Internal Fixation - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,31
take place in Florida. She was hoping for a destination affair, where all of our friends flew to some exotic location for a weekend of drunken fun that culminated in some soulless and bland ceremony uniting us forever.
When I’d thought about getting married, I’d pictured a homespun wedding here on the farm, repeating timeless vows in front of my family and friends on the porch and then celebrating outside with a party that was more like the Christmas shin-dig than a trendy, formal reception.
It hadn’t been too long after Christmas that I’d learned about Laurel’s relationship with our patient, and then, of course, the matter of our wedding had become a moot point. Coming back the next year to face the same people with whom I’d shared the news of my engagement only twelve short months before had been a hard thing, but everyone had been kind. No one had mentioned Laurel or even asked me how I was doing in the wake of that disaster. They’d surrounded me with love and support, and it had been then that the idea of creating the oncology wing of my dreams here, in Harper Springs, had begun to take a more definite shape.
Now, as I parked the rental car at the far side of the yard, doubt about my plan of surprising my grandparents tugged at me. I hadn’t planned to make a dramatic return in front of the whole town, or at least the large part of our community that attended the party. I could still turn around and leave. No one would have recognized this car as I’d driven in, even if someone had been paying attention. I could sneak off, go home and sleep, and then deal with all of this tomorrow afternoon, when I could see Gram and Pop privately and try to make them understand why I’d been gone for over a year.
I had my hand on the gearshift, about to throw the car into reverse, when a knock on my window startled me. With no small amount of dread, I glanced to my left.
The old woman who stood next to the driver’s side motioned to me to roll down my window. Because I’d never been in the habit of disobeying Miss Sissie, I did as she’d directed.
“Deacon Girard. What in the blazes are you doing sitting out here in this car? Get your fanny out and give me a hug!”
Well, now the decision of whether to stay or go had been made for me. Once Miss Sissie, my Sunday School teacher of old and one of my grandmother’s dearest friends, had seen me, there was no way to make a quick escape. It was time to man up and face the music.
I turned off the car, slid the keys out of the ignition and opened my door. Miss Sissie stepped back to give me room, and once I’d stood up and slammed the car door, she opened her arms.
“Boy, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” she murmured in my ear as I bent to hug her. “You’ve been gone too long. Why, this is the best Christmas present for Anna and Jimmy! They’re going to be so tickled to see you.”
I eased out of her tight hug and straightened up. “Are you sure about that? I’m kind of feeling like the Prodigal Son, Miss Sissie. Like you could just slap me up on your flannel board with the pigs and teach a Sunday School class about bad choices.”
She tilted her head and skewered me with the same bright eyes that, for as long as I could remember, hadn’t been letting me get away with nonsense.
“Have you made bad choices, Deacon Girard?”
I hesitated. “I guess . . . I don’t think so. I think I did what I had to do. But I know people back here probably don’t see it that way.”
“Aha. And what makes you think that? Have those people you’re talking about told you they feel like you’ve done wrong?”
“Uh . . .” I had the urge to squirm like I had when I was eight and Miss Sissie had caught me sneaking out of church. “No. Not in so many words. I guess I haven’t really given them an opportunity to say it. I haven’t exactly been great at communicating in the past year.”
“Hmmm. So you’re assuming this what your grandparents, your friends, and maybe your co-workers feel? Do you remember what happens when we assume, Deacon?”
I didn’t know how she