Fran cleared up the breakfast dishes, then headed for the master bedroom. She took the curtains down and washed the windows. The closet was next. There was a rummage sale coming up at the church, and she was sure her closet was stocked with donations.
She sorted out her clothes quickly, making piles on the bed for the cleaners and the rummage sale. Then she used the step stool to get at the handbags on the top shelf. There were so many dusty old bags up there, most of them totally out of style. She had to be careful with what she wore to work. She had to make a good impression on her clients.
She pulled down an old straw bag with a broken handle and tossed it on the floor. A suede fringed number followed; Mary Ellen might like that one, Fran thought. There was a leather bag behind that one, a shoulder bag she used to like a lot. She smoothed her hand over the leather flap. It still might do after a polish, she thought. She lifted the flap, noticing some loose change on the bottom, along with a pen that read Bowman Realty.
Then something else caught her eye. A small white box, the kind that jewelry comes in. She took it out and opened it.
Her diamond stickpin. She was so happy to see it. Then she felt a clutch in her chest, remembering how she had accused Carl. She was so sure he had stolen the pin. But here it was, sitting in her bag all along. How had it gotten in here? She stepped down from the stool, her legs feeling shaky.
She suddenly remembered. Months ago they’d had the bedrooms painted, and she had to leave the painters alone in the house all day. She brought most of her jewelry to the bank, but at the last minute realized that the stickpin was still in her dresser drawer, so she rushed around looking for a place to hide it.
And then she forgot all about it, obviously. She hadn’t had a reason to look for it until that open house.
She sighed, looking down at the pin in her hand. Carl had moved out because she accused him of stealing it. I panicked, she realized. She sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do. Should I go see him at the church and apologize?
She really didn’t want to do that. She and Carl hardly spoke, even when he lived there. It would just be so awkward for both of them. She had to admit that she was afraid of what he might say, especially if she went on her own.
Maybe Tucker could speak to him and apologize for her. She would tell him later, when he came back to wash the dog. Then they could decide what to do.
She put the pin back in its box and tucked it away in her dresser drawer. She did feel guilty about accusing Carl. But she was still relieved that he had moved out.
“DO YOU WANT TO PACK THESE TEAPOTS, GRANDMA?”
The teapot collection. Sophie had nearly forgotten about it. It had been there for so long, she almost stopped seeing it. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows, falling on the row of china. The teapots were all shapes, sizes, and colors. Two had glazes that were quite unique: a shiny, obsidian with white peonies; and an iridescent gray-blue with a spray of plum blossoms.
Although Sophie had rarely set foot beyond Cape Light, her teapots had come to her from all corners. Her brother Fred and others would buy them for her in far-off places, souvenirs of their travels. She did love them all. Looking at them was like a trip around the world.
But what would she do with them now? They wouldn’t fit in at Evelyn’s house. Her oldest daughter was particular about her decor. Maybe Una would like them or even Miranda. Still, Sophie didn’t feel quite ready to give them away.
“I’m not sure, dear,” she finally answered Miranda. “We don’t have to pack up everything right now. There’ll be time later.”
After the house was sold, Sophie meant. It was still too hard to say the words aloud. The poor house. Sophie wondered if it would be knocked down to make way for something more modern.
Oh, she couldn’t worry about that now on top of everything. Not with all three of her children coming tomorrow—coming to settle things before she moved to Evelyn’s house.
She suddenly felt so overwhelmed, so distraught. She felt light-headed and clammy, too. She held onto the back of a kitchen chair and abruptly sat down.
“Grandma, are you all right?” Miranda hopped off the step stool and ran to her side.
“I’m fine. Just a little winded. All this packing. It gets on my nerves,” Sophie confessed.
Miranda brought her a glass of cold water, and Sophie drank it thirstily. “The dust bothers me, too,” she added with a small smile. “I guess I let things go a bit once Granddad got sick.”
“What’s the difference? Don’t worry about that now.” Miranda touched her shoulder.
Truly, what was the difference now? She never heard anyone at her stage in life say, “Gee, I don’t think I dusted enough.” With Gus gone, the simple things that had once ordered and organized her life, like keeping up with the housework and deciding what to cook for dinner, seemed to have slipped away.
This was just a phase, people told her, part of the grieving process. “You’ll get through it,” they said. “Things will get back to normal, little by little.”
But she knew they were wrong. She was leaving the orchard. Her life would never get back to normal or anything like it.
“Grandma, do you feel okay? Maybe I should take you over to the doctor. There’s a new one in town. He might have office hours on a Saturday.”
“No. I don’t need a doctor.” Sophie forced a smile and patted Miranda’s hand. “I need a time machine.”
One that could take me back ten or twenty years, so I could live my life all over again, Sophie thought. I don’t think I would be bored one bit.
Miranda sat watching her for a long time. “Why are you leaving here?” she asked finally. “I know you don’t want to.”
“What a question! Everyone seems to know why I have to go. Ask your father, he’ll tell you.” She didn’t mean to snap at Miranda, but her nerves were raw; she couldn’t help herself.
“It just seems so wrong.”
Miranda’s gentle tone nearly made Sophie cry, but she wouldn’t let herself break down that way.
“It feels wrong to me, too, I have to admit. But there doesn’t seem to be any other way. Your father and your aunts won’t allow me to stay here alone. That’s what happens when you reach a certain age—everything goes in reverse, and you get ordered around by your children. Next thing you know, they’ll be setting my bedtime and telling me I’ve had enough TV.”
“I know how they’re pressuring you, Gram. But there must be a way you can stay. You can’t give up so easily.”
“Oh, but there isn’t, dear. We’ve been over and over this. It just pains me now to keep talking about it. Honestly.”
Sophie knew Miranda meant well, but she wished she would just give up. Still, she had only herself to blame for the Potter stubborn streak. She was the one who taught her children and grandchildren to be persistent, to fight to the very end. “A diamond is just a lump of coal that stuck to its job,” she would tell them, quoting one of her favorite sayings. Still, she didn’t see how persistence or even sheer stubbornness would help her now. Miranda was so young. She didn’t understand.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking about this,” Miranda said. “What if I stayed here with you? Moved in permanently, I mean. You could tell me what to do, and I could run the orchard for you.”
Sophie felt her heart catch. If only, she answered silently.
“Oh, my. That’s a lovely offer, Miranda, and I appreciate it. But what about your career, your acting? You can’t give that up and come live out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be an actress, Gram. The auditions are like cattle calls, and I never get called back. Well, not enough to make it feel worthwhile. I’ve been plugging away at it for a while now, and I’m tired of it. I guess I didn’t even realize that until I came up here to see you and Granddad. Even if I go back to New York, I’m going to give up acting.”
She sounded so definite. Sophie had a lot of respect for that
. It was good to see that despite the stubborn streak, her granddaughter was flexible and wouldn’t stay stuck in a rut.
“Well, it sounds as if you’ve thought about it and made up your mind,” Sophie said. “But I don’t see why you would want to stay up here. It’s so isolated and you’re so young.”
“I’m twenty-five, Grandma. The same age you were when you took over.”
“Yes, that’s true. But things were different then. There was a war going on. We got old fast back then.”
“Oh, Grandma. Come on, you know that’s not true.”
Sophie laughed. “I can’t help it, honey. You do seem so young to me. And it’s such hard work to run this place. I’m not sure you really know what you would be getting into.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. I worked here every summer when I was in high school. And I’ve loved working in the orchard with you these last weeks. We got a lot done out there. Don’t you think?”
Sophie bit down on her lip. So many times she had seen her granddaughter out there and thought she was seeing an old movie of herself. Only Miranda was so tall and fit, she hardly needed a ladder to reach the branches.
“Yes, we did get a lot accomplished,” Sophie admitted. “You’re a good worker, too. You’ve got a real feel for the trees. I always said that to your grandfather, even when you were in high school.”
“Grandma, please. Just think about it, okay?” Miranda leaned closer and squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to see you leave here. Not yet. I know we could do this together. I really do.”
Sophie couldn’t help it. The touch of Miranda’s hand and the light in her young eyes sparked hope in her heart.
“Well, you’ve given me a lot to consider, young lady. I’ll be up half the night probably . . . but it might work out. If we can persuade my children.”
“We will. We won’t take no for an answer,” Miranda promised.
Sophie just smiled. In her heart, she quietly spoke to Gus, for she suddenly felt sure he was nearby, listening.
Did you hear that, Gus? Didn’t I tell you that if the Lord wanted me to stay he’d send a way? Well, here it is. Our own Miranda. My prayers have been answered. Then she decided to say a few words to God, too.
Thank you, Lord. She was right under my nose, and I didn’t even see. But we’re going to need your help tomorrow. It’s not over yet. . . .
“WELL, HERE THEY ARE. THANKS AGAIN FOR HAVING THEM OVER.” MOLLY led Lauren and Jill into Sam and Jessica’s house.
Jessica stood in the front hall, taking the girls’ backpacks. “Gosh, you look gorgeous. I love that outfit.”
“Thanks. I bought it in sort of a rush at one of the outlet stores. I need some more good clothes for appointments.”
Jessica’s remark made Molly feel self-conscious. They both knew she had run out the day after Matt had called to get something new to wear. She had found a peach-colored sweater set with a matching paisley skirt in a sheer layered material. It floated to a graceful length that was flattering to her figure.
The high-heeled sandals, though painful, helped a lot in that department, too. Luckily, Matthew was tall, and she could get away with such tricks without towering over him.
Sam appeared on the stairway. “I thought I heard you come in.” He stepped over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Looking good, Molly. So, what’s going on?”
“I told you, she’s going out with Dr. Harding.” Something in Jessica’s tone made Molly blush.
“Oh, the doctor. Yeah, I heard all about it.” Sam stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Where are you guys going?”
“Dinner and then to hear some jazz at Bay Street Café.”
Sam looked amused. “You hate jazz. You always say it gives you a headache.”
“I do not say that. I like jazz. I like all kinds of music.” Molly knew she sounded huffy, but she was a little nervous tonight. She didn’t need Sam’s teasing.
He probably didn’t think Matthew was a good match for her—not like his couch-potato friend, Micky.
“I like it a lot better than watching sports on TV, I’ll tell you that much,” she said brightly.
Sam didn’t answer, but she could tell by his expression that he caught her meaning.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him. You never took me on such interesting dates, pal, come to think about it,” Jessica reminded her husband.
Sam turned to his wife and flashed his notoriously charming smile. “I must have done something right. You married me, honey.”
Jessica looked as if she didn’t want to smile back at him but finally couldn’t help herself. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
“Have a good time, Moll,” Sam said.
“Thanks, I will.”
“Yes, have a great time. And don’t rush,” Jessica added. “The girls can sleep in the guest room if they get tired.”
Molly thanked Jessica and said good-bye. Then she stepped carefully in her high-heeled sandals down the gravel driveway to her car. She slowly eased herself in so she wouldn’t wrinkle her skirt on the way to Matthew’s house.
Her hands were sweating on the steering wheel. It’s ridiculous to be so nervous, she told herself. It wasn’t as if they had never spent time together. By now she felt she knew Matt pretty well. But they had never really spent time alone together. She wondered if it would be hard to keep up a conversation without the girls constantly distracting them.
Was he too good for her? Too smart, too sophisticated?
She was feeling a lot better about herself lately and about her life . . . but this was different.
“Don’t turn this into some kind of test,” Betty had wisely advised. “You’re not going to an audition, for goodness’ sake. Try to figure out if he’s good enough for you.”
He’s good enough, she thought. He’s just right.
Molly turned off the Beach Road into the village. Just as she passed the harbor on her way to Hawthorne Street, her cell phone rang. She dug in her bag with one hand and answered it. Was it a call from Lauren or Jill already? She hoped they weren’t going to haunt her all night.
“Molly? It’s Matthew. I’m glad I caught you. Where are you?”
“In the village. On the way to your house.”
“I’m not at home. A patient needs to be admitted to the hospital. I’m on my way to Southport now to meet her.”
“Oh . . . that’s too bad.” She meant it was bad for his patient, but she also felt bad for herself.
“I know. I’m so sorry. It’s a really rotten break. But listen, the table is still reserved. Why don’t you take a friend or something?”
A friend? She didn’t want to take a friend. She wanted to go with him. Molly swallowed hard, fighting back tears.
“Um, thanks. Good idea. I’m not sure who I could ask on such short notice, though.”
“Well if you can find someone, it should be a great show. I’ll try to . . .” The connection began to break up, and Molly couldn’t hear what Matthew said next.
“Matt? I can’t hear you.” She listened to the static for a moment, then shut her phone. The car seemed to drive itself down Main Street. Molly saw an empty space in front of the movie theater and pulled over.
She had a few single friends she could call, but she knew that most of them wouldn’t be able to run out at a minute’s notice, anyway. She didn’t really feel like calling anyone; she had told Matthew she would just to be polite. And to save face, too. She didn’t want him to know how disappointed she felt. He said he was, too, but he didn’t really sound it.
She sighed and looked out the window. Wrong place to park, she realized, watching couples walk hand in hand into the movie theater. She felt her eyes fill up with tears again. This time she pulled out a pack of tissues and let herself cry.
She permitted herself a few moments of abject misery, then blew her nose and rallied. This wouldn’t do. It was just a canceled date, not the end of the world. He did have a good reason, not some lame excuse�
�and she had heard enough of those to know the difference.
She fixed her runny eye makeup with a tissue, then took a deep breath. She didn’t really relish the idea of going back to Sam and Jessica’s and explaining what happened. Hiding out at a movie for a while was an option. But that was silly. Matt was a doctor. He had emergencies. She had nothing to feel ashamed of.
She started her car and headed back to Sam’s house. The ride on the Beach Road, with its lush greenery and sea breeze, calmed her a bit more. When she reached the house, she gritted her teeth and climbed up the gravel driveway again, nearly tipping over in her heels. Jessica answered the door, looking surpised.
“Molly, are you okay? Did you have car trouble?” she asked with concern.
“I’m fine. Matthew had an emergency. He had to admit a patient to the hospital and had to cancel on me.”
Though she tried to sound matter-of-fact about it, she knew she really sounded glum.
“Gee, that’s too bad.” Jessica’s sympathetic look nearly made her come unglued again. Molly smiled wanly, struggling not to start crying again.
“I’ll survive. I don’t really like jazz anyway. I guess I’ll take the girls home.”
“Sure. We were just about to have dinner. Would you like to stay?”
Molly considered the invitation. On one hand, it would give her something to do; on the other, it would be too depressing.
“That’s nice of you to offer, Jessica, but I think I’ll just take them out somewhere.”
Just as Molly was about to call the girls, Sam walked into the living room. “Hey, Moll. What are you doing back here?”
“Matt had to go to the hospital on an emergency,” Jessica explained.
“Oh, that’s a tough break.”
Molly glanced at him, daring him to say she’d been stood up. Sam just crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her with a sympathetic expression that made her feel even worse somehow.
“Oh well. He couldn’t help it, I guess,” Sam said finally.
“Of course, he couldn’t help it,” Jessica replied.
A New Leaf Page 27
