Each Shining Hour

by Jeff High

  “Who wants to know?”

  Connie giggled. “Better get used to it, sweetie. A little romance between the new doctor and a town sweetheart like Christine . . . mmm, mmm, mmm. That’s front-page stuff.”

  “Should I put out a newsletter?”

  “It would help.”

  “Well, don’t count on it.” I rose from my chair. “You’d think a fellow could keep his private life private.”

  Still smiling, Connie gathered her things to leave. She spoke in a teasing lecture. “Mmm. I don’t know, Doctor. It might be better if you kept me informed. People are going to be asking. And if I don’t know the details, I’ll just have to make them up.”

  “Show up in a cupid’s outfit and we’ll talk.” I walked her to the front door. Before exiting, Connie turned to me wearing her familiar expression of reprimand.

  “Just be sure you’re a gentleman at all times around her, Luke Bradford. She is a fine young woman and deserves your best.”

  “Wow. First it’s wash behind my ears and now this. I just don’t know if I can live up to these high standards.”

  Connie opened her mouth to speak. With a puckered face she turned her chin to the side, cutting her eyes sharply at me. She grunted an exasperated “humph” and was out the door.

  I turned to find Rhett sitting in the hallway behind me. He was looking at me with an awestruck, adoring face, as if my clever rebuttal to Connie had been the bravest thing he had ever heard. Either that, or he wanted something to eat.

  CHAPTER 23

  An Uneasy Feeling

  The next morning I was awakened by the moist, smelly pant of dog breath. Not exactly the ideal start to the first day of a new year.

  “Rhett, we need to have a serious discussion about oral hygiene.” Undaunted, he proceeded to hop up on the bed and began the circling dance he always did before settling down for a cozy snooze.

  “Away, you beast.” My words went unheeded as he plopped down, forcing me to move. I crawled out the other side, stretched, and put on some jeans. It was nine o’clock. Even though this was a holiday, we were opening the clinic at ten for a couple of hours. When you are the only game in town, you have to make concessions.

  I fed Rhett and ate a quick bite of toast before departing in the frost and cold. When I turned the key, the Corolla squealed in defiance before finally roaring to life. Actually, it was more of a moan. Even when I reached the clinic parking lot, there was nothing remotely resembling warm air coming out of the heater vent. First, dog breath and now a frigid car. Yep, in this New Year I was living large.

  The staff was already there and had my first patient waiting in exam room one. It was Margie Reynolds.

  A housewife in her early forties, Margie was tall and big-boned with bold, expressive facial features. With her booming voice, sloppy smile, and unchecked gift for gab, she could do nothing in a small and quiet way. She would tell a perfect stranger in the grocery how much she loved their shoes or their purse and proceed to have an impassioned conversation for the next twenty minutes. Despite her spontaneous and clownish nature, you sensed that she wanted to present herself as possessing some modicum of style and refinement. But it seemed rarely to happen and no one laughed more about her efforts than she did. She was fun to be around.

  Over the holidays, Margie had discovered a lump in her breast, and despite an understandable reluctance, she had come to the clinic for an exam. Even though I was her doctor, she and her husband, Larry, were also friends who had included me in a few social gatherings. Although breast exams came with the job, sometimes these situations made for some awkwardness.

  Ann had already introduced herself and was taking Margie’s vitals when I entered the room. She was dressed in a fitted blouse and pearls.

  “Hi, Margie. You’re looking smart today.”

  “It’s early, Doc, and I’m holding a pose, trying to look skinny. Thank God you’re here. I didn’t think I could suck my stomach in for a second longer.” She winked at Ann and grinned. But her words were spoken through a thin veil of worry.

  “So, how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m peachy, Doc. Other than, you know, thinking I might die.”

  I smiled warmly and tried to allay her fears. “Now, Margie, don’t start panicking and having morbid thoughts about cancer before we’ve even done an exam.”

  “Forget cancer. It’s the exam I’m going to die from. You don’t by chance have X-ray vision, do you?”

  “No, Margie, I’m afraid not. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  “Wonderful. Can we at least dim the lights and you buy me dinner first?”

  I laughed. “I know, I know. It’s no fun, is it? But it’s best we figure this out sooner rather than later.”

  “Jeez, okay. Let’s get it over with.”

  I asked several questions about the location of the lump, about any pain or tenderness, how she had discovered it, and when she’d had her last mammogram. She answered each inquiry along with a running commentary about the cold weather, her kids’ braces, her husband’s dieting woes, and anything else that popped in her head. It seemed this was her way of coping with her nervousness. Finally, I told her I would step out while Ann helped her disrobe and covered her with a sheet.

  “Do I need to take my pearls off too, Doc? I mean, heck, you’ll be seeing the rest of my jewels, might as well catch everything in one shot.”

  “Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

  Margie snickered and rolled her eyes at me. “Well, when my mother told me that in the South pearls go with everything, I’m pretty sure she didn’t have this in mind. Anyway, I don’t think the word ‘comfortable’ fits this situation. I’d rather wake up on fire.”

  I could only shake my head. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Performing physical exams came with being a doctor. After you’ve seen hundreds of people in their birthday suits, it’s easy to remain clinically detached. No doubt, the human body can be a beautiful thing. But in reality almost everyone falls short of a Venus de Milo or a statue of David. Many times I peeked at territory I really wished I hadn’t.

  I knocked on the door and found Margie and Ann in an amiable conversation. Ann removed the sheet and I began the exam. My heart went out to Margie. She seemed to be mortified. A blush started in her face and just kept going. Looking away, she did her best to hide her embarrassment, unable to hide much else.

  Unfortunately, her suspicions proved valid. There was a palpable lump in her right breast. When I confirmed this to her, Margie melted into a face of pallid worry and a spontaneous welling of muted sobs. Ann wrapped the sheet back around her as I pulled up a chair and positioned myself squarely in front of Margie, who was seated on the exam table. I reached up and held her hand. “Margie, you’re a smart woman and you did the right thing getting this checked out immediately. Whatever this is, my gut tells me that you caught it early. Now, we’re going to do some blood tests and I’m going to refer you to an oncologist in Gunther County, a Dr. Kate Churchill. She’ll do an ultrasound and probably a needle biopsy. This thing could be no big deal, a cyst or something benign, or it could be something more. Either way, we will get to the bottom of it.”

  With these words, I squeezed her hand. Margie pursed her lips and nodded, doing her best to act brave. “You really think so?”

  “Yep, I do. It’s a small lump and we need to get it checked out. But either way, I think you will get through this fine.” I spoke optimistically for one simple reason. I knew that fear was the greatest enemy to the mind and spirit. Fear was a cancer of its own. The Watervalley Clinic was short on equipment and technology, but I was determined it wouldn’t be short on hope. A weak smile poured across Margie’s face as she absorbed my words. She sighed and the faint glow of resolve shone in her eyes.

  “Thanks, Doc. If I wasn’t half-naked, I’d hug you.
”

  I stood, looping my stethoscope around my neck. “Well, shucks. Where’s the fun in that?”

  A smirking twinkle returned to Margie’s expression. “Just tell me that you don’t have a photographic memory and I may be able to avoid therapy.”

  I laughed. “Margie, I’ve already hit the delete button.”

  “You do realize that from now on every time I see you at church or at the grocery store, the first thought to cross my mind will be ‘He’s seen me naked.’”

  I thought about this for an awkward moment. “Margie, I can’t seem to think of a safe response to that comment.”

  “Oh, just scat. Go find another patient while I find my dignity. Pearls and a bedsheet don’t keep a girl as warm as you’d think.” She turned to Ann and winked.

  “I’ll be in touch.” As I closed the door behind me, I was confident that Margie would be all right . . . on all levels.

  I saw a few more patients and was home by one o’clock. I spent the rest of New Year’s Day enjoying football, taking Rhett for a walk, and talking briefly with Christine on the phone. I was in bed early. The holiday break had been good, but the clinic would start regular hours in the morning. Candidly, I was ready to go back to work.

  Wednesday morning I arrived early, made coffee, and was enjoying a few moments in my office before the start of the workday. But less than a minute later, Nancy Orman came bustling through the door. “You know, Nancy,” I said, “I could be wrong, but it seems to me that when it comes to doors, God invented this thing called knocking.”

  She ignored me and we briefly discussed the caseload for the day. Soon after eight o’clock I called the bank to talk with Randall Simmons. His assistant said he wasn’t available and asked my reason for calling. I told her that some friends and I wanted to help the Fox family with their overdue mortgage payments and explained our desire to deposit six months’ worth of payments in Louise’s account. I asked what that amount should be. She said she would get back to me. An hour later I received a return call from the assistant. In a detached voice she told me that the bank could not divulge this information and that I should discuss the matter with Louise Fox. I had known all along that this would likely be the bank’s response, but had hoped that a spirit of kindness and accommodation would prevail. Evidently not so with Randall.

  The clinic was busy, and the hours passed quickly. The day had the pristine orderliness that comes with the focus and resolve of a brand-new year. I found myself delighted to reengage with my life as a doctor, to once again care for those in my small but busy practice.

  My last patient of the day was my friend and mechanic, Chick McKissick. I was surprised to find this normally happy and lively soul hunched up in a pitiful, sniveling huddle. It was clear he had a bad cold, the kind you carry in your bones. His voice sounded like he had sand on his vocal cords.

  “Doc, I think standing on the street corner playing Santa Claus before Christmas put me under the weather.”

  A brief examination confirmed the diagnosis. “Chick, you’re running a temperature and you look lousy. I’ll write you a couple of prescriptions to help with the symptoms, but you need to go to bed and stay there.”

  “I hear you, Doc, but that’s going to be tough. I’m really backed up at the shop.”

  “Well, Santa, I don’t think there’s a lot of choice here. Besides, you really need to be isolated. Otherwise, you’ll be giving the gift that keeps on giving.”

  He reluctantly agreed and I retrieved my Rx pad. As I began to write, Chick said, “Hey, Doc. I saw a new Beemer in town the other day. Someone said it belonged to Connie’s sister, Estelle. I figure she’s just visiting for the holidays, but I also heard she’s thinking about moving back here. Is that so?”

  “Yeah, I think she is. She’s living with Connie for now, but it looks like she’s moving back to open up a bakery in the old Hatcher Building, the place where Oscar’s Bakery used to be.”

  “Is that right? Hmm.” Chick had a puzzled look on his face. “You know, Doc, I heard . . . or actually, I guess I overheard something about that earlier today.”

  “How so?”

  “Banker Simmons was in my shop getting his oil changed. Man, he sure is a tight one. Anyway, he got a phone call about the old bakery and was handing out some pretty stiff instructions to whoever had called him. He didn’t seem too happy about it. I heard Estelle’s name mentioned.”

  “What kind of instructions?”

  “Something about a vote. He stepped away, so I didn’t get all the details. You know, Doc, I don’t like to talk down about people, but banker Simmons, he’s a squirrelly one.”

  I thought about what Chick had said while I finished writing his prescriptions. I wasn’t sure what to make of his news, but it didn’t sound good.

  When I arrived home that evening, Connie had dinner waiting. We talked briefly, but she left shortly after my arrival to attend to some business at Wednesday night church.

  “Remember, you’ll be on your own in the morning, Dr. Bradford. Estelle is out of town and there are some things I need to take care of for her.”

  “Did you tell me this already?”

  “Umm-hmm. The other day. But you weren’t listening because the sentence didn’t have your name in it.”

  I nodded penitently.

  “And you’re still meeting me at the bank tomorrow at four o’clock, you know, for the board meeting?”

  “Yes. I’ll be in the lobby.”

  Connie was pensive, as if there was more she wanted to say on the matter. She stared at me for a lost moment. Something was troubling her, something she seemed unable to press into words. I chose not to mention what Chick had told me, thinking it might needlessly worry her even more.

  I endeavored to be positive to try to allay her concerns. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “Yes, I hope so.” But it was clear that this was not what she thought. She turned and walked to her car.

  I brooded for the next hour on what Chick McKissick had told me earlier in the day. Along with Connie’s anxiety, there was an unsettled air to the whole business. I decided to make a phone call.

  John Harris answered in a tone of unconcealed irritation. He was somewhat more accommodating once he recognized my voice.

  “John, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Ah, the usual. Work in the yard, make some dinner, drinky drinky.”

  “I’ve got something I want you to do.” I went on to explain the situation with Connie and the board meeting and my concern that something seemed wrong. I told John I wanted him to come to the meeting. He didn’t like the idea.

  “Why would I waste my time watching another episode of moron versus moron? Connie will be fine. She can handle that bunch.”

  “I’m not so sure, John. She seems pretty uptight about it. I think it would be a good thing if you were there.”

  “Oh, crap. Don’t tell me I have to go before the Sanhedrin too. I’d rather baptize a cat.”

  “Nice analogy. But I’m dead serious about this.”

  We talked for another few minutes and John reluctantly agreed that he would try to be there. I could tell he saw this as an unfair request and quite possibly an overreach of our friendship. He had made only a frail commitment and I could sense him withdrawing. He ended the call soon after.

  I began to second-guess my decision to involve him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t show, but I was truly hoping he would.

  CHAPTER 24

  Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

  The clinic wasn’t busy on Thursday, making for a slow drag of the hours. I was unsettled, worried about the board meeting and thinking I would be glad when it was over. At a quarter of four I found Connie waiting in the bank lobby as planned. We shared tense and brooding faces, exchanging only a few words. With its dark paneled walls, cold mar
ble floors, and gaudy chandeliers, the old bank building had an oppressive heaviness, an indifferent and stifling air that was stiff and ominous. One of the bank assistants escorted us upstairs and directed us down a long hallway to the boardroom.

  There was a noticeable hush among the small groups as we entered. We sat in chairs lining the wall, across from the long side of the huge oval table. Nine board members were present, including some lawyers and local accountants. Curiously, even though it was the Farmers Bank, there wasn’t a farmer in the bunch. Nor were there any women. Randall Simmons served as the tenth member and chairman. Other than the mayor, Walt Hickman, I was largely unacquainted with the men.

  It was nearing four o’clock and there was still no sign of John. About two minutes before the hour, Randall Simmons entered through a side door. He gazed around the room with a placid reserve, showing no change of expression upon seeing that I was there with Connie. The directors ended their conversations and took their seats. As Simmons seated himself at the head of the table, the hallway door swung open abruptly.

  John Harris walked in.

  His arrival produced no small stir of whispers and mumbles. Body language stiffened, and inquisitive glances shot around the room. They all knew him.

  John stood for a brief moment, deadpan, quietly surveying those assembled before him, taking note of faces and names. Satisfied, he walked over and seated himself next to me. Randall intently followed his movements and I could detect a slight twitch in his otherwise dour countenance.

  The meeting was called to order. Within the confines of the lamplight and dark paneling, this group took on an august air, a cavalier attitude of detached importance. I was easily twenty-five years younger than anyone in the room and that alone elicited in me a certain unease.

  Everything in Connie’s demeanor told me that she was nothing short of intimidated. I had never seen her so cowed. Apparently, years of nuanced social cues had conditioned her, had made her uncertain. Since Connie was the largest stockholder, it was natural to assume the board would readily favor her request to buy the property. But she did not own a controlling majority, and now that thought nagged at me.