Holiday Homecoming. Pamela Tracy
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“No.”
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t tell him that Jimmy’s presence in town was making her uncomfortable and bringing forth memories she’d tried to bury for so long.
Memories of a love that wouldn’t stay buried.
THE MEDICAL CLINIC was the first house on a residential street. A big golden retriever was asleep on the porch. He, too, wore a big Santa hat. “That is Zeus,” Grandpa introduced.
The living room was the reception area. “Each of the bedrooms functions as an examination room,” Grandpa informed her. “I’ve been in all of them.”
It hadn’t existed during Meredith’s youth. When she’d broken her nose, thanks to a horse merely lifting its head, she’d had to go to Adobe Hills, a good fifty miles to the east. When Grandpa was young, though, Gesippi had boasted a small hospital. It had also had a working copper mine. The old hospital, built in nineteen hundred and twelve, stopped taking patients in nineteen hundred and thirty-two and was now a restaurant, aptly named the Hospitable; the copper mine gave tours to tourists.
“This is a good place,” Grandpa said. “You’ll like Doc Thomas. Just eight years ago, he moved from Phoenix and retired.”
“Only it’s not so quiet and I didn’t get to stay retired.” Doc Thomas looked old enough to retire, thanks to a white beard and thick white hair. But he didn’t act old enough. His smile appeared genuine and his eyes danced. He wore bright green tennis shoes and a T-shirt advertising The Rolling Stones. He was Santa on vacation.
“You should be a movie star,” Meredith said.
“I get that a lot. Then people find out what I really do and the questions start coming.”
“People want free advice,” Meredith guessed.
“Yup. They’ll say, ‘Hey, Doc, I got me a cold,’ or ‘My sides been hurting, right here. Do you think...?’ Or my personal favorite, ‘I’ve been throwing up in the morning and don’t want my coffee. You don’t suppose...’”
Grandpa finished up, “So he decided to open a clinic and now he isn’t quite so retired.”
“Not when I have a fool like you for a neighbor,” Doc Thomas agreed. “What were you doing chasing down a dog at your age?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Grandpa mumbled as the doctor led him down the hall to one of the bedrooms.
There was no receptionist to hand Meredith a three-page form to fill out. She could sit on the couch and thumb through one of the magazines, read the Christmas cards taped to the wall or...
“Grandpa, I’m going to run an errand. Call me when you’re finished.”
“I want to be finished now,” Grandpa called back.
* * *
JIMMY MURPHY SPENT his morning working with his dad and decided no way would there ever be a documentary about the plight of sheep. So he spent his afternoon researching wolf dogs and keeping up with what was happening at Nature Times. More to the point, who was getting the assignment that should be his.
No, not entirely true. Part of him was grateful when his boss suggested he take some time off, for Briana’s sake. Now he could pick her up from school.
Just before three, he found a parking place outside Gesippi Elementary, where he could see Briana when she exited, and took out his notes about wolf dogs. Then he called his boss and gave an enthused three-minute spiel on his idea for a new piece.
“Wolf dogs would be a small draw.” Thom Steward, Jimmy’s editor, didn’t even pause before answering.
“That’s because not many publications even bother to mention them. We’d be one of the first.”
“You’re grasping at straws. I can’t take this idea to our producers. I’m glad you are taking a break, you can do better than this.”
It had been three years since any of Jimmy’s ideas had been turned down. He was good at his job, dependable, and had the kind of relationship with Thom that if the editor didn’t give him an assignment, all Jimmy had to do was shoot off an idea. Thom had rejected Jimmy only once, and that was because someone else was already doing the story.
“I’ve been researching the problem, and wolf dogs suffer the same fate as big cats and monkeys. They’re taken as pups, raised, and then when they grow into their own, many are abandoned.”
“How is that a story?” Thom asked.
“No one I know of, in North America, would abandon their pet lion on public land. But, because these animals are part wolf, they’ve easier to walk away from. That’s my angle.”
Finally Thom hesitated. “Okay, it’s Christmas and I’m feeling generous. Send me a proposal. I want to see some footage, though. You’re gonna have to sell me on this idea.”
Jimmy agreed and promised him a solid pitch before New Year’s. It was the first time Jimmy had ever ended a conversation with Thom feeling less than talented.
And there was no one he could complain to. His crew was in China, and while they liked and respected him, if they thought their bread and butter was with the new guy, they’d be polite at most if he called and did some digging.
His brother might have listened had the wedding not been in just over a week.
From his car, he could see the comings and goings of Gesippi’s townsfolk. He watched as Meredith hurried down the street and went into the courthouse, most likely heading for the library. She wouldn’t get anything from Agatha on wolf dogs that he hadn’t already gotten.
He’d first fallen in love with Meredith because of an animal: a silly goat that escaped its pen nearly every day. Zack had been thirteen, Meredith twelve. The goat, aptly named Stupid by Jimmy, had a favorite fence spot, one that ran between Meredith’s grandpa’s land and Jimmy’s uncle’s. Stupid wanted whatever was on the other side. He’d stick his head through the railing, and then because of the way the fence was built, he wouldn’t be able to get his head back out.
The first time that had happened, Jimmy’d been mad, especially when Meredith, all wild blond hair and know-it-all opinions, had easily helped Stupid get free.
The next time, he’d let Meredith help, understanding even at fifteen that it was better to have Meredith on his team than to try to compete with her.
Maybe a similar approach could work for him now....
* * *
GESIPPI’S COURTHOUSE WAS in the center of town. Meredith remembered her third-grade teacher marveling that it had been built in 1899. Apparently being built in 1900 just wouldn’t have had the same distinction. The town’s budget had been stretched too thin during the construction. There had been plans for a split staircase and an outdoor pavilion. Today, there was a single staircase and instead of a working clock, there was just a clock facing. The time always read six o’clock. Back then, that was when work started, and if one was lucky, it was when work ended.
Meredith took out her cell phone. It was two-fifteen. She had forty-five minutes until Agatha locked the door and turned the sign to Closed. But Meredith might only have ten minutes before Grandpa called her to come pick him up at the doctor’s. She hurried up the front stairs and opened the door. The front entry was empty except for a sign that gave directions to the different offices and goings-on. Meredith turned left and went down some narrow stairs painted concrete blue. There were posters on the walls, some older than she was. All advertised books and some were signed by authors. Before she reached the bottom, she could hear voices. One she immediately recognized as Agatha’s, the other voice sounded as if it belonged to a girl.