Most of the quotations that appear in this book were taken from the following sources: Evan Esar, ed., The Dictionary of Humorous Quotations, Dorset Press, New York, 1989; R.T. Tripp, The International Thesaurus of Quotations, Harper & Row, New York, 1970; Beatrice Rosenthal, Websterâs Dictionary of Familiar Quotations, Galahad Books, New York, 1974; and Elza Dinwiddie-Boyd, In Our Own Words, Avon Books, New York, 1996.
Jacob Graham patted her arm affectionately, his smile sympathetic. âIâm afraid so. Thereâs no chance of error. Have a seat in the waiting room while I write a couple of prescriptions for you.â She dressed, walked back to the gray carpeted little room and sat in one of the red leather chairs. Not a chance, heâd said. Sheâd gone to Elizabeth Cityâforty miles north of her Caution Point, North Carolina, hometownâfor the examination, because the old doctor had been her familyâs physician for more than forty years; she trusted Jacob Graham. Her gaze captured the man who sat across from her beneath a painting of the perfect family gamboling in pristine snow. She wanted to turn her back to it. Engrossed in the Carolina Times, the man seemed oblivious to her presence. Would he also get bad news?
Dr. Graham appeared, saw the man and greeted him with a smile. âI see youâve finished it ahead of time. My grandson is going to be one happy boy.â He opened the violin case, examined the instrument and exclaimed, his weathered white face wreathed in smiles, âItâs beautiful, just like new.â
âItâs as good as new, too,â the stranger said. âOught to last Jason until heâs ready for a Stradivarius.â She shrugged off the tremor of excitement that shot through her when she heard the husky, sonorous voice.
Dr. Graham rubbed the wood gently, as though respectful of its value. âNow, tell me how things are going with you these days. Any better?â
âNothing new; not a thing.â She reflected on the weariness apparent in the manâs voice and vowed not to let her circumstances whip her. She hated gloom, and she wasnât going to let it cloud her life. Anxious to leave, she cleared her throat, and the doctor turned toward her.
âAre these my prescriptions?â she asked him as she stood preparing to leave, and pointed to the two sheets of paper that he held.
âYes, sure.â The doctor looked from her to the tall, dark man beside him, rubbed his chin as though in deep thought and glanced back at her. âHave you two met?â Before she could respond, the big man shook his head more vigorously than she thought necessary. âYou two ought to talk,â Jacob Graham declared.
âWhy is that?â the man inquired with an exaggerated note of skepticism and without so much as a glance her way. Not that she cared, she told herself.
Her doctor seemed to like his idea better the more he thought of it. âIâve known both of you for years.â He looked at her. âAnd you Iâve known all your life. If the two of you were prepared to act sensibly, you could solve each otherâs problems.â He shook his almost snow-white head. âBut sensibleness seems to be too much to expect of you young people these days.â He handed her the prescriptions and patted her on the back. The other man nodded, but seemed preoccupied and hardly glanced in her direction as she left them.
âJust a second,â Jacob Graham called after her. She waited until he reached the door where she stood. âLorrianneâs having one of her barbecue brunches Sunday, and I know sheâd love to have you come.â
Amanda diverted her gaze from the piercing blue eyes. âI donât want her to know about this yet. I have to get used to it myself. You understand, Dr. Graham?â
He removed the pencil from behind his ear and made a note on his writing pad. âHow will she know if you donât tell her? I donât give my wife an account of everything that goes on in this office. You come on over. The gardenâs at its peak this time of year, and you know how she loves to show it off. Noon, Sunday. Donât forget, now.â
Though anxiety boiled inside of her, she raised her head and squared her shoulders with an air of calm and walked out into the April morning, chilled by the Atlantic Oceanâs still wintry breeze.
Amanda plaited her long, thick and wooly hair in a single braid, twisted it into a knot, surveyed the result and made a face at herself in the mirror. She couldnât bring herself to cut her hair, though she spent a good fifteen minutes every morning braiding it and wrapping the single braid around her head or making two French twists at the back of her head. It would be easier to manage if she straightened it but, as a teenager, she had decided to leave it as nature had ordained. She finished dressing, got into her car and drove to Elizabeth City, giving herself plenty of time to arrive before other guests; joining a crowd of cocktail-sipping strangers was not anything she relished on that particular day. Her concerns were too serious for light chatter. But in spite of her efforts, she arrived to find at least a dozen people milling around, chatting and drinking coffee. No cocktails. She had forgotten Lorrianneâs rule about not serving alcohol before six oâclock. Lorrianne claimed that Americans spent too much money and wasted too much energy on alcohol. Not that any of it mattered to her; a glass of wine was as much as she ever drank.