Each Shining Hour by Jeff High

generally speaking, it’s a real relief to think that it’s likely not a cardiac issue. I’ll call Monday and set up an appointment, although I have to admit, I don’t relish the idea of being poked and prodded.”
    â€œWe’ll try to keep the poking and prodding down to a minimum and focus on your heart. My job is to make sure you don’t see that white light everyone talks about.”
    Lida nodded. “Thanks, Doc. Thanks for meeting with me like this.”
    I paused and looked at her curiously. “Lida, earlier you mentioned there was something else, some other concern. Did we miss that?”
    She slumped back into her chair. “Oh, yeah, that.”
    I sat quietly, allowing her to fill in the silence.
    â€œWhen all this chest pain started up, I was concerned it might have something to do with my past.”
    â€œAs in . . .”
    â€œCocaine.”
    â€œCocaine? Did you say cocaine?”
    I sat for a moment, stunned. Then, spontaneously, I rose and rounded the desk, taking a seat in the leather chair beside her. Resting my arms on my knees, I spoke in an intimate whisper.
    â€œLida Wilkins, how does a salt-of-the-earth, solid-citizen Sunday school teacher such as yourself ever get involved with cocaine?”
    â€œIt was a long time ago. I’m not even sure it’s necessary to talk about it.”
    I leaned back in the chair. “Lida, you do know that anything you tell me is protected under doctor-patient confidentiality laws.”
    â€œSo if you ever breathed a word of this, I could have you publicly flogged and maybe even kick you a few times for good measure?”
    â€œNot only that, the law says I’d have to pretend to enjoy it.”
    She grinned, crinkling her nose again. “Fair enough.” After pausing a short moment, she proceeded. “So, here’s the story. Mydad was a deputy sheriff and my mom was an exceptionally strict Baptist. They were good people, but let’s just say my home life was pretty rigid. That’s why I ran off when I was sixteen.”
    â€œYou ran off? Where’d you go?”
    â€œWoodstock.”
    I could not hide my astonishment. “Woodstock! Really? As in the famous week of sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
    â€œYep, I hitchhiked to the Catskills and was there at Woodstock for the three days of music, love, and peace, but mostly love. I was kind of a wild child. Anyway, I met some people and followed them back to Greenwich Village. In those days I smoked a lot of grass and along the way I did a little cocaine, the snorting kind. I worked in a French restaurant. That’s where I learned to cook, really cook. Before I left New York, I had worked in French, Italian, even Moroccan places.”
    â€œWhere did you go after that?”
    â€œTo rehab.”
    â€œOh, wow.” It was a lame response, but I was still amazed, unable to do little more than listen gawk-eyed to Lida’s incredible description of her past.
    â€œYeah, I got myself dry-cleaned.”
    â€œIs that when you came back to Watervalley?”
    â€œNo, I spent a couple of years in a commune called the Farm. It’s about fifty miles away over in Summertown, Tennessee. It was actually a good place for me. A lot of caring people.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    She shrugged. “At the risk of sounding corny, I found my faith again. I moved back to Watervalley when I was twenty-four. Met Charlie, we got married, the rest is history.”
    â€œThat’s quite a story.”
    â€œSo, I read somewhere that cocaine can cause heart damage. You think that’s the case here?”
    I grimaced. “It’s possible, but I tend to think that any damage it might have done would have manifested itself long before now. Still, we can get all that checked out.”
    Lida absorbed this news for a few moments. Then, resolved, she looked over at me with her warm, girlish smile and patted my