More Things In Heaven and Earth

by Jeff High

  At a quarter past three I pulled into John’s driveway. Having heard the car, John was standing at the open front door as I approached the porch. He tried not to show it, but I could discern his subtle delight at having some company.

  “Hello, sawbones. You bring me a Christmas gift?”

  “Actually, I did. I brought your bottle of Scotch back. But don’t worry. This one has been disinfected, so it should be flu safe.”

  “I don’t know, Doc. I’m a little conflicted. Not sure it’s good etiquette to take back a gift of a gift.”

  “Ah. I thought maybe a little later we might both try a glass. Sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?”

  The surprise on John’s face was obvious. I’d turned down all his previous offers of Scotch.

  “Okay by me. So come on in.”

  We sat in the large chairs in the back room, with sunlight pouring in through the wall of windows. A robust fire was burning in the large stone fireplace, giving the room the feel of a rustic but comfortable lodge. Conversation flowed easily between us. John was fully recovered from his illness and the days of isolation had left him pleased to have company. For over an hour we talked about recent events, the weather, and various projects John had in the works. All the while, I was looking for some point of easy entrée to the topic of the Christmas Eve service. None was readily apparent.

  At one point, there was a lull in the conversation. John sat staring out the large windows. “Today would have been Molly’s birthday, Doc. She would have been fifty-eight and this place would be filled with wreaths and decorations and scented candles from floor to ceiling. She loved doing all that stuff, but it really wasn’t necessary. She had the most radiant smile. She lit up the room by just walking into it. It’s hard to describe how much life she brought to the place.” His voice was matter-of-fact, absent pathos.

  “I hate that I never got a chance to meet her.”

  “Me too, Doc. I think she would have liked you—you know, the way people take a liking to stray dogs.”

  “Thanks, John. You’ve just made my whole day. I had no idea you had a capacity for such kind analogy. You and Connie must have the same joke book.”

  He glanced sideways in my direction with a contented smirk. “Anytime.”

  “So I guess that means today is your sister-in-law Madeline’s birthday.”

  This brought a slight snarl to his tone and yet another sideways glance. “Yeah. I guess you finally figured that one out. No doubt you also figured out that the in-laws and I are not exactly on the best of terms.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Ah, long story. Probably has something to do with me being a horse’s ass. I could go through it all, but to cut to the chase—it’s pretty much my fault. And I’m rather content to leave it at that.”

  “That all sounds very noble.”

  John laughed. “Careful, Doc. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a little sarcasm there.”

  “No, you would be wrong. There’s actually a lot of sarcasm in it.”

  “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” John swallowed a low chuckle. He then looked at his watch. “Grab your coat. Let’s pop open that bottle and get some fresh air.”

  John grabbed two glasses and we moved outside. He poured a tall amount of Scotch into his glass, but I halted him after he’d dashed about an inch into mine. “Easy there, bartender. I’ll have to drive back in a little while.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” John carried the bottle with him as we walked out to the far end of the deck and leaned against the railing. We gazed out over the town tucked distantly away in the valley below. Sunset and darkness were rapidly approaching. In one tilt, John emptied the contents of his glass and exhaled deeply.

  “Oh, that’s good stuff. Doc, you’ve got me at a disadvantage. Can’t say I’ve got a gift for you.” He proceeded to fill his glass again.

  It wasn’t much of an opening, but I took it as my best opportunity to broach the subject. “Actually, I do have a favor to ask.”

  He glanced sideways over at me. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Well, I’m thinking about going to the Christmas Eve service tomorrow night—you know, the one the town puts together every year.”

  “Christmas Eve service, huh. Well, now. That doesn’t sound like you, Doc. You trying to get a little grace on the cheap?” John took another huge swallow of the Scotch and reached yet again for the bottle to refill his glass.

  I laughed nervously. “No, not exactly. Just seems like a good thing to do. And this Christmas gift in return you mentioned—I want you to go with me.”

  John turned and looked at me deadpan, trying to determine if I was serious. After a moment, he turned his gaze back to the sunset and took yet another large swallow of the liquor.

  “No damn thanks. I’m just fine with hiding my light under a basket.”

  I continued to stare straight ahead, out across the valley, struggling to speak casually. “Oh, what could be the harm? Might even be enjoyable.”

  “Nah, not for me. I’d rather be a bad example than a hypocrite.” John wavered a little. The Scotch was taking effect.

  I was frustrated. It was now clear that John was not going to agree to go as a simple favor. We both stood in silence.

  John took another swallow. “What’s got into you anyway? I didn’t think you went for all the Bible-thumper stuff.”

  “I don’t. At least not the way you describe it. But don’t mistake reticence for lack of conviction. I’m at peace with what I believe. If you’ll notice, I don’t think I’m the one in this duo who feels the need to bring the topic of God up so often.”

  That last comment bought a wry grin from John. He knew I was right, but he was reluctant to concede the point. “Well, well, well. Touché, Doc. Sounds like you’ve been putting some thought into the matter.”

  “I have. With all that’s happened here, with everything that, well, that I’ve been through, I just think I see things more clearly now. That’s all.”

  John scoffed, laughing under his breath. “It just goes to show you’re never too old to learn something stupid.”

  I spoke coolly. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You’re the one who’s got all the answers. Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong? Maybe there is some higher thinking than yours.”

  “That’s just by damn grand, Doc. You’ve got it all figured out now, huh? So you’ve decided that the universe isn’t random and meaningless, and you’re going to tie all the loose ends up in some wonderful what-it-all-means theory. Hell, did it ever occur to you that maybe life is just one damn thing after another and all you can do is bow your back and muddle through it?” He was drunk and I knew it.

  By now I had turned to face him fully and spoke bluntly, forcefully. “No, John. You’ve got it all wrong. There’s more. There’s more than just the day-to-day. Tell me you don’t see it. You spend all these hours looking down into the valley looking for something. You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Oh, screw you. You think you’ve got all the answers? There’s nothing down there for me. But if you’re so damn smart, why don’t you tell me? Show me what I’m looking for.”

  Something in me snapped. I wasn’t dealing with a man of intelligence and a broken heart. For all his wealth, his intellect, his commanding presence, John Harris was nothing more than a sarcastic jackass. I was furious. I grabbed him by the back of his coat and stood him up from where he was leaning over the porch rail.

  “Okay, fine. I do want to show you something.” In my muted rage I held his coat firmly with one hand and pointed down toward Watervalley with the other. “You see that? You see that town down there? It’s not just a bunch of buildings and cars and people moving aimlessly about. It’s life. That’s what it is. Life. You sit up here and look at Watervalley from a great height, close enough to hear the church bells, see the lights, feel its rhythms, watch its movement. But you don’t want to be drawn into the middle of it. Then you might be vulnerable to their t
houghts, subject to their opinions. You’d rather box up your pain and cover it in a thick wrapping of cynicism. So, yeah, you were married to a wonderful, beautiful woman. You had something great. I get that. But as much as you say you hate these people, all I see you do is draw as near to them as you can without getting burned, because you’re trying to hold her memory warm and keep it as close to you as you can. You think you’ve got your eyes wide open, but you don’t. You’re blind and don’t see it. You’re part of this place.”

  “So what’s your point?” John shouted. He grabbed my arm and yanked himself free of my grip on his coat. Fire was in his eyes.

  “The point is, you could make a difference. Bring some light and life into a small corner of the world. I’m sure that all sounds just hokey to you, John, but that’s all any of us can do. But no—not you. You’re too damn busy being angry at the past. Look, I’ve been doing the same thing. Just in a different way. All my life I heard what a brilliant doctor my dad was. He could have been a department head at Emory or Vanderbilt or anywhere. But instead he chose to set up practice in a small town in rural Georgia, to take care of people who half the time did nothing to take care of themselves. And all he ever got for his trouble was to be killed by a drunk driver. I never understood. But now I do. He made a difference, and that meant something to him. He made a difference in the lives of people who had no other choices.”

  John leered at me. “Well, good for you, sport, on your recent enlightenment. If a little hunker-down time in a church pew gives you a warm fuzzy, then knock yourself out. But leave me out of it.”

  I looked at him sharply, speaking coolly, firmly. “You say you have no use for God and faith and all the church stuff down in the valley. Okay. Fine. But answer me this, since you’re the smart one. How is it that you can be so mad at a God you don’t even believe exists? Why are you more than willing to take a pill for a virus that’s invisible but you give no chance to a God you can’t see and no forgiveness to people you can?”

  John took a step back and squared himself up to me. For a moment we stood a fist’s throw away from each other, seething with anger, taking in and exhaling deep, powerful breaths. His eyes, cold and piercing, were fixed hard upon me. The dulling effects of the alcohol now seemed cast aside and he glared at me with a venomous fire I had not seen before. He stood straight, his powerful shoulders pulled back. The lion of strength within him was finding full fury. In that moment, from the burning glare in his eyes, it seemed that I embodied all the betrayal, all the pain, all the loss that had been tearing him apart and he wanted nothing more than to lash at me, to find in me a tangible object for his anger.

  Then his gaze drifted down toward the town. His broad chest heaved with deep, forceful breaths. With only the slightest of motions, he gradually began to nod his head up and down. For a brief second, he looked up at the stars. Without ever looking at me, and without saying a word, he turned and picked his steps slowly up the short rise to the back door of the house.

  Without moving, I watched him. I heard the heavy click of the back door latch as John disappeared inside. I stood for a moment longer, looked down, and sighed. I stood silent in the dark. Nothing remained for me to do but go home. I had failed.

  I walked to the Corolla. There I paused and looked at the great majestic home one last time. All the lights were out. It stood in the silence, joyless. With all its beauty and splendor, this house was nothing more than a lifeless shell, a walled castle John had made for himself, filled with ghosts of anger and loss that he could not see and refused to acknowledge. Regardless of all his genius, all his rational insight, John had not found the means to change.

  High above, the cold stars twinkled brightly, bringing their glimmer of light into even this dark place. I stared up at them and marveled at their unspeakable beauty, the grand, raw perfection of them. Oddly, they offered an unexplainable feeling of consolation that warmed the frigid night air. Despite the swallowing loss, the angry confusion of the last few minutes, I felt that all around me was enveloped in a larger order. It seemed the universe still inspired hope.

  Once more I looked back toward the house. I thought of John and felt a pang of grief. I wasn’t prepared for this end between us. I realized more than ever that below the acidic veneer, in his own way, John had been an unfailing friend. I would miss him and his constant wit and insight. I would miss the hours of conversation in the small pulpit of his Adirondack chairs, pronouncing on the ebb and flow of life in Watervalley. It seemed my roots in town had reached deeper than I knew.

  But we had reached an impasse. The ever-changing tides of life had washed John under and he seemed no longer interested in searching for answers beyond his hardened certainty and a bottle of Scotch.

  Inhaling deeply of the frozen air, I thought of John’s love of quoting Shakespeare. In a low, whispered voice, I spoke a melancholy salute to my lost friend. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  I started up the Corolla and began my descent into the shadowed valley before me.

  CHAPTER 34

  Revelations

  It was the morning of Christmas Eve and I awoke once again to the rich, permeating smells of breakfast. A cold front had moved in during the night and my room was chilly. I pulled the covers tightly around myself and closed my eyes for a few moments longer. I yawned. The aromas grew stronger. Buried deep in the warmth of my blanket, I smiled.

  Connie, I thought to myself. You gotta love her. I could hear the sounds of cabinets closing, pans clanging, and Connie humming a Christmas tune loudly. She was in full acceleration mode and not being very quiet about it. I finally threw back the covers, hastily put on a sweatshirt and jeans, and ambled barefoot down to the kitchen.

  Connie was in an unusually cheerful mood. “Good morning, Dr. Bradford.”

  I stopped at the bottom step and stretched, my hands reaching the stairwell ceiling above me. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. You seem all giddy this morning.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Dr. Bradford. Or did you not get the memo?”

  I smiled warmly. “Yes, and so it is. Merry Christmas Eve to you, Connie.”

  “And to you too, Luke.”

  Rhett came over to the steps and enthusiastically greeted me, his tail wagging and his tongue flapping rhythmically in cadence with his panting. He had been attentively focused on Connie, who no doubt had been slipping him a nibble of egg or bacon. With both hands I grabbed his big hairy head and rubbed behind his ears.

  “Hello, big fellow. Food and loving, food and loving—that’s all you want, isn’t it?”

  Connie glanced over her shoulder at me. “He’s male. Go figure.”

  I continued speaking to Rhett. “Pay no attention to the woman in the apron, buddy. She has issues.” I stole a glance at Connie, who never looked up from the stove but was clearly smirking and subtly shaking her head. Rhett finally pulled away, no doubt now on a mission to find his throwing ball and bring it to me.

  “Is that coffee I smell?”

  Connie nodded toward the counter. “Help yourself.”

  I poured a cup. “So, I was going to offer you some kind of Christmas bonus, but now I’m thinking anything I come up with won’t even rank as petty cash on your balance sheet.”

  Connie’s back was to me, but my comment made her laugh. Privately, she loved that I enjoyed picking on her.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “Have a good laugh there. Since that cat is now out of the bag, I was thinking about giving you some stock pointers for your Christmas gift. But just keep it up and you can kiss that one good-bye.”

  “Wow, that’s just harsh.” I paused, then spoke in a lighthearted ceremonious voice. “But no matter. It is better to give than to receive.” I pulled out the small wrapped box I had carefully hidden in the cabinet the night before.

  Connie beamed. “Luke Bradford, now just what have you done here?”

  “Just a little something for the woman who
already has everything—and I do mean everything.”

  “My, my, my, Doctor. Aren’t you the thoughtful one?” She beamed with a rare glow, a suppressed smile that bespoke a moment of pure joy.

  “Go ahead and open it.”

  She carefully pulled away the ribbon and wrappings to reveal a modest white box. Inside was a sealed envelope. Connie unfolded the two papers within it. She stared at them, puzzled. “Well, what in the world is this?”

  “Gift certificates. One is for a first-class round-trip ticket to New York. The other is for a three-night stay at a Lower Manhattan hotel. You mentioned a few days ago you never get to see Rayford, your oldest son. I figured you could go see him sometime soon, on me, meals not included.”

  “Good heavens, Luke. This is too much. Where in the world did you find the cash to afford this?”

  “No cash needed. I’ve had a gazillion miles saved up over the past years. All through school my loans never came through in time to pay for classes. So I paid tuition with a credit card and immediately paid the balance off with my student loans. I racked up a ton of miles. Anyway, I figured you would never fly there on your own, so here you go. Merry Christmas, Connie.”

  As my words sank in, Connie’s face became like a child’s, full of wonder. She thanked me profusely, hugged me, and looked repeatedly at the papers in her hand. I was greatly pleased and satisfied that my gift had hit the mark.

  Abruptly we both noticed the smell of burning bacon. Connie rushed to the stove, now in a total fuss. She managed to salvage breakfast, and when it was all ready, she sat at the table with me.