Lost Years

 

By: Kenda

 

“Lost Years” is rated PG13 for the occasional use of strong language.  “Lost Years” is the 9^th story in the Dances With Rattlesnakes series.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Miles create a distance not easily crossed, but true friends will always be together in spirit.

 

Chapter 1

 

 

I wasn’t expecting the news the caller gave me.  But then I don’t suppose you’re ever expecting bad news when the phone rings in the middle of the day.  Calls delivering bad news seem to come late at night, or during the early morning hours before dawn.  You’re jarred from sleep, heart racing as you grope for the receiver, sure that someone you love has been in an accident or had a heart attack.

 

When the kids were teenagers and out with friends or on a date, Joanne and I hated it if the phone rang late at night. Like most parents, we immediately thought the worst. Once our sons and daughter were grown, I assumed our worries were over, but now that we have a teenaged granddaughter, and my mother is approaching her eighty-third birthday, the worries have started all over again during those rare times that the phone rings after ten at night or before seven in the morning.

 

Now you know why I wasn’t thinking a phone call at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon was anything to be alarmed about.  I’d arrived home twenty minutes earlier, after a day of teaching emergency medicine to my latest group of young men and women attempting to obtain their paramedic certification.  I’d picked up my granddaughter Libby on my way past the high school. 

 

Joanne and I have assisted our daughter Jennifer with raising Libby, ever since Jennifer and Dan Sheridan, Libby’s father, divorced when Libby was eight.  Libby’s fifteen now. I’ve overheard her say many times that I’ve been more of a father to her than a grandfather. Because Dan has been absent from her life for the most part, Libby’s right I suppose. 

 

I hadn’t planned to be a father figure to any of my grandchildren.  Being a grandpa who could spoil them rotten and then return them to their parents would have been fine with me.  But as I’ve learned in recent years, life is what happens when you’re making plans.  Libby’s little brother passed away at the age of six after a long and pain filled bout with cancer. Jennifer and Dan divorced seven months after Brandon’s death, the marriage strained beyond repair.

 

After that, Jennifer needed Joanne and I to help her with Libby. Jennifer’s an ER physician at Rampart, so long days and odd working hours are the norm for her. Since my work schedule provides me with more flexibility than Joanne’s provides her, I was the one who, in large part, took over the parenting role with Libby.  That hasn’t necessarily been a bad thing. Actually, a lot of rewards come with this, the most important being a close relationship with my oldest grandchild.  I’ve been involved in her life in a way I wasn’t involved in my own kids’ lives because of the overtime I worked to make ends meet in the days before Joanne had a job outside of the home.

 

Libby was in the room in our house we consider hers – our son Chris’s old bedroom, doing her homework.  I could hear the sound of the television too. When my kids were teenagers, Joanne and I didn’t allow TVs in their rooms, so the fact that we let Libby have one, and let her do her homework while watching it, reflects that I am her grandfather and not her father, and do spoil her at least a little bit.

 

The sun streamed through the patio doors.  It was a mild mid-January day, the temperature sixty-eight degrees.  I slid one of the doors open to let fresh air in through the screen.  I’d just walked into the kitchen and started opening cabinets so I could decide what to make for supper, when the phone rang. As I hurried around the breakfast bar to grab the receiver, I hoped it was Joanne calling from work with some suggestions for supper, or to say she’d pick up a pizza on her way home.

 

I sat on a stool as I snatched the portable receiver from its base. 

 

“Hello?”

 

A female voice that seemed vaguely familiar, yet that I couldn’t immediately identify, asked, “Is this Roy?”

 

My tone turned from friendly to wary.  I was certain I was about to be pestered by a telemarketer.

 

“Uh…yes, it is.”

 

“Roy, this is Clarice Mjtko.”

 

 My response was delayed long enough for Clarice to decide I needed further explanation, though actually I didn’t.

 

“I work for John...Johnny.”  She hastily tagged on the nickname John Gage’s friends in Los Angeles know him by, but that no one in Eagle Harbor, Alaska ever uses.

 

“Sure, Clarice.  I’m sorry. You caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting to pick up the phone and hear your voice.”

 

“No. No, I suppose you weren’t.”

 

Her tone – a combination of worry, upset, and dread, as though she needed to give me news she wished she didn’t have to convey – caused me to question, “Clarice, is everything okay?  Johnny...Trevor...”

 

“Trevor’s fine,” Clarice assured me regarding Johnny’s thirteen year old son. 

 

An uncomfortable silence filled the phone line. Or at least uncomfortable for me. I’d already surmised that, whatever the reason behind Clarice’s call, it wasn’t good. After all, why would Johnny’s housekeeper, a woman I’d been around briefly only a few times in the past six years, call me unless there was some kind of problem?

 

“What is it, Clarice?  What’s wrong?”

 

“Roy...Roy, John’s in intensive care at the hospital in Juneau.”

 

It took me a moment to find my voice.  I sat forward on the stool as though I was ready to take action of some sort.  Years of working in emergency medicine had me reaching for the pad of paper and pen we keep propped in a holder by the phone. 

 

I held the pen over the paper, ready to write down everything Clarice said.

 

“What happened?”

 

“He collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon.”

 

“Collapsed?”

 

“It…it was an aneurysm, Roy. A brain aneurysm.”

 

The fact that she’d said “it was an aneurysm” led me to conclude the blood vessel involved had ruptured, as opposed to Johnny having symptoms like a severe headache or double vision, that sent him to the hospital prior to this reaching a crisis level.

 

I asked the question I already knew the answer to.  “It burst?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Because Clarice was less than ten years younger than my mother and a woman to boot, I didn’t say what I was thinking.

 

Shit. Oh shit, Johnny. Why?  Why?

 

I had a feeling I already knew the answer to my, “Why?” Johnny’s mother died from a ruptured cerebral aneurysm when he was twenty-one.  Johnny had found her in the barn on his parents’ ranch.  She was already dead, and probably had been for a couple of hours.  Though aneurysms can result for several reasons, heredity plays a large factor in whether or not a person might have what doctors consider to be a congenital malformation of a blood vessel.  I knew these malformations could be present since birth - a kind of internal ticking time bomb that can go off with little warning, or might never go off at all. 

 

“How is he? What’s his condition?”

 

“As of a few hours ago, the neurologist was saying ‘guarded but stable,’ whatever that means.”

 

“It means not terrific, but could be a lot worse.”

 

“That’s what Carl and I took it to mean.”

 

Carl is Clarice’s son, a good friend of Johnny’s, and Eagle Harbor’s police chief, while Johnny’s the town’s fire and paramedic chief. 

 

“Have you called Johnny’s father?”

 

“I got a hold of him last night.  Chad and Marietta should be arriving in Juneau within the hour. Carl and Trevor are there now, waiting to pick them up at the airport. They’ll take them to the hospital for a little while, then bring them here.”

 

“And Reah?” I inquired of Johnny’s sister, who worked as a midwife in Newfoundland.

 

“Chad said he’d try and reach her.  That’s all I know right now.”

 

Clarice and I talked another ten minutes.  I got all the details, writing everything down so I could accurately relay the information to Jennifer.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’d pictured a more traditional role for my daughter of wife, mother, and maybe part time bookkeeper or grocery store clerk, back when she was a little girl.  But there are many times when it comes in handy to have a doctor in the family, and years ago I’d been forced to set aside what Joanne jokingly refers to as my “old-fashioned notions” when it comes to a woman’s role in society.  I knew that after identifying herself as Doctor DeSoto to the Juneau hospital staff, Jennifer would be able to obtain a lot more information about Johnny’s condition than I would.

 

I was vaguely aware of Libby entering the room and opening the refrigerator to rummage inside for an after-school snack. With my eyes on Libby’s back, I wrote down the hospital’s phone number and the name of the neurosurgeon treating Johnny. 

 

“Thanks, Clarice.  I appreciate the information.  I’ll talk to Jennifer just as soon as I can reach her. She’ll be able to find out more from the nurses than I can.  Maybe she’ll even be able to talk to Doctor Webber.”

 

“You’re welcome. I’m just sorry I had to call with this kind of news.”

 

“Believe me, I’m sorry too. I’ll keep in close touch.  In the meantime, please call me if anything changes for the...the worst.  I don’t care what time of the day or night it is.  Can I give you my number at the station?”

 

“Sure. Just a second.  Let me get a pen and paper.”

 

When Clarice told me she was ready, I rattled off the phone number of Station 51, which was now the paramedic-training center I worked out of for the L.A. County Fire Department.

 

“I’m usually there by quarter to eight, and home by four. If you call while a class is in session an answering machine’ll pick up. Leave a message. I’ll get it as soon as we take a break.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Better yet, here’s my cell phone number.”

 

Although I don’t usually have my cell phone turned on while I’m teaching since I don’t allow my students to have their cell phones turned on during class time, I decided rank has its privileges. If Johnny’s condition went downhill, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

 

“Don’t hesitate to call that number if you can’t reach me any other way.  I’ll keep the phone on until I know he’s outta the woods.”

 

“Okay,” Clarice said. “Hopefully...well, we’re all praying that things only improve from here on out.”

 

“We’ll be praying for the same.” I caught Libby’s puzzled look as she turned from the refrigerator with an orange in her right hand. “Please tell Trevor that my family and I are thinking of him, and let Chad know you called me.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And Johnny...let him know, too, please. Tell him that as soon as his doctor lets him take phone calls, I’ll be the first one on the other end of the line.”

 

“I don’t think he’ll understand me if I tell him now, but as soon as things are...better, I’ll do that.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. If you don’t hear from me, then assume no news is good news.”

 

“Okay. In-between that assumption, I’ll be checking in with you if you don’t mind.”

 

“No, not at all. You’ll probably be able to reach me here – I’m at John’s house. But I’ll give you my home phone number and the number that rings in Carl’s office at the station.  You can call him if you can’t get in touch with me.”

 

I wrote down the two numbers Clarice gave me, told her, “Thanks again for calling,” and then said a reluctant goodbye, as though if I could just keep a connection open between myself and someone in Eagle Harbor, I’d know the second anything changed for Johnny, be it good or bad.

 

I didn’t have the receiver back in its base before Libby questioned, “What’s wrong?  What happened to Uncle Johnny?”

 

I barely registered her question as I stared at the notes I’d made. 

 

“Grandpa? Grandpa, are you okay?”

 

When I looked up, Libby was standing across from me on the other side of the Formica counter top.  She’d set her orange down as though she’d suddenly lost interest in eating.

 

I offered her the best smile I could manage.

 

“Yeah, button, I’m fine.”

 

Libby smiled at the nickname I hadn’t used in several years now, but then just as quickly as her smile appeared it was gone.

 

“Something’s happened to Uncle Johnny hasn’t it.” 

 

I gave a slow, pensive nod.  “Yeah...yeah, something’s happened to him.”

 

“It must be bad. You look upset and worried.”

 

If Libby had been a few years younger, I doubt I would have acknowledged any of my emotional vulnerabilities to her.  I’d been raised in an era when a man was nothing less than strong for his family one hundred percent of the time, and when boys were still encouraged to hide their feelings.  But considering Libby was no longer a child, it would have been foolish for me to deny the obvious. And besides, if Brandon’s illness taught me one thing of value, it’s that life’s short and unpredictable, and expressing feelings doesn’t make me less of a man.  Still, years of conditioning made me hesitate a moment before giving Libby an honest answer.

“Well...yeah...yeah, I am upset and worried.  It’s serious, honey.  Very serious.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“An aneurysm ruptured in his brain.”

 

“What’s an aneurysm?”

 

“It’s an abnormal widening of a blood vessel.”

 

“What makes it rupture?”

 

I thought a moment so I could explain it without a lot of medical jargon that would mean nothing to her.

 

“Think of the vessel like a bike tire that’s been filled with too much air.  When it finally bursts, blood floods the area surrounding it.”

 

“What causes it?”

 

“An aneurysm?”

 

“Yeah.  How come this happened to Uncle Johnny?”

 

“There’re several things that can cause an aneurysm. Chronic high blood pressure or a head injury are two common reasons.   But I don’t think either of those things apply in Uncle Johnny’s case.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because Uncle Johnny doesn’t have high blood pressure as far as I know, and Clarice didn’t mention any recent head injury that he’d suffered. Some people are vulnerable to aneurysms because of heredity.  Uncle Johnny’s mother died from a brain aneurysm a long time ago. When Johnny was twenty-one.”

 

Libby chewed her lower lip while absorbing what my words might mean.

 

“Could...could Uncle Johnny die?”

 

“Yes,” I nodded slowly.  “Yes, he could.  But let’s hope for the best, okay?”

 

Libby struggled to return the smile I gave her.

 

“O...okay. Sure. You know I will.”

 

“I know.”

 

“If Uncle Johnny gets better will he be okay?”

 

“You mean as healthy and active as he’s always been?”

“Uh huh.  The way you described this, with bleeding in the brain and all, it kind of sounds like a stroke.”

 

Al Sheridan, Libby’s paternal grandfather, suffered a stroke two years ago, so she has some knowledge of the long- term physical effects a stroke victim can suffer.

 

“In essence, that’s what it is.”

 

“So will Uncle Johnny have problems walking and picking up things like Grandpa Sheridan does?  He can’t write any more, you know. And it’s even hard for him to change T.V. channels with the remote.”

 

I nodded.  Aside from being left with permanent disabilities on the right side of his body, Al had also lost a good deal of his fine motor skills because of the stroke.

 

“I’m not sure what problems Uncle Johnny might or might not have.  Some patients who’ve suffered from a ruptured aneurysm will go on to make a full recovery with no side effects at all.  Others may have some minor problems, but those problems won’t prevent them from returning to their jobs or leading an active life.  Then, in some cases...” I paused, let out a sigh that broadcast my concern for Johnny, and finished by saying, “in some cases, the patient is left permanently disabled.”

 

“Like Grandpa Sheridan?”

 

I nodded. “Like your grandpa Sheridan.”

 

Libby’s eyes filled with tears. “But that’s not fair. Uncle Johnny...he’s so...he acts so young, and he still does stuff like jog, and bowl, and ride his mountain bike on the trails with Trevor, and takes care of his horses.  I don’t mean that it was fair when it happened to Grandpa Sheridan, but he’s really old, and he never took good care of himself. Grandma Sheridan says that all the time.  He smoked, and ate all the wrong foods, and he didn’t exercise, and he wouldn’t take his high blood pressure pills, and all kinds of things he should have been doing he wasn’t, and the things he shouldn’t have been doing he was.”

 

I smiled a little at my granddaughter’s words. It’s funny how our perceptions of people can be so different simply based on their personalities and lifestyles.  Al is only twelve years older than Johnny, which makes him seventy-one.  Libby made it sound like her Grandpa Sheridan was ninety-eight, and Johnny all of twenty-eight.  But she was right.  Al never led a particularly healthy or active lifestyle, and from what I knew, had been content to sit around and watch television for most of the day after he retired.  By far, John Gage’s lifestyle was as opposite of Al Sheridan’s as it could be.

 

“I don’t think it’s fair either, sweetheart, but unfortunately, there’s not always anything we can do to avoid health problems that come our way because of heredity.”

 

“When will the doctors know if Uncle Johnny’s gonna make a full recovery, or have problems walking, or writing, or remembering things?”

 

“I don’t know. He had surgery this morning to clip the ruptured aneurysm.”

 

“What will that do?”

 

“Reduce the risk of further bleeding.”

 

“Oh.”  Libby thought a moment. “It doesn’t sound like much of a cure.”

 

“It’s not a cure, more of a preventative measure.  Doctors have had good luck with the procedure, so hopefully, it will work well for Uncle Johnny.”

 

“So could this happen again?”

 

“It could, but the doctors’ll do all they can to prevent it.  Clarice told me Uncle Johnny will undergo an MRI when he’s a little stronger. After that’s done, his neurologist will know if he has any other aneurysms that could rupture in the future.”

 

“And if he does?”

 

“Then they’ll do surgery in an attempt to prevent that. There’re several methods neurologists use now days to plug the weakened vessel so it won’t burst.”

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“Surgery’s always dangerous to some extent, and given what Uncle Johnny’s already been through...yes, it could be dangerous, but let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it, okay?”

Her “Okay,” was half-hearted and quiet.  When you’re fifteen, you want absolutes. By the time you reach my age, you’ve learned life holds few of those.

 

Again, I tried to be encouraging by offering Libby what positives I could.

 

“A lot of people die from ruptured aneurysms before they ever reach the hospital, Libs. Uncle Johnny had luck on his side because he collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon while he was conducting a meeting. He was surrounded by dozens of paramedics and EMTs, which means he got the kind of immediate treatment he needed.  It would have been very important to get his blood pressure down, which I’m sure they did as soon as they took his vitals.”

 

“Did Uncle Johnny know what was happening?”

 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I doubt it. Carl was in the station when it happened. He told Clarice that Johnny doubled over, grabbed his head, and managed to say he had a bad headache right before he lost consciousness and collapsed.”

 

“He must...it must have hurt him a lot.”

 

“I’m sure it did, but he may never remember the actual episode, so don’t let that upset you.”

 

“It upsets you.”

 

I smiled at how well my granddaughter could read me.

 

“You’re right, it does. I guess it’s only natural for us to be upset when we hear that a good friend was in pain.”

 

“Is Trevor okay?”

“I’m sure he’s worried, if that’s what you’re asking. But Clarice and Carl will take good care of him, and his Grandpa Gage is due in Juneau in a little while, so that’ll be good for Trev, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty close to his grandpa.”

“I imagine he is,” I acknowledged.

 

Trevor is Chad’s only grandchild, and though they don’t see one another more than a couple of times a year because Chad lives in Montana, I knew, based on things Johnny’s told me, that Chad and Trevor have the type of relationship every boy should be lucky enough to have with his grandpa.

 

Libby grabbed her orange and put it back in the refrigerator.

 

“Aren’t you gonna eat that?”

 

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.  I’m gonna send Trevor an e-mail to let him know I’m thinking about him.”

 

“That’s nice. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

 

“And maybe I can call him later tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

 

“That’s fine with me. I’m going to call your mom right now, but later this evening we’ll place a call to Alaska so all of us can let Trevor know he’s in our thoughts.”

 

Libby walked around the snack bar and hugged me. I put my arms around her and held on a moment, touched by her concern for her old grandpa. She kissed my left cheek and said, “I love you,” then headed to the bedroom that used to belong to our youngest son, John, that now houses a computer.

 

After Libby left, I picked up the receiver and punched in the number for the nurses’ desk at Rampart’s emergency room.  I didn’t know the woman who answered the phone, but in order to avoid any delays I identified myself as Doctor DeSoto’s father and said I needed to speak with her if she wasn’t with a patient.

 

“Just a minute, Mr. DeSoto. Let me see if I can locate her.”

 

I watched five minutes pass on the kitchen clock before I heard Jennifer’s “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

 

“Hi, Jen. Listen, I just got a call from Clarice.”

 

There was a pause, then, “Clarice? Uncle Johnny’s housekeeper Clarice, you mean?”

 

“That’s who I mean.”

 

“Why would she be calling you?”

 

“Johnny’s in a hospital in Juneau.” I glanced at my notes.  “Bartlett Regional is the name of it.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“A cerebral aneurysm burst yesterday afternoon while he was at work.”

 

I barely heard my daughter’s soft, “Oh no.”

 

Jennifer’s had Johnny wrapped around her little finger since the first day they met when she was three.  That was over thirty years ago, and even yet, they’re close in the way an uncle and his favorite niece might be.

 

When Jennifer spoke again her voice was stronger and the physician in her came through clearly.  “Tell me all you know.”

 

I glanced at my notes, reciting everything Clarice had said.  I could tell by the way Jennifer responded that she was writing down the name of Johnny’s neurologist and the phone number of the hospital.

 

“I’ll call and see what I can find out.  As soon as I know something, I’ll call you back.”

 

“Thanks, Jenny. I would have called up there myself, but I figured you’d be able to get more information.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

“I know you will, sweetheart.”

 

“Hang in there, Daddy. I know you’re worried about him, but if nothing else, Uncle Johnny got immediate treatment.  If he’d been home alone when this happened...”

 

Jennifer didn’t finish her sentence, but I didn’t need her to.  If Johnny had been by himself when the aneurysm burst, then like his mother, he’d have probably been found dead hours later by his son.

 

I thanked my daughter again and told her goodbye.  Although I was anxious to hear back from her, I knew there was no point in sitting by the phone. If trauma patients came into the ER that she was assigned to treat, it could be several hours before she’d be able to call Bartlett Hospital. Or if Johnny’s doctor wasn’t available when Jennifer called, then again, several hours could pass before she’d have information for me.

 

I got up and walked around the counter, resuming the search for something to make for supper.  Like Libby, I’d lost my appetite. After pulling open cabinets for ten minutes and staring at everything from canned vegetables, to boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, to jars of spaghetti sauce, I pulled out two cans of tuna fish and two cans of Campbell’s chicken and rice soup.  While the soup warmed on the stove, I chopped celery and diced onions for the tuna.  I dumped everything into a mixing bowl, added two tablespoons of Miracle Whip along with some seasonings, and stirred it all together.  I took a loaf of wheat bread out of the breadbox and then set the table. When Joanne walked in the door at twenty minutes to six, supper was ready.

 

“What?” my wife teased as she set her purse on the counter and caught sight of the soup simmering. “I slave all day to bring home a paycheck, and all I get in return is cold sandwiches and canned soup.”

 

I kissed her cheek. “Now you know what a crummy job bringing home a paycheck is.”

 

“Especially when I have to eat tuna and soup.”

 

“Sorry,” I apologized for the supper, though I knew Joanne was only kidding. “I was on the phone quite a while, so time was running short when I finally got around to cooking.”        

 

“Don’t worry about it.  You never complained when time ran short on me back in the days when I was chasing after little kids all day and we ate grilled cheese, so I’d better return the favor, huh?”

 

Joanne wrapped her arms around my waist, which is a bit wider than it was back in the days when we ate grilled cheese for supper on occasion, and kissed my mouth.

 

“Guess you’d better,” I agreed, while kissing in her return.

 

Jo slid out of my grasp and stood leafing through the mail I’d left lying next to the toaster.

 

“What had you tied up on the phone? Paramedic business?”

 

“I was talking to Clarice.”

 

“Oh. Were you trying to get a hold of Johnny?”

 

“No. She called to tell me Johnny’s in the hospital.”

 

Joanne immediately lost interest in the mail and turned to face me. “Why? What happened?”

 

I told her the same things I’d told Libby and Jennifer, ending with, “Jennifer’s going to call the hospital and try to get in touch with Johnny’s doctor.  After that, I hope to know.”

 

Joanne shot me a small, teasing smile. “It’s good to have a doctor in the family, rather than a bookkeeper, isn’t it?”

 

“At this moment, yeah, it is,” I teased back.

 

“And Trevor?  Did Clarice say how he’s handling this?”

 

“I guess he’s doin’ okay. When she called, he was with Carl. They’d gone to pick up Chad and Marietta from the airport in Juneau.”

 

“Good,” Joanne nodded. “It’s good that Chad’ll be there.  Trevor will need him.”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “He will.” 

 

Trevor was in the eighth grade, and at the age where a boy needs a man in his life for guidance and discipline. At a time like this, when things would be stressful and uncertain for Trevor, I thought it was important for a father figure to be present in the house. That might be another of my “old-fashioned notions” given how many kids today are raised without a father and how many people think nothing of that, but it’s a notion I’m clinging to.

 

“Libby sent Trev an e-mail to let him know we’re thinking of him.  She also asked if she could call and talk to him later tonight.”

 

“Good idea. We’ll all talk to him.”

 

“That’s what I told her.”

 

Joanne laid her head on my shoulder.  “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Johnny’s got too much to live for, and is just too damn stubborn, not to fight his way back to health.”

 

I stroked a hand through her hair while staring at the far wall. “I wish it were that easy, Jo. But when there’s been bleeding in the brain, it’s hard to predict what the future holds for him.”

 

My wife hugged me tighter, kissed the corner of my mouth, gave my chest a gentle pat, and then went to change her clothes and tell Libby to wash up for supper.

 

The three of us were quiet throughout dinner. No one complained about the meal that was more like lunch than supper. We’d just finished eating when the phone rang. The three of us were still seated at the table.  Neither Joanne nor Libby rose to answer the call, both assuming, I suppose, that I wanted to answer it.

 

For a change, it wasn’t one of Libby’s friends, but instead, Jennifer.  She’d been able to speak with Johnny’s neurologist, though the information she gave me didn’t differ much from what Clarice had said.  That indicated to me that Doctor Webber believed in keeping family and close friends as informed as possible regarding a patient’s condition.

 

“If Uncle Johnny remains stable,” Jennifer said, “then in the next day or two the MRI will be done. If it reveals further aneurysms, surgery will be performed when Doctor Webber feels Johnny’s strong enough to undergo it.”

 

“What about long-term disabilities?”

 

“That remains an uncertainty at this point. Bruce - Doctor Webber, said there may be some speech impairment, and there appears to be some weakness on Uncle Johnny’s left side.”

 

“How much weakness?”

 

“It’s too early to tell, Dad. It’ll be a couple of days before that can be determined.  For the next forty-eight hours the main concern will be keeping Uncle Johnny quiet and calm so he can get the rest he needs in order to recover from everything he’s been through.”

 

I gave a heavy sigh that voiced my frustration at the situation, then said, “Thanks for all you’ve done, sweetheart.”

 

“I haven’t done much, but Doctor Webber did say I was welcome to contact him at any time, so at least we can go right to the top when need be.”

 

“Just knowing that helps. Thanks again, Jenny. I know this took time out of a schedule that’s already overloaded.”

 

I could tell my daughter was smiling. “For my dad, anything, no matter how full my schedule is.  And for Uncle Johnny, anything too.”

 

I smiled at the places of importance Johnny and I still held in my daughter’s life, and then asked, “You wanna talk to Libby before we hang up?”

 

“Sure.”

 

I gave the receiver to Libby. While she talked to her mother, who was on duty until seven the next morning, Joanne and I cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher.  From the one-sided conversation I could hear, I determined Jennifer was asking Libby about her day in school, questioning her about how much homework she had left to do, and then telling Libby that she’d see her the next day after school.

 

When Libby had said goodbye to her mother and put the receiver back in its base, she paused before heading to her room.

 

“Let me know when you’re going to call Trevor, okay?”

 

I glanced at the clock.  It was quarter to seven. Eagle Harbor was an hour behind us.

 

“I will. Clarice said Carl was taking Chad and Marietta to visit Johnny for a little while before heading to Eagle Harbor. We’ll call around nine our time. By then, they should have had a chance to settle in and eat supper.”

 

“All right. I’ll get my homework done so I can talk to Trevor for a little while.”

 

“Good idea.”

 

After Libby walked away, Joanne asked me if I was going to call Chris and give him the news.

 

“I will in a minute. What about John?”

 

Our youngest child was named in honor of John Gage. He, his wife Shawna, and their three little girls live in Wyoming, where John and Shawna are forest rangers at Yellowstone National Park.

 

“I’ll e-mail him while you’re on the phone with Chris.”

 

Joanne went to the computer room and I called Chris.  I was on the phone with my oldest son for twenty minutes.  Just as with Jennifer, John Gage had been a big part of Chris’s life throughout his growing up years. The news about Johnny upset Chris, but he was positive for my sake.

 

“He’ll come through this just fine, Dad.  Uncle Johnny’s got a lot of determination, not to mention he’s tough as nails.  Tougher actually.  He’ll be okay.”

 

I didn’t bother to tell Chris what I’d told Joanne – that when a person has suffered hemorrhaging in the brain, it makes little difference how much determination he has, or how much toughness he possesses.  By now, I was feeling the effects of what was turning out to be a long stressful day.  So I said simply, “I know,” to my oldest child, told him to say hi to his wife and daughters for me, promised to call him with an update on Johnny’s condition the next day, and said goodbye.

 

Joanne had finished her e-mail to John long before I was off the phone with Chris.  I joined her in the living room.

 

I sat in my recliner trying to concentrate on a TV show, while Joanne sat in her recliner reading the newspaper, but my mind remained on Johnny.  Even if I had been able to lose myself in the television, Libby wouldn’t have let nine o’clock come and go without telling me.  She was at my side five minutes before the hour.

 

“Can we call Trevor now?”

 

I aimed the remote control at the TV, shut it off, and looked up at my granddaughter.  “Is your homework finished?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, we can call.”

 

I set the remote on the end table, then got out of my chair and headed for the kitchen. Joanne went to our bedroom so she could pick up the phone in there.  Libby sat on the stool next to me at the snack bar as I placed the call.

 

It didn’t surprise me when Clarice answered the phone.  I assumed she’d take it upon herself to stay at Johnny’s house with Trevor even with Chad and Marietta there.  Carl was there as well. They’d just finished eating supper.

 

After I’d said hello and then Joanne had said hello, I once again got a report on Johnny that didn’t differ from what I already knew. 

 

“Chad’s not sure if John knew who he was,” Clarice said, “but he’s sedated right now, so I guess that’s normal, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, that’s normal,” I assured the woman.  “Jennifer spoke with Doctor Webber. It sounds like he wants Johnny to have plenty of rest, so it might be a few days before he’s very coherent.”

 

“Would you like to talk to Chad? He might be able to tell you more since he just saw John a couple of hours ago.”

 

“Sure.”

 

I hadn’t spoken to Johnny’s father in over twenty years.  I wasn’t sure if he knew the reason behind the estrangement that marred my friendship with Johnny from July of 1985 until July of 2000, but if he did, I couldn’t detect any animosity in his tone. 

 

It was good to hear Chad’s voice.  Though he’s not nearly as talkative and outgoing as Johnny, he and Johnny look alike, and sound enough alike that if I didn’t know I was talking to Chad, I would have thought it was Johnny on the other end of the line. 

 

After Chad and I had exchanged hellos and voiced pleasure over talking to one another again after so many years, and then Joanne had told him hello, therefore making him aware she was on the line too, I asked, “How was Johnny when you saw him?”

 

I could immediately tell Chad was being careful about what he said, which led me to believe that Trevor was sitting as close to him as Libby was sitting to me. 

 

“I probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know, Roy.  John was pretty out of it when Marietta and I saw him.  Maybe in a few days he’ll be more alert.”

 

“I think he will be.”

 

“He’ll come through this just fine.”

 

I could hear the false note of optimism in Chad’s voice.  I knew he was being strong for Trevor’s sake, but that as well, memories of how Johnny’s mother died had to be at the forefront of his mind.

 

“Yeah, he will,” I agreed, for lack of anything else to say that Chad didn’t already know about the range of consequences a cerebral hemorrhage could cause. “I told Clarice I’d stay in close touch until we know Johnny’s on his way to making a full recovery.”

 

“Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to John. I’ll make sure I tell him just as soon as he’s more alert.”

 

“Great. I appreciate it.”

 

I glanced at my granddaughter when she tugged on my shirtsleeve and whispered, “Trevor?”

 

“Chad, is Trevor there?  Joanne and I wanna say hi to him, and then my granddaughter wants to talk to him for a few minutes.”

 

“Sure, he’s right here. Thanks for calling, Roy.  Like I said, it’ll mean a lot to John to know you’re concerned.”

 

“I couldn’t be less than concerned at a time like this.”

 

“I know. Thanks again. Talk to ya’ later.”

 

Before I could respond, Trevor’s voice came over the line.

 

“Uncle Roy?”

 

“Hey, Trev, how’re you doin’?”

 

“O...okay. It’s kinda...it’s kinda scary, ya’ know.”

 

“I know, son.  You hang in there, though. That’s what your papa would want you to do.”

 

“I will.”

 

Joanne said hello to Trevor next, then offered him the type of maternal encouragement he needed at that moment.  When she was done, we both told the boy goodbye and I turned the phone over to Libby.

 

“Talk as long as you want to,” I said to my granddaughter.  This was one night when I didn’t care how high the phone bill ran.  

 

Joanne hung up the bedroom phone and returned to the living room while Libby and Trevor talked.  Fifteen minutes later, Libby handed the phone back to me.  I told Trevor goodnight and asked him if I could speak to Clarice again.  When the woman came on the line, I thanked her once again for notifying me of Johnny’s illness, then told her I’d call the next evening if she didn’t have reason to call me before then.

 

“Let’s put it this way, Roy. I hope I don’t have reason to call you.”

 

“I hope you don’t either, Clarice,” I agreed. “I hope you don’t either.”

 

After I’d said goodbye and hung up the phone, Libby, Joanne, and I sat at the dining room table eating grapefruits. 

 

“How’s Trevor doing?” Joanne asked our granddaughter.

 

Libby shrugged. “I don’t really know.  He didn’t say much about Uncle Johnny, but I can tell he’s really worried. He mostly wanted to talk about school and stuff in general, so that’s what I did.” Libby looked to me for guidance. “Maybe I should have tried to get him to talk about Uncle Johnny more, huh?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. If Trevor wanted to talk about school, then talking about school was fine.  The past twenty-four hours have probably been scary for him. Sometimes talking to a friend about things that seem trivial is just what a person needs when he’s worried.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I figured when Trev’s ready to talk about Uncle Johnny he’ll let me know.”

 

I nodded. “He will.”

 

When we’d finished our snack, Libby said goodnight and went to bed.  Joanne and I went to bed a half hour after our granddaughter. Because we hadn’t discussed anything but Johnny since Joanne arrived home, we talked softly for a little while about her day at the bank and my day teaching as she lay with her head on my chest.  After our conversation wound down, Jo rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

 

I tried to sleep too, but it didn’t surprise me that I was plagued by insomnia.  I tossed and turned for an hour. When it reached a point where I was afraid my restless movements would wake Jo, I eased out from under the covers, grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, shoved my feet into my slippers, and quietly exited our room.

 

The house was dark except for the nightlight we leave on in the dining area. I shuffled into the living room and sat in my recliner. I pulled the footrest up, thinking if I got comfortable I might fall asleep.

 

I didn’t bother to turn on a light, nor did I turn on the television. I leaned the chair back a little bit and rested against its thick cushioning. I stared up the ceiling, thirty-four years worth of memories racing through my mind.

 

Good times and good memories far out number bad times and bad memories when it comes to my friendship with John Gage.  For some reason though, on that night, it was memories of the bad times that kept seeping through.  I don’t know, maybe it was unresolved guilt on my part. Or maybe it had to do with those fifteen years in Johnny’s life - 1985 to 2000; that were still a mystery to me, as much as those fifteen years in my life were a mystery to him.  Of course, each of us was aware of the obvious changes time had brought – the birth of Trevor, the marriages of my children and births of my grandchildren, Johnny’s move to Alaska and his position as Fire and Paramedic Chief in Eagle Harbor, my rise to Battalion Chief with L.A. County, and then my eventual choice to accept the position of Chief Paramedic Instructor years after I’d thought I’d left the paramedic field for good.  But it was the day-to-day connection that often makes a friendship continue to grow that Johnny and I had lost out on during the years I’d refused to acknowledge I’d ever known the man, let alone had considered him my best friend.

 

I sat there hoping that Johnny, while lying in a hospital bed in Juneau, wasn’t plagued by bad memories too, as I thought back to the night Chris lost the use of his legs. Ironically enough, it started with a phone call that brought me bad news, and ended with me declaring that I never wanted to hear John Gage’s name spoken in my house again.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Roy’s heart kicked into high gear before his eyes even opened.  The shrill ring of the phone on his nightstand jolted him from sleep. Joanne stirred beside him murmuring, “Who could that be?” as Roy struggled to his right elbow and groped for the receiver. 

 

“Better not be a prank call,” Roy mumbled in return, squinting at the bright red numbers on the clock radio.  Four thirty-five a.m.  It was Roy’s day off. Waking up prior to seven-thirty hadn’t been a part of his plans.

 

Roy’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Lo?”

 

A feminine voice inquired, “Roy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s Dixie.”

 

Immediately Roy knew something was wrong.  The remnants of sleep faded as fear-induced adrenaline kicked in.

 

“Chris and Johnny have been involved in a shooting. You need to get down here as soon as possible.”

Roy wasn't sure where he found the voice to question, “Dix?” At that moment, he had no idea if it was his son who was injured, or his best friend, or both of them. All he knew was that no matter the scenario, he was terrified at what the woman might say next.

          “It's Chris, Roy. It's...it's serious. You and Joanne need to be here.”

 

Roy didn’t waste time asking Dixie what was wrong.  His words were quick and succinct.

 

“We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

 

The man hung up without waiting for Dixie’s response.  He heard Joanne’s, “Roy?” but didn’t turn to look at her as he threw the covers back and catapulted from the bed.

 

“It’s Chris. He’s at Rampart.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don’t know.”  Roy yanked clothes from dresser drawers.  “We need to leave.”

 

Joanne didn’t ask her husband if Chris’s condition was serious.  She could tell by Roy’s urgency that it was.

 

While Roy used the master bathroom, Joanne rushed to the bathroom in the hallway with clean clothes in her arms.

 

By Roy’s watch, it was seven minutes later when he and his wife met in the hall.  The commotion of feet scurrying across the floor, doors opening and closing, toilets flushing, and water running in the sinks woke Jennifer.  The sixteen-year-old opened her bedroom door and poked her tousled head out.  Her face broadcast her confusion at finding her parents dressed, and her mother carrying her purse, at quarter to five in the morning.

 

“Mom? Dad?  What’s wrong? Where’re you--”

 

“Chris has been hurt,” Roy said as he rushed past the girl. “Your mother and I’re headed to Rampart. You stay here with John.”

            Jennifer trailed her parents down the hall, asking questions she received no answers to. She hurried to follow them through the dining room, kitchen, laundry room, and into the garage. She ignored the chill of the concrete on her bare feet.

 

“But who called you?  How do you know Chris is hurt?  Was he at a fire? 

Was--”

 

Joanne turned and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze as she slid into the car.  “Just do as Daddy asked and stay with John. We'll call you as soon as we know anything.”

 

“But--”

 

Jennifer’s final attempt at asking another question was cut off by the sound of the Impala’s engine.

 

Joanne’s last glimpse of Jennifer was of the girl standing in the garage watching the car back onto the street. The normally fearless teenager appeared to be as frightened as Joanne felt.

 

Joanne didn’t like seeing her daughter look so young and vulnerable.  On this morning when she and Roy were rushing to the hospital, it was a poignant reminder that there are so many things in life a mother can’t protect her children from, no matter how much that mother might want to.

 

Chapter 3

 

Roy hung onto Joanne’s hand as they ran through the desolate emergency room corridor.  Whether Dixie heard their pounding foot falls, or whether she was watching for them, Roy wasn’t certain.  She stood on the patient side of the nurses’ counter, hurrying to meet the worried parents.

 

“Dix, where is he? Where’s Chris?”

 

“In surgery.”

“Surgery?” Joanne questioned, while her eyes darted around the waiting area. It was devoid of firemen, police officers, or any type of activity that would indicate to the mother that her son had been hurt at a fire, or at the scene of an accident.  It was also devoid of John Gage, which Joanne found odd, because if Johnny wasn’t injured, he’d be here waiting to meet them.  “What happened, Dixie? Why’s Chris in surgery? Where’s Johnny? Was he hurt too?”

 

Dixie guided the couple away from the waiting area where a young couple sat who had brought their twelve-month old son in an hour earlier because of a high fever and chronic cough.  The nurse pressed the number 2 button on the elevator panel with her right thumb.

 

“Johnny’s in a conference room with the police.”

 

“The police?” Roy put an arm around Joanne’s shoulders as Dixie ushered them inside the elevator. “Why? What’s going on?”

 

“Johnny and Chris were toned out about two this morning on an unknown rescue. I was the one at the base station when Johnny called in.”

 

“And?”

 

Dixie closed her eyes a brief moment. She wasn’t sure if she was up to reliving those early morning hours when she and Kelly Brackett knew Johnny and Chris were pinned down by a gunman, Chris shot, and Johnny doing all he could to keep the young man alive while bullets pinged off the squad.  Dixie could still hear the sounds coming over the open bio-phone line.  One second, Johnny would be assuring Chris that he was going to all right, and the next second glass would shatter, or a tire would blow out, or there’d be a heavy “thunk” as a bullet buried itself in one of the squad’s compartments.

 

“Dix?” the impatient father questioned. “Dixie, come on. Tell us what happened.”

 

Dixie opened her eyes. She chased away the images she’d been forced to imagine since she was only able to hear what was going on.

 

“The man at the house Johnny and Chris were called to had a gun.  From what little I know, as soon as they got out of the squad he opened fire. Chris was shot in the back.”

 

Joanne’s hand flew to her mouth. That action didn’t stop an anguished, “Oh no,” from escaping.

 

Roy pulled his wife against his side. He held her tightly until the elevator stopped. Roy and Joanne followed Dixie to the surgical floor’s waiting area. It wasn’t until all three of them were seated that Dixie continued.

 

“Somehow Johnny was able to get Chris to the side of the squad that wasn’t facing the house. He got on the radio to dispatch and put in a call for the police, then got the bio-phone out and called here.”

 

It wouldn’t be until days later that Roy would think to ask Dixie what she and Kelly Brackett were doing working Rampart’s graveyard shift the night Chris was shot. Dixie told him she’d switched hours with the woman who normally supervised the ER from eleven to seven because that nurse needed the night off, and Doctor Brackett had remained on duty to cover for an ER physician who’d been in a car accident that afternoon. Roy knew that meant Kelly Brackett had a long day, and probably had caught just a couple of hours of sleep on the couch in his office before Dixie summoned him to the base station when Johnny called in.  Roy felt then, that fate had worked in his favor because two of Rampart’s best were on-duty when Chris arrived.

 

“How...” Roy had to stop a moment in order to add strength to his voice.  He gave Joanne’s hand a light squeeze while making eye contact with Dixie.  “How bad is it, Dix?”

 

“He’d lost a lot of blood by the time he got here. It took the police almost two hours to get the situation under control.”

 

“Did they arrest the man?” Joanne asked.

 

“No. He got away.”

 

Roy’s voice rose an octave.  “He got away? How the hell did he get past the police?”

 

“I don’t know, Roy. The details I have are few and sketchy. The only reason I know that much is because some detective by the name of Anders has--”

 

“Anders?” Joanne questioned.  “Troy Anders?”

“I think that’s his first name. He’s talking to Johnny now.  You know him?”

 

Roy nodded. “He assisted Mark Bellman with the investigation a few years ago.”

 

Dixie didn’t need an explanation. She’d met Mark Bellman several times during the course of the investigation regarding the man who’d tried to kidnap Jennifer DeSoto, and who had seriously injured John Gage in the process.

 

“Detective Anders will have a police officer guarding Chris,” Dixie said, though she kept her remaining thoughts to herself.

 

If he makes it through surgery, that is.

 

“What about Johnny?” Joanne asked.  She didn’t see the fleeting scowl that flickered across her husband’s face, but Dixie did. “Will a police officer be guarding him?”

 

“I don’t know. Regardless, I’m sure it’s just a precaution until the police catch the man.”

 

“So they don’t think this guy targeted Chris or Johnny specifically?”

 

“Again, Roy, I don’t know.  I’m sure Johnny can fill you in later.”

 

“He’ll be filling me in, all right,” Roy murmured. “On a lot of things.”

 

The women exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Roy to be bitter, or to hold a grudge against someone for any reason, but right now he sounded like he was warming up to harbor a bitter grudge of some sort.

 

Dixie chalked Roy’s attitude up to worry and stress; assuming it was temporary.  Joanne, on the other hand, had a feeling she knew the source of it, and hoped that no matter what happened to Chris, Roy wouldn’t blame Johnny for things that weren’t his fault.

 

The nurse reached over and placed one hand on top of Roy’s, and the other on top of Joanne’s. 

 

“I need to get back downstairs.” Dixie glanced up at the clock on the wall.  “I’m off duty at seven. I’ll bring some coffee to you then.”

 

Joanne smiled her thanks. “You don’t have to do that.  You’ve been working all night.  I’m sure you’re ready to go home and get some sleep.”

 

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to.” Dixie stood.  “I’ll see you both in a little while.”

 

The nurse’s heart constricted at the fear she saw in Roy’s eyes when he said, “If you hear anything about Chris before then...”

 

Dixie nodded.  “I’ll come right up and tell you if I hear anything.”

 

“Thanks, Dix.”

 

“You’re welcome.”  The nurse did her best to give the frightened parents an encouraging smile. Roy’s face was shadowed by the stubble he hadn’t shaved off before leaving the house, and Joanne’s face was pale – a combination of her anxiety for her son, and the fact that she hadn’t had time to put on any makeup.  “Chris is in good hands. You have to keep reminding yourselves that he’s in good hands.”

 

“I know,” Roy acknowledged, thankful that Kelly Brackett was one of the surgeons in the operating room with Chris.  Depending on the location of the bullet in relationship to Chris’s spine, a neurosurgeon might be present as well, but since Dixie hadn’t said anything about Joe Early, Roy assumed Doctor Early hadn’t been on duty when Chris was brought in.

 

For reasons Dixie couldn’t explain, she felt the sudden need to add, “And Johnny did everything he could and then some to keep Chris alive until they arrived here.”

 

Again, there was that fleeting scowl Dixie had noticed earlier. She wondered at the source of it, and then once again chalked it up to worry and stress.  Even if Roy was unjustly placing blame for Chris’s injury at Johnny’s feet, it wouldn’t last long.  Roy and Johnny had been best friends for too many years for anything to come between them. Once everything was sorted out and they’d had a chance to talk, Roy would know that Johnny’d done all he could for Chris in the field.

 

It was just a bad call, Dixie thought with heavy sorrow. A bad, bad call.

 

The nurse headed for the elevator, leaving Roy and Joanne alone in the waiting area.  Joanne laid her head on Roy’s shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to keep her tears from falling.  Roy pulled her against his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

 

“He’ll be okay,” Roy whispered. “Chris’ll be okay, Jo. Doctor Brackett’s with him.  He’ll pull through this.  I know he will.”

 

Joanne didn’t say what she was thinking.  She knew her husband thought highly of Kelly Brackett, and she knew the man had a reputation for being one of the best surgeons in the country.  Still, he wasn’t God.  He was a human being, and that meant Doctor Brackett didn’t possess any special powers, or the ability to breathe life back into her son should he die on the operating table.

 

Within minutes Roy’s nerves would no longer allow him to sit.  He eased Joanne away from him, then stood and started pacing.  His eyes kept flicking to the elevator at the end of the corridor.  At first, Joanne thought he was watching for Doctor Brackett, but when Roy growled, “Where the hell is he?” Joanne’s feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better was validated.

 

The woman asked, “Who?” though she already knew the answer.

 

“Johnny.  Where is he?”

“Dixie told you. He’s with Detective Anders.”