Jackson.”
Truman thought a moment, shook his head. “It doesn’t sound familiar. But anyway, I haven’t been in Travelers Rest for a long time. So Laney, she cooked for your family?”
“Well, kind of. My dad and my grandmother ran a bed-and-breakfast in Troy. They still do. We have our own apartment at the back of the house, with a private kitchen and everything. Anyway, when I was a child, Laney was one of the cooks who took care of the guests. She left Troy years ago, though, and I’ve lost touch with her.”
“Uh-huh.” Truman finished his milk, crushed the carton with one hand, and tossed it toward the open trash can. It went in.
“Two points,” Jane said.
“I should have played basketball,” Truman quipped.
“Yeah, if you’d gone pro, you’d be rich.”
“You’re right. Instead, I became a doctor, and I can tell you, not all doctors are rich.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Truman folded his hands on the table and seemed to study them. “Have you seen Seth today?”
Jane nodded. “I just left his room.”
“And how was he?”
“Depressed.”
“That’s normal. Everyone in his situation goes through that. It’s part of the healing process.”
“I know.” Jane drew in a deep breath. “I’m trying to be patient. But he’s so different. I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s like he came back from Iraq a totally different person, not just in body but . . . I don’t know, in soul too, I guess.”
Truman tapped the table with the soft balls of his hands. “Tell me about him, Jane.”
“Tell you about Seth?”
“Yes. What was he like before?”
As Jane thought about his question, a smile spread slowly across her face. “He was just about the greatest guy in the world. Oh, I know, probably every woman says that about her fiancé, but I really mean it. He was a great guy. Everyone liked him.”
“You met him in Troy?”
“Yes. We grew up together. I’ve been in love with him since second grade. It took him a little longer—well, about fifteen years longer—but he finally noticed me.”
Truman smiled. “I’m glad he did.”
“Me too.” Jane nodded her head absently for a moment. “It was Christmastime, and Gram and Dad were hosting our annual open house. Dad always grumbles about it, but Gram does it every year anyway. Practically the whole town comes through, just to mingle and drink eggnog and listen to Christmas carols on Gram’s old phonograph. I think it’s kind of a nostalgic trip back in time for most people, since the house is so old and full of antiques. Anyway, in . . . let’s see, it must have been 2002, Seth came to the open house with his parents. For whatever reason, he’d never been in the Rayburn House before. That’s the name of our B&B. Fortunately for me, he was taken with the woodwork.” She laughed lightly. “Seth’s a carpenter. He says he’s addicted to wood the way a hillbilly’s addicted to moonshine.”
Truman laughed out loud, a deep throaty laugh. It made Jane smile.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I gave him the grand tour of the house, attic to basement. He pointed out things I’d never even noticed before or maybe had stopped seeing a long time ago. You know, the shape of the balusters on the staircase, the hand-crafted trim between the walls and the ceiling, the little rosettes carved into the woodwork above one of the fireplaces. I guess you could say he ended up giving me a tour of my own home. Well, afterward we sat by the fire in the parlor for a long time, talking about everything from spiral nails to cordless saws to what we planned to do with our lives. As they say, the rest is history.”
Truman nodded; his eyes shone. “It sounds like a nice story.”
“It was. It was like a fairy tale. But then two Christmases later, Seth was in Iraq and”—she shrugged—“now we’re here.”
“I see.” Truman nodded and gazed back down at his hands. “You’ve entered a chapter you didn’t expect.”
Jane
Truman thought a moment, shook his head. “It doesn’t sound familiar. But anyway, I haven’t been in Travelers Rest for a long time. So Laney, she cooked for your family?”
“Well, kind of. My dad and my grandmother ran a bed-and-breakfast in Troy. They still do. We have our own apartment at the back of the house, with a private kitchen and everything. Anyway, when I was a child, Laney was one of the cooks who took care of the guests. She left Troy years ago, though, and I’ve lost touch with her.”
“Uh-huh.” Truman finished his milk, crushed the carton with one hand, and tossed it toward the open trash can. It went in.
“Two points,” Jane said.
“I should have played basketball,” Truman quipped.
“Yeah, if you’d gone pro, you’d be rich.”
“You’re right. Instead, I became a doctor, and I can tell you, not all doctors are rich.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Truman folded his hands on the table and seemed to study them. “Have you seen Seth today?”
Jane nodded. “I just left his room.”
“And how was he?”
“Depressed.”
“That’s normal. Everyone in his situation goes through that. It’s part of the healing process.”
“I know.” Jane drew in a deep breath. “I’m trying to be patient. But he’s so different. I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s like he came back from Iraq a totally different person, not just in body but . . . I don’t know, in soul too, I guess.”
Truman tapped the table with the soft balls of his hands. “Tell me about him, Jane.”
“Tell you about Seth?”
“Yes. What was he like before?”
As Jane thought about his question, a smile spread slowly across her face. “He was just about the greatest guy in the world. Oh, I know, probably every woman says that about her fiancé, but I really mean it. He was a great guy. Everyone liked him.”
“You met him in Troy?”
“Yes. We grew up together. I’ve been in love with him since second grade. It took him a little longer—well, about fifteen years longer—but he finally noticed me.”
Truman smiled. “I’m glad he did.”
“Me too.” Jane nodded her head absently for a moment. “It was Christmastime, and Gram and Dad were hosting our annual open house. Dad always grumbles about it, but Gram does it every year anyway. Practically the whole town comes through, just to mingle and drink eggnog and listen to Christmas carols on Gram’s old phonograph. I think it’s kind of a nostalgic trip back in time for most people, since the house is so old and full of antiques. Anyway, in . . . let’s see, it must have been 2002, Seth came to the open house with his parents. For whatever reason, he’d never been in the Rayburn House before. That’s the name of our B&B. Fortunately for me, he was taken with the woodwork.” She laughed lightly. “Seth’s a carpenter. He says he’s addicted to wood the way a hillbilly’s addicted to moonshine.”
Truman laughed out loud, a deep throaty laugh. It made Jane smile.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I gave him the grand tour of the house, attic to basement. He pointed out things I’d never even noticed before or maybe had stopped seeing a long time ago. You know, the shape of the balusters on the staircase, the hand-crafted trim between the walls and the ceiling, the little rosettes carved into the woodwork above one of the fireplaces. I guess you could say he ended up giving me a tour of my own home. Well, afterward we sat by the fire in the parlor for a long time, talking about everything from spiral nails to cordless saws to what we planned to do with our lives. As they say, the rest is history.”
Truman nodded; his eyes shone. “It sounds like a nice story.”
“It was. It was like a fairy tale. But then two Christmases later, Seth was in Iraq and”—she shrugged—“now we’re here.”
“I see.” Truman nodded and gazed back down at his hands. “You’ve entered a chapter you didn’t expect.”
Jane
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