Authors: Jeff High
Each Shining Hour (33 page)
“Eh, guy talk. Nothing important. You ready?”
Together, we walked out onto the sidewalk.
“So, brown eyes. What do you want to do on this fine warm evening?”
Christine's voice was lighthearted, animated. “Why don't we get a pizza and a blanket and go out to Moon Lake and watch the sunset? I love it out there.”
“Sure. I'm game for an evening of takeout and make-out.”
Christine rolled her eyes and smiled warily. “Bradford, you are soooo predictable. That's not exactly what I meant.”
Undaunted, I quickly responded, “Predictable, huh? Maybe it's because you are soooo beautiful. And I do mean that!”
“Just listen to you! You're doing so much better at finding the right thing to say. I am so proud of you.”
“Okay, first of all, I am going to ignore the fact that you said that in your schoolteacher voice and are clearly trying to use your behavior modification tactics on me. Second, I'll have you know, Miss Chambers, that I know plenty of words, and candidly, well, you ain't seen nothing yet.”
Christine lowered her chin. Playfully, she placed her fingers over my lips. Then she lifted one of her eyebrows, smiled that wonderful, taunting, seductive smile, and whispered three simple words ever so slowly and deliciously into my ear.
“Neither have you!”
She turned and walked toward the Austin-Healey, but I stood motionless, giving myself a moment to regain the power of speech. I was in way over my head with her, and I knew it. Something told me that she knew it too.
I began to follow her but stopped at the street to turn back and admire the marvelous details of the newly finished bakery. It was only then that I realized that I had yet to see the now unveiled sign.
“Well, how about that?” I said.
Something about the name was magically perfect, capturing what living in Watervalley was all about. I smiled deeply, turned, and stepped away. Glowing behind me in the soft light of that wonderful May afternoon was the neon sign of the town's new bakery:
THE
SWEETLIFE
.
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T
oward midnight, Luke stood in the dark of his backyard, admiring the splendor of the vast and luminous universe above him. He hadn't wanted the day to end. He breathed in deeply of the moist, fragrant air and his thoughts drifted to that moment in his office months ago.
The autopsy report had been nothing more than a yellowed piece of paper from an ancient folder, long forgotten and hidden for years in a dusty filing cabinet. At the time it had seemed insignificant. But now, looking back, he realized how that one piece of paper had connected so many lives; had linked them over time and distance with an invisible thread, stepping indifferently across the boundaries of race, education, fortune, and faith.
Standing in the silent moonlight, Luke thought of Oscar Fox, of how decades ago he had come to Watervalley, started a new life, and come so close to realizing his dream. Luke thought of Oscar's noble kindness, of the incredible love he must have felt for Elise, and how one moment had changed all of that. He wondered if Oscar's last
thoughts were of her, wondered if in those last desperate minutes Oscar saw a lifetime of promised happiness slipping away.
Luke thought of his own dreams. And there, under the grand canopy of stars, an indefinable serenity washed over him, a contented awareness of the richness of his life being played out within the shouldering hills of this small valley.
He looked up, starring briefly into the infinite, voiceless heavens, and slid his hands into his back pockets. He pulled out an envelope and realized it was the one Louise Fox had given him earlier in the day. He held it up toward the distant porch light and used his thumb to break the seal. Inside he found a letter. When he unfolded it, he also discovered a small, tightly sealed plastic bag. Written in elegant script on the letter were the words, “THANK YOU,” and inside the bag was one large, shimmering diamond, radiant even in the faint moonlight.
Luke shook his head. It was an incredible gesture, a gift that was completely unnecessary and over-the-top. Even still, he suspected that Louise would not hear of accepting it back.
He held the small bag high above him and studied the diamond against the backdrop of distant stars. And as he did, a powerful thought came to him, capturing him with a euphoric, exhilarating idea.
He returned everything to the envelope and placed it back in his pocket. Again, he inhaled deeply, drawing in the warm, fresh, intoxicating aromas of the night, the splendid air of Eden. His thoughts were sublimely occupied, filled with tender musings. Unhurriedly, he began to make his way through the dewy grass toward the distant porch light.
All the while, his mind was consumed with a single word . . . Christine, Christine, Christine.
F
or me, writing is a family affair, meaning . . . I couldn't pull it off without their support. Heartfelt thanks go to my wife, Dawn, who brings a wonderful balance to some of my zany ideas for plot and story, and who graciously endures my frustration when she doesn't absolutely love my first drafts. As well, huge thanks go to my son, Austin, who brilliantly created, ex nihilo, the watervalleybooks.com Web site and who continues to be the brains and organizer of the business side of writing books.
Also, sincere thanks for all their support go out to dear friends from the old Columbia, Belmont, and Vandy gangs, including Marsha, Jeri Ann, Cindy, Phyllis, Vicki, Kim, Terri, Teresa, Pam, Jane, Amy, and Melissa. You guys are more wonderful than you know.
A special thank-you to Joe Evans for his continued enthusiasm and mentoring is also in order. And to Jim Ross for his ever-steady encouragement.
As always, thanks to my agent, Susan Gleason, for guiding me through another project.
And finally, a huge thanks to my most excellent editor, Ellen Edwards, who once again has patiently and meticulously helped me craft a wonderful story. You're the
best!
Photo by Amanda Hagler
After growing up on a farm in rural Tennessee,
Jeff High
attained degrees in literature and nursing. He is the three-time winner, in fiction and poetry, of an annual writing contest held by Vanderbilt Medical Center. He lived in Nashville for many years, and throughout the country as a travel nurse, before returning to his original hometown, near where he now works as an operating room RN in open-heart surgery.
watervalleybooks.com
facebook.com/watervalleybooks
A CONVERSATION WITH JEFF HIGH
Q.
Each Shining Hour
is your second novel. How did your experience of writing it compare to writing your first book,
More Things in Heaven and Earth
?
A.
More Things in Heaven and Earth
was written over a period of several years, and I experimented with several different writing styles before settling on the first-person mode. So with
Each Shining Hour
, I had a working framework from which to build the story. I think this allowed me to place a greater focus on the twists and turns of the plot.
Q. At the heart of
Each Shining Hour
lies a double homicideâthe only murder in the history of your fictional community, Watervalley, Tennessee. What inspired you to center your story around a murder?
A. Murder is still the ultimate misdeed. I grew up in the sixties on a large farm in a sleepy rural community. Few murders occurred. But when they did, they consumed us because they were so foreign to the life we knew. Serious crime spoke of discord and brought doubt into how we saw our lives. By small degrees, it forced us to redefine our understanding of our small world. Thus,
a murder in a small community resonated with me from all those years ago as a defining moment that changed everything.
Q. I love your strong, forthright female charactersâEstelle Pillow, Lida Wilkins, Ann Patterson, and, of course, Connie Thompson. You've told me that you believe such women form the backbone of small Southern communities. Can you explain what you mean?
A. I can't speak for other parts of the country, but women in the South have many diverse expectations placed upon them. They are expected to be devoted wives and mothers; be committed to either church or community work, or both; hold down jobs outside the home; and, whenever possible, look like a million bucks. Just go to an SEC football game and see how the women are dressed. I have known many women who have led selfless, hardworking lives with an unimaginable devotion to their families and communities. They are the glue of Southern life.
Q. Much of this novel seems to be about how events in the past continue to exert an influence on the present. In your experience, is that especially true of small towns, where people tend to stay put from one generation to another?
A. Absolutely. Significant events, especially tragic ones, become part of the shared history of people in a small community. As the years pass, references to those events become part of the common vernacular, an unspoken understanding that transcends economic status, or race, or education. And these eventsâwhether a murder, a flood, the death of a local soldier in combat, or even the loss of a major high school football gameâhave a ripple effect on people for years to come.
Q. Luke Bradford notices that Christine Chambers, who has recently returned to Watervalley from Atlanta, has an “urban
polish.” He, and everyone else in town, can tell right away that she's lived in a city. How the heck do they know?
A. It may come as a surprise to some, but the urban South is high on style. How your hair is cut, how you speak, what you wearâthey matter. We are social creatures, and these subtle influences permeate our choices if we are part of a larger city for any length of time. It is not an issue of vanity or shallowness; it is the reality of our nature. Typically, small towns, especially remote ones, simply don't have the same multitude of choices and influences. Dress and language tend to be more homogenized and generic. So, when you meet someone from an urban environment . . . you can tell.
Q. One of my favorite things about Luke is that he's such a dreamer. He daydreams in his backyard, looking at the stars. He daydreams while jogging along Summerfield Road, thinking about Christine Chambers. He daydreams in his office between seeing patients. Is daydreaming still alive and well in the South, or is it in danger of disappearing, like so many “old-fashioned” activities that require time and leisure? (I could go on and on about how nobody whistles anymore!)
A. I think it is alive and well in the South. . . but typically starts with the statement “After I win the lottery, I'm going to . . .” That being said, without a doubt the pace of rural small-town life is slower and lends itself to reflection. In the twilight hours we work in our gardens, we talk to our next-door neighbors, we hear the sounds of the Little League game being played in the park across the way, and we dream about going to the beach. As well, Luke is an idealist . . . always dreaming about what life could be. In
Each Shining Hour
, this begins to change. He begins to evolve his understanding about perceived perfection and living in the moment.
Q. In this book you introduce travel nurse Ann Patterson. You once worked as a travel nurse. Being from the North, I'm not familiar with the concept. Can you explain it? Do certain regions of the country rely more heavily on travel nurses than others?
A. Actually, travel nursing is common all across the country. Typically, the jobs occur in thirteen-week assignments and are for an RN specialty. For a while, I traveled as a cardiac operating room nurse. Remote assignments like the one Ann Patterson takes in Watervalley are less prevalent. However, travel nursing is a great way to experience different parts of the country and become immersed in the local culture for a short period. I loved it. And I can't help but mention that once, on an assignment in Oregon, several people mentioned that they loved the way I talked. I told them I was from the South. This was invariably met with “No joke.” How did they know?