The Fullness of Time--A Novel of Watervalley

by Jeff High

  On the court house steps, I stopped to gather my thoughts. It was done. There should have been an accompanying feeling of relief with the moment. But it was scarcely present. I wanted Walt to understand, to see the rationale of my decision, to maybe even be happy for me. But his devastated response was all too clear. It troubled me, and I was still consumed with a brooding uneasiness. I decided to take a circuitous route back to the clinic in hopes that perhaps a stretch of the legs would allow me time to find some balance. For the next half hour, I ambled along the sidewalks of the downtown shops. It seemed that at every step I was met with warm smiles and friendly waves. As always, the grand show of acceptance was gratifying. But I had mentally prepared myself for this. I had come to terms with the realization that I would have to steel my emotions. I cared for the people of Watervalley, but the decision had been made. Unfortunately, Walt’s speechless acceptance had left me with an embedded frustration.

  I entered through the rear door of the clinic and proceeded to the front to check with Nancy as to which patient was next. But she was nowhere to be found. Conversely, during my absence to meet with the mayor, the waiting room had accumulated a small crowd. I turned down the main hall and noticed that all the exam rooms were empty, which made no sense. Curious, I proceeded to the break room at the very end. The door was shut, and, as I drew close, I could hear the rant of some very animated female voices. I stepped into the room and spoke above the chatter.

  “Well darn, ladies. Somebody went and left the front door unlocked again and now we have actual patients in the waiting room.”

  My teasing remark was met with immediate silence. The four women exchanged dour, petulant glances. None of them looked directly at me. A hard, uncomfortable silence ensued.

  “What’s going on here?” I queried coolly.

  All eyes turned to Nancy. She lifted her chin, made a short swallowing gesture, and spoke in a voice that was both bruised and indignant. “So, Dr. Bradford. When is your last day?” Her chill tone dropped the room’s temperature by no small measure.

  Blood rushed to my head so quickly that I felt momentarily dazed. Instantly I was gripped with a complete and humiliating embarrassment followed by a sharp, provoked anger. Walt had done this. I had asked for discretion in order to avoid this exact situation. It was now clear that my request had been completely disregarded.

  Now, all eyes were upon me. I took a deep breath. Try as I might, my terse words were tainted with acid infuriation. “Ladies, I apologize. Yes, I am leaving, and I’m sorry I wasn’t given the opportunity tell you directly. The mayor hired me. So appropriately, it was my responsibility to inform him first. I did this less than thirty minutes ago and specifically asked him to refrain from making it public just yet. But apparently the only sure way to diplomatically inform everyone is to drive around town with a blasted bull horn.”

  I was seething and needed to check myself, lest I allow my rage to do all the talking. After pausing and pressing my lips tightly together, I spoke firmly. “Again, I apologize. At an appropriate time, we’ll all sit down and discuss this. But right now, we have patients. I think it best we take care of them first.” I returned to my office and shut the door. Every fiber in me wanted to slam it, hard. But I refrained. I sat in my chair and simmered. On two different occasions I picked up the phone and began to dial Walt’s number. Each time I stopped and hung up. What would be the point?

  For the next couple of hours, I worked among a low mutter of sullen protest. To the staff’s credit, it seemed that none of the patients were aware of the news. All of the exams went without incident or inquiry. I took a late lunch and sat at the counter of the Depot Diner. For the most part I was politely engaged but I couldn’t help but notice that the busy chatter of tables dropped as I went by. On the short hike back to the clinic I passed Hoot Wilson and Karen Davidson, walking hand in hand. As they approached, I fully expected them to stop and talk. They didn’t. Instead, I was greeted with an expressionless nod. They never broke stride. It seemed that word was spreading fast.

  I returned to the clinic and, after taking care of a few more patients, I retreated to my office, in no mood to meet with the staff. I was still boiling and needed more time to gain a calmer perspective. After only a few minutes, however, there was a sharp rap on the door.

  “Come in,” I called out in an irritated, surly voice.

  It swung open. John Harris’s tall, broad shouldered frame filled the opening. He didn’t enter but instead stood there, casually assessing me with a laconic, cagey smile.

  I said nothing, regarding him deadpan. But slowly a stout, calculating grin began to emerge. Ever so slightly I shook my head from side to side. Then slowly, I spun my chair around to gaze out the windows behind my desk. I held my hand up and motioned with two fingers for him to come in. After that, I heard the door close. No words had been spoken, but we had already exchanged volumes.

  I continued my focus out the window at the grounds of the Episcopal Church next door, allowing John time to seat himself in one of the wingbacks across from my desk. After a considerable silence, I spoke unceremoniously.

  “So, I guess you’ve heard?”

  “Needless to say, sport, the entire town is in full blown hyper-gossip mode.”

  I slowly rotated my chair to face him. After doing so, I laced my fingers behind my head and slumped, extending my legs and crossing them at the ankle.

  “So, it would seem. Sorry. I wanted to tell you beforehand.”

  “I see. Hmmm. If only Watervalley had some kind of small, electronic devices where people could talk to each other.”

  “Hey. I came by your house yesterday. I wanted to talk face to face, not send you a text message. I met with Walt this morning out of courtesy, so he could start looking for my replacement. I asked him to keep the matter quiet. I had no idea he would do this.”

  John gushed an acerbic chuckle. “Sport, Walt Hickman makes his living by running the town. But he makes his bones by running his mouth. What did you expect? You knew that when you got in that saddle, you had better be ready to ride.”

  “Great. Thanks for the non-help.”

  “Ah, don’t be so hard on Walt. You already knew he had the spine of a tube worm. There’s no way his Coco Puff sized brain could keep a secret about you leaving contained. If he had, the first thing people would ask him was how long he had known. You’re leaving, Luke. He’s still got to live here. What kind of choice do you think he believed he had?”

  I rubbed my chin. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. Still, I was trying to do the right thing and he just screwed me royally.”

  “Walt has a way of interpreting things to his own satisfaction. But let’s face it, if he wasn’t mayor, his only value in life would be that of an organ donor.”

  I indifferently gazed up at the ceiling and grinned. John was right. I probably hadn’t thought through the whole matter regarding Walt.

  “Well, I guess what’s done is done. The problem is, the staff found out through the grapevine, so now they’re hacked. I went to lunch at the Depot and I’m already getting the cold shoulder. The whole business is just a disaster.”

  John offered an unmoved shrug. “Small town, small minds, big mouths.”

  “You say that like it’s a major philosophical position.”

  “Look sport, at some point you finally get to an age where you figure out that pleasing everyone is impossible. But pissing everybody off is pretty easy.”

  “And at what age did you come to this amazing insight?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. Somewhere between eight and nine.”

  Despite my angst, I simply had to laugh. That was John’s magic. “Sounds about right. But then again, John, if you knew how many enemies you really had, you’d probably carry a gun.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  “Never mind.”

  “By the way, at the risk of asking a pretty dumb question, where is my niece on all this?”

  I sat up in my chair, leane
d in, and placed my elbows on my desk. “My fiancée and your beloved niece, my dear friend, is at the heart of it.”

  I went on to explain to John about the money, Mattie Chamber’s involvement, and Christine’s complete endorsement of me taking the research position. John nodded thoughtfully. But I could tell that even he was a little surprised with the whole story. When I finished, he said nothing and simply folded his arms together, his face framed in a pleased contentment. What followed was a long silence in which we both speculated, I suspect, about the changes that would soon be upon us. For most people, John’s personality had a certain woven density that made him hard to understand. But he wasn’t that way with me. Despite our difference in age, we understood each other, could read each other’s insights, and without the benefit of words we had an implicit appreciation and acceptance of each other. In time, he broke the silence.

  “By the way, Christine has asked me to give her away. With her father gone, I guess I’m the closest thing to a surrogate dad.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “So, along with being your best man, looks like I’ll be doing double duty.”

  “You know, John. You being...well, you, and playing such a major role in the ceremony, it almost gives the whole business an ominous aura.”

  “I know. Scares me too. But I have to ask a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “The groomsmen. They’re all locals. None of your buddies from med school or your college days. Why is that?”

  Once again, I collapsed back in my chair. Despite the diversion of John’s company, I was still livid from the events of the day. I plopped my right foot on top of my desk and crossed it with the other one, stewing for a long moment before giving John an answer. He was unaffected and waited silently. I turned my gaze back toward the windows. “I guess I just didn’t want to listen to all of it.”

  “All of what?”

  “All the smartass remarks. All the jabs and the digs about how redneck the town is and all the ‘Deliverance,’ comparisons.” I pressed my lips together, brooding over my thoughts. “Maybe I’m not being fair. It’s not like all my old friends are jerks. It’s just that, if you’re only here a day or so, you don’t have a chance to understand the people of this little town. You don’t get them. And typically, what you don’t get, you make fun of.”

  I turned to face John, rubbing my chin. “So, instead of a bunch of sarcastic frat brothers, I went native with the groomsmen list. Chick McKissick, Toy McAnders, Warren Thurman, Maylen Cook, Hoot Wilson and the others...they don’t show up on anybody’s social register. But they’re all good men; men who would do anything in the world for me. And I have to tell you. The look on their face when I asked them was priceless. Every one of them acted like I had bestowed knighthood on them. They were honored. Truly honored. I’m not sure I can properly explain it, but it was a pretty extraordinary thing.”

  John responded with a slow, intentional nod. He understood.

  “Now, on the other hand...I ask the same thing to my buddies back in Nashville...it would be, ‘let me check my schedule and get back with you,’ and ‘how long of a drive is it to Watervalley.’ So, on the groomsmen choice, I have no regrets. Other than the fact that none of them may be willing to do it now that I’m leaving.”

  John laughed. “I wouldn’t sweat it, sport. Those kinds of relationships aren’t water thin.”

  I wanted to change the subject. “And since we’re on the topic of relationships. How goes it with Ann?”

  At first, John was silent, as if he were contemplating his answer. He leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply, his eyes probing the far corners of the room. When he spoke, his voice carried an unusual gentleness. “It took me a while to figure it out, Luke. But now I know what’s troubled me about Ann.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  He looked squarely at me and spoke resolutely. “Ann is perfect. She’s pretty, she’s smart, she’s funny. She’s completely at home in her own skin and no doubt about it, I’m in love with her.”

  I shrugged. “Sooooo, what’s the issue?”

  “The point is, I finally realized that while I was ready for another love like Molly, I wasn’t so sure I was ready for another loss like Molly.”

  Immediately, I understood. I realized that John had lived the unthinkable. He had lost his life companion far short of a complete lifetime. When I thought of Christine and me, I only thought of the many years ahead of us. My mind simply wouldn’t allow me to consider any other reality. I’m sure that John had done the same. But Molly had died. For the longest time, he had simply been unable to cope. Ann had breathed new life into his world. Yet, he knew that the unthinkable could happen again. Perhaps more than ever before, I saw the emotional depth of my good friend.

  “So, where does that leave things?”

  John sharpened his gaze at me and his mouth slowly formed an artful grin. “Good question.” He offered nothing more.

  He stood, signaling his imminent departure.

  “Look, sport. Keep your head up. People will need some time to get used to the idea, but they’ll come around. It’s all like a fog. A wind will come through and blow it all away.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. You know, after a decade or so.”

  “That’s what I like about you, John. Ever the optimist.”

  “Well, all kidding aside, this may sound a little odd coming from me, but by all means, Luke, follow your dreams. Make your plans and don’t look back. Just know this. Sometimes, when we plan, God laughs.”

  I paused and mulled over his words for a long, reflective moment. In time, I exhaled and spoke in a low voice of acknowledgement. “You’re right, John. That does sound odd coming from you.”

  “Thanks, smartass.”

  “No, really, it’s good. A little on the profound side, maybe. Especially for you.”

  “I can be profound.”

  “So, it seems. And all this time I thought you were just another pretty face.”

  He grinned warily. We shook hands and, as I walked him to the door, a thought occurred to me.

  “Do me a favor and try to explain things to Ann. Maybe she can soften things up with the rest of the staff.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Luke. If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t be so pissed.”

  “Nicely put. You’re a brick as always.”

  “Hey, I guess I’ll see you Friday night at the big party.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Might want to go easy on the food prep. Attendance may be dropping off sharply.”

  “I doubt it. Free food and an open bar. They’ll show. Meanwhile, you stand your ground.”

  “Easier said than done but, probably good advice.”

  We reached my office door. Before opening it, John turned to me. “But just in case, if standing your ground doesn’t work, you might want to consider hiding under the porch like a kicked dog.”

  I shut the door behind him and leaned against it. With the wedding only a few weeks away, I was wondering what the next days would bring. It didn’t look promising.

  Chapter 37

  AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

  CHRISTINE AND I TALKED on her front porch that evening to well past twilight. The story had roared across the whole of Watervalley. It seemed she was handling the situation far better than I. Over the years she had weathered the storms that erupted when personal choices didn’t parse with Watervalley public opinion. In her high school days, she had been an All-State basketball player. She was offered full scholarships to Tennessee and Vanderbilt but instead had chosen Agnes Scott, a small school in Georgia where her mother had gone. Many in town wanted her to play on the big stage for a national championship and acted personally wounded when she decided differently. They didn’t suffer in silence.

  I was heartened by her resolve that we were making the right choice. But secretly, I had reservations. My situation was different. I was their doctor, not an athlete who had garnered a healthy dose of local
pride. My leaving affected them personally. I drove home that night fearful that the journey of the next several weeks before the wedding might be a rather awkward and lonely one.

  The next morning, I received a phone call from Luther Whitmore, editor of the local paper, The Village Voice. Luther had historically been a rather acerbic character who cared a lot for facts and little for feelings. He printed the truth, period. Those who didn’t like it could find a support group, a liquor store, or God. But Luther and I had history. I was more than just his doctor.

  Luther was like most human beings in that he had reached adulthood with two hundred and six bones. In his case, two hundred and five of them were snake-biting mean. But in our dealings, I had uncovered his one bone of compassion. Between us was not so much a friendship as it was a bond. The net of our relationship was that I greatly admired Luther, and he regarded me with extended gratitude. So, when I got the phone call from him on Tuesday morning, he likely expressed something to me that he had never said in his entire forty years of editorial life.

  “Luke, how do you want me to handle this?”

  The front-page article of the Wednesday morning paper cast my departure in as fair a light as possible. Luther did an admirable job of capturing my great reluctance at leaving yet empathetically detailed the importance of the research with which I had been tasked. The story even suggested that my selection should be seen as a point of pride for the community. I had grand hopes that this would quell much of the angst as well as the disappointed smiles I was receiving. The result was mixed.