The Light in the Mirror
a novel
David Lane
RESOURCE Publications
The Light in the Mirror
Copyright © 2011 David Lane. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
isbn 13: 978-1-61097-275-8
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
Acknowledgments
My gratitude to Doreen Button, who went through the manuscript line by line, suggesting changes and enhancing style carefully and skillfully.
Thanks to Carla Aydelott for her help in typing various drafts of the manuscript, with excellent attention to accuracy.
I’m grateful to my mother, Janis K. Lane, who encouraged me and made helpful observations about the 1960s and 1970s.
Thanks also to my father, Dr. LeRoy L. Lane, for suggestions on revising several chapters, and for giving me a loving push when I needed it.
My brother, Jeff Lane, shared useful memories of the 1960s and 1970s and cheered me on in my writing.
Special thanks to Detective Sergeant Terry Fitzpatric, who advised me on police procedures in investigating a crime.
My thanks to former mayor, Jeff Miller. He provided information on mayoral candidacy and duties of a mayor.
I’m grateful to Dr. Thomas K. Wuest, orthopedic center administrator and orthopedic surgeon, for reading chapters dealing with medical procedures and providing helpful comments.
Thanks to Dr. George Knox for providing information on Scottish pronunciation, language, and culture, based on his travels in Scotland.
Thanks also to Tim Aho for information on Scottish vocabulary and accent, learned while living in England.
The following Passage inspired this story.
For we know in part, and
we prophesy in part; but
when the perfect comes,
the partial will be done away.
When I was a child, I used
to speak as a child, think as
a child, reason as a child;
when I became a man,
I did away with childish
things. For now we see
in a mirror dimly, but
then face to face; now
I know in part, but then
I shall know fully just as
I also have been fully known.
I Corinthians 13:9–12
1
A Near Tragedy
“Yow!”
Richard Hawkins let loose a yelp from the abrupt change in water temperature.
“Uncle Mac must be working in the kitchen. Well, that woke me up. Guess I’ll forego my morning solo.”
After showering, he toweled vigorously, put on shorts and slippers, and headed down the hall to his bedroom. He surveyed the image in his full-length mirror. Richard’s high forehead, hazel eyes, and strong jaw reflected his naturally serious attitude toward life.
He gave his mustache a couple of strokes with the comb, then moved to the chest of drawers. Slapping a generous amount of shaving lotion on his face, he mused, “Even if I don’t look like I’ve shaved, I might as well smell like I have.”
Downstairs, Richard found his uncle in the kitchen preparing their breakfast of Quaker Oats. Richard helped by making toast and pouring orange juice. There was little conversation. Uncle Mac had raised Richard; their relationship was as secure in silence as it was in speech.
When Richard finished eating, he sat back, sipped his coffee, and gave his uncle an affectionate glance. Uncle Mac was busy at his morning ritual, working the daily crossword puzzle.
“Finished in 14 minutes.” Uncle Mac’s voice conveyed his satisfaction.
Richard responded teasingly, “Considering your years as a top librarian, a newspaper crossword puzzle is as challenging as high school algebra is for Einstein.”
Uncle Mac chuckled, pleased with the comparison. Changing the subject, the Glasgow native said, ‘If ye don’t want Quaker Oats for dinner too, ye’ll have to go to the store and get a few things.”
“Just a few? In that case, I’ll walk. What do we need?”
Uncle Mac handed him a short list.
“I’m on my way.”
Richard liked puzzling over something when he walked. Today, as he walked the five blocks to the grocery store, he thought about how long it would take him and a friend to paint his Uncle Mac’s house.
Now, how could I convince Uncle Mac to give the old place some color? He’ll insist on painting the house gray again. He smiled as he recalled how his uncle defended the color gray. “You see, laddie, the color matches Oregon’s climate.”
At that moment, Richard looked up to see a squirrel, frightened by his approach, dart across his path and into the street.
“Stupid squired!” he exclaimed, as a car came within inches of hitting the animal.
Maybe, I could get Uncle Mac to at least change the trim from boring white. But, no, he’s stubborn like me.
As if to prove his own stubbornness, his mind flashed back to an incident that, years later, still made him feel ashamed. Often during his teenage years, his uncle would press him to take up golf. The theme of his insistence was always the same: Golf was good exercise and it would enable him to meet people who could help him land a job some day. “No, that’s not my thing,” Richard would reply.
He slowed his pace and kicked a pine cone off the sidewalk, reluctant to remember what happened on his sixteenth birthday. The memories
