Each Shining Hour (20 page)

Lida's frown remained unchanged. She looked away for a second, and then spoke with resignation. “Competition is competition, Doc.” For a despondent moment she seemed lost in thoughts of what this news meant. I felt stuck in the middle with little to offer her.

Then in characteristic Lida fashion, she grinned at me, and spoke with a sparkling playfulness. “Hey, I noticed Sunflower's truck parked out front. Maybe I need to rethink asking her for some reefer?”

“These days, Sunflower's medical focus seems to have shifted more toward output than intake.”

“I'm not following you there, Doc.”

I shook my head. “Never mind, it was a dumb statement. Anyway, thanks again for bringing this over.”

We said good-bye, but I could tell that the new bakery was still troubling her. Even in Watervalley, change had consequences.

Unbridled Passion

T
he workday finished.

Arriving home shortly after four, I fed Rhett, took a quick shower, and called Christine. Her animated voice poured through the phone.

“So, any ideas about tonight?” she asked.

“I'm guessing I won't be needing a pub crawl wristband?”

“Not hardly. Why don't you grab a pizza and come over and we'll watch a movie?”

“Sure. What kind of movies do you like?”

“Adventure, romance, intrigue . . . no blood and guts. I'm kind of a PG girl.”

“How about
The Little Mermaid
?”

“Hey, don't poke fun. I love that movie.”

“Okay, and now you're going to tell me that you used to have a
Little Mermaid
bedcover and matching pillowcases.”

“Have you been reading my journal?”

“Why does this not surprise me?”

“Oh, admit it,” she teased. “I bet you know all the songs by heart.”

“Hmm, possibly.”

“Fess up, Bradford. How many times have you seen it?”

“Well, it's been a few years . . . but maybe four or five. And that was only because Ariel was a babe.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Hey, I was at an impressionable age and just starting to notice girls.”

“And what about this has changed?”

“Point taken. But you know, the whole movie thing . . . let me think about that for a second.”

When I lived in the city, doing it up big for Valentine's was part of the deal whether you liked it or not. But Watervalley was different. The men here had a difficult time with romantic expression. Despite the chidings of Connie and Nancy and a host of other women, I had gotten the impression from the guys down at the Co-op to tread carefully regarding Valentine's gifts. If you went too over-the-top and mushy for Valentine's Day, you were seen as a bad example, someone their wives or girlfriends could use against them. The next time you went into the Co-op, you were liable to be met with cold silence, contemptuous leers, and subtle inferences that you had betrayed the gender and should turn in your man card.

“What would you think about pizza and something other than a movie?” I inquired.

“I don't know. Define
other
.”

“Lida Wilkins finally found the file box about the Oscar Fox murder that her dad had compiled. I'm thinking it would be interesting to look through it. You know, just to see what it reveals.”

“You're still pretty taken with this whole business, aren't you?”

“Yeah, guess I am. Maybe this is my substitute for doing medical research. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. You want me to come there?”

“Nah, I'll come out to your place. I guess I'm a little old-school, but one of us will have to drive back late. Might as well be me.”

“And I thought chivalry was dead.”

“It is if I have to ride a horse.”

“Ooooh, that gives me an idea.”

“Okay, now you're scaring me.”

“What time will you be out here?”

“About an hour. I'll pick up the pizza and head that way.”

“Perfect. I'll see you then.”

I stared at my cell phone for a moment, wondering what was on her mind.

As I made my way out to Christine's, twilight was fading and the vast tent of darkness was spreading across the countryside. In Watervalley, when this time of day approached, time slowed to an amble. There was something in the unpeopled desolation, in the quiet lull of the raw and frozen fields, that filled me with a subdued tranquillity, a deep, intoxicating awareness of the symphony of rural life. I rolled down my window, breathing in the stimulating cold of the moist air. I absentmindedly followed the faded white lines of the country lane. My mind drifted.

A year ago today I had been steeped in the noise and revelry of a few beers shared with friends at a Nashville bar. Tonight I was driving down a dark and lonely country road, toting a file box regarding an old murder. My life and plans had so dramatically changed. It was a sobering realization. As much as I enjoyed the serenity of Watervalley, and as certain as I was about my decision to complete my three-year commitment, I knew that what my life would be afterward was a big question.

Watervalley was now part of me. Even still, I had not completely shed my love of the city and my hope of doing medical research. But as the weathered sign indicating Summerplace Farm appeared in the headlights, I was brought back to the delightful reality of Christine. I smiled warmly. She was the best thought of my day.

As the wheels of the Corolla crunched down her long driveway, I emerged from my mental fog to an alarming thought. My dreadometer began to ping off the charts. Christine had mentioned earlier in the week that her grandmother was back again, visiting from Florida. I had no doubt that Mattie Chambers, with her ability to summon the ghouls of hell, would likely be hovering over us the entire evening. My desire to be with Christine had clouded my brain. I should have thought through this plan more carefully.

As I pulled up to the house, Christine was standing on the front porch in her heavy coat holding a couple of small bags. I stopped the car and she walked over and got in on the passenger side.

“Hey. What's up?” I asked.

“Hi. Follow that dirt road beside the house.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“I thought we'd go spread everything out on the table in the tack room of the big barn. It's a little more private.”

“Works for me.” I acted nonchalant, but inwardly I was ecstatic. This was an unexpected blessing from the universe. As I began edging down the farm road, Christine remained silent, focused on the dark path in front of us. I reached over and grabbed her hand.

“You okay?”

She looked at me blankly. “Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”

“I don't know. You're just kind of quiet, and, in my experience, when a woman is quiet, she's usually mad.”

She released a short laugh and squeezed my hand. “No, silly. It's just . . . Is this okay? I mean, Valentine's Day in a barn?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you that question. I haven't made a very big deal of it.”

“No. It's fine. But the barn, are you sure it's okay?”

“Only if I can make really stupid jokes about taking a roll in the hay and horsing around.”

“We keep pitchforks in there, you know.”

“Ouch. Not very subtle, farm girl.”

“Oh, it'll be fun. I love that old barn.”

I thought about her comment as we rocked along in silence. “Lots of great memories, huh?”

“Yeah, the best.”

We pulled up to the massive structure, where a solitary light from the high overhang of the extended roof stood sentry over the solemn, quiet barnyard. It cast the world in shades of gray and only faintly illuminated the large wooden doors. I retrieved the file box and pizza, shutting the door of the Corolla with my foot. Christine leaned against the car and we stood there for a moment in the still shadows. The open countryside was vast and soundless. She gazed into the night sky, searching the distant particles of light.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, lavishly of the frozen air, lost in some distant memory. It seemed she was listening, absorbing the rich silence of the darkness.

I stood patiently, realizing that for the moment part of Christine was given to a remote world: some faraway memory buried deep within that was sweet and happy. She opened her eyes and smiled delicately at me. I drew close beside her, leaned against the
car, and, as well, gazed into the night sky. She pressed her shoulder next to me with a yielding tenderness and exhaled, her warm breath condensing into a visible cloud in the night air.

“I love the stars at this time of year,” she said. “They seem brighter, more perfect.”

I stared up. “Gravity.”

“Gravity?”

“Yeah.” I paused. “I always wondered how the stars stay in place, in perfect harmony. Each has its own energy, its own orbit, its own gravity. And somehow, all that force and attraction keeps everything in balance.”

“Luke Bradford, look at you. If I didn't know better, I'd say there's something almost romantic sounding about that.”

“Well, not to spoil the moment, but I was more or less quoting Isaac Newton.”

“Well, okay, then. At least you didn't try to dork it up completely by making some stupid reference to ‘heavenly bodies being drawn to one another.'”

“Thanks for the tip. I was going to use that as the setup line for my big move. But hey, forget it now.”

“Hmm. Sorry to put you off your game. What's plan B?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe break into song.”

“And has that worked in the past?”

“No, but it usually gets the coyotes pretty stirred up. That always impresses the ladies.”

“Wow, you do make it hard for a girl to keep her principles.”

“Ahh, not to worry. I'm an honorable fellow. I'll hold all my passionate maneuvers in check. That is, up to a point.”

“Oh, and what point is that?”

“The point where I think they might actually work.”

Christine's laugh echoed into the dark reaches of the cool and
tender night. She turned to face me, stepping in close and snug. I put the boxes on the hood of the car and she slid her arms loosely around my waist.

“Okay, Bradford, let's hear what you got.”

“As in?”

Christine drew in closer. She spoke slowly, deliberately . . . her voice soft and sweet and intimate.

“Well, it's Valentine's Day and it's just the two of us standing here under the stars. So, here's your chance at a romantic moment. What do you say to a girl to sweep her off her feet?”

The pale light of the barn illuminated the delicate lines of her face. To me, she was so marvelously beautiful. And she was right. It was a romantic moment—the two of us all alone, so passionately close together, pooling our warmth under the vast dark bowl of distant, brilliant stars.

But truthfully, I was freezing and the pizza was getting cold. And there was something about standing next to a box of gruesome murder details that pulled the enchantment right out of the equation. So when I spoke, I don't think it was the dreamy response she was hoping for.

“Mind grabbing the
beer?”

Ghosts

W
e moved inside the dark, massive hallway. On blind instinct, Christine found the light switch. A half dozen dusty bulbs in the high rafters came to life. With hay stacked high on either side, the barn had the same rich, fermented, earthy smell from two months before; a smell it had likely had for decades. I began to understand the comfort in this, to know with firmly tethered assurance that there were small constants in one's daily life that the roll of years could not change. I breathed in deeply of the strangely sweet and musky air.

We carried our things down to the tack room. Christine stopped briefly to rub Aragon's head and to pat one of the other horses. Once inside the small office, she started a propane gas heater that readily thawed the chilled air. We set the pizza nearby to keep it warm and stowed the beer in the small fridge.

On the way in I'd noticed something I'd missed on my prior visit. Hanging at the far end of the main hallway was a basketball hoop with a well-worn net. I was curious.

“Okay, question. I heard a rumor that you were a pretty good
basketball player back in the day. Is that hoop out there in the hallway where you learned the game?”

“Yeah. Actually, it's one of several my dad put up for me. But I mostly practiced here because his office was in the tack room. He was my biggest fan.”

“As it should be. So, how about it, Chambers? Are you any good?”

She gave a slight dip of her chin. “You know, Bradford. Considering the shame and humiliation I'm sure you must be feeling after losing the 5K, I can't imagine you want to add insult to injury.”

“Now, there's a good example of selective memory. As I recall, you were in the rearview mirror when my phone rang.”

“Hey, I'm not conceding anything. It would have been a dogfight to the finish.”

“Hmm, so that's how it is? Well, I guess if you're up to it, I'm game for a little one-on-one.”

“Sure.”

I lifted my arms above me in a long stretch. “Okay. But be sure to bring your books along because I'll be taking you to school.”

“And would you listen to the trash talk, already?”

“Hey, just saying. I think we've got time for a little basketball clinic.”

I was intentionally provoking Christine's competitive nature, something I had grown to adore about her. I had dated girls who were sweet and funny and interesting, but none of them had the sparring fire, the determination to win, that Christine had. There was something beautiful about it, something alluring, sensuous, primal. As a guy I found this wildly attractive, something I wanted to challenge, to subdue, to conquer.

Christine spoke with a relaxed ease. “Bradford, you are so in
over your head. When we're done, you'll be crying like a little girl.”

By now I was laughing, which I was certain riled her all the more.

Christine retrieved a ball from a storage cabinet. The last thirty feet of the barn hallway were paved concrete, making for a somewhat narrow but workable court. She took off her coat, tied back her hair, and put on her game face. Her intensity was incredible. “That's right, Bradford. Just keep wearing that silly grin. I love it when the opposition starts out overconfident.”

I pursed my lips and studied her for a moment, completely disregarding her taunting words. “You're really cute when you get like this.”

“I think we need to put a wager on the table, make this interesting.”

“What you got in mind?”

Christine thought for a moment. “If I win, you help Mr. Pilkington milk the cows one afternoon.”

“Oh, that's a bad call. I was going to take it easy on you. But now, no way.”

“That's the deal. You started this.”

I snickered and began to take off my coat.

Christine continued. “So, on the slim chance that you win, what's my poison going to be?”

“Hmm, the first three or four on the list are probably not appropriate, even though, you know, I am a doctor.”

“Switch the dial to adult mode.”

“Boy, you're no fun. Okay, how about this? What say you cook dinner for me, menu of your choice?”

“That's incredibly boring. I'd probably do that for you anyway.”

“Yeah, but there's a catch. You have to wear the outfit of a saucy French chambermaid.”

Christine scowled and shoved the basketball right at my chest. I caught it and cackled at her.

“Bradford, you're such a guy.”

I dribbled the ball a few times, still laughing. “Guilty as charged.”

“But that's okay. In twenty-one points you're going to be a little girl. You ready?”

I bounced the ball back to her. “Ladies first.”

“You're going to regret that decision.”

I shrugged. “You're probably right.”

But in reality, I knew she wasn't.

There had been a time when basketball had been my whole world. But I had moved on. Basketball was a game, and games come to an end. Even still, what I knew and what I could do with a basketball hadn't changed. It wasn't that I was smug. I was just sure of the outcome of our game the same way I knew the etiology of over a hundred different diseases, and how to suture a wound, and what to look for on an X-ray. I had devoted my life to acquiring these skills, and there was a time when I had pursued basketball with the same passion. So, yeah, I just knew.

In no time I could easily see why Christine was the stuff of basketball legend in Watervalley lore. She was quick, smart, and skilled. Moreover she was a tough, calculated competitor. I watched as she tried to sniff out my weaknesses, looking for flaws in the way I guarded her, in the way I moved. She took a quick and early lead. In no time she was up eight to three. But I was deliberately keeping my game at a low ebb, waiting. When the score became seventeen to eight, it was time. I anticipated her next move and lightly tapped the ball away from her. She recovered quickly
and went on defense. But after a couple of quick moves and a head fake, I dribbled past her and slammed the ball home.

I proceeded to score the next twelve points straight. Most of them were dunks as well. To her credit, somewhere about the eighth or ninth point in a row, Christine began to laugh and abandoned her previous intensity. She playfully shoved me or held on to my belt. I knew she wanted to win, but she had the class of a seasoned player. Instead of getting angry, you sometimes had to realize that the other guy could do things you couldn't. I should know. I had experienced it plenty of times while playing college basketball.

I made the final bucket to win the game, took a few steps, and bent over, placing my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I had won, but Christine had made me work for it. She gathered the basketball, walked over, and sat on a hay bale, also endeavoring to get her breath. I finally straightened and glanced her way, not at all expecting what I saw.

Christine sat with her head leaning back against the wall, still lightly gasping for air. But she was sweetly, radiantly smiling at me . . . a smile full of welling pride, as if she was gratified to have met her match. Between heaves of breath, I smiled in return, trying to figure what in the world she was thinking.

“Bradford, you're incredible. Where did you learn to play basketball like that?”

I plopped down beside her. “Prep school in Atlanta, and then four years at Mercer.”

“You played at Mercer? Why didn't I know this?”

“I don't know. It's in the brochure.”

“Oh, stop. What years did you play there?”

“From 2003 through 2006.”

“You're kidding.”

“Mmm, no.”

“Oh, my gosh. I've seen you play!”

“Really? When?”

“In February of 2006. One of my friends at Agnes Scott was dating a guy from Mercer and she invited me to come along and see the game.”

“Do you remember which game?”

“I don't remember who Mercer was playing, but it was the last home game and they won by one point.”

I knew the game Christine was talking about. I knew it well. It wasn't just my last home game as a senior; it was a game that had much more meaning for me. I folded my arms, leaned back against the wall, and looked down toward my outstretched legs. My response was subdued.

“Yeah. I know that game. I scored thirty-one points. It was my career high.”

Christine turned toward me, gape-jawed. Then she spontaneously rose from where she was sitting and stood before me, her face frozen in surprise and disbelief.

“I remember you! You put on a show that night. Why haven't I recognized you?”

“Well, I had a buzz cut, more muscle, and definitely better lungs.”

“Luke Bradford, I cannot believe I saw you play basketball all those years ago and I'm just now figuring it out.”

“Yeah. Shame on you.”

She stared at me quizzically, paralyzed in a moment of astonishment. Finally, she sat down again, gazing straight ahead.

“That's just wild.”

I responded with a shrug. This didn't go unnoticed. There was a wounded quality to her voice.

“Well, I think it's a big deal even if you don't.”

“No, it's a good memory.”

“But?”

“But, you know, nothing.”

Christine spoke in a low voice of casual inquiry. “What are you hiding, Bradford?” She paused to bounce the ball a few times. “I bet you were trying to impress a girl.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Humph. I knew it.” Christine nudged me with her shoulder and regarded me with a bemused but wary smile. “Must have been somebody pretty special.”

“Oh, yeah. She was.”

“Okay. I don't think I'm liking you right now.”

I had been looking down during this entire conversation. I smiled and turned toward her.

“Actually, I'm not being fair. The girl I wanted to impress was Aunt Grace. It was her last time seeing me play. She had just been diagnosed with lung cancer and was going to start chemo the next week. She died that summer.”

Christine's playfulness vanished. “Luke, I'm sorry. I had no idea.”

“No, no, no. It's okay. You had no way of knowing. And like I said, it's a good memory.”

We sat silently, each absorbing the mix of remembrance and revelation. After a moment, I said, “Besides, looks like ultimately I did impress a girl.”

Christine smiled with a slow nod of her head. “Yes. I'd say you did.”

“Kind of makes you have a deeper respect for me, doesn't it?”

“Well, let's don't go crazy here.”

I laughed and looked upward, taking in the details of the barn
hallway: the massive poles, the high beams, the hooks and ropes and chains, the heavy wood of the corn bin, the sacks of grain, the smell of the horse-warmed stalls.

“So, you love this old place, huh. Why is that?” I said.

Christine's voice was warm, reflective. “Because of my dad.”

“Tell me about him.”

As Christine talked about her father, her voice had music in it. I began to realize that this huge, airy barn with its high rafters and dirt-floored hallway had been a sanctuary during Christine's childhood. Beneath the stalwart beams she had gathered a lifetime of memories, half-captured images of some magic country she had known.

“I probably spent thousands of hours here, shooting basketball, grooming the horses, just being with my dad. We'd talk about farming, and basketball, and life, and, I don't know, everything, I guess.”

“Hmm, including boys.”

“Especially boys.”

“Any pointers I should make note of?”

“You're doing okay so far.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“When Daddy died in the accident, it crushed me and it took me a long time to get past it. I thought I had a lot more years with him. I think that's why I stayed in Atlanta so long. It was just too hard to come here when everywhere I went, everything I saw, reminded me of him.”

She paused and my silence seemed to encourage her.

“But now, since I've been back . . . I don't know. It's just different. Now I feel closer to him. There's something reassuring and comfortable about being back here among all the things that are
so familiar. Perhaps it's silly, but even now, his words are with me, alive in the stones of this old barn. I still miss him, but now everything I see that reminds me of him is a good thing, a good memory.”

I reached over to hold her hand and she leaned her head against my shoulder. Her words deeply resonated with me, revealed to me the source of her depth and strength. All her life she had breathed in the familiar air of Watervalley, had lived out her life within the contours of these native fields and unchanging hills. The enduring love and the endearing words of well-known voices had filled her days.

I had no such wellspring of stability from which to draw upon. I had been loved by family but had had to say untimely good-byes to them; they were losses that still haunted my fragile heart and made me step cautiously, keeping my emotions in check.

Christine broke the silence. “He would have liked you, Luke. He would have liked you a lot.”

“I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to know him.”

We sat for the longest time, delightfully close to each other, wrapped in warm memories of lost loved ones, ghosts of our past. The silence was sweet, comfortable, enchanting. It seemed our lives were beginning to knit together in unexpected ways.

Eventually, Christine broke the silence. “What are you thinking about? Oh, and it better not be a saucy French chambermaid outfit.”

I laughed as we both stood. “Hmm, so you're going to welsh on that one, huh?”

Christine lifted an eyebrow and stepped in close to me, while she carefully placed a finger over my lips. There was a flirtatious, bewitching quality to her voice. “Mmm, give it a little time, Bradford. We'll see.”

I'm quite certain that my gape-jawed expression easily communicated how much her sultry response had thrown me. Christine was a deeply principled, wholesome, no-nonsense gal. I had known this from day one and was fine with it, even admired it. So when she occasionally broke character and spoke in this sensuous, taunting way, it had the immediate effect of turning my brains to tapioca. I had the same sloppy, euphoric look that Rhett got when he heard the scoops of dog food hitting his bowl, only with slightly less drool.