by Jeff High
“Sharp and snooty, if you ask me,” retorted Mary Jo. “They don’t get much more uppity.”
I looked at Mary Jo with amused curiosity. “Mary Jo, you’re not being helpful.”
She replied flatly, “I wasn’t trying to be.”
Nancy looked at Mary Jo and let out a disgusted sigh. “Well, anyway, every year she wants someone from the clinic to go and talk to her class about the medical profession and how science is used in what we do. Mary Jo went a couple of times when we didn’t have a doctor. But I think Mrs. Chambers will be delighted to have you go, Dr. Bradford.”
I stared at both of them. Whoever this woman was, apparently it was my fate to go and do whatever I was asked. “Okay, then. Sounds like a slice of heaven.” I turned toward my office.
Shutting the door behind me, I retreated to my chair and sank into it, breathing out a deep sigh. Once again I was being tagged to talk to a group, not something I really cared to do. Apparently the title of new doctor in town carried with it the role of chairman of the Speakers Bureau.
The day had an odd feel to it, an unspeakable, unfathomable feeling of disarray. I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling slightly anxious about the school assignment. Surely eight years of higher education, three years of residency, and two hundred thousand dollars of debt qualified me to talk to a bunch of sixth graders. I rose from my chair and grabbed my keys. It was time to face another day as the Watervalley doctor.
“Dr. Bradford, do you know how to find the elementary school?” Nancy asked.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s that big building over on School Street, about seven or so blocks down Main, right?”
“Yes, that’s right, except it’s to the left,” replied Nancy in a sober tone of careful instruction. “It used to be the old high school. But they built a new one out on Shiloh Road, in the south part of town.”
“So it’s down on the left, right?”
“Yes. It will be on the left side of the street.”
I smiled. My frail attempt at humor was utterly lost to her. “I’m sure I’ll find it.” Nancy walked with me to the back door. The early morning heat was already escalating toward the smothering oven of midday. “Think I’ll drive. It’s too hot to walk.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything more about what to expect. Mrs. Chambers set this up over a month ago and since they were out for several weeks I wasn’t able to call her to get more information.”
“Oh, no problem. I’ll just go and wing it. You know, pretty much like I do here.”
This remark brought a pursed Shame on you grin from Nancy. She said good-bye and closed the door behind her.
I walked down the back steps and climbed into the hot Corolla. The soft of the morning dew had long since burned off. The leaves on the trees now had the wilted look of late summer and the lawns were beginning to show patches of brown. I rolled down the windows, but found little relief.
After parking at the school in a visitor spot, I made my way up the front steps to the double doors. There, a posted sign requested that all visitors check in with the office. The school secretary, a plump and pleasant woman in her early forties, greeted me. After introducing myself, I said I was there for a meeting with Mrs. Chambers. The woman looked puzzled and there was an awkward silence. I instinctively filled the void.
“Nancy Orman over at the clinic said that Mrs. Chambers set this up a little while back. Nancy seemed pretty certain today is the correct day.”
The secretary smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and told me where to find the room down the west hall, apologizing for not being able to announce me to the teacher. “Our intercom system went down over the break. I’m sure if she is expecting you, it will be just fine.”
“Okay, thanks,” I responded, and proceeded to make my way to Mrs. Chambers’s room.
Though freshly painted, the building was old with classic Greek revival details. Built decades earlier, it had a majestic grace that spoke of a more celebrated era. The central hallway had a tall domed ceiling and a well-worn but glossy wood floor. The heavily molded doors had opaque transoms above them. There was a pleasant antiquate smell of many years, a collective fermentation of cleaner, floor polish, and must. It seemed a fit setting for the elderly Mrs. Chambers I was about to meet.
I walked the long hall searching the nameplates until eventually I found the correct room and vaguely heard a woman’s voice coming from the other side. A neatly engraved placard bearing her name was mounted next to the door. On the hallway wall were colorful displays of plant cell drawings, each bearing a child’s name. I exhaled a deep breath and rapped on the door several times. Nothing happened. I knocked again, this time with a little added velocity. I mumbled to myself, “The old woman is probably deaf.”
Finally the door opened, and with that simple motion, nothing would be the same for me for a very, very long time.
The person standing before me was not some well-pickled, stern-faced school madam, but a fresh and fully bloomed woman in her late twenties. She was a warm brunette with rich, deep brown eyes who carried herself with a poised, athletic bearing. She was stunningly beautiful and looked at me with an expression of pleasant inquiry.
“May I help you?” The lilt of her voice conveyed a quiet control, a subtle complexity of something from beyond the rural drawl of Watervalley.
I was dumbstruck. My chemical instincts betrayed me as I glanced down to the floor and then back up at her face. She wore a tight navy skirt and a fitted white blouse that only faintly masked the brimming curves beneath it. It wasn’t the usual denim skirt, tennis shoes, and generic polo shirt that was the fashion norm in Watervalley.
I spoke abruptly. “Yes, hi. I’m Luke Bradford, the new doctor at the clinic. I was told by Nancy Orman, the office manager, to be here at eight thirty to meet with an elderly science teacher.” I paused. “Do I have the right room?” I stepped back and looked at the nameplate beside the door.
The young woman looked at me with restrained curiosity. “An elderly science teacher?”
“Yes, a Mrs. Chambers. She was described as a stern old battle-ax. You know, evidently something of a sourpuss. But clearly that’s not you.” I smiled broadly, hoping to engage her with a measure of charm.
But the woman before me responded sharply, with the edge of polite irritation. “Yes, that’s right, Dr. Bradford. That’s not me. That would be my mother.”
I felt the oxygen being sucked from my lungs. Once again I had managed to find a way to commit an incredible act of calculated stupidity.
“Wow, I am so sorry. I really didn’t mean to be insulting.” I struggled to regain my poise and searched for a way to turn the conversation into something more amiable.
The young woman folded her arms and took one step backward. She turned toward the class.
“Everyone, continue working through your questions. You have fifteen more minutes.” She turned back and looked at me with subdued annoyance, then nodded for me to step into the hallway. She followed, partially closing the door.
“Look, again, I’m sorry about the whole ‘battle-ax’ thing. I guess I foolishly repeated a rather biased opinion. You just weren’t who I expected, and—well, I don’t think you told me your name.”
“I’m Christine Chambers.”
“Okay, good. It’s nice to meet you, Christine.” I held out my hand, hoping to extend some gesture of graciousness that would put the conversation on a different bearing. She briefly shook my hand and offered a perfunctory smile.
“So, your mother—has she retired?”
“No. My mother, Madeline, hasn’t been well for the last several months, and lately has gotten particularly worse. I came back over the summer to be with her and help out. I teach at a private school in Atlanta. It doesn’t start till September and the principal here asked me to sub for a couple of weeks until he can hire someone else to take my mother’s place.”
“I see. Looks like I did a complete job of
adding insult to injury.”
“It’s all right. You can’t always take everything you hear in Watervalley at face value.” Her voice was less firm but still short of accommodating.
At that moment, one of the children from the classroom appeared at the door. “Ms. Chambers, I’m through with my paper. Can I go to the restroom?”
I recognized the boy as my next-door neighbor. “Hi, Will Fox.”
“Hi, Luke Bradford,” Will responded with an intentionally deeper and subtly mocking voice. He grinned mischievously at me.
“Where’s your bike helmet?”
The boy nodded toward Christine with an accusatory grimace.
“Oh,” I responded, looking over at her for confirmation. “Well, I’d say your teacher has a point. Don’t really need a bike helmet to learn math and science.” He rolled his eyes and stood loosely at attention.
Placing her hand on Will’s shoulder, Christine spoke in a firm, gentle voice. “Will, run along to the restroom and come right back.”
Will never looked at Christine but marked his compliance with an emphatic nod of his head, a perfunctory gesture. It seemed that he understood the drill of polite exchange, but it bored him. There was a childish aloofness to his actions, as if reality required only a small percentage of his attention and the majority of his thoughts were off in some imaginary land. He spun around whimsically and began to half skip down the hall. But after a few steps he turned back and spoke to Christine. “He drives a really crappy car.”
Christine cut her eyes at me, unamused, and then addressed the little boy. “Will, you need to watch your language. Choose a better word next time.”
Will obediently nodded his head with his eyes rolled up toward the ceiling in a gesture of subtle defiance. He proceeded on his way.
We both watched him disappear into the short corridor where the restrooms were located. Christine looked at me with an expression of inquiry.
“Oh, we’re neighbors, over on Fleming,” I explained. “Nice kid. A little odd, but a nice kid.”
“Yes, my mother told me about him. Smartest child in the class by far. Brilliant at math and a whiz on the computer, but unsettled. His father passed away last year.”
“Yes, he mentioned that to me. Apparently an accident.”
“Yes.” Christine nodded. The conversation paused. Then she spoke in a modulated, diplomatic voice. “Well, Dr. Bradford. It seems that there has been some miscommunication. I’m afraid you have made the trip here for no reason. I need to get back to my class. So sorry for your trouble.”
My mind was racing. I couldn’t let this conversation end. She was beautiful. Simply beautiful. “Oh, no trouble—no trouble at all. Perhaps at a later time?”
“Perhaps. Good to make your acquaintance.” She nodded and turned toward her classroom.
I thought feverishly. “Listen, Miss Chambers—your mother. If it’s not prying, what kind of illness does she have? I don’t think I have seen her at the clinic.”
Christine stopped and stared, evaluating me. She spoke with polite reserve. “Actually, Dr. Bradford, it is prying. Her doctor is in Nashville. And her situation is not the business of anybody in Watervalley, including yours.”
I was taken aback. As a doctor the mantle of inquiry fell naturally upon me. But clearly I had overstepped some boundary. “Sorry—I just—Well, sorry.”
After a short pause, Christine nodded. “Sure.”
I knew at that very second that my chances with her were slim. I had never been one to push a relationship, to charm my way past a rejection. But the probability of seeing her for a second time, even in this small town, seemed little to none. I couldn’t let go of the opportunity. I exhaled deeply. “Miss Chambers?”
“Yes?”
“I realize we got off on the wrong foot here. But the truth is, I haven’t met many people our age in Watervalley because I’m pretty tied up at the clinic and so . . . I was wondering if maybe you would like to, well, go do something sometime?”
There was a short, awkward silence. Then her face melted into an expression of amused disbelief. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
I desperately tried to speak with a tone of ease, fighting the timidity bouncing around in my throat. “Yes—yes, I guess I am. Nothing too dramatic. Just, you know, go out to dinner at the Depot, go check some books out from the library, or we could think about getting matching tattoos. Whatever excitement Watervalley has to offer.”
She responded dryly with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Wow, this may be a record. You manage to disrupt my class, insult my mother, and ask me out all in the scope of five minutes.”
“Yeah, guilty as charged. Normally I don’t tend to move this fast.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have plenty of fast moves. But I think I’ll pass, since, as you say, the town has so little to offer. You know, Dr. Bradford, you seem to make a habit of disparaging everything. First my mother and now the town.” There was an undertone of judgment in her reply.
I was flustered. “Well, no. That’s not the case at all. I mean . . . Watervalley is what it is. I wasn’t trying to be critical about it. Look, you said you’ve been living in Atlanta, so I’m assuming you understand the difference between the two. And, well—”
Christine held up her hand. She cut me off and spoke with a bemused, controlled delivery. “Look, Dr. Bradford, I’m afraid you’re trying awfully hard to spark a flame where—I can assure you—there is absolutely nothing combustible.”
The offer was going nowhere. Now I could add one more humiliation to my new life in Watervalley. Frustrated, I spoke with resignation. “Right. Sorry to interrupt your class and for the whole date thing.” I nodded and turned to depart, muttering under my breath, “I guess I need to learn how these things are done out here in the hills.”
But as I said it, Christine’s voice rang out crisply. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘the hills’?”
I turned around. She was peering at me with an incredulous scowl. I walked back to her and responded in exasperation. “Yeah, sure, the hills. Oh, I get it. It’s a valley.” I looked to the side and gushed out a low chuckle. “You know, you’ve already put me in my place once today. Do you really think a second geography lesson is necessary?” I stared at her intently, wishing desperately she wasn’t quite so gorgeous.
She smiled at me coolly. Her voice was crisp, controlled, full of feminine pluck. “Tell me, Dr. Bradford, did you take a class in arrogance at med school or do you just come by it naturally?”
I grinned, again briefly glancing to the side. “Wow. Arrogant. I see. Look, Miss Chambers, I said a dumb thing about your mom and I apologized for it. I innocently interrupted your class and I apologized for that too. I asked you out because I’m lonely and you turned me down. Fine. I’m new to town. In fact, for the most part, I’m new to small towns. And I’m certainly new to life in Watervalley. So, yeah, I tried to make a connection and I fumbled badly. Yet all I get from you is a healthy dose of your small-town contempt. So tell me, who’s the arrogant one here?”
For a moment she was speechless, but she quickly gathered herself and spoke with resolve. “Dr Bradford, it’s not like that. You don’t understand. I’m just not interested in a relationship right now.”
“It was the matching tattoo thing, wasn’t it? Should I have waited till the second date for that?” It was a desperate last reach, a final grab at changing her mind.
She paused and exhaled, offering an unamused smile. “Dr. Bradford, I have a class to teach.”
Shot down yet again. “Certainly, of course. You have a class to teach and here I am trying to teach you class.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized what a gigantically asinine thing I had done. Somehow, for one split second it seemed like a clever thing to say, something that sounded a lot better in my head. But the incredible look of hurt on her face told the bitter story. Unwittingly, I had struck at the heart of the grandest of small-town insults. I was something beyond an idiot.
> Whatever wound I had ignorantly inflicted now surfaced in a smoldering resentment. She spoke with fiery, disdainful composure. “Dr. Bradford, you can be assured that the devil will be singing Christmas carols before you and I hit the town together.” With that she turned and slipped into her classroom, nearly slamming the door behind her.
I stood for a moment shaking my head, stunned, wild with regret. The exchange now seemed like a blur. I thought about knocking on the door and offering yet another apology. But enough damage had been done. I traced my steps back down the long hall out to the heat of the Corolla. I was in a daze. Once I was in the car, a singular thought occurred to me. Christine was mistaken. I had found plenty in her that was combustible.
By the time I’d made my way back to the clinic, I was aggravated, frustrated, soaked with sweat, and all the while thinking that this day couldn’t get any worse.
I parked in the back and headed toward the stoop. Nancy was standing outside the rear clinic door with an intense and panicked look on her face.
“Dr. Bradford, we’ve been trying to get you on your cell phone.”
I felt for my front pocket where I kept my phone and realized I’d forgotten to turn it on that morning. “Why? What’s up, Nancy?”
“The EMTs from over at the firehouse are swinging by here to pick you up. Toy McAnders called about fifteen minutes ago—” Nancy paused and placed her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and fearful, her face a fixture of stunned distress. “It’s Knox McAnders. He died in his sleep last night.”
CHAPTER 15
Ice Cave Road
I rode with the EMTs out to the north edge of the county. My mind was floating, occupied, assimilating. I had experienced the death of patients under my care before, but that was in the hospital, where acute disease and fading health had well telegraphed the inevitable end. In the previous week, I had seen Knox, assessed him, and sent him on his way, citing no acute issues. I rode along in a fog, oblivious to the twists and turns we were making. The only thing I noticed was the sign before the last turn, which read ICE CAVE ROAD, and the mailbox with the name MCANDERS stenciled on the side. It was mounted on an old plow handle that was cemented in place next to the long gravel driveway. It was strange, the details you absorbed in such moments.
