by Jeff High
When she entered my office, Sunflower walked directly toward Ann.
“Hi, I’m Sunflower Miller. I hope Dr. Bradford here hasn’t already tainted your thinking about good nursing practice.”
“Good to see you too, Sunflower,” I replied.
She smiled at me in her clever, taunting way. I was left thinking she was just teasing, but I couldn’t be sure. No doubt, that was exactly what she intended.
Thankfully, the two women hit it off, allowing me and my ever-contracting attention span to be present in body only. I found myself wondering about Sunflower. In every conversation she found a way to throw out snippets of wisdom regarding the human condition. She could make any discussion take a somber turn by suddenly assuming a serious face, her way of telegraphing that it was time for a teachable moment. Unlike anyone else I knew in Watervalley, she saw life here as a complex construct of human affairs with undercurrents of conspiracy and oppression.
“Dr. Bradford?”
“Hmm?”
“Dr. Bradford? Did you hear what I said?” It was Sunflower. Apparently I had become oblivious to the discussion.
“I’m sorry, no. I guess I lost focus for a minute there. Would you repeat the question?”
She glanced at Ann, who was now regarding me without expression.
“Don’t you agree that part of our Seniors Wellness program should include how to do a really effective herbal colon cleanse?”
Where had I been? How had the conversation progressed to this nonsense? “You know, Sunflower, for Watervalley that might be a bit of an overshare.”
Her gaze turned withering. “I’m sure the pharmaceutical companies have some sanctioned torture we could teach instead.”
Luckily, before I could answer, Nancy Orman opened the office door to tell me I had a visitor. I took this opportunity to escape.
“You two talk amongst yourselves,” I said jokingly.
As I exited, my immediate thought was that John had stopped by to see me, something he had begun to make a habit of whenever he was in town. He always had a pertinent item to discuss, but I also noticed that he looked for a glimpse of Ann. Conversely, she always managed to appear with some pressing question for me during John’s visits. They rarely spoke, but I noticed an unmistakable lift in her mood and a wry smile on her lips after he had stopped by.
But this time my visitor wasn’t John. It was Lida Wilkins. I was surprised to see her, since weeks earlier the results of her stress test and blood work had come back normal.
“Doc, come out to the car. I’ve got something for you.”
Her SUV was parked outside the rear door. She lifted the tailgate and brought out an ancient brown file box.
“It took a little while, but I finally found it underneath some old dresses.”
It was her father’s work on Oscar Fox. She handed the box to me.
I was beaming. “Lida, if you weren’t a married woman, I’d kiss you.”
She winked at me. “Crap, Doc. You’re a good-looking young man. Not only would I let you kiss me, I’d insist on drawing a crowd to witness it.”
I laughed. “When do you need this back?”
“That would be whenever you’re tired of looking at it.”
“Fair enough. Thanks so much.”
“Hey, Doc. Not to change the subject, but is it true that Connie and her sister are starting a bakery?”
“Well, I don’t guess it’s a big secret or anything, but yeah. At least that’s the plan.”
Lida’s face shriveled to a hard frown. “That’s just great. Nothing like competition to raise my anxiety. I’ve been telling folks we’re going to start making pastries so I can recoup some of the lost business.”
“I see. Seems to me there should be plenty of business for both of you. I think she’s shooting more for a coffeehouse along with sweets and some special catering.”
Lida’s frown remained unchanged. She looked away for a second, and then spoke with resignation. “Competition is competition, Doc.” For a despondent moment she seemed lost in thoughts of what this news meant. I felt stuck in the middle with little to offer her.
Then in characteristic Lida fashion, she grinned at me, and spoke with a sparkling playfulness. “Hey, I noticed Sunflower’s truck parked out front. Maybe I need to rethink asking her for some reefer?”
“These days, Sunflower’s medical focus seems to have shifted more toward output than intake.”
“I’m not following you there, Doc.”
I shook my head. “Never mind, it was a dumb statement. Anyway, thanks again for bringing this over.”
We said good-bye, but I could tell that the new bakery was still troubling her. Even in Watervalley, change had consequences.
CHAPTER 27
Unbridled Passion
The workday finished.
Arriving home shortly after four, I fed Rhett, took a quick shower, and called Christine. Her animated voice poured through the phone.
“So, any ideas about tonight?” she asked.
“I’m guessing I won’t be needing a pub crawl wristband?”
“Not hardly. Why don’t you grab a pizza and come over and we’ll watch a movie?”
“Sure. What kind of movies do you like?”
“Adventure, romance, intrigue . . . no blood and guts. I’m kind of a PG girl.”
“How about The Little Mermaid?”
“Hey, don’t poke fun. I love that movie.”
“Okay, and now you’re going to tell me that you used to have a Little Mermaid bedcover and matching pillowcases.”
“Have you been reading my journal?”
“Why does this not surprise me?”
“Oh, admit it,” she teased. “I bet you know all the songs by heart.”
“Hmm, possibly.”
“Fess up, Bradford. How many times have you seen it?”
“Well, it’s been a few years . . . but maybe four or five. And that was only because Ariel was a babe.”
“Ha! I knew it.”
“Hey, I was at an impressionable age and just starting to notice girls.”
“And what about this has changed?”
“Point taken. But you know, the whole movie thing . . . let me think about that for a second.”
When I lived in the city, doing it up big for Valentine’s was part of the deal whether you liked it or not. But Watervalley was different. The men here had a difficult time with romantic expression. Despite the chidings of Connie and Nancy and a host of other women, I had gotten the impression from the guys down at the Co-op to tread carefully regarding Valentine’s gifts. If you went too over-the-top and mushy for Valentine’s Day, you were seen as a bad example, someone their wives or girlfriends could use against them. The next time you went into the Co-op, you were liable to be met with cold silence, contemptuous leers, and subtle inferences that you had betrayed the gender and should turn in your man card.
“What would you think about pizza and something other than a movie?” I inquired.
“I don’t know. Define other.”
“Lida Wilkins finally found the file box about the Oscar Fox murder that her dad had compiled. I’m thinking it would be interesting to look through it. You know, just to see what it reveals.”
“You’re still pretty taken with this whole business, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, guess I am. Maybe this is my substitute for doing medical research. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. You want me to come there?”
“Nah, I’ll come out to your place. I guess I’m a little old-school, but one of us will have to drive back late. Might as well be me.”
“And I thought chivalry was dead.”
“It is if I have to ride a horse.”
“Ooooh, that gives me an idea.”
“Okay,
now you’re scaring me.”
“What time will you be out here?”
“About an hour. I’ll pick up the pizza and head that way.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
I stared at my cell phone for a moment, wondering what was on her mind.
As I made my way out to Christine’s, twilight was fading and the vast tent of darkness was spreading across the countryside. In Watervalley, when this time of day approached, time slowed to an amble. There was something in the unpeopled desolation, in the quiet lull of the raw and frozen fields, that filled me with a subdued tranquillity, a deep, intoxicating awareness of the symphony of rural life. I rolled down my window, breathing in the stimulating cold of the moist air. I absentmindedly followed the faded white lines of the country lane. My mind drifted.
A year ago today I had been steeped in the noise and revelry of a few beers shared with friends at a Nashville bar. Tonight I was driving down a dark and lonely country road, toting a file box regarding an old murder. My life and plans had so dramatically changed. It was a sobering realization. As much as I enjoyed the serenity of Watervalley, and as certain as I was about my decision to complete my three-year commitment, I knew that what my life would be afterward was a big question.
Watervalley was now part of me. Even still, I had not completely shed my love of the city and my hope of doing medical research. But as the weathered sign indicating Summerplace Farm appeared in the headlights, I was brought back to the delightful reality of Christine. I smiled warmly. She was the best thought of my day.
As the wheels of the Corolla crunched down her long driveway, I emerged from my mental fog to an alarming thought. My dreadometer began to ping off the charts. Christine had mentioned earlier in the week that her grandmother was back again, visiting from Florida. I had no doubt that Mattie Chambers, with her ability to summon the ghouls of hell, would likely be hovering over us the entire evening. My desire to be with Christine had clouded my brain. I should have thought through this plan more carefully.
As I pulled up to the house, Christine was standing on the front porch in her heavy coat holding a couple of small bags. I stopped the car and she walked over and got in on the passenger side.
“Hey. What’s up?” I asked.
“Hi. Follow that dirt road beside the house.”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d go spread everything out on the table in the tack room of the big barn. It’s a little more private.”
“Works for me.” I acted nonchalant, but inwardly I was ecstatic. This was an unexpected blessing from the universe. As I began edging down the farm road, Christine remained silent, focused on the dark path in front of us. I reached over and grabbed her hand.
“You okay?”
She looked at me blankly. “Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You’re just kind of quiet, and, in my experience, when a woman is quiet, she’s usually mad.”
She released a short laugh and squeezed my hand. “No, silly. It’s just . . . Is this okay? I mean, Valentine’s Day in a barn?”
“Actually, I was going to ask you that question. I haven’t made a very big deal of it.”
“No. It’s fine. But the barn, are you sure it’s okay?”
“Only if I can make really stupid jokes about taking a roll in the hay and horsing around.”
“We keep pitchforks in there, you know.”
“Ouch. Not very subtle, farm girl.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun. I love that old barn.”
I thought about her comment as we rocked along in silence. “Lots of great memories, huh?”
“Yeah, the best.”
We pulled up to the massive structure, where a solitary light from the high overhang of the extended roof stood sentry over the solemn, quiet barnyard. It cast the world in shades of gray and only faintly illuminated the large wooden doors. I retrieved the file box and pizza, shutting the door of the Corolla with my foot. Christine leaned against the car and we stood there for a moment in the still shadows. The open countryside was vast and soundless. She gazed into the night sky, searching the distant particles of light.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, lavishly of the frozen air, lost in some distant memory. It seemed she was listening, absorbing the rich silence of the darkness.
I stood patiently, realizing that for the moment part of Christine was given to a remote world: some faraway memory buried deep within that was sweet and happy. She opened her eyes and smiled delicately at me. I drew close beside her, leaned against the car, and, as well, gazed into the night sky. She pressed her shoulder next to me with a yielding tenderness and exhaled, her warm breath condensing into a visible cloud in the night air.
“I love the stars at this time of year,” she said. “They seem brighter, more perfect.”
I stared up. “Gravity.”
“Gravity?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “I always wondered how the stars stay in place, in perfect harmony. Each has its own energy, its own orbit, its own gravity. And somehow, all that force and attraction keeps everything in balance.”
“Luke Bradford, look at you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s something almost romantic sounding about that.”
“Well, not to spoil the moment, but I was more or less quoting Isaac Newton.”
“Well, okay, then. At least you didn’t try to dork it up completely by making some stupid reference to ‘heavenly bodies being drawn to one another.’”
“Thanks for the tip. I was going to use that as the setup line for my big move. But hey, forget it now.”
“Hmm. Sorry to put you off your game. What’s plan B?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe break into song.”
“And has that worked in the past?”
“No, but it usually gets the coyotes pretty stirred up. That always impresses the ladies.”
“Wow, you do make it hard for a girl to keep her principles.”
“Ahh, not to worry. I’m an honorable fellow. I’ll hold all my passionate maneuvers in check. That is, up to a point.”
“Oh, and what point is that?”
“The point where I think they might actually work.”
Christine’s laugh echoed into the dark reaches of the cool and tender night. She turned to face me, stepping in close and snug. I put the boxes on the hood of the car and she slid her arms loosely around my waist.
“Okay, Bradford, let’s hear what you got.”
“As in?”
Christine drew in closer. She spoke slowly, deliberately . . . her voice soft and sweet and intimate.
“Well, it’s Valentine’s Day and it’s just the two of us standing here under the stars. So, here’s your chance at a romantic moment. What do you say to a girl to sweep her off her feet?”
The pale light of the barn illuminated the delicate lines of her face. To me, she was so marvelously beautiful. And she was right. It was a romantic moment—the two of us all alone, so passionately close together, pooling our warmth under the vast dark bowl of distant, brilliant stars.
But truthfully, I was freezing and the pizza was getting cold. And there was something about standing next to a box of gruesome murder details that pulled the enchantment right out of the equation. So when I spoke, I don’t think it was the dreamy response she was hoping for.
“Mind grabbing the beer?”
CHAPTER 28
Ghosts
We moved inside the dark, massive hallway. On blind instinct, Christine found the light switch. A half dozen dusty bulbs in the high rafters came to life. With hay stacked high on either side, the barn had the same rich, fermented, earthy smell from two months before; a smell it had likely had for decades. I began to understand the comfort in this, to know with firmly tethered assurance that there were small co
nstants in one’s daily life that the roll of years could not change. I breathed in deeply of the strangely sweet and musky air.
We carried our things down to the tack room. Christine stopped briefly to rub Aragon’s head and to pat one of the other horses. Once inside the small office, she started a propane gas heater that readily thawed the chilled air. We set the pizza nearby to keep it warm and stowed the beer in the small fridge.
On the way in I’d noticed something I’d missed on my prior visit. Hanging at the far end of the main hallway was a basketball hoop with a well-worn net. I was curious.
“Okay, question. I heard a rumor that you were a pretty good basketball player back in the day. Is that hoop out there in the hallway where you learned the game?”
“Yeah. Actually, it’s one of several my dad put up for me. But I mostly practiced here because his office was in the tack room. He was my biggest fan.”
“As it should be. So, how about it, Chambers? Are you any good?”
She gave a slight dip of her chin. “You know, Bradford. Considering the shame and humiliation I’m sure you must be feeling after losing the 5K, I can’t imagine you want to add insult to injury.”
“Now, there’s a good example of selective memory. As I recall, you were in the rearview mirror when my phone rang.”
“Hey, I’m not conceding anything. It would have been a dogfight to the finish.”
“Hmm, so that’s how it is? Well, I guess if you’re up to it, I’m game for a little one-on-one.”
“Sure.”
I lifted my arms above me in a long stretch. “Okay. But be sure to bring your books along because I’ll be taking you to school.”
“And would you listen to the trash talk, already?”
“Hey, just saying. I think we’ve got time for a little basketball clinic.”
I was intentionally provoking Christine’s competitive nature, something I had grown to adore about her. I had dated girls who were sweet and funny and interesting, but none of them had the sparring fire, the determination to win, that Christine had. There was something beautiful about it, something alluring, sensuous, primal. As a guy I found this wildly attractive, something I wanted to challenge, to subdue, to conquer.
