Come Rain or Come Shine (32 page)

One o'clock in the morning and they were headed home to Mitford, jiggety-jog—Cynthia beside him, Walter, Katherine, and Henry in back. The Big Knot had lived up to its name in every way.

‘What happened to the bourbon?' said Walter.

‘Ah, yes,' he said. ‘The empty bottle was fetched back for recycling by two Presbyterians, three nondenominational musicians, and one Southern Baptist. Oh, and an accidental Episcopalian.'

‘Who would that be?' said Henry.

‘That would be Harley, who once served time for bootlegging and didn't touch a drop of the contents!'

Their laughter was quiet and good.

‘While the hole was open,' he said, ‘they did another burial. The cowbell.'

‘Hurray!' said his wife.

He was grateful for all the days gone by at Meadowgate—all the happiness and the many surprises. And now he was looking toward the days ahead and the happiness they would bring—with, of course, the many surprises. Some would be welcome, others not. But he would try—he really wanted to try—to welcome them all.

They met a taxi on the road, driving fast. They hardly
ever saw a taxi in these parts, and certainly not at this hour. The taxi streaked by. If he had been a gambling man, he would bet good money that Walter and Katherine's luggage was en route from the airport to Meadowgate
. C'est la vie
.

Sammy would be cooking breakfast in the morning, making, or so he promised, a ‘killer' omelet. He had requested two dozen eggs they just happened to have on hand—and what better filling for an omelet than leftover ham?

He would try hard not to call Dooley in the morning, just to see how things were progressing.

Dooley and Lace stood on the glider porch and watched the taillights of the Mazda vanish along the state road. His parents had been the last to leave, reluctant, in a way. And in a way he hated to see them go. Now it was all up to them. He was ready.

‘Did you see it?' she said.

‘Your dad took me out to see it. You'll love it. Cup holders.'

She had never had cup holders.

‘Listen,' he said. The crickets.

He recognized the great mixture of excitement and relief and fatigue surging in him.

‘Amanda says he's fine, but I'm goin' across to check Homer because . . .'

‘Because that's what you do,' she said, and kissed him.

She ran upstairs and looked in on Jack Tyler and Charley, who had been walked an hour ago. All was well, everybody was breathing. Then she took off her shoes and carried them next door to their new bedroom and dashed off an entry in the Dooley book.

June 14~

It is 1:30 in the morning and I am Lace Kavanagh.

Thank you, God~ it was perfect.

She slipped out of her dress and hung it on the closet door and took a quick shower and brushed her teeth and let down her long hair and put on her old nightgown that she had ironed yesterday and turned down the bed with its clean, starched sheets and went barefoot to answer the small knock at the door.

Dooley was carrying the beat-up overnight bag he had carried on weekends through college and vet school, and looking vulnerable and faintly embarrassed.

‘Hey,' said Dooley.

She caught her breath. ‘Hey, yourself,' she
said.

~

Heartfelt thanks to:

Chris Pepe, my involved, discerning, and creative editor.

Dr. Tim Short, who generously provided exactly what I needed of medical wisdom and fact; Woody Baker, seasoned cattleman and cheering section; Tammy Cody, generous spirit and tireless mother of four forever children; Merry F. Thomasson, beloved wedding planner/coordinator and apostle of grace; Nancy Bass, acclaimed painter of creatures great and small in the rural Virginia landscape; and Jerry Torchia, award-winning ad man and dear friend.

Dr. Diane Snustad; Carolyn Schaefer; Amanda Smith; Lucas Shaffer; Lee French; Randy Setzer; Eleanor Birle; Brad Van Lear; Will Lankenau; Christopher Hays; Tripp Stewart, VMD; and the outstanding staffs of Greenbrier Emergency Animal Hospital, Virginia Veterinary Specialists, and Animal Hospital of Ivy Square, all of Charlottesville,
Virginia.

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