Summer at Fraser’s Mill

Doc

A ccording to her mother’s order, Grace had set her alarm for sleeping in. When the alarm’s bird-chirping sounds jolted her into wakefulness, her body protested that it was too early to get up. Yet, mid-morning light streamed through the chinks in the blinds. Grace rolled over and turned off the alarm. Nine A.M.—only six A.M. her usual time.

When she came downstairs, having washed and dressed, she found the kitchen empty except for a few dishes in the sink.

“Dad?” Grace called.

“In here,” Dad’s voice said from the living room.

He was sitting in front of a card table with his laptop, his injured foot elevated on another chair. “Morning, Gracie! Your mother made me promise to keep my foot up. How’d you sleep?”

“Just fine. Did you eat?”

“Yup, eggs and oatmeal with raisins. Coffee’s in the coffeemaker if you want any.”

“Thanks.”

Right, coffee. Grace headed back upstairs to look in her suitcase for the French press she had brought. The coffee Grace’s parents drank was on par with the kind at the gas station. She couldn’t convince them French press coffee was better than theirs, but she had convinced them to get a few more kinds of coffee for the store.

She was filling the tea kettle at the kitchen sink when she noticed movement outside the window, which looked out over the gravel driveway. Someone was out there. Standing on tiptoe in front of the sink, Grace saw a dark-haired man hunched down next to Mom’s car.

What the heck? What was he doing? Trying to steal the car? Or cut out the catalytic converter? Didn’t that kind of thing only happen in L.A.?

After struggling with the deadbolt, which Dad had replaced a few years ago and reinstalled backwards by mistake, Grace flew out the kitchen door, the screen banging behind her. It was chilly outside, and the gravel driveway stung her bare feet.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she demanded.

Still crouched next to the car, the man looked up. Grace had thought she knew pretty much everyone in town, but this man was a stranger. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with a narrow face and wavy dark hair.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“I live here.” She planted herself facing him, hands on hips. “What are you doing with my mom’s car?”

“Ah! You must be Grace.” He straightened up—and up. At five foot seven, Grace didn’t consider herself short, but this guy towered over her. He held out his hand. “ Johnson. Professional car thief. Glad to meet you.”

Grace opened her mouth, found she had nothing to say, and closed it again. The car thief was waiting, hand outstretched, an amused gleam in his eyes.

Grace ignored the hand. “You’re not really a car thief.”

“If I was, I wouldn’t steal this car.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

He motioned with his head. “Flat tire.”

Grace looked. “Oh.” Between last night and this morning, the front tire on the driver’s side of Mom’s car had gone completely flat.

“There’s a nail right through it,” the thief told her. “Just got in from the city?”

She turned back to him. “What makes you think that?”

“We don’t get a lot of car thieves out here.” His face crinkled in a grin. “And your dad told me you were flying in from L.A.”

Why did this stranger know so much about her?

“Who are you really?” Grace demanded.

“My name’s Jim. Dr. James Johnson. I live next door. Most folks around here call me .”

“In the doctor’s office? What happened to Williams?” Williams had been the town doctor for as long as Grace could remember. She had just seen him when she visited her parents at Christmas.

“He retired in January, and I took over his practice. He’s my uncle.” The car-thief-turned-doctor still looked amused.

Didn’t Williams know nepotism was a bad idea? And how was this guy old enough to be a doctor?

“Is your dad up?” asked. “I’m gonna check on his foot.”

He wasn’t just a doctor—he was Dad’s doctor. She had accused Dad’s doctor of being a car thief. She would never hear the end of it.

“He’s up,” Grace said.

“Thanks. I can help change that tire after work, unless you still think I’m trying to steal the car.”

The expression on ’s face could only be described as a teasing grin, and it sealed Grace’s decision.

“No need,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

went into the house, and Grace was left with the car, the flat tire, and the gravel driveway, which hurt her feet.

First things first. She had to get her shoes.

Inside the house, Grace sneaked past the living room doorway to go upstairs. was looking at Dad’s foot and didn’t notice her. So far so good. She would confer with Mom about the flat tire. She could even look up how to change a tire online if it came to that. No need to ask Dad and get laughed at by the new know- it-all doctor. Grace put on her shoes and hurried over to find Mom in the grocery store.

§

Mom was manning the cash register. “What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. “I hope you got enough sleep. It’s only six-thirty in California, and you don’t work till one.”

“Oh, I got plenty of sleep,” Grace said. “Mom, we’ve got a problem. There’s a flat tire on your car. We must have run over a nail on the way back from the airport last night. Do you know how to unhook the spare tire from under the car?”

Mom shook her head. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “You’re not gonna try to change a tire. You can get killed doing that. If the jack slips and you’re underneath the car, you’re dead. I never liked it when your father did it. You’re not doing it.”

There was no arguing with Mom when she used that tone. Grace sighed. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Maybe we could pump up the tire enough to get it down to Ed’s,” Mom said. “You can try the bike pump in the garage, if you want. But you’re not changing any tires. There’s no need to be a hero. Or you could always call AAA, and they’ll come and do it.”

“No, I don’t feel like bothering them. I’ll try pumping it up.”

§

Good thing there was no need to be a hero, because Grace felt decidedly unheroic after spending ten minutes trying to figure out how to attach the bike pump to the car. She felt even less heroic after she had started pumping air into the tire. She was just an ordinary woman who didn’t work out her arms enough. They were beginning to feel like noodles, and the rim of the wheel, almost touching the ground, didn’t seem to budge at all.

This would probably take a while. Grace continued pumping. And pumping. She wasn’t cold anymore.

Why hadn’t she accepted ’s help when he offered it? She wasn’t in the habit of refusing people’s help. What had come over her to insist on doing it herself? Maybe it had been the expression on his face. He had been so obviously amused at the city girl who took a helpful neighbor for a car thief. It was Grace’s first day back, and already she had been reminded she was out of place in this small town.

The screen door opened and shut. Footsteps crunched across the gravel.

Grace looked over.

stood watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. “How’s it going?”

“Just fine.” Grace pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Sure you don’t want any help?” asked.

“Absolutely sure.” Grace put all her weight behind pumping up the tire. She might be tired, but she wasn’t going to be a damsel in distress and accept his help. Even a city girl could pump up a tire.

She wasn’t looking at , but she could hear amusement in his voice. “Have a good workout, then.”

More footsteps across gravel, then the door of the doctor’s office opened and shut. Grace continued working on the tire.

Was the pump doing anything? Grace still couldn’t tell if the tire had budged. At this rate, she’d be here till doomsday. At least it wasn’t too hot. Grace hated exercising in the heat.

After what felt like an hour, the tire was filling. The rim of the wheel lifted farther from the ground. Thank goodness—Grace’s arms couldn’t hold out much longer. She straightened up and stretched, breathing in the cool spring air.

The tire looked like it could be driven a short way. Grace put back the bike pump and ran into the house for the car keys, which were kept in a bowl on the kitchen counter.

She stopped to tell Dad what was going on.

His forehead furrowed. “Gracie, you didn’t have to do all that,” he said. “I could have found somebody to change the tire.”

“That new doctor from next door already offered to do that,” Grace told him. “I wanted to do it myself.”

Dad shook his head, but he smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

§

Ed’s gas station and car garage sat at the edge of town, half a mile away. Since it was the only garage in town, the small car repair lot was always jammed with cars. Grace maneuvered Mom’s car into the only available space.

Grace went into the tiny office, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke. Ed, a thin, unshaven man, was on the phone filling out paperwork with his free hand. Paper covered his whole desk—forms, receipts, phone numbers, and a huge calendar with scribbled notes covering every inch of what used to be white space. Photos of classic cars covered the wall behind the desk.

Grace waited in the doorway until Ed hung up the phone.

“Hi there.” Ed put down his pen and looked up at Grace. “How can I help you?”

“My mom’s car has a flat tire,” Grace said. “There’s a nail in it.”

“Flat tire, eh? What kind of car?”

“It’s a 2003 Dodge Durango.” Grace pointed it out through the office window.

“The silver one? I know that car. You’re Ben Murray’s kid, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m Grace.”

“You’ve been away a few years. You done with school yet?”

A lot of people still asked that question, years after Grace had graduated from college. Either she looked younger than she was, or people in general were bad at guessing ages.

“Yes, I actually teach school now in L.A.,” Grace said. “I came back to help out in the store because my dad broke his foot.” She started working the car key off the key ring so she could leave it with Ed.

“I heard about that.” Ed’s face was all sympathy. “You tell your dad to get better soon, you hear? I’ll take a look at that tire and see if I can fix it. Got a few other vehicles to do first, but I should get to it before the end of the day. What’s a good phone number for you?”

That was one problem solved since Grace had come home, anyway. Leaving her number and the car key with Ed, she headed back to her house.

Thick dew still covered the grass, so Grace walked in the road, her tennis shoes almost noiseless against the asphalt. A tiny red squirrel scampered across the road and up a tree. Birds warbled and trilled all around. Fraser’s Mill had more birds than Los Angeles. Despite the car problems, it was a beautiful morning.

It was almost time for Grace’s first shift at Murray’s Grocery. Hopefully she’d still remember the things she’d learned about running the store. Otherwise, what was the point of her coming all the way out here to help?