Each Shining Hour (24 page)

Unexpected

I
was up early Monday morning for a short run. Afterward, I took care of Rhett, cleaned up, and headed over to the Depot Diner. Connie had called Sunday afternoon to beg off her normal breakfast duty, noting that she and Estelle needed to meet with the contractor to start the renovation. Her excitement had poured through the phone and I had readily assured her I could manage fine.

At the diner I ordered my usual country ham breakfast, watching warily for Sunflower Miller, who had an uncanny knack for swooping in on me whenever I ate there. Today, however, it was Lida who slid into the opposite seat when I was almost finished.

“How's the breakfast?”

I swallowed a last bite and looked at my empty plate. “Terrible. I think you should bring me another one.”

Lida scrunched her nose and grinned in that sparkling way that I adored. “Thanks for forcing your way through it.”

“For you, Lida, anytime.” I lowered my voice and spoke confidentially. “How's your anxiety these days?”

“Since we figured out my ticker was okay, I've been doing a lot better. The medications have been a good thing too. But let me tell you my real get-well plan.”

I leaned in, offering her my full attention.

“I've put the B and B up for sale on one of those Internet real estate services. I'm trying to keep it low-key, but I've had several inquiries.”

“Well, okay. Good luck with that.”

“Yeah. Oh, and also, now that the new bakery is in the works, I'm going to follow through with my plans to start making pastries here to keep up with the competition.” She finished by giving me a quick wink and slid back out. I nodded thoughtfully. I understood the need to compete, but I hated it too. I paid my bill and walked to the clinic.

My first patient was none other than Margie Reynolds. I had been following her care ever since she had come to see me in January. She had been fortunate. The lump she'd discovered had turned out to be benign and had been removed in an outpatient procedure. When Nancy told me she was in exam room one, I was hoping Margie had not found another mass. Ann was taking her vitals as I entered.

“Marrrrgieee. How in the world are you?”

“Terrible, just terrible.” She was snickering beneath her complaint. I played along.

“Now, Margie. You haven't found another lump, have you?”

“Yeah, I have. Matter of fact, I found two of them. They're the size of eggplants and are attached to my hips.”

I was puzzled and my expression said as much.

“Let me translate for you. I'm getting fat.”

“Well, Margie, how did this happen?”

“Okay, here's the confession. When I thought I had cancer, I figured what the heck, I'm not going to be cheated out of a lifetime of ice cream and chocolate. So I started eating like there was no tomorrow because, crud, I didn't think there would be. Now that I'm okay, I can't kick the habit. I'd eat a Wiffle ball if you put a little caramel sauce on it. So now I'm paranoid. I'm thinking I've got a thyroid issue that's giving me this bottomless appetite.”

“Margie, let me look at your chart.”

While I did so, she exhaled a deep sigh. “Oh crap, I hate this part. Now you're looking at how much weight I've put on since January.”

I spoke without looking up from her chart. “Margie, you are more than a number on a scale.”

“Luke Bradford, you can be such a sweetheart. If I didn't feel so fat, I'd kiss you right now.”

I smiled and shook my head, saying nothing. I was looking at her labs from the previous visit. But my silence made Margie all the more nervous and she continued talking to fill the void.

“And, of course, now all my clothes don't fit. I'm cursed. When I was little, an evil witch cast a spell on me giving me expensive taste and a lifetime of limited funds.”

I continued to study her chart, speaking vacantly. “Margie, you need to get sick more often. You crack me up.”

“Sure. Have a good laugh at my expense.” She looked at Ann and winked. “Here I am on the first leg of the slow descent into type two diabetes and getting snickered at by a man who's seen me naked. That just doesn't give a girl a lot of confidence, you know.”

Normally I would have busted out laughing at Margie's teasing, but I was deep in thought about her thyroid and the weight gain. Then an idea struck me. I grabbed my pad and wrote a short note on it.

“Margie, I have some more questions, but first I want to do a blood draw to put this thyroid issue to rest. Ann, if you would, do a stick and have Camilla run this.” I handed her the paper with the desired lab test. Ann nodded and proceeded.

“Margie, anything else different or unusual?”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Oh, any change in sleeping habits?”

“Yeah, Larry's. I'm sleeping fine, but he says my snoring no longer just annoys him—it frightens him. He said if you can't help me, we're going to an exorcist.”

“Have you noticed any changes in body temperature, hot flashes, perspiration?”

“Yeah. Ever since the weather got warmer, I sweat like a pig. If it gets any worse, I'll need to wear a life jacket.”

I asked her several more questions, endeavoring to reach a diagnosis. Her clever wit and big sloppy grin were nonstop. I just couldn't quit laughing. She loved it. I finally held up my hand.

“Margie, have you ever thought about doing stand-up?”

“Sure, whatever. So, what's all this mean, Doc?”

I was about to answer when Camilla returned with the results of the blood test. She handed it to me and turned to leave, but I noticed her eyes were brightly expressive and her lips pressed tightly together. I looked at the paper and nodded.

“Oh, my God,” Margie exclaimed. “This looks bad. What? What is it?”

“Um, Margie. You definitely have a lump.”

“What do you mean? I don't get it. Spit it out, Doc.”

“Margie, dear, you're pregnant.”

She responded with the lowest sound I have ever heard come out of a woman. “Noooooo!”

“Well, we ran a simple hCG serum and it came back positive. So, this little piece of paper is saying ‘yessss.'”

Margie was speechless. She looked at Ann, then at me, then back at Ann. We could do little more than smile robustly at her.

She held up her finger in a statement of declaration. “You need to call Sheriff Thurman because I am going to murder Larry Reynolds. I know exactly when this happened.”

“Margie, it's okay if you want to leave a few details to our imagination.”

“I'm going to kill him. I am absolutely going to kill him.”

“Okay, but first tell him he's going to be a father again so at least he'll die a happy man.”

Margie exhaled a heavy “humph” and sat in stunned silence. Soon enough, she spoke in a low, bewildered voice.

“I'm forty-one years old. I have a child in college and one in junior high.”

“At least there won't be a problem with tuition overlap.”

“All I can say is, don't be surprised if you start seeing Larry Reynolds's picture on the side of milk cartons.” You had to love this about Margie. Her clever wit was never far away.

I reached over and took her hand. “Margie, congratulations. You will, no doubt, continue to be an incredible mom.”

By now the reality was truly sinking in. Her uproarious facade was slowly melting into a face of irrepressible joy. Margie spoke with a sense of wonder. “Oh, my goodness. I really am pregnant, aren't I?”

We talked for several more minutes. Afterward I had Camilla draw more blood to run some additional tests and Ann retrieved all the expectant-mother schedules to review with her. Before departing, I gave Margie a quick hug and congratulated her again.
There were always added risks with older pregnancies. But given where Margie's life had been only a few months ago, I could only conclude that God still had big plans for her. It was a good start to the day.

I was in my office later that afternoon when Nancy stopped by to say that Sunflower Miller was there to see me. I hesitated before telling Nancy to send her in. It was late in the day and I just wasn't sure I was up to listening to another of Sunflower's rants.

“Did she say what she wants to meet about?” I asked.

“I don't think she wants to chat.”

“I don't understand.”

“She's in exam room two. She's sick.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Wow. Okay. I'll be right there.” This was an unexpected first and, I had to admit, rather troubling. Given Sunflower's disdain of institutional medicine, her condition must be serious. I grabbed my lab coat and stepped briskly.

As I entered, Ann had just finished getting all of Sunflower's vitals. I immediately noticed that her eyes were puffy and watery.

“Sunflower, I am not sure what to think about seeing you on this side of the clinic. Are the planets out of orbit? Tell me what's going on.”

“When it rains, it pours, Doc. For some reason my eyes and nose have been running like a faucet.”

I briefly examined her. “Have you been taking any antihistamines?”

“Sure have, but the relief is only temporary. It just keeps coming back.”

We talked at length. Sunflower had a case of severe conjunctivitis that had been chronic for over a week. She had no history of
allergies or hay fever. Her temperature was normal and there were no other symptoms. Her illness was puzzling, and as well, it was clear that it had worn her down. She seemed to have lost some of her vibrancy, as well as the spark and obstinacy that I had grown to expect. She agreed to a few tests and I prescribed some medications including an antibiotic to relieve the symptoms. She wasn't severely sick, just exasperated. For now it seemed that little more could be done other than to treat the symptoms and monitor her situation. As I turned to leave, I paused, recalling something she had said.

“Sunflower, you mentioned a moment ago something about when it rains, it pours. Are you having any other issues?”

“No. Well, yes. But not with me, with my chickens.”

Chickens didn't fall under my primary practice. A veterinarian named Charlie Ingram came over from Grainger County one or two days a week, although I doubted Sunflower had ever called him. So once again I started backing toward the door, speaking lightly as I departed, “Something afoul with the home on the free range?”

“Yeah. They're all dying.”

Some ancient memory clicked at this. I stopped and gave Sunflower a studied look.

“Tell me more. How many have died, Sunflower?”

She went on to tell me that in the last three weeks, ten of her best chickens had suddenly developed peculiar choking behaviors and plopped over dead. She had tried to separate them from the others whenever she saw the symptoms, but wasn't sure of the root cause.

“Have you added any new chickens lately?”

She thought for a moment. “Yeah. A friend from Kentucky gave me a couple of Indian Game chickens. They're a type of Cornish hen, but really big. They died along with the others.”

I rubbed my chin and reflected on this.

“Sunflower, come to my office with me. I want to look something up.”

I found my
Journal of Infectious Diseases
on the shelf beside my desk. I flipped through the pages, discovered what I was looking for, and spun the book around for Sunflower to see.

“It's called Newcastle disease. It affects chickens and causes conjunctivitis in humans. I can't be certain that's what we're dealing with here, but it sure seems suspect.”

Sunflower read through the summary and began to nod her head. Her pensive and subdued appearance projected such a sad contrast to the fiery woman I had known. My heart went out to her.

“Thanks, Luke. Thanks for this and for taking care of me this afternoon.” She paused for a moment and looked down, gathering her thoughts. I couldn't tell if it was solely from the infection, but her eyes seemed on the cusp of tears. Her voice was penitent. “I know I give you a hard time. But I want you to know I think you're an excellent doctor.”

She offered a weak smile and began to rise from her chair. I held my hand up to stop her. “Sunflower, can you do something for me?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Tell me about you.”

She caught the tenderness in my voice and slowly collapsed back into her chair.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you . . . become you?”

To my delight, an elfish smile inched across her face. Her words were bemused, reflective.

“I've always been pretty independent. I got it from my dad, I
guess. By Watervalley standards, we were outsiders. Dad bought the farm and moved here in 1940. He came from Wisconsin. His people were Norwegian. In those days, Watervalley was slow to warm up to newcomers. He had friends, but I guess most people thought he was peculiar. He had a thick accent and he farmed differently. He grew different crops than the locals and had different kinds of milk cows, Brown Swiss rather than Holsteins. He was skeptical about how things were done around here and it only got worse after his best friend was killed.”

I stopped her. “Hold it. Who are you talking about?”

“A man named Oscar Fox. He moved to Watervalley shortly after my dad did and opened a bakery. It's an old story and you've probably never heard about it. But back in the forties Oscar and some stranger killed each other out at the bandstand late one night. They actually found his body on the edge of our property near the lake. My dad took it hard. They had struck up a pretty strong friendship.”

A name from the case file popped in my head. “Your dad, was his name Otto?”

“Yes, it was. How did you know that?”

“Actually, I know quite a bit about the Oscar Fox murder. It's been something of a curiosity to me. I read your dad's name in a copy of the police report.”