by Jeff High
Dear Maylene,
I know that you are not doing well and I wanted to tell you some things that are important to me. For years Raymond Simmons pressured me to sell the bakery, but I refused. He knew that it was your hard work and friendship that kept the bakery and me going. I fell into some financial hard times and he forced me to fire you. I’m sorry. I didn’t have the strength to stand up to him.
I have always lived under the shadow of my husband’s death. I know Oscar had many secrets, but his love for me was not one of them. He loved me deeply and I miss him every day. Everyone thinks there were diamonds hidden at the store, but that simply wasn’t true. Trust me, if there were, we would have found them.
The only diamond at the bakery was you, Maylene. You are a unique and wonderful and godly woman and I am thankful for the years of laughter and friendship we shared. I will always love you. Please know that.
Sincerely,
Elise Fox
Connie’s face beamed with a sweet and grateful pride. “This is the best birthday gift of all.”
I smiled and squeezed her hand. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? All the things that have transpired because one man came to Watervalley and decided to stay.”
Connie shook her head. “I don’t blame Oscar Fox. I don’t guess he planned on falling in love with Elise, but it happened and it changed the course of his life. So he stayed and did everything he could to help those around him. And with the diamonds, he was just trying to undo some of the evil he saw happening in this world. He was a good man who was trying to do the right thing.”
She paused and pressed my hand in return. “Years from now, Luke, people will talk about you in much the same way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They’ll talk about all the good you’ve done, about all the people you’ve helped, all the sickness you’ve cured. Seems like Oscar’s life and yours share a lot of parallels. Both of you have made each day count for something positive in people’s lives.”
Her words overwhelmed me. I sat silently.
“Thank you for encouraging Randall Simmons to come talk to me. I’ve got some healing to do and that’s going to take some time. But I’d rather see him a changed man and us living in peace than him fired and hatred growing between us.”
I shrugged and smiled wryly at her. “How do you do that?”
Her response was reflective, gentle. “How do I do what?”
“How do you so easily forgive those past cruelties?”
Connie looked down for a moment and sighed. “It’s hard. Sometimes it’s terribly hard. Truthfully, I’d like to punch Randall in the nose. But he seems to be trying. If I don’t forgive him, then I have to carry that hatred around.”
“So you think this is what you need to do?”
“It is. I don’t feel like forgiving him, but it’s the right thing.”
“How so?”
“Because I know my name is written in the palm of His hand.”
Connie Thompson was beyond me. Her depth of wisdom and her capacity to love and forgive came from a well of strength I could not begin to comprehend. And yet, all that she had said rang true. Now it seemed the inequities and injustices of her life were finding redemption.
In time, she rose to go.
“Thank you, Luke, for everything.”
“By the way, would this be a good time to ask you about that unbelievable dance routine I witnessed you and Estelle doing last night?”
Connie regarded me flatly. “No. Don’t think it would.”
“Oh, now, that’s not fair. Inquiring minds need to know.”
Connie’s old self had returned. She lifted her chin and regarded me through the bottom of her gold inlay glasses, speaking a voice of low reprimand. “What happens at the prom stays at the prom, Dr. Bradford.”
I smiled and nodded, knowing that further queries were useless.
“So, the grand opening is this weekend?”
“Yes. We’re both pretty nervous about it. We’re afraid no one’s going to show up. It’s silly, I guess. But a gourmet bakery is a bit radical for Watervalley.”
“I think folks are going to love it. Pastries, artisan breads, barista coffee . . . I can’t wait.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Hey, what name did you decide on?”
Connie closed her eyes and shook her head. It was clear this was an exasperating topic for her. “You’ll have to wait for it. It’s a big surprise. The sign has been covered up and will be unveiled Saturday.”
I smiled. “All sounds good to me.”
Connie nodded. I walked her to the door, where she gave me a long hug. She was about to leave, but then she turned toward me, and as was her way, she spoke in a kind but instructive voice.
“You know, Luke, I wasn’t kidding when I said that Oscar Fox and you have followed similar paths.”
“How so?”
“Just like him, you came to town without any intention of staying. I don’t guess you planned on falling in love either. But these things happen.”
I only stood and glanced down, not wanting to meet Connie’s tender but penetrating gaze. No doubt, this was her way of telling me something I hadn’t told myself. I let silence be my answer.
Her voice of mild reprimand continued. “Anyway, go call that pretty girlfriend of yours and fix whatever it is you’re not telling me about.”
I grinned. “See you tomorrow.”
“Humph,” was all Connie offered before walking to her car.
As I shut the door behind her, I knew she was right. My head and heart were burning to talk with Christine. As it turned out, they would have to smolder for several days.
CHAPTER 44
Finding the Words
I probably should have figured something was wrong when Christine didn’t return my call on Sunday. It didn’t occur to me until Tuesday morning that she didn’t want to talk, or at least, at a minimum, she wanted a cooling-off period.
At first I was panicked. A dozen scenarios ran through my mind. I replayed Saturday night over and over in my head, remembering every word, every gesture, desperately wanting to comprehend what had driven her to be this angry and hurt. As the hours passed, my early frenzy gave way to an irritated frustration. She was being childish if not outright rude. Fine. If she didn’t want to talk, then we wouldn’t talk. I would give her the space she wanted. I had left her several messages, so the ball was in her court. Besides, Friday was graduation and my speech was sorely lacking. I needed time and space to think about what I wanted to say. But even in this I was greatly conflicted.
I adored the people of Watervalley and had grown to appreciate their rural life. But I had known a larger existence. There was a broader world out there and it wasn’t all bad. I considered ignoring the advantages it offered, but I felt a great sense of personal responsibility to speak honestly. Somehow I had to find a way to tell them about a world that might make theirs seem petty and small and backward. I should never have agreed to the task.
Wednesday passed into Thursday and still no word from Christine. Left to my own, I filled the empty days with a low-boiling anger and a general disdain. Ann and the staff had taken notice and seemed to be tiptoeing around me at the clinic, leaving me to brood in my office when patients were not waiting to be seen. I made a point of avoiding Connie, not wanting to be called to account regarding the affairs of my heart. Even Rhett seemed to shy away from me, cautiously lying across the room and eyeing me with wary curiosity.
I arrived home Thursday afternoon to an empty, silent house. After changing clothes, I took a moment to stare at my phone. Secretly, I was hoping that somehow I had missed a call from Christine. But I hadn’t. I went back downstairs to grab a beer. But as I shut the refrigerator, there was a knock on the front door.
My heart leaped. Rhett sensed this and wag
ged his tail intensely as he followed me down the hall. It seemed I couldn’t get to the door fast enough, and upon opening it, despite all the thoughts that had been pouring through my head over the last several days, I was struck mute by the sight of Christine standing before me, as lustrous and beautiful as ever. She smiled cautiously, sweetly.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” The mere sight of her, the pressing delight of simply being near her again, brought a smile to my face. Forgotten was all the frustration, all the invective that had been swirling in my head since the start of the week. Even still, I wasn’t about to show my hand, to offer anything. For the moment, I would play a game of wait and see.
Christine noticed the beer I was holding. “Mind if I grab something to drink?”
“No, help yourself.” I followed her to the kitchen, where she retrieved a water bottle from the fridge and then patted Rhett on the head. The air between us was stiff, awkward.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Okay. Busy. The clinic’s been a little crazy this week. But not too bad. How’s school?”
“Same. Busy. Got the year wrapped up, which is always sad and happy at the same time.”
I nodded, content to let her carry the conversation.
She looked away and saw my laptop on the kitchen table. “So, how’s the graduation speech coming along?”
“Not that great.” I had responded slowly. What was she doing? She didn’t return my phone call for a week and now she came by only to make small talk? My amiable veneer was beginning to wear.
“Oh? Why not so great?”
Her words were nonemoting, polite. My chafed feelings began to bleed through my words.
“I’m at a loss, you see. I’m at a loss for what to tell them. Watervalley is what it is, and that’s been fine. But there’s a larger world out there. And as big of a shock as it might be, there are actually people living happy, interesting, fulfilled lives beyond the county line.”
“I think they know that.”
“Do they?”
“Of course they do. They’re not lepers living in isolation.”
“Well, I’m not so sure. Sometimes I think what living here teaches you is to have a healthy fear of any place with more than three stoplights.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. I don’t understand, Luke. What’s brought all this on?”
“Well, I think that’s a little self-explanatory, isn’t it? Look, Christine, there’s a whole world out there beyond the hills. I know it and you know it. So maybe, just maybe, I’m having a bit of a hard time trying to figure out how to tell them that there’s more to life than just shit-kicking manure around the farm.”
“I don’t think this is about them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think this is about you.”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t, you know, turn into Madam Freud all of a sudden.”
“Fine. It’s just that you seem upset because some of them may be happy here, because some of them are okay with living modest, simple lives, while you actually think it’s beneath them.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it, though? I mean, you’re discounting the things that they know and love when you haven’t tried them yourself.”
That did it. Something in me snapped. My voice grew stern, forced, pushed to anger. I released in one infuriated outburst the whole packed weight of my confusion, my burning aggravation.
“Oh, I get it. This is all about me and life on the farm, isn’t it? Is that what the silent treatment has been about all this week? Ha, and here I was thinking it was all about me leaving so suddenly Saturday night. Look, I don’t want to milk cows, I don’t want to ride a horse, and I don’t want to grow a blasted garden. I just want to be a doctor. I want to do what I promised I’d do. Be here for three years, and then after that, I guess I’ll just see.”
Christine stared at me for the longest time, enduring my strident and abusive words, absorbing them like a seasoned boxer taking punches. She stood with a fragile and sensitive face, waiting for me to exhaust myself, to spill out all of the festering frustration.
Finally, she spoke with a mixture of hurt and resolve. “So, I guess those three words pretty well sum it up, don’t they?”
“What three words? ‘For three years’? Well, yeah, I guess they do.”
“No, Luke. Not those three words.”
“What, then?”
“‘I’ll just see.’ You said ‘I’ll just see.’ Not ‘we’ll just see.’”
“Well . . . okay, fine, but . . . you’re splitting hairs.”
“No, it’s okay. I just . . . It’s just that I’ve been thinking about things differently. I guess . . . I guess I’ve made some assumptions that I shouldn’t have.”
She paused, folded her arms, and looked down at the floor. Then she nodded in resignation and exhaled a deep breath. A frail smile trembled on her lips.
“You’re right, I haven’t called you back this week and I’m sorry about that. I know all about what happened with Randall Simmons Saturday night. That’s not it. And it’s not about you and farm life. I just needed time to think. You see, I’m a foolish girl, Luke. I can’t hide my feelings . . . don’t want to hide my feelings. I knew that first day I saw you standing in my doorway at school that I would fall in love with you. That’s why . . . that’s why for the longest time I wouldn’t go out with you. Because I thought you probably hated this place, and I don’t. I love Watervalley. Despite its faults, and failings, and stupidity, I still love it, almost as much as I love you. If you moved away tomorrow, if we never saw each other again, neither love would change. It would break my heart, but it wouldn’t change my love for this place, and it wouldn’t change my love for you. Watervalley will always be home. But staying here or not staying here is not a deal breaker. I just thought it was a decision that, in time, we would make together. I was wrong.”
I tried to absorb everything she said. But it was all too much. There were too many emotions at play in this conversation. Anger and hurt from her weeklong silence, frustration and anxiety over this damnable speech, and now Christine’s talk of love. It wasn’t the right time, the right place, the right moment to discuss these things.
I stared blankly into her face, so sweet and soft and fragile, like I was looking at the petals of a delicate flower. I wanted to pour the words of my heart into her silence, to empty the full measure of my affection and passion. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the words. I could only stand before her like a foolish mute, able to do little more than exercise my talent for concealment.
After several long, silent moments, Christine pursed her lips into an accepting smile and nodded. She turned and walked to the entrance hall and out the front door. I wanted to speak, to somehow change everything. But it was not to be. She was gone. My cautious and protective heart had once again been the author of an inexpressible loneliness.
I had no one to blame but myself. My world had slid sideways. I walked to the fridge to retrieve another beer. It wouldn’t be my last of the night.
CHAPTER 45
The Graduation Speech
Friday morning I woke up to a brilliant sun pouring through my bedroom window. I took Rhett downstairs and out to the backyard. The world before me was fully bloomed. The thick grass and densely canopied trees were wrapped in a calming, soft haze. The air was sweet and balmy and a delicate breeze stirred occasionally, pulling at the heads of the newly arrived daisies. A light dew remained. Even still, the expanding warmth of the early morning foretold that the hot-breathed days of summer would be soon upon us.
Despite the splendid day, my world had a strange feel to i
t, an odd combination of foreboding and expectancy. And why wouldn’t it? I was unsettled in both head and heart, wrestling with my own thoughts, my own desires. Yet in a couple of hours I was expected to stand before a gathering of Watervalley seniors who stood at the pinnacle of hope for their lives and somehow offer them words of insight, wisdom, and assurance. I was profoundly unfit and unprepared for the part.
Shortly after nine thirty I arrived at Watervalley Lake, where row upon row of white chairs had been neatly lined up on the flat grassy area near the entrance to the newly finished bandstand. The first three rows had been cordoned off for the Watervalley High seniors, all forty-two of them. Additional chairs had been placed behind and along the sides. Altogether, over four hundred family and friends would be seated and waiting for the processional. A place like Watervalley had few ceremonies during the year, so events like a graduation served as a good excuse for a large community turnout.
In the front a low stage had been built, draped in the gold and purple banners of the school’s colors. A row of chairs lined the back of the platform and a small podium stood front and center. The bandstand, now glistening white in the perfect May sun, had also been richly decorated for the reception to follow the ceremony. Conversations from the gathering crowd were lively and the clamor of preparations could be heard echoing out across the lake as several moms on the bandstand set out refreshments.
I found the principal, Carl Suggs, who greeted me cordially and showed me to my chair behind the podium. I spoke politely to those around me, sat down, and awaited the processional of the seniors, who were gathered under a tree in the far distance. As nonchalantly as possible, I surveyed the crowd and, to my delight, found Christine smiling warmly at me. The light seemed to shimmer off of her. She was radiant, beautiful, and she gazed at me without reservation. I smiled and glanced down, pretending to review my notes.
Eventually, I looked up and noticed Connie taking the seat beside Christine. This shouldn’t have surprised me. They were friends. But I couldn’t help wondering about the level of intimacy and disclosure between them. I was burdened with regret over my outburst from the day before and now was hounded with embarrassed contrition that Connie might know. This served only to further fuel my uncertainty, my nervousness.