Our dear friend Maxine has known her share of heartache. Yet she has also been blessed in countless ways. She is slight in stature, with delicate features, a warm smile, and the trademark kindness and courtesy of a Southern lady.
Maxine moves quietly through this world, as though hoping not to disturb even the angels.
Several years ago, I wrote about the terrible car wreck she survived. She had recently retired from the bank where my daddy was one of her two favorite customers. I'll explain why in a minute.
That day, Maxine was driving home after taking supper to her beautiful daughter, who, in her 20s, was diagnosed with a muscular disease that gradually stole her mobility. What began as difficulty walking progressed to a walker and eventually a wheelchair.
Her son, Will, is equally remarkable. An only child whose parents divorced when he was young, he has devoted himself to caring for his mama while working a full-time job. Cheerfully and without complaint, he sees to her every need. Though handsome and thoughtful, he never seems concerned about dating. His priority is making sure his mama is loved and cared for.
Maxine, then in her early 80s, was driving carefully when a speeding teenager, distracted by a cellphone, crossed the center line and hit her head-on.
As paramedics loaded her into the ambulance, she regained consciousness just long enough to give one instruction.
"Be sure to get my Bible and my gun."
I laugh every time I think about that.
But here's what you need to know about Miss Maxine.
Her daughter was only 6 months old when Maxine's husband was killed in a car wreck. For years, she struggled to stretch a bank salary while raising her little girl in an era when career opportunities for women were largely limited to jobs such as teaching, nursing, secretarial work or banking.
Dozens of times she has told me, "If it weren't for that wonderful daddy of yours, I don't know what I'd have done. He kept my old car runnin' so I could get to work. I'd take it down to his mechanic shop, he'd fix it and never charge me a penny. Your daddy was about seein' after us widow women."
Something happened the other day that reminded me of that story.
We were eating hamburgers at the unglamorous—but delicious—Pool Hall when the chief deputy stopped by our table and shared an unforgettable story.
He had responded to a call about a man causing a disturbance on the town square. The man wasn't armed, but he was large, agitated, and swinging at anyone who got close.
"I just want a pack of cigarettes," he grumbled.
The deputy calmed him down, placed him in the patrol car and drove him to McDonald's.
"In the parking lot, I reached into my front pocket to get a $10 bill so he could buy cigarettes and get somethin' to eat," the deputy explained.
The man mistook the movement for the deputy reaching for his gun. He threw a powerful elbow into the deputy's cheekbone and knocked him unconscious.
Here's the best part.
A young woman, about 23 or 24 years old, had just stepped out of her car and witnessed everything. Without hesitation, she grabbed her handgun and confronted the attacker.
Her first shot struck the ground. Her second shot hit the fleeing man in the abdomen. When he continued running across a four-lane highway, she fired again, grazing the side of his head. He collapsed in the median just as additional officers arrived.
"Did y'all give her a medal?" I asked.
"We gave her a big ol' plaque, held a ceremony and made her a hero," the deputy replied.
A Bible and a gun.
Each can save a life differently.
Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of the Stella Bankwell mystery series. Sign up for her free weekly newsletter.