The last place on Planet Earth I’d like to be right now is calling me to come back and conduct an exorcism.
Okay, maybe not an exorcism, but it’s pretty damn close.
We’d settled into Cape Vincent – the caravan and I – up near the Thousand Islands, ready to do our monthly rounds for all those in need of mobile mental mindsharing. These people aren’t destitute, mind you, but services can be hard to come by this far away from the larger cities, so just before we all take our own much-needed mental health break, we usually make a stop at this most scenic of spots, take in the lighthouse and the sunsets and go our separate ways for a little while.
We were hours away from the end of our assignment when my phone rang and the name on the screen was none other than Silas Morgan.
I send it straight to voicemail.
It isn’t until we were through for the day, enjoying the view of the water and the start of the Fall breezes, that I dial it up and play it on speaker for the team.
“Theodora, Silas Morgan here … from Middle Valley … I think we’re going to need your help down here. See, Paul is about to go on trial, and there is no one in town that can prep him. We need you and your team’s expertise. Think you could make a stop in Middle Valley the next few days? The town will make it worth your while. Give me a call as soon as possible. Many thanks, speak soon.”
“Perhaps you didn’t get the message,” Cane says, sipping his chardonnay while somehow not dropping his cigarette to the ground. “You know. Cell service and all.”
I nod, stirring my vodka tonic. “Maybe.”
“No, no, no,” our youngest and newest recruit, Cynthia, says. “You can’t just leave a person in need like that. We have to go down there and help.”
Cane sits up straight in his chair. “CYN-thia, dear, you weren’t there. These people are CRAZY! They’d sooner eat you for lunch. And this is their SHERIFF? I mean, for real … no, Ms. Theodora, I say you did not get the message.”
I laugh for the first time in what seems like weeks. I’d been dying for this vacation – beyond dying, begging God to just keep me alive for one more leg. It had been an exhausting stretch, and Middle Valley, in my mind, had been the most taxing part.
But, cheesy as it sounds, my desire to serve is edging out my desire for a hot tub and good concierge.
“We’ll do it,” I tell them. “Pack your bags. But I will tell you this … the woman that hired us before, Wanda? Remember?”
Cane takes a long drag from his cigarette, rolling his eyes in disdain, as Cynthia’s eyes dart between the two of us.
“Ah, yes, the batty tourism lady,” he says.
“Well, the batty tourism lady is now mayor, so she better get us some rooms at the Golden Pillar. I think it’s the least Mrs. McMurtry could do, what with all of this ‘saving her town’ and all. It’s truly nuts.”
Canes face lights up at the thought of a true concierge and a high-end hotel in which to live for a week or so.
“Now that sounds like a plan!”