In This Mountain by Jan Karon

sides,” said Father Tim.
    “It’s fannin’ out over your collar, I’m gettin’ rid of this mess on your neck first.”
    “Cynthia said don’t scalp me.”
    “If I had a’ Indian-head nickel for every time a woman sent me that message, I’d be rich as cream an’ livin’ in Los Angelees.”
    “Why on earth would you want to live there?”
    “I wouldn’t, it’s just th’ first big town that popped to mind.”
    “Aha.” Father Tim saw a veritable bale of hair falling to the floor.
    “Where’s he goin’ to work at?”
    “I don’t know. We have a couple of possibilities.”
    “You wouldn’t want him to be out of work.”
    “Of course not.”
    “That’d be too big a temptation.”
    “You’re going to like this man. Remember, he made a public confession and turned himself in; he was willing to admit his mistake and spend eight years paying for it. Give him a chance.”
    “I don’t know…”
    “Ours is the God of the second chance, Joe.”
    Joe stood back and squinted at his handiwork, then handed Father Tim a mirror. “Well, there they are.”
    “There what are?”
    “Your ears. How long has it been since you seen ’em?”
     
    He left the barbershop and walked toward the corner of Main Street, head down. He wouldn’t confide it to anyone, not even to Cynthia, but something Hope expressed had already been nagging him. Indeed, what if things didn’t work out with George? Yours truly would be the one to blame. Worse, he wouldn’t even be here, he’d be in Tennessee, with no way to sense the flow of things at home. Somehow, he couldn’t grasp the reality of their move to Tennessee; it wouldn’t stick. The boxes were packed, their clothes were ready to zip into hanging bags, but…
    He admitted his relief that they’d failed to locate Clyde Barlowe. Indeed, it was possible that Dooley’s worst fears could come true; if they found the man, the family could be at risk, it was playing with fire. Why was he messing in other people’s lives, anyway, giving George Gaynor easy entry to Mitford, and actively searching for someone who’d never been anything but trouble?
     
    When he reached the hospital four blocks away, he figured he may as well check into a room and get it over with. His feet and legs had the weight of cinder blocks; he’d literally dragged himself up the hill. He recalled that Uncle Billy had asked him to stop by this afternoon, but maybe tomorrow….
     
    “So how do you like boot camp?”
    “Boot camp?”
    “Your hair. What’s left of it.” His ever-harried doc grinned, running his fingers through his own wiry, disheveled hair, which grew in plenty. “Your glucometer reading is through the roof. Two-fifty.”
    His heart sank.
    “You know it should be well under two hundred, around one-forty is where I’d like to see it hang.”
    He said nothing; he loathed this disease, he was sick of it….
    “I’ll have Kennedy draw blood for the lab. What happened to your exercise program?”
    “Let’s see…” His mind felt positively fogged.
    “Gone with the wind, is my guess.” Hoppy popped a green jelly bean.
    The very nerve, thought Father Tim.
    “I’m ready to scuttle your trip.”
    “What?”
    “Either that or I let you go on good faith, with your absolute commitment to take care of yourself.”
    “Meaning…?”
    “Meaning you’ve got to get back to a strict exercise regime and watch your diet. Plus, I’m going to double your insulin.”
    Father Tim stared at his shoes.
    “You know the higher we make your insulin the hungrier you’ll get, and if you don’t exercise you’ll gain weight, you’ll feel rotten…it’s a vicious cycle. So it’s imperative you stick with it, Father. I’m prescribing ten more units…every day. Every morning, every evening, no cutbacks, no slipups, and no excuses.”
    He nodded, numb.
    “I’m worried about you, pal. There’s no quick fix to diabetes.”
    “Right.”
    “Who’s going to be your medical counsel in