Cranberry Red: A Novel

9. Dr. Sara Phillips

35 The Ames County Argus kept publishing additional letters as they came in: Dear Editor: Our county agricultural agent is leaving. My goodness, what’ll be next? Close the schools? Shut down the firehouses? Privatize the police departments? What’s the country coming to? Just remember: Good things often aren’t missed until they’re gone. Lizzy Hatliff Link Lake The following Tuesday, Ben arrived at the Lone Pine restaurant about ten of twelve, wondering what Dr. Sara Phillips from Osborne University had on her mind. Sitting on a little pine knoll, the Lone Pine, sided with cedar half-logs, once stood on the outskirts of Willow River. In the last twenty years, the city had come out to meet the restaurant and now an Ace Hardware , an antique store, an Amish furniture outlet, and a small-engine repair shop surrounded the little restaurant. The Lone Pine tried to promote itself as a Northwoods eating place. It had a mounted northern pike on the south wall, a ten-point deer head on the north wall, and a collection of shotguns and deer rifles displayed on the long wall above the counter. Willow River was actually a hundred miles south of where most people thought Wisconsin’s real Northwoods began. Some said you had to travel Dr. Sara Phillips 9 at least north of Highway 29 for the Northwoods. The purists claimed you had to drive beyond Highway 8 to find the true north in the state. Willow River natives knew this, and although they did not agree on where Wisconsin’s north began, they all knew it wasn’t Willow River. “Mornin’, Ben,” said Mazy, longtime Lone Pine waitress, when Ben came through the door. Mazy worked here when Beth and Ben first moved to Willow River the year after they married. Mazy had aged well. She maintained a positive attitude, even in the early morning when she came to work. She’d also developed a reputation for taking no guff from anybody , especially early morning truck drivers passing through town and stopping for breakfast. “Woman here to see you, Ben,” Mazy said. She talked out of the side of her mouth. “Over there in that side booth.” She pointed with her pencil. Ben walked over to the table. “Hi, I’m Ben Wesley,” he said. A woman in her mid-thirties with short brown hair and wearing a cream-colored blouse and a hunter-green blazer with “Osborne University” stitched on one pocket held out her hand. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Doctor Sara Phillips from Osborne University. Have a seat. I haven’t ordered yet.” Ben noticed her fingers were long and thin. Her grip was firm. Her hand was warm. He slipped into the booth, opposite the woman. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” “No problem, not much going on these days with my office closing down. You’ve no doubt heard that all the agricultural agent offices in the state are closing on July 1.” “Yes, I’ve heard that,” she responded. Ben couldn’t read the expression on her face, nor could he tell from the tone of her voice what she thought about the matter. “How do you like living in Willow River?” she asked. Her voice was professional. Her face was without expression. “I like it,” he said, wondering why she would ask such a question. “My wife and I have lived here for twenty years. Didn’t think I’d like it when we first moved here. But the place kind of grew on me. Good place to raise kids.” 36 Dr. Sara Phillips 37 Dr. Sara Phillips “Let’s see,” Phillips said, opening a folder. “You have a daughter, Elizabeth , who will be a junior at the University of Wisconsin in Madison next fall. And a son, Josh, who just finished his first year at Mid-State Technical College.” “That’s . . . that’s right. But how did you know?” “Oh, I did a little homework,” Phillips said. She smiled smugly. “What else did your homework turn up?” Ben asked. His voice sounded more surprised than he intended. “Let’s see.” She glanced at the papers in front of her. “You’ve been married twenty-one years. Your wife, Beth, is a registered nurse at Ames Memorial Hospital.” “How’d you find that out?” Ben stammered. “Oh, we have ways,” she said. “Not too complicated, just...