Second Opinion

by Alexander, Hannah

  At City Hall he pulled open the glass door and stepped into another picturesque scene—this time a Norman Rockwell. A huge high-ceilinged area the size of an old-fashioned ballroom reverberated with the chatter and laughter of at least fifteen conversations. Clusters of well-dressed people sat at tables around the great hall eating and drinking, laughing, and calling to one another. The smell of food reminded Grant that he hadn’t even eaten breakfast and these people were already taking their morning break.

  Two elderly men, two suit-clad women, and two children leaned over a table covered with pieces of a puzzle. In the top left corner, a square of blue and green had already been put together. One of the women at the table turned her head to the side and coughed. A child across from her sneezed into his hand then picked up a puzzle piece with that same hand.

  Grant cringed at the thought of the germs they must be spreading. Annette used to tease him about what she called his obsession with infection.

  He ambled over to the table. “Nice picture.” He actually couldn’t tell what the setting was supposed to be yet. “Is this a community project?”

  One of the men appeared to be in his eighties. He placed a piece and chuckled with satisfaction. “Sure is.” He didn’t look up but selected another piece and continued to study the board. “This table’s always busy.” He gestured toward the wall to their west. His thick gray eyebrows formed a straight line across his face, lending gravity to the expressive good humor in his eyes.

  Three framed scenes adorned the wall. Grant recognized two of them from his forays through Dogwood Springs and they all had a common theme—streams coursing across a meadow or garden or trickling down a hillside.

  “It’s the springs.” The man straightened and squinted at Grant.

  “Springs?”

  “Not from around here, huh?”

  Grant smiled and shook his head.

  The man stood up, turned from the table, and held out his hand with a slight bow. “Ernest Mourglia. And you might be…?”

  “Grant Sheldon. I moved down from St. Louis recently with my family. This is obviously a popular place.”

  Ernest glanced toward the puzzle as if afraid someone else might take his spot while he was otherwise occupied. “Jade got the bright idea a few months ago to have puzzles made out of pictures of our springs then sell ‘em to the tourists.”

  “Jade?”

  “You really are new here. Jade Myers is the mayor. Bright girl still wet behind the ears, not even thirty-five yet.” A smile pressed itself across his craggy sun-worn face. “My niece. After they started selling the puzzles, Jade decided that wasn’t good enough. She decided to make a city-wide effort to put ‘em together and display ‘em on the walls, kind of make it a showcase to draw some of that Branson traffic our way.”

  “She sounds like an industrious lady.” And one he would speak with as soon as possible about the risk of the community puzzle.

  “I didn’t like it at first,” Ernest continued. “Didn’t want the crowds. This used to be a nice peaceful place to come and sit for a few hours and talk to a couple of friends who might wander over for lunch. But now you wouldn’t believe how many old friends I get to see every day.” He shook his head. “Always need something to get you out of yourself when you live alone and can’t find a fishin’ partner.”

  “How many springs does the city have?”

  Mr. Mourglia stepped closer, obviously glad to find a listening ear. “We’ve got fifteen of ‘em inside the city limits and quite a few more outside, so we’ve got our work cut out for us. Just you wait, though. As soon as they get that bottling plant up and runnin’ we’ll be famous. And that’ll be good for the puzzle business. Stores are already carryin’ ‘em all over town. Sellin’ too.”

  “Bottling plant?” Grant had heard nothing more about that project since the big-equipment operator with the wandering hands mentioned it at the hospital.

  Mr. Mourglia nodded. “That was another one of Jade’s wild ideas. But I guess she convinced somebody to listen. They say it won’t take too much of our water.”

  “Hey!” another man called from across the room.

  Ernest turned and squinted, then brightened and turned back to Grant. “I might’ve found me a fishin’ buddy after all. And he’s my barber too. Maybe he’ll give me a haircut if the fish aren’t bitin’. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sheldon.” He reached out to shake hands again and said good-bye.

  Grant felt a weight settle on him as he watched others wander up to the table and pick up where Ernest had left off. A community-wide jigsaw puzzle could feasibly be spreading the pervasive virus, which had already taken one life and threatened another and seemed to be infecting more people every day. What was he supposed to do, march into the mayor’s office and demand she stop all the fun? Or maybe he should insist they sterilize the puzzle pieces every time someone new came to the table. But even that wouldn’t stop it all.

  He’d run some blood tests for Giardia and E. coli and a few other infectious diseases and found nothing. Not influenza, not some weird community-acquired pneumonia. He had a stack of files on his desk at least two feet high. His comparisons so far had turned up no related numbers that he considered significant and several times he’d almost convinced himself he was being paranoid. Almost.

  Lives were definitely at stake. When Grant asked directions to the mayor’s office, the receptionist told him Jade was out running errands. He decided to wait.

  ***

  By ten-fifteen Archer was walking down a wide hallway of one of the major hospitals in Springfield. He’d spent a lot of time here over the years making visits with his father when he was still in high school and afterward on his own.

  Some pastors dreaded this part of the job. He’d never found hospitals to be the most comforting of places to pass the day, either, but they were certainly one of the best places for a guy to go when he wanted to tell somebody about God. Stuck in hospital beds, people had to listen and most often they were eager to do so. Nothing could open the human heart to important matters of the spirit like a threat to life or health.

  Today he wouldn’t have to do any proselytizing. Tony Dalton had walked the aisle of the Dogwood Springs Baptist Church two months before Archer. Both of them were ten at the time. Both had been raised in church, attended the same Sunday school classes, and sang in the youth choir. And Tony had always done it better.

  Tony got high grades. Tony got the solo tenor parts in choir. Tony excelled in math and sports and was valedictorian. Probably the only thing that had kept Archer and Tony from being the best of friends was Dad’s open admiration for Tony. Archer had repented of his jealousy years ago.

  Today Tony was in bed with white bandages covering his eyes. Caryn sat at his side with her forehead resting on his pillow, her sparrow brown hair falling across the tanned flesh of his arm.

  “Hello you two.” Archer swallowed in an effort to keep his voice steady.

  Caryn straightened. Her pale face and bloodless lips showed how grief had drained her. “Hi Archer.” She got up and walked around the bed to hug him. She felt frail in his arms. “Talk to him,” she whispered.

  Tony turned his head. “Arch?” He held his hand out, fingers spread in an unconscious gesture of vulnerability.

  Archer stepped forward and took it. “You look like you’re doing a little better than you were last night.”

  The hand tightened on Archer’s then relaxed. Tony laid his head back. He licked his lips, pressed them together, sighed. “Caryn said she told you.”

  “Yes.”

  As if he had to review the facts for himself in order to make sense of them, Tony repeated what Archer had already heard. “The eyes are too badly damaged.” Tony’s hand squeezed into a fist and he pressed it against his chest. “The insurance guys were here already. I’m a great candidate for full disability.”

  “They don’t know you,” Archer said.

  Tony’s voice grew ragged. “They want me to sit on my butt a
nd draw checks for doing nothing the rest of my life.”

  “But we know better.”

  “I might as well be—”

  “Tony.” Caryn stepped to the end of the bed and gripped the rail with both hands. “Please don’t talk like that, sweetheart.” She gave Archer a beseeching look.

  “Give yourself time,” Archer said.

  Tony shook his head. “My job is over. I’ll never be a policeman again. I’ll never be able to drive again. My wife will have to drive me around and watch after me like an invalid.”

  Archer saw the lance of pain race across Caryn’s face.

  “Anthony Dalton, I can’t believe you would even use that word,” Archer said.

  Tony didn’t reply.

  “Did that chemical reach your brain as well as your eyes?”

  Caryn’s mouth flew open but Archer raised a hand. “Don’t you remember that beautiful speech you gave graduation night? Come on, it wasn’t that long ago.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Tony gave a barely perceptible nod. “I didn’t know any better then. I do now. I was a stupid kid.”

  “You were obviously smarter then than you are now.”

  “Archer,” Caryn warned.

  “I bet he never told you about his valedictory speech, did he?”

  She shook her head.

  “He received a standing ovation after talking about the role of the physically challenged in the scheme of life, that they can be the strongest of us all because they’re forced to fight harder and build extra muscle. Then he dissected the word invalid, explaining that everyone has validity. His inspiration had come from working with disabled children at the elementary school during his free hour.”

  Caryn blinked and looked back at her husband who had not moved.

  “I remember the speech really well,” Archer added, “because Tony spoke the same passionate words to our congregation that next Sunday at Dad’s request. And Dad reminded me of that speech for the next six months until I was sick to death of Tony Dalton’s name.”

  At that, a bare hint of a smile touched Tony’s lips and then it was gone. Caryn stood at the end of the bed still grasping the rail, her eyes suddenly focused on her husband’s mouth.

  “This accident has done nothing to invalidate who you are,” Archer said. “It doesn’t invalidate you in God’s eyes.”

  “What good is a blind policeman?”

  “As good as you’re willing to be,” Archer said. “What do you want to do? That’s usually what you’ve done.”

  Tony’s jaw muscles flexed. He shook his head.

  Caryn stepped from the foot of the bed to her husband’s side. “Sweetheart, you’ve always told me you want to teach.” She looked up at Archer. “His chief told me two weeks ago that Tony knows more about meth production in our county than anyone else on the force.”

  “I’m also supposed to know more about the traps they set,” Tony muttered. “Look where that got me.”

  “It isn’t as if you can crawl into the minds of these people,” Archer protested.

  “I’m supposed to try. Otherwise I won’t be much good to myself or anyone else.”

  “But that’s crazy,” Caryn said.

  “No, it’s essential.” Tony sat forward and the keenly contained energy that had always been a part of Tony Dalton once more filled the air around him. “It’s vital because the rules are always changing. All a guy has to do is let down his guard one time and it’s over.” Tony spread his hands. “You’ve got to think like a monster. We can’t wait around until they change something on us; we’ve got to beat them at their own game.” The energy increased.

  Archer and Caryn looked at each other. Caryn nodded.

  “I don’t think it’s over for you,” Archer said to his old friend.

  “It’s dangerous out there. I told you the other night that crime is on the rise. I keep trying to warn people that our little town is in for trouble. Nobody wants to listen.”

  “I’m listening,” Archer said. “Why don’t you start by talking to my drug awareness class as soon as they spring you from here?”

  Tony nodded. “They need to know. It’s just so hard to keep up with all of it. I’ve been too busy fighting it.”

  “For the moment, I think that’s changed.” Archer looked across the bed at Caryn. She nodded. Tony’s job would never end.

  Chapter 15

  Lauren appreciated the changing seasons in the Ozarks and every season had its own special mood. Summer was her favorite in this town for the moment. These people did things a little differently—with more style, more extravagance, more flowers—than in her hometown.

  On Friday afternoon, as she rode in the passenger’s seat of Archer’s two-year-old Kia, she drank in the effusive beauty of the hillside community while she allowed herself to enjoy the fact that Archer had sought her company for this visit.

  “Grant Sheldon impresses me.” Archer touched the brake and turned onto a road that wound between widely spaced homes, most of them painted in pretty pastel colors, with broad porches that invited visitors to make themselves comfortable on a porch swing or a wicker chair. The late afternoon sun highlighted Archer’s handsome silhouette against a backdrop of blue sky.

  “The staff likes him,” Lauren said. “He knows how to handle people.” She thought about the drunken jerk Grant had shut down Wednesday night. “He’s making some good changes in the ER like shortening shift hours and overlapping schedules so we have double physician coverage at peak times. We needed that.”

  “Shortening hours?” He gave her a quick look. “And that makes him popular?”

  “So far he’s managing to do it without ruffling too many feathers.” She thought of Dr. Caine. “Some feathers need to be ruffled and he doesn’t mind doing that. You have to respect that kind of leadership.”

  Archer gave her his customary sideways teasing grin that she always thought made him look like a very young Paul Newman. “You wouldn’t happen to be slightly biased would you? He’s a good-looking eligible bachelor.”

  Without thinking, Lauren returned the grin in full measure and winked at him. “He isn’t the only good-looking single guy in town.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt the warmth of embarrassment spread across her face. Perhaps she should have asked to ride in the trunk.

  At thirty-five, she had long ago despaired of ever learning to control her tongue, whether it be talking too much or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

  Until recently she’d never been uncomfortable in Archer’s presence. Never before had she thought of him as anything other than a very likeable friend of her younger brothers. She’d arm wrestled and played one-on-one basketball with them and given them Dutch rubs when they got out of line and no grown-ups were around.

  Only lately had she become increasingly aware of him as a very attractive man who had an inner light that filled his eyes with passion and excitement whenever he spoke about his love for Jesus Christ. That was one of the most appealing things about him. The better she understood him as a man and not just “one of the boys” the more powerful grew that appeal. She thought about her discussion with Gina last week. It had been difficult enough to get accustomed to the idea of Archer Pierce as her pastor when she joined the church. But it felt really weird to be attracted to him as a man, especially one who had been very happily engaged until a few weeks ago.

  A stray dog ambled out onto the road and Archer stomped on the brakes. He didn’t honk, didn’t complain, didn’t even shake his head, he just watched to make sure the animal was off the road completely before moving on.

  “Lauren, did you hear about Tony?” He glanced across at her while she was still staring at him in admiration.

  She looked away. “Yes. I called this afternoon to check on him. How’s he handling it?”

  “He’s already making plans for a career change.”

  “I’ll give Caryn a call.”

  “I thought you might.” He signaled and turne
d onto Cascade Circle Drive.

  The road wound through an older neighborhood that had recently received a facelift. The address they sought was in a cul-de-sac set slightly apart from the other more stately homes. Gina’s house was an attractive dove gray color with burgundy gingerbread trim and Victorian lace curtains in the windows. It appeared enshrouded by an evergreen hedge that threatened to overtake the sidewalk and yard.

  When Gina answered the doorbell she was barefoot except for bandages. She wore a pair of denim cutoffs frayed above the knees. Curls of golden copper hair tumbled across her wide freckled forehead. She could have passed for a carefree teenager except for the tight lines around her mouth and the flash of anger in her eyes.

  “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Instead of inviting them inside, she stepped out onto the porch and allowed the door to shut behind her. She and Lauren had been to lunch a few times and the comfort of deepening friendship continued to grow between them. “That woman doesn’t give me any breaks.”

  “What woman?” Lauren asked.

  “Natalie. Who else? She’s always here, always following me around the house asking me personal questions and grilling my kids. She’s like a long-legged, long-necked goose who thinks my house is her own private lake.”

  “I’m sorry,” Archer said. “Did we come at a bad time?”

  “No.” There was defensiveness in Gina’s tone. “I have a right to receive company in my own home.”

  “Of course you do. You have a beautiful home.” He stepped over and examined the sculpted gingerbread trim around a window.

  Gina shoved her hands into the back pockets of her shorts.

  Lauren didn’t comment. She knew from several talks with Gina these past two weeks that her reluctance to accept help from Family Services went a lot deeper than just an independent nature. Something else was going on here and Gina showed no willingness to share.