers, and study the specs one more time. Wealthier buyers asked more questions, she noticed.

  Betty had asked her to handle the property at the last minute. Not that Fran was complaining. Although Betty had brought in the listing, she promised Fran a full percentage if she sold it. Betty was good that way.

  Besides, Betty had other worries right now. She had to drive down to Connecticut this weekend to visit her son. Fran felt badly for her. Betty rarely let on, but Fran knew that it had been difficult for her ever since her son asked to live with his father. She didn’t know what she would do if she and Tucker ever split and the kids had to live away from her, even on weekends.

  She slipped on her rings and her watch and a gold bracelet, then checked her appearance in the mirror. All she needed was her diamond stickpin, the perfect touch for this outfit. She found the velvet box in the top drawer of her dresser but opened it to find the box empty. She checked the other boxes carefully, one by one, but didn’t find the pin. She didn’t keep much jewelry in the house. Most of it was at the bank in a safe-deposit box. There weren’t too many boxes to look through.

  Fran removed the boxes and searched the drawer, thinking it could have fallen out somehow. She shook out a few scarves and a pair of gloves. But then the drawer was empty and, still, no pin.

  Her best piece of jewelry. She felt panicked. Tucker had it specially made and gave it to her for their anniversary two years ago. Tucker would be so upset if she had lost it somewhere.

  “Fran, what’s taking you so long? We’re going to be late.”

  Tucker stood in the doorway, an impatient look on his face. He wore a sports jacket and gray pants; a tie hung loosely around his neck. “The kids are already outside. Mike’s going to start shooting baskets, and he’ll look like a mess in no time.”

  “Come in a second . . . and shut the door,” she said quietly.

  He looked puzzled but did as she asked. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  She picked up the empty case and showed it to him. “I wanted to wear my stickpin today. But look, it’s gone.”

  Tucker glanced at the box for a moment. “Well, maybe you just put it someplace else. Did you check?”

  “I looked through everything. I took everything out of the drawer. It’s not here. I’m positive.”

  Tucker’s mouth tightened to a thin line. “Maybe you took it off someplace. You could have left it at work. Or it might be stuck on some other dress in your closet.”

  “I’d never take it off and just leave it somewhere. Don’t be silly.” She was very careful with her belongings, especially jewelry. “It was right in that box. I’m sure of it.”

  “What are you trying to say, Fran? It didn’t disappear into thin air.”

  “It’s perfectly obvious,” she said. “Carl took it. He must have. Nobody else has been here.”

  Tucker’s reply was immediate. “You don’t know that. Maybe you just put it someplace else. Or brought it down to the bank.”

  “I’d remember going to the bank with it, Tucker. The pin was right in my dresser drawer.” Fran paused, trying to calm her rising frustration. What would it take to get through to Tucker? He was completely blind where his half brother was concerned. “It’s got to be Carl. I can’t see any other explanation for it.”

  Tucker looked angry now, his jaw set in a tight line. “You’re just mad because Carl is staying here longer. That pin could be anywhere. Maybe you lost it.”

  “I didn’t lose it.”

  “Well, I’m not going to accuse Carl of something like that without a shred of proof. So maybe you ought to look harder.”

  TUCKER MARCHED OUT OF THE BEDROOM, NOT KNOWING WHAT TO think. The trouble was, he could imagine Carl taking the stickpin. Yet he drew back from that image. He wanted to believe his brother had changed. But Fran sounded so sure that she had left the pin in the box. What else could have happened to it? There weren’t too many explanations left.

  He felt his gut clench as he saw Carl standing at the bottom of the stairs. He must have heard every word, despite the closed door. It was a small house with thin walls; voices carried.

  Carl stepped aside to let him pass. “I’ll go. You don’t have to say anything.”

  Tucker turned to him. “Did you take that pin, yes or no?”

  The second he asked the question he knew he had made a mistake.

  Carl’s head jerked back at a sharp angle. “Why even ask? Sounds like you already know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t take your wife’s jewelry. But you think I did. Same difference to me.”

  Tucker was instantly sorry. But it was too late. The damage was done. “I didn’t mean it like that. Fran is upset up there. I was only asking you.”

  “Sure, who else would you ask? Tell her I’m leaving. That should cheer her up
again.”

  Carl started walking back toward his room. Tucker wanted to tell him to wait. But he didn’t. He would talk to him later, after church. When they had all calmed down.

  BEN WALKED INTO HIS OFFICE, PICKED UP A LETTER HE WANTED TO ANSWER, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He didn’t notice Carl sitting in the straight-backed chair by the door until he turned to go, and when he did, he jumped back in surprise.

  “Carl . . . in heaven’s name. You startled me.”

  “Sorry. The door was open, so I came in here to wait. You took a long time out there.”

  “There was a meeting of the youth group after coffee hour. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  “Well, yes and no. See, the thing is I need to go. Leave town, I mean. I thought you might give me some of my pay if you have any cash on hand, Reverend.”

  “Oh. I see.” Ben suspected it was something like that. He had noticed the tattered pack leaning against the chair. But why so suddenly? Just yesterday he had seen Carl and everything seemed fine.

  “Of course. I don’t mind giving you your pay. But first, will you tell me why you’re leaving so suddenly? You didn’t mention a word about this yesterday.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It just seems time. The weather is warmer and all. I feel better, too.”

  Ben caught his eye. “The weather has been warmer for a while now, Carl. Did something happen today? Did someone say something to you?”

  Carl looked down at the floor for a long moment and rubbed his chin. “Fran thinks I stole a piece of jewelry out of her dresser drawer. I didn’t. . . . But that’s what she thinks.”

  Ben felt the words like a blow. No wonder he was leaving. Ben could hardly blame him.

  “What about Tucker? What did he say?”

  “He asked me if I did it. Not exactly saying I did. But what’s the difference? He wouldn’t ask you.”

  Ben knew that was true. He paused, wondering what he should say. It seemed so wrong for Carl to leave this way.

  Help me, Lord. I need some words here. He’s doing so well. I need to persuade him to stay.

  Ben sat down in a chair next to Carl. “Listen, Carl. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But if you go now, Fran will only think she was right to accuse you. Don’t run away as if you were guilty.”

  Carl considered his words, then shook his head. “What’s the difference? There’s only going to be more of this.”

  “There is a difference, a real difference. You said before Tucker wouldn’t ask me if I stole the jewelry. That’s true. What would I do if he did? I wouldn’t run away, right?”

  Ben watched Carl think about the question, then he slowly nodded. “No, I guess not.”

  “Well, it’s the same for you, Carl. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to run away from. But you do have a reason to stay. You’ve got a job here, and you’re good at it. I don’t want you to quit on me now. We were just getting started. What about Easter?”

  Carl frowned. “What about it?”

  “You were fixing up the church for Easter. You still have a long list.”

  “Oh, yeah, the list.”

  “You like the job, right?”

  “Sure, I like working here. It’s quiet. Nobody’s breathing down my neck every minute, getting on my case.”

  Ben’s hopes sparked. “You do have your autonomy. That’s hard to find.”

  “Tell me about it.” Carl shifted in his chair. “The thing is, I can’t go back to Tucker’s house anymore.”

  Ben understood, but he felt bad for Tucker. He had tried hard. It just hadn’t worked out.

  “Maybe it’s time to find your own place. You can stay here tonight if you want. There’s a cot in the infirmary, over near the classrooms. You can make yourself something to eat in the pantry. I’m sure there’s plenty of food. Tomorrow I’ll help you find a room to rent in town. I know a place or two we can try.”

  Carl glanced up at him, looking pleased with the suggestion. “All right. That might work out.”

  “I’m sure it will. I know you’re angry, Carl. But it’s better not to run. You’ll just take all of this with you. If you stay, you have some chance of moving beyond it someday.”

  Carl nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not surprised at Fran. But Tucker . . .” He shook his head.

  “I know. But think of all he’s done for you since you got here. That should count for more than a few words spoken in anger. Everyone loses his patience once in a while.”

  Carl chose to ignore that. “I guess you need to get home, Reverend. Just show me where the cot is. I’ll be okay.”

  Feeling relieved, Ben silently thanked the Lord for his help. It was disheartening to see that after all Tucker had done, Carl was now mad at him. But at least Carl was staying. There was still a chance they would make amends. Ben would pray for it.

  AFTER CHURCH ON SUNDAY, MATTHEW DROVE OUT TO THE BEACH WITH Amanda. It seemed the perfect day to walk to the lighthouse on Durham Point Beach. The warm sunshine beat down from a clear sky, and the breeze from the water was soft and mild. Amanda was so elated, she immediately kicked off her sneakers and ran down to the shoreline. Then she pulled off her heavy sweatshirt and tossed it on the sand.

  “Look at the water, Dad. Isn’t it great?” she called back to him.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful here today,” he agreed.

  Worcester was so far inland, they hardly ever got to an ocean beach. There were lakes, of course, but nothing compared to this.

  Amanda seemed to think so, too. He saw her lean over to roll up the legs of her jeans and suspected she was going to get her feet wet. He started to call out to her, then stopped himself. She could get her feet wet if she wanted to. She wasn’t going to catch pneumonia. He was too protective sometimes.

  Watching her from this distance, it was startling to him to see that she was quickly evolving into a young woman. Some traces of the little girl remained but fewer and fewer every day. With her hair cut short like that, she resembled her mother, especially from far away.

  He wondered how Sharon would have reacted to the new hairdo. Probably better than he had, he thought. A chest-beating father gorilla would have handled it with more sensitivity. He sat on a driftwood log that had washed up above the shoreline and watched Amanda amble along, squealing at the cold water every time her feet touched the foam.

  He had tried to have a father-daughter talk with Amanda on the way to Worcester, but it ended up as a screaming match—their first. He had been nearly as shocked by her temper and rebellious attitude as he had been by the new hair color. For heaven’s sake, what was in that stuff? he wondered.

  By the time they had reached his parents’ house, Amanda wasn’t speaking to him, and he was almost too exhausted to explain her appearance.

  But then his sister Erica reminded him of the time she had actually burned off chunks of her hair with an iron, trying to make it straight. Remembering that event did give him some perspective.

  He expected his parents to be appalled, especially since they loved to show off their granddaughter to all their family and friends. But they seemed to find Amanda’s outrageous behavior absolutely charming. His mother made a great fuss, saying Amanda looked very exotic, like a cover girl on a magazine.

  “Don’t worry, dear. She’s just acting her age. It’s good to see her misbehaving a little. I think it shows she’s getting past her grief a little. I do worry sometimes that she’s too perfect,” his mother had confided to him.

  Interesting . . . Molly had said just about the same thing. He hadn’t given her any credit for the insight, though. Just the opposite in fact. Maybe I should have thanked her instead of blaming her, he thought, feeling badly.

  Now he realized it was one of the first times Amanda had ever gotten into real trouble and acted like a regular kid, not some robot child, shy and uptight and too worried about the rules to have any fun. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he had moved to Cape Light, so that Amand
a could make a new start and open up a little?

  He saw her coming back, chasing some birds down at the water’s edge. Her beautiful long hair didn’t trail behind anymore, like little girls in picture books. She looked more like a rock singer on the cover of a CD.

  But maybe that was okay. More than okay, it was the way it should be right now. He couldn’t keep Amanda from growing up, from moving away from him. They both had to move forward, to embrace the new—even if it meant strange hairdos. At least she’d found the courage to try, he realized.

  Amanda ran up to him and flopped on the sand at his feet. She looked breathless but happy. “What are you doing up here, Dad?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just thinking.”

  “About Mom?” she asked quietly.

  “A little,” he admitted. “I was thinking that she’d probably like your new hair.”

  “I don’t know,” Amanda said. “It’s not exactly . . . perfect.”

  “Maybe not,” he allowed, “but your mother knew that thing that all women seem to know: It’s only hair. It grows back. It’s not the end of the world if you have fun with it.” He smiled at her. “So, I was wondering what I would look like in a pink Mohawk and maybe an earring or two?”

  Amanda stared at him a moment, then shook her head, her face deadpan. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

  Her tone was so purely teenage sounding, he just had to laugh.

  SOPHIE WOKE EARLY, WELL BEFORE HER USUAL TIME. SHE WASN’T SURE why. It was almost as if a hand had jostled her shoulder, which was an uncanny feeling. What day was it? Tuesday, she realized. A week since Gus’s funeral. She bowed her head and said a silent prayer.

  Then she climbed out of bed, scuffing to the kitchen in her slippers as her hands automatically pulled some pins from her robe pocket and pinned up her hair.

  She heard people needed less sleep when they got older, but that had rarely been her experience. Maybe it’s getting to me now, she thought. She set up the coffeepot and peered out the window. It was not quite light out. A heavy mist settled among the trees, making the orchard look dreamlike.