Second Chance in Dry Creek

Calen blinked as they crossed through the doorway into the main waiting room of the hospital. After all the darkness of the night, the light seemed particularly bright, so they stood inside for a moment and allowed their eyes to adjust.

“You must be the father,” a young woman called to Calen from the check-in desk, so he pushed the wheelchair closer.

“For Renee Hampton?” the receptionist added.

He didn’t know any Hamptons, but the woman set a clipboard down on the counter in front of him.

“The paramedics said you’d be coming,” she added.

“Yes.” Calen felt proud. He didn’t care what last name his daughter gave. He hadn’t been labeled a father often in his life, and he liked the feeling.

“They said you wouldn’t know much, but do your best with the forms.” The woman smiled as she pointed.

Calen picked up the clipboard. “Thanks.”

He noticed then that the woman’s smile tightened. She’d finally noticed Gracie standing beside him. “You’re Mrs. Stone, aren’t you?”

The receptionist’s voice was barely polite. It had an avid tone to it, though, as if she expected something awful to happen and was anticipating it.

Gracie didn’t respond in kind. She nodded and smiled quite pleasantly. “I was hoping you can tell us how Renee is doing.”

“I’m afraid that would be a violation of our policy,” the receptionist said, more shortly than was necessary, in Calen’s opinion.

“Did Sheriff Wall go in?” Calen asked, thinking maybe that was the reason for the sudden coldness.

The receptionist nodded. Her eyes warmed as she looked at him. “But he didn’t say why.”

“Good,” Gracie muttered at his side. “Shows some sense.”

The receptionist did not even look at Gracie.

Calen thought the awkwardness might be in his own mind until the young woman leaned forward, speaking to the side as though to shut Gracie out. “One of the paramedics told me Renee had been shot. And not in a hunting accident, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s nothing but speculation,” Gracie responded sharply, and then stepped closer to the counter as though forcing the young woman to deal with her.

The hospital worker, her cheeks bright pink from the reproof, did not respond.

“I’m sure the sheriff will sort it all out.” Calen kept his voice as neutral as possible. Years of managing squabbles among the men on the Elkton Ranch had taught him not to throw fuel on any fire. There were no other people in the waiting room, but a public spectacle would do no good right now.

Calen turned then and, motioning for Gracie to go first, started to push the wheelchair over to a line of chairs on the opposite wall. A stack of blankets sat on a small table next to the chairs. He figured Gracie only accompanied him because he had Tessie. The woman was still upset.

Calen picked a pink blanket from the stack and spread it over his granddaughter. Then he sat down.

“People shouldn’t gossip,” Gracie whispered after she lowered herself into the chair next to him.

“There’s no way we can keep something like this quiet.” Calen looked over at Gracie. In the light, he could see that her hair was partially pulled out of her braid. Tessie’s work, no doubt. He felt the urge to smooth the hair back, but he didn’t think she would like it.

“The newspapers around here are pretty good, though,” he finally said. “They know not to speculate too much, especially if there’s going to be a trial.”

“That’s not the way I remember it,” Gracie protested, her voice low and bitter. “The newspapers around here print anything if they think it will sell a few more papers. They certainly covered my return last year. Like the arrest itself a decade ago wasn’t enough.”

Calen crossed his leg so he could rest the clipboard on his right foot, but he didn’t start filling in the information. He cleared his throat instead and said the words he owed her. “I should have apologized years ago for not coming to your defense when you were arrested.”

“I never asked for any help.”

He nodded. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have offered it.”

Gracie didn’t say anything. She stared down at the floor as if she was caught up in memories.

“I was baking a cake that day,” she finally said as she looked up. “A lemon chiffon. Buck’s favorite. We’d had a fight about letting the boys go ice skating. I thought maybe if he had a piece of cake, he’d change his mind. It was a few days after Christmas, and I thought they needed to have some fun before they went back to school. It wasn’t until I heard Wade yelling from the barn that I knew something was wrong.”

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