by Jeff High
I nodded and tried to edge away. But Walt grabbed my arm. He was either oblivious to my angst or chose to ignore it.
"Hey, doc. I want to come by and talk with you sometime. You're an intelligent guy, and I'd like to get your input on something."
“What might that be?”
“Business growth has more or less been flat the last couple of years. I’d like to get some folks together to come up with ideas for attracting new companies to the valley. The availability of medical care is a fundamental asset. So, your input about upgrades to the clinic would really be helpful.”
I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about Walt's request, but I was open to anything that helped the clinic. I would have to play a role, but hopefully, a small one. "Sure, give me a call. We'll set something up."
By the time I escaped Walt's inquisition, Christine was once again nowhere to be seen. But despite the annoyance of the mayor's careless insinuations, I had fallen into a relaxed, happy state. Christine's bewitching smile had changed everything. Hungry, I budged my way to the dining room and began to gaze at the endless spread of food. As the host, I probably should have been working the crowd. But I found myself content to remain on the periphery, amazed and gratified at the uninhibited joy of those around me.
Soon afterward, Connie shouldered up beside me. In contrast to her usual critical demeanor, her mood was light and cheerful.
“Having a good time?”
“Sure,” I said absently. “But you know me. I always feel a little awkward at these things.”
“Oh, that’s just silly. Be yourself.” She took a sip of punch and surveyed the crowd. “Unless you’re a jerk, like John. Then you should be someone else.”
I cut my eyes at her, smiling.
“Anyway, doctor. You put on quite a lively shin-dig.”
“Hardly. You and the other little Christmas elves did all the work...all the food and trimmings. I just provided the venue.”
“Well, that’s true. But you can probably redeem yourself by chairing the clean-up committee.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, I guess that’s only fair. Who’s all on it?”
“Just you.”
I frowned at her. She ignored me and gazed about the room with a notable air of satisfaction. “Umm hmm,” she continued in a rare moment of self-praise, “we did a pretty fabulous job of getting this little place all decked out.”
“Yes. I had no idea that magnolia leaves had so many decorating variables.”
Connie’s happy mood tempered. “Careful, Luke. Life’s full of disappointments. Don’t make me add you to the list.”
“Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
Connie grunted a short laugh. “Fine, fine, doctor. Speaking of lists, I’ve thought of a few other things we need to discuss when we have ‘The Talk.”
I spoke with pronounced indifference. “Forget it, Connie. You’re just trying to have a little fun at my expense.” All this fervor about “The Talk,” doesn’t scare me one bit.
She answered with a smug, “Humph.”
“Hey, I'm serious here.”
“Really? And here I was thinking you were practicing your audition for clown school.”
There was no getting the upper hand on Connie, and she knew it. Mercifully, she changed the subject. “I saw you talking to Walt earlier. What’s the good mayor have on his mind?”
"What else? Matthew House. Somehow Walt knew that I talked to him after the service tonight. He was pumping me with questions, and when I didn't have the answers, Walt just filled in the blanks with his own rumors."
Connie chuckled. “I’d think you’d know by now that the people of Watervalley are more than willing to talk about somebody else’s business just for the sheer pleasure of it.”
"Yeah, but Walt's the mayor. You'd think he wouldn't be so short witted and long-winded."
“Sweetie, Walt didn’t get the job by being the smartest. He got the job by attending the most picnics. And remember, he's a politician, which means he has a God-given talent for laying it on with a trowel."
“I just wish he’d make some effort to keep the rumors in check.”
Connie nodded. “I guess it’s simply Walt’s nature. Besides, there have been rumors about Society Hill Manor long before Matthew House arrived. You do know everyone thinks of it as spook central?”
"Lida once said something about that, but I thought she was joking. Don't' tell me you're buying into those old stories?"
"I'm a God-fearing woman, Luke Bradford. And the only spirit I believe in is the Holy one." She accentuated her declaration with an ardent nod of her head. But a moment later, she nudged my shoulder and whispered confidentially.
“But just in case, I’m keeping an open mind about Society Hill. Ever since I was a little girl there’s been some pretty ookey-spooky stuff told about that place...things that would make your hair frizz up.”
I was about to ask her to tell me more when John Harris approached. Connie spoke first.
“Why hello, John. How’s your evening of ‘raise it high and drain it dry’ going?
John put his arm around Connie's shoulder and lightly rotated her around to face the wall mirror behind them. "Well, would you look at that? I've always wondered if you really cast a reflection."
Connie responded by playfully elbowing John in the ribs. He grabbed his side and the two of them regarded each other with sportive grins.
“You know, John,” Connie reflected. “Sometimes when I look at you, I often wonder; why has no one hit this man’s head with a shovel.”
“Just what are you saying, Connie?”
“I’m saying you need to have better people skills.”
“Humph,” John retorted as he surveyed the room. “I’d have better people skills if I was around better people.”
"Don't you have a pretty little nurse girlfriend?" inquired Connie. "Where is she?"
Connie was referring to Ann Patterson, my nurse at the clinic. She and John had sparked a growing romance in the last several months.
“Gone,” replied John.
“What happened? She finally get a good look at you in full sunlight?”
“Pennsylvania. Visiting her relatives for the holidays. Doc there signed off on it.”
“Don’t blame the doctor because you don’t know how to behave without your steady.”
John had alcoholic gravity and wavered a little. He studied his glass reflectively. “Yeah, it’s been a rough evening. On two occasions, I almost had to socialize.”
“Sooner or later, John,” replied Connie. “We all have to be adults. Isn’t it time you took a turn?”
John straightened himself and spoke with great ceremony. “Constance, I think we need to kiss and make nice.” He turned to me. “Luke, grab some mistletoe and hold it over us.”
“Not unless you can guarantee me a new identity in Federal Witness Protection.”
John winked at Connie, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Come on, CT. You’re not fooling anybody.”
"John Harris, you're more toasted than a marshmallow. I don't know what fantasy world you think you're on, but you need to book a ticket back to reality." She pretended to ignore him sternly. But the subtle upturned corners of her mouth betrayed her. In truth, there was an endearment between them that even I didn't fully realize.
John fell silent, and somehow, despite the previous exchange, Connie seemed to understand completely. John was lonely. It had been almost three years since his wife, Molly had died. And even though in the past months, John had largely come out of his reclusive shell, the persona still defined him. I now realized his vulnerability to Ann Patterson. But Ann wasn't here. She was the reason John had largely curbed his drinking and had re-engaged with the town. She had become his one person. Probably due to his abiding love for his departed wife, he had likely not even admitted this to himself. But his return to the bottle during the evening told volumes.
John stood in a fog, brooding. Even though she disguised it wel
l, I could read the empathy in Connie’s face. “What’s wrong John? Nothing in your arsenal of snappy comebacks?”
He took a healthy sip of his eggnog and responded with a smile of resignation, saying nothing further. Connie shook her head. Then slowly, her face compressed into a puckish grin. She winked at me and then ran her arm underneath John’s elbow, easing in close to him.
"Come on, John. Let's find that mistletoe. Your whiskey breath will probably make me gag, but I sure will enjoy giving everybody something to talk about."
John was doing his best to stifle his surprise, but he went along with Connie's bidding. As she led him away, she added, "Let me grab my cell phone. I want to take a selfie."
It should have come as no surprise that Connie Thompson understood John more than I could have imagined. A minute later, the cheering roar from the hallway confirmed the fait accompli. I could only stand, and smile, and shake my head. Just when I thought I knew Connie Thompson, she managed to baffle me completely. It had been quite the evening.
Once again, I set my mind to finding Christine; to be near her, to hear her voice, to find a moment to penitently tell her the things I needed to say.
But first, I stopped by the dining room table and grabbed a few more pigs in a blanket. Contrition didn’t require an empty stomach.
Chapter 7
CHRISTINE
THE NEXT HOURS MELTED into a blur of holiday greetings, continuous laughter, and hearty exchanges. I never caught up with Christine. It seemed that both of us were in high demand that evening and somehow, the crowd managed to keep us apart for the duration.
But every so often I would see her, still not believing my good fortune regarding John’s blunder and the letter. I wanted to confirm my earlier assumption that she, as yet, knew nothing. To my delight, she was always animated, laughing, radiant. Meanwhile, I was drowning in an ocean of spontaneous conversations; encounters often made awkward by my own failings at small talk.
Christine, however, suffered no such shortcoming. Her response to everyone was warm and natural; engaging all she talked to with an air of delighted surprise and genuine interest. I marveled at her. In those stolen moments when I watched her from across the room, time slowed, conversations faded, and all the holiday colors blended together, leaving me to see only her above the crush and noise. She occasionally noticed my errant stares and would respond with a warm, seductive smile.
The explosive laughter and merriment continued until almost midnight. The evening had been exhilarating, but exhausting. As the party closed, Christine was on the front porch in an extended goodbye with a couple of old friends from high school. I retreated to the kitchen to help with clean-up but was politely and quickly dismissed by the women to “go outside and look for Santa’s sleigh,” which was code for “get lost.” I was glad to oblige.
I wandered into the enveloping darkness of the backyard, breathing in the crisp, moist air of the night. Far, far above, the evening sky was lightly glittered with distant, delicate stars made faint by a brilliant and luminous moon. Its serene, phantasmal radiance cast the world into a monochromatic dreamscape; an ethereal, comforting presence that was silent, intense, beautiful.
I breathed in deeply. The frozen air was magical and penetrating, a lulling potion that whispered of slumber. In the distance, the glow of a few porch lights remained, standing sentinel over a Watervalley that had joyfully and deliriously gone to bed.
Moving further toward the deep center of the yard, my breath plumed out in the soft, pristine air. The cacophonous voices of the past hours had faded, but I was warmed with the rich, buoyant afterglow of their memory. We had all been a little drunk, I believe, with unspeakable joy that evening. It had been a grand gathering, and I couldn't help but reflect on what an unbelievable difference a year had made.
I had spent the previous Christmas Eve alone in my small cottage on Fleming Street. Alone, but not lonely. The events of that evening, the incredible, delightful surprise of being so grandly recognized at the service by the entire town was a moment I would keep for a lifetime. I had not seen myself as one of them. But they had seen me as one of theirs. Over the past year, I had grown to care deeply for the unsophisticated people of Watervalley. They were men and women of the soil who rarely pretended to be what they were not. They enjoyed a richness of love and relationships, of shared lives...despite the hard reality that many of them likely lived barely ahead of their circumstances. They had become my people. Nonetheless, my old unrest and dream of doing medical research stirred within me.
But it was Christmas Eve, and I was happy. I was gazing into the vast bowl of sky above when I heard Christine call my name from the kitchen door.
“Out here. Come join me.”
Against the backdrop of the porch light, I saw her silhouette move toward me. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could easily discern the flowing rhythm of her long, deliberate strides. As she drew close, she immediately took my hand and with a warm, momentary pressure, pulled me towards her, boldly yielding the full measure of herself in an all-embracing kiss.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Bradford.” Her voice was lovely, sweet, and delightful; her radiant eyes were filled with liquid stealth.
“Merry Christmas to you as well, Ms. Chambers.”
She kissed me again then draped her extended arms loosely on my shoulders; lifting her chin and appraising me with an impish smile that was touched with both tenderness and humor. There was between us a natural and casual intimacy.
“By the way, if you want to, you know, you can just call me Luke. Why all the ‘Dr. Bradford’ formality?”
Her words were full of teasing playfulness. "Welllllll, it's probably because for the last several hours all I've heard is ‘Dr. Bradford is so wonderful this, and Dr. Bradford has been so good to us that, and blah, blah, blah, blah, Dr. Bradford is our hero.' They just went on and on."
“Oh, they did, did they? So, what was your response to all these accolades about your fiancée?”
“Oh, you know...I just smiled and said, ‘Are we talking about the same person?’”
“I expected nothing less.”
"Anyway, everyone seemed to have a wonderful time. I don't think we could have squeezed another person in."
"Yeah, about that. I realize that all I contributed to the effort was just the idea of having a Christmas Eve party, but I thought it was going to be a group of about twenty or so."
"It started out that way but then word began to get around, and people kept calling wanting to know what they could bring, which was code for ‘I want to come.’ We had a least a hundred or more over the course of the evening.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Well, there you go. No doubt, the people of the valley love a party.”
“No, Luke Bradford. No doubt, the people of the valley love you. Everyone was so excited to be here, to be included. Have you not seen the stack of gifts that have mounded up in the living room?”
“Yes, I did. However, I also noticed that none of the packages are in the shape of a jet-ski.”
“Stop. You should be grateful.”
“Au contraire. I am, in fact, very grateful. I probably have enough homemade preserves and canned goods under the tree to last until the second coming...which, you know, could come in handy if someone turns out to be a lousy cook.”
“Easy, big boy. You might want to pump the brakes on that line of thinking. I haven’t given you your Christmas present yet.”
“The naughty or the nice one? For what it’s worth, I’m okay with naughty?”
“Careful what you wish for.”
“By the way, I saw you and your mom coming down from the upstairs. What that was all about?”
“We were checking out your bedroom.”
“My bedroom? Your mother was in my bedroom? I feel violated.”
“Why on earth would you feel like that?”
“Because that’s where I have my most private, intimate thoughts.”
“About what?”
/>
“You, of course.”
“Oh, good grief!”
“Anyway, what’s to check out in my bedroom?”
“Oh, you know. The wall color, the furniture, the closets.”
“Are you telling me you and your mother went rifling through my closet? I hope she didn’t see my onesie Superman pj’s.”
“Nope. Completely missed that.”
"Well, that's a relief," I said dryly. "But... seriously. I've got a king size bed. What else is needed?"
Christine gently placed her finger on my lips, something she always did before morphing into her instructional, school teacher voice. “Luke, sweetheart. I truly do love you. But that doesn’t mean I also love your man-cave, fraternity house decorating vibe.”
“Oh. Fraternity house, huh? So, what do you have in mind?”
“We’ll get to that.”
Her response meant trouble. But I had come to realize that any decisions pertaining to my upcoming nuptials should be treated like an iPhone user update in which I simply clicked, "I agree."
Still, the subject matter had other potentials.
“Okay, fair enough. But here’s an idea.” I pulled her snuggly close and spoke barely above a whisper. “I think everybody’s gone by now. So, why don’t we go back up to my bedroom and talk over the decorating possibilities.”
Christine’s whispered response was deliciously slow and deliberate. “I see. And then?”
“And then, gee. I don’t know. Maybe smooch it around when the lights go down.”
“Oh, I think you do know, Luke Bradford. I think there’s more than visions of sugar plums dancing around in your head.”
“It’s not my fault your kisses are a gateway drug.”
Christine looked up at me with mirthful, luminous eyes before once again placing her index finger on my lips. She spoke in a voice that was soft and sensuous. "Well, that sounds kind of nice. But there's one little problem."
“What’s that?”
“My uncle has gone to sleep in your bed.”
“What?” My blurted response was almost a yell.
Christine shrugged. "Yup, I'm afraid Uncle Whisky Breath had a little too much medicine tonight. Mom took John's keys, and we helped him up to your bedroom. He's out for the count."