East Hope (42 page)

Besides working on the book, she had turned her attention to cleaning the house and getting ready for the baby. She'd stopped at a children's store in Ellsworth after a doctor's appointment and purchased most of the essentials for a newborn. She'd washed the clothes and placed them in a drawer in her bedroom. The bassinet she'd found in a used-furniture store was in need of a coat of paint. After scrubbing it down outside, she'd set it on newspapers to dry in the living room. That chore still awaited her.

The dining room table was piled high with cookbooks, some from Lila's collection, some that Caroline had brought with her from Washington, and a selection that Will had given her from his shopping trips. The little book of teatime treats, his thoughtful gift to her the night of her dinner party, topped one pile. She hadn't spoken to Will since the trip to the doctor's office, the day Pete arrived unannounced at her door.

She needed to call Will. Indeed, she
wanted
to call him—but each time she picked up the phone, once even after starting to dial, she would stop. It was true he was getting a divorce, but he was younger, had no children. What on earth would he want with her in his life? A pregnant woman with an alienated nineteen-year-old son? And yet her mind kept going back to their lovely afternoon last summer, when his very presence made her forget her worries. Sometimes just glancing across the bay at the yellow clapboard building where he lived made her feel better. He, like her, had chosen East Hope over another life. They shared that common bond. But that was all. She was ridiculous to expect anything more.

Caroline chastised herself. She had no business thinking about Will like some kind of lovesick schoolgirl. Her work now was to produce a healthy baby, sell this house in this faraway, forgotten piece of the world, and win Rob back so that they could resume their old life. Was that even possible? Right now she needed to get all the books in order and back on the shelves. She set aside the little book from Will and carried a pile of books below it over to the shelves in the living room. As she pushed aside a few volumes to make space, a book fell out onto the floor:
Travels and Tastes of India
by Laura Alcott. Caroline decided to take a break and took it to the kitchen to read while she had a cup of tea. Lila had traveled a great deal when she was a teacher in Cambridge. Maybe she had hoped to go to India one day.

After filling the kettle for water and setting it on the stove to boil, Caroline turned the musty-smelling pages. It was mostly a travel log, with a few recipes interspersed among the essays. She flipped a few more pages and a letter slid out of the book and into her lap. She drew in her breath, shocked to see Harry's writing, the small neat script that she knew so well, a letter to his aunt Lila. Suddenly it felt as if he had just walked into the room. For a few moments she held the envelope in her fingers, caught in a trance. Seeing Harry's writing here in Maine made it seem that this past year had never happened.

She remembered finding the letter to Francis asking him to resign from the yacht club. Now this one, another ghost from the past. With shaking hands, she opened the flap and took out the pages of heavy cream paper. The letter was dated April nineteenth, fifteen years ago, the spring that Grace had died. She read. At first it appeared to be a thank-you note, a response to Lila's condolence letter. In the second paragraph Harry asked Lila if Caroline and Rob could come for a visit to Maine that summer. He told Lila that he would not be able to join them, but that Caroline was suffering greatly and needed a change.

Caroline sat totally still, staring at Harry's words. The teakettle whistled sharply, startling her. She staggered to her feet, lifted the kettle off the burner, and slammed it aside. “Blinded by love,” Pete had said. What a fool she was. She was blinded by stupidity not to have seen it. The years after Grace died she had been so self-absorbed, so caught up in her own sorrow that she had ignored Harry's suffering. Later Rob had always been her priority.

She took the letter to the kitchen table, and, smoothing it, she ran her fingers over his words. If only they could have shared their pain. If she had encouraged Harry to open up to her more, would their lives following Grace's death have been different? Her entire body began to tremble. She couldn't stop shaking, and a sharp pain pinched into her lower back.
Oh, God, please not now.
It was too soon for the baby. She moaned in despair.

Was this why Harry had thrown himself into his work, distancing himself from her, afraid that her suffering would make his own all the worse? Caroline had so many questions now. Now, when it was too late. The fragile years when they had tiptoed around each other, each of them hiding their pain, trying to go on, if not for each other, then for Rob.

And Rob? All those years of putting her energy into being a mother, more a mother than a wife—but for all that, she had failed Rob too.

Caroline leaned forward, pressing her hands to her temples. So unselfish, Harry had thought only of her. He had wanted her to have that summer in Maine, hoping that it would be a place where she could heal. In the strange way of the world, Harry was giving all this to her again, as Lila had left her house to him and, through him, to her.

Caroline folded the letter, and, moving slowly, she carried it to the small table in the hall next to Lila's clock and tucked it under the Chinese porcelain bowl that held the key to the clock. Then she walked to the front of the house and looked out across the bay. The bleak winter view of the water offered no comfort.

Will sat outside the guidance office at Benjamin Franklin High School, the central school for the surrounding villages and towns. Crystal's message had come on Wednesday night, but he had been unable to reach Ms. Wiseman until school opened first thing on Thursday morning. She had told him that he'd best come in to the school to talk about what had happened. Friday morning was the earliest she could see him.

Thursday had been torture for him. Obviously the guidance counselor thought that Crystal's hug was out of line. More than anything he needed to protect Crystal. He was determined to straighten out what was clearly a misunderstanding.

This morning the students were at a weekly assembly, and the hallway, lined with gray metal lockers, was silent. Will shifted his position on the hard wooden bench and wished he'd brought a book to read, not that he'd be able to concentrate. He stared out the high windows above the lockers. The sky was pewter gray. Snow was predicted for later that afternoon.

Finally he heard the burst of applause and, a moment later, the roar of students being released into the halls. A crowd of denim legs, sweatshirts, and beat-up book bags scattered in all directions.

“Mr. Harmon?”

“Yes.” Will stood.

“I'm Gordon Perry, principal of Benjamin Franklin.” The principal didn't offer his hand. He was a slight man with an erect posture that made him seem taller than he probably was. His graying hair was slicked neatly in place. “Ms. Wiseman should be joining us shortly. We're meeting in my office.”

Will, feeling like a truant, followed Perry around a corner, down another hall, and into his office. Why was the principal being brought into this? They took their respective seats, Perry behind the large oak desk, a relic of the 1950s, and Will on the other side.

“We seem to have a bit of a problem,” the principal said.

Uneasy with that inclusive beginning, Will didn't want anything to do with the sallow pinched-looking man seated across from him. “I think more is being made of this than is necessary,” he said. “I called Ms. Wiseman so that I could come in and explain.”

Two flags flanked the principal's desk, the U.S. flag behind him on the right, and the state of Maine's on the left. There were no books in sight. A map of Maine hung on the wall to Will's right, and this caught his attention briefly. Out of habit he sought out the location of East Hope on the ragged coastline.

Perry picked up a perfectly sharpened pencil from the leather cup on his blotter and furrowed his brow as he looked down at his notes. Will waited. A door opened behind him and Janet Wiseman came in.

“Let's begin, shall we?” Mr. Perry put down his pencil and folded his hands on top of the papers in front of him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ms. Wiseman said, and pulled up a chair.

“I understand that you've been tutoring Crystal Thomas,” Mr. Perry said.

“Yes,” Will said. “I've been working with her twice a week. Since September.”

“With English?” Mr. Perry's level gray eyes bored into Will.

“Yes,” he said. “I've been helping her with her essay for the state scholarship. She's done a fine job. I hope she gets the award.”

“Crystal seems to have grown very fond of you.”

“Look, Mr. Perry, I called the school asking to see Ms. Wiseman and—”

“Ms. Wiseman told me that she saw Miss Thomas hugging you on Wednesday in the East Hope Library,” Mr. Perry said, tapping the papers with his pen.

“It was nothing,” Will said. “Crystal didn't mean anything. She was excited about finishing her essay. She thanked me and in her enthusiasm—”

“It is our job—our responsibility—to protect our students,” Ms. Wiseman said.

“I understand that,” Will said. “Crystal didn't mean to do anything wrong. I certainly would never encourage anything of the kind.”

“Edna said that you gave her rides home from the library.”

“Only once—when the weather was bad and her dad couldn't pick her up.” The memory of having to defend himself from Jennifer Whitely's accusation rushed to his mind. He should have known better than to put himself in this position. “Mr. Perry, I want to straighten this out right now.” Will felt a pulsing in his temples. He was not going to let his past ruin everything for him here in East Hope.

“Mr. Harmon.” Janet Wiseman spoke firmly. “I've made some inquiries. I called Habliston College and was told that you left employment there because of problems with a student. The woman I spoke to thought it had been a case of sexual harassment.”

“Who told you that?”

“I'm not sure. I never got her name. The receptionist, I guess.” Ms. Wiseman averted her gaze.

“You should have spoken to someone in authority. In the first place, I have nothing to hide. Yes, I used to teach at Habliston College and yes, a student there—”

“Mr. Harmon, we are speaking about sexual harassment, inappropriate behavior with a student.” The word
sexual
seemed to slither out of Mr. Perry's mouth, and under his stern gaze, Will thought he detected in Perry a glimmer of satisfaction, that the principal was pleased to have this explosive information and the power to use it against him.

“I was accused of sexual harassment by a student, but no charges were ever brought. And that, Mr. Perry”—Will could hear the anger in his own voice and he didn't care—“is all that happened. I decided to leave Habliston for other personal reasons. The student was the daughter of a trustee of the college. She was lying. My only mistake was in not staying to clear my name.”

“Mr. Harmon, it's not up to me to decide whether what happened at Habliston was true or not,” Mr. Perry said.

“You should have been forthcoming earlier,” Ms. Wiseman said, her tone more placating. “You've done a good job working with Crystal. I read her essay. It's excellent.”

“I don't want Crystal to get into any kind of trouble,” Will said. He thought again of her tear-choked message.

“Perhaps I got the wrong impression,” Ms. Wiseman said. “I'll talk to Crystal and her family. You have to understand that our primary concern is for our students, and we have to be extremely cautious.”

Mr. Perry spoke again. “All the same, in view of what's happened you will no longer be welcome to participate in our tutoring program. We don't want to take that risk.”

“Sitting in a public library across the table from a student is a risk?” Will asked, barely containing his fury. He looked to Ms. Wiseman, who appeared to have come around to his side. “That's ridiculous. I'm a teacher, Mr. Perry. That's what I'm good at, and that is all I'm interested in doing.”

Will stood and placed his hands on the edge of the desk. He looked down at the principal and then at Ms. Wiseman. “I probably should have told you about Habliston earlier,” he said. “I'm sorry about that. I didn't think it would ever matter. I'm going to call the dean of the college. I hope when you hear from him you will reconsider.”