Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (Paperback)

Prologue

I had learned over the years of my career as a family physician to "dump" while traveling home from the office or hospital each evening any anger, frustration, and irritation that had collected during the day. I always wanted to arrive home with a good attitude when I began an evening with my family - which at this point in our family life meant Barb. We had been in the empty nest for two years and were enjoying every moment.

While working together to prepare the evening meal, we talked about the day. Even though I had left behind the day's frustration, I knew it was important to Barb that I share what had happened - and I enjoyed hearing about her day. These times together gave us the opportunity to debrief. It was a habit we developed when she put me through medical school in New Orleans more than twenty-five years before.

While we were doing the dishes that night, the phone rang. Barb pushed on the speakerphone with a soapy finger. "Hello," she cheerfully greeted the caller.

"Mom?" I heard the voice of our twenty-four-year-old daughter, Kate.

"Hi, honey." I could hear the smile in Barb's voice. Her winsome and positive attitude usually won her instant friendship with strangers.

Kate's voice, however, was somber and heavy. It didn't have the light and merry cadence she had inherited from her mother and usually displayed. "Mom, I need to tell both you and Dad something before I lose my courage, so can you get Dad on the line?"

Barb's voice became serious and concerned. "Are you OK, honey?"

I was immediately on the alert. Kate was an intern at the White House in Washington, D.C. The semester before graduating from Samford University in 2002 with a bachelor of arts degree in English, she had been selected to serve in the speechwriting office for the president of the United States. For a young woman with cerebral palsy - one who was never supposed to walk or talk - she did both very well.

Because she lived in Washington, D.C., we were concerned about her safety and were always delighted to hear from her. But when I heard Kate's voice and my wife's concerned question, I turned to face the phone.

"I'm fine physically. Just get Dad on the line!" I immediately looked at Barb with alarm. Kate's voice sounded so desperate - it had an almost snappish quality. My eyes met Barb's, and I walked over to her. I spoke toward the phone so Kate could hear me. "Hi, honey. I'm here. Mom's got you on speakerphone. What's up?"

There was a very pregnant pause - which indicated to me that Kate was upset about something. As I waited, I could hear her sniffle. Then she answered softly. "Three weeks ago, I had a horrible thought ..."

Barb and I slowly sat down at the table in our breakfast nook, with its marvelous view of the Colorado Front Range and of Pike's Peak softening in the cool evening's twilight. As I dried my hands, I said, "Tell me about it, precious."

Kate paused again. "... about Mickey Thompson."

I felt my heart skip a beat. I always tried to keep Mickey as far from my mind as possible - for just about every time I did think of him, I was overcome with emotion.

Almost uncontrollably, my memories rushed back in time, to eighteen years earlier when we still lived in Bryson City. How could something so far in our past still cause so much pain? I wondered, as I felt my heart pounding in my chest.

I took a deep breath. "Tell us about it, Katel." Katel was one of my nicknames for Kate. It came from seeing "Kate L." on a label on her backpack the first day she went to school.

I reached out and took Barb's hand.

As Kate continued, I could feel a cold clammy sadness penetrating into the deep recesses of my soul. Barb squeezed my hand as her eyes filled with tears.

Kate burst into fresh tears. "Daddy, tell me it's just a bad dream. Tell me it didn't happen," she pleaded. "Can you have nightmares during the day?" Kate implored.

My mind went blank. My hands were trembling.

Yes, I thought to myself, you can have a nightmare during the day.

And another one had just begun for the Larimores.

(Continues...)