Nash Brothers Box Set - Carrie Aarons

1

Presley

“This is probably the most embarrassing doctor’s visit I’ve ever had. And it’s not even for me.”

Looking down at my grandmother’s four-year-old dog, Chance, I try to give him my best stink-eye. It’s a well-trained expression of mine, and it must work, because his big brown eyes, at least, hold some guilt as he drags his butt on the ground.

I have to physically pull him up the brick steps by his leash and onto the porch of the veterinarian’s office, which doesn’t look like an office at all. The building that houses the pet doctor is a Victorian home, with maroon shutters and dark blue whimsical trim that makes it look more like an old-school carousel than a place to treat sick animals.

The bell over the door jingles as I turn the antique brass knob to the front door, and I’m greeted by the smell of fresh cotton and lingering dog hair.

A pretty, older woman with gray hair in floral scrubs sits behind a white-washed desk, her hands flying over a keyboard as she talks to someone on the other end of the phone.

“Dr. Nash has a surgery tomorrow, but he can come up and see the horse on Thursday. Just keep at it with a lot of water, and if you don’t see improvement, you know the after-hours number. All right, you too, Martha. Okay, thanks, see you then.”

She looks up at me after finishing the note on her screen and smiles. A genuine, pearly-white grin … to me, a complete stranger. It’s something I haven’t gotten used to in the three weeks I’ve been living in Fawn Hill, Pennsylvania. The rural niceness of this community is so foreign to my New York City mindset. You can’t pull a girl out of six years of living among urbanites who are rude on arrival and expect her to take genuine caring at face value.

“Hi, there, how can I help you?” She looks down at Chance, the boxer practically frowning at her. “Oh, Chance, dear, we meet again. You must be Presley, Hattie McDaniel’s granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her steamrolling of the conversation catches me off guard. That’s the other thing about living in a small town, everyone knows who you are and who you’re related to, even if they’ve never seen your face.

“Uh, hi. Yes, Chance here … he ate something he shouldn’t have, and I think it’s … stuck. I called about twenty minutes ago.” My face heats even though I don’t mention exactly what he swallowed.

“Oh, yes, dear, I forgot! We’ve had such a busy morning. A horse is sick up at the Dennis’ barn, and just this morning Dr. Nash has seen two cats with incontinence issues, and a rabbit with a broken tooth. It sure is a funny farm around here!”

I’m not sure what to say to this, and Chance whimpers where he sits next to me. “So, can the doctor see him?”

The receptionist stands from her desk, still smiling. “Of course, Chance is a frequent flyer. It’ll be another minute or two. I’m Dierdra, by the way. Gosh, I’m sure glad you came to town to help your grandmother. With her sight, it’s a wonder she’s been able to keep the shop going.”

I get the feeling that Dierdra is a bit of a gossip, but a well-meaning one. “Thank you, yes, I’m glad I could move here to help her.”

“Have you eaten at Kip’s Diner, yet? Best pie in this part of the state although it’s a bit of a hidden gem. The whole of Fawn Hill is, really.”

She laughs jovially, and I feel myself warming to her. She might be a bit chatty, but her kindness puts me at ease. And she’s right, because since I’ve been here, I realized I needed a bit of Fawn Hill medicine.

Not that we’d visited a lot growing up, because Dad moved away from his hometown right after high school and didn’t look back. But the two times we’d made the trip from Albany to Grandma’s house for Christmas, I’d marveled at the storybook community she lived in. Fawn Hill was the quintessential small town, a gem of farmhouses and Victorian homes situated on either side of Main Street. The backdrop of the Welsh Mountains dotted the skyline, and the children here still walked to the singular elementary, middle, and high schools the town boasted.

It was picturesque, quiet living, and it wasn’t a mystery what my grandmother loved so much about it. Even if I missed the bustle