A Father’s Love
*A Father’s Love takes Johnny and Trevor
forward in time five years, to the summer of 2007. This doesn’t mean that there
might not be future stories with Trevor as a little boy, but for this story
Johnny and Trevor are dealing with the volatile teen years.
*As always, thank you for your interest in my work.
It’s been a pleasure to get to know so many of you.
*I must thank Ria for the beautiful picture she provided for this story. If you’d like to send Ria feedback regarding her drawing, you may do so by clicking on her name – Ria. As well, thank you to, Audrey, Chuck, and Icecat for assistance in getting the picture formatted for the cover page. More thank you’s to those who assisted with A Father’s Love, appear at the end of part 4.
*For those of you who might be new to this Website,
Trevor Gage first appears in Dancing with the Devil, and then in several
other stories including The Phantom and the Parselmouth, Firefighter’s
Tears, and Uncle Johnny Santa Claus. As well, reference is made in this story to the This Old House
trilogy that appears in my Emergency Fan Fiction Library.
* Adult language is occasionally present in A Father’s Love.
~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“But
why?”
“Because I
said so.”
“Pops!”
“Don’t
stand there and ‘Pops’ me using that tone, young man.”
“But
that’s not an answer to my question.”
“What’s
not an answer to your question?”
“ ‘Because
I said so.’ It’s not an answer, it’s a copout.”
“In this
case, it’s an answer.”
“That’s
not fair and you know it!”
John Gage
shut the door to his office. Trevor had stopped at the Eagle Harbor Fire
Station on his way home from school, as had been his habit since he’d started
kindergarten. But kindergarten was ten years in the past now, and no longer did
Trevor’s after-school visits revolve solely around cookies, a glass of milk,
and time spent with his father before Clarice took him home.
Johnny
turned to face the young man who had turned fifteen just a week ago, on May
fourteenth. The past year had brought about a growth spurt in the teenager that
meant Trevor and his father were now within four inches of being able to look
one another in the eye. Johnny estimated that Trevor would be two or three
inches taller than him by the time Trev reached his full height. But regardless of that, Johnny was still his
father, and always would be. Lately,
Trev needed to be reminded of that on a frequent basis.
“Trevor,
you might as well get used to the fact that life isn’t always fair, and you
don’t always get to do everything you want to, regardless of whether you’re
fifteen years old, or sixty years old.”
The
teenager scowled. He gave an angry swipe at the thick, dark bangs that had
fallen into his eyes. “I just don’t
understand why you won’t let me go.”
“I’ve
already told you why I won’t let you go.
I’ve told several times in the last couple of weeks. Nagging me about it
isn’t gonna change my answer.”
“But all
my friends—“
Johnny
held up a hand. “Yeah, I know. All your
friends are going. So you’ve told me
more than once. However, the answer is still no.”
“It’s just
a concert. I don’t see why—“
“I’ve told
you why.”
“But your
reason is stupid!”
Johnny
pointed a stern finger under the boy’s noise.
“Trevor Roy, you’d better remember who you’re talking to.”
“Okay,
okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t
sound like you’re sorry.”
“I just
want to know why you won’t—“
“Trevor,
for the tenth time in ten days, here’s the rundown. I’m not gonna let you go to Anchorage in a vehicle with nine
other kids, that includes a driver who has only had his license for two months,
see a concert, and then stay in a hotel and not return until the next day.”
“But why?
And don’t tell me, ‘because I said so.’”
“Okay,”
Johnny said as he held up three fingers and began counting off. “Here are three
reasons right off the top of my head.
One; no sixteen-year-old who has had his license for just two months has
any business hauling a car full of kids five hundred miles.”
“He’s not
using a car. He’s using his parents’
mini-van.”
Johnny
just glared at his son for that remark before continuing.
“I’ve been on the scene of
too many accidents over the last thirty-six years not to know what can happen
when you mix an inexperienced driver and his friends. He can lose his
concentration, and the next thing you know—“
“Connor’s
a good driver. He—“
Johnny
scowled. “How do you know Connor’s a
good driver?”
“Uh...I
just do. That’s all.”
“You’re better
not have been riding with him. I told you you’re not to accept a ride from
Connor until he’s got more time behind the wheel.”
“I
didn’t,” Trevor lied, while at the same time thankful that no one in this small
hamlet of Eagle Harbor had seen him riding in Connor’s pickup truck after
school the previous Wednesday. Or at
least if anyone had, that person evidently hadn’t said anything to his father
about it.
Although
Johnny suspected his son was lying to him, he let it pass for now. As his father had always said, eventually
you’ll catch the pig at the trough. Yes, it was an old-fashioned expression for
the current times, but where teenage boys were concerned, it still held true.
“Reason two. I don’t like the message that group you want to see sends, so—“
“Pops!
You’re so old-fashioned.”
“Trevor, a
basic sense of what’s decent isn’t old-fashioned. You don’t even like
their music. You just wanna go because
you’re friends are going.”
“I do too
like their music!”
Johnny
wasn’t going to debate that issue as he held up three fingers now. “And three,
at your age, you have no business getting a hotel room for the night with a
group that includes girls.”
“But the
girls are gonna sleep in the two beds, and us guys are gonna bring sleeping
bags and bunk on the floor.”
“I don’t
care what the sleeping arrangements are. The answer is no, and I can’t believe
the parents of those girls are gonna allow this.”
“Well,
they are, because they’re cool. They’re
not old and strict like you!”
“Trev—“
“I’m only
saying what’s true.”
“That I’m
old and not cool?”
“Yeah.”
Johnny had
to hide his smile. God knew there had been a time in his life when he never
imagined himself being ‘old’ and ‘not cool’ in anyone’s eyes. But, the fact of the matter was, he was
sixty-years-old and raising a fifteen-year-old son. Until recently, Johnny hadn’t felt his age, and his son hadn’t
seemed to notice. But now, on many
days, Johnny felt every one of his sixty years, thanks to the trials and
tribulations given him by his teenager.
“Okay, so
I’m old and not cool.”
“And
strict.”
“Thank
you.”
“What?”
Johnny
grinned. “You can’t give me a better
compliment as your father than to accuse me of being strict.”
Trevor
balled his hands into fists and pounded them against his thighs. “You make me so mad sometimes.”
“I realize
that, and I’m sorry. But the answer to this trip to Anchorage, as you now have
it arranged, is still no, and will continue to be no.”
“Then how
can I arrange it so you say yes?”
“If I take
you there—“
“No way!”
“Just hear
me out. If I take you there, drop you
off, and pick you up when the concert is over, then I’ll consider it.”
“But it’ll
be way too long of a drive to come back home that night.”
“We can stay
at the hotel you were talking about.
Talk to the girls about getting a room of their own, and then us guys
can—“
“No!”
Trevor shook his head as though he couldn’t imagine a greater horror. “You
can’t come with me! No one else’s parents are coming.”
In
contrast to his son’s shouts, Johnny’s voice was calm and even-toned. “Look, I’ve given you a reasonable
alternative, despite the fact that I don’t think you have any business paying
to see a concert put on by that group anyway. I can drive you there, you can
meet your friends, and then I’ll pick you up when the concert is over. Or, some
of the kids can ride with you and me, and Connor can follow us in the mini-van
with the rest of the kids. We can book
two rooms at the hotel, guys in one room, girls in the other.”
“They’ll
laugh at me.”
“Who will
laugh at you?”
“My
friends. Everything’s co-ed now. Sleepovers and stuff like that. Nothing’s
going to happen.”
“Trevor, I
will not have my fifteen-year-old son shacking up in a hotel room with four
girls.”
The
teenager was furious at what he viewed as his father’s attempt to thwart his
social life. As he yanked the door open
he asked, “Like you shacked up with my
mother, you mean?”
“Trev—“
The boy
slammed the door so hard that the pane of glass it contained rattled in its
frame. Johnny watched through the
window that faced the rear parking lot. Trevor jerked his shoulders into the
backpack he’d left looped over the handles of his twelve-speed, hopped on the
mountain bike, and furiously peddled toward home.
Johnny
sighed as he walked around the desk and sank into his big leather chair. He
glanced up at the pictures of his son he had on one row of shelves. His eyes landed on a photograph the police
chief, Carl Mjtko, had taken the previous summer at the town picnic. Johnny was seated on a bench. On impulse,
Trevor had come up behind him, bent down so their faces were even with one
another, and wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. It was that moment, when Johnny and Trevor
were wearing twin grins, that the picture was snapped. Raising Trevor had still been so easy then,
just ten short months ago. Until
recently, Trevor had never given Johnny any problems, and the worst that could
be said about him was that he was an active boy filled with a curiosity about
the world that sometimes caused his common sense to take a backseat. But then, Johnny had been the same as a
child, and as a young man well into his twenties. Therefore, he was confident
that given time and maturity, Trevor’s common sense would eventually begin to
assert itself.
Johnny’s
eyes scanned the other pictures that covered Trevor’s life from infancy right
up to the most recent school picture that had been taken in the fall of 2006,
Trevor’s freshman year at Eagle Harbor High School. He sighed again when his mind replayed the argument that had just
occurred. The burden of raising a teenager alone was, at times, a heavy one to
bear. Much heavier than Johnny had ever
imagined it would be. And here he’d
thought the difficult years of single parenting – the years that included
middle of the night bottle feedings and diaper changes, the years that included
the Terrible Twos and potty training, the years that included skinned knees,
tonsillitis, and ear infections, were behind him. Only now was John Gage beginning to discover that those years had
been easy, and that the difficult years were just beginning.
Johnny
raked a hand through his thick hair that had recently begun to gray beyond his
temples. If he looked in a mirror he
knew he’d see fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and the beginning of some
wrinkles taking up residence in his neck.
“What the
hell was I thinking, becoming a father at forty-five?” the fire chief questioned
while recalling the ridiculous argument he’d just engaged in with a son four
and a half decades his junior. “I’m too
damn old for this shit. Too damn old to
be fighting with a teenager over a stupid rock concert.”
The man
stood when he heard voices out in the hallway as people passed his office. He
did his best to smile when several men gave him a wave through the glass and a,
“Hi, Chief.” It was almost time for the Police and Fire Commission meeting to
start in the conference room at the other end of the building. A meeting that would contain men all near
his own age, whose kids were long grown, and who, like his good friend Roy
DeSoto, were grandfathers several times over by now.
“I’m just
too damn old,” Johnny mumbled.
The fire chief was
reminded of that fact all the more as he slipped on his reading glasses and
exited the office, while limping slightly because the leg he’d broken when he
was hit by that car thirty-three years ago sometimes bothered him. Johnny had
laughed at Joe Early when the doctor had warned him that someday, when he was
older, the leg might give him trouble on occasion. Not that he hadn’t believed the man, but it was just that, at the
age of twenty-seven, Johnny couldn’t imagine reaching the point in life when an
old injury would come back to haunt him.
I wish Doctor Early had
warned me about potential problems with teenagers back then, Johnny
thought as the entered the conference room and took his place at the head of
the table. He resisted the urge to
smile over the last thought that came to him right before he called the meeting
to order.
Aw, hell, I probably
wouldn’t have listened to him anyway.
____________________
Trevor was
in his father’s home office. He sat in the desk’s chair with it turned facing
the sidearm that held the computer. This was another thing that ticked him
off. All his friends had computers in
their bedrooms, and most of them had TV sets in their rooms, too, and several
had phones with their own private lines.
But his father wouldn’t allow Trevor any of those privileges, not even
when Trevor said he’d pay for those things with his own money. Pops had still said no, and then said if
Trevor had those he’d be “holed up in his room away from the family.” Trev knew he’d hurt his father a lot that
night a few weeks ago when he’d yelled, “What family? It’s just you and me! There’s not a family here,” but he’d never
apologized for his words, and like a lot of things between himself and his
father lately, the angry words hung heavy in the air for several days before
the Gage men moved onto a new argument.
Trevor
logged onto the Internet. He could hear
Clarice working in the kitchen, preparing supper for himself and his father.
Despite the fact that she was now seventy-four years old, she still came to the
Gage household several days a week to clean, cook, and do laundry, and she was
always there when Trevor arrived home from school on the days his father
worked. When Johnny pulled an overnight shift, Clarice used the bedroom that
was considered hers when needed, that was situated in a hallway behind the
dining room. Trevor thought of Clarice
as a beloved grandmother and would never say anything to hurt her, but
sometimes he resented her presence. He
was old enough to stay by himself now when his father was at work, but that was
another issue Pops wasn’t giving in on.
“Clarice
would be here when you got home from school if she was your mother,” Pops had
said.
“But she’s
not my mother,” Trevor pointed out in return. “She’s not my mother, and I’m old
enough to be here by myself.”
“Sometimes
you are here by yourself,” his father had reminded him. “But for the most part,
I feel better knowing Clarice and you are here together keeping one another
company while I’m at work.”
“What if I
don’t want company?” Trevor had challenged.
“Then at
those times go to your room and shut the door,” Pops had snapped back in a tone
that told Trevor to cool it and keep his smart mouth to himself.
After Trevor
logged into his e-mail account he watched as the messages downloaded. He had one from Kylee, a girl he went to
school with that he liked a lot. Trevor was pretty sure Kylee liked him a lot
too, though when he told her he couldn’t go the concert she’d probably lose
interest in him in favor of some guy whose father wasn’t so old and
strict.
The next
e-mail was from Connor. Trevor didn’t open it, just like he didn’t open
Kylee’s. He knew all they’d be talking about was the Memorial Day weekend trip
to Anchorage, and Connor probably wanted Trevor to meet him in a chat room
later that night to discuss it. Trevor
didn’t know when or how he was going to break the news to his friends that he
couldn’t go, so for the time being he ignored their messages.
The last
e-mail that had come while he was at school was from Trevor’s mother. He smiled as he opened it. Until this winter, Trevor hadn’t thought too
much about his mother one way or another.
Yes, he loved her, but his father was his custodial parent, and his
visits with his mother, who lived in New York City, encompassed only two weeks
out of each year. It had only been
since January that Trevor had begun to really get to know his mom through
e-mail communications and phone calls – both things becoming more frequent than
they had been in the past. Part of this
came from Trevor’s increasing desire to get to know the woman who had given
birth to him on a deeper level than what he previously had, and part of this
new-found desire to connect with his mom came from the rift growing between
himself and his father.
Mom’s
e-mail was filled with chatty news about her job as a cardiac surgeon, about
Trevor’s stepfather, Franklin, and about the three-year-old sister Trevor now
had, that Mom and Franklin had adopted when Catherine, as they had named her,
was just four days old. The adoption had shocked and angered Trevor’s father
for reasons Trevor didn’t know, and Pops refused to reveal. But Trevor had seen the look on his father’s
face when he’d rushed to greet him with an excited, “Papa, I have a new
sister!” when his pops had arrived home from work on the day three years
earlier that Mom had called to tell Trevor he was a big brother. A few days later, Trevor had overheard a
small portion of a conversation his father and Clarice were having about
Catherine. To this day Trevor still
didn’t know why his father had been upset over his mother adopting a child, nor
did he know what his father meant when he’d said to Clarice, “She didn’t want
that responsibility before. I don’t understand why things are suddenly so
different. What’s the deal? Because
it’s now fashionable for wealthy women pushing fifty to have an infant, she had
to go out and get herself one?”
A then twelve-year-old
Trevor had slipped out the back door without his father or Clarice seeing
him. Based on his father’s words, he’d
come to the conclusion that his mother must have thought of adopting a child in
the past, but had changed her mind for some reason. His years as Eagle Harbor’s fire and paramedic chief had made
Pops big on responsibility, so Trevor assumed his father was judging his mother
based on those criteria.
Trevor’s
mother had included more links for colleges in the New England area. He hadn’t told his father yet that he was
thinking of attending college out east, and for now there was no reason
to. He still had three years of high
school left to finish. A discussion
about college locations could wait at least
another year. Franklin and Mom were even going to
pay for his college education if he attended school on the east coast, though
Trevor hadn’t told his father that yet, either. He had a feeling Pops wouldn’t be too happy about it, and the
teenager couldn’t understand why. Franklin and Mom earned an income that easily
enabled them to pay for his college education, while for his father it would be
more of a financial burden. But, Pops
had a lot of pride that way, and Trevor knew his father had been saving for his
college education since the day he’d been born, so again, it was a discussion
best saved for the future. Maybe a
discussion his father and mother needed to have face to face, rather than
Trevor having to talk to his father about it without his mother’s support.
The
teenager read his mother’s e-mail through a second time, but didn’t send her a
reply. He’d do that later. For now, he chose to send an e-mail to the
one person who’d grown to become his closest friend and confidante. The one person he could tell all of his
problems to while having faith she’d understand, in the same way she had faith
that he understood all of her problems. As they navigated their teen years, he
without a mother in his home and she without a father in hers, they’d found
their friendship had grown even stronger than it had been when they were
playmates.
____________________
Hi Libby,
How are
things going? School will be out in three weeks here. Do you get that job you
applied for at the Gap?
Sometimes
I hate my pops. He really made me mad today.
He won’t let me go to the Boys in Bondage concert in Anchorage with my
friends. They’re going to think I’m a total dorko and baby when I tell
them. He’s so old fashioned. I wish Pops were younger like my friends’
parents, and like your mom. He’d
understand better what it’s like to be a teenager if he was. He worries about such dumb stuff that’s
never going to happen, like a car accident, just because my friend Connor is
going to drive. No matter what I say, Pops won’t listen. I hate it when he gets like that.
Talk to you later.
Trevor
P.S. I guess I don’t really hate Pops, but he sure
pisses me off sometimes.
As was her
habit, Clarice left for the house she shared with her son in town when Johnny
arrived home at six-thirty that night. Johnny
and Trevor sat down at the kitchen table to eat supper at quarter to seven. The
light and easy conversations that had normally been a part of each meal father
and son shared were now oftentimes strained, depending on what had transpired
between the two during the day. Based
on the cold shoulder Johnny was getting from his son as they filled their
plates, he had this meal’s conversation pegged as ‘strained’ before it even
started.
“So, how
was your day?” Johnny asked after he’d swallowed his first mouthful of lasagna.
Trevor’s
eyes never left his plate. “Fine, until
I stopped to see you.”
Johnny
refused to rise to the bait.
“Did you
feed the animals?”
“What do
you think?”
“That tone
of voice is gonna get you in big trouble with me before this day is over, young
man, if it doesn’t change and change pretty darn quick.“
Trevor
hazarded a glance at his father and saw the rising fury shining from Johnny’s
eyes.
“I just
meant that you ask me that question every night and the answer is always yes,
so why do you have to keep asking me like I’m some kinda little kid who doesn’t
know what he’s supposed to do?”
“I realize
that you know what to do—“
“Then why
do you keep treating me like a baby by asking me that night after night?”
“Trev, I’m
not treating you like a baby.”
“Yes, you
are. You think you can somehow keep a
little kid forever. Keep me your little boy forever. Well, I’m not your little boy anymore, Pops.”
“No,
you’re not a little boy anymore, but you’re still my son.”
“I know
that, but I wish you’d treat me like I’m fifteen, instead of like I’m five.”
“I think I
do.”
“Well, I
don’t!”
“In what
way don’t I treat you like your fifteen?”
“You’re
always checkin’ up on me, asking me if I’ve done the chores, or my homework, or
made my bed. You still have Clarice come here every day after school to
baby-sit me, and you won’t let me go to Anchorage with my—“
Johnny
pointed the tines of his fork at his son. “Don’t start that again.”
“But—“
“Trev, for
both of our sakes, drop it.”
“Okay,
fine!” Trevor threw silverware onto the
table and pushed his chair away from the table. “Fine. I’m dropping it.”
“Sit down
and finish eating.”
“I’m not
hungry.”
“Sit down
and finish eating.”
“I already
said I’m not—“
“Trevor,
if I have to get up out of this chair you’re not gonna to like the
consequences.”
Trevor
studied his father, attempting to gauge just what the man meant by that. His father had only used spanking as a form
of punishment on rare occasions, and at that, Trevor hadn’t felt Johnny’s hand
on his rear-end since he was ten years old.
He didn’t think his father would employ that method of punishment now,
but something about the way his father’s mouth was set in a grim line made
Trevor sit back down.
Johnny’s,
“Thank you,” received no response from his sullen teenager.
The only
sounds throughout the remainder of the meal came when Trevor’s fork would smack
his plate as he stabbed at his food. It wasn’t until father and son rose to
clear the dishes that Johnny attempted to start a conversation again.
“You have
a track meet after school tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,
I’ll be there about three-thirty then.”
“You don’t
have to come.”
“I always
come to your track meets. And besides,
I want to.”
“You don’t
have to.”
“Son—“
“Pops, I
don’t want you there tomorrow, okay? I just...I don’t want you there this
time.”
Trevor
deposited the plates on the counter and headed for the stairs that would take
him to his bedroom. He wasn’t leaving the kitchen because he was angry with his
father. He was leaving because he
couldn’t stand to see the hurt he’d just caused to appear on the man’s face.
____________________
Trevor was
in his room with his door closed when the phone rang at eight-thirty that
night. Johnny aimed the remote control
at the television and hit the mute button. The cessation of sound allowed him
to hear the music coming from overhead.
Trevor had a Boys in Bondage CD in his stereo. Johnny knew that CD
didn’t belong to his son, and had likely been borrowed from Connor. He also knew it had been put in as a display
of defiance. He sighed as he picked up
the phone, fully expecting the caller to be one of Trevor’s friends. Rather than that being the case, however,
the caller was instead, John Gage’s oldest friend, and the one to whom he was
closest, despite the miles that separated them.
“Hi,
Johnny.”
Johnny
smiled. “Hey, Roy.”
The men
spent a few minutes catching up with one another since the last time they’d
talked a month earlier, and then shot the bull about their respective
jobs. Roy was still serving as a
paramedic instructor for the Los Angeles Fire Department, though the hours the
job required meant that he considered himself semi-retired.
“So, are
you about ready to pack it in for good and retire after this session ends,
Pally?” Johnny asked, knowing that Roy has been mulling over that possibility
since January.
“No.
Decided to stick it out another year.”
“Oh
really? Why?”
“Since
Libby has one more year of high school left, Joanne and I wanna be available
when Jennifer needs us. We figure
there’s no use in either one of us retiring until next summer. But after that,
we’ll be ready to quit our jobs and do some traveling. The day after Libby graduates next June, I
plan to be headed your way for a nice long tour of Alaska.”
“Sounds
great. You and Jo can make this your home base while you’re here. Stay as long
as you’d like. I’ve got plenty of
room.”
“Thanks. We’ll take you up on that. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Yeah, it
has been,” Johnny agreed. “You deserve to enjoy the life leisure.”
Just like Johnny was the father to a teenager, in many ways Roy was a father to his granddaughter, Olivia, who would turn seventeen in June. Like Trevor, Libby was now old enough to be left home alone, but on nights that her mother was on duty at Rampart Hospital, or when her mother worked the weekend shift, she stayed with Roy and Joanne. Although Roy and Joanne’s assistance with raising Libby had diminished to a degree once she’d entered high school, they were still very involved in her life.
“I’m ready
for the life of leisure,” Roy said with a chuckle. “I sure hope that come this time next year, I’ve raised my last
teenager.”
“Tell me
about it.”
Roy’s
comment had been made half in jest.
Overall, Libby had given him few challenges. Granted, he didn’t like her
taste in music and television shows, and he thought some of her clothes looked downright
silly, but she was a good student who was involved in numerous school and
church activities. She had her head on
straight, and had made wise and mature decisions as she’d navigated her way
through her high school years.
“What’s
wrong?” Roy had picked up on the tone in Johnny’s voice that told him something
was bothering the man. “Is everything all right with Trevor?”
“Depends
on the moment.”
“Whatta
ya’ mean?”
Like he
had done when they worked together thirty-five years ago, Johnny poured his
problems with Trevor out to Roy in one long spiel that caused Roy to wonder if
he’d even stopped to take a breath. And, just like thirty-fives ago, Roy was
able to calm his friend with some quiet, levelheaded advice.
“You gotta
pick your battles, Junior.”
“Huh?”
“If
there’s one thing I’ve learned from raising three teenagers, four if you count
Libby, is that you have to pick your battles. Trevor’s just yearning for some
independence. You know - wants the opportunity to separate himself from you in
an effort discover who he is.”
“I
understand that. I just don’t think
this independence needs to take place on a five hundred mile ride to Anchorage
with an inexperienced driver and nine other kids.”
“I agree
with you on that one.”
“Glad to
hear it. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to
get my son to agree with me on it.”
“And you
probably won’t.”
“So that
means I have to put up with him bein’ pissed at me over this for the next six
months?”
“No,” Roy
chuckled. “It means that in a week Trevor will have forgotten all about this
battle with you, because he’ll have picked a new one.”
“Oh,
that’s real comforting,” Johnny said in a dry tone that was a cross between
mock long suffering, and very real long suffering.
“Hang in there,
Johnny,” Roy said right before the two men hung up the phone that night.
“You’ve come this far with Trevor and done a great job of raising him. You’ll do fine getting him to eighteen.”
I hope
you’re right on that one, Roy, Johnny thought as he said goodbye to his
friend and disconnected the call.
____________________
Johnny had shut the television off after he’d hung up the phone, and then made the rounds of the main floor of the house. He made sure the doors were locked, and extinguished lights as he traveled from room to room. It was only ten minutes after nine, but he was tired.
When the
fire chief reached the top of the stairs he turned left and walked the few
steps it took him to reach his son’s room.
He knocked on Trevor’s door, then knocked louder when he realized the
music was drowning out all sound.
The stereo
was switched off and Trevor called, “Yeah?”
“Can I
come in?”
There was
a moment of hesitation, then a, “If you wanna.”
Johnny
entered the room that had been transformed from a little boy’s domain, to a
young man’s two years earlier. Gone was
the mural depicting a sled dog race that had traveled the pale blue walls, to
be replaced with a mural depicting airplanes ranging from a World War I
Albatros, to a World War II Hellcat, to a B-52 bomber from the Vietnam era, to
a modern day Stealth bomber, to other planes Johnny couldn’t identify by
name. Whether Trevor’s interest in
flying had begun that day seven years ago when he’d stowed away to California
on Gus Zimmerman’s plane, or whether it began two years ago when Gus had hired
him to help around his small airport, Johnny wasn’t certain. But Trevor’s interest in planes and flying
had been ignited at some point, and now, among other dreams, he hoped to get
his pilot’s license some day.
Johnny
thought about what Roy had told him in regards to picking his battles, and
Trevor having reached an age where he was yearning for some independence. Johnny thought he’d given in on two issues
already in the past year – a desk in this room, meaning Trevor no longer did
his homework in the study nook Johnny had set up for him on the balcony when
he’d started kindergarten, and a stereo in here as well.
Maybe I
am old fashioned, the fire chief thought as he sat on the edge of his son’s
bed. He knew Trevor wasn’t lying to him when he said a lot of kids his age had
TVs DVD players, computers, and phones in their rooms. But is there anything
wrong with me not wanting my teenager to isolate himself in his room to the
point that I never see him, or don’t know what he’s up to or who he’s talking
to?
Tonight Trevor didn’t lobby for any of those items he knew his father wasn’t going to allow him to have. He simply sat at his desk with his back to Johnny while he finished his homework. Johnny contemplated asking the teenager how he could concentrate on his school work with the music cranked up as high as it had been, but was forced to recall how much he’d hated it when his own father used to ask him the same thing. Of course, back in 1962, the only thing Johnny had to crank up was a transistor radio, and the music coming from it wasn’t offensive, though the fire chief was forced to admit his father had considered Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis to be just that.
For now, Johnny
kept his opinions on Trevor’s choice in music to himself.
“Almost
done with your homework?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Mr.
Dreshon return the history test you took the other day?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d
you get on it?”
“An A.”
“Good for
you,” Johnny praised. “I’m really proud
of you, Trev. You’ve done really well this year.”
Still with
his back to his father, Trevor shrugged his right shoulder. “I’ve always gotten good grades. It’s no big
deal.”
“Yes, it
is. And considering it’s not always
easy to make the transition from grade school to high school, I want you to
know how happy I am with how well you’ve done this past year.”
“Thanks.
You keep telling me if I wanna be a doctor I have to get the best grades I
can.”
Johnny
nodded, though Trevor didn’t see that movement. Whether Trevor would eventually
become a doctor, Johnny couldn’t guess at this point. They’d been on a camping trip two years earlier by Salmon Bay, a
remote area of Alaska that bordered the Bering Sea. They’d been a long way from
home, and during their travels, many miles had passed between towns. They’d met a young doctor by the name of
Brian Walters on that trip, who was camping as well. He’d shared the Gage
campfire on several nights, and once he’d found out Johnny was a paramedic, the
two men discovered conversation between them flowed easily. Trevor had been fascinated to discover that
the thirty-three year old man was the type of doctor he’d only heard his father
speak of when telling him about his great grandfather, John Hamilton. Great
Grandpa Hamilton had been a physician who made house calls in and around the
town of White Rock, Montana, where Trevor’s father had grown up. When Trevor had first heard Johnny use the
term ‘house call’ he’d had to ask his father what the phrase meant. He’d only been eight years old then, but
once he understood the definition, he thought it sounded like a neat way to
take care of people who were sick. His
father had smiled at him and agreed that it was a neat way for a doctor to take
care of his patients, but one that had largely gone out of fashion by the time
the 1960s arrived, and by the turn of the new century, was rarely heard of.
After
meeting Doctor Walters, and hearing how he had an office in the tiny hamlet of
St. George, and sometimes traveled for miles and miles to treat people who
otherwise would have no medical care, Trevor knew that’s what he wanted to do
with his life.
“And after
I learn how to fly, Papa, I could buy a Cessna and fly to see some of my
patients who live real far from town,” thirteen-year-old Trevor had said
several times throughout the trip home. Johnny had agreed that it was a
possibility, and had also agreed that Doctor Walters was correct when he’d said
Alaska, where approximately three hundred thousand residents lived in the
remote towns and rural areas of the central and northern regions, could use
more doctors who were willing to set up small practices and make house calls.
“Granted, you don’t get rich practicing medicine this way,” Doctor Walters had
said, “but in terms of personal rewards...well, I’ll sacrifice money any day in
order to be my own man and not be controlled by an HMO, a hospital board of
directors, or any of that other nonsense.”
Trevor and Doctor Walters
had exchanged e-mail addresses on that camping trip and had since become
faithful correspondents. As Brian told
Trevor more and more about what it was like to be a doctor in the isolated
northern portion of the state, Trevor’s interest in the profession grew.
“Good grades
will be important for getting accepted into a university, and then later,
medical school,” Johnny said now in reference to his son’s comment. “Plus,
those good grades will help you earn some scholarships. We’re going to need all of those we can get
if you do decide to become a doctor.”
“Don’t
worry about that. Mom and Franklin are
gonna...”
Remembering
that he didn’t want to have this discussion with his father, Trevor let his
sentence die off.
“Your
mother and Franklin are gonna what?”
“Nothing,”
Trevor said as he shut his biology book and turned sideways in his chair so he
could see his father. “Never mind.”
Johnny
didn’t press his son on the issue, but instead, used the mention of Trevor’s
mother Ashton to his advantage.
“You said
something today that we need to talk about.”
“The track
meet. Yeah, I know. If you wanna be
there, then that’s okay.”
“No, not the track meet.
Though, yes, I wanna be there. What we need to talk about is the comment you
made regarding me shacking up with your mother.”
Trevor’s eyes dropped to
the bright blue carpeting that lined his floor. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have
said it.”
“Whether
you should have said it or not is beside the point. You did, and I think we
need to discuss it.”
“No, we
don’t.”
“Yes, we
do,” Johnny insisted. “You asked me for a privilege today that I wouldn’t say
yes to, and that privilege included spending the night in a hotel room with
four girls.”
Trevor blushed and risked
a glance at his father. “Pops, nothing is gonna happen. We’re just gonna crash for the night.”
“I understand that’s your
intention. Whether that’s all that will happen or not, you won’t be finding
out, because I haven’t changed my mind.”
“That figures,” the boy
mumbled.
Johnny ignored the remark.
“You can’t compare the choice your mother and I made, to what you want to do
with your friends. I was thirty-nine
and your mother was thirty when we moved in together. As you know, I had
already been married once many years before that. Be it right or wrong, your mother and I were old enough, and
mature enough, to make the decision we did.
I never considered it ‘shacking up,’ Trevor. That phrase cheapens what we had together, and what we meant to
one another.”
Silence lingered in the
room a long moment as the boy returned to staring at the carpeting. When he finally spoke it was to ask, “How
come you didn’t marry her?”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah.” Trevor made eye
contact with his father once again. “How come you never married her? How come
you just went on living with her until...well, until we moved here?”
Over the past few months
Trevor had begun to ask more and more questions about Ashton, and about
Johnny’s relationship with her. Johnny
knew this was simply another part of the growing up process for his son. He was trying to discover who he was and
where he’d come from, and part of discovering that meant learning more about
the mother he’d seen only two weeks out of each year since he was three years
old. For the most part, Johnny had
always given Trevor honest answers to his questions. However, there were two things Trevor didn’t know, and as far as
Johnny was concerned, never would.
Trevor didn’t know that on the day he was born, his mother placed him in
his father’s arms and said, “Here.
He's yours. You wanted him, you raise him.”
And, because Trevor didn’t know that, he also didn’t know that his
mother hadn’t lived with them during the first year of his life, prior to his
father taking the job of Eagle Harbor’s fire and paramedic chief in May of 1993.
“How
come, Pops?” Trevor asked now, his
voice bringing Johnny out of his thoughts. “How come you never married Mom?”
“It
wasn’t gonna work out,” was all Johnny said.
“Did
you even ask her?”
Yes, I did,