Watermelon Days and Firefly Nights: Heartwarming Scenes from Small Town Life (24 page)

Doyle and Sarah decided that they would keep it all very civil. Simple. Neither one of them would make it difficult on the other. To make the divorce easy on the boys, she would have them during the week and he would take them on the weekends.

Easy.

And so it had been for the past two years.

W
HEN
S
ARAH WAS READY
to leave the clinic, she turned off the lights, locked the back door, got into her car, and drove toward home. She was halfway there before she remembered that Georgia had come with her but was not in the car. Georgia? No! How could she have forgotten? That was odd. How had she managed to get out the door without Georgia?

When Sarah got back to the clinic, she expected to see Georgia’s little black nose pressed up against the clear glass door—but she didn’t. Sarah entered the clinic. “Georgia,” she called as she flipped on the lights. “Here, girl!”

No Georgia.

“Georgia, where are you? Are you sleeping somewhere?” The clinic wasn’t that big. Sarah checked both exam rooms, the reception area, and the back office.

No Georgia.

Not in the car. Not in the clinic. Where could she be? Then Sarah remembered that after she’d been at the clinic for half an hour, she’d gone out to the car for the bottle of water and package of crackers that she always kept there. She’d propped the door to the clinic open, rather than taking the time to disengage the inside lock.

Georgia must have gotten out then.

Sarah drove home slowly, her eyes peeled for Georgia as she steered. Where would she have gone? Granted, Ella Louise wasn’t that big, but neither was Georgia, and her eyes weren’t as good as they used to be. Would she have headed home? Would she have been able to find her way? It was late by now. Past 10:00. Sarah drove around a couple of blocks, her eyes scanning the sides of the street.
Please God,
she prayed,
don’t let her have been hit by a car. Please, please, let her be at home when I get there.

But she wasn’t. Not in the driveway. Not in the yard. Not on the porch. Sarah picked up the phone.

“Doyle, this is Sarah. Uh, I hate to ask, but has Georgia showed up over there? Well, you see, I went up to the clinic for a minute, uh, for a while, and I took her with me and somehow she slipped out when I wasn’t looking. No. I’m at home. Okay. Could you call me after you take a look around? Thanks, Doyle. I’ll be waiting here by the phone. No. Yes. I’m okay.”

After she hung up, Sarah could do nothing but pace. Her boys loved that dog. Shoot, she was attached to Georgia too. How could she have been so careless? She tried to think. If Georgia wasn’t at Doyle’s, then what should she do? Stay at home and wait for her or cruise the streets looking and calling?

Why was Doyle taking so long to call back?

Then Kevin and Josh burst through the front door. “Mom! What happened to Georgia?”

“Guys—how did you get over here? Where’s your dad?”

“I’m right here.” Doyle was behind them. “Georgia didn’t show up at my house. The boys wanted to come here. She’s still not back?”

“No. Boys, I’m so sorry. I left the door propped open while I went out to the car. She must have slipped out then.”

“Dad, what should we do?” asked Kevin.

“Georgia’s never tried to run away before,” said Josh.

“Let’s get in the truck and drive around and look for her,” said Doyle. “You want to come, Sarah?”

All four of them piled into the cab of the truck, and Doyle slowly drove the streets of Ella Louise. Every so often he stopped and the four of them got out. “Georgia! Georgia! Here, girl. Here, Georgia,” they called.

No Georgia. After an hour, Doyle turned the truck toward Sarah’s house. What else was there to do? The boys were silent, but Sarah could feel their accusatory thoughts. She wondered if Doyle was accusing her too.

But when Doyle pulled the truck into the driveway, there was Georgia, illuminated by the headlights of the truck, wagging her tail. The boys tumbled out of the car.

“Georgia!”

She sprang into their arms.

“You were a bad dog!”

She wriggled with delight.

“We looked everywhere for you!”

She licked one boy’s face, then the other’s. Then she bounded over to where Doyle and Sarah stood, ran around them both, and went back again to the boys.

Sarah turned to Doyle. “I don’t know where she was or how she got home, but it feels good to know that I won’t be the one sleeping in the doghouse tonight.”

Doyle grinned. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Right. Tell that to those two,” she said, motioning to the boys. “You know, they’re not going to be ready to go for a while. Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Sarah and Doyle sat at the kitchen table while Josh and Kevin romped with Georgia in the family room. “Guys. Settle down,” Sarah called to them. “Don’t wear that poor dog out. Did anybody feed her? Josh, is that one of your good socks that Georgia’s got in her mouth?”

“No, Mom,” said Josh.

“It’s one of yours,” teased Kevin.

“House looks good,” said Doyle.

“Thanks.”

“How’s work?”

“Good. Yours?”

“Going good.”

The family room became quiet. Sarah looked in on the boys. The two of them, with Georgia between, lay side by side on the floor, watching a video that Kevin had put in. Georgia, when she heard Sarah, got up, stretched, and yawned. She followed Sarah back to the kitchen.

“Hey, girl,” Doyle said when he saw the dog. “Big night?”

Georgia rested her head on his knee.

“She misses you,” Sarah said.

“Yeah. I miss her too. Old Georgia here is a good ole dog,” Doyle said.

Sarah took a sip of coffee.

“Remember when we got her?” he asked.

“Sure do. Same day that we found out that the twins were coming. You surprised me with her—” she began.

“And you surprised me with them,” finished Doyle. Neither one of them spoke for a minute, then suddenly Sarah was blindsided by sobs that she was powerless to stop. Embarrassed, she covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders shook with her efforts to stop.

Doyle reached into his back pocket and pulled out a red hankie. “It’s okay. Here.”

“Thanks.” Deep breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sarah blew her nose and wiped her eyes, but as soon as she did that, she started up again. She had not cried in front of Doyle in many years.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“No. I don’t want the boys to hear.”

Doyle got up to get her water, but he couldn’t find the glasses. Sarah tried to direct him. “To the right. Up. Over. No, down.” He opened cabinet doors left and right.

Sarah laughed. “Thank you,” she said when he finally brought her the drink.

“You’re welcome.”

“Doyle, do you hate this as much as I do?”

“Yeah.”

“How did we let this happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Georgia’s not the only one around here who misses you. It’s all I can do every Friday when she tries to chase your truck, not to let loose of her collar and chase you too.”

“Really?”

“Really. . . . Is it too late—for us, I mean?”

“Way I always figured it,” said Doyle, “it wouldn’t be too late until one of us got married to someone else.”

“You engaged?” Sarah asked.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Listen,” said Doyle. “Hear that? Snoring. Boys are asleep.”

“Why don’t you stay in the extra room,” said Sarah. “No need to wake them up. I’ll fix us all breakfast in the morning.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

And later that night when Georgia jumped up on the foot of his bed, Doyle was grateful to get the chance to sleep with at least one of the girls that he loved.

F
OR THE PAST SIX MONTHS
,
neither Sarah nor Georgia have had to fight the urge to chase Doyle’s truck on Friday nights. They’re still on their own when it comes to filling their Saturdays, but every Friday evening, at Doyle’s invitation, Sarah and Georgia pile into the truck with Kevin and Josh and go to Doyle’s house for conversation, fun, and food. They have a great time. Sarah looks forward to it all week.

It’s too soon to tell if Doyle and Sarah will get back together. They still have a lot of things they need to talk about—hurts, resentments, misunderstandings that won’t go away by themselves. It simply won’t do to smooth over such things and pretend that everything is all right.

Doyle knows that. Sarah knows that. They’re taking things slowly.

But in her heart, Sarah believes that Friday nights are a start.

And Georgia, sweet Georgia, is inclined to agree.

15

O
LD
S
PICE

R
OCKY
S
HARTLE BELIEVES IN LOVE
at first sight. Of course he does. His bride of four years, Rochelle, stole his heart the first time he laid eyes on her. Their meeting was terribly romantic, Rocky believes.

More like terribly painful, Rochelle contends. She’s got the scars to prove it.

Even though he and Rochelle have been married for four years and share their home with two rowdy little kids, Rocky, a gentle and sentimental man, gets misty-eyed and runny-nosed when he talks about it.

The two of them were living in Houston when they met. Twenty-year-old Rocky was a student at the local university. He was an education major, and before doing his student teaching he was required to complete twenty hours of observation inside a public-school classroom. Not being very outgoing or brave about doing new things, Rocky’s hands were sweaty on his car’s steering wheel on the first morning that he arrived at the school. He didn’t know any of the teachers, the administration, or any of the students. He wasn’t sure what to expect or even what was expected of him. And where was he supposed to go? Rocky looked around. The campus was large, with several official-looking buildings. His advisor had told him to arrive early and check in at the office. The main door, the one he should go in, would be unlocked.

But there were a lot of doors to the inside. Which one was which? What if he accidentally set off some kind of alarm or something?

Rocky was sitting in his car, contemplating what to do next, when he spotted seventeen-year-old Rochelle. She was hard to miss, as she was perched six feet above the ground on a two-by-two foot metal platform in the middle of a blocked-off portion of the student parking lot. Both her red hair and her short skirt flying and flipping in the wind drew Rocky’s gaze. At first he wondered what she was doing up there—it looked to him like she was reading something from a book. But when he saw sleepy-eyed students stagger from the building, carrying horns and drums, he figured it out. Of course. The red-haired girl was the drum major. Marching band practice was about to commence.

Since the band’s rehearsal hadn’t yet started, Rocky decided to ask the red-haired girl for directions. He grabbed his book satchel, got out of his car, and strode to the girl’s perch. “Excuse me?” Rocky stood on the ground and looked up. “Could you tell me where I . . . oh!”