Chapter 22

 

At seven on Sunday morning, Johnny packed the last few items his home contained. He put the dishes he’d washed and dried after eating breakfast into a small box and sealed it.  His razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a comb went into his shaving kit.  He stepped outside and draped the damp dishtowel and dishcloth over a railing of the deck, just like he’d done earlier that morning with a bath towel and washcloth after taking his shower.  By the time the moving van was loaded, these items should be dry enough to stuff in a plastic bag and put in the back of the Land Rover.  If he forgot them, it was no big deal.  He had two boxes in the U-Haul filled with towels and washcloths.

 

Johnny returned to the house, picking up the box and shaving kit.  He carried the box to the Rover’s cargo hold.  He packed it neatly amongst the other things he had back there, then shut the cargo hold door and locked it.  He opened the passenger door and tossed his shaving kit on the seat.  He had a gym bag sitting on the floor, packed with a couple of changes of clothing.  It was a little more than a thousand miles from L.A. to Denver.  It would take Johnny two days to get there; maybe as long as three if he ran into strong winds or heavy rains that would force him to slow down because of the trailer he’d be pulling.  The moving van, on the other hand, would get there within twenty-four hours of leaving the ranch since there would be two men traveling in it to share the driving.

 

  Johnny shut the passenger door. He returned to his house and did a final walk-through.  Every closet and cabinet was empty. After breakfast that morning he’d cleaned out the refrigerator, throwing away half empty bottles of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and grape jelly, and had tossed out anything else that needed to be kept cold and therefore wouldn’t survive the drive to Colorado.  He’d run the vacuum cleaner one last time before packing it in the U-Haul. The house was as clean as he could get it for Bob’s daughter Natalie. By noon, the place would belong to her family.  The washer and dryer were unhooked, as was the stove.  Johnny left the refrigerator plugged in for the time being. He had two six packs of Coke in there.  He figured by the time he and the movers had loaded the van they’d want something cold to drink.

 

The paramedic glanced at the clock.  The moving van was due to arrive in forty minutes.  Johnny hesitated a moment with indecision, then walked to the phone that hung on the wall by the table.  He couldn’t leave without telling Dixie goodbye.  She’d heard the rumors about his departure, and had confronted him about it the previous week when she’d spotted him in the ER with a trainee he was evaluating.  Fortunately, they were summoned on another call before Dixie had a chance to ask too many questions.

 

“Don’t leave without coming to see me, Johnny,” the woman instructed as he’d turned to follow his young partner to the squad.  “Please.”

 

“I won’t,” Johnny promised, and at the time he’d really meant it.  But between a hectic week at work and packing up his house when not on duty, he’d been busy in the six days since then. Plus, he knew Dix would try to talk him out of going, which would be a waste of his time, as well as hers.

 

Johnny dialed the number that would ring at the ER nurses’ desk.  He wasn’t sure if Dixie was on-duty today, but decided he’d try Rampart first before calling her house so early on a Sunday morning.

 

The phone was answered on the third ring.

 

“Emergency Room. Nurse McCall speaking.”

 

“Hi, Dix.”

 

The man could hear the relief in her, “Johnny,” as though she thought he’d already left without keeping his promise.

 

“I.…I’m just calling to say goodbye.”

 

“Johnny, don’t go, please.  Things’ll work out.  It’s only been a little over two months since Chris was injured.  Roy…just give him some more time.  Don’t walk away from the life you’ve made for yourself here.  Please, come in and have breakfast with Kel and me.  He wants to talk to you.”

 

Doctor Brackett was the one person Johnny had worked hard to avoid since handing in his resignation.  He knew Brackett thought highly of him in his role of paramedic instructor.  Johnny already felt like he’d let enough people down. He didn’t need the added guilt of feeling like he was letting Kelly Brackett down, too.

 

“I can’t, Dix.”

 

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“I can’t.  I’ve got a moving van coming at eight.”

 

“Eight this morning?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

The woman’s shock and surprise was evident by the way her voice rose an octave. 

 

“You’re leaving today?”

 

“Yeah.  I’ve got the Rover and a U-Haul trailer stuffed full of boxes.  My furniture and appliances are goin’ in the van, then I’m headed out.”

 

“Out to where?”

 

“Just…just headed out.”

 

“Johnny, please tell me where you’re going.”

 

Johnny hesitated before answering.  So far, only two men at headquarters knew where he was moving to – the chief of the fire department and the personnel director, and that was only because he’d had to give them a forwarding address to record on their paperwork.  He’d asked them to keep that information confidential, and asked that it not be released to anyone without his permission.   Johnny didn’t want Joanne or the kids to have a way to trace him.  And though Roy might be able to gain access to that information if he was determined to do so, Johnny highly doubted Roy would ever have that desire.

 

“I…Dix, it’s just best for everyone if you don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean by that? Why can’t I know where you’re going?”

 

By the woman’s tone, Johnny could tell he’d insulted her without intending to.  “I don’t mean just you.  I mean no one.”

 

“No one knows where you’re going?”

 

“No,” Johnny lied, not wanting even Dixie to know that two people within the fire department had that information.

 

“Johnny--”

 

“Like I said, it’s for the best.”

 

“For who? Just who’s benefiting from this, Johnny?  You?  Because if it is you, you don’t sound too happy about it.  And if you think your friends are benefiting from you moving to God knows where, then as a friend of yours let me tell you, I’m not happy about it.  At least give me a telephone number where I can reach you.”

 

“Don’t have a phone hooked up yet.”

 

“Then how about an address where I can write you?”

 

“I…it’s not permanent.  It’s just temporary.”

 

“Where you’re going, you mean? Or where you’ll be living when you get there?”

 

“Where I’ll be living.”

 

“Johnny…Johnny, please.  Don’t go.”

 

“It’s too late, Dix. My place is sold.  According to my contract with the buyers, I gotta be out by midnight.”

 

“I wish…”

 

Dixie let her sentence trail off.  Johnny didn’t need her to finish it to know she’d say the same thing Joanne had said three weeks ago, and Jennifer had said yesterday.  She wished things had turned out differently.  Well, so did he, but things had turned out the way God, or fate, or just plain rotten luck, had caused them to, and now it was time for everyone to accept that.

 

Johnny heard the air brakes on a semi-truck “whoosh” outside his house, and then Joe started to bark.  The movers were thirty minutes early, but that wasn’t a bad thing.  The sooner they got the van loaded, the sooner the hard parts of this day would be over.

 

“Dix, I’m sorry, but I gotta go. The moving van just got here.”

 

“Keep in touch,” Dixie rushed to say.  “Promise me you’ll keep in touch.  Call me, or write to me, or surprise me by showing up some day when I least expect it.  Please, Johnny. Please don’t leave without promising to keep in touch.”

 

“I promise,” Johnny said, though he didn’t intend to keep this promise to Dixie, any more than he intended to honor the one about keeping in touch that he’d made to Jennifer.  The thought of hurting the nurse he’d known since first joining the fire department back in 1968 as a rescue man wasn’t easy for Johnny.  As a matter of fact, it just about killed him, but again, he couldn’t risk Chris or Jennifer someday finding a way to track him down.  He’d meant every word he’d said when he’d told Joanne that he didn’t want to come between Roy and his family. 

 

Johnny heard someone pounding on his front door.

 

“Dix, I gotta go. The movers are at the door.”

 

“You’ll keep in touch, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Take…Johnny, take care of yourself. Wherever it is you’re going, I won’t be there to patch you up every time you take a tumble down a flight of stairs or step on a rattlesnake.”

 

Johnny smiled.  “I know.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be okay.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The paramedic knew Dixie’s question encompassed a lot more than his physical well being.  She meant his emotional well being, too, along with his future happiness.

 

“I’m sure,” Johnny said with far more conviction than he was feeling.  “Take care, Dix. And…and thanks for everything.  For being a bossy big sister when I needed you to be.  For being a concerned mom when I needed you to be. And for being a helluva a friend through thick and thin.”

 

Johnny barely made out Dixie’s muffled “Goodbye, Johnny.”  He could tell she was either crying, or trying hard not to.  He said a quick, “Bye, Dix,” and hung up the phone before the sadness of leaving his home and friends could overwhelm him. 

 

The paramedic hurried to the door to let the moving men in, glad for the distractions the rest of this day would bring.

 

Chapter 23

           

The moving van and the Land Rover were ready to pull out of Johnny’s driveway at noon.  Bob and his wife were there, as were Natalie, her husband, Rich, and their eight-year-old daughter, Alison.  Natalie’s family was anxious to begin moving in, and Johnny now had no reason not to let them.  He handed keys to the woman and mustered the best smile he could.

 

“She’s all yours.”

 

Johnny shook hands with Natalie and Rich, then told Alison to take good care of the horses and cats.

 

“I will,” the excited little girl promised with a big gap-toothed grin.

 

The paramedic moved on to Bob and Doris. 

           

“Thanks for bein’ such great neighbors.”

 

“Same to you, Johnny,” Doris said. “We’ll miss you.”

 

“I’ll miss you guys, too.”

 

As the woman walked away to begin helping her daughter and son-in-law carry boxes into the house, Johnny shook hands with Bob. 

 

“Thanks for taking Joe.  It makes it easier on me, knowing he’ll have a good home.”

 

“ ‘Welcome. We’re glad to do it.  Doris has been after me to get another dog ever since ol’ Rusty died last spring. She doesn’t like living out here ‘in the middle of nowhere’ as she says, without a dog.  Don’t know why I kept puttin’ it off.  Guess God knew this big guy here was gonna need a home soon.”

 

Johnny looked down at Joe, who was sitting by his side. “Guess so.”

 

The paramedic bent to say goodbye to his dog.  The parting was harder on Johnny that it was on Joe.  The Malamute was so used to Bob Emery doing chores when Johnny was on-duty, or just stopping by to shoot the bull with Johnny on any given day, that he didn’t seem to sense this parting with his master was permanent.

 

When Johnny finished hugging Joe and telling him to be a good boy for Bob, he stood.  

 

“Write and let us know how things are going for you, Johnny.  Or give us a call when you get settled.”

 

Johnny nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t keep in contact with the man, for the same reason he had no intention of keeping in contact with anyone he’d known in California.

 

Like most other people, Bob didn’t know where Johnny was moving.  Unlike those other people, however, he hadn’t pressured Johnny about that fact. He’d read the accounts of the shooting in the paper, and followed the story on the news.  He was well aware Roy DeSoto had been Johnny’s best friend, and also knew Roy hadn’t been around since the night his son was shot.  Bob didn’t have to be a genius to know the friendship had ended, and that Johnny was having a difficult time dealing with that.

 

Johnny said a final goodbye to Bob, then climbed in the Land Rover as the moving van pulled onto the highway.  It would be parked at its company’s headquarters in Denver until Johnny arrived to identify which items should be taken to his apartment, versus which items were going into storage.

 

As the paramedic looked over the ranch for the last time, he found it hard to believe that a week from now he’d be living in a new city, getting settled into a new apartment, and getting ready to start a new job.   It was difficult enough to think of all he was leaving behind.  What made it worse, was realizing he had nothing to look forward to when he arrived in Denver.  No friends or family to welcome him.  A tiny apartment he’d didn’t particularly want to live in.  And nothing familiar about the fire department he’d be working for, like the L.A. County department was familiar to him as a seventeen-year veteran - as one of the “old guys,” as the rookies often referred to Johnny and other men who had tenure similar in length to his.  That department and the men who worked for her had been Johnny’s second home and family.  He could only hope that, with time, he’d come to feel the same way about the Denver Fire Department and his co-workers there.

 

The last thing John Gage had wanted to do at this stage in his life was start over, but as he put the Land Rover in gear, gave Bob a final wave goodbye, and headed for the highway, that’s exactly what he was facing.  Soon Los Angeles was behind Johnny as he traveled northeast on I-15.  The only thing that lay ahead was a strange city, and a lot of uncertainties to go with it.

 

Chapter 24

 

I followed two pickup trucks, a Nissan Pathfinder, and a Chevy Suburban into the parking lot of Eagle Harbor Elementary School.  I didn’t know what door Trevor would be coming out of, but I took an educated guess that the vehicles ahead of me contained parents arriving to retrieve boys who were on the basketball team with Trev. 

 

The trucks and SUVs pulled up to the sidewalk by the main entrance doors.  I got in line behind them. More vehicles began to fill the small parking lot to my left that was lit by overhead floodlights.  Exhaust fumes billowed into the cold night air, swirling upward and mixing with the snow.  Boys began spilling out of the double doors in pairs and trios.  Like all boys between the ages of twelve and fourteen, the kids varied in size from tall and burly, to short and scrawny.  I hadn’t seen Trevor since the previous July, but assumed that other than being a bit taller, he’d still be the skinny kid with stick-figure arms and knobby shoulders and knees, who looks just like pictures I’ve seen of his father at thirteen.

 

I couldn’t see the knobby shoulders and knees because of Trevor’s thick winter coat and his blue jeans, but I didn’t have any trouble recognizing him when he walked out into the storm minus a hat, and with hair still wet from a shower. He carried a gym bag in his left hand, and had a backpack full of books slung over his right shoulder.  He was with his friends who live down the road from Johnny, Dylan and Dalton Teirman, along with another boy I didn’t recognize.  I pressed the switch on my door panel that lowered the passenger side window. I thought I might have to shout Trevor’s name so he realized he had a ride waiting for him.

 

Trevor looked around but didn’t spot the Land Rover in line behind the other vehicles. I heard Dylan ask him, “Need a ride home, Trev?”

 

“Nah.”  Trev looked around again. He craned his neck and stood on the ends of his toes so he could see into the parking lot.  “Someone should be here to get me.”

 

“Hope it’s not supposed to be Carl,” the boy whose name I didn’t know teased. “If it is, he probably forgot about you again.”

 

Trevor was a good sport and laughed, but hurt flickered briefly across his face, as though it was painful to be reminded that the only reason Carl had forgotten him in the first place, was because Trevor’s own father now had disabilities that prevented him from driving.

 

“Very funny, Jake,” Trevor tossed back.

 

“Come on, Trev,” Dalton urged. Or maybe it was Dylan.  The Teirman boys are identical twins. “Come with us.  My mom’ll drop you off at your place.”

 

“No. I’m supposed to wait here.”

 

“But who’s picking you up?”

 

“I don’t know. Carl I guess, but I’m not sure.”

 

As Trevor looked around again, I gave the Land Rover’s horn three short beeps and leaned my upper body toward the open passenger window.

 

“Trevor! Hey, Trevor, over here!”

 

The boy looked down the sidewalk to his left, grinning when he spotted the familiar vehicle.  I was sure he hadn’t recognized my voice.  The way his smile lit up his eyes told me that he thought Johnny was driving.

 

“Gotta go, guys!” He called to his friends as he ran toward Rover. “My pops is here!”

 

Trevor threw open the passenger side door.  For just a second the grin remained in place, then slowly faded as disappointment set in, then was renewed to some degree as it registered with Trevor that I was seated behind the wheel.

 

“Uncle Roy!”

 

“Hey there, young Mr. Gage. How about climbing in and shutting that door.  I’m not used to this kind of weather.”

 

Trevor tossed his backpack and gym bag on the floor, then scrambled onto the passenger seat.  He shut the door and secured his seatbelt while I hit the switch so the window would slide up. 

 

 The teenager turned around, looking into the back passenger seat.

 

“Where’s my pops?”

 

“He stayed home.”

 

“Oh.”

 

If Johnny could have heard the letdown in just that one word, he’d have realized how much his presence would have meant to Trevor.  Granted, we’d be back to Johnny’s house within fifteen minutes, but still, I got the impression if Johnny had been in the vehicle with me, it would have made Trevor’s day.

 

I hoped what I was offering the boy didn’t sound like the excuse it was. 

 

“It’s hard for him to get around in the snow because of his cane, you know.” 

 

“I know.”

 

“He’ll be waiting for you when we get back to your house.”

 

“Yeah,” Trevor acknowledged, though with little enthusiasm.  He didn’t allow himself to stay down too long, though.  By the time I was slowly following other vehicles toward the main exit, he’d perked up and seemed excited by my presence.

 

“What’re you doing here?”

 

I smiled and teased, “Isn’t it obvious?  I came to give you a ride home.”

 

“If that’s the only reason you’re here, you sure came a heck of a long way.”

 

I laughed.  In so many ways, Trevor reminds me of his father.

 

“Well, it’s not the only reason,” I admitted. “I came to give your father a hand while Clarice is laid up.”

 

Trevor’s eyes shined at the prospect of me staying for an extended period of time. 

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“Cool.  I’m glad you’re here. And I bet Papa was really glad to see you.”

 

Apparently Trevor was unaware that I’d offered to come, and that Johnny had told Carl he didn’t want me to.

 

“Uh…Trev…look, I hate to burst your bubble, but I think you should know your father isn’t happy I’m here.  He’s not happy at all.”

 

Trevor’s smile changed to a scowl. He turned and looked out the passenger window.  “He’s not happy about anything these days.”

 

I came to a stop, looked left, right, and then left again before turning onto the street that ran in front of the school.  I didn’t immediately reply to Trevor.  Instead I said, “I made Sloppy Joes, but I couldn’t find any hamburger buns.  Do we need to stop at a store and buy some?”

 

“No. There’s a package in the cabinet above the refrigerator.”

 

“Oh.  Okay.  That was the one place I didn’t look.”

 

“I don’t know why Clarice keeps ‘em there. She always has to climb on a chair to get ‘em, but that’s where she puts ‘em.”

 

“I learned a long time ago never to question how a woman arranges her kitchen.”

 

That got a smile out of the teen. “Yeah, me too.  Even with Clarice staying at home sick right now, I won’t move stuff around, even though I’ve got some good ideas on how things could be rearranged.”

 

“You’re a smart man then.”

 

I turned the heater up another notch while glancing at Trevor’s wet head.  “Where’s your hat?”

 

Because Trevor is Johnny’s son, I could have predicted the answer. 

 

“In my gym bag, I think. Or maybe my backpack. Or I might have left it in my locker.”  The boy searched his coat pockets.  “Mmm…I’m not really sure.”

 

“You should have it on.  Especially with wet hair in weather like this.”

 

“I hate wearin’ hats.”

 

“So does your father.”

 

Trevor looked surprised I knew something about his father that he apparently didn’t.  “He does?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Oh.  Guess I never noticed before, but now that you mention it, I never see ‘im put one on unless it’s really cold and he’s gonna be outside for a long time.”

 

“When we worked together, Captain Stanley was always on Johnny’s case about taking off his helmet.”

 

“Did he ever get written up for it?”

 

“You sound like a boy who’s spent a lot of time in a fire station.”

 

“Yeah, suppose I do.”  Trevor smiled. “But I don’t think Papa’s ever really written anyone up.  He only threatens too now and then when someone ticks him off, or when he’s in a bad mood and doesn’t feel like putting up with a “buncha’ stupid shenanigans” as he says.”

 

“He learned well from Hank then.”

 

“Is that the kind of boss Captain Stanley was?”

 

“Easy going, you mean?”

 

“Yeah.  Mostly easy going, didn’t get upset when you guys had some fun at work – you know, like pulling pranks on one another and stuff like that, and his bark was worse than his bite.”

 

“That’s the way he was,” I confirmed. 

 

“My pops is like that too.  Everyone likes him.”

 

“I’m sure they do.”

 

“I was at the station after school yesterday.  Everybody said they miss Papa a lot. I told him that after Carl dropped me off at home, but he just turned away and wouldn’t say anything.”

 

The last of Eagle Harbor’s streetlights faded from the rearview mirror as I drove out of town and headed for the rural road Johnny lives on.

 

“It’s…things are hard for your father right now, Trevor.  You said before that he’s not happy any more.  Well, it’s hard for him to be happy because of everything that’s changed. Because of everything he can’t do.”

 

“I know.  I just…I just wish he’d try harder, Uncle Roy.  He’s got exercises he’s supposed to be doing, and the doctor said it would be good for him to play games with me like Monopoly, and Trivial Pursuit, and Scrabble, but he won’t.  He needs to at least try to get better.”

 

“A person has to want to get better before he can try.”

 

“What’s that mean? That Papa doesn’t wanna walk normally again, and talk normally, and remember stuff, and--”

 

“I think he wants to, Trev. But I also think that right now he’s feeling overwhelmed by what’s happened to him, and depressed by how it’s changed him physically.  He just needs someone to--”

 

“Give him a good swift kick in the butt.”

 

I laughed again. “That’s not exactly what I was gonna say.”

 

Trevor grinned at me. “Okay. Then how were you gonna say it?”

 

“That he needs someone to help him get started.”

 

“Means the same thing I said.”

 

“I guess it does,” I agreed.

 

“So that’s why you’re here?  To help Papa get started?”

 

I heard the hope in the boy’s voice.  I didn’t want to make him promises I might not be able to keep, so chose my words carefully.

 

“If your father will let me help him get started, then yes, that’s part of the reason why I’m here.”

 

“And the other part?”

 

“The other part is just what I told you earlier. I’m here to help you and Johnny in any way I can until Clarice is able to return to work.”

 

Trevor watched the snow smack the windshield for a moment, then laid a hand on my arm and squeezed.

 

“Thanks, Uncle Roy. Thanks a lot.  From me and Papa both.”

 

I glanced at Trev and smiled.  I could see the relief on his face, and realized he’d been worried about leaving Johnny alone all day while he was at school, and worried about just how he could give Johnny the help he needed. I suspected Trevor was glad there would be another adult in the house now to carry this load. Suddenly I knew that, despite the lack of a warm welcome on Johnny’s part, I’d done the right thing.  Although Trevor wasn’t a child any longer, he also wasn’t a man yet.  He needed the assurance that someone was going to get him to and from school, was going to have a meal waiting for him when he got home at night, and that while he was away, someone was going to be with Johnny.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“But what about your job?  You probably can’t stay long, huh?”

“I can stay as long as eight weeks.”

 

“Eight weeks!  That’s two months.”

 

“Yep, it sure is.”

 

“You’re really gonna stay with us for two months?”

 

“I don’t know if I’ll be here that long or not. A lot depends on when Clarice is back on her feet.  But, if I have to stay for two months, then yes, I will.”

 

“Aunt Joanne’s okay with this?”

 

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

 

“Well…it seems like a long time for you to be gone just ‘cause of me and my pops.”

 

“Trevor, I can assure you that Aunt Joanne thinks you and your pops are well worth my time, as well as any inconvenience my absence might cause her. Your father has been a good friend to us for more years than I keep track of any more. As I told him earlier today, help is a given between friends.”

 

Trev mulled my words over.  When he nodded and said, “Okay,” I could tell he’d accepted what I’d said as the truth, and that he’d cast aside any guilt he felt over the thought of me traveling so far and then staying for several weeks in order to help him and his father.

 

For the rest of the ride home I tried to get Trevor’s mind off his concerns for Johnny by asking him about school and his job with Gus.  Because Trevor inherited his chatterbox ability from his father, I was able to concentrate on my driving while he rattled on about school, his job, and the hockey league he plays for.

 

 I clicked the turn signal on well ahead of Johnny’s place, even though I couldn’t see any headlights behind me.  The Land Rover bucked snow as I navigated the long driveway.

 

Trevor leaned forward and peered out at the storm.  “If it keeps snowing all night, we won’t be able to get to the road in the morning.”

 

“If it snows that heavily, won’t school be canceled?”

 

Trevor chuckled.  “Uncle Roy, this is Alaska.  School is never canceled ‘cause of snow.  A few years ago we got so much snow that Eagle Harbor was buried in the stuff for a whole month, but school didn’t close. Most of us got there on snowmobiles.”

 

I nodded.  Johnny had a couple of snowmobiles stored in the back of his barn that he and Trevor used as recreational vehicles during the winter.  Apparently, Johnny made use of them to get himself back and forth to work, and to get Trevor to school, when even four wheel drive vehicles had problems making it through the snow.

 

“Well,” I said in response to Trevor’s comment about school not being canceled, “I guess we’ll have to run your father’s tractor in the morning.  Do you know how to operate it?”

 

“No. Pops promised to teach me this winter, but this is the first big snowstorm that we’ve had.”

 

“I imagine you and I can figure out how to use it if we have to, don’t cha’ think?”

 

“Well…maybe.  I’ve ridden on it with Papa a lot.”

 

“And I’ve operated a few pieces of equipment similar to tractors during my years with the fire department, so I bet between the two of us we can get it running and get the driveway plowed before I have to take you to school.”

 

“Good,” the boy said, and once again I could plainly hear relief in his voice over the thought of an adult being in charge of things. “I’ve got a basketball game after school tomorrow. If I’m not in school during the day, then my coach won’t let me play. Not even if we can get outta the driveway by afternoon and you get me to school before it lets out at three.”

 

“Sounds like your coach has some pretty strict rules.”

 

“Yeah, he does. I think he’s too strict, but Papa likes him for some dumb reason.”

 

I smiled slightly.  At times like those I still found it hard to believe that my once impulsive, sometimes immature ladies’ man come-what-may partner, had turned out to be the type of father who keeps close tabs on his son, and on those who have influence over the boy.

 

As we got closer to the house, Trevor strained to see through the great room windows

 

“When I left, your papa was in his office.”

 

Trev looked over his shoulder as we passed by the back of his home. 

 

“Looks like he’s still sittin’ there at his desk,” Trevor said. “What was he doing?”

 

Trevor’s tone was hopeful, as though he wanted me to tell him Johnny was doing fire department paperwork, or doing something on his computer.

 

“I’m not sure.  Thinking, I guess.”

 

“About what?”

 

“Don’t know.  A man usually keeps his thoughts private.”

 

“He does that a lot lately.”

 

“Keeps his thoughts to himself, you mean?”

 

“Yeah, that too. But what I meant was, he sits alone by himself and just does…nothing.  Uncle Roy, do you think Papa is sittin’ there wishing things were like they were before he got sick?”

 

“He might be, Trev.  I’m not sure.  Like I said, a man usually keeps his thoughts private.”

 

“I wish Papa wouldn’t.”

 

“No?” I questioned, while hitting the button on the garage door opener. “Why not?”

 

“ ‘Cause you and I would have better ideas about how we could help him if he’d just tell us what’s bothering him.”

 

“You’re probably right about that.”

 

“Then how can we get him to talk to us?”

 

“I don’t know,” I said. I was kidding when I said, “Maybe by doing to him what he used to do to me.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“Just kept talking to me until I finally had no choice but to talk back.  It was the only way I could finally get him to shut up.”

 

“Hey!  I bet that would work.”

 

Thinking of the silent somber man I’d left in the house, a man so different from the Johnny Gage I’d known for over thirty years, caused me to say, “I’m not sure about that, Trev. Don’t get your hopes up.  I was only kidding.”

 

“Yeah, but if we just keep buggin’ him and buggin’ him and buggin’ him, he’ll have to talk eventually.”

 

“Let me think on it.”  I eased the Land Rover into the garage.  “Maybe I’ll come up with some other ideas as to how we can help your papa after I’ve been here a few days.”

 

“Okay.  But I still bet you that buggin’ him until he finally talks will work.”

 

“Or it’ll get me hit over the head with a fire axe,” I mumbled as Trevor got out of the vehicle and headed for the side door that led into the barn.

 

I hit the button on the remote door opener and watched in the rear view mirror as the garage door shut.  I then climbed out of the Land Rover and followed Trevor.

 

Nicolai and Tasha were all over the boy.  I grabbed a hold of Trev’s right arm to keep the dogs from knocking him down.  When they’d had their fill of licking his face, Trevor opened the barn door.

 

“Go on, Nic and Tash!  Go for a run!”

 

The energetic dogs didn’t need to be told twice. They shot out of the barn and tore to the left, disappearing in the National Forest behind Johnny’s home.

 

Trevor frowned as he pulled the door shut.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Were the dogs locked in the barn when you got here?”

 

“They must have been.  They didn’t come to greet me, and I heard them barking in here when I left to get you from school.”

 

“I asked Papa to let them run sometime today.”

 

I offered the only excuse I could think of.  “Maybe he didn’t come out because of the snow.  It’d be dangerous for him if he fell.”

 

“But it didn’t start snowing until after lunch.”

 

No more ready-made excuses for Johnny came to my mind after Trevor said that.  The boy started tending to the horses.  The frown never left his face, as though he was upset, worried, and disappointed because his father didn’t attempt to do even a chore so simple as letting the dogs out of the barn for a few hours.

 

“What can I do to help?”

 

Trevor pointed to a metal cabinet.  “You can feed the cats if you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’t mind.”

 

Four plastic dishes and a deep stainless steel bowl sat in front of one wall of the barn.  I found a bag of dry cat food in the cabinet Trevor had directed me to.  I poured food into all the dishes, then picked up the bowl and walked to the sink.  I rinsed it out, then filled it with fresh water.  By the time I’d turned around a dozen cats of all shapes, sizes, and colors were gathered around the dishes. Crunching filled the air as their sharp teeth ground the food into more manageable bites.

 

I set the water dish down, then stayed out of Trevor’s way.  I watched as he quickly cleaned the three horse stalls with a large shovel.  He carried the manure to a wheelbarrow at the far end of the barn and deposited in there. 

 

“I’ll have to take this out back and empty it when the storm quits.”

 

“Maybe you can do that before school in the morning.”

 

“Yeah, probably.”

 

While Trevor fed and watered the horses, I noticed three more dishes setting side by side.

 

“Are these for the dogs?”

 

The boy glanced over his shoulder.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Want me to feed them, too?”

 

“Sure.”  Trevor pointed to a blue plastic bin.  “Their food’s in that bin.”

 

I opened the lid of the bin and saw a large plastic scoop setting on top of dry dog food. 

 

“How much do you give them?”

 

“A scoop each.”

 

 I did as Trevor instructed, then walked the dogs’ water bowl to the sink, emptied what little water was left in it, and filled it with fresh water.

 

Between the two of us, we had the chores done in twenty minutes.  Trevor opened the barn door, stepped out into the storm, and called for his dogs.  I didn’t think they’d hear him over the wind, but they must have been used to this nightly routine, because less than a minute later, Tasha and Nicolai flew into the barn, their thick coats covered with snow.

 

I laughed as the cats scattered in twelve different directions.  The dogs gave chase, but when all of the cats managed to get out of their reach by clamoring for the rafters and hay mow, they turned around and ran for their dishes.  Trevor secured the door, left the light on for the animals, and said, “Come on. We’ll go out through the garage.”

 

We walked back through the door that led into the garage.  I shut it behind us while Trevor got his gym bag and backpack from the Land Rover.  We then crossed in front of the Land Rover, exiting the garage through the service door. We drew our shoulders up to our ears and bent our faces toward the ground as we trudged through the storm.  Trevor plowed through the deep snow at a loping run, but I don’t have that kind of stamina any longer.  Just watching him work so hard wore me out.  As it was, the snow prevented him from moving quickly. Throughout the entire trip to the house he was never more than a few steps ahead of me. He fell once and got up laughing, which made me laugh too.  I lobbed a snowball at him that landed dead center between his shoulder blades.  He turned and threw one back at me that glanced off my left shoulder.  I was scooping up another handful of snow when I caught sight of Johnny watching us through the glass pane in the back door.  For some reason, his expression said I was doing something wrong, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was.  Having a little fun with Trevor in the snow was hardly a crime.  Or at least not in my book it wasn’t.

 

By the time we entered the laundry room Johnny was gone. I was sure Trevor hadn’t seen his father watching us, because he didn’t say anything about it.

 

It felt good to be in the warm house.  I hoped Johnny had a fire going in the great room fireplace, but I wasn’t counting on it.  Trevor and I took off our boots, hats, gloves, and coats.  I was glad I’d made supper before I went to pick him up. My stomach growled as we entered the kitchen and the tangy smell of barbeque sauce washed over us.

 

Johnny was seated at his place at the table.  He hadn’t made an effort to take the pans out of the oven, or to get the hamburger buns out of the cabinet.  For the first time since I’d arrived, however, I saw a slight smile light his face when Trevor bent and kissed his cheek.

 

“Hi, Papa.”

 

Johnny’s “Hi,” was voiced without stumbling over the word, and was easy to understand. He brought his clumsy left hand up. He held Trev’s face against his for a moment, then released the boy. 

 

I got the hamburger buns out of the cabinet. When I’d moved away from the refrigerator, Trevor opened it, reached inside, pulled out various kinds of soda, and set the cans in the center of the table. 

 

I didn’t think about it when I said, “Milk, young man.”  I guess watching him took me back to the days when my own kids were teenagers, and would have drunk soda for every meal if Joanne and I had allowed it.

 

“But I had milk for breakfast and lunch. Besides, milk with Sloppy Joes…”  Trevor wrinkled his nose.  “Yuck.” 

 

Before I could respond, Trevor must have realized he wasn’t talking to his father, but instead, to a houseguest who, under other circumstances, he’d be told to respect.

 

“Uh…sure.  Milk. That’s okay, too.”  He turned for the refrigerator. “I like milk.”

 

“No.”

 

Trevor turned around and looked at his father.  Again, Johnny said, “No,” and pointed at the soda.

“It’s okay, Papa.  I can drink milk if Uncle Roy wants me to.”

 

“No.”

 

“But--”

 

I felt sorry for the poor kid.  He wasn’t sure who he was supposed to obey.

 

“It’s okay, Trev.”  I smiled. “If your father says soda is all right, then soda it is.”

 

I had no idea whether or not Trevor was normally allowed to drink soda for supper, or maybe with Sloppy Joes he was, but either way, I honestly didn’t care.  He wasn’t my son, and I hadn’t intended to overstep my bounds.

 

I tossed Johnny an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.”

 

He ignored me, and instead, grabbed a Coke for himself.

 

Johnny remained seated as Trevor and I got supper on the table.  It wasn’t like him not to pitch in and help.  His years of service with various fire departments meant he was used to sharing equally in whatever duties needed to be accomplished, just like I was.  I wasn’t sure if Johnny didn’t lend a hand because he was in pain, because he was embarrassed over the cumbersome way he moved, or if he’d decided that since I was insisting on playing housekeeper, then he’d get the most out of me until I finally put a stop to it. 

 

So what’s the deal here, Johnny?  Is there a legitimate reason why you’re sitting there and not helping, or are you just letting me know you’re mad at me?

 

I didn’t voice my thoughts. Back when Johnny and I had been partners, I could usually figure out what he was up to if I just took the time to look beneath what was happening on the surface.

 

It didn’t take long for Trevor and I to get the food on the table considering our meal consisted of just Sloppy Joes, corn, and a strawberry jello salad Trev pulled out of the refrigerator that he said one of Clarice’s sisters had dropped off the previous day.

 

I made my sandwich while keeping an eye on Johnny.  I wasn’t sure if he’d need help or not.  Before I could be sure, Trevor made his father’s sandwich for him.  As the rest of the food was passed around the table, Trevor hesitated when the bowl of corn arrived in front of him before reaching for the serving spoon.

 

Again, Johnny said, “No,” just like he had when I’d told Trevor to drink milk.  Johnny wasn’t forced to say any more in an effort to explain what he meant, because Trevor stated quietly, “It’s okay, Papa. I’ll eat it.”

 

It took me a second to figure out what was going on. 

 

“If you don’t like corn, Trev, you don’t have to eat any.”

 

“But you went to all the trouble to make it.”

 

I chuckled.  “Opening a can and dumping the corn into a pan wasn’t a lot of trouble.”

 

“Still, you made supper for us.  I can eat a little--” 

 

“No,” Johnny commanded of his son again, though by the look he shot me, I knew he was reminding me that I didn’t know Trevor as well as he did, and never would.

 

Trevor glanced at me.  I smiled and nodded.  “It’s okay. If you don’t like corn, you won’t offend me by not eating it.”

 

Trevor smiled in return, then put some corn on his father’s plate.  He set the bowl down and took the pan of jello salad I handed him.  He put two large spoonfuls on his plate, and repeated the action with Johnny’s plate.  Trevor then began telling Johnny about his day at school.  I listened to his non-stop chatter without focusing on what he was saying.  Instead, I focused on what he was doing. Trevor never paused in an effort to make Johnny respond to him.  Not even when he asked Johnny a question.

 

“It really started snowing hard after lunch, didn’t it?  I guess you musta’ stayed in the house all day, ‘cause Nic and Tash were locked in the barn.  Hey, did you hear the sirens around two-thirty?  I wonder what was going on.  Do you think a squad was called out?  Boy, did Jake make Coach Mitchell mad today.  We were supposed to be runnin’ laps, but Jake was goofing off by hiding beneath the bleachers.  He…”

 

And that’s how dinner went. Trevor talked about his day, asked questions, and then talked some more, but he never paused to let Johnny speak.  I had a feeling this was a pattern the two of them had fallen into since Clarice had gotten sick.  She’d probably done her best to make Johnny participate in any conversation that was occurring, but Trevor couldn’t exercise that force of will over his father, so had subconsciously done what was now most comfortable for both of them.  Trevor did all the talking, while Johnny sat passively listening, and without being urged to try and make a verbal reply.

 

Trevor and I ate two sandwiches a piece. Johnny had shaken his head no when Trevor offered to make him a second one.

 

“Come on, Pops, you’re too skinny.  Eat another one.”

 

“No.”

 

“Come on, Papa,” Trevor urged, as he began putting barbeque on a bun for Johnny.  “It’ll be good for you.”

 

Whatever Trevor said, it was the wrong thing.  Johnny grasped his son’s wrist, stopping the teenager while he was in the middle of making the sandwich.  Johnny’s “No” was more forceful this time, and I translated his “St-sto,Tev,” to “Stop, Trevor.”

 

I contemplated adding my voice to Trevor’s.  There was no doubt Johnny needed the extra calories, but I finally decided to be happy that he’d eaten one sandwich, and not push him to eat more.  Not that pushing him would have done me any good anyway.  By then, just four hours since my arrival, I could already tell Johnny and I would be locked in a battle of the wills if I tried to force him to do things he didn’t want to.  I’d have to come up with another way of getting him to talk and do his exercises, but exactly what way that was going to be, I wasn’t sure yet.

 

Trevor dropped his eyes to his plate when Johnny released him.  I wasn’t sure if Johnny had hurt his feelings, or if he was embarrassed because Johnny had scolded him in front of me.  I did my best to make the uncomfortable situation easier on all of us.

 

“If your father doesn’t want another sandwich, that’s all the better for you and me, Trev.  We can have thirds.”

 

Trevor gave me a grateful smile.  “Yeah, or there’ll be leftovers for you and papa for lunch tomorrow.”

 

“That’s a good thought, too.”

 

I looked at Johnny, but he refused to meet my gaze.  At any other time, he’d have joined in on the teasing.  Not this time, though.  He just sat there in silence while Trevor and I made our way through second helpings of sandwiches and jello.

 

When we’d finished eating, Trevor helped me clear the table, wipe off the countertops, put the leftover food in the refrigerator, and load the dishwasher.  Johnny remained in his chair watching us with detached interest.  It was almost as though he was no longer in the room with us.  He didn’t attempt to join in our conversation, and when I’d ask him a question it would take him a few seconds to shake his head no, or nod yes, giving me the impression that he wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying.

 

After everything was back in an orderly state, Trevor went to the laundry room for his gym bag and backpack.  He paused in the kitchen long enough to say, “I’m goin’ upstairs to do my homework,” waited for Johnny to nod his agreement to that, looked at me and said, “See ya’ later, Uncle Roy,” then jogged through the great room and up the stairs.

 

That fire I’d been hoping for in the great room hadn’t been started.  For lack of anything better to do, I asked Johnny, “Want me to start a fire?”

 

He shrugged, which I took to mean he didn’t care one way or another if I started a fire.

 

“We could watch some T.V.  Whatever you normally watch at this time on a Wednesday night is fine with me.”

 

He shrugged again. I studied him a long moment, wondering if he was enjoying my discomfort and purposely prolonging it, or if he was really so depressed that he had no desire to be actively involved in his life any longer.  I’d seen Chris go through this same thing when he was in rehab.  I weighed the merits of telling Johnny what I’d told my son twenty-one years earlier, and finally decided it wouldn’t hurt him to hear what I had to say.  I changed it some to fit Johnny’s circumstances, but the message remained the same.

 

I kept my voice quiet and my tone understanding.  I didn’t want to sound like I was trying to start an argument, or that I didn’t have sympathy for his situation.

 

I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from him.

 

“I know you’ve been through a heckuva lot these last few weeks.  It’s been pretty rough, hasn’t it.”

 

His eyes narrowed as though he was daring me to talk about exactly what he was trying so hard to ignore. 

 

When Johnny made no response, either verbally or through body language, I continued.

 

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Johnny.  I really am.  I think you know that if I had the power to change things, I would.”

 

I paused again, waiting for him to acknowledge what I’d said.  Once again, he chose not to, though I could tell I had his attention.  I waited a few more seconds, then continued.

 

“The trouble is, I don’t have the power to change things, but you do.”

 

Johnny’s expression gave me no clues as to what he was thinking, but he couldn’t keep the questioning look from his eyes.  As though he was asking, “How?  Just how do I have the power to change things?”

 

  “You have to try, Johnny.  You can’t sit around here feeling sorry for yourself.  You have to try doing as much as you’re capable of, and then take it a step farther and do more.  You have a son who needs you, friends who’re counting on you, and an entire fire department that wants you to return as their chief.”

 

I paused, waiting for Johnny to give me some type of response.  When none came but a slight flinching of his right cheek, I ignored that warning to keep my opinions to myself.

 

“You’re not being fair to Trevor, you know.  If you don’t try, you’re letting your son down.  You should have seen the look on his face when you weren’t in the Land Rover with me.  He wanted you to be there, Johnny.  I know it was just picking him up from basketball practice, but he wanted you to be a part of that.  If you’re not gonna try and get better for yourself – for this town that depends on you in so many ways, then try and get better for your son.  A year from now, no matter where you are on the road to recovery, make sure you can look back and say you tried as hard as you could for Trevor’s sake.  If you can’t do that, then you’ll end up regretting it for the rest of your life.”

 

By the time I was finished, Johnny’s jaw was clenched and the veins in his neck were sticking out.  I waited for a fist to slam against the tabletop, or for him to stand and throw a chair across the room.  That’s not what happened though.  He glared at me for what seemed like forever, intent on silently communicating just how furious he was.  He must have finally reached a point where silent communication wasn’t good enough, because he growled, “Uck you, ‘oy! Uck you!” Then he stood up, grabbed the handle of his cane, and stomped off through the dining room. 

           

Well…if nothing else, I’d understood him.

 

I heard a loud “bang!”  Since the only room with a door on that end of the house was the bedroom Clarice stayed in when Johnny was on a twenty-four shift, I assumed he was now using it.  His bedroom was on the second floor.  Sleeping in Clarice’s room meant he didn’t have to climb stairs.

 

I sat at the table for another fifteen minutes. I wondered if I should go to Johnny and apologize, or if I should let the next move be his.  I finally decided I wasn’t going to apologize.  At least not right then.  I wanted him to stew a while over what I’d said, just like I’d let Chris stew when I’d said much the same to him.  Maybe like Chris, Johnny would begin to look past his anger with me and begin to see the truth to my words.  It’s not easy giving someone a verbal slap to the face.  Especially when that person is your son, or your best friend.  But sometimes a figurative slap to the face is just what a man needs when he’s wallowing in self-pity.  I’d meant what I said to Johnny.  Trevor needed him.  Johnny couldn’t give up without knowing, for both himself and for Trevor, that he’d done all he could to regain his health and physical capabilities.

 

Chapter 25

 

 

Johnny didn’t come out of the bedroom for the rest of the evening.  Or at least not while I was still on the main floor.  I read the Anchorage Daily News that I found in a wooden magazine rack next to Johnny’s chair, then turned on the T.V.  I paid no attention to the program I was watching, and at quarter to nine, decided to check on Trevor and find a place to bunk for the night. 

 

I went to the laundry room, picking up my suitcase and backpack.  I toured the main floor, making sure the doors were locked and turning off lights as I passed through each room.  I didn’t enter the dining room, or the hall behind it where Clarice’s room was located, but when I passed by the dining room’s doorway I could hear the faint sound of canned laughter coming from a T.V. sitcom.  Dixie had stayed in Clarice’s room when all of us visited.  I’d seen the room when Johnny showed us the house.  If I recalled correctly, there was a nineteen-inch television set on a stand in there.

 

I had a feeling Johnny wasn’t paying any more attention to what he was watching than I’d been paying attention to what I was watching, but I left him alone and headed for the stairs.

 

As I approached Trevor’s door, I heard music. I was glad his study habits didn’t differ from those of my own kids when they were teens.  That meant he wouldn’t have heard Johnny’s earlier outburst, or what I’d said to cause it.

 

I knocked on thick oak.  When I didn’t get an answer, I knocked again with more force.  It took a few seconds, but suddenly the music ceased and the door opened.

 

“Hey, Uncle Roy.”  Trevor stepped back.  “Come on in.”

 

I set the backpack and suitcase down in the hall, then walked into Trevor’s room, glancing around as I did so.  The room that Jennifer and Libby had shared had been transformed from a little boy’s hide away to a young man’s.  The wall mural of mushers and sled dogs was gone, replaced by a mural of airplanes from the World War I and II eras, along with some I recognized from the Vietnam War.  A desk now sat against one wall, and a tall bookshelf next to it held a CD player/radio, among other things that indicated a teenager now resided in this room.  I caught sight of two pictures on a shelf.   One of them was of Johnny and Trevor seated together in the hose bed of a fire engine that was included in the Christmas card Johnny had sent to us.  The other one was a formal portrait of a man, woman, Trevor, and an oriental baby I guessed to be about fifteen months old.

 

I pointed at the picture.  “Is that your mom and Franklin?”

 

“Yeah. And my sister Catherine.  They adopted her when she was just a few days old.”

 

I nodded.  “Your father mentioned it not long after they brought her home.”  I walked over to the picture to get a closer look.  “She’s cute.”

 

“Yep. But don’t let that fool ya’.  She’s a holy terror.”

 

I chuckled. “Oh come on, she can’t be that bad.”

 

“Take it from me, she is.  She’s spoiled rotten.”

 

Based on things Johnny’d told me regarding the extravagant gifts Ashton often gave Trevor, I had no reason not to believe Trev.  I studied the face of the woman Johnny once hoped would be his wife.

 

“Your mother’s beautiful.”

 

I heard the pride in Trevor’s voice. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

 

“She sure is.”

 

I moved from the shelf as Trevor sat back down at his desk and turned sideways in his chair so he could face me.  Schoolbooks and papers were scattered all over the desk’s top. 

 

“You about done?”

 

“Almost.”

 

“What time do you usually go to bed?”

 

“Pops wants me to call it a night by nine-thirty on a school night.”

 

“Okay, then nine-thirty it is.”

 

Trevor looked around my body, as though he was expecting to see someone else standing in the doorway.  “Speaking of Pops, where is he?”

 

“He…he went to bed a while ago.”

 

Trevor frowned.  “Oh.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“He didn’t even come tell me good night.”

 

Once again I found myself offering excuses for Johnny. 

 

“It’s hard for him to climb the stairs right now.”

 

“I know. But ever since he came home from the hospital, he hasn’t gone to bed until I go downstairs and say goodnight to him. He’s usually waiting in the great room for me.”

 

My smile was weak with guilt over the way I’d disrupted Johnny and Trevor’s routine. 

 

“Maybe he was just really tired tonight.”

 

“Maybe,” Trevor agreed, though without any conviction.  “I…I just wish I knew how to help him, Uncle Roy.”

 

I backed up a few steps and sat down on the edge of Trevor’s bed.

 

“Would you mind if I give you some advice in that area?”

 

“No.”  Trevor leaned forward, eager to hear what I had to say.  “What can I do?”

 

“First of all, you need to quit talking for your father.”

 

The boy’s brows furrowed.  “Whatta’ ya’ mean?”

 

“Tonight at the supper table you didn’t make John…your father, respond to you.  You told him all about your day without waiting to let him say anything.”

 

“But he won’t.”

 

“But you don’t even make him try.”

 

“But I can tell it embarrasses him to talk.”

 

“I realize that, but unless he tries, he’s not gonna get better. His speech won’t get clearer if he doesn’t work at making it improve. The only way that’ll happen is if he’s forced to talk, and the only way that’ll happen is if you wait for him to respond to something you’ve said, just like you used to do before he got ill.”

 

Trevor thought a moment, then gave a reluctant, “Okay.  But what do I do if I wait for him to say something but he won’t?”

 

“Then you ask him a question like, “Did you hear what I said, Pops?” and wait for him to answer you.  Don’t answer questions for him like you’ve been doing.”

 

“But what if he just nods or shakes his head?”

 

“Then ask him a question that doesn’t involve a yes or no answer.  Something like…” I cast about for an example.  “Like, ‘Pops, how come you didn’t let Nic and Tasha out of the barn today?’”

 

Trevor began to warm to my ideas. “All right. I can do that.”

 

“Good.  Now the other thing is, you have to quit waiting on him.”

 

“Waiting on him how?”

 

“By putting food on his plate for one thing.  Make him serve himself.”

 

“But he gets upset if he spills something. That’s why I made his sandwich for him. Sloppy Joes are messy.”

 

“Yeah, they are, but again, the only way he’ll improve is by doing the things for himself that he’s always done.”

 

I could see the doubt in Trevor’s eyes.

 

“Look, Trev, I’m not trying to be cruel to your father. That’s the last thing I’ll be to him, I promise.  If he really can’t do something, or really needs help, then you or I should help him in any way we can.  But he has to do everything for himself that he possibly can, and that includes fixing his own plate for supper.  And starting tomorrow, it’s also going to include helping us clean up the kitchen.”

 

“He hasn’t done anything like that since he came home from the hospital. He used to.  He always did lots of stuff around the house on days when Clarice wasn’t here, but he doesn’t any more.”

 

“Well, he’s going to start.”

 

A heavy silence lingered between us for a few moments, then Trevor asked quietly,  “Uncle Roy, do you really think things like us making Papa talk and making him help clean up the kitchen is gonna make him better?  Is gonna make him like he used to be?”

 

There was fear in Trevor’s eyes, but nonetheless, I gave him an honest answer.

 

“I don’t know, Trev.  But I do know that it can’t hurt, and I also know that even if your father doesn’t get a whole lot better than he is right now, he’s capable of taking care of the basic things around a house like laundry, cooking, making a bed, and dusting.”

 

“Do you think he’ll ever get well enough to go back to work?”

 

“I don’t know that either, Junior.  What I do know is that many people who suffer from burst aneurysms do get well enough to return to work.  Some of them recover to the point that any side-effects are almost non-existent.”

 

“I hope that happens for Papa.  I hope he can go back to work and be…well, be the father I used to know.”

 

“I hope so too.  But if he doesn’t recover to that extent, it’ll be important to your father to be as independent as possible, even if he doesn’t realize that just yet.  He’ll want to manage a home for the two of you, and be…well, put his all into being your father, just like he always has, even if that means things are a little different from what they used to be.”

 

“You mean like maybe he won’t be able to drive me places?”

 

“Maybe not.  We’ll just have to wait and see.  But just because he can’t drive you, doesn’t mean he can’t ride along with someone when that person picks you up after school.  It doesn’t mean he can’t attend your games, or have supper ready when you get home, or do things with you that the two of you enjoy.”

 

“Yeah,” Trevor agreed, warming up to accepting the changes that might come.  “Like even if Papa and I can’t play basketball in the fire department’s league any more, or even if we can’t go hiking or camping, we can still build model airplanes together.”  Trevor pointed to the planes dangling from the ceiling with fishing line.  “Or we can ride horses, or go fishing, or watch movies while we eat pizza.”

 

“You sure can.  And you’ll think of other things you can do together if your father doesn’t improve much more than he has all ready. New things that’ll become traditions you guys’ll enjoy.”  I patted Trevor’s knee as I stood. “But maybe it won’t come to that.  Time will tell.”

 

“Thanks, Uncle Roy.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Being honest with me.  No one has been so far.  Clarice, Carl, my grandpa…All of them just keep telling me everything’s gonna be okay.  It…well, it helps knowing that, one way or another, things won’t be as bad as I was thinking they would be.”

 

“As the old expression goes, sometimes it’s the not knowing that’s the worst.”

 

“That’s for sure.”

 

“What time does the alarm need to go off around this place in the morning?”

 

“I get up at six.  I have chores to do before breakfast.”

 

“What time do you have to be at school?”

 

“Eight.  Classes start at eight-fifteen.”

 

“Okay,” I said.  “I’ll be up by six, too.  That way we’ll have plenty of time to plow the driveway if we need to.”

 

“All right.”

 

“I guess I’ll sleep in your father’s room. He’s been using Clarice’s room?”

 

“Yeah, he has.” 

 

Trevor walked with me to the hall, where I picked up my suitcase and backpack.  He led the way to Johnny’s room, turning on a lamp that sat on Johnny’s nightstand.  The room was neat and orderly, and the carpeting looked freshly vacuumed.

 

“No one’s been in here since Grandpa and Grandma Marietta left.  She changed the sheets on the bed that morning, vacuumed and dusted, and did whatever else women do ‘cause they’re afraid someone’ll say they’re rotten housekeepers.”

 

I laughed.   “I don’t think your grandma has to worry about anyone saying that about her.   I could bounce a quarter off this bed.”

 

“Probably,” Trevor agreed.  “Do you need anything else?”

 

“Nope.  I can find my way around without a problem.  Your aunt Joanne and I stayed in this room.”

 

“Oh yeah.  That’s right.  Then I guess you know the bathroom’s that way.” Trevor pointed out the door and down the long hall.

 

“I guess I do.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be fine. Go ahead and finish your homework. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Okay.  See ya’ in the morning, Uncle Roy.”

 

Trevor shut the door as he exited the room.  I put my suitcase and backpack in one corner.   I didn’t unpack anything, since I assumed all of Johnny’s dresser drawers were filled with clothes.  Even though I hadn’t been invited to stay, I was a guest in his home.  While I felt I had the right to go through his kitchen cabinets so I could fix a meal for him and Trevor, I didn’t have the right to go through his dresser drawers or closet in an attempt to find room for my clothes unless Johnny told me to.  And I had a feeling it’d be a hot day in Alaska before that happened.

 

I opened my suitcase and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, then took my shaving kit out of the backpack.  I carried the kit and my change of clothes to the bathroom.  Ten minutes later, I returned to Johnny’s room.   I’d left my shaving kit on the bathroom vanity, and put my neatly folded jeans and shirt into my suitcase. I left the case open, but pushed it against the wall so I wouldn’t trip over it. 

 

I turned the bed covers down, stacked the pillows, dug my cell phone out of my backpack, and lay on the mattress in a half-reclining position.  I hit the Address Book feature on my phone, then pressed Call when my home phone number was the first one that popped on the screen.  Joanne answered on the third ring.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, hon.”

 

“Hi, yourself.  I take it you made to safely to Johnny’s?”

 

“You take it right.”

 

“Was he happy to see you?”

 

“Not unless you define happy as Johnny slamming the door in my face.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“So where are you now?”

 

“In Johnny’s bedroom.  He’s been sleeping in Clarice’s room because of the stairs.”

 

“But how’d you get in the house if Johnny slammed the door on you?”

 

“Walked in. Clarice gave Gus a key to pass along to me.”

 

“I bet that didn’t go over well.”

 

“It didn’t, but I’m here now, so Johnny’s gonna have to make the best of it.”

 

“How’s Trevor?”

 

“He’s doing okay.  Better now, I think, since he and I had a little talk.  He just needed someone to be honest with him about what might happen if Johnny doesn’t improve beyond where he’s at now.  Trev’s been pretty scared.  I’m hoping our talk will help him put some of those fears aside.”

 

“If nothing else, it sounds like it’s a good thing you’re there for him.”

 

“Yeah, I think so.  And who knows?  Maybe in a few days Johnny’ll also see that having me around isn’t so bad after all.”

 

“I bet he will. Johnny’s always valued your friendship.”

 

“I just hope I’m not jeopardizing our friendship by showing up here uninvited.”

 

“Just give it some time, Roy.  He may come around.”

 

“He might,” I agreed. “Or he might not.  I guess if he doesn’t, the worst that’s gonna happen is I’ll be home sooner than I’d planned.  Come to think of it, considering what I told Johnny after supper, I might be kicked out before breakfast.”

 

“Why? What’d you tell him?”

 

“About the same thing I told Chris when he was at the rehab center and being stubborn about doing what his therapists wanted him to.”

 

I knew Joanne was nodding, even though I couldn’t see her.

 

“Well, maybe Johnny needed Roy DeSoto’s lecture on not feeling sorry for yourself, just like Chris did.”

 

“I wouldn’t have dispensed it if I didn’t think he needed it.”

 

Joanne chuckled.  “No, you wouldn’t have.”

 

We talked for a couple of more minutes, then I said, “I’d better call it a night.  I have to be up by six.  It’s snowing like crazy.  I’ll probably have to plow the driveway before I take Trevor to school.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve all ready become a rugged outdoors Alaskan man.”

 

“I’ll leave the rugged Alaskan outdoors to Johnny.”  I stood, crossed to one of the windows, and parted the curtains.  The driveway floodlight allowed me to see the snow blowing sideways.  “You wouldn’t believe the blizzard going on out there.”

 

“Well be careful. You’re not exactly used to driving in snow – plowing it either.”

 

“I’ll be okay. Listen, I’ll call you again in a couple of days.  If you need to reach me, you can probably get me on my cell phone. Otherwise, call Johnny’s number.”

 

“Okay. And Roy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t…don’t take it personally if Johnny refuses your help and you end up coming home sometime in the next few days.  Just accept that you’ve done your best.  That’s all you can ask of yourself.”

 

“I know,” I acknowledged.  “But this…it’s really important to me to help him in any way I can, Jo.  To help him get back on track as much as he possibly can.”

 

“I understand that.  But you can’t force Johnny to do what he doesn’t want to.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

My light sarcasm was just what we needed. We both laughed, then exchanged “I love yous” and said goodbye.

 

I let the curtains fall back into place and turned my phone off.  I laid it on the nightstand beside Johnny’s bed.  I thought of getting a book out of my backpack, or turning on the television that sat on top of his dresser, but in the end, decided I was too tired to read or watch T.V.  The day had started early with a flight out of LAX.  Since the snow meant the next morning would start early as well, a good night’s sleep was just what I needed.

 

I messed with the clock radio on the nightstand for a minute, fumbling with the buttons until I had it set to go off at five-thirty.  I climbed between the blankets, suddenly remembering how warm and comfortable the king sized bed was, especially when I pulled up the thick patchwork quilt Marietta had made for it.

 

I reached up and shut off the lamp. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.  I listened as snow beat against the windows.  It sounded like tiny shards of glass spraying against a larger glass surface.

 

I thought I’d fall asleep the second my head hit the pillows, but instead, I found myself remembering those first hellish months after Chris was shot.  No other experience before or since has put me to such a difficult test as a father, as a husband, and as a friend.  I flunked that last one, and for a long time I thought two out of three wasn’t bad, but eventually I realized I should have aimed higher.  I shouldn’t have settled for less than three out of three, which was why I was listening to an Alaskan blizzard rattle the windows, and why I was determined to help John Gage, regardless of whether he wanted my help or not. 

 

Chapter 26

 

“Look, Chris, I know…I know how tough things have been on you.  If I could trade places with you, son, I would.  Without giving it a second thought, I would.  But I can’t, and that’s why you have to work as hard as you can to--”

 

“To what, Dad?  Get better?  If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not going to get better.  I’m never going to walk again.” 

 

Roy hated the bitterness he heard in the voice of the young man who’d always possessed such a positive outlook on life. 

 

“You don’t know that for certain.”

 

Chris let go of the metal bar that enabled him to pull himself to a seated position. He dropped back against his pillows with a hollow laugh. 

 

“I do know it for certain, and if you were being honest with yourself, you’d realize you know it too.  That you’ve known it ever since Doctor Brackett first met with you and Mom the day I was shot.”

 

“There’s always hope, son.  Sometimes things happen even doctors can’t predict.”

 

“Like miracles, you mean?”

 

Roy hesitated before saying, “If you want to call it that, then yes, I guess that’s what I mean.”

 

“It’s been over two months. I don’t have any more feeling in my legs now than I did the night Monroe shot me. I think my luck has run out where miracles are concerned.”

 

“Maybe, but maybe not either.  Even if it has, that doesn’t give you an excuse to give up and quit trying. Unless you wanna be dependant on others for the rest of your life, that is.  In that case, I suppose--”

 

“I don’t wanna be dependant on anyone!”

 

“All right then, prove it.”

 

“How? Just how do you want me to prove it?”

 

“By working as hard as you can in physical therapy, instead of slacking off and acting like you don’t care.  By getting up each morning and getting dressed like your supposed to, instead of still being in your pajamas at two o’clock in the afternoon.”

 

Chris’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Roy thought his son was going to explode again.  Instead of another outburst, however, the young man turned his head on the pillow and faced the wall.

 

Roy reached out a tentative hand.  It hovered over Chris’s shoulder before he allowed it to lightly touch down. He gave the shoulder a squeeze, but still received no response.  Roy waited until he’d seen two minutes tick off on the clock beside Chris’s bed, then removed his hand and sighed.

 

“Chris, you’ve got a lot to live for.  Wendy…she loves you very much.”

 

“She shouldn’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’ll never be able to provide for her.  I’ll never be the kind of husband a woman deserves.”

 

“If you just sit here in this bed and mope, then no, you won’t be. But if you’ll put some effort into your therapy, like you did when you first got here, you might be surprised at what kind of a provider you can eventually be. At what kind of a husband you can be.  Wendy seems to think you’re worth waiting for.  Don’t let her down, Chris. But even more important than that, don’t let yourself down.  If you do, there’ll come a day when you look back with a lot of regrets.  You’re young.  With hard work, you can still live a full life.”

 

“But it won’t be the same.”

 

There was a long pause before Roy could finally admit in a quiet voice he was barely able to keep steady, “No, it probably won’t be.  It’ll be…different than what you were used to.  Different from how you pictured your life would be.  But you’ve always been a success at anything you set out to do.  You can still be a success, son. It’s just gonna take some hard work to reach your goals.”

 

“That’s the problem,” Chris said with defeat. “I don’t have any goals, Dad.  All I wanted was to be a paramedic, and now that’s not gonna happen.”

 

“Then make something else happen.  You’re nineteen years old. There’s a lot you can make happen yet if you’re determined not to quit every time the going gets a little rough.”

 

Chris clenched his fists. “I’m not a quitter.”

 

Because Chris was still refusing to look at Roy, he didn’t see the slight smile that declaration brought to his father’s face.

 

“Then put your money where your mouth is, because right now, I think you are.”

 

Roy headed for the door. The best thing he could do was let his words sink in. Hopefully, something he’d said would motivate his son to learn as much as he could from his therapists so he could be as physically independent as possible. It wasn’t that Roy wouldn’t welcome Chris back into his home for as long as Chris wanted and/or needed to live there – be that a year, five years, or for the rest of his life.  But as Roy had told his son, he was young and could still live a full life.  He didn’t want Chris looking back some day and regretting that he hadn’t taken advantage of all he could be taught at the rehab center. 

 

“Dad?”

 

When Roy turned around, his son was looking at him with an earnest expression.

 

“What, Chris?”

 

“I’ll make you a deal.”

 

“What kinduva a deal?”

 

“You work on patching things up with Uncle Johnny, and I’ll work as hard as I can here.”

 

Roy’s face didn’t reveal what he was thinking as he stared at his oldest child. Chris waited, but when his father made no reply, he finally said, “You can’t do that, can ya’, Dad.  He’s gone, isn’t he?”

 

Thirty seconds passed before Roy answered.  The last person he wanted to be talking about with Chris was John Gage.

 

“I heard he moved away, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Where’d he go?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Did he get a job with a fire department?”

 

“I don’t know that either.”

 

“Do you even care?”

 

“No, I don’t.  All I care about right now is you.  About you accomplishing everything you possibly can, and then coming home to be with your family.” 

 

Chris stared at his father for several long seconds, then turned toward the wall again. 

 

“It wasn’t Johnny’s fault, you know.”

 

“That’s where we have a difference of opinion.”

 

“Since I’m the one who was shot, I’d think it would be my opinion that counted the most where Uncle Johnny is concerned.”

 

“You have the right to your opinion,” Roy reluctantly conceded, “just like I have the right to mine.”

 

“But it looks like yours won out.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Chris made eye contact with his father.  “Johnny left without telling us where he was going.  From what I’ve heard, he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.  So I guess we know whose opinion he respected the most, don’t we, Dad?”

 

Roy knew Chris’s barb was meant to remind him of the close friendship he’d once shared with John Gage.  But that friendship was over, and always would be.  No amount of reasoning, or pleading, or crying, or snide remarks from his family, would ever change that fact. 

 

“Let’s not worry about John Gage,” Roy said as he grabbed the door handle.  “Let’s worry about you working as hard as you can to get outta here.  You’ve got two choices, Chris.  You can choose to spend the rest of your life having people wait on you and treat you like a child, because even though they won’t intend to, people will treat you like a child if you can’t take care of yourself. Or, you can gain back as much independence as possible, and somewhere while doing that, find your spirit again.  Find Chris DeSoto again.  I know if you’ll just give yourself the chance to let that happen, then everything else will fall into place.  You’ll discover something else you like to do besides being paramedic, and after that…well, the possibilities will be endless.”

 

“Even for a cripple in a wheelchair?”

 

“Yes. Even for a man in a wheelchair.” 

 

Roy pulled the door open. “I’ll see you tomorrow.  In the meantime, do me a favor and think about what I’ve said.”

 

It wasn’t easy for Roy to walk out of that room and leave Chris alone, but there was nothing else he could say.  The ball was in Chris’s court, and Roy would just have to wait and see if his son picked it up and dribbled it, or left it lying untouched. 

 

The man walked down the long hallway, turned right, and walked through the vast open visitors’ center, as the waiting room was called.  It put any waiting room at Rampart to shame with its plush furniture, gleaming tile floors, potted palms, skylights, three-tiered wooden magazine rack that ran the length of one wall, four toy chests John had thoroughly explored several times, and console television set.  The rehab hospital had been built two years earlier.  For Chris’s sake, Roy appreciated all the amenities the modern building provided, including the “homey feeling,” as Joanne called it, that prevailed in every room.  No two patient rooms were alike, and each bed included a comforter and curtains that matched that room’s décor, along with a small sitting area where a patient could entertain his family, just like he might do in his own living room at home.

 

Roy passed through the visitors’ center without giving the people sitting there a second glance.  He’d come to see Chris by himself today.  John and Jennifer were in school, and Joanne was at school too, helping in John’s class for a few hours in her role as room mother.  The DeSotos visited Chris as a family once a week, but on the remaining days, Joanne and Roy either came together, or came separately depending on Roy’s work schedule.  Roy knew Jennifer dropped by to see her brother throughout the week, too. Although part of the reason behind those visits was probably so Jen could gain permission to drive the car she and Chris shared, Roy was proud of his daughter.  Despite all that had happened, she was maintaining an A average at school, still participating in extra-curricular activities, still working weekends at the Tastee Freeze, still babysitting for John when the need arose, and yet, always able to find time to spend with Chris as well. 

 

The captain stopped briefly on the sidewalk, looking both ways before heading to the parking lot.  He arrived at the Porsche, unlocked it, and slipped behind the wheel.  He stared at the four story white brick building.  His eyes scanned the gold lettering that read Richard Harder Rehabilitation Center.  If Johnny were here, there was no doubt he’d be wondering who Richard Harder was, and why a rehabilitation center was named for the man, and then he’d have to ask every good looking therapist or nurse he saw if she could tell him why the rehab center was called what is was, with the hope of engaging her in a long conversation about it that would turn into a Saturday night date.

 

Roy shook those thoughts off as quickly as they’d arrived.   He still found himself doing that on occasion – thinking of Johnny. He supposed it was natural considering how long they’d been friends, but nonetheless, Roy didn’t like it when it happened, and was doing his best not to let his mind stray in the direction of John Gage.  He’d been honest when he’d told Chris that he had no idea where Johnny had moved to, or if he’d taken a job with a fire department. 

 

When Roy first heard the rumors of Johnny leaving, that’s just what he’d thought they were – rumors.  Although Roy’s men were careful not to be caught gossiping about John Gage in front of him, he’d overheard snatches of their conversations.  Since most of them were present at Rampart the day Chris was shot, they’d seen Roy at his worst.  The captain regretted that now.  He wasn’t a man normally given to emotional outbursts.  He didn’t regret hitting Johnny, or yelling at him, or severing their friendship, he just regretted having an audience when he’d done so.  

 

A few days after the initial rumors of Johnny’s departure started, Roy received a memo from headquarters announcing the man’s resignation. The memo also detailed what a qualified man had to do in order to apply for the position of paramedic instructor. 

 

Roy scanned the memo, then crumpled it up and tossed it in his office garbage can.  He didn’t mention it to Joanne, but somehow she knew.  Roy assumed Grace Stanley or Peggy Stoker had called her.  Even though Hank Stanley’s A-shift crew hadn’t worked together in several years now, Joanne was still good friends with Grace and Peggy. 

 

Jennifer was working that evening in late August and John was in the backyard playing with some neighborhood boys, when Joanne said, “I hear Johnny’s moving away.”

 

Roy hadn’t moved his face from behind the newspaper. 

 

“Guess so.”

 

“Please go and talk to him, Roy.”

 

“Johnny’s a big boy.  If he’s decided there’re better opportunities for him somewhere else, then that’s his business, not mine.”

 

            “But he wouldn’t have decided that if you…” 

 

When Joanne paused, Roy’s mind automatically filled in what he assumed she was planning to say.

 

            If you hadn’t beaten him up.

 

            If you hadn’t blamed him for Chris’s injury.

 

            If you hadn’t told him to get the hell out of your sight.

 

            Joanne must have decided any of those choices wouldn’t lead to productive discussion.  She finished with, “If you guys were still friends.”

 

            Roy shrugged.  “Like I said, Johnny has the right to make whatever decisions he thinks are best for himself.”

 

            “Would you put that damn paper down and talk to me!”

 

            Roy allowed a corner of the paper to fall.  He looked across the living room at his wife.

 

            “I told you weeks ago I don’t wanna talk about John Gage.  I meant it, Joanne.   I don’t care that he’s moving away.”

 

            “Well maybe I do.  Maybe our kids will.”

 

            “Don’t get the kids involved in this.  I don’t want them to know.”

 

            “Do you think that’s fair? After all Johnny’s meant to them, do you think it’s right not to tell them?  Not to give them a chance to say goodbye to him?”

 

            “Chris can’t walk. That’s all I need to think of to be able to say, yes, I think it’s fair.  Besides, you’ll only make things harder on Jennifer and John if you tell them.  I haven’t heard them mention Johnny’s name in weeks now.”

 

            “Because you won’t allow it!  Because you forbid it!”

 

            Roy brought his paper up again.  He didn’t want to fight with his wife, and most especially not about John Gage.  A tense silence lingered in the room that Joanne finally broke.

 

            “I take it that means the subject is closed.”

 

            “As far as I’m concerned it is.”

 

            “Chris’ll find out, you know.”

 

            “Probably,” Roy agreed.  Numerous friends of Chris’s from the fire department visited him on a regular basis.  If he hadn’t already heard that Johnny was moving away, he’d likely be told by someone soon enough.

 

            “Don’t you think he has the right to know before Johnny leaves in case he’d like to talk to him?”

 

            “Chris needs to concentrate on getting well. He doesn’t need to waste his time shooting the bull with Gage.”

 

            “You never thought you were wasting your time when you were in the hospital and Johnny dropped by to visit.  You always looked forward to seeing him.  You always said he made you laugh.”

 

            Roy could still remember gritting his teeth.

 

            “Whatta ya’ want me to say, Jo?  That was then, this is now.  Let me finish reading the paper, then we’ll take John and the kids he’s playing with to the Tastee Freeze.”

 

            By the stiff and silent way she walked out of the room, Roy knew his wife was furious with him.  She hadn’t mentioned John Gage since that evening, and for that, Roy was grateful. It was now early October, and Roy thought he and Joanne were getting back on track as husband and wife.  They had a common goal – to maintain a positive attitude around Chris, and about Chris with Jennifer and John. 

 

Roy appreciated his wife’s common sense where this was concerned.  He’d struggled during the weeks Chris was at Rampart, wavering between the certainty that Chris would walk again someday, and the certainty that the only thing the future held for Chris was living with his parents for the rest of his life, passing his time by watching television and babysitting for John.

           

            It had been Joanne who’d steadfastly insisted that Chris could still live independently some day, and that there was a job he could do.  Probably numerous jobs he could do, if he simply kept an open mind and was willing to explore all possibilities presented to him. 

 

            “Just because our son is in a wheelchair, doesn’t mean he can’t use his brain, Roy. Or his hands for that matter.  No one is going to convince me that life is over for our nineteen-year-old just because he can no longer walk. He’ll find alternatives.  I know he will. Especially if we insist he has to. If we don’t allow him to sit around feeling sorry for himself.”

 

            Admittedly, Roy had been doing a good deal of feeling sorry for himself as Chris’s father, and it was Joanne’s words that put a stop to that.  When Roy and his wife spent several hours touring the rehab center before Chris was moved there, Roy finally began to see the possibilities for his oldest son.   The physical therapy programs were demanding and grueling, yet for good reason – because the therapists wanted each patient to become as independent as possible.  For some, like elderly stroke victims, independence might be limited to getting dressed without help.  But for a man as young and healthy as Chris, independence would extend far beyond that. Or so Roy and Joanne had been promised by the therapists who would work with Chris each day.

 

            Roy turned the key and the Porsche’s engine fired to life.  He stared at the building a moment longer, hoping he’d imparted some fatherly wisdom on his son that would turn Chris’s attitude around.  The therapists weren’t surprised, or even overly concerned, by this bout of depression Chris was going through, but it concerned Roy.  He wanted to get things turned around quickly.  He wanted to see Chris excelling in therapy again with the goal of moving home soon, and maybe arriving there with some ideas regarding a future career.  

 

            The man looked behind him to make sure the path was clear, then backed out of his parking space.  He headed toward the exit, stopped at the stop sign, and then merged into the flow of traffic going north. His worry for Chris kept churning in his mind.  If the circumstances had been different, he’d have gone to Johnny’s ranch for a while.  Maybe he’d have ended up talking about Chris’s mental state and getting Johnny’s opinion, or maybe he wouldn’t have said anything about Chris at all, but instead, just escaped his concerns for a while by spending time with an old friend.  But John Gage was no longer an old friend, and he no longer lived on his small ranch in the San Gabriels’ foothills.  Roy denied feeling any guilt over that last fact, even though in a deep down private place not even Joanne was privy to, he acknowledged that he hadn’t intended for Johnny to resign from the department and move away. Yes, that was the most comfortable alternative for both Roy and Johnny considering their severed friendship, but Johnny’d worked hard to attain his position of Chief Paramedic Instructor.  Roy hoped he’d managed to get a similar position wherever it was he’d moved to, and hadn’t taken a step backwards where his career was concerned.

 

            DeSoto, what are you worried about that for? Roy chastised himself as he made a right turn.  Like you told Joanne, Johnny can take care of himself.  Besides, considering Chris’s prospects of a career aren’t exactly bright at the moment, Johnny deserves to suffer too where that’s concerned.  Serves him right if he’s back to hauling hose and riding an engine, or standing on his feet all day on an assembly line in some hot factory somewhere.

 

              Roy chased thoughts of John Gage away as he swung the Porsche into his driveway. He smiled as he climbed out of the car and spotted his daughter coming down the sidewalk on her way home from school.  He waited for her, putting an arm around her shoulders as she arrived by his side.  Roy had been doing his best recently to be a better father to both Jennifer and John. More like the father they had known prior to the night a man named Scott Monroe came into their lives.  During the six weeks after Chris was shot, Roy’s temper had been short, his stress level high. Add to that the tension that had prevailed in the house over his declaration that he didn’t want to hear the name John Gage mentioned, and you had a father who hadn’t always been the patient, soft-spoken, gentle man his children were used to.

 

Roy kissed the top of Jennifer’s head.

 

            “Hi, princess.”

 

            The girl pulled back a bit and shot her dad a look of surprise. Usually he was quiet and unapproachable when he came home from visiting Chris.

 

            “What was that for?”

 

            “Can’t I kiss my daughter and tell her I’m proud of her?”

 

            “You can, but you don’t do it much any more.”

 

            “Well then, I guess your dad better start making some changes around here, huh?”

 

            Always the most candid amongst Roy’s children, Jennifer said, “That’d be nice.”

 

            Roy chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure it would be.”

 

            He relieved Jennifer of her backpack and tossed it into the Porsche.

 

            “What’d you do that for?  I need to get started on my homework.”

 

            “Can’t it wait until after we’ve gone somewhere for a hamburger?”

 

            Jennifer looked at the quiet house.  “Isn’t Mom gonna be home in time to cook supper?  I thought she was just helping out with some program at John’s school for a few hours.  She never said anything about being late.”

 

            “She’s not gonna be late. Or at least not that I know of. But she and John won’t be home for another hour, and since you’ll just go in the house and make a snack anyway, let’s get something to eat. I didn’t have lunch yet.  I’ll even buy.”

 

            “I hope so, ‘cause a girl who works at the Tastee Freeze and is saving for her college education doesn’t have a lot of money, you know.”

 

            Roy laughed.  He silently acknowledged it felt good to joke and tease with his daughter again.  Just like he’d known it was time get things back on track between himself and Joanne, he now knew he risked damaging his relationship with Jennifer and John if he didn’t do the same for them.  After all the DeSoto family had been through since July, it was easy for Roy to understand why once good marriages broke up, and why siblings suffered, when one child in the family was mired in a health crisis that took up all his parents’ time, energy, and emotional resources.

 

            Roy hurried into the house and wrote a note to let Joanne know he and Jennifer were together and wouldn’t be gone long. He put the note under a refrigerator magnet, then joined his daughter in the car.  Roy let Jennifer pick where they’d eat. He wasn’t surprised when she chose a little café near Station 51 that had a cook who made thick, juicy hamburgers and crispy French fries. 

 

            In the middle of their meal, when Jennifer must have judged her father was in a far better mood than he’d been in a long time, she’d tried bringing up the subject of John Gage.

 

            Roy was proud of himself for not getting angry with his daughter.  He held his temper, smiled, and said, “Jen, we’re having a real good time here. Let’s not ruin it by talking about him, okay?” The captain grabbed a menu from the metal holder on the table, opened it, and scanned the dessert selection.  “How about splitting a piece of pie when we’re finished?”

 

Jennifer hesitated before finally agreeing, “Um….sure, Dad.  That’s…that’ll be fine.”

 

            Roy either didn’t notice Jennifer’s reserved tone, or chose to ignore it.  He put the menu away and returned to his meal while asking Jen about her day at school.

           

~ ~ ~

 

            Jennifer seethed over the way her father referred to Uncle Johnny as “him” but kept her comments to herself.  It was the first time since Chris had been shot that the teenager acknowledged she loved her dad very much, and that if loving him meant not being able to talk about Uncle Johnny in front of him, then that’s the way it would have to be.  She didn’t like it.  She didn’t agree with it.  And she didn’t think it was fair.  But it was the way things were. So on that day in an old café where Roy DeSoto and John Gage used to eat lunch when they were partners, Jennifer gave up the dream of ever seeing her father renew his friendship with the man her little brother was named for.

           

Chapter 27

 

            Chris DeSoto remained in his bed staring up at the ceiling long after his father left.  Chris’s dad told him he had choices to make.  Choices. When you thought about it, what happened to a person in this life was all about choices. Chris hadn’t fully understood what that meant until Scott Monroe shot him.  He hadn’t understood how the choices one individual makes, can end up affecting so many others.

 

            Chris had chosen not to continue his college education.

 

            Chris had chosen to ask Johnny to speak to his father about that fact.

 

            Chris had chosen to join the fire department.

 

            Monroe had holed himself up with his arsenal, chose to call 911 and he say needed help, then chose to shoot at the first men who had the misfortunate of arriving on the scene.

 

            From there, it was a ripple-down effect to all the lives that had been altered by these events.  Chris’s life.  His parents’ lives.  Jenny and John.  Wendy.  Chris’s friends and extended family.  And, of course, John Gage.

 

            I’m so damn sorry, Uncle Johnny.  If I hadn’t confided in you about wanting to join the fire department before I ever told my dad…if I hadn’t asked you to tell him I’d dropped out of college, then Dad wouldn’t have blamed you for all of this.  The two of you would still be friends, and you’d still be living here and have your job. 

 

            Chris flung an arm across his eyes.  Despair washed over him for all that changed since July.  The world he’d known had been turned upside down and shaken like that snow globe Jennifer used to keep on her dresser.  Except when Chris’s world had finally been righted again, things didn’t gently fall into place like the snowflakes in Jen’s globe.  Everyone hit the ground hard and scattered haphazardly away from each other.     Everyone was left wondering how to fix things, how to make things like they once were - when Chris could walk, and his parents weren’t worried and tired all the time, and Jennifer wasn’t angry with their father, and John wasn’t confused by everything that had happened, and Johnny Gage was still Dad’s best friend.

 

            Chris sighed and rolled his upper body toward his nightstand.  He opened the drawer it contained, dug under some magazines, and fished for the white envelope he kept hidden there.  He snagged it between two fingers, then rolled onto his back once more.  He reached for the bar above his head and pulled himself to a seated position.  He raised the head of the bed until he was sitting upright.

 

            It was Jennifer who’d told Chris that Johnny left Los Angeles.  If Chris’s buddies in the paramedic program had known about it, and undoubtedly they had, they never mentioned it when they visited.  Chris supposed there were various reasons for this.   Some of his friends were aware that Chris’s father and John Gage had been good friends. They’d probably heard about the falling out between the two men and the reason behind it.  Other friends who weren’t aware of those facts, might have thought Chris would feel guilty to find out their paramedic instructor placed the blame at his own feet for Chris’s injury and had chosen to resign because of it.  Or at least from what little Chris had heard, that was one rumor going around the department regarding the cause of Johnny’s sudden departure for parts unknown.

 

            By the time Jennifer was able to visit her brother alone, Johnny had been gone from L.A. for five days. Chris sat in his wheelchair, while Jennifer sat on the edge of his bed.

 

            “But where was he going?”

 

            “I don’t know,” Jennifer said, barely able to keep a tearful tremble from her voice.  “He wouldn’t tell me.  He just said that he wouldn’t come between Dad and us.  He kept saying this was for the best.”

 

            Because he was a young adult now, Chris understood and accepted Johnny’s reasoning better than Jennifer did, and to an extent, even admired the man for what he’d chosen to do.  Chris knew it hadn’t been easy for Johnny to leave a home he’d spent hundreds of hours remodeling until it was exactly like he’d envisioned when he bought it, and a job he loved.  Nonetheless, Chris wasn’t any happier with that decision on Johnny’s part than Jennifer was.

 

            “Damn it.  I wish he hadn’t done that.  I wish he’d stuck it out a while longer.”

 

            “I know.  Me too.”

 

            “I was hoping…”

 

            Chris let his sentence trail off. He knew that what he’d hoped for would make little difference now.

 

            “Hoping what?”

 

            When Chris didn’t answer, Jennifer persisted.

 

            “Hoping for what, Chris?”

 

            The young man sighed.  “Hoping that after a little more time passed, I’d be able to convince Dad to mend fences with Uncle Johnny.”

 

            Jennifer looked down at her hands. “It’s too late for that now.  Uncle Johnny’s already gone.  He said he’d write to us, but I don’t think he really meant it.  I…” the girl looked up with tears swimming in her eyes. “I don’t think we’ll ever hear from him again.”

 

            Chris had reached a hand out and clasped one of Jennifer’s in his.  He held on until she’d finished crying.  She plucked a tissue from the box on his nightstand, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then took note of the time. 

 

            “I’d better get going.  I promised Mom I’d be home by six.  She wants me to baby-sit for John so she and Dad can come see you tonight.”  The teen climbed off the bed, picked up her backpack, and unzipped a small front pocket.  She pulled out a white envelope and handed it to her brother.

 

            “Here.”

 

            “What’s this?”

 

            “Uncle Johnny asked me to give it to you.”

 

            Chris paid little attention to the kiss on the cheek his sister gave him, and only responded to her, “I’ll see you sometime over the weekend,” with a distracted, “Bye, Jen.  Thanks for bringing this,” as he slit the sealed envelope open with his thumb.

 

            After the door closed behind Jennifer, Chris took a piece of paper from the envelope. He unfolded it and immediately recognized John Gage’s handwriting. He looked up a moment, took a deep breath, then focused on the letter and silently read.

 

* * * *

 

Chris,

 

                  I hope you understand the reasons why I thought it was best if I didn’t visit you at Rampart, or at the rehab center.  I have a lot of respect for your dad. No matter what’s happened between Roy and me, I want you, Jenny, and John to always respect him too.  I told your mom I wouldn’t come between Roy and his family, and I meant that.  Your dad’s helped me through a lot of hard times in my life, Chris.  He’s a good guy to have by your side when life deals you some hard knocks.  Remember that, and listen to whatever advice he has to offer. 

 

                  I know right now things look pretty bleak, but I have great confidence that you’ll have many successes in life.  Work hard to make those successes happen.  Don’t let anyone ever say that you can’t do something.  If you want to do it badly enough, figure out a way to make it happen, Chris.  If you have half the faith in yourself that I have in you, nothing will get in your way. 

 

                   My biggest regret is that I couldn’t do more for you the night you were shot.  I’ve come to realize that I did all that I possibly could, but still, I wish I could have done more.  I’d have taken that bullet in your place without giving it a second thought, but I guess that’s not how it was meant to be.  I’m sorry about that, Chris, because you don’t know how many times I’ve thought, ‘I wish it had been me and not Chris.’

 

                   Thanks for letting me be a part of your life for so many years.  It meant a lot to watch you and Jennifer grow up, and to watch John get a good start on life.  I’ll never forget all the good times I shared with your family.

 

                    Life doesn’t always turn out like we think it will.  I didn’t expect to be starting over some place new at this point, but that’s the way the ball bounced.  I’ll always think good thoughts for you, and always hope that nothing but the best comes your way in the future.  

 

       Take care of yourself, Sport.

 

                                               

            Johnny  

           

 

* * * *

 

            Chris had read the letter twice that afternoon before slowly folding it and slipping it inside the envelope.  He didn’t tell his parents about it, and waited until after he and Wendy were married in 1988 to show it to her. The letter remained a closely guarded secret then between Chris, Wendy, and Jennifer, until John Gage came back into their lives some fifteen years later, and Chris finally felt he could share the letter with his dad.

 

            On the October day in 1985 that his father had lectured Chris about making choices, he read John Gage’s letter once again. The paper lay open on his lap as he stared at the far wall in thought.  Alone, in this quiet room, thinking over a letter he practically had memorized, it was easy for Chris to read between the lines.

 

Johnny had sacrificed a lot to insure the DeSoto family remained intact and as close as they’d always been.  Johnny’d instinctively known that Chris couldn’t get better without the support of his father, and was therefore concerned that if he came between Chris and his dad in any way, Chris’s progress might be stalled and his future permanently hindered.  Johnny had known emotional support from family members was just as important to an injured man’s recovery as physical support.  Johnny’s abrupt departure didn’t mean he was abandoning his surrogate family.  Instead, it was his way of showing his love for them.  Given the way things were between Chris’s dad and Johnny, leaving Los Angeles was the only way the man had left to show the DeSotos how much they’d meant to him.

 

I wish it hadn’t come to this, Uncle Johnny.  I wish you’d come and talked to me before you left, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

 

Chris picked up the letter and read it one last time.  

 

Johnny encouraged him to take his father’s advice. 

 

Johnny told Chris that his father was a good guy to have by his side. 

 

Johnny believed in him, and said he was certain Chris would have many successes.

 

Despite his dark mood, Chris chuckled. “Not if I keep sitting on my ass in this bed all day long.”           

 

John Gage’s letter didn’t perform miracles that day, but it did provide sound advice, along with sudden inspiration.  The quickest way to show Dad that he was right, that Johnny was to blame for what happened to Chris, was for Chris to give up.  Was for Chris to decide his life would never revolve around more than a wheelchair and years of isolation in his parents’ home.  Maybe, just maybe, if he could take himself far beyond that, it would show Dad that he was wrong to blame Johnny for all of this, and then…well, who knew?  Maybe Dad would consent to reconciling with Johnny if Chris could locate the man.  And if Chris couldn’t locate John Gage, then if nothing else Chris would have the satisfaction of saying he’d worked as hard as he could at his recovery in honor of the man who’d meant so much to him throughout his growing up years.

 

Depression still hung heavy over the young man, but he decided to alleviate it through action.  He put the letter back in the envelope and hid it in his nightstand, then maneuvered over to the edge of the bed like he’d been taught in therapy and eased into his wheelchair.  He wheeled to the dresser and opened drawers, pulling out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, jockey shorts, and socks.  Chris piled everything in his lap and wheeled across the floor to the bathroom.  By the time he’d be able to shower, dress, and reach a therapy room the therapists would probably be gone for the day, but that didn’t mean Chris couldn’t work by himself on some of the things he’d been taught. When he was finished, he’d call Wendy and see if she wanted to come by on Saturday night. 

 

This wasn’t exactly the best place to have a romantic evening with the woman you loved, but it was a start.  He’d order flowers for her, and order in a meal they could eat at the table in his room.  Italian. Wendy loved Italian food, and the restaurant they’d frequented before Chris was shot made deliveries.   Chris would take it slow and see where things led from there.  He and Wendy had progressed to an intimate relationship – the first one for both of them – just a few weeks before the call that took Chris to Monroe’s house.  He had what was referred to as an incomplete T-3 spinal injury, which meant he could still have sex the “old-fashioned way” thank God, instead of with the aid of a splint or implant.  He might even be able to get around on canes to an extent if he built his arm muscles up to the point that he could support his weight with relative ease.  So far, he’d shown no interest in that, but if Wendy still wanted to be a part of Chris’s life…well, how could a man truly be a man if he couldn’t stand by his wife’s side when the need arose?

 

When Chris’s parents paid him a visit the next day, he could tell they were surprised and pleased to see him out of bed, dressed, and lifting weights in a therapy room.  In the weeks that followed, their pleasure only increased, as Chris’s determination to recover as fully as possible was cranked up to an all-time high. Two weeks after Chris’s twentieth birthday in late October, he was released from the rehab center as an in-patient.  His therapy continued on an outpatient basis through the end of the year, and he never missed a session or balked about going.

 

On Christmas night at the DeSotos’ that year, after Wendy had gone home, and John had gone to bed, and Jennifer had retreated to her room to read a new book she’d gotten; Chris was in the living room with his parents.  He sat on the couch watching the Christmas tree lights blink on and off, enjoying the quiet that had finally descended.  He turned and looked at his mother when she took his hand. 

 

“I’m so happy you’re here with us, sweetheart.”

 

Chris smiled.  He knew his mother’s words encompassed a lot of meanings.  She was grateful that Monroe hadn’t killed him.  She was thankful complications hadn’t set in while he was at Rampart that could have taken his life.  She was glad he’d gotten his act together at the rehab center and made his recovery his biggest priority.  He followed his mother’s gaze to the canes with the hand-rests he had leaning against the side of the couch.  It was easier getting around in his wheelchair versus using the canes, but Chris had made it his goal to be able to stand up when necessary, and the canes gave him that power.

 

“I’m glad I’m here too, Mom.”

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

 

“All right.”

 

“What…can I ask what changed your mind?”

 

“Changed my mind?”

 

“What made you decide that living life again as fully as you can beat laying around in a hospital bed?”

 

Chris grinned.  “Finish it, Mom.”

 

“Finish what?”

 

“Your sentence.  Didn’t you wanna finish it by saying, ‘beat laying around in a hospital bed feeling sorry for myself?’ ”

 

Chris’s mother chuckled. “Well…yes, I guess I did.”

 

The young man squeezed his mother’s hand, then looked over at his father, who was seated in his recliner silently listening to the conversation.  Chris winked at his dad.

 

“Let’s just say I got some good advice from a man I have a lot of respect for.”

 

As his dad smiled, Chris thought fondly of both his father and John Gage.  He’d lied to his mother just a bit.   If he were being completely honest, he’d have said he’d gotten advice from two men he had a lot of respect for.  Overall however, the lie didn’t matter.  Seeing the fatherly pride shining from his dad’s eyes made it worth it.  For right now, Dad didn’t need to know that Uncle Johnny had also played a role in Chris’s recovery.  Chris would continue to hope that someday he could share that with his father, and that his dad would find it as fitting a tribute to a once close friendship as Chris did.

 

Chris wasn’t sure what his future held beyond the job he’d recently taken as a dispatcher with the L.A. County Fire Department that would start right after the new year.  He didn’t think that’s what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, but it was a small step toward regaining the independence he’d lost in July, and for now, that was a step in the right direction.

 

Part 5