One Day in Apple Grove Read online

  “None of us was surprised when his replacement moved on to a hospital in Columbus.”

  “It was touch and go there for a while when he first left,” Peggy admitted.

  “The hardest part for some of our older residents was trying to find a way to get to the clinic over in Newark,” Kate told him. “Waiting for you to get back, we had ourselves a meeting and were hoping you’d continue one of your dad’s habits,” Kate said.

  “Which one?”

  “Making house calls for folks like Mr. Weatherbee, Mrs. Winter, and our grandma,” Peggy answered. “It would be a godsend if you could.”

  Drawn by the worry in Peggy’s voice, he turned back around. “I plan to add house calls to my weekly schedule.”

  She sniffed and nodded. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Welcome home,” Kate called out, as he walked through the door.

  “Good to be back.” And he meant it. He had a practice with patients anxious for him to get started, a plan he and the sheriff wanted to implement to minimize emergencies, and had had his first taste of home-cooked heaven. Maybe it wouldn’t take as long to find the balance that had been missing in his life during the long road to recovery. Thinking about the scheduled appointments for the day, he didn’t hear Peggy follow him out the door.

  He had just passed the Mulcahys’ shop when he heard her say, “We’re trying our hand at beignets tomorrow.”

  He turned and waved. “I love beignets.”

  Thinking about the lightly fried doughy goodness sprinkled with powdered sugar, he crossed Dog Hollow Road. When he walked by the Apple Grove Gazette, Rhonda was waving at him from behind the antique printing press. He waved back. It felt good to be in a place where people knew him…he had done the right thing coming back to stay when his dad had retired.

  He hoped the folks in town would be able to trust the younger Doc Gannon the same way they’d trusted his dad. Walking up the flagstone steps to his office, he was ready to greet the day. Having gone over his father’s most active patient files the night before, he was confident he’d be ready for whatever medical troubles were in store for him.

  “Morning, Doc,” Mrs. Sweeney, his receptionist, called out.

  “Morning, Mrs. Sweeney. How’s your cousin doing?”

  “Holding his own, Doc.” She sighed. “If only he wasn’t so stubborn and one of his boys would move back home.”

  Jack had already added her cousin to the list of those who were on the Apple Grove Health Watch. “We’ll keep doing what we can to make sure he’s taken care of.”

  “You’re just what this town needed—just like your dad.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  The sound of someone clearing his throat caught Jack’s attention. Joseph Mulcahy sat reading a magazine in the tiny waiting room.

  Jack looked at his watch and then at Joe. “Am I late?”

  Joe shook his head. “Nope, I’m early.”

  Jack knew that the success of his father’s practice had been because it was based on mutual trust between doctor and patient. Jack planned to work hard to establish a similar trust with the townsfolk. He’d start with his high school lab partner’s father.

  “What kind of pie did you have?” Joe asked.

  Jack laughed. “Buttermilk. I haven’t had any since the last time I was home on leave.” Jack ushered Joe into one of the examining rooms. “Have a seat while I pull up your chart.” He turned on his computer, donned his white lab coat, and placed his stethoscope around his neck—he didn’t miss the flak jacket.

  Jack slipped the blood pressure cuff on Joe’s arm and waited for the digital numbers to register.

  Joe chuckled. “There was a time when your father used to pump up the cuff and use his stethoscope to check my pressure. Times sure have changed.”

  Jack nodded. “But one thing remains the same: my dad and I care deeply about—and enjoy caring for—the good people of Apple Grove.” While he made notes to Joe’s chart, he asked, “Speaking of good people, how is Meg feeling?”

  If Joe’s smile was any indication, she was doing just fine. “She’s gone from grim and green to glowing.”

  Jack and Meg had been friends—treating each other like siblings—since they toddled together at their first Founder’s Day Picnic.

  He smiled and said, “I’ve heard from my parents that she’s an amazing mom and that those twins of hers are keeping her busy. If you need me to butt heads with Meg about going back to her regular work schedule, you just let me know.”

  Joe frowned. “She’s exhausted. But Dan’s keeping an eye on her, especially now that those little scamps of theirs are running her ragged and getting into everything.” He waited a moment or so before adding, “Dan Eagan’s a good man.” Joe paused and said, “If you want to keep up with your PT, Dan usually jogs every morning. I go with him a few times a week. Give him a call.”

  Jack chuckled. “Hmmm, the patient giving the doctor advice, but I could use a jogging partner.” He cleared his throat and added, “My dad had good things to say about him and how easily he seemed to fit in from the moment he arrived. Mom couldn’t say enough about the way he rescued Charlie Doyle and Tommy Hawkins off the railroad trestle bridge.”

  Joe looked up at Jack and asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

  “With our Irish heritage, you need to ask?” Joe was still laughing when Jack said, “My dad wanted me to make sure you are getting in your daily walks and following the diet he gave you.” Joe’s heart attack scare a few years ago had Jack wishing he could have gone home to see for himself that his childhood friend’s father was recovering, but he was in the middle of his internship at the time.

  The older man hesitated. “Not a big fan of green things.”

  Jack tried to keep a straight face. He could take the green stuff or leave it, but he was at least twenty years younger and thirty pounds lighter than Joe.

  “Start small and add dressing if it’s salad or a little bit of peanut butter if it’s celery.” When Joe frowned, Jack added, “I could insist on a stricter diet, higher in vegetables and fish—”

  “I’ll give it another try, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “Do it for yourself and your daughters, Joe,” Jack said quietly. “By the way, how are Cait and Grace doing?” He hadn’t seen either of Meg’s younger sisters in years. Cait had been eleven and Grace ten when he’d joined the navy, so if he had seen either one of them when he’d been on leave, he didn’t remember.

  Joe snorted with laughter, a man’s man through and through. A former coast guardsman, he still ran a few times a week and wore his graying hair in military fashion: high and tight. “Driving me nuts, trying to keep me from my threat of running our handyman business again.”

  “Mom said that you’d retired and turned everything over to your girls.” Jack pointed the tongue depressor at Joe. “Say ah.”

  Joe did and Jack nodded. “Looks normal. I can have a talk with your daughters, but I might not recognize them if they walked past me on the sidewalk.”

  Joe chuckled. “They’re hard to miss. Almost half a foot taller than Meg—close to five feet eight—and both strawberry blonde, like their mother, with green eyes.”

  Jack sat down on his rolling stool and used his feet to push off so he was back in front of his laptop. He finished entering data and turned back around. “Any more weddings on the horizon?”

  Joe sighed. “I had high hopes for one young man Cait had been dating, but she’s been so busy picking up the slack, what with Meg’s morning sickness, that she hasn’t had the time or energy to date. Grace hasn’t brought anyone around to meet me, but I know she’s seeing someone from out of town.”

  Jack noticed Joe’s worry lines when he was talking about his daughters and wanted to do something to erase them. As a physician, he would always treat his patients to the best of his ability,
but here in Apple Grove, there was much more to be considered. With Joe Mulcahy, it was the link to his childhood friend and the need to help her father. “If I learned anything during my years in the navy, I learned that life and insurgents come at you with both barrels—” He buried the ever-present turmoil just bubbling below the surface to a controllable level and finished what he’d wanted to say. “Life is too short.”

  He thought of the marine that bled out while he had worked in earnest to stitch the young man back together under fire. If he didn’t close the lid to the box where he kept those memories, he’d be up all night, positive he could hear the whistling sound of the explosive before it hit, feel the white-hot agonizing pain of having his leg shatter while bits of shrapnel imbedded into his flesh.

  “Doc, are you all right?”

  Jack snapped back to attention in time to see the look of concern on the older man’s face. “Yeah…um…yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “War is hell,” Joe stated flatly, sensing the direction of Jack’s thoughts.

  Jack couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter 2

  Caitlin Mulcahy was running late. She had promised her favorite customer, Mr. Weatherbee, that she’d get an early start, but she’d spent hours after work out in the shed by the Mulcahys’ barn—her woodworking shop—where she dreamed big and built furniture for family and friends. She’d finally closed the door to her shed on the half-finished rocking chair and nearly finished set of shelves just past midnight. All the shelves needed were a light sanding and a coat of varnish to finish them. But the rocking chair needed the rockers and a good sanding before it’d be ready for a clear coat.

  She hoped to surprise her sister Meg and the new niece or nephew that would add to her older sister’s growing family with the shelves and the rocking chair. Being behind schedule would only add to her day and the ever-growing list of people to see and things to fix. It was hard trying to squeeze in the work of another person.

  She missed Meg working in their family handyman business—and missed her sister taking care of the jobs she used to handle. “I really hate plumbing.” She sighed and turned around, heading back to the shop to pick up the pipe dope, adhesive to seal the ends of the pipe, and the length of PVC pipe she’d forgotten.

  It was because of her sister that they were behind on jobs and one man—make that woman—short. Not that she could really blame Meg for getting pregnant…again. On top of chasing around her two-year-old twins, Danny and Joey, she couldn’t be expected to jump right in and work the same hours she had been, even part-time.

  Meg marrying Dan, the town’s new phys ed teacher, had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. The ladies in town still talked about the day he stalked into Honey’s Hair Salon and declared his love for Meg in front of everyone. Then again, they were also still talking about the way the sheriff stormed in and hauled salon owner Honey B. over his shoulder. Both couples had been happily married for three years…boy, how time flew by.

  Love must change people, she mused. She’d never seen her sister or Honey B. so happy. Even her dad’s fledgling romance with the widowed Mary Murphy had him whistling some days. “Guess with the right person, it will be worth it.”

  Too bad she hadn’t found that right person herself, even though she’d dated the few eligible men in town who had interested her. She’d never admit it to Gracie, but her younger sister was right: there was a downside to living in a small town—there were only so many eligible bachelors.

  Cait set those thoughts aside; it wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on what-ifs. Concentrating on the list of parts in her hand, she gathered what she’d need for the day from the family’s shop on Main Street. Toolbox in hand, she walked back outside and was distracted by the sunny glare off her grandfather’s legacy—his 1950 Ford F1 pickup. The symbol of the Mulcahys’ dependability, generations of Apple Grove residents sighed with relief when they saw that the Mulcahys were on their way to solve whatever problems needed fixing.

  “The best part of Meggie not being here is that I get to drive the pickup.” Eyes gleaming, she opened the passenger door and carefully stowed her tools and supplies.

  Sliding behind the wheel, she sighed. Tonight she’d talk to her dad about hiring a part-timer to ease the heavy workload. She started the truck and put it in gear, giving a quick glance to the diner across the street. She wished she had time to stop in and catch up with her friends, Peggy and Kate. But she was already running a little late. Maybe if she pulled a U-turn instead of driving around the block, she could get to Mr. Weatherbee’s faster.

  Checking her mirrors, she goosed the gas pedal and cranked the wheel hard, but the pickup’s turning radius wasn’t as tight as she was used to. To her horror, the truck bounced up onto the sidewalk, grazing the bark on the sugar maple across from the Knitting Room—the one on the corner—right next to Mulcahys’ shop! It was early and the Internet café was closed, but what if it was loud enough for her sister to hear? Grace was probably on the phone with their dad right now.

  She eased the truck back onto Main Street, shaking like a leaf. When she got out of the cab, she braced herself to see the worst. “Crap!” A trio of nasty-looking scratches on the passenger-side door had gouged the paint all the way down to the metal.

  Peggy called her name, and Cait looked up from the evidence that she’d done the unthinkable. “Pop’s gonna kill me.”

  Her friend leaned close, then straightened. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks. Can you ask Dan to take a look at it? He’s always working on cars or trucks with your dad.”

  Cait’s gaze met hers. “Those two are thick as thieves. If I asked him to help, but swore him to secrecy, he’d probably go all Boy Scout on me and tell my dad. He wouldn’t want to take the chance that Pop won’t let him work on the Model A if he found out Dan was covering for me—they’re almost finished with the restoration.”

  Peggy gave her a hug as Grace rushed out the front door. “I heard a—” She stopped midsentence and stared. “Whoa. What happened?”

  “Door’s scratched.”

  Grace shook her head as she looked at the damage Cait pointed to. Grace met her gaze. “I wouldn’t wait to tell him.”

  Cait wished she could start the whole day all over again. “I know, I know. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t stayed up so late out in my woodshop, which I wouldn’t have had to do if you didn’t keeping squeezing in so many jobs into my schedule. I would’ve been up on time and already at Mr. Weatherbee’s.”

  “You’re going to blame your crappy driving on me?” Grace yelled. “If it weren’t for me—”

  “Girls,” Peggy broke in. “You’re drawing a crowd. If you don’t want someone to take a picture and post it online, Cait, you’d better get moving.”

  Caitlin scrubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “Thanks, Peggy.”

  Grace glared at her. “Don’t forget to tell Pop.”

  “I’ll tell him tonight.”

  As Cait turned onto Dog Hollow Road, her phone was ringing, but she ignored it, praying that when she got to Bob’s Gas and Gears, he wouldn’t already know about the damage to the truck—because if he knew, her dad would know. And Cait wanted the chance to tell him in person.

  Bob Stewart’s face showed instant concern when she pulled into his shop. “What happened? Did you get the guy’s license plate?”

  Cait’s hands were shaking. She didn’t want to lie, so she stalled. “It all happened so fast.”

  “Lucky for you, they built these trucks to last. There’s no dent, but still your dad’s gonna be pissed. This old truck is a part of your family, and he treats it like a baby.”

  She got out as Bob was gently running a hand along the door. His head shot up and he stared at her—was there any telltale bark on the door? “It was an accident,” she began. Her hands were trembling, so she stuck them in her pockets. “I was pulli
ng a U-ey on Main Street—”

  “That was your first mistake—”

  “I know,” she told him. “I didn’t realize that the truck’s turning radius wasn’t the same as a car.”

  He looked like he was going to say something but ended up shaking his head. “Was there a fire?”

  Baffled, she answered, “No.”

  “Then where were you in such an all-fired hurry to go?” he asked.

  “I was running late and forgot something at the shop—”

  “So instead of driving just a little farther where you could turn around, you pull an illegal turn in the middle of town. What did you do, hit the hundred-year-old maple next to your shop?” Bob whistled. “That scratch went through three layers of paint: clear coat, color, and primer—all the way down to the metal.” He looked from the door and back to Cait.

  “How soon can you fix it?”

  “You planning on telling your dad?”

  “Later.”

  “If you put it off,” Bob began, “he’s bound to hear before you tell him. Are you sure you want to wait?”

  Cait shook her head. “No. I’m not sure, but it’s hard because I know how much this truck means to him.”

  “Means a lot to the town. People have come to associate that truck with the reputation your great-great-grandfather began and your father, and now you girls are continuing,” he reminded her. “It’s not just transportation.”

  “I know.” She blinked back tears. She felt awful, but she’d make it right.

  “Why don’t you call your dad now?” Bob patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll go look up the paint codes to see if I have to order any of them.”

  Cait nodded, mumbling, “He didn’t let Meg drive the truck until a couple years ago. The only reason I’m driving it now is because she’s been working so few hours.”

  “You’ll feel better after you tell him.”

  Cait knew he was right. And as much as she wanted to tell her father in person, she also didn’t want him hearing the news from someone else. Like Grace. Steeling her nerves, she dialed her father.