Well I came home
Like a stone
Seth stared across the water, a corner of the letter crumpled in his hand. He had a decision to make.
When he'd first arrived at Juniper Lake and stumbled across that dock, he wasn't sure if the rickety old thing would hold his weight. He'd kept himself trim for most of his life, but lately, like everything else, he'd let that ideal go. He remembered putting a tentative foot onto the dock and hearing an ominous creak. But it had held, surprisingly, and now this was his preferred place to come and think. He was guaranteed to be left alone.
He'd come to Juniper Lake at Terry's insistence. And, Seth grudgingly admitted, the man's shrewdness. Terry's offer had been a godsend.
Ruth's death had hit him hard. His marriage to Ruth had never really gone through a rough patch. He'd never been tempted to stray, though at a hospital opportunities were never far from reach. He loved Ruthie, he respected her, and more than that, he'd meant the vows he'd made to her. She was quick, funny, desirable. He'd been drawn to her the moment they'd met, she an experienced nurse and he a callow medical resident. He'd publicly questioned one of her decisions, and she turned to face him, eyes blazing. She let him have it with both barrels…and he was transfixed. She'd been right, of course, and he'd learned a valuable lesson. Later, he invited her for a cup of coffee to make it up to her, and, after fixing him with a steely glare, she agreed. They'd been almost inseparable ever since.
Losing her so young had been a blow. To him and to Margie. He'd hired a housekeeper, ostensibly to keep the house running smoothly, but it was more for Margie's benefit. He loved his daughter dearly, but he didn't understand her. He relied on Ruth to let him know what was going on. Ruth had often teased Seth that he and his daughter shared a magnificent stubbornness, and he could see it now. They'd both retreated as they tried to gauge the size and depth of the hole Ruth's death had left behind.
Hiring Mrs. McCabe had worked out better than he'd anticipated. He'd watched as Margie grew close to the woman, and he felt a pang of jealousy on Ruth's behalf. Ridiculous, but there it was. For his part, he appreciated having a clean home, good meals, and a well-cared-for daughter. It was easy to overlook some of the woman's more irritating habits when he heard Margie laughing with her in the kitchen.
In spite of the obvious good it had done for Margie, hiring a housekeeper had done little for him other than freeing him from his household responsibilities. He picked up extra shifts whenever possible. Lord knew he needed the money. Ruth's medical bills were almost astronomical, and Margie would be headed to college in a few short years. He needed every penny he could gather.
Even with the extra shifts, Seth found he still had too much time on his hands. In those first few months after Ruth's death, he was still too numb to do more than the basic tasks each day required. Seeing Margie happier was the only joy he had in those days. He'd taken to having the odd drink now and again. Just a wee dram, Ruthie, he'd say as he raised a glass to the ceiling. Just enough to get through the night. And, as long as Margie was under his roof, that had been the case.
When Margie graduated from high school, both Seth and Mrs. McCabe, were in attendance. He owed a great deal to Mrs. McCabe and to a few dedicated teachers who encouraged Margie, pushed and prodded his stubborn daughter in efforts that had been far more successful than his own. Later that night, sipping a finger of Jack Daniels, he'd chuckled to himself. "You know, Ruthie, our little spitfire is a young lady now. A young lady who's on her way to the University of Maine." He raised his glass. "A-yuh." He took another sip. "No thanks to me." He raised his hands in mock protest. "I know you'd say differently, dear heart, but it's true. She had good teachers, and Mrs. McCabe looked after her almost as well as you would've." Seth cleared his throat. He wouldn't have thought he had any tears left, but this was a special occasion. Just like teaching her to drive. Just like her 16th birthday, the senior dance. All the things Ruth had missed. He sighed and took another sip. It was going to be a long night.
Seth let Mrs. McCabe go, albeit with a generous severance package. She and Margie were in floods of tears, but they promised to write one another. Seth privately thought that would be a decidedly one-sided correspondence, but he managed to control his face as the two women made their goodbyes. He shook the older woman's hand, wished her well, and put her in the cab that would take her to the train station. She'd be living with her sister in Brunswick. Seth was too kindly disposed toward her to say good riddance, but he couldn't deny looking forward to having his home to himself again.
Of course it didn't take long for the novelty of living alone to wear thin. He missed the sound of Margie's laughter, of her friends. Hell, he even missed ! He took to spending time at the bar and grill that was just down the road from the hospital. It was as good a place as any to grab a meal, and the waitresses were easy on the eyes. Some of the hospital staff gathered there on the odd Friday night, and Seth began to loosen up a bit, as one of the pretty young nurses put it.
He wasn't an old man; he was hardly fifty. There was still plenty of life left in him, and he began to enjoy himself a little. And why shouldn't he? He'd worked like a dog over the last five years, whittling down Ruth's medical debt and saving every penny he could for Margie's education. He wasn't out of debt, not by a longshot, but he was better off than he was. He could afford to live a little.
It started small: one night a week at Lanigan's, then another. A drink or two to take the edge off. A little mild flirting with some of the younger nurses. He was still respectful, respectable. He was still in control. He might have missed a shift or two, but nothing serious. It was time he let himself off the leash. He was a widower, but he wasn't dead. And women were different, now. It was a different time. He was all for women's liberation, to a point. Anyway, if they were comfortable with it, who was he to complain?
He was getting tired, though. Tired…and ashamed. He wasn't the man Ruth married. He wasn't the father he wanted to be. He was dishonoring Ruth's memory by making a complete ass of himself. He sensed he was skating on thin ice with the hospital, and his conversation with Terry was only further proof.
He'd been surprised to see Terry at Lanigan's. It wasn't a dive, exactly, but it wasn't the kind of place he would expect to see the distinguished doctor. A fancy man, thought Seth disparagingly.
"Terry." Seth nodded and sat down at the bar next to him.
"Seth! I was hoping to see you tonight."
"Me? Why?"
"Yes, you! I have a…well, a sort of proposition for you."
Seth eyed him coolly as the bartender brought him two fingers of Jack Daniels, neat. He nodded to Sam and took a sip.
"A proposition," Terry continued. "You interested?"
"Depends on the proposition, Terry," drawled Seth.
And Terry began to lay out the investment opportunity at Juniper Lake. It was a beautiful resort property, or it could be, under the right management. Terry hinted, subtly, at an uncomfortably accurate assessment of Seth's balance sheet.
"Well? What do you think?"
"Why me, Terry? You know plenty of people with more…everything…than I have."
"You're in a unique position, Seth." Seth cocked an eyebrow. "I think you're ready for a change. Aren't you?" he added quietly.
The man had him there. He'd been burning the candle at both ends for awhile now. Something had to give. He was shorting his patients, the hospital. He was taking what these women had to offer and giving almost nothing in returned. He was ashamed of his behavior, and Terry knew it. It might not be the best financial investment he could make, but it would give him the time and space to get his head on straight again.
"How much do you need?"
"$15 thousand should do it."
"$15 thousand!"
"Keep your voice down! Yes, $15,000. I wouldn't be talking to you if I didn't know you were good for that amount."
"How do you know that?" asked Seth indignantly.
"I know what your house is worth." Terry threw up his hands to forestall Seth's angry comment. "What it could be worth, if you sold it. That's a lowball figure. My friend thinks you could get more."
"Your friend?"
"My friend who knows a little about real estate. A lot, actually. She's the one who came up with the idea."
"Did she."
"Don't say it like that. This is a good opportunity, Seth. And from what I hear, you could use some time…away."
Seth felt his face flush. "If I were to say yes, how soon could I sell the house?"
"My friend could put it on the market for you this weekend, if that's soon enough?"
"I need to give some notice!"
"We can work out all the details in the contract. Don't you worry about a thing."
And that was the phrase that haunted Seth. Don't you worry about a thing. And here he was, a suspect in a murder investigation and most of his money tied up in this ridiculous scheme. Who was going to want to vacation in a murderous resort? Only broke people. That's who.
Here, standing on this wooden dock, he had a viable choice to make. He could stay here and probably end up a bitter, lonely old drunk. Or, he could take the lifeline his old mentor had thrown him, and return home to Cabot Cove, take over doctoring for the old man who, by the sound of it, was getting ready to retire and marry, not necessarily in that order.
Seth squeezed the letter in his hand; it had almost become a talisman. Come home, boy, the letter had said. Come on home.
TBC