A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  Then she paused before speaking again in her own voice, which emerged sounding a bit shaky and shy, she noticed with dismay. “It was good to run into you, Matt.”

  He stood up and sighed. “Good to see you, too. Don’t work too hard, okay?” Then he did lean over and kiss her, a quick hard kiss on her lips that stole her breath away. As he pulled back, the look in his eyes was challenging, as if to say, “I really wanted to do that. So I did.”

  Molly took a deep breath. “See you,” she said quietly. He nodded and walked away.

  Molly felt stunned. What ever happened to his “let’s be friends” agenda? That kiss—which was definitely more than friendly—seemed to cancel out that plan, though Molly wasn’t sure what was left in its place. He had her guessing, as usual. But she had hope again, hope that something more would come of the connection between them.

  Maybe it’s not just me, she realized. Maybe Matt couldn’t just let it go, either.

  REVEREND BEN SAT UP ON THE EXAMINING TABLE, THE SLEEVE ON HIS left arm rolled up to his elbow. A bloody, makeshift bandage covered a deep, jagged gash on his forearm.

  Matthew leaned over him, carefully cutting off the bandage. “You’ve got quite a cut here.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  “How did this happen, Reverend?”

  “I was just working around the church, trimming back some bushes on the side of the building. I lost my balance and scraped my arm on the edge of the shears.”

  “That’s a bit more than a scrape.” Matthew surveyed the cut once it was exposed.

  “I shouldn’t have been out there. The deacons usually take care of those things. We had a good handyman for a few weeks, Carl Tulley. But he had to leave the job rather suddenly.”

  “Yes, I heard about that.” Matthew had heard all about Carl Tulley, though he didn’t believe half of it.

  He turned to the cabinet behind him and took out some gauze and tape. “You’re going to need some stitches. When was your last tetanus shot?”

  The reverend shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  “You’ll need one today. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Matthew assembled the materials he needed and started to work on Reverend Ben. “Ever had stitches before?” he asked as he quickly pulled the needle through.

  The reverend glanced briefly at his arm and then away again. “Once or twice, years ago.”

  “These are the melt-away kind. You won’t have to come back to get them out. I do want you to watch for any signs of infection, though.”

  The reverend nodded. “So, how do you like it here so far, Matthew? Are you and Amanda settling in okay?”

  Matthew smiled. “I’m the one who’s supposed to start in on the small talk—to distract you.”

  The reverend smiled. “You forgot to ask me what I do for a living. Isn’t that the standard question?”

  “More or less,” Matthew admitted with a short laugh. He applied a strip of adhesive on the gauze, then turned to cut another. “We’re doing okay, I guess. This office is extremely busy. Sometimes I think I could stay open twenty-four hours a day.”

  The reverend gazed at him. “I think you mentioned that you came here to work less, not more.”

  “That was part of the reason.” Matthew had finished with the bandage and turned to put the materials away in the cabinet.

  When the reverend didn’t say anything, he added, “My wife died about three years ago.”

  “Yes, I know that. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I’ve never quite gotten over it. I guess I moved here for a change. To see if it would help.”

  The reverend leaned forward, folding his bandaged arm across his chest. “Has it helped you, Matt?”

  Matt looked at him, then shook his head. “Not completely. Not as much as I had hoped. But that’s my own fault, too.”

  “How so?”

  Matthew shrugged. “It’s just hard. Even moving to the moon might not really help me.”

  “What part is hard, Matt? You still grieve for your wife—is that what you mean?”

  Matt didn’t know how to explain it. He wondered now how he’d even gotten so deeply into this subject. There was something about Reverend Ben that made him want to talk, to unburden himself.

  “We had an unhappy marriage. My wife felt neglected. She said I worked too hard.” Matt paused and shook his head. “Maybe I did. I know I could have been a better husband to her. But when I finally tried, it was too late. Sharon was sick. We didn’t have much chance to make it better. I never got the chance to make it up to her.”

  “And you feel sad about that.”

  Matt nodded. “Yes, and guilty, too. I feel sort of stuck, to tell you the truth. Like I can’t fix the past and can’t do any better in the future, so I’m afraid to even try.”

  “But you would like to try, I gather. Or else you wouldn’t even be thinking of it.”

  Matt thought of Molly. Yes, he would like to try. If she would give him another chance. If it worked out between them, it would be like a new life, he thought.

  “I have tried, in a way. But I keep slipping back. Until I resolve my feelings about my wife, I can’t seem to move forward, and I just don’t know how to do that.”

  “I see.” The reverend nodded. He met Matt’s gaze. “You believe in God, right?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Do you believe that God alone has the right to judge us? That we don’t have the right to judge each other—or even to judge ourselves?”

  Matthew considered his words. He didn’t answer at first. “It’s hard not to judge myself, Reverend. Very hard.”

  The reverend nodded in agreement. “Yes, I know. I feel the same way myself at times. What about your wife? Would she have wanted you to feel this way, so burdened and stuck, so unhappy?”

  “No, not at all. She wasn’t like that.”

  “She would have forgiven you then?”

  Matthew glanced at him, unsure of what to say. “I guess so.”

  The reverend didn’t say anything for a moment; he just looked over his bandage again and started rolling down his sleeve.

  “You know the Lord’s Prayer, of course. I bet you say it often, maybe even every day. Some people say that prayer alone summarizes the entire Gospel.”

  “I never heard that,” Matthew replied.

  “ ‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’ The key, you see, is forgiveness. There’s so much of Christianity in that single word.” The reverend looked up at him. “God forgives you, Matthew. That’s a given. He asks that you reflect that forgiveness to those around you—even to yourself. Forgiveness is a virtue, no doubt. But it’s also medicine to a troubled soul. It can heal and bring resolution and tranquility.”

  Tranquility. There was a sweet-sounding word. Matthew swallowed hard. Could he forgive himself? he wondered now. He’d never really tried, he realized.

  “You’ve given me something to think about, Reverend.”

  Reverend Ben smiled and hopped down off the table. “Not the usual distracting small talk?”

  Matt shook his head. “No, not in the least, sir.”

  The reverend didn’t say anything. But Matthew could tell by his small smile that he felt quite satisfied with that reply.

  “LILLIAN? I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. YOU REALLY NEED TO JUST OPEN the door now and let us in.” Molly’s tone wavered between a sugary, coaxing voice and one edged with the anger and frustration she truly felt.

  She listened again at the thick wooden front door, wanting to stamp her feet in sheer outrage. But she controlled the impulse, well aware of the eyes on her of the group of helpers she had hired for the day. They were watching her from the sidewalk, where they stood by a rented van loaded with party supplies, waiting for her instructions.

  Molly knew Lillian was in there. She just wouldn’t answer the door. Oh blast! What else would go wrong? It was hard enough to do this party, the event that was supposed to launch he
r new business. Now she had Lillian to contend with. How could she have everything set up in time if she couldn’t even get inside?

  Molly sat down on the top porch step and put her head in her hands, feeling as if she were about to cry. One of her helpers, a girl named Christine whom Molly had hired from the high school, walked up to her. “Isn’t anybody home?”

  “She’s home. She doesn’t want us to think she’s home. But she’s in there, believe me. She just won’t let us in.”

  “Oh.” Christine gazed up at the house. “What about a back door?”

  “I tried. The house is locked tight as a drum.”

  “Is there someone you can call? How about Mayor Warwick?” Christine persisted. Molly sighed. As if she hadn’t already thought of these things. Still, the kid was only trying to be helpful. “I left a message on her cell phone. I think she’s off at a day spa in Newburyport or something.”

  And Jessica went with her, Molly added silently. She had left a message at Jessica’s house, too. Now there was no one left to call and, short of breaking and entering, no way to get in the house and set up for this party. Every minute spent melting out here in the hot sun was time wasted. It had taken all morning to pick up the tables, chairs, linens, and tableware and to assemble her crew. It was already one o’clock, and Molly knew she was an hour behind schedule.

  Christine walked up the steps and stared at the front door. “Gee, too bad you don’t know where she keeps a spare key. There must be one around.”

  Molly blinked and suddenly sat up straight. She did know where Lillian left her spare key. She had used it when she used to come here to clean. Working for Lillian had been so miserable, she’d blocked the entire episode out of her mind.

  She jumped up, hoping the key was still in the same place, inside a cushion on a wicker rocking chair out on the porch. As Christine watched, Molly grabbed the cushion and unzipped it.

  She pulled out the key and held it in front of her like a prize.

  “Yes!”

  “Is that the key?” Christine asked.

  “Yes, for the front door.” The question was, did she have the courage to use it? Molly took a breath. What was the worst that could happen?

  Lillian could call the police and have her carted away for breaking in.

  Knowing Lillian, it was definitely a possibility. Molly glanced over at Christine. “You go down and tell the others to start emptying the truck. I’ll leave the door open. Just start coming in with the stuff.”

  Christine nodded and skipped down the steps. Molly took a deep breath and approached the door. Lillian would put up a fuss, she was sure. But maybe if the crew started marching in with all the equipment, she would feel outnumbered.

  Molly hoped so. She slipped the key into the lock and slowly turned it, then pushed the door open. The house was silent and dark. The foyer felt cool, despite the heat outside.

  “How did you get in here!” Molly looked up at the top of the stairs to see her nemesis dressed in a long robe and leaning on her cane.

  “I used the spare key. I guess you didn’t hear me knocking,” Molly said diplomatically.

  “I heard you.” Lillian shifted on her cane. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t have all this hubbub in the house today.”

  “I’m sorry, Lillian. We have to start setting up. I need a few hours to get everything ready.”

  Lillian peered down at her, then slowly began to come down the steps. “But you can’t start working in here. Don’t you understand me?”

  Lillian’s tone was sharp, her voice piercing. Molly felt intimidated but forced herself to keep her own voice steady and calm. “But Emily must have told you I was coming—”

  “This is my house, not Emily’s.” Lillian stood at the bottom of the steps now. “I’ve already told you. Your presence here is most inconvenient and unwelcome. I won’t have it!”

  Lillian’s eyes widened in astonishment as Molly’s helpers began to troop into the house, carrying stacks of rented chairs and folding tables.

  “Who are these people? Where do you think you’re going? Get out! All of you!” She turned to Molly and glared at her. “Stop them. Stop them immediately!”

  Molly’s crew paused, looking from Molly to Lillian, their faces growing red and strained as they held their heavy loads.

  Molly quietly nodded and waved her hand. “Go on in. It’s okay. I’ll work this out.”

  At Molly’s last remark Lillian’s face grew pale. Her mouth opened to speak, then closed again. Molly suddenly worried that the old woman might make herself sick over this.

  She didn’t know what to do. Should she stay out and keep trying to get in touch with Emily? But that might take all day. She wouldn’t be ready in time, and this party would be the disaster Lillian had predicted.

  “Mother, what in the world is going on here?”

  Molly suddenly turned to see Jessica in the doorway. She had never been so happy to see her sister-in-law. “Jessica . . .”

  Jessica glanced quickly at Molly. “Sam picked up your message and found me. Thank goodness.” She looked back at her mother. “What’s the problem here, Mother? You knew Molly was coming today.”

  Lillian swallowed and sniffed but looked her daughter straight in the eye. “Yes, your sister talked me into having this debacle of a party at my home. But I never agreed to having it torn apart by this band of riffraff.” Lillian stood up straight. “I’m not at all well. I need my rest. I can’t have these people milling about, tearing the place apart.”

  Jessica moved toward her mother. “Mother, you knew what was going to happen here today. Molly needs to set everything up.”

  “A professional party expert could manage in far less time with far less fuss, if you ask me. Not to mention her employees. Why, there’s a girl in there with an earring in her nose!”

  She referred to Christine’s unfortunate nose piercing. Christine had promised to take the nose ring out this evening for the event; it never occurred to Molly that it would be a problem during the setup. She was such a good kid, Molly hardly noticed it anymore.

  Jessica ignored the comment. She took Lillian’s arm and began to lead her back upstairs. “You need to have your hair done, Mother. You’re practically the hostess tonight, you know.”

  “The hostess? I’ll probably be up in my room with a horrid migraine.”

  “Of course, you won’t. You don’t want to embarrass Emily and Dan like that. I have an appointment for you at the beauty shop in town. Now, what are you going to wear? Is the blue dress back from the cleaners?”

  Molly heaved a huge sigh of relief as she watched Jessica and Lillian disappear down the upstairs hallway. The coast was clear for now. Molly turned her attention back to the business of getting this party together. She had a little over four hours to set up. She just hoped she could do it all in time.

  MOLLY WAS OUT ON THE PATIO, CHECKING A FLOWER ARRANGEMENT, when she spotted Emily and Dan inside. She could tell immediately from the look on Emily’s face that the preparations had been a success. More than a success. Emily looked absolutely astounded.

  “Molly, the house looks beautiful! The flowers, the tables—everything looks great.” Emily beamed at her. “How long have you been here?”

  “Oh, a few hours.” Molly wondered if Jessica had told Emily about Lillian’s behavior. It seemed almost beside the point now. The setup phase was over. All she had to do was serve the food.

  “Molly, can you come in the kitchen a second?” Nick, one of her helpers, stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes wide with alarm. This is not good, Molly thought.

  “I can see you have a lot going on. I won’t keep you,” Emily said to her. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Absolutely.” Molly smiled mechanically at Emily, then did a speed walk back to the kitchen to find a minor crisis. The crab spread had not completely jelled. Instead of artful swirls, it had turned into ugly misshapen globs as her helpers squeezed it out of the pastry tube and onto the rounds of
garlic toast.

  “It looks awful. Should we skip it?” Christine asked.

  Molly took a breath and stared down at the crab spread. She had never had so many people looking to her for directions—and expecting the right answers. She had raised two children. But that was different. Her kids didn’t listen to half of what she said and argued with the rest of it.

  This crew was listening and really expected her to know what she was doing.

  “Is there any extra cream cheese from that spinach thing?”

  “A bar or two,” Christine reported.

  “Okay. Get the cream cheese, and mix some into the crab spread, about half a bar to start. It should start molding. Test it with a spoon before you put in the bag again. And add a little dill if it starts to taste too watered down.”

  Christine’s expression brightened. “Extra dill. Got it.” She raced off to find the cream cheese, and Molly felt quietly pleased to have solved the problem.

  She turned and surveyed the kitchen. The rest of the crew was hard at work, some preparing the hors d’oeuvres, others working on the entrées and side dishes. She walked around with her list in hand, making sure everything was on track.

  The hands of the kitchen clock approached six. Molly called her group around the table. “You’re all doing a great job. Emily is very pleased with the setup, and the food looks terrific. All we have to do now is serve it,” she added, making them laugh.

  “Don’t worry. It will all be fine,” Molly promised them. She was in charge now, like a general going into battle. Even if she had her private doubts, she had to give her crew confidence. “We can do it, no problem.”

  They smiled and nodded at her. Nick poked Christine in the ribs with his elbow. The clock struck six, and Molly took a deep breath. “Okay, guys. Back to your stations. It’s show time.”

  The rest of the night flew by as one course led to the next. Molly’s inexperienced crew made a few slip ups—a tray of glasses crashed to the floor, a batch of canapés caught fire, setting off the kitchen smoke detector. Molly leaped up on a chair and yanked the batteries out of the alarm. Luckily the jazz trio in the backyard was playing a loud number that covered the noise. And as the entrées began to come out of the kitchen a short time later, a roast fish flew off its platter when one of her helpers tripped. Molly miraculously caught it midair. She quickly set it back on its platter, artfully covering the damage with some creative garnish. She never realized how much you had to think on your feet in this business—or how resourceful she could be.