Love Finds You in Camelot, Tennessee (23 page)

“What?” Steve startled to attention. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Gwen clutched his hand even harder and gazed into his eyes with such tenderness that it almost stopped him in his tracks. “I’m so glad it worked out this way, Steve,” she whispered in his ear. “This is a lot of fun.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t dare say more. For, while he’d finally started to enjoy the idea of dancing, the only partner that made sense was the one who seemed to be having the time of her life in Jackson Brenner’s arms on the other side of the room.

To his right, Steve heard a little giggle. He looked over to see Eula Mae and Woody doing a fancy spin. The giggle quickly turned to a shout as Woody tripped and went sprawling on the floor. As he landed, he let out a cry loud enough to bring the rehearsal to a halt.

“Woody!” Eula Mae knelt down beside him. “You okay?”

“My—my arm.” He grabbed hold of his right elbow and flinched.

The reporter drew near, snapping pictures. Steve gave him a warning look then moved in Woody’s direction. “Do you need help up?” he asked as he knelt down next to him.

“Hmm.” The older man shook his head. “Can’t seem to move this arm.” He groaned then looked Eula Mae’s way. “I told you I had two left feet.”

“Let me look at that arm.” Jackson dropped to his knees at Woody’s side. “I worked as a paramedic for a while just out of college.” He began to examine Woody’s elbow, which looked oddly out of shape. Steve felt queasy just looking at it.

Apparently so did Woody. He looked a little green. “Hurts all the way down into my hand.” He released another groan. “Hope I haven’t broken anything.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely broken something, no doubt about that,” Jackson said. He looked over at Steve, his eyes filled with concern. “I’d feel better if you called 911.”

“Oh, no need for that,” Woody said. “I’ll drive myself to the doctor.”

“You will not.” Eula’s Mae’s firm voice rang out. “For once in your life, listen to reason, you stubborn old man. You’re in need of medical care, and you’re going to get it. Besides, you can’t drive your car in this condition. It’s not possible.”

Woody, who seemed to be enjoying this attention on some level, started looking a little pale. Steve reached for his phone and dialed 911. He explained the situation to the woman on the other end of the phone, who responded with a couple of questions.

“They want to know about your overall health,” Steve

“Why the devil do they need to know about my finances?” Woody said, growing paler by the moment. “It’s my arm, not my pocketbook.”

It took Steve a minute to figure out where this conversation was headed. “They said
health,
not wealth.”

“Oh.” Another grimace followed before Woody responded. “Well, I’m on medicine for blood pressure and I have a pacemaker.”

“You do?” Eula Mae grabbed his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What’s to tell?” he asked. “I got it in the ’90s. But I’m in fine shape. Or I was, anyway. But I’ll tell you the truth—if you put me in an ambulance, my pocketbook will be in worse shape than my elbow, so will one of you please just drive me to the doctor?”

“You need a hospital, not a doctor’s office,” Jackson said. “This is a bad break. It might require surgery.”

“Still, I would think one of you fine citizens would drive this old fool to the hospital,” he said. “What do you say? Can we skip the ambulance?”

Steve posed the question to the woman on the other end of the line, who asked several questions of her own about Woody’s current condition. In the end, she agreed that he was stable enough to ride in a car to the hospital.

As he ended the call, Steve knelt down next to Woody. “Okay. I’ll take you myself. I want to keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jackson said, concern registering in his eyes. “But in the meantime, we need to stabilize that arm.”

He spent the next couple of minutes doing just that, using some cloth strips torn from one of the older church costumes. Afterward, Jackson dove into the most powerful prayer Steve had ever heard, pleading with the Almighty for Woody’s healing. By the end of it, most of the ladies in the room had tears in their eyes.

“C’mon now, Woody,” Jackson said, pulling a chair his way. “We’re going to start by getting you into a chair and then we’ll see if you can stand. If you can’t, we’ll carry you out.”

“Carry me out, my eye,” Woody said. “I’m walking out of here like a man.” He gave Steve a don’t-you-dare-pick-me-up look.

As Steve rose and released a pent-up sigh, Mickey drew near with camera in hand. Steve elbowed him back with a gentle nudge. Still, he could hear the rapid click of the camera in spite of his warning.

Several of the men helped Woody into the chair, where he sat for a couple of minutes looking as if he might topple. Then, over a period of several minutes, Steve and Jackson helped him to a standing position.

“Is it my imagination, or is the room spinning?” Woody asked.

Steve was just about to insist he sit back down, when Woody chuckled. “Just kidding. Get me to the car, fellas. And by the way, let’s ride in my Mustang. If we’ve gotta go to the hospital, let’s go in style.”

“But…” Steve started to argue about the inspection being out but thought better of it. Hopefully by the time they got to the parking lot, Woody would agree to go in Steve’s truck. If they could get him into it.
Hmm.
Maybe the Mustang would be better after all.

Nearby, Eula Mae’s eyes filled with tears. A couple of the other ladies looked as if they might join her in an emotional meltdown.

“Don’t worry now,” Woody said with the wave of a hand as they led him from the room. “You just get me to a doctor and he’ll patch me up in no time. I’ll be back tomorrow, for sure.”

Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wouldn’t be back tomorrow. Or the day after that. From the looks of things, Woody was down for the count. And the Camelot Players had just lost the only director who really knew anything about putting on a show.

Acting is not about being someone different. It’s finding the similarity in what is apparently different, then finding myself in there.

M
ERYL
S
TREEP

The morning after Woody’s accident, Amy settled onto the sofa with a cup of coffee in hand. She reached for the
Knox County Register,
and her eyes widened in disbelief as she read the headline: C
HAOS
R
EIGNS IN
C
AMELOT
. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them, reading it again. Yep. Same headline as before. She skimmed the article, horrified at what she found written there. Okay, so most of it was true, but did that reporter have to take advantage of them in such a public way?

“Dad!” she called out. “Dad, have you seen this?”

Seconds later he appeared in the doorway, nibbling on a piece of bacon. “What happened? Is the house on fire?”

She pointed to the paper, her heart pounding wildly. “Look what that reporter did. He’s…he’s ruined us.”

Her father swallowed the rest of the bacon and took the paper from her, his gaze shifting to the headline. A deep sigh followed, and he tossed the paper on the desk. “You’ve got to admit, we gave him a lot to write about. Impeccable timing on his part.”

“Still.” Amy rose and paced the room. “He didn’t have to lay it all out there like that. Seems a bit brusque, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But you know what they say in Hollywood.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her a knowing look. “Publicity is publicity. And this is free publicity for the play. Front page, no less. People are bound to be curious after reading what a bunch of screwballs we are. They’ll come see the show just to find out if what he’s written is true.”

“And when they find out it is?” She leaned against the arm of the sofa and forced back the tears. “Then what?”

“Then we work double time to prove we’ve got the goods,” he said. “Not that it’s really anyone’s business. We’re a team, Amy. We stick together no matter what. Right now our main focus is on Woody.”

“True.”

“Have you heard anything about his condition?”

“Steve called me on his way into work about ten minutes ago. He said they’ve set Woody’s arm but are keeping him in the hospital under observation for another twenty-four hours because of his blood pressure. It was pretty high last night, I think. But at least he didn’t need surgery. That’s a huge relief.”

“Of course.” Her father paused. “Should we go see him?”

She shook her head and dropped into the recliner. “No, Steve said the doctor wants him to rest.” A lingering pause followed. “I’m just sick over the fact that Woody’s in pain. And how in the world can I direct the show without him? I’m so clueless.”

“You know how Woody is,” her father countered. “He’ll show up at the rehearsals even if his arm is in a cast.”

“Probably.” She paused, deep in thought. “But it’s not just the directing that has me upset. Dad, this is my fault. All of it. Every single bit. Don’t you see?”

“Your fault? You shoved him down on the floor?”

“No. I’m just saying that this play was my idea. If I hadn’t come up with it, Woody wouldn’t have been there. If he hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have fallen. So it all goes back to me.”

“You’re overanalyzing this, honey.” Her father shook his head. “Just like you always do. And if we’re going with your theory that the one who conceptualized the idea is at fault, then we would have to conclude that Henry Ford is ultimately responsible for what happened to your mom.”

“What?”

“Well, sure. He’s the one who designed the Model T and basically got the whole automobile industry started. And if automobiles hadn’t been invented, your mother would still be with us.”

“Dad.” She shook her head, finding his logic completely skewed.

He gave her a compassionate look. “Honey, you had a great idea. We’ll never regret putting on this show.” A chuckle followed. “Well, maybe on the night of the dress rehearsal, but even then we’ll think it’s a good idea. And Woody loves it. You’ve given him a reason to go on. You have no idea how much he’s needed this. And I’ll go a step further and say that he’s eating up the attention this broken arm is getting him. So don’t fret. You do that far too much.”

“Fretting is my middle name.” She sighed.

“Then change your name.” He gave her a serious look. “Because fretting—worrying—is senseless. And it’s a sure sign that you’re trying to hang onto something that’s not yours to hang onto. So let it go.”

“I wish I could figure out how to do that,” she said. “Letting go isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“I know.” His eyes began to glisten. “If anyone knows that, I do.”

“I know that, Dad. I’m sorry.”

His cell phone rang, and as he glanced down at it, the corners of his lips turned up. He dabbed at his eyes and muttered, “I, um, I need to get this.”

“Someone calling about Woody?”

“No, um…” He shrugged and answered with a gentle “Hello?” before disappearing into his bedroom.

Very odd.

Not that Amy really had time to be worrying about her father’s phone calls. No, with another city council meeting this evening, she really only had one thing on her mind—staying on top of her work and making sure the county officials didn’t stop them in the meantime.

She picked up her phone and called Steve at work to let him know she was on her way. Eula Mae answered on the third ring, her voice sounding a little muffled.

“H–hello?”

“Eula Mae? You all right?”

“Oh, I’m…” The older woman sniffed. “Just missing Woody.”

“Aw.” Amy’s heart went out to her. “Take the day off and spend it with him. We’ll get along fine without you, and it will make you feel better.”

“The doctor says he needs to rest.”

“Well, he can rest with you by his side. And I’m sure he’d love the company.”

“He won’t let me come.” She sighed. “Said he doesn’t want me to see him in a hospital bed. Stubborn old fool. He’s worse than Sarge’s mule.”

“I might have to agree with you there,” Amy said. “I thought maybe this situation might soften him a little.”

“Hmph. Besides, I hate to leave the office because there’s so much going on around here. You coming in soon?”

“Yes. I’m on my way now. I was just calling to let Steve know.”

“He walked over to the diner to pick up some donuts. I think he felt sorry for me.”

“Ah.” She paused. “Well, what’s going on over there that I need to know about?”

“What
isn’t
might be a better question. Probably better if you wait till you get here, though. Then we can talk.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Good. I think you and Steve and I had better hash a few things out before tonight’s city council meeting. Trust me. There’s a lot brewing.”

“Lovely.”

Amy hung up the phone and hurried to get ready. After grabbing her purse, she knocked on her father’s door then waited a moment for him to answer. Nothing. “Dad?” She peeked her head inside.

He looked up from his cell phone. “Yes, honey?”

“I have to leave for work now.”

His gaze shifted back to the phone in his hand. “Okay. Have a good day. See you at the meeting tonight.”