The Splendor of Ordinary Days (23 page)

Awakening

I
finally managed to pull myself out of bed shortly before noon. Even the downtown church bells of Sunday morning had been unable to draw me out of my slumber. I ambled downstairs, and to no surprise, found that Clayton was gone. I was in the kitchen making coffee when my phone rang.

“Are you finally up?”

“Hello, beautiful,” I responded sleepily. “Just couldn't wait to hear my voice, could you?”

“You know, I had the craziest dream last night.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I dreamed this wonderful, sweet doctor asked me to marry him.”

“Hold it. Shouldn't that be a wonderful, sweet, and handsome doctor asked you to marry him?”

“I thought the handsome part was understood.”

“Nice save.”

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

I conveyed the entire Clayton Ross episode to her, explaining that perhaps I had misjudged him. Without going into further detail, I told her that I was going to spend part of the afternoon looking into some methods of getting him help. She said she understood, and we made plans for later.

Karen Davidson answered on the third ring, pert and perky as ever. I asked her if she could meet me at the clinic in an hour. She agreed without pressing for further particulars. My plan was a long shot, given Karen's generally private nature. Having been an army medic for all those years, she might be able to relate to Clayton on a much deeper level than I could ever manage. It was worth a try.

When we met in my office an hour later, Karen was almost incandescent, wearing a radiant smile. Dressed casually in jeans and a flannel shirt, she was wearing a slightly less glossy version of the same hairstyle and makeup from the previous evening. She still had an unadorned demeanor and mild shyness, but simply put, she was pretty, very pretty, and she exuded a confidence that I had not seen before. She had clearly warmed to the idea of this bold new look, and I was delighted for her.

I couldn't help teasing her a little. “Dr. Davidson, you were quite the ­showstopper last night. I'm guessing you had a wonderful evening?”

“I doubt anything could top that final performance of yours, Doctor. Congratulations again, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, Karen, tell me everything.”

She sank slightly in her chair and gazed toward the ceiling, speaking with elation. “I had such a nice time with Hoot. Believe it or not, we talked shop most of the evening and, I'd have to say, I think he was pretty impressed.”

“I think he was pretty impressed before you ever said a word.”

Her face warmed into a wry grin. “Yeah, well, that too. But seriously, the conversation was great. We talked about herd management, nutrition strategies for improving milk production, vaccination scheduling. . . . It was wonderful.”

“Wow. Be still my beating heart.”

She laughed. “Okay, I get it. But it really was fabulous. Hoot introduced me to several of the other dairy farmers. Apparently they have a local dairymen association, and he wants me to speak at their next meeting.”

“That sounds great. I'm really happy for you. So, what about you and Hoot? Looks like you two hit it off nicely. That couldn't all have been just shop talk.”

A mischievous grin inched across her face. “Isn't he something? I like him. He's funny and so easy to talk with. He's a real sweetheart, despite being such a big bear.”

“I think Hoot may actually be hairier than most bears, but it's a pretty good analogy.”

Karen nodded, clearly walking on air. “He asked me to come out this afternoon and see his farm. He also wants me to meet his daughter, Wendy.”

“You'll like her. Thirteen and smart as a whip. I think she's the real adult in that situation. Anyway, looks like the evening was a big success for the Davidson veterinary practice.”

“It was incredible, crazy really. I mean, come on. Who knew?”

“Apparently Connie and Estelle did. You were pretty stunning.”

“Yeah, I always figured I'd have to get cremated before anyone considered me smoking hot.”

“Oh good grief, Karen. You're an attractive gal. Connie and Estelle just did a little polishing up.”

“I guess the military years conditioned me not to care about my looks.”

I planted my elbows on my desk, locking my fingers together. “I'm glad you brought that up. That's what I want to talk to you about. I need to ask you something, something personal and private.”

“Okay.”

“I heard from a discreet source that in the past you spent some time in an army mental facility. Is, umm, is that true?”

She was unfazed by this question. “That is very true.”

“I have a reason for asking that I'll get to in a minute. But do you mind telling me about that chapter of your life?”

“Not at all. After all those years in the military, after all those deployments, I had become what I would call emotionally catatonic. I had just . . .” She paused for a second, collecting her thoughts. “I had just seen too much, been through too much. And it wasn't just combat wounds. A lot of my time was spent treating ­civilians—­women and children who had been mangled by some homemade bomb or IED. Just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She thought a moment. “You know, people see Hollywood violence all the time. So they think they understand it. The real thing is impossible to describe or fully comprehend.”

She paused again, searching for words. “The explosions and the ­screams—­it's overwhelming and terrifying, and you want to run away. The chaos of it all can just swallow you, all of you. But you have a job to do. So you learn to shut out the sensation, block them out. It works in the military, but it screws you up for a normal life. People don't know it, Luke, but every ­sixty-­five minutes, a United States veteran commits suicide. I didn't want to become one of them. So, after I had made the decision not to re-up, I knew I needed some help. I went and got it.”

“And that worked?”

She smiled weakly. “Some. Unfortunately, you can't seal up your memories. So you find a way to cope. Some pour themselves into the oblivion of work, some use alcohol, some bottle it up and nurse their wounds privately, and others wear everyone out, telling their troubled story to anyone who'll take the time to listen. And then, Luke, there are a lot of veterans who do just fine, who transition back and never have a problem. Everybody's different.”

This part of the conversation flowed easily for her, revealing that this was a subject to which she had given considerable thought. I admired her all the more.

“And some,” I said, “pour their hearts into taking care of animals.”

Her warm smile returned. “Yes. Yes, they do.” A light of higher purpose seemed to sparkle in her eyes. “And after last night, I'm realizing that maybe it's time I pour my heart into reconnecting with people a little bit ­too—­time to come out of my shell, so to speak.”

I smiled grandly, rubbing my hands together. “Well, Karen, I am really happy to hear you say that!”

We talked for the next half hour about Clayton Ross. Karen said she would be glad to speak with him. Granted, she had some reservations as to how much she might be able to help him, but I greatly encouraged her. My only other option was to send him to counseling several counties away. Karen was a promising first choice.

She also wanted to know how I had learned about her past and wasn't happy to hear my source was Luther. But I assured her that I thought he had told no one else. From my own experience, I knew Luther was a man who could keep secrets.

Soon afterward Karen left, but I remained, reflecting over all that I had learned in my conversations with her and Clayton. They had gone off to fight, done their duty, and returned. But the war had followed them home.

An Interesting Request

T
he crisp, sunny days of September came and went. In the backyard I had abandoned the okra, which had now grown to the size of whale harpoons. The balance of the garden gasped its last breath with only a few cherry tomatoes still making their final stand. Slowly, the collage of orange, red, and yellow leaves began to spread across the yards of Fleming Street and against the distant hills. Cooler nights, thick with the pungent smell of woodsmoke, had become the norm.

For Christine and me, the days were golden. With the onset of cooler weather, she spent more and more evenings at my house, but she would never stay the night. It was a small town, and if sunrise found her car parked outside my home, it would ignite an explosion of gossip regardless of what had or had not occurred. Our relationship was our business alone. Given my penchant for privacy, I had no desire to serve up a savory dish for the local gossips to chew on. Like it or not, we were part of this community, and it would have been foolish to invite speculation.

She began to talk of wedding plans, a subject to which I quickly learned it was best for me to nod, agree, and say nothing. We talked often about children. Perhaps it was our way to inch toward the subject of physical intimacy. Ever since Christine's tender declaration the night we became engaged, the idea of making love with her often consumed me. Frequently in her absence, I would dwell on the possibility, resolving to act on these passionate emotions. But then, when the real situation presented itself, something held me in check, leaving between us a simmering tension.

The benefit dance had raised an impressive sum of money. But we were still short more than ten thousand dollars for the funds needed to build the memorial statue. When push finally came to shove, Connie and John would probably quietly come up with the rest of the money. But I knew that they had already donated huge sums, and I insisted that they hold off, believing that we needed to give the people of Watervalley more time to make up the difference.

Connie and the other volunteers continued to work on the list of names of fallen soldiers that would go on the memorial. All told, the list was nearing seventy men and women killed or missing in action during the wars of the last century. The volunteers had done exhaustive searches of local and state records as well as National Archives databases. Still, several names needed further information and verification. This required a trip to Nashville to the state's vital records office. On a Tuesday in late September, Connie stopped by the clinic around lunchtime to inform me that I was the one assigned the task.

“Give me one good reason why it has to be me.”

Connie sat in the large leather chair across from my desk, indifferent to my whining. “Because the state of Tennessee has this funny little rule about privacy. Anyone can request information about a death certificate, but the state won't tell you the cause of death. The only people who can get that information are certain family members or a doctor. Now, sweetie, did that all make sense, or do I need to repeat it more slowly?” Her words were followed by a hard scrutiny.

I frowned and offered a reluctant grunt of understanding.

“Don't be sitting there giving me the ­stink-­eye, young man. It won't hurt you to do this.”

“When does it have to be done?”

“Within the next week or so. I'll get you a list of the names.”

She left soon afterward, but within minutes, I had another visitor. It was Karen Davidson. Over the past weeks her business had turned around. By word of mouth, her incredible skills with animals and her progressive ideas of herd management were winning the confidence of the locals. I couldn't have been happier for her.

She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her familiar uniform. But she had retained her newfound feminine panache. Her hair was longer, more stylish, and she radiated the alluring attractiveness of a confident woman. Her easy smile seemed perpetually touched with tenderness and humor.

We greeted each other warmly, and she took a seat in the chair Connie had just vacated.

“Karen, I'm going to be nosy. How are things going with you and Hoot?”

A mirthful look inched across her face. “We've been seeing a lot of each other. He's adorable, really. I told him that if he didn't quit treating me like a porcelain doll, I would give him a good ­old-­fashioned army butt kicking.”

“Well, aren't you just the charmer.”

“Eh, he can take it.”

“Sounds like he wants you to stick around.”

“Yeah, he's got a little caretaker cottage on his farm that he's fixing up. He's invited me to move into it.”

“Oh? And?”

“Well, I do need a place to stay. So I told him I would, but only on the strict condition that I pay rent. I like Hoot. And I really like Wendy. She's delightful. But, you know, things need to be taken a step at a time here.”

I nodded.

“Besides,” she said, “I've continued to stay at the B and B because Lida hardly charges me anything for rent. But I'm kind of glad to be moving out.”

“And why is that?”

“That place is, well, different. Things go bump in the night.”

“Yeah, I've heard that before. I guess every little town needs a spook or two. I don't put much stock in it, though.”

“Anyway,” Karen continued, “let me tell you why I dropped by. I need you to do something. It's regarding Clayton Ross.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“He and I have talked several times, and I think he's made some real progress.”

“Good to hear. Thanks again for helping him.”

“Sure. But here's the deal. He's actually a pretty sensitive kid, and he feels bad about that fight with the Mennonite guy back in July.”

“Yeah, I remember it well.”

“Clayton wants to find him and apologize. He figures you know who the fellow is since you sewed him up. So he wants to know if you will take him out to Mennonite country. He believes that if he goes out there by himself, they'll probably lock their doors and it won't go well. He's guessing that you might be better at approaching them. Some of them are your patients, isn't that right?”

“Yeah, they are.” I thought about Karen's request for a moment. I admired Clayton for wanting to do this, and I saw little reason why I shouldn't try to help him. “Okay. When does he want to go?”

“Later this afternoon, actually.”

“This afternoon?”

“Yeah, he works at the cabinet factory and gets off around three. He was hoping to come by afterward. You'd have several hours before dark.”

The afternoon clinic schedule was light. “Sure. Tell him to come on.”

Karen smiled broadly, thanked me, and rose to leave. It had been a good idea to bring Karen and Clayton together. This small request to accompany him was clearly the right thing to do. I didn't realize at the time that it would begin to unwind the spool of a much larger story.