SHADOW OF WHIMSY Read online

  SHADOW OF WHIMSY

  A CAPE COD LOVE STORY

  ANN HYMES

  Copyright © 2016 by Ann Hymes

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations for purposes of review.

  For information about this title, contact the publisher:

  Secant Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 79

  Salisbury MD 21803

  www.secantpublishing.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016937927

  Design by: Kit Foster Design

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  For June Beckman

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  THERESA ALSTON CRANDALL wondered whether going away for awhile would help her focus on her marriage or allow it to die from neglect. She was thirty-four years old. Her marriage was a mess, a tangle of boredom and predictability, wrapped like a package that she dangled over a cliff. She couldn’t let go, and she didn’t know how to hold on. She felt separate from the life she had created. Elusive aspects of her family’s past were taking shape in the form of a faraway inheritance: a house named Whimsy Towers.

  She’d spent the past five months meeting with lawyers and probate officers to get to this moment, and she was heading off on an adventure to see a house that was shrouded in secrets. Her husband wanted her to wait until he could take vacation time and go with her, but Theresa felt the need to meet the ghosts of her family’s past on her own. She and their dog would drive to Cape Cod and spend a couple of weeks at Whimsy Towers. She looked forward to having time alone far from her familiar life, to finding out whether distraction was a form of progress or merely pretending.

  Buying a new car would help sink fresh footprints in the future. In the local Volvo showroom, a car salesman, dressed in a loose dark suit with copious creases and speaking too softly, was trying to keep her attention. His sales pitch sounded like a recording from a seminar. He talked and did not listen. Theresa wasn’t interested in the mechanics of a car and simply wanted dependability and storage capacity for the trip ahead. She stared at a large stain on the man’s necktie as he rambled on. The greasy smear on the tie covered the rear legs of a moose standing next to a spindly pine tree. Almost caught in the loose knot at his open collar, a faded full moon cast eerie light on the moose antlers. The man was perspiring. He tapped a clipboard against his thigh and then ran the tips of his fingers across his moist temple, fidgeting and glancing repeatedly over his shoulder.

  Theresa wondered whether he was married. Could a man get past his wife wearing a greasy moose tie? She smiled at the thought of Kevin wearing a tie with a moose on it. He picked all his own clothes, an1peless by others. The forest green paint still waxed up pretty well, even with little hints of rust at the rear bumper. And it was not just a fair-weather friend; it was a workhorse car.

  Their dog loved to go for rides, leaving yellow hair everywhere and willingly moving over to accommodate loads of azalea bushes or tomato cages. More than once, Theresa had arrived home with a piece of antique furniture squeezed into the back or hanging out the rear with a little red flag—like the Chinese headboard with delicately carved golden dragons and kissing birds.

  And the baby crib and rocker. Theresa’s eyes began to fill with tears as she remembered the beautiful autumn day she and Kevin had found just the furniture they wanted for the baby. Their precious baby. The tears rolled down her cheeks, falling in damp streaks on her silk blouse. She wondered what had happened to the never-used furniture. Perhaps Kevin had quietly given it away or had stored it like family heirlooms that wait in dark places.

  They had wanted a large family, a picket fence, and a dog. Kevin worked hard to provide for his wife, focusing on goals. He was conscientious and smart, but Theresa got lost in the disappointment of dreams. She was hungry for life, for passion, for tomorrows that did not duplicate today. What had materialized was a dog. She loved her husband but wondered whether there was a compelling future for them. She yearned for love that was behavior, not a feeling. What is enough? And when are dreams just the postponement of living?

  Caught in the easy rhythm of the familiar drive and her wandering thoughts, Theresa almost didn’t notice the Jeep dealership. She passed it every day, but today she suddenly turned sharply to catch the drive leading to the sales lot. A row of four-door models was carefully arranged in a straight line, with balloons bobbing wildly in the wind. Mentally she began matching the colors of the balloons with the car colors: two reds, green, white, a dark blue.

  “May I help you?” said a voice, accompanied by a tapping on her front passenger window. “Care to take a look? They’re just in.”

  “Oh,” replied Theresa, startled. A young man was coming around in front of her car to her side, and she stepped out to meet him. “Red and six cylinders,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Red and six cylinders. And leather seats would be nice. If you’ve got one, I’ll take it.”

  The young man gave her a look of disbelief and then headed straight to the row of cars and the window stickers on the two red ones. “Take your pick,” he called triumphantly. “They’re exactly the same, except one has a CD player.”

  She nodded, walking toward him. “I’ll take that one. And don’t tell me a word about cams and injectors and RPMs. Does it have power windows?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well then, write it up. I’ll come back to pick up the Volvo.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The young man clumsily handed her a business card with one hand and tried to tuck in his shirt with the other. He stumbled toward the car door, gathering dust on his shiny black shoes. Theresa wondered whether he had just made his first sale. She wanted to ask him his age. Did he like his job? He made her feel strangely old. She watched the boyish face as he drove her red Jeep toward the sales office.

  The gap in the row of cars gave her an odd feeling. She imagined all the Jeeps driving in unison to this spot, in tightly-spaced formation, headlights perfectly aligned. They were a unit, and breaking rank from the group disrupted the harmony of the line. Stepping out broke the order, the pact; places had to be reassigned.

  Without consciously deciding to do it, Theresa stepped into the space vacated by her new Jeep. She was not used to change. The routine of her marriage and daily life provided safety from the unexpected, like a familiar rut that deepens gradually. She felt dried tears tingling on her face as she glanced at the vehicles on each side being left behind. In a soft voice, she whispered, “Sorry, Kevin.” A few weeks apart would test her marriage, her commitment, and her desire for independence.

  The eager
young salesman interrupted her mood. “The paperwork will take a few minutes. Would you like to come in and sit down?”

  “No,” she replied, digging her fingernails into her palms. “I’d like to wash my hands.”

  • • •

  A twist of fate had brought Theresa Crandall as a child to Virginia. The family had no roots there. She and her father were her whole family. Her earliest memories were of people towering over her and the sounds of parades in the street. She could still feel her father’s hand tight around hers as he led her through noisy crowds of schoolchildren, bagpipers, and sweaty vendors hawking hot pretzels. It was always sunny.

  When he lifted her to his shoulders, she could see the marching bands and decorated cars with smiling people who waved and threw candy that bounced onto the sidewalk. As rows of drummers came into view, Theresa would straighten her back and tap enthusiastically on the smooth bald spot on her father’s head, but he never complained. Unlike Kevin, who worried about percentage of body fat and his first few gray hairs, her father lived a life of quiet acceptance and balance. He seemed beyond the reach of vanity and didn’t fret over the look of things.

  For years he sat alone in the bleachers during Theresa’s early morning practice sessions before school at the indoor ice rink near their home. With rumpled hair and nearly matching clothes, he huddled over coffee, watching her turn slowly and carefully on one foot as she made precise concentric circles. It was hard work for a child. The blade edges of a dozen young skaters scratched into the ice, cutting the sleepy silence of the rink. They glided and turned, each in a separate marked patch, learning to respect the boundaries of others.

  Theresa’s hair was dark and curly, not at all like her father’s sandy blond color. She had kept it short for skating and never let it grow. Kevin didn’t comment on her appearance or the way she wore her hair. He seemed to accept her the way one moves past colorful wallpaper that is not changed over time. It settles in. The invisible details of who she was had accumulated over the years. Once she almost asked the hairdresser to spike her bangs and dye them green for St. Patrick’s Day, but she didn’t think Kevin would be amused. Just the thought of surprise on his face made her laugh; she didn’t need to do it.

  Her father had always been her best friend, a talented writer and patient mentor, the potter’s hand that gently shaped her life. He was quiet and caring. She was an only child whose constant playmate was an imagination that carried her through doors not opened; they traveled effortlessly together. Her father tried to support these flights of fantasy and inquiry, except for one.

  Her mother.

  It was hard to get enough pieces of the puzzle to have more than a hint of the whole. Theresa hoped her upcoming trip to Whimsy Towers would answer questions about family revelations that had come to light since her father’s recent death. She knew little about her maternal grandmother, not to mention her house in Cape Cod, and would have to retrace her family’s steps to fill in the story. Probate lawyers deal in facts, without emotion, and they had prompted her decision to tease the present with the past. She was anxious to get started. Her father had held parts of her life that should have been given to her. Why had he told her so little about her grandmother? And what was the truth of her mother’s death? As a child, Theresa was told only that her mother had “gone on,” that she was happy but would not be coming home. The concept of death was like a long vacation, but Theresa could not go visit. Once she had packed her tiny suitcase, hoping.

  Eventually, as an adult, she learned from her father that Emily, her mother, had been raised in South Carolina and Massachusetts, but there were few details—and no photographs.

  Chapter Two

  THERESA PULLED UP to the house and parked her shiny new red car in the garage, happy with the final outcome of a bumpy morning.

  “Hi Kevin, I’m home,” she called, tossing the keys to the Jeep on the hall table.

  “Did you find something?” he answered from the den.

  “Sure did. Want to see it?”

  There was a pause. “See it? Are you on a test drive?”

  Kevin appeared at the door of the den, meeting Theresa as she turned the corner.

  “No, I bought it. I bought a Jeep.”

  Kevin’s jaw dropped. He looked as though someone had hit a fly ball just over his head, and he couldn’t quite reach it. “You’ve already bought a car?” he stammered, gripping the papers that were slipping out of his hand.

  “Yup.”

  “I thought you were going to look at a station wagon for the trip.”

  “I was, but that didn’t work out,” she replied, able now to smile at the thought of the commotion she’d caused in the showroom. “Come on, I’ll take you for a ride. Let’s get a strawberry milkshake at Bob’s to celebrate. Where’s the dog?”

  Theresa kept moving down the hall, alternately whistling and calling, “Gypsy! Here, girl!”

  The house was bigger than they needed for the two of them. They avoided the subject of moving, the mention of change. It was easier just to keep their lives going in familiar surroundings, filling up the extra rooms, exchanging barrenness for possessions. Spaces were filled comfortably with the illusion of home. Neither wanted to move memories from the rooms that held them for fear of losing the desire to make new ones. Their marriage seemed on hold, waiting for the spark that would rekindle it. The delicate truce that kept each of them from letting go and admitting failure also kept them grasping at the hope of possibilities just around the corner. Theresa sensed that Whimsy Towers might upset that fragile balance.

  She saw Kevin standing in the doorway, trying to process the last thirty seconds. She knew he often didn’t understand his wife or what she did. He tried, but he was wired for order and analysis. Buying a car in less than an hour and wanting a milkshake at 10:30 on Saturday morning would make no sense to him. He tightened his hold on the papers in his hand, waiting, searching for a hint of logic in what was going on.

  But Theresa didn’t easily bow to logic, and she reappeared with their yellow Labrador, who was obviously roused from slumber but ready for an outing. Kevin would need to catch up or miss the moment. Theresa playfully caught his sleeve as she passed him, giving it a tug. “Come on, you’re going to love it. Honest.”

  The dog didn’t hesitate to jump into the new car, eagerly positioning herself in the middle of the back seat, sitting up tall like a trusted sentinel. Theresa slid in behind the wheel and adjusted the already-adjusted mirror. Kevin followed and got in the passenger side, pulling the door closed with a look of surprised satisfaction. “Feels nice.” He smiled and put his hand on her thigh, patting and rubbing her gently. Theresa felt a warm sensation. She loved his touch at unexpected times. She knew he loved her, desired her, but often was wrapped too tightly in the demands of work and responsibility. Sexual intimacy was a category in their life that increasingly had a scheduled time and place. Lawyers need patterns.

  Theresa did not start the car. She leaned over toward him, and his hand moved deeper between her legs. She felt moist and eager. They began kissing, and she climbed over onto his lap. Unlike guilty teenagers fumbling in the back seat, they swiftly accommodated the limited space on the passenger side, rising to the moment of unplanned pleasure. Desire and opportunity came together on the soft leather seat of a car with steamed windows. Kevin wrapped his wife in his arms and seemed to accept the illogic of the situation in silence. He looked happy and relaxed and continued to caress Theresa. She made no effort to move off him. Gypsy stretched out in the back, comfortable and patient.

  “See, I knew you’d like it,” Theresa said softly.

  “And we are talking about the car?”

  They kissed again, and Theresa felt a fresh closeness to this man who didn’t often show kinks in his armor.

  “So you think I did okay?” she asked, throwing him a teasing grin as she climbed back behind the wheel.
>
  “This car has magic properties, Theresa, and it’s been christened in a most wonderful way. If you like it, I’m happy, but I can remember when your idea of impulse buying was a pair of new earrings!”

  She kissed him affectionately on the cheek. “The mileage isn’t great, but it’s just right for hauling the stuff I want to take up to the Cape.”

  Kevin took a minute to respond. “You know that change is hard for me, pushing me out of my comfort zone. I want to support you, to understand you, Theresa, but surprises throw me off. I do love you so much, even with all the crazy ideas that scare me. And now I have the feeling your grandmother’s inheritance will change our lives, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  They looked at each other, but no more was said on the subject. Boundaries were being tested before new rules were in place. The future was drawing a circle around the present that might not hold it.

  • • •

  Early the following Saturday, Kevin helped load the new car for the trip north. The middle of May is beautiful in northern Virginia. Bright tulips were still blooming along the side of the driveway, and the irises would soon open. Theresa had planted dozens of daffodils and irises near the oak trees in their yard. She had brought the bulbs from her father’s house, the home she’d grown up in, just a few blocks away. Their dog was well beyond her digging days, and the flowers grew tall and undisturbed. Theresa would miss seeing the spiked clusters of purple and peach irises burst into color this year. The trip ahead was pulling her from what was familiar and safe, and she felt unsettled, apprehensive.

  “Kevin, do you think if I cut some iris stems and kept them in water, they would bloom in Cape Cod?”

  “I don’t think the blossoms are set enough, never mind the thought of a vase of water jiggling around in your new car.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just that I love these flowers, and they remind me of my father. They’ll be opening without me.”