The Man She Left Behind (10 page)

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Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
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Leigh waited for the quick stab of pain she expected. Instead, she felt a flash of pity for the two teenagers. They looked so eager, so happy. Three years, she thought. Three years later it was all over. She sighed, moving on. By the door frame were a few photos of a blond baby.
“Jamie?” she asked, looking over at Sam. He was still clutching the empty glass and staring vacantly out the window.
“Hmm?” He roused himself to turn toward her. She was truly alarmed by what she saw. His face was gray and slick with sweat.
“Sam!” she cried, “let me take you to a doctor. Right now. Please!”
He shook his head, then pointed an index finger to a chest of drawers opposite the table. “Top drawer. Bottle of pills.”
Leigh yanked open the drawer and rummaged through an assortment of greeting cards, buttons, ends of candles and miscellaneous junk. She found a plastic vial of small white pills. Nitroglycerine. She handed him one, which he slipped under his tongue. He’d done this before, she realized. How often?
In a few moments some color returned to his face. “At least let me help you to bed,” she said.
The old man didn’t argue. Leigh led him to the room behind the kitchen. Sam’s bedroom hadn’t changed since she and Jen used to bounce on his brass bed. Same old chenille bedspread, too. She pulled it down and tucked Sam in.
“I’ve made a casserole for dinner, Sam, and I’ll go get some for you. Save you the trouble of making a meal. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Pills make me drowsy. I’ll sleep now, then get some dinner later. Thanks, Leigh. Go ahead.” He dismissed her with a feeble wiggling of his fingers.
“I’ll be back,” she said, closing the door behind her. Then she was outside, running to the car and speeding down the highway. She passed her house, feeling a twinge of guilt about her lie to Sam, but knowing he’d have argued about her fetching Spencer. Her car scattered gravel all the way into Ocracoke village. She wasn’t certain where Spencer’s fishing-charter office was, but knew the village was small enough to locate it on her own. Two circuits around the Silver Lake Harbor road and she spotted his red pickup outside a squat box-shaped building sided with white aluminum. The sign above the eaves trough read McKay-Cowan Charters. About as eloquent as Sam’s sign, she thought.
Leigh parked next to the pickup and pushed open the white screen door. Spencer was sitting behind a desk, feet propped on its Formica top and a sweating can of beer in one hand. Another man sat in a chair opposite and next to the door. Leigh barely glanced at him, heading straight for Spence.
“It’s Sam!” she blurted.
He shot to his feet, beer slopping out the top of the can and beading across the desktop. “What? Where is he? What happened?” He grabbed her arm with his free hand.
Leigh stumbled backward. “Careful,” she protested, dabbing at the drops of beer on her clothes.
Spencer plunked the can down on the desk and wiped the corner of his mouth with his forearm. “Sorry, you scared the dickens out of me. What’s the matter?”
“I met Sam riding his bicycle up from the village. He was carrying two bags of groceries. I think he’d have passed out if I hadn’t driven him home.” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice.
He swore. “Leigh, believe me, I’ve told him many times to call me when he wants to go shopping. I’ve taken him a lot this past year and I will anytime.”
“He said you were out on an important charter.” Leigh glanced at the man sitting behind her, then looked pointedly at the cans of beer.
Spencer flushed slightly. “Yeah, well, we’ve been out all day and now we’re back—cooling down.”
The glint in his eyes warned Leigh to lay off. She stared down at the floor while the other man got to his feet and mumbled a quick goodbye. Spencer brushed past her to walk his customer to the door. There was a snatch of conversation about money and dates and then the door slammed shut. Leigh didn’t turn around.
After a moment Spencer said, “Look, thanks for coming to tell me about Sam. I’m guessing that since you didn’t go immediately to a doctor, he must be okay.”
She spun around. He stood in front of the door, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. The damp splotches in his white T-shirt indicated a hard day’s work—or a lot of beer, she thought meanly. The T-shirt strained against biceps earned working out on the boat and stretched across a chest that Leigh had stroked many times one passionate summer. The hard nubs of his nipples poked through the thin cotton fabric. Leigh looked away when she spoke.
“He took a nitroglycerine tablet and I helped him lie down. He was getting his color back by the time I left, but he should be seen by a doctor—soon. Did you know he had a heart condition?”
Spence walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “I knew he had a prescription for nitro because I was with him when he had it filled. Back in February. Said he’d had some chest pains—angina—and his doctor warned him to take it easy and take the nitro whenever he needed it.”
“I think he’s been needing it a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“The date on this prescription was for May, so presumably he’s had it refilled who knows how many times.”
“Damn. If only the old guy wasn’t so private, not to mention stubborn. I’ve been sending Jamie to see him at least every other day, but I can’t get him to move in with us. You’ve seen his place.”
“Yes.”
“Well—” Spence flipped the set of keys into his palm “—guess I’d better go check on him.”
“I can do that. I mean, I told him I’d bring him back some dinner.”
Spence paused in the doorway and grinned. “Yeah? Got a big pot of something on the stove, have you?”
It was her turn to color. His question was a teasing reference to their dating days when Leigh’s knowledge of food and cooking had been restricted to opening a can.
Then he gestured toward the door. “Come on. As it happens, I’ve a pot of chowder on the stove at my place. You follow me. We’ll take dinner to Sam together.” He pushed open the door and headed for his truck, a sheepish Leigh in tow.
CHAPTER SIX
T
HE CLOCK IN LEIGH’S CAR read 5:00 p.m. by the time Spencer’s pickup turned onto North Pond Drive, a tiny enclave on the shore of Pamlico Sound.
Why am I surprised? He always loved the marshes. Why wouldn’t he want to live near them?
Spencer McKay had grown up in a fishing shack near the harbor. Leigh doubted the place was still standing; it had made Sam’s ramshackle cottage seem fashionably quaint.
The blue frame bungalow he lived in now was sturdy and well maintained. Recognizing it as an older island place, Leigh bet that Spencer had devoted time and work into its transformation. White-painted rocks edged the flagstone walkway to the porch. A weather vane rotated lazily from the rooftop cupola. No rooster vane for Spence, she observed, smiling at the green-tinted copper heron.
On each side of the walkway he’d planted a strip of annuals and some succulents. Leigh didn’t know their names, but recognized them as native to the island. He parked the truck in front of a three-sided breezeway that held a collection of tools and gardening equipment. When Leigh passed the opened side, she noticed everything hung neatly on hooks. Another surprise. Had he always been such a neat freak?
The staircase and lattice barrier around the foundation of the bungalow were painted white to match the eaves trough and window trim. Leigh followed Spencer up the wooden stairs, taking in the-thermal picture window fronting the cottage and the handcrafted wooden screen door. Spencer had either paid top dollar for that, she figured, or done the work himself.
He turned when he reached the door and said, “I asked Jamie to tidy the place up when he got home from school, but I can’t guarantee anything. You know teenagers.”
Leigh raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know if I do anymore,” adding in a lower tone, “or if I ever did.”
He seemed about to say something but changed his mind, pushing open the door with his right hand and allowing Leigh to precede him inside.
Well, either Jamie’s done his homework or the place was looking pretty good to start with.
Pine floors gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight. A partitioned kitchen nook was off to one side of the main room, and on the other side was a short hall that probably led to bedrooms. Leigh’s gaze swept from the sliding glass doors opening to a deck facing Pamlico Sound and the marshland fringing it back to the heart of the room—a black woodstove nestled in an alcove of ceramic tiles depicting various seascapes and seabirds. A plump sofa and matching armchair covered in a blue-and-white-striped canvas fabric were arranged in front of both the stove and the view. There were a few pieces of pine furniture, some of which looked like antiques. Braided throw rugs and cushions splashed the room with bold color, but the real focal point, once the view had been absorbed, were the carved wooden birds perched on bookshelves, tabletops and even suspended from the ceiling.
Leigh identified egrets, herons, terns and sandpipers. A plump Canada goose squatted on the ledge of the window fronting North Pond Drive, and she was certain the great blue heron looming in a far corner was life-size. She stood in the center of the room and pivoted slowly, taking in the whole array, then turned to where Spencer stood just inside the door.
“Where did you get these?” she breathed.
He smiled. “Like them?”
“They’re...amazing. I mean, upstate these are all the rage, but I’ve never seen such a collection of really good ones. Where did you get them?” she asked again.
Spence felt his face grow warm. It had been a long time since he’d heard that note of awe in Leigh Randall’s voice. He couldn’t even recall if he’d ever been the recipient of it. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable. “I did them,” he mumbled, heading off to the kitchen to look for Jamie.
When he returned seconds later, she was still in the middle of the living room. “Well, I don’t know where Jamie is, but the chowder’s all ready,” he announced.
“You
did them?”
Spence didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted by the incredulity in the question. But then he decided that annoyance would be unfair—after all, fifteen years ago he’d never have guessed he had a talent for carving birds, either. Besides, he didn’t want to spoil the apparent truce that had occurred since their arrival at his home.
And be honest with yourself, McKay. You could have taken Sam some dinner all on your own, but you didn’t want to let the opportunity to spend time with Leigh slip by you.
So he shrugged, assuming a modest expression he hoped looked sincere.
“How and when did you get into carving? I mean, you always were good at art in school, but this—” Leigh stopped, dropped her hand.
“To be honest I can’t remember when I started. I saw some carvings in a tourist shop up on Hatteras and decided I could do just as well. It might have been ten years ago. I had a lot of time on my hands in those days.”
His face darkened. Leigh realized he was referring to the period after Jen and Jamie had left him. She had a flash of Spencer sitting by himself night after night, and she didn’t like the sensation the image produced.
“Anyway,” he went on, breaking the silence, “why don’t you have a seat while I pack up the chowder? Then we’ll go see Sam. But before we do that I’ll phone the clinic and see if someone can drive out to check on him. His specialist is on the mainland, but there’s a local doctor who’s been treating him for general things the past few years. Make yourself at home.” He gestured toward the sofa where Leigh reluctantly sat.
She felt more inclined to look around the room, but didn’t want to appear nosy. When Spence left she scanned the shelves next to her, noticing an eclectic library of books and magazines. She couldn’t connect the Spencer she’d known with the possessions she saw around her.
What did you expect? Hard-rock posters on the walls, empty pizza boxes and back issues of
Rolling Stone?
The detritus of the early-eighties teen?
Fifteen years. Leigh sighed, feeling the weight of every year land solidly on her shoulders. She had to admit she probably didn’t know Spencer any better now than if they’d never met. Meeting him again was like meeting him for the first time. Either he had changed enormously, or she’d never really known him at all. The realization filled her with sadness.
I devoted two years of my life
—
more
—
to loving someone, and for what? Not insight, that’s obvious.
The front door swung open and Jamie ambled in, snapping his fingers to the tune coming from the headset he wore. When he saw Leigh, he did a double take, freezing his one-man rap drill and slowly removing the earphones. The expression on his face abruptly switched from surprise to suspicion.
“’Lo,” he grunted.
“Hi, Jamie. Your dad’s in the kitchen on the phone—I think.” No response was offered, so she added, “We’re, uh, just picking up some food to take to your grandfather.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Somethin’ wrong with Grandpa Sam?”
She hesitated How much would Spence want him to know? Not wanting to alarm him, she said, “He’s not feeling well. Too much heat and exertion today, I think. He’s okay, but we’re going to take him dinner and have a doctor see him.”
The boy slowly nodded his head, but there was still a question on his face. Obviously he was wondering why she was there.
“I happened to see Sam riding home from the village, so I gave him a lift. Then called your dad.” She lapsed into silence, feeling foolish once again. Was there something in the McKay genes that made her babble?
“Where’ve you been?” Spencer stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
Jamie met his father’s frown with a darker one of his own. “With the gang. Why? It’s just after five.”
“I asked you to clean up.”
“I
did. ”
His voice cracked with indignance. Leigh hid a smile, feigning interest in a magazine on the coffee table.
There was a slight pause, then Spence muttered, “Okay, so where did you go after?”
“C’mon, what is this? It isn’t time for dinner yet. What’s the big deal?”
“Jamie, there’s no big deal. The point is, I have to go out right away, and because you didn’t leave a note, I couldn’t tell you my plans.”
“So write a note
yourself.”
Leigh didn’t dare look up from the magazine. She bit down on her lower lip.
Whoa,
she thought.
Let’s see what Daddy Spence does with that.
The silence was longer this time and thick enough to cut.
“Your grandfather’s not feeling well. Leigh—Miss Randall, I mean—you’ve met, right?”
Leigh met Spencer’s eyes. There was a mix of anger and bewilderment in them. She could see he was disconcerted by Jamie’s attitude and felt a rush of sympathy for him. Until she thought of the seventeen-year-old Spencer and grinned.
“Yes, we have. Jamie came for dinner the other night with Sam. And, please—” this to Jamie “—it’s Leigh.”
“Dinner the other night?” Puzzled, Spence looked from Leigh to Jamie, who nodded. “Oh, when I went to Charlotte. I see.” A slight pause, then, “Anyway, Sam’s doctor is taking a run out to see him now. I want you to spend the night with him, Jamie—No, hear me out. I don’t want him left alone until we’re sure he’s okay, and I’ve got a charter first thing in the morning.”
Jamie’s frown deepened. A rosy flush crept up his neck. “I’ve made plans to go to Hatteras with the guys.”
Spencer walked closer to Jamie. He lowered his voice to a dead-serious decibel level. “One, we haven’t discussed any social engagements. Two, I thought we’d agreed that Friday nights would be homework nights. And three, you have a choice—eat here on your own and meet us at Sam’s about nine-thirty, or come with us now.”
Leigh busied herself with the magazine again. She thought she heard Jamie mutter a curse, but wasn’t sure. Spencer headed back into the kitchen and returned seconds later.
“Ready?” he asked.
She looked up and saw him holding a big stainless-steel pot with a pair of oven mitts.
“Well?” he directed this to Jamie, still slouching by the door.
“I’m not hungry yet,” he said. “Save me some. I’ll get it later at Grandpa’s.”
Spencer nodded grimly and headed for the door. Leigh jumped up and followed him, pausing only long enough in front of Jamie to say goodbye. When they were standing beside the pickup, Spencer said, “Six months ago he wouldn’t have given in.”
“He cares a lot about Sam,” Leigh said.
“That’s what I was counting on.” He leaned over and propped the pot into the storage box in the back of the pickup. Then he turned to Leigh. The jaw-clenching lines in his face had eased a bit, she noticed.
“Do you want to come with me now and pick up your car later, or meet me at Sam’s?”
“What’s number three?”
He laughed. “Thanks, I needed that. Jeez, I don’t know...” He wiped the end of his nose with the back of his hand.
Leigh realized then how the incident had upset him. He’d seemed so under control, so tight. It was a character trait she clearly remembered. But the Spencer standing before her now was different, unafraid to show some vulnerability. She had a strong urge to wrap her arms around him. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’ll pick up the car later. Whenever.”
He nodded. “Whenever. Good.” He held open the door for her and then went around and climbed in himself. Reversing and shifting into drive, he headed for the highway.
 
SPENCER CLOSED the screen door behind the doctor. He stood with his back to Leigh, staring into the night. Finally he turned around. His eyes met hers, then flickered off toward Sam’s room. He slapped his palms against his thighs. “Well,” he began, and stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
The worry in his face distracted Leigh from the ache in her own heart. She couldn’t help thinking that if they were lovers, they’d be in each other’s arms. If they were friends, there’d at least be a reassuring hug.
Spencer forked his right hand through his hair, brought it down over his face, rubbing away the strain of the past hour. He wandered aimlessly about the room, picking up and examining the knickknacks Sam had been collecting for years. He sensed Leigh watching him, waiting for him to speak, but the swelling in his throat was still there. The room was cluttered with so much junk, he thought. Yet old Sam wouldn’t part with a single bit of it. Holding on to the things in life he knew he could count on, since so many people had let him down.
Spencer swore under his breath. If only—What?
This is about Sam
,
not you, buddy
. But he yielded to the thought, anyway. If only life could be replayed.
Yeah, and then what? Do you honestly believe you’d be any smarter the second time around
? He glanced at Leigh out of the corner of his eye.
About one thing
,
anyway
.
For sure, about one thing
.
“Look,” he finally said, spinning around from the bookshelf to face Leigh. “Let’s get some dinner and take it out on the porch. There’s enough of a breeze to chase the bugs away.”

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