by Jeff High
The conversation was drawing to a close when suddenly Madeline turned to Christine. “Dear, I need to excuse myself to the restroom.” She smiled toward me. “Nice to meet you, Luke.”
I returned the smile. “And you as well.”
Madeline turned and walked briskly away, leaving the two of us assessing each other warily.
I chewed on my lower lip for a moment, deliberating. I spoke in a soft voice of contrition. “Look, I’m glad we ran into each other. I said some pretty mean things when we talked a few weeks ago. I’ve been wanting to apologize, but it didn’t seem a very smart idea to come back by and knock on your classroom door again.”
Christine smiled lightly and nodded. She said nothing but her face expressed a ready acceptance, an indication that perhaps she too regretted her words of our last conversation. We seemed to reach an unspoken agreement to put the matter behind us.
Silence ensued and I was nervously eager to fill the void, to find common ground, to amuse.
“Your mother is lovely. Not near the old battle-ax I expected her to be.”
Christine’s manner was friendly but still reserved. She smiled, clearly noting that I was poking fun at myself. “Yes, well, you are kind to say so.”
“So, you are still here. How is teaching?”
“Still here, and teaching is fine,” responded Christine in a pleasant but crisp manner. She glanced at the large smudge on my button-down. “Nice shirt.”
I glanced down at it. “Yes, it is. Thanks for noticing. After a busy day at the clinic I try to relax by changing out a transmission or two.” This produced a muted laugh but no further response. I filled in the silence. “So, are you heading back to Atlanta anytime soon?”
She hesitated, evaluating her answer. “I’ve taken a leave of absence and decided to stay a little longer. I’ll probably be here through Christmas. Then we’ll see.”
“Well, if that’s the case, my offer to go out and get matching tattoos still stands.” I smiled warmly, confidently.
Christine looked away and smiled. For a brief moment I thought she might actually be considering the offer, but she was hesitant. Perhaps she wanted to avoid any relationship that would chain her to this little place. Then again, maybe she just didn’t like me. I decided not to consider that possibility.
By now she was no longer fingering the ring on her right hand and had returned to her confident self. Although my request was probably doomed to complete rejection, something in me couldn’t resist continuing. “Of course, it doesn’t have to be as serious as tattoos. We could get a watermelon here at the grocery and have a seed-spitting contest or go watch a movie on the big TV at Boshers Laundromat. Or hey—maybe even both.”
Christine was amused, almost laughing, but she still wasn’t budging. She blew out a deep sigh and spoke with soft resignation. “You know, Dr. Bradford, it’s a small town, and people like to talk. So if we go out, then people will take notice and the grapevine will start. Anything we might do or say, people will want to stick their nose right in the middle of it. And before you know it, they’ll be telling you that we should go down to the courthouse and get ‘hitched’ so I can be a good Watervalley wife and start making lots and lots of babies and gravy for you. They’re sweet people, but that’s just the way they think. And frankly, I don’t want anyone knowing my business. Besides, I’ll probably be leaving in a month or two, so what’s the point?”
“Gee. Since you describe it so painfully, I guess there’s not much point. But just in case, you think you could bring some gravy by my house so we can decide if that’s a deal breaker?”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Yet all the while she was smothering a grin. It gave me faint hope that the Bradford charm might be working. “Like I said, Dr. Bradford, it’s a small town. I don’t think you get it.” Despite the exasperation in her voice, something in it expressed a doubt, as if she was also trying to convince herself.
I couldn’t stop smiling at her, adoring her. “I’d say on that point you’re right. I don’t get it. Matter of fact, I don’t get a lot of things about this town. All I know is that even though you seem more likely to go out with Bigfoot than with me, I still find you lovely and interesting.” I paused for a moment. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to the medicine aisle and pick up some Band-Aids for my bruised ego.”
Christine grinned and looked away, pressing her lips together.
I continued, feigning a reflective tone. “You know, it’s getting harder and harder to find meaningful one-night relationships.”
Her defenses were melting. She was almost laughing. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll just hold out for Bigfoot.”
I looked from side to side as a pretense to speaking confidentially, then spoke in an authoritative whisper. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t keep my hopes up on that one. I think he prefers blonds.”
Finally she laughed. She laughed in a voice that was musical, delightful; it illuminated her face and brought radiance to her eyes. “Oh, so you know him?”
I nodded with conviction. “Absolutely. He was a frat brother. Although he went by a different name to, you know, maintain his cover.”
Madeline’s voice came to us as she approached from the far end of the grocery aisle. “Christine, dear, do we need eggs?”
Christine grabbed her cart and, for a moment, she searched my face. She was pondering, deliberating, holding on to the moment. If only for a brief second, there was something affectionate, something tender in the way she regarded me, an uncertainty about her persistent rejection of me.
Then again, maybe she was just trying to figure out whether they did need eggs. She smiled and spoke with soft resignation. “Good-bye, Dr. Bradford.”
I stared at her and scratched my head. Even as she walked away, something primitive inside me couldn’t but help notice the magnetism of her long lines and delicate curves. I wanted to memorize her, to imprint on my brain the sound of her voice, to remember the rich brown glow of her eyes. I knew I liked her, and was only all the more frustrated our conversation had once again gone absolutely nowhere. More than I knew at the time, Christine was the one thing about Watervalley that felt right, the one thing that made me feel good and fortunate about being there. I was under her spell.
I grabbed the grocery items I needed, checked out, and walked to the Corolla. Even after I was in the car, I was feverishly trying to remember where I’d seen Madeline Chambers before. Her face was so familiar.
When I arrived home, the house was empty save for the cheerful face of Rhett, who, after greeting me at the door and getting a few pats on the head, was content to resume his place on the rug in the living room. Connie had left a note saying there was a casserole still warm in the oven and for me to leave the dishes. Her neighbor had called and needed a fourth for Thursday night bridge. The encounter with Christine had served as a reminder of my self-imposed solitude in Watervalley. I set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and for the longest while stared out the window at the interplay of light and shade in the backyard. Time stretched before me and I stood there locked in a trance.
I could only wonder what life might be like if things had been different, if I had found the money and followed my dream to pursue a PhD in research. I knew in my bones I wanted my career to be elsewhere. But for the moment, as I thought of Christine, I wasn’t so sure where my heart wanted to be. All was quiet in the house, but the lilting sound of her voice echoed through my silent rooms, lending an air of enchantment.
I filled a plate with food and, with Rhett at my feet, sat on the back porch steps and watched the last of the October sunset. More than at any other time of year, the fall recalled from deep within me long-forgotten chapters of my life. The autumn air revived buried thoughts, half images, the whispers of ancient voices. The distant glow of the departing sun, the cool damp grass, and the wispy rustle of leaves held old memories. I closed my eyes.
I had blotted out those early years before my parents died. Now I remember
ed the wide backyard and the open fields beyond it. I remembered playing with neighborhood friends, tackling each other and tumbling in the grass, and the never-ending spontaneous laughter. Distantly I saw the fall sunsets and heard the far-off sound of my mother calling me to come in for dinner.
As it grew dark, I thought about why I had come to Watervalley. The money had clearly been a factor, but secretly I knew there were other reasons as well. Those long-lost voices of my parents, the hopes and expectations of family, had spoken to me from the distant years.
I sat and listened to the familiar noises of the autumn evening. The night sky was now vast and black, yet the symphony of life went on all around me. The rich pageantry of laughter, friendships, and family was unfolding up and down Fleming Street and in the ever-widening circles of homes and yards and farms extending into the far reaches of the valley. Yet my aunt and my parents, the voices of my past—all long gone—were still with me. They counseled my day, edited my thoughts, whispered into my loneliness. I sat and listened to the brooding murmurings of the dark.
The Watervalley I had created for myself was one of quiet desolation, of deserted streets and empty pavements. Life was still robustly happening all around me, but I had shut myself out from it and insisted on dreaming of a different life. As one by one the stars emerged from the deep, dark bowl of the evening sky, the distant voices of loved ones continued to whisper, advising me and encouraging me away from my loneliness. I wasn’t ready to listen.
CHAPTER 22
Relations
The days were growing shorter and I now began my early morning runs in darkness. Religiously, I would force myself out of bed and head onto the pavement. The eminent arrival of morning light had an uplifting effect on me. There was something powerful about witnessing the slow but brilliant progression of the sun over the sleepy frozen fields of Watervalley. The spectacle washed away the muted confusions of the night.
Rhett had made a remarkable recovery over the last couple of weeks, his appetite knowing no limitations. To my surprise, Connie had warmed quickly to him and they had become fast friends. Just as with me, he regarded her with rapt devotion, focusing on her attentively with an open, sloppy, welcoming countenance. On the rare times when she would fuss at him about something, she did so with a cooing, soothing voice. I was almost jealous.
I had fallen into a routine of jogging out Summerfield Road. One of the most picturesque farms was in fact named Summerfield, as indicated by an antiquated but elaborately engraved sign at the entry. Broad wheat fields spread out on either side of the long driveway and in the distance sat a picture-perfect white clapboard farmhouse with a generous, inviting front porch. In the side yard was a vegetable garden and behind it were several brightly painted red barns with the accompanying weathered gray silo. A brilliant white cross-rail fence enclosed the house, garden, and barns. Holsteins dotted the sloping hills that rose behind the boundary of the farmyard.
The faded stenciled name on the mailbox read CHAMBERS. This enchanting place was Christine’s family home. The strings of my heart pulled me in that direction every morning. Something in me still believed in chance meetings and new possibilities.
Each morning when I returned from my run, Connie would be in the kitchen and the wonderful smells of a Southern breakfast would hit me as I came through the front door. But this morning was different.
As I passed through the entry hall and into the kitchen, I found her sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and reading the Watervalley paper. Rhett was lying happily at her feet. The kitchen countertops and the stove were clear.
“Good morning, Connie. What gives? Are you on strike?”
She rolled her eyes up from the paper with a deadpan face. “Hardly, Doctor.”
“Well, where is my usual calorie-packed, cholesterol-loaded, we’re-going-for-full-arterial-blockage breakfast?”
“I am fixing a special breakfast for you this morning. So get your usual stinky, sweaty self upstairs and I’ll have it ready by the time you’re back down.” And with that she returned to her paper.
“Wow, I don’t know about this. I’m an addict now. I’m not sure I can go cold turkey.” I waited for a response. All Connie offered was a dispassionate, doleful look that told me the conversation was over.
“Okay, but I need to warn you. This may move you down a few notches on the Christmas list.”
Connie turned the paper to the next page.
I turned my attention to Rhett. “Hey, buddy, spill it. What’s she up to?”
Still lying with his chin on his paws, he wagged his tail a few times and looked up at me with innocent, inquisitive eyes.
I frowned and whispered to him, “Traitor,” then retreated upstairs. Rhett followed. Even he knew that we guys had to stick together.
I showered, dressed, and headed back downstairs. Halfway there I was met with the opulent aroma of freshly baked bread. In the kitchen I found the table set with an elaborate presentation of cream cheese, capers, and smoked salmon.
“What do we have here?”
“Sit down and drink your coffee, Doctor. I bought a bagel machine.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Connie Thomp- son?”
She ignored me.
“This morning we are having fresh-made bagels. They’ll be ready in a minute.” Connie spoke in her standard poker-faced fashion. On the counter next to the stove was a shiny new stainless steel appliance that looked similar to a waffle maker. It was the source of the thick aroma I had so drunkenly inhaled as I came downstairs.
“Well, I’m just speechless.”
“You’re more likable that way.”
“All right, I’m going to hold my response till after I try the bagels. In the meantime I want you to know that I am personally devastated by that comment. I may need counseling.”
I took a sip of coffee and reached over to retrieve the Village Voice that Connie had folded and placed on the far side of the table. I had no sooner turned to the front page than she placed a plate of two steaming hot bagels before me. I loaded a generous amount of cream cheese and salmon on one and bit carefully into it, trying not to burn myself. It was heavenly. Meanwhile, Connie was standing sentry over me, awaiting my response.
“So, Doctor, is it to your liking?”
I chewed heartily and swallowed, then grabbed my napkin and closed my eyes for a brief moment. “This is life-changing. When I’m done, Mrs. Thompson, I’m going to kiss you. Maybe even on the lips.”
Connie looked at me sharply. “Sweetie, there is some sugar that even you’re not man enough to handle.” With that she threw the kitchen towel over her shoulder and sauntered her large hips back toward the bagel maker. She was obviously pleased.
I finished eating and hastily grabbed everything I needed to start my day at the clinic. “Connie, that was delicious. Can we have them for dinner too?”
“Get yourself to work and be a nice doctor today and we’ll see if you get any dinner at all.” She was standing at the sink washing the dishes, her back to me. Quietly I sneaked up behind her.
“Oh, I am not feeling the love.” With that I grabbed both of her shoulders from behind, gave her a big kiss on the cheek, and leaped back immediately, fully anticipating her recoil. I wasn’t disappointed. This show of lighthearted affection had taken her completely by surprise. At first all she could do was look at me with a face of wide-eyed astonishment.
“Dr. Bradford!” Just as quickly she regained her composure, pursing her lips in a thin line and squeezing her eyes to narrow slits. She grabbed the dish towel from over her shoulder and came after me, swinging. “Now git, git, git.”
I laughed and scrambled to the entrance hall.
“You’re a sinful man, Luke Bradford,” she declared to me in mock judgment.
I moved quickly, almost tripping over Rhett, exiting the front door and leaving it open in my rush to escape.
Connie stopped on the threshold but kept up the verbal onslaught. “It’s
a good thing I’ve got the love of Jesus in me or I’d be taking a switch to you.”
I hopped into the Corolla and pulled onto the street. As I glanced back at her, Connie was still standing in the doorway, arms folded, with nothing short of an ear-to-ear smile on her face. There was definitely something of love in it.
I arrived at the clinic to find Nancy in her normal cyclone buzz.
“Morning, Doctor. Morning, morning.” She blew past me with a small stack of folders in her hands.
“Good morning, Nancy. What does the day look like?”
“Oh, not too bad.” She took a breath. “But it’s going to start getting busy. Our flu vaccines finally arrived yesterday. The notice will be in today’s paper, so folks will start coming in for those. Lots of times they want to see you too if they can.”
“Okay. Bring on the masses. Better to see them now than when they get the flu.”
Nancy nodded and scurried down the hall. I retreated to my office. Something about my encounter in the grocery store the day before had stirred my curiosity and I wanted to check some of my reference manuals.
The day passed without incident. Connie called late in the day and left a message with Nancy that she had made a pizza. All I needed to do was heat it up for dinner.
“Connie also wanted me to tell you that if need be she can have Ed Caswell come over and light the oven for you.”
I rolled my eyes. Nancy giggled.
“I guess that’s the way it goes, Nancy. You do one goofy thing in a small town and that’s what people know you by forever and a day.”
Mary Jo, coming down the hall, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Nonsense, Dr. Bradford. That’s just not true. There are actually a number of goofy things that the folks in Watervalley know you by.” She grinned slyly and kept walking. Such exchanges had become the norm between us.