As I started the Corolla, I reached into the inner pocket of my coat for my sunglasses. They were Dolce & Gabbana, one of my few claims to pretentiousness from my Buckhead days. I arrived at the clinic and drove around back to park. Lida was already waiting in her car. In her late fifties, Lida Wilkins was trim and energetic with an infectious smile and a quick wit. I doubt she had ever been described as beautiful, but with her shining blue eyes that squinted whenever she laughed, her strawberry red hair, and her freckled face and arms, she had a tomboy prettiness about her. Underneath was a savvy business mind and a self-made woman who had started with nothing but now owned the Depot Diner and the Society Hill Bed and Breakfast. And while she was an astute entrepreneur, she was known for her tender devotion to family, church, and community. She was an uncanny combination of the saintly and the practical. She approached me as I exited my car.
