Out in the Country (7 page)

“Mrs. Marshall?” It was exactly what the heart surgeon had said to Lynne, the sorrow already deep in his eyes, and her fingers had curled coldly around a forgotten cup of coffee. Yet even as that memory assailed her, the present intruded, and she realised belatedly that the doctor was smiling wearily. “Your husband had a minor heart attack,” he told Kathy, who had begun to smile tremulously back, “but he’s going to be okay, and he wants to see you.”

Graham lay between starched white hospital sheets, seeming wan and pale and somehow diminished. Yet his smile was the same, and despite the fatigue etched in every line of his face, Lynne could see a glimmer of the old sparkling humour in his eyes.

“Gave you a good scare, I suppose?” he said, his voice sounding just a little rusty.

Kathy choked back a laugh, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I should say so, Graham Marshall!” she replied, managing to keep her voice brisk. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Graham’s fingers found hers and wound around them tightly, causing a lump to form in Lynne’s throat as she watched from the doorway. “I don’t plan to.”

They stayed that way for a moment, unspeaking, wrapped in the relief and intimacy of the moment. Then Graham pulled away a bit, his glance searching out Lynne. “Sorry to give you such a scare, as well, Lynne,” he said somberly. “I hope it hasn’t put you off.”

“Put me off?” Lynne raised her brows. “I don’t scare that easily, I’m afraid.”

Graham smiled. “What do you think of the house now that it’s empty?”

“Emptier,” Lynne corrected with a little laugh. “And I still want the house to have your spirit.”

“And Adam’s,” Graham added, his voice becoming quiet again. “He loved that house. I know he didn’t come back as much after you were married. He had so much going for him in New York.” Graham’s smile was tinged with a nostalgic sorrow. “But we had work weekends when he was a teenager--he loved picking up a hammer and saw and going at it. He loved the history of the house too--my parents built it themselves in the early 1900s, as you know. Adam loved that.”

Lynne perched on the edge of the bed. “It’s funny, I never quite realised all that,” she said. “But I like knowing about it now. It makes him closer, somehow.”

“He used to talk of coming back, making something of it one day,” Kathy said. Her hand was still clasped with Graham’s though her expression was distant, lost in memory. “In some ways this dream is his--and you’re living it out.” She turned to Lynne. “If you really feel you want to--I know we’re so excited for you to be here, Lynne, but I really don’t want there to be any pressure.” Anxiety furrowed her forehead and Lynne smiled gently.

“I’m happy to be here, Kathy. It feels right. Like coming full circle.”

“It’s bound to be difficult,” Graham warned. “I don’t want to pretend it won’t be--”

“I know that. I have an appointment with the zoning commissioner tomorrow. That might just
be the start of the difficulties!” It came out as half a joke, even though Lynne was a bit worried about the meeting. She knew how these little towns were fiercely protective of their heritage.

“Let’s not worry about that,” Kathy said. “Not yet, anyway. And remember, we’ll always be here to support you.”

A nurse bustled in with a tray and Lynne eased herself off the bed. Visiting time was over. She reached down to kiss Graham’s cheek, surprised by the papery texture of his skin. Even if this episode was just a scare, there could be no denying that Graham was getting older; they all were, and it made her doubly glad that she was here.

Molly let herself into the apartment, still surprised by the quiet rooms, lost in shadow. She dropped her bag by the door and headed wearily to the kitchen where she put on the kettle as a matter of habit. She stood by the stove, gazing into space, as the kettle started to hum, and wondered when she would stop feeling so exhausted.

Except it was more than simple fatigue, she acknowledged with a sigh. She felt... dispirited. Each day a little bit of her optimism and hope died, as she struggled through another lesson, battling the indifferent faces, the apathetic bodies sprawled on chairs, the passed notes, the whispers, and today, so humiliatingly, the open taunts and jeers.

Molly’s face burned even now as she remembered. She’d been passing copies of the latest poem out--
A Raisin in the Sun
by Langston Hughes--and managed to drop her sheaf of papers all over the floor. There had been a tense, expectant second of silence and then one student had guffawed, another had laughed outright, and a third had muttered something under his breath, causing a fresh outbreak of laughter.

Molly had knelt to pick up the papers, refusing to respond. No one had helped; one student had most unhelpfully kept his legs stretched out so Molly had to go over them, and she’d been too mortified and discouraged to ask him to move.

That had been a mistake, she knew now; she’d given them some power. After school, she’d found Luke alone in the teacher’s lounge, hitting the side of the unresponsive photocopying machine with the flat of his hand. Despite his own frustration, he’d given her a lazy smile as she came in. She hadn’t wanted to admit the episode to anyone, yet somehow she found herself pouring it all out to Luke, waiting for his mockery and scorn, but he’d only fetched her a cup of lukewarm coffee and slung a friendly arm around her shoulders as she sipped it.

“It’s a battle, newbie. You’re in the trenches, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t want it to be a battle,” Molly said. “I don’t want to
fight
. I want to be their--”

“Friend?” Luke finished. He shook his head. “You’ll never be their friend, Molly. You’re not here to be their friend.”

“I know that,” Molly said quickly. “It’s just--”

“It hurts.” Luke’s voice was quiet. “I know. But try to detach yourself. It’s the only way to survive. And don’t give them the power--next time you drop papers, assign--don’t ask--a student to pick them up. The minute they see you’re flustered, they’ll start in on you, knowing your weakness. It sounds cruel, and it is, but that’s just the way kids are.”

“These kids,” Molly corrected bitterly, and Luke gave her a wry smile.

“Any kids, I would imagine,” he replied, “but you’re dealing with these ones right now.”

She took another sip of coffee, screwing up her face at the bitter aftertaste, before rising to chuck it in the bin.

“Here’s something to take your mind off these troubles,” Luke said, and there was an unexpected note in his voice that Molly couldn’t quite identify, yet it caused a frisson of--something--to run up and down her arms. “A friend of mine is throwing a party this weekend. Nothing fancy, just drinks and finger food and a lot of good conversation. Do you want to come?”

Molly turned around slowly. “With you?” she asked, and Luke grinned.

“Yes, with me. I wouldn’t be asking otherwise. But it’s not a date, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried,” Molly said quickly. “It’s just I have a boyfriend... he’s in New Hampshire, in grad school at the moment, so...”

“Right. I understand.” Luke held up one hand, shrugging. “No worries. I just thought you might like to meet some new people in this crazy town.”

His smile was so easy, his voice light, that Molly felt as if her decision had been made for her. She wanted to meet new people; most of her high school friends had moved out of the city to different jobs, schools, or adventures, and no one she knew was 'in the trenches' as she was. “I’d like to come,” she said, her smile matching Luke’s. “Thanks for asking me.”

Now, as the kettle began its shrill whistle, Molly wondered if she should have accepted Luke’s invitation. It might not be a date, but it was still an outing with a man she was honest enough to admit she found attractive. And Jason hadn’t rung her since she’d started school a fortnight ago, a fact which made her increasingly hurt and resentful.

Molly sighed. She loved Jason; they’d been together for over three years, through most of college. Yet now a little, traitorous part of her heart wondered if their relationship could survive not only their separation, but the wildly different experiences they were having. She pictured Jason doing his historical research in musty libraries, strolling across the bucolic university green, and stifled another stab of resentment. He had no idea what she was going through... but why should he? And she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to; more sympathy--pity--might pull her right under.

As if in response to her thoughts, the phone rang, startling Molly from her rather gloomy reveries. Still dunking her teabag, she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Molly.” Jason’s low, warm voice seemed to creep right through the phone lines and wrap around her like a blanket.

“Hey.” Molly took the teabag out of her mug and flung it into the sink. “I haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

“I’m sorry about that. You know how crazy the start of term is.”

“Yes, I certainly do.” Molly knew she sounded sharp, but she couldn’t help it. She was hurt.

“I would have called earlier, but...” Jason trailed off, and Molly didn’t attempt to fill the silence. “I figured you were busy,” he finished rather lamely.

“I was. Am.” Molly leaned against the kitchen wall and closed her eyes. She felt suddenly, perilously close to tears. “It’s been really hard, Jason.”

“It has?” Jason sounded surprised. “But you’ve been so excited, Moll. I thought you’d be loving it. In fact, I thought that’s why you hadn’t called... because you’ve been having such a great time.”

“If only.” She tried to laugh, but her voice wobbled.

“I’m sorry, Molly.” He sounded so sincere, and she could picture him, sprawling back on his sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table, his hazel eyes so warm and caring, the glint of golden stubble on his chin. “I miss you,” he continued. “And I have some free time coming up. What if I come to the city for the weekend?”

“This weekend?” Molly asked, hope leaping within her, but Jason hesitated.

“Maybe not quite so soon... what about the weekend after next?”

She suppressed a sigh, as well as the resentment that seemed always ready to rush in and fill the empty space. She had no real reason to feel angry at Jason; he was busy with his own life, and she certainly couldn’t take the time to travel to New Hampshire. Or Vermont, a little voice inside her whispered, but she steadfastly ignored it. “That sounds good,” she said at last. Yet as she hung up the phone, she wondered how Jason’s visit would go, and then even if he would come at all.

“And this is the kitchen...” Lynne hovered nervously in the doorway as the zoning commissioner, Anne Jeffries, a precise looking woman in her thirties, circled slowly about the room. She’d been ominously silent throughout the entire tour of the house, merely jotting a few notes down on her clipboard.

Lynne had never felt so out of her depth, and she knew this was just the beginning. She should have been more prepared for this meeting, she thought, biting her lip. She should have had business plans and blueprints, and instead all she could offer was a bunch of airy ideas, hoping--praying--that Anne Jeffries with her pinched look and square spectacles would share her vision. Her dream.

“We’d just be offering breakfasts,” Lynne continued, desperate to fill the silence. “And coffee and tea in the afternoon, with cake or scones perhaps. No dinner, though, or alcohol, so we wouldn’t need a license...”

“I see.”

Lynne chewed her lip. “Well, I think that’s about it,” she said, keeping her voice bright. “Would you like a coffee? I can answer any questions--”

Anne sighed and took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I’d love a coffee, Mrs. Marshall, but you might not want me to stay long enough to drink it.”

Lynne tried to give a little laugh, although it came out rather shakily. “That sounds ominous,” she said, pouring two mugs full of strong, steaming coffee. She handed one to the commissioner and cradled her own cup as they both sat at the kitchen table. “There’s a problem, then?”

Anne’s eyes were far too compassionate as she took a sip of coffee. “I’m afraid so. I admire your plans for the house, and I can see how this building could be transformed into a bed and breakfast established rather easily.”

Lynne raised her brows, her body tensing. “But?”

“But,” Anne continued heavily, “I’m afraid this section of Hardiwick isn’t currently zoned for a commercial structure such as an inn, or a bed and breakfast. It’s purely residential all along this street.”

It took Lynne a moment to process what Anne was saying. “You mean it can’t be a bed and breakfast, full stop?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But...” Lynne took a sip of coffee and tried to marshal her thoughts. She wanted to ask why the zoning commissioner had bothered to go through the entire house if there had been no hope in the first place, but she was afraid she would sound petulant and accusing. And she
felt
petulant and accusing; she’d expected barriers, obstacles, things that could be overcome. Not this complete scuppering of her plans before they’d even got off the ground. “Surely something can be done. Can we rezone? Appeal?”