Sightings

Chapter Thirteen

Sam knew from the stiffness in his back it was close to five AM. Turning on the light, he put on his glasses and checked his wristwatch. Sure enough, it was ten to five.

He found his bathrobe and crossing the hall to the stairs, looked into Annie’s room. Instantly, Molly raised her head from her half of the bed next to Annie. Recognizing the outline of Sam by the door she lowered it again. Annie was still asleep. It must be nice having somebody to sleep with, he thought. Downstairs he approached the whelping box where Maggie had encircled her puppies with her nourishing warmth. She raised her head protectively and Sam tousled the thick hair of her neck. “I wouldn’t hurt your babies, Maggie.”

The disturbance awakened the puppies and they reacted with slurping sounds as their tiny tongues and strong gums pumped milk from their mother’s teats.

Sam turned on the coffee maker which Annie had prepared the night before and went to the porch while it brewed. He sat on the top step to have a better view of the sky beyond the porch roof. The sun was an hour below the horizon, but already it was painting the high cirrus clouds with faint strokes of pink, delineating them from the grayness of the lower clouds where night still held sway. Molly arrived and sat beside him. She nudged his arm and Sam put it around her. Together they watched the clouds turn from indistinct grayness to a yellow tinged mackerel sky. When the coffee stopped gurgling, Sam got up, poured himself a cup and returned. Molly was waiting for him. He sat beside her, kneading her soft fur and sipping coffee.

His mind turned to Annie. She hardly knows me, he thought, and still she leaves her door open at night. He laughed at himself. It’s not for me. It’s so the dogs can come and go. He recalled the curve of her hip as she lay facing away from him and her bare shoulder. How long had it been since he’d seen a woman asleep in a bed? And how long since he’d pressed his body against the warmth of a woman? The day Annie dressed in her caftan after she and Jimmy had danced in the rain, he’d noticed the sway of her breasts under the thin cotton. He’d tired not to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. She’d caught him once and smiled.

Annie was so unlike Sarah, short and stocky, while Sarah was tall and slim. When she laughed, Annie exploded. Sarah had been that way when they first married, but in later years she became more reserved, seldom laughing out loud. He’d avoided acting too spontaneous around her, thinking that’s what she wanted.

Annie, on the other hand, expected nothing from him, except maybe to lighten up and have more fun. Here, in her old farm house by the river, there were no expectations. He could be — he started to say, himself, but he wasn’t sure what that was. He knew being here with Annie was comfortable.

Molly interrupted his thought with a sweet cooing whine. “What is it?” Sam asked. She didn’t turn to him but gazed at the river with an intensity that aroused Sam’s curiosity. “What is it?” he asked again. This time she turned her eyes toward him and then back to the river. “Oh,” Sam said, “you want to go for a swim?” Immediately she got up and started for the river. Sam followed, hiking up his bathrobe and tying the sash tightly around him. He hobbled along, wincing as his tender feet found every small stone in the path. Molly was waiting for him at the water’s edge. When he said, “Go ahead, jump in,” Molly leaped from the bank into the water. She circled once in the pool near the shore then turned to face Sam. “No. I’ll watch from here.” Molly stared at him a moment then made another circle, returning to give Sam her penetrating stare. “Okay,” he said, “just a step or two.” He pulled up his bathrobe and waded into the water. Molly watched.

With his right foot planted firmly on the bottom, he searched for solid footing with his left. He found a smooth rock and put his weight on it, finding too late it was covered with slime. He slipped, lost his balance and sat down hard. Intense pain shot through his buttocks where he’d hit a pointed rock, and through his wrist where he’d tried to break his fall. He sat in the cold water, grimacing while his bathrobe floated about him. Molly, delighted with his apparent willingness to play, danced in the shallow water, splashing him.

When Molly stopped to look at him, Sam could hear Annie’s husky laughter coming from the direction of the house. He turned to see her flying down the path, her white caftan bellowing about her. Maggie led the way and hit the water like a cannon ball. Annie, still laughing, jumped into the deep pool a few feet from Sam, surfaced and shook the water from her eyes.

“Over here,” she said to Sam. “You’ll like this side better. It’s a lot deeper.”

“I was just going to wade and I slipped.”

Seeing the pain in his face, she asked, “You okay?”

“It’s getting better.”

“Well, you’re all wet now,” Annie said. “You might as well have a swim.”

“I’m not sure I can. It’s been years.” Sam knew he could swim, but was embarrassed because he wasn’t very good. He stood cautiously and picked his way toward Annie, the bottom dropping quickly to a depth of about five feet. Annie was treading water while he stood on the bottom, the water up to his neck.

“Take off you bathrobe,” Annie said pulling the caftan over her head. “We can’t swim in these.”

He hesitated, then untied the sash and took it off, throwing it onto the bank beside Annie’s caftan. “The last time I was skinny-dipping,” he said, pushing out into the pool, “was twenty years ago with Sarah.”

“I like it,” Annie said. “It’s liberating. I feel like one of my dogs.”

The dogs joined them and the four swam around the pool. Sometimes the dogs would climb onto the bank and jump in. Sam thought seriously about jumping with them, but was embarrassed to show his seventy year old body.

“How about some breakfast?” Annie suggested. Sam agreed. With her back toward him, she climbed the bank. “When you’re ready, come on up,” she said, heading for the house dragging the wet caftan behind her. Sam gazed at her retreating figure, amazed that the body of a person so stocky could be so beautiful. He crawled out of the pool, put on his wet bathrobe and followed her.

He showered and dressed, then came downstairs where Annie was placing two plates of bacon, eggs and toasted English muffins on the table. “Get the coffee and have a seat,” she said. Sam was smiling, almost laughing. “What’s funny?” Annie asked.

“I wonder what my daughter, the one trying to run my life, would say if I told her I’d been skinny-dipping with my new friend, Annie?”

“She might surprise you.”

“Well, I’m not looking to find out.”

After breakfast, they took a second cup of coffee to the porch. For a while they said nothing, just looked at the river. Then Annie spoke.

“You like it here, don’t you Sam?”

“Yeah. Back when I was still working, this is what I thought retirement would be like. Except I thought I’d be sitting on a porch somewhere with Sarah having a cup of coffee after breakfast.” He turned quickly toward Annie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say I don’t like sitting here with you. I do.”

“That’s okay,” Annie smiled. “I know what you mean.”

“When Sarah disappeared, I lost hold of life. My children helped as best they could. At first I appreciated it, but they didn’t let go. Kathleen felt she had to be my buddy, Cynthia wanted to tell me how to live my life, and Russ kept getting into trouble and coming to me for help.”

“And they’re still doing it?”

“Yup,” he smiled at her, “but not out here.”

Again they were quiet. Annie seemed to be thinking. Turning to Sam she asked, “Why go back then? If this is what you want, if this is what you dreamed of, why not stay here?”

“Move in?”

“Lord no!” She laughed. “I think we’re both too set in our ways for that. I mean buy a house out here.”

“Like the guy in the novel I’m thinking of writing? No, I don’t think I’d have that much courage. I’ve lived in my house for thirty years. Marblehead’s my home.”

“But you told me a real estate agent wants to list your house.”

“That’s Cynthia’s doing, not mine. She wants me to sell it and move into a condo where I can grow old without them worrying about me.”

“Maybe she’s right” she said taking a drink of coffee. “You’d have trouble growing old if you lived out here. This fresh air, this skinny-dipping, this dancing in the rain, it’d all keep you young. And what would your children do with a father who was having too much fun to grow old?”

Sam laughed. “It might be worth it just to annoy them.”

Annie took their empty coffee cups to the railing. Then turning back to Sam, she took hold of his hands and pulled him up so he was standing in front of her. “Sam,” she said seriously, “the last thing in the world I want to do is sound like Cynthia, but what would you think of looking at a few houses out here just to see what’s available and what they cost?”

He looked into her eyes for a moment then said, “Annie, you’re a powerful person. You worked your magic on Sarah and now you’re working it on me.”

She frowned and tipped her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure, but I feel different when I’m here.”

“Does that mean you’ll look at some houses?”

“I’ll look, but that’s all I’m promising.”

Annie telephoned a friend who was a realtor in Hampshire County, and arranged to meet him that afternoon. He arrived at two in his four-wheel drive Toyota. Annie and Sam went to his car.

“Sam,” Annie said, “I want you to meet Francis LaBlanc. Francis, this is Sam Langley. Sam’s an author.”

“How do you do?” Sam said.

“Nice to meet you.” The man was blonde and in his mid-thirties. His once athletic physique had expanded around his middle. “I probably should recognize your name. What are some of the books you’ve written?”

“The last one was Playing With Fire.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“Not many people have.”

“So,” Francis said, getting down to business, “What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure what I’d like, and I’ve got to tell you in advance I’m not even sure that buying out here is the thing for me to do.”

“Well, maybe looking at some houses will help you make up your mind.”

“That’s what I was telling him,” Annie said. She turned to Sam. “Tell him what you’d like if you could have exactly what you want.”

Sam smiled. “Anything I want?” Thinking, he looked at the high hills not far away and instantly became a small boy standing with his father on a hill above a CCC camp in 1940. His father was pointing, longingly, into the valley below, proclaiming his dream.

Sam said, “I want a piece of land I can build a house on.”

“Oh,” Francis said, “it’s land you want.”

Sam caught himself. “A . . no. I mean, if I could have any house I want, it wouldn’t be too large. Something easy to take care of. Not a lot of yard to mow. Off the main roads. A fireplace of course. Oh, and on a river or a pond.”

“Hmm,” Francis said as his listings scrolled though his mind. “I’ve got three I could show you. They all have flowing water, but none of them fills all your requirements.”

“That’s okay. I think they’re more wishes than requirements.”

The first house was an immaculately restored, single story farm house attached to a large barn. A manicured lawn dipped down behind the house to a swale covered with meadow grass. The water, hidden from view, was indicated only by a line of rushes.

“That’s where the water is,” Francis said, “but it pretty much dries up in the summer.”

The house was small and would be easy to keep up. And it did have a fireplace.

Annie was shaking her head. “The barn’s nice, but you’d be spending all your time taking care of the lawn.”

“Yeah,” he said and turned back toward the car.

The next house had three acres that bordered a river. The house, however made Annie’s look like the Taj Mahal. “I could get you a very good price on this one,” Francis said.

The scene was so depressing, Sam wanted to leave. “What else have you got?”

They got back in the Toyota and traveled country roads for ten or fifteen minutes. Turning off the main road, they crossed a bridge and there it was, a large two story house with chimneys at both ends, clapboard siding and elegant, almost natural, landscaping.

“It was built in 1812,” Francis said, “but it’s been updated. I’ll show you around outside and then we’ll go in. The owners are both at work.”

“What about water?” Sam asked.

“Follow me.” Francis took them across a descending yard and down some stone steps. The river circled around a massive granite rock and formed a shallow pool about two feet deep. “It’s usually not this shallow,” Francis said. “In the spring the water comes right over the top of the big rock.”

Sam gazed at the crystal clear water in the tree shaded cove. He whispered to Annie, “It’d be great for skinny-dipping.” She laughed. Then to Francis, “It is beautiful.”

They walked around the house to an apple orchard on the other side and into the back yard where the owner had planted a flourishing vegetable garden. “It’s awfully big,” Sam said. “How much are they asking?”

Francis quoted him a price that was almost a hundred thousand dollars less then the price Dorothy Schraft had put on his Marblehead house. Sam was stunned at the difference.

“Shall we look inside?” Francis asked.

“Lead the way,” Sam answered.

They entered a central hall and turned right into a large room with a wood stove, dining area and kitchen. Sam admired the wide pine boards on the floor.

Francis led them further. “Beyond this room is what they’re calling the entry room, kind of a mud room.” They crossed through the room. “And this door leads to the carriage barn.”

“And me with no carriages,” Sam laughed.

“You can see what they’ve done,” Francis said referring to the owners. “They’ve turned one side into a workshop.” Sam had never had space for a workshop. The idea appealed to him.

They followed Francis back through the entry hall to the living room which went from the front to the rear of the house. It was a comfortable room with large sofas situated around a fireplace.

“Nice fireplace,” Annie said. “That’s two wishes fulfilled.”

Upstairs, Francis took him to the master bedroom, three times the size of Sam’s bedroom at home. At the back of the room a door led to yet another room that the owners used for a dressing room. Sam entered this room and went to a window that faced toward the backyard and the river below. It was a beautiful, restful view. I could put my desk right here, Sam thought, beside the window so I could turn from my computer and look out.

That evening, as Sam and Annie sipped their scotch while swinging lazily, Sam said, “I like that house, Annie.”

She caught her breath, then asked tentatively, “Enough to buy it?”

“Well,” he paused, “enough to think about it.”

Sam looked at her and saw the beginnings of a smile. How he wanted to please her and say, “Yes, I’ll do it.” But the thought of such a complete change filled him with terror. His shoulders sank.

“Oh, Annie, I don’t know. It’s a crazy idea. The house is almost two hundred years old and it’s huge. I’m not sure I could take care of it. Back home if I work outside for a couple of hours, I’m exhausted. And this morning, down there in the pool, I fell. Hell, I could’ve broken a hip. I can see myself going down those stone steps to the pool in the river and falling. Nobody’d find me for days.” He sighed a long hopeless sigh. “Dammit, Annie, there nothing that makes you feel as old as wanting to do what you could have done but never did, and fearing that now you’re too old.”

Chapter Fourteen