Thomas Kinkade's Cape Light Page 11

  “Proceed on Route 1A, two miles to Hitchcock Lane.” Two more miles. Not so bad. Emily remembered now that the school was right after that turn. She drove quickly but carefully the rest of the way and arrived a few minutes later. It wasn’t hard to find the gym, and she sighed with relief, hearing the sound of a game going on as she jogged the rest of the way to the open doors and quickly found a seat in the bleachers.

  She felt as breathless and sweaty as the players on the court and quickly slipped off her jacket. The whistle sounded and parents cheered. Simpson had just scored. The score looked close. Where was Jane? Emily scanned the court but didn’t see her.

  Then she spotted her daughter on the bench. Jane looked as though she had been out on the court already; she was chugging from a water bottle, her bangs plastered to her forehead.

  Oh drat. For once the coach started her and I missed it?

  Emily felt like kicking herself. She tried to catch Jane’s eye, but her daughter was focused on her team, jumping up and cheering as a friend spiked the ball so hard it bounced off the floor and into the stands.

  Emily cheered, too. “Number Five! Way to go!”

  The woman next to her beamed. “That’s my daughter, Number Five, Tara Bartow,” she said proudly.

  “She’s very good,” Emily replied. “I’m here for Number Nine, Jane Forbes. She’s on the bench now, but it looks like she played for a while.”

  “Yes, she scored three points in the first quarter,” Tara’s mother reported. “She’s terrific.”

  Emily felt her heart drop. “I’m so sorry I missed it. I went to the wrong school and . . . well, maybe she’ll be put in again.”

  “Hope so.” The woman gave her a curious look. “Hey, aren’t you Emily Warwick, the mayor?”

  Emily smiled but shook her head. “Former mayor.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I thought I recognized you. Well, your granddaughter is a super player. Now you have time to cheer her on.”

  Emily felt the smile on her face freeze. “She’s my daughter. But that’s my plan. Thanks.”

  The other woman’s face flushed with embarrassment. Emily was grateful when a loud cheer from the stands distracted both of them. The opposing team had scored, and now they were ahead by three points. Before the two teams could set up again, the whistle sounded for halftime. Jane’s coach called his girls into a huddle near the bench.

  Emily gazed around, wondering if she knew any of the other parents. They all looked so young. I don’t look that old for my age, do I? She wondered if she should consider a new hairdo.

  Poor Dan was the one who got the grandfather tag, ever since Jane had been a baby. His hair had gone prematurely gray in his early forties.

  The woman on her other side chatted with her neighbor. They seemed to be good friends, deep in a serious conversation.

  “—but I told them I just can’t do it right now. Maybe when Max is done with kindergarten.”

  “I’d like to go more, too. But I’m in the same boat with the twins. Audrey is having trouble with reading. I’ve got to stay on top of that,” the other mother added. “So much after-school stuff. At least I started the Crock-Pot this morning. I barely have time to figure out dinner.”

  Emily hadn’t given a thought to dinner. Dan usually cooked dinner; he made simple meals, but he was quite good at it. She had made some noises about taking over, but hadn’t started yet.

  Though she had gone through all these stages with Jane, she didn’t feel as if she had much in common with these parents—even if she could manage to break into a conversation.

  A woman on the bleacher below sat with needles and yarn, stitching away at a feverish pace. Maybe I should learn how to knit. It would give me something productive to do over the winter.

  The whistle blew and the teams came back on the court. Emily was excited to see Jane take a front-line position.

  The plays were fast, the girls on both teams agile and strong. Emily jumped up and down in her seat as Jane made two huge spikes, the second totally confounding a player on the other side; the poor girl fell to her knees, trying to reach it in time. Luckily, they all wore knee and elbow pads.

  The second half of the game flew by, with Jane on the court twice. When the final whistle blew, Emerson Middle School was behind by two points. A narrow loss but well played, Emily thought. She was no stranger to that outcome.

  She joined the wave of parents heading down to the court to meet the players. She gave Jane a big hug. “You were awesome, honey. What a spike! I’m going to call you Hammer at home.”

  Jane looked pleased at her praise, and a little embarrassed, too. She was at that age. “Thanks, Mom. Too bad we lost.”

  “Not by much. You all played really well. Do you have a lot of homework? I thought we could get ice cream or something. You must be starved.”

  Jane had been a picky eater as a little girl, but now she could eat a large lunch, another full meal after school, and still have an appetite for dinner. And she just got taller and thinner.

  “I have to go back to school on the bus with my team, remember?”

  “Sure. That’s right. I’ll meet you there.”

  Emily had gone to so few games that she had forgotten the routine. But I’m going to remember from now on. I’m going to put the schedule in my phone and be at every game.

  “I’m going home with another girl on the team—Tara Bartow? Guess I forgot to send you a text. We’re doing a project at school together, and we need to work on it tonight.”

  “What’s the project?”

  “It’s a debate for history class. It’s not due for a few weeks, but we need to figure out a question and take sides and all that.”

  Emily felt excited at the news. “That’s something I can help you with. Maybe your friend should come to our house.”

  Jane looked uncomfortable at the suggestion. “It’s all sort of planned. Another girl is coming, too. It’s too late to change it, Mom. But thanks.”

  “I see.” Emily suddenly realized that Jane wasn’t used to offering their house for after-school meetings. Usually, Emily wasn’t home and Dan was writing and needed quiet.

  “Sounds like you’ll have more meetings about this. Next time, everyone can come to our house. Maybe I can help a little. I’ve been in a few debates.”

  Jane had watched Emily debate in the last two elections and grinned at the understatement. “Sure, you can help us next time. I’d better go. Everyone is getting on the bus.”

  Emily nodded and kissed her forehead. Jane slung her pack over her shoulder and ran to catch up with her friends. Emily watched, feeling wistful. And a little deflated.

  We’re all in a period of transition now. Not just me, she reminded herself as she headed for her car. I can hardly blame Jane for not volunteering our house or asking me for help. She’s not used to the fact that I’m totally available for her and not stuck in an office until late at night.

  I need to be patient. It will take her a while to get used to all this. But not too long, I hope.

  * * *

  Emily got home to find Dan in the kitchen, taking a fragrant roast chicken out of the oven. “How was the game?” he asked.

  “Emerson lost but fought valiantly. Your daughter has a mean spike. I never realized she was so tough.”

  “Oh, Jane has a competitive streak. Not always visible, but definitely there. I wonder who she takes after,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Yes, I wonder.” Emily knew that she, too, could be competitive when necessary. “I like to see her jump in and do battle with a team. But I didn’t really have anyone to talk to,” she admitted. “One mom thought I was Janie’s grandmother.” Emily rolled her eyes. “Time for that expensive eye cream?”

  “A lot of people marry young around here,” Dan pointed out. “You wouldn’t feel so out of place as an older mom if we l
ived in Boston.”

  “I know. I should be used to it by now, being an older-than-average mom. Maybe I should get bangs next time I get my hair cut? They say it takes ten years off.”

  Dan laughed and put his hand on her cheek. “Honey, you look fine. You’re just not used to hanging out with the after-school sports group. Just don’t talk about politics or religion. You’ll be fine.”

  “How about Crock-Pots? That seemed to be a hot topic . . . Do we have one?” She bit down on a raw string bean and gazed around the kitchen.

  “Somewhere. I’ve never used it. Hey, there’s something you can work on, mastering the art of Crock-Pot cooking. That would let me out of kitchen detail every night, too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll look for some videos online.” She was half joking, but half serious, too. She saw plates stacked on the counter and began setting the table.

  “Where’s Jane? Did she run up for a shower?”

  “She went home with a friend. They have a school project to work on. The history class is having a debate.”

  “A debate? That’s right up your alley.”

  “I noticed. And I plan to help them. Next time,” she clarified. The phone rang, and Emily glanced at the number but didn’t pick it up.

  “Who’s that? Don’t you want to answer it?”

  “Not right now. It’s just my mother. I know what she’s calling about.”

  They heard Lillian’s voice on the answering machine. “Emily, are you there? I tried your cell phone. You didn’t answer. I’d like to speak with you. I went to the meeting and I have some news. It’s important.”

  Dan turned to look at her. Emily was folding napkins and placing forks and knives at each place.

  “What’s that all about? What meeting? Something at church?”

  “No . . . something else. Some group she wants me to—”

  The phone rang again. A name flashed on the caller ID—Martin Becker, the chairman of the open-space group. Had she left her home number with them? She didn’t think so.

  “Your mother again? I think you should get it, Em. She’ll give us no peace.” Dan was carving the chicken, his hands too slippery to grab the phone.

  “It’s not her. Let me just listen a minute . . .”

  “Hello, Emily. This is Martin, from SOS. Sorry you missed today’s meeting. Your mother said it was okay to call. We decided on a strategy, and we need to be ready for the village meeting next Monday evening. We could really use your input on this. We have so many questions and so little time. If you could get back to me soon, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  Dan turned, holding his carving knife and fork in the air like a surgeon. “What’s SOS? And what sort of meeting is this? I thought you said you weren’t going to—”

  “I know what I said. I was really trying to stick to it, too. But last Sunday, Mother tricked me into going to a meeting for a group that’s fighting the new zoning proposal. I thought I was taking her food shopping after church, but she made me bring her there instead. And I couldn’t just leave her there. Sitting in the car seemed childish, too.” She paused. “I know I broke my promise, but I hope you’re not mad at me?”

  “Of course not. I know how Lillian is. And I know this issue is important to you. You were very vocal about it during your campaign, and I know that wasn’t just talk.”

  “I really do care, Dan. It was encouraging to see how many people joined the group. But I don’t want it to look as if I’m purposely trying to undermine Charlie—as if I’m a sore loser, out to embarrass him. That’s not it at all.”

  “I know it’s not,” he assured her. “But it is a slippery slope. If you get involved, some people will see it that way.”

  “I sat way at the back and didn’t even intend to talk,” Emily explained. “But some of the ideas people offered would just be a waste of time. I know how zoning gets changed and the ways to block it. I couldn’t help giving a little advice.”

  Dan stood at the sink, washing his hands. “Sounds like they need it.” He turned to face her again, drying his hands with a towel. “I just don’t want to see you get swept up in another . . . town tornado. Something like this can eat up all your time again, Em. Our time.”

  “I know. I don’t want that either, believe me. We’re going to have a really nice Christmas. And plan our trip. I’m just going to help them prepare for the council meeting next Monday night. After that, they’re on their own. I’m not going to lead a charge down Main Street. Been there, done that.”

  Dan smiled and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Good plan. I think everyone in this house has been there and done that.”

  Emily was glad they had talked this out. She had meant to tell Dan that she had gone to the meeting, but somehow, it had ended up a secret. It was a relief that he knew and wasn’t upset that she had broken her promise. Not broken it—bent it, just a bit? Just until the council meeting at Village Hall Monday night. The trick of life is to set limits, she advised herself.

  Dan had set the platter of chicken on the table, and Emily brought over bowls of green beans and noodles. “This looks delicious. Thanks for cooking. My turn tomorrow night.”

  “You’re welcome. And I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted with a grin.

  Another promise she had made to her family. She was going to keep it, too. “I may surprise you,” Emily replied.

  Dan smiled and kissed her. “You always do.”

  * * *

  “There are the usual prescriptions, and some new drug the doctor wants me to take for my stomach acid,” Emily’s mother told her on Friday afternoon. “The drugstore said it would be ready today, but it’s not that important. These doctors are rabid to write out prescriptions. They get fancy dinners and vacations from drug companies. Did you know that? I saw it on the news, a special report.”

  “I never accepted so much as a ballpoint pen from a drug salesman,” Ezra shouted from the living room. Emily didn’t even realize he’d been listening.

  “Of course not, dear. You would never stoop so low,” Lillian shouted back. “I mean these young doctors, the type we see.”

  Emily wondered who her mother could be talking about. Lillian and Ezra’s youngest physician had to be over fifty. But she didn’t contradict her. She had been at the house almost an hour and was eager to leave. Her mother claimed she had caught Ezra’s cold and couldn’t go out today, so Emily had offered to help. During the many years she had been mayor, she had managed to run over to Providence Street at random breaks in her day or while driving to or from meetings. She had always shared the care of her mother with her sister. But with Jessica’s recent promotion and Emily out of a job, the visits and errands were falling her way.

  She really didn’t mind. Jessica had shouldered most of it for a long time, and it was her turn to step up. She also had her own errands to cover and wanted to be done in time to pick up Jane at school.

  “So it’s the drugstore, the library, and these items at the market?” Emily met her mother’s glance, trying to keep her on track.

  “That’s right . . . and mail these bills for me, please?” Lillian passed Emily a handful of envelopes. “And I need you to give out a few of these around town. For the open spacers. I promised I would give them out by today.”

  Her mother picked up a sheaf of papers from the kitchen counter and held them out to her. Emily could see they were flyers advertising the group’s mission and the council’s meeting on Monday night.

  “Mother, are you serious? I’m not walking down Main Street handing out flyers. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I don’t see why not. What are you ashamed of?”

  “I’m not ashamed of anything. I just don’t have time to knock on doors and talk people into taking flyers. Did you really volunteer to do that?”

  “Yes, I did. I’m very persuasive when I put my mind to it,” her
mother said proudly. “But I don’t feel well enough to march around all afternoon out there. And you can do it so much faster than I can.”

  That was true. A lot faster, and with far less danger of falling and breaking a hip.

  “Why don’t you call Martin and tell him the truth? You’ve got a cold and can’t do it. I’m sure he can find someone else.”

  “The flyers should have been up days ago. How would that look? So irresponsible.” When Emily didn’t answer, Lillian added, “Is this so much to ask? Aren’t people going to see you at the meeting Monday night with the group? Don’t you plan on coming? Or will you sneak in and sit at the back again—incognito?”

  “Of course I’m coming,” Emily said, though she did plan on keeping a low profile. She knew the newspaper might try to play up her role in the group opposing Charlie. She could only imagine what reporters would infer.

  Lillian sighed and sat in a kitchen chair. “Just skip it. I’ll get dressed later when I feel a bit stronger and give it a go. I can make it to a few stores. If I get dizzy again, I’ll stop. I promise.”

  Emily knew it was an act. Her mother had not mentioned anything about feeling dizzy before this. Still, she felt her resolve melting. “All right, no need to put on a long face. Give me those.” Emily reluctantly took the flyers and stuck them in her bag. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Lillian shrugged, looking suddenly bright and energetic again. “That’s all I’ve ever asked of you, Emily, that you try your best.”

  A few minutes later, Emily parked at the harbor and stuck the flyers into her big purse. It was a bright day and not too cold, for December. She walked across the green, deciding to stop at Willoughby’s Bakery first. She had noticed the Christmas decorations on Main Street but hadn’t seen the ones in the village square yet. She passed the big tree, feeling a little wistful. This was the first year in over fifteen that she hadn’t presided over the annual tree lighting—announcing Santa’s arrival on his fire truck, tossing candy canes and chocolates to all the children. It was hard to believe she would never lead that event again.