The doorbell chiming interrupted Johnny’s story. The words hadn’t always been clear, and a lot of his sentences weren’t more than fragments of just two or three words, and on several occasions I had to ask him to repeat himself, but I was happy he’d stuck with it. He’d gotten frustrated now and then at his inability to be understood, but he’d hung in there while giving me the details of his first few months in Denver.
I stood to answer the door. “Be right back.”
“Do-don’.”
“Don’t what?”
“Do-do-dorr.”
“Don’t answer the door?”
“No.”
“But what if it’s an emergency of some sort? Someone from Trevor’s school trying to contact you.”
He pointed to the telephone on the end table next to his chair.
“Yeah, they’d probably call, but who knows? Listen, don’t worry about it. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”
I heard his entreaty of “ ‘Oy,” as I headed for the back door but ignored him as the bell chimed again.
As I walked through the kitchen, I thought of what Johnny had told me about his initial meeting with Ashton, and then his first date with her. Only Johnny would somehow manage to get a date with a woman after tripping her not just once, but twice. Whatever ultimately changed between Johnny and Ashton by the time Trevor was born, it was obvious that they were once very much in love. I’d seen a light in Johnny’s eyes, an animation to his garbled speech; that he didn’t seem aware of as he spoke of those early days with the woman who eventually gave birth to his son.
Speaking of women, there was a tiny one with bright blue eyes and a head of cropped red curls standing at Johnny’s back door. She was wearing faded jeans, hiking boots, a thick green sweater, and a down filled brown vest. She looked young enough that if it had been Saturday, I would have thought she was one of Trevor’s classmates coming for a visit. She carried a blue mat rolled up under her left arm, and the straps of a zippered tote bag were around her right shoulder. The big smile on her face when she caught sight of me through the glass put an end to any concerns of an emergency involving Trev.
I opened the storm door and poked my upper body into the cold.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m looking for Chief Gage. Is he here?”
“He is.”
She held out her right hand. “I’m Dana Michaelson.”
I shook her small freckled hand. I eyed her tote bag again, wondering what she was selling and how I could politely get rid of her.
“Hi. Roy DeSoto.”
“Nice to meet you, Roy. You’re the friend of Chief’s from L.A., aren’t you. I heard you’d flown up to help him out while Clarice is sick.”
I smiled at how quickly word gets around a small town. “Yeah, I’m the friend from L.A.”
The woman did a little dance from foot to foot. “Bet it’s a lot warmer there than here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Despite her obvious discomfort, I still didn’t invite her in. I knew neither Johnny nor I wanted to be stuck listening to a sales pitch of some sort for the next two hours. I eyed her tote bag wondering what it held. Tupperware? Shaklee Vitamins? Religious tracts? Bibles? Copies of the Watchtower? Avon products?
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and talk to Chief.”
The way she used the word “Chief” as a proper name, led me to believe she knew Johnny fairly well, but I still didn’t budge. He was embarrassed to be seen, and though he’d have to get over that and get out in public again, I didn’t think anyone had the right to infringe on his privacy by trying to sell him something at a time when things weren’t easy for him.
“Can I tell him what it’s about?”
“Why I’m here, you mean?”
“Uh huh.”
She winked at me. “Oh, he’ll know why I’m here.”
The wink made me shift my thoughts from “saleswoman” to “girlfriend.” Before he’d gotten ill Johnny hadn’t mentioned to me that he was seeing anyone, but then he wouldn’t necessarily say much about it over the telephone or by e-mail until the relationship grew serious.
I didn’t know if I should feel like a fool because I was trying to keep Johnny’s girlfriend from entering the house, or if I was being duped by a crafty woman intent on selling whatever it was she had in her bag, but I finally gave in.
“Okay. I’ll tell him. Be right back.”
I left her standing outside. I walked through the laundry room and stopped where the kitchen ended and the great room began. Johnny was still sitting in his chair.
“There’s a woman by the name of Dana Michaelson here to see you.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“Te-te-tell her…go. Go.”
“You want me to tell her to leave?”
“Ye-ye-yes.”
Before I could ask him who she was, or turn back for the door, a voice spoke from behind me.
“Well now there’s a fine how-do-you-do. I drove all the way out here and this is the hospitality I get? Listen, Chief, it’s not many PT’s who’ll bring the PT to you when you don’t show up for your appointment.”
Johnny frowned as the woman walked around me and came into his line of vision.
“Did-didn’ az-az-az ‘ou to.”
“No, you didn’t. But I didn’t ask you to come over and plow my driveway every time it snowed last winter after Jason was laid up with his broken back, so guess what? I’m returning the favor.”
I didn’t know who Jason was, although an educated guess combined with a glance at the wedding band that became visible when she took off her mittens told me he was her husband. It sounded like the kind of thing Johnny would do for someone who’d come upon difficult times. Contrary to Johnny’s opinion, I thought it was nice that Dana was now going above and beyond what was required of her in order to extend help to someone who’d helped her.
Dana didn’t wait for an invitation. She set her mat and bag on the floor, then took off her vest and threw it and her mittens over the arm of the chair I’d been sitting in. By the easy way she teased Johnny I got the impression they were more than casual acquaintances. I found out later that both she and her husband – the “Jason” she’d referred to – were members of Johnny’s volunteer corps. Jason as a firefighter; Dana an EMT.
Dana nodded at the blanket Johnny clutched in one hand as he struggled to stand.
“Taking a nap on my time, huh? Is that why you didn’t show up at PT? You overslept?”
The twinkle in her eyes took any potential sting out of the words. Nonetheless, Johnny wasn’t about to give up his demeanor of a grumpy old bear who’d been awakened in the middle of a long winter’s hibernation.
“No. No…na-na-nap. Tal’.” He pointed at me, then at himself. “We…we tal-talk.”
“Talking’s good,” Dana agreed. “You need to talk in order for your speech to improve. I told you that two weeks ago. You can’t sit around grunting like a caveman like you’ve been doing. It’ll be kind of hard to run the fire department that way, doncha’ think?”
I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling, while silently applauding the verbal kick in the butt Dana had just given Johnny. He didn’t appreciate it nearly as much as I did, because his frown turned to a deep scowl.
“Jee-jee-jee-ge…get ou’. Go.”
Dana unrolled the mat and moved it to the center of big room. “I’m not going anywhere until we’ve finished your session. You’ve missed too many already.”
I could tell Johnny had no idea what else to threaten the woman with as he stuttered, “ ’Ou…’ou…you…you…”
Dana put her hands on her hips. “I’m what? Fired?”
“Yeah!”
She laughed. “You can’t fire me. I’m a volunteer. You can’t fire a volunteer.”
“I-I-I ca’!”
“Okay, so you can. Unfortunately for you, you’re on sick leave right now. If you wanna fire me, then you’ll have to start putting some effort into getting better. When you’re sitting behind your desk in that fire station again, you can make whatever decision you want to about me.”
He turned on me next. “ ’Ou-ou-you ‘ay you jee...get ri’.”
“Sorry. I tired to get rid of her, but she’s persistent.”
“That’s right,” Dana said as she bent and unzipped her tote bag. “Persistence is my middle name. Well…actually, it’s Jolene, but for a lot of reasons, I like Persistence better.”
Dana and I were smiling, but Johnny remained stone faced. I wanted to tell him to quit being so hard headed and determined to give everyone a difficult time. Dana’s sense of humor would be right up his alley if he wasn’t so intent on making sure she and I knew how unhappy he was over her invasion.
Dana ignored Johnny’s demeanor. One by one, she pulled out things commonly
used when rehabilitating patients who experience weakness on one side of the
body due to a severe head injury, stroke, or in Johnny’s case, a brain
aneurysm. Among other things, I saw vinyl dumbbells that I guessed ranged in
weight from one to five pounds, several exercise bands of different lengths for
resistance training, numerous styles of hand grips that would help Johnny
regain strength and dexterity in his weak left hand and forearm, and exercise
putty, which was also used to build strength in a weak hand.
Dana laid the items out on the carpeting. “Did you order any of these things off that internet site like I told you to?”
Johnny refused to answer her.
“So you didn’t, is that it?”
“Don’…don’ nee-nee-nee ‘em.”
“Yes you do need them. I wouldn’t have told you to order them if you didn’t need them.” She began pulling out duplicates of everything she’d just set on the carpeting. “Good thing for you I know how stubborn you are.”
“I-I don’-don’ wan’.”
“I don’t care if you want them or not. You have them now, so you’d better use them.”
Johnny looked like he didn’t know whether to fight with her, strangle her, or just give up and give in. It had been a long and stressful day for him filled with everything from a near tragic accident with his son, to my anger over his disappearance, to reliving memories of a woman he’d once loved. I think those things had a lot to do with why he didn’t have the energy to keep arguing with Dana. He didn’t promise he’d use the things she’d brought, but he did say, “Pa-pa-pay ‘ou.”
“You don’t need to pay me right now. Whenever you have the extra money is fine.”
That wasn’t the thing to say to a man who’d always taken pride in having made it on his own since the day he left his father’s house and got married a couple of months shy of his eighteenth birthday.
He stood a little straighter, as if to say, “Listen, no matter what shape I’m in, I don’t take charity.” When he did speak, he looked her in the eyes and vowed, “I-I pa-pay.”
“Okay. At the end of the session you can pay me. Right now we need to get to work. I have homework to supervise and supper to make yet today, so let’s get moving.” Dana pointed a stern finger at him. And don’t even dare try and fire me as your physical therapist, because I’m not going anywhere until we finish this session.”
Johnny remained where he was standing. His eyes flicked to me. Although I wasn’t sure if he meant anything by that gesture, I decided it was best if I found something to do.
“I’ll let you two get to work. I’ve gotta get supper started.”
I turned and walked into the kitchen, even clicking on the small TV that sat on one of the countertops. I turned the volume down low enough so that it wouldn’t disturb Dana and Johnny, but yet kept it high enough so the background noise would make Johnny think my attention was focused on something besides his physical therapy session. Which it was for the five minutes it took me to track down the necessary ingredients in Johnny’s cabinets and refrigerator for Chicken Parmesan.
Afternoon television has never held a lot of interest for me unless a baseball or football game is on. I bypassed soap operas, Court TV, and Dr. Phil, using the remote to flip stations. ESPN on a weekday afternoon in the middle of winter didn’t have a lot to offer. CNN was filled with nothing but bad news, as usual. I’d seen the Bonanza episode I stopped on at least seven times, I’m not a fan of Laverne and Shirley, though Joanne, Chris, and Jennifer enjoyed it back when it originally aired, so I finally settled for Gomer Pyle on TV Land. Not that Gomer Pyle was of great interest to me either, but at least I could pretend to be watching it while preparing supper instead of what I was doing; subtly eyeing the paces Dana was putting Johnny through. If I was going to help him recover, then getting him to do his exercises on the schedule Dana assigned was another hurdle to cross.
Daylight was gone and darkness had settled in before Dana was ready to leave. She’d worked with Johnny for two hours. Or I should say worked with him, argued with him, cajoled him, threatened him, praised him, and sometimes used the same trump card I had the night before – Trevor. Like I’d done, Dana reminded Johnny that if he didn’t make an effort to recover for himself and for the town’s people who were depending on him, then he had to at least make the effort for his son.
I wasn’t sure if Dana’s words had much impact on Johnny, although I did notice after she’d mentioned Trevor he wasn’t quite as ornery with her and seemed to be trying harder. He was tired when they were finished. Not that I blamed him. She didn’t cut him any slack. Not even during the final thirty minutes when the sweat on his brow made it obvious she’d put him through a challenging workout. Or at least a workout that was challenging for a man who hadn’t been physically active in weeks.
Exhaustion made Johnny drag his left foot when he limped past me, headed for Clarice’s room. I’d heard him tell Dana he’d get his checkbook so he could pay her for the equipment she’d brought.
Dana entered the kitchen dressed to brave the cold again. She set her tote bag and rolled up mat on the floor by the table.
“I left Chief’s weights and other things in the great room.”
I glanced in the room, seeing the items neatly lined up against one wall.
“Thanks.”
She bent and reached into her bag. I couldn’t tell what she took out until she handed me eight sheets of folded blue paper, stapled together in the upper left hand corner.
“Chief might shoot me for doing this, but I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Doing what?”
“I noticed you watching us. You seem like a concerned friend.”
“I am a concerned friend or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Word around town is that you used to be his partner years ago when he lived in L.A.”
“Word has it right.”
“So you’ve got some medical experience under your belt.”
“A bit,” I smiled. “I currently train paramedics for L.A. County.”
“Then I’d say more than a bit.”
“Okay,” I shrugged in concession. “A lot.”
She pointed to the papers as I unfolded them. “These are the exercises he needs to do, along with step-by-step instructions and the schedule he should follow for number of repetitions and daily rotation. If you can get him to do them on the days he’s not scheduled to see me…”
“I’ll get him to do them.”
“He can be awfully stubborn.”
“You’re telling that to someone who rode in a squad with him for eleven years.”
“Oh, so you already know, uh?”
I chuckled at her deadpan look. “Yeah. Believe me, I already know.”
She gave my arm a light pat. “He’s a good guy. The people of this town think the world of him.”
“They should.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not giving up on him, even though he seems to have given up on himself.”
I tried to find the right words to define what I thought was at the root of Johnny’s internal struggles.
“He’s got a lot of pride. It’s not easy for him to face the possibility of being dependant on others for the rest of his life. I think…I think he’s scared of what the future holds if he can’t go back to work.”
“I’m sure he is. It’s not at all unusual for someone in his position to feel that way. I see it all the time in the patients I work with. Especially in men.”
“Why’s that?” I smiled as I teased, “Because of that male ego of ours?”
Dana smiled. “Partly. But mostly because so many times men define themselves by the job they do. How they view their success in life and personal self-worth is often directly linked to what they do for a living.”
I gave a thoughtful nod. It made sense. Johnny’d worked for fire departments since he was twenty, and had been Eagle Harbor’s Fire and Paramedic Chief for thirteen years. I put myself in his place. None of us wants to be forced out of a job we love doing before we’re ready to retire, but sometimes that happens due to things beyond our control. What the future held for Johnny I didn’t know, I only hoped I could somehow help him adjust to any changes that came his way.
Dana must have heard Johnny coming down the hall behind the dining room because she changed the subject.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells good.”
I folded the papers and stuffed them into the front pocket of my “Grandpa pants” as my granddaughter, Madison, calls my favorite pair of baggy khaki trousers.
“Chicken Parmesan.”
“Do you hire out?”
I chuckled. “If I cooked for you, I think you’d find my skills are pretty basic.”
“Roy, every woman loves the thought of dinner being on the table when she walks in the door at night, no matter how basic.”
“Ah, I see,” I nodded as Johnny entered the room with his checkbook in his right hand. “No wonder my wife likes working full-time so much now that I’m semi-retired.”
“If you do most of the cooking, I can almost guarantee you that’s why she likes working full-time.”
Dana and I made small talk while Johnny sat at the table writing the check. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I could tell he was struggling, though I wasn’t sure with what. The act of writing itself? Being able to form the correct shapes for various numbers? Remembering how to fill out a check in its entirety? Knowing how to sign his name? Or maybe even all of the above.
I didn’t know how my offer would be received, so I tried to make it sound as casual as possible. I even turned my back and opened the oven door; pretending to check on supper when I asked, “Need any help, Johnny?”
Given his pride, I was surprised when he said something other than, “No.”
“Da-da-date.”
I turned around and took a step toward him. “You need me to fill in the date?”
He glanced up. “No. Da-date.”
I still wasn’t sure what he meant until he tapped the pen on the date line of the check.
“Oh. You need to know what the date is?”
“Yeah.”
That request made sense to me. Even without a short-term memory problem like Johnny was dealing with, it’s easy to lose track of the date when you’re off of work for more than a few days and have little need to refer to a calendar.
I gave Johnny the date. He hesitated a moment, as though he was trying to remember how to print the necessary numbers. He finally managed to do it without any coaching from me. The only help I gave him was to hold the checkbook in place on the table as he tore the check from the book without using his weak left hand to steady it.
Dana took the check he handed her. I caught enough of a glimpse as it passed between them to see that the writing had a shaky quality to it, yet the check was complete. I hoped Johnny was proud of himself. Writing a check might seem like a small thing, but right then even the “small things” were difficult for him. Sometimes difficult because they were a challenge for him to master, as writing the check had been, and sometimes difficult because it was hard for him to accept how the aneurysm had changed his life. Therefore, he deserved to give himself a pat on the back for this accomplishment.
Johnny stood as Dana picked up her things and said goodbye.
“See you on Monday, Chief.”
That was it. See you on Monday. She didn’t tell him that she meant she’d see him at the Eagle Harbor Clinic for their scheduled appointment, but I knew that’s what she was saying. Johnny knew it too. He didn’t argue with her, but on the other hand, he didn’t agree with her either. I had a feeling he realized that, no matter what, he was fighting a losing battle. She’d just show up on his doorstep again if he skipped his session.
I didn’t promise I’d get Johnny there, although I think Dana understood she could count on me to do everything in my power to accomplish that. I didn’t say anything other than, “Bye, Dana.” I didn’t want to make Johnny feel like a child. I didn’t want to say something patronizing like, “Don’t worry, he’ll be there.” It had to be Johnny’s choice. As well, he had to realize he could do a hell of a lot more for himself than sit in the house and mope. Including making decisions that would have an impact on his future well-being.
I walked Dana to the door.
“Need help getting anything to your car?”
“Nope. But thanks for the offer.”
“You’re welcome.”
Again, because I didn’t want to seem patronizing or as though I’d taken on some kind of role of authority over Johnny, I didn’t thank Dana for coming. I hadn’t shut the door between the laundry room and kitchen, so it was possible that Johnny could overhear anything being said.
I flipped on the porch light and watched as Dana walked across the back deck and then down the stairs. I stood there long enough to make sure her car started and that she was on her way toward the road, then shut the door. I shivered at the chill that hung in the room just from the door being open for a minute or two. How Johnny had gotten used to living in Alaska was beyond me. Yeah, it’s a beautiful state, but having to endure six months of winter weather wasn’t worth any beauty this Californian could think of.
I glanced up at the clock as I entered the kitchen. “It’s almost time to pick up Trevor.”
“Go.”
“You come with me tonight.”
“No.”
“Johnny, he’ll want you to be with me.”
“No.”
Whether Johnny meant he didn’t think Trev would want him to be with me because of what happened between them that morning, or whether he was simply emphasizing again that he wasn’t going, I didn’t know. I didn’t like the decision he’d made, but I didn’t argue with him about it either.
“Okay. If you wanna stay here then at least do me one favor.”
“Wha’?”
“Set the table while I’m gone.”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Mi-mi-mi’ dop…dop some.”
“So? If you drop something you drop something. It’s not like a broken glass can’t be replaced, or a fork that hits the floor can’t be put in the dishwasher.”
I didn’t give him a chance to argue with me further. I headed back toward the laundry room for my coat and boots.
“I’ll help Trevor do chores again like I did last night. Keep an eye on supper for me and have the table set if you get time.”
I added the “if you get time” so I didn’t come off as bossy. I was learning little by little how to handle Johnny and get him to do things for himself. I didn’t want to blow it when I was just getting started.
I put my coat and boots on, called, “Be back in a little while!” and left the house without waiting for his answer. Despite the bitter cold I whistled an off-key tune as I tromped through the snow toward the Land Rover, because the last thing I’d heard before shutting the door were plates clinking together as they were removed from a cabinet.
“Now remember what we discussed last night, Trev.”
Johnny’s son glanced at me as I pulled the Rover into the garage.
“What?”
“About making your father talk. Making him do things for himself.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on talkin’ to him at all tonight.”
Trevor climbed out of the vehicle, slamming the passenger door and stomping off toward the barn.
I didn’t call him back to try convincing him to give his father a break. Half the fun of having teenagers is dealing with their moods. I’d dealt with my share of unpredictable adolescent behavior and hadn’t forgotten the times Johnny found my frustrations with Chris and Jennifer to be funny. I figured it was my turn to sit back and get a laugh out of watching him deal with a ticked off thirteen-year-old.
Trevor had been quiet on the way home from basketball practice. Like Johnny, Trev being quiet is a sure sign something’s bothering him. I didn’t have to ask to know he was still upset with his father over what happened that morning. I didn’t say anything about it though, nor did I say much of anything else about how Johnny and I spent the day. I didn’t want one physical therapy session to get Trevor’s hopes up, and I also didn’t think he needed to know I’d almost left because of how angry I’d been over Johnny’s disappearance that morning. And, of course, I’d never say anything to him about the things Johnny shared with me concerning Ashton. I wasn’t sure how much Trevor knew about the years his parents were together. Whether he knew a lot or only a little was none of my concern. That was Johnny’s area to handle in whatever way he saw fit.
I helped Trevor do chores. He loosened up a little while we worked, telling me a couple of things about his day at school. When we finished taking care of the animals, we exited the barn by walking through the garage so Trev could grab his backpack out of the Land Rover.
We waded through the snow to the house. The only thing that made the cold trip tolerable for me was the thought of a warm supper in the oven and a warm fire crackling in the great room. I hoped Johnny thought to add logs to the fire and stoke it some while I was gone.
Trev and I took our coats and boots off in the laundry room. He left his backpack on a wooden bench Johnny kept against one wall, where a person could sit to remove his shoes. We entered the kitchen together. Trevor didn’t comment on the table being set with plates, glasses and silverware. I was certain he thought I’d done that job before leaving to pick him up. I made sure he knew that wasn’t the case.
“Thanks for setting the table, Johnny.”
Trev looked at me, trying to figure out if he’d heard me correctly. Johnny straightened and turned from where he’d been doing just what I’d hoped – adding logs to the fire. Trevor tried to hide his pleasure upon not only seeing his father perform a chore that was part of the normal routine before he’d gotten ill, but also upon seeing Johnny had showered, shaved, and dressed in clean clothing sometime after I’d left the house. He looked a hundred percent better without the scraggly gray facial hair he’d been sporting, and I could tell Trevor thought so too.
Trevor was still angry enough that he didn’t comment on any of these things that brought a light to his eyes I hadn’t seen since I’d arrived. The light remained as Johnny helped me get supper on the table. He was using his cane again, but that didn’t surprise me. Considering the workout Dana had put him through, he was tired and his leg probably felt weaker than normal.
I had to hand it to Trev. He knew just how to get back at Johnny by dishing out exactly what he’d been receiving for weeks now. Given the circumstances, I normally wouldn’t have been happy with Trevor for not responding to his father when Johnny made the effort to converse with him. But the boy was still harboring some righteous anger, so I kept my mouth shut, knowing that Johnny would figure out how to work through this with his son. Parenting Trevor was another area Johnny needed to regain his confidence in. My interference would only send the message that I thought he wasn’t the father he had been before the aneurysm. Since that was far from the truth, I concentrated on my supper, wanting both Johnny and Trevor to forget I was there.
In between bites of his supper, Johnny asked his son, “Ho-how day?”
Trevor wouldn’t look up from his plate when he shrugged.
“Bas-bas-bas-bas’t ball pactice?
Again, Trevor shrugged without taking his eyes off his food.
“Me-me-me…wha’ mean?
I knew Johnny was asking Trevor what the shrug meant. I wasn’t certain if Trevor knew, though I suspected he did when he shrugged for a third time.
Johnny stared at the top of Trevor’s head for several seconds. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was embarrassed enough by the way he sounded. Now he was making an effort, one of the first efforts he’d made in weeks to communicate with his son, and he was being ignored. I hoped Johnny understood the reasons behind Trevor’s attitude and didn’t think it had anything to do with his garbled speech.
I silently cheered my friend on when he kept plugging away, this time goading the boy into answering him.
“Do-does-me-mean…goot…ba-bad…or ‘us ‘lain shitty?”
Does that mean it was good, bad, or just plain
shitty?
That got a response from Trevor. His head shot up and his eyes widened with shock.
“Papa!”
I was sure Trevor had heard the word shit before. Probably a lot more than either Johnny or I could have imagined. Certainly at school, and in movies he’d watched, and then there was the fire station that had been his second home as far back as when he was in diapers. There was no doubt he’d been introduced to foul language there long before Johnny probably wanted him to be. But judging by Trevor’s reaction, I knew Johnny’d been careful not to swear in front of his son. I’d practiced the same restraint with my children. It wasn’t that I didn’t know my kids, especially the boys, wouldn’t let a swear word fly once in a while when they got older, but I also knew that if they didn’t hear me using foul language they wouldn’t pepper their own speech with it. It’s one thing to say, “Shit,” when you’re alone in the garage and accidentally smack your thumb with a hammer. It’s another to include it in every sentence you spout, until you’re not even aware you’re using it in places it doesn’t belong, and in front of women old enough to be your grandmother who find it offensive and disrespectful, as they should.
A smile played at the corners of Johnny’s mouth as his face took on an expression of innocence.
“Wha-what?”
“You swore!”
“No-no-not me.”
“Yes you.”
They bantered back and forth like that for a few seconds, that action finally breaking the tension between them. Trevor was better after that. Maybe not quite as talkative and outgoing as usual, but more willing to carry on a conversation with Johnny, which I thought was good for both of them. I had a feeling it was the first time they’d really talked, really felt comfortable with one another, since Johnny’d gotten out of the hospital. Johnny needed to know Trevor still respected him and still looked upon him as the authority figure in the household, and Trevor needed to know his father would still take the same active role in parenting he always had. As I’d told Trevor the night before, some of the activities they did together as father and son might have to change, but their relationship didn’t have to.
Because of how much I suspected Johnny’s leg was bothering him I would have told him to stay seated when he stood to help me clear the table, but that night I didn’t. I wanted Trevor to see for himself that his father was beginning to participate in the household chores again. When Trev just sat there watching Johnny use his cane to walk back and forth from the table while bringing me dirty dishes, Johnny jerked his right thumb upward.
“Help,” he commanded.
“You haven’t been helping these last few weeks.”
I could hear a slight degree of insolence in Trevor’s tone, yet I also heard something else. He was testing Johnny. He was trying to see if his father was going to let him get away with something he wouldn’t have prior to Johnny’s illness, or if Johnny would let him know this wasn’t acceptable behavior. A lot of people might think a kid Trevor’s age no longer wants discipline, and that’s exactly where some parents go wrong. Even teenagers want to know what the boundaries are, and Johnny didn’t hesitate to define them for his son.
“Help.”
“But--”
Johnny hobbled over to Trevor, grabbed Trev under an armpit with his right hand and lifted.
“Up. Help. Now.”
“Okay, okay.” Trevor shrugged out of his father’s grasp and started picking up silverware and glasses. “I’m helping. I’m helping. Geez, ya’ don’t have to be crabby about it.”
“Ta-tank you.”
Trevor mumbled his, “You’re welcome,” but the smile playing on his lips told me he wasn’t nearly as angry as he was letting on. Actually, I think he was happy to have this further bit of normalcy return to his home.
With the two of them handing me dishes, I had the dishwasher loaded and the kitchen cleaned ten minutes after we’d finished eating. Trevor went to the laundry room for his backpack. When he returned, some of his usual sunny disposition returned with him.
“Thanks for supper, Uncle Roy. It was great.”
“You liked it?”
“Yeah. What was it?”
“Chicken Parmesan. Have you ever had it before?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think Clarice makes it.” Trevor looked at Johnny. “Have I ever had it before?”
Johnny shook his head.
Trevor remembered what I’d said the previous evening, because he didn’t allow Johnny to get away with that.
“What’s that mean?”
Johnny answered him readily enough with a, “No..haf…have’t.”
Trevor turned to me. He winked while saying, “No, Papa says I’ve never had it before.”
Johnny gave us a look that said he wondered why we were standing in his kitchen smiling like a couple of fools, but he didn’t voice his thoughts. Trevor hoisted his backpack over one shoulder.
“I better get upstairs. Got a lotta homework to do.”
The teen started to exit the room, but before he could Johnny gently shagged his arm. When Trevor turned around, his father said, “Sor-sorry.”
“For what?”
“Mo-morning.”
Trevor hesitated at this subject being brought up, then finally nodded.
“I know. I…I’m sorry too, for the way I acted when we first started eating supper and all.”
Johnny’s response mirrored his son’s. “I know.”
Trevor gave his father a slight smile. It’s not easy for either a boy or a man to admit when they’ve been wrong.
“Are you gonna come upstairs and tell me goodnight before you go to bed?”
Johnny nodded. This time Trevor accepted that silent form of communication.
“Okay. See ya’ later then.”
“Sna…snack.”
“Yeah, I’ll come down for a snack after while.” The boy rolled his eyes and added in a long-suffering tone, “When I’ve had all the algebra I can stand and need a break before I pound my head against the wall.”
I laughed at Trevor’s exaggerated drama. He’s so much like Johnny sometimes.
Trevor jogged through the great room and ran up the stairs. After I heard his door shut I said to Johnny, “Wanna play some cards?”
I was surprised when he agreed. Card games were something Jennifer suggested I engage Johnny in to help him in areas ranging from short-term memory, to number identification, to addition skills, to analytical thinking. You don’t work in fire stations for most of your life without having played more hands of cards than you can remember by the time you reach our age. There’d been a lot of nights when Johnny and I, and the rest of the guys who made up Station 51’s A-shift, had sat around the kitchen table playing every card you could think of, and some we swore Chet made up as he went along.
“You gotta deck?” I asked. “Otherwise I brought one with me.”
He pointed to the long pantry unit at one end of a kitchen counter. I opened it to see four shelves stocked with canned goods, Bisquick, instant rice, an assortment of pastas, pancake mix, and cake mixes. The two top shelves were stacked with board games. I spotted a deck of cards, along with a pencil and pad of paper setting next to it. I grabbed what we needed, shut the pantry door, and crossed to the table where Johnny was already seated.
I pulled out a chair opposite of Johnny. I opened the flap on the card box and turned the box upside down. I tapped it against my palm until I was holding all 52 cards. I set the box aside, then shuffled the deck.
“How about Crazy Eights?”
Crazy Eights is a game most kids can master by the age of nine or ten. Nonetheless, it’s a popular game in fire stations, so for both of those reasons I thought it was a good one to start with.
I slid the pad and pencil toward Johnny.
“You wanna keep score?”
I saw the fear in Johnny’s eyes as the paper got closer. For the first time, I realized everything was new and frightening to him now. By that I don’t mean he was scared of a pad of paper, but he was scared of what it represented if he couldn’t remember how many points were assigned to each card and how to add those points up. Failure. I finally understood he was scared to fail, which had a lot more to do with why he was so reluctant to try doing things like setting the table, and talking, and physical therapy exercises, than being stubborn or embarrassed did.
He shook his head but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Just try, Johnny,” I said softly. “You wrote a check this afternoon without any problems. Give this a try too.”
Again, he shook his head.
“Look, it’s just you and me. No one else is here watching. If you run into trouble, I’ll help you. If you need me to take over and keep score, I will, but not until after you’ve tried first.”
He stared at the paper and pencil with such intensity that I got the impression he was challenging himself to do what I’d asked. Challenging himself to fight past the fear that he might discover he couldn’t add, or write all the numbers down correctly, or embarrass himself by making some other mistake I hadn’t even thought of. It was odd for me to see him so vulnerable. From the day I’d met him, Johnny’d always faced the world with a self-confident air so deeply ingrained that, when he was younger, it bordered on cockiness. Most of the cockiness left him as he matured and passed from his 20s into his 30s, but the self-confidence hadn’t. I thought of the things he’d told me that afternoon about his early months in Denver, and realized this wasn’t the first time in his life he’d been vulnerable and afraid. Although the circumstances were different, he’d probably felt many of the same things he was feeling now when he relocated to a city where he knew no one. That thought caused a lot of old regrets to surface for me, but at the same time, it made me glad that I’d come to Eagle Harbor. Even after six years of renewed friendship, I was still looking for ways to figuratively say “I’m sorry” to Johnny for how I treated him after Chris was shot.
In regards to keeping score, Johnny finally nodded. “O--okay.”
I smiled and said, “Good,” as I started dealing the cards.
We’d barely gotten underway when I sensed his tension rising. He was having trouble matching the suits and ranks to whatever card I laid down. I kept my head bent and watched him through my eyelashes when I laid a king of hearts on the table. His brow furrowed as he studied his hand. I waited patiently as the minute hand circled the clock hanging on the wall. His knuckles were white with stress when he finally laid down the ace of spades.
“Umm…I don’t think you wanna do that, Johnny. That’s the ace of spades.”
“No.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I--I know.”
“Oh. You know it’s the ace of spades?”
“Yeah.”
“Well…uh…what you wanna do is follow my king by either playing a king of any suit, or playing any card that’s a heart.”
That was the fourth time I’d given him advice on how to play. He wouldn’t look at me when he grabbed the ace of spades he’d laid down and picked a five of hearts from his hand instead. I was growing more and more confused. It was obvious to me that he recognized the suits and ranks of the cards, because as soon as I pointed out his mistake he could correct it without my help. But without my help, he wasn’t able to make the right decision the first time.
“Good choice,” I said in what I hoped sounded encouraging rather than patronizing. By the look he shot me, I’d say it came out sounding patronizing, or at least that’s how he took it.
I chose an eight of clubs and laid it on his card.
“I’m changing suits. Let’s go with diamonds.”
For whatever reason, what I’d done threw him off balance again. He put the ace of hearts on top of my eight.
“I…uh…I think you might wanna make another choice.”
I waited for him to reply, but he just sat staring at his cards, his mouth in a grim line.
“You can play an eight in any suit and then change the suit we’re playing if you want to. Or you can play any card with a diamond on it. But unless you have an eight, you can’t change the suit.”
Before I could stop him, Johnny swept a hand across a table, sending the cards flying in all directions. He pounded a fist on the table.
“Can--can’t! Can’t dammit!”
“Yes you can. I’ll help you. I’ll go over the suits and the ranks with you, then we’ll try again. I know you--”
“No! Kn--know ‘em!”
“You recognized the suits?”
“Yeah.” He touched a hand to his head. “Don’…don’t ‘member, dammit! Don’t ‘member.”
He stood and turned toward Clarice’s room. This time I didn’t let him stomp off. He’d already done that too much since I’d arrived. I was getting the impression that, like a kid having a temper tantrum, he’d learned to use this behavior to get his way – to get people to leave him alone, to get people to allow him not to try again after he’d failed. Well, this time I was determined that he would try again. That he was going to realize failing once didn’t automatically mean you’d continue failing.
I grabbed his arm to keep him from going.
“Do you mean you don’t remember how to play? That you don’t remember the rules?”
“Yes! Don’--don’ ‘member!”
Now the trouble he’d been having made more sense to me. He recognized the cards and what they represented without any problems. It was the rules of the game that he couldn’t remember.
“Okay. Well that’s not such a bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“No it’s not. Think about it, Johnny.”
“Was…was ‘in-inking. Tol’ you. Don’ ‘member.”
“That’s not what I mean. I know you don’t remember. But what I mean is, think about the positives here. You recognized the cards. You recognize the suits and the rank of each card. Even the ace, queen, and king. And then think back to how you wrote that check today without anyone’s help. Those are all big accomplishments. You need to quit beating yourself up over the small things, and give yourself some credit for what you can do.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t do that. Don’t shrug it off. Every little step forward is a step in the right direction, don’t ya’ think?”
“Some--some’ime yes. Some…no.”
Sometimes yes.
Sometimes no.
“How about shifting your way of thinking to ‘all the time’ yes.”
“I don’--don’t know. May…maybe.”
I let the subject drop. Just getting him to admit that much was good. I hoped he’d think more on it later and realize how much progress he’d made just in the twenty-four hours since I’d arrived. Little by little he was becoming willing to do things for himself, and to try things he was afraid he couldn’t do. Maybe he needed someone who knew him as well I did to give him a shove in the right direction every so often. Or maybe the incident with the tractor that morning had made Johnny take stock of all he could lose. Although I didn’t think Ashton would try and take Trevor from him, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing if Johnny feared that was a possibility. Maybe the thought of Ashton swooping in and gaining custody of Trev had been giving Johnny a shove in the right direction since the day Trev was born.
I quit trying to analyze the reasons behind the positive changes I’d seen in Johnny’s attitude that afternoon and evening, and instead, encouraged him to sit at the table again.
“Come on. Let me go over the rules with you and then we’ll try again.” I shoved the pencil and paper away from Johnny. “Let’s forget about keeping score for tonight.”
“Why? ‘Cause…’cause you ‘fraid…a--fraid…I win?”
I had to give Johnny a heck of a lot of credit. Just when I thought he was down for good, he’d pick himself back up and give me a glimpse of how far his recovery could take him if he just believed in himself.
I laughed at the competitive nature that was still very much a part of him.
“Yeah, exactly. I’ve lost at cards to you too many times not to know that you’ll probably beat me tonight.”
“No…’bably. I will.”
“Okay, then put your money where your mouth is, Junior.”
I reviewed the game with him. I used the same method I had when teaching my granddaughters how to play Crazy Eights. As I explained the rules I laid cards on the table in “pretend play” as Chris’s daughter Brittany put it. I’d found that the girls learned quickly when they could visualize what I was talking about. I hoped the same applied for Johnny.
I wasn’t sure how much Johnny’s short-term memory problems would hinder him, but I figured the only way to find that out was to try playing a hand again. When I asked Johnny if he was ready, his earlier confidence was gone. His “Yes,” sounded reluctant and apprehensive. I ignored what I heard in his tone and dealt the cards.
The game went a lot better this time. Johnny struggled here and there, but at least he didn’t swoop the cards off the table. He stuck with it, even when he had to exchange cards because he realized he’d made a mistake. Maybe the fact that we weren’t keeping score helped him relax a little. Or maybe my review of the rules was what he’d needed. Or maybe he’d learned once again that being afraid to try wasn’t going to get him back to work at Eagle Harbor’s fire station.
Since we didn’t keep score, I don’t know who “officially” won. I declared Johnny the winner after we’d played three hands and two out of three times he was out of cards before me.
I collected the cards, stacked them neatly, and slipped them back in the box while Johnny stood. I assumed he was going upstairs to tell Trevor goodnight.
“Wan i-ice-ice ceam?”
That was the first time Johnny took the initiative to play host. Although Joanne would kill me if I put on weight while I was gone, I couldn’t risk losing what small ground I’d gained with Johnny by refusing his offer of a snack, could I? Or at least that’s the way I told myself I’d explain the extra pounds to Jo.
“Sure.”
I ignored my natural inclination to help him. I stayed in my chair as he slowly moved around the kitchen, getting out bowls, spoons, strawberries, bananas, chocolate sauce, butterscotch sauce, nuts, a bag of miniature marshmallows, and a half-gallon container of vanilla ice cream.
The only time I assisted was when Johnny asked me, “Ca--call Tev, ‘kay?”
“Sure.”
I went to the bottom of the stairs and called Trevor’s name. When I didn’t get an answer, Johnny said from the kitchen, “Usic.”
“He’s got music on?”
Johnny rolled his eyes like fathers have been doing since Elvis first hit the charts and teenagers began their unexplainable need to have music blaring while they do homework.
I can’t say I thought Trev’s music was blaring since I couldn’t hear it until I got halfway up the stairs, but having raised three teenagers of my own, I understood Johnny’s exasperation. A father conveniently forgets having done his homework to music, because he wants to think he’s imparted better study habits on his kids. Like I had, Johnny was finding out that when it comes to your teenager, some things aren’t worth fighting over.
I knocked on Trevor’s door. Like the evening before, I had to knock a second time before he heard me. The music was turned down, then the door opened.
“Hey, Uncle Roy.”
“Hey, yourself. Your pop is making us ice cream sundaes.”
“Papa’s making them?”
“He sure is.”
“ ‘Cause you asked him to?”
“No, because he wanted to.”
Again, I saw a light in Trevor’s eyes that I could easily guess had been missing since Johnny’d gotten ill. He raced ahead of me down the stairs as though he had to see this for himself.
By the time I got to the kitchen, Trevor was asking his father what he could do to help.
Johnny had his son slice the bananas, which I thought was a good idea given his left hand. It was a challenge for Johnny to get the ice cream scooped into three bowls, and though I was tempted to help him, I let him decide if he needed my assistance. He didn’t ask for it, and he even laughed when one scoop landed on the floor.
I cleaned that up while Trevor carried everything to the table. We made our sundaes based on our own likes and dislikes. As we sat eating, Trevor caught sight of the cards.
“Did you guys play?”
I nodded. “Sure did.”
“What game?”
“Crazy Eights.”
“Can I play a hand with you?”
Before I could answer, Johnny said, “Home- homewok.”
“I’m almost done.”
“Homewok. Ca-cards Sat’day ni-nigh’.”
Trevor shot his father a disgusted look, but he didn’t argue with him. “All right, Saturday night, then. And I’m gonna beat both you guys.”
Johnny gave me a small smile that said, “We’ll see about that.” To his son he said, “Okay.”
When we finished eating I piled the empty dishes together and pushed them aside. Johnny looked at Trevor, who appeared to be ready to settle in for a long winter’s chat, and pointed toward the stairs.
“Homewok.”
The boy sighed, then pushed himself from the table.
“Pops, you sure know how to ruin a guy’s fun.”
“Yes.”
“What? You mean you’re not even gonna try and deny it?”
“N--no.”
“All right. Then I guess it’s back to those stupid algebra problems.”
“No--no done e--ye’?”
“No, I’m not done yet. Geez, Pops, you can’t rush these things, ya’ know.”
Johnny pointed at the stairs again. “ ‘Usic off. Homewok.”
“Pops!”
“Te…Tevor, ‘usic off. Homewok now.”
“Oh all right.” Trevor stomped up the stairs mumbling, “Slave driver.” I couldn’t tell if he shut the music off since he’d turned the volume down before coming to the kitchen, but when Johnny didn’t get up to check, I assumed he trusted Trevor to do as he’d instructed.
I smiled when I heard Trevor’s door click shut.
“Like father, like son.”
“How?”
“Oh, let’s see,” I teased as I counted off on my fingers. “Stubborn. Competitive. Prone to drama every now and then. And always has to have the last word.”
Johnny chuckled while nodding his agreement. “Sometime-sometime Tev ‘ike-like me. Sometime ‘ike-‘ike-like moth-moth-mother.”
“Sometimes he’s like his mother?”
“Ye--yeah.”
“How?”
“Det-det-detmined to ‘ced-ceed.”
“He’s determined to succeed?”
“Yeah. An’…and ‘igh goals.”
“He sets high goals for himself?”
Johnny nodded.
“Ashton was like that?”
“Yes.”
I knew I might be treading into sensitive territory, but ever since he’d told me how he’d met Ashton and then described their first date, I was curious as to how their relationship progressed. With Trevor upstairs in his room behind the closed door, and the only distraction being the occasional pop of wood splitting in the fireplace, I asked, “How long after you met Ashton did the two of you start living together?”
“Fo--four month. May, ’86.”
There had been a lot of women in Johnny’s life during the years he’d lived in L.A., a few he was serious about and a large number that he wasn’t. But never in all of that time had he asked any woman to move in with him. That’s probably what made me say, “Ashton must have been very special to you.”
He nodded slowly, then acknowledged with words I had no trouble understanding,
“She was. She really was.”
Johnny pulled the woman to him. He ground their hips together, then ran his hands over the shapely rear-end encased in a pair of form fitting faded Levis. Ever since they’d gone to see their first movie together three months earlier, Johnny was of the opinion that no woman looked sexier in an old pair of jeans than Ashton Margaret Riley. Forget the expensive dresses, high heels, and mink stole. Instead, give him this woman in jeans and a red cashmere sweater that didn’t hide any of her curves.
For the first time since they’d started dating, Ashton allowed her hands to wander freely over Johnny’s body. They exchanged a kiss that quickly deepened and grew so passionate that they moved as one across Johnny’s kitchen floor in a slow dance to no music. Johnny knew Ashton wasn’t inexperienced by any means. After all, she’d lived with her former fiancé, and was involved with a professor while in college. She’d been honest with Johnny and told him that her hesitation to engage in a sexual relationship came from her fear that she’d ultimately be hurt and betrayed, as had happened with Andrew Bishop. Each time the subject came up, Johnny promised Ashton he’d never do that to her, but he also realized he had to prove it. He had to gain her trust through his actions, and through allowing her to get to know him.
Waiting to have sex for three months with a woman he so greatly desired wasn’t easy for Johnny. Had he been younger, he’d have probably been foolish enough to walk away from this celibate relationship without giving it a chance to flourish. But he was mature enough now to see all he might lose if he broke things off with Ashton just because she wasn’t ready to go to bed with him. So he was patient, and was even surprised to discover the experience of dating Ashton without sex involved was a huge turn on. He literally had to wine her and dine her in a way he’d never done before with any woman, not even his wife. Johnny and Kim were barely out of high school when they married. Therefore, their romance had been a teenage one in every sense of the word. With Ashton, it was far beyond anything like that. Far beyond anything Johnny had experienced with any woman he’d ever dated.
Johnny copied Ashton movements. His hands slid up the back of her sweater, just like her own hands were sliding up the back of his shirt. When her hands slithered to his chest, he unhooked her bra and caressed his way over her round full breasts. She didn’t appear to be a big-busted woman in her clothing, but God, by feel alone he could tell she’d been hiding treasures he couldn’t wait to explore further.
They kissed and caressed until they were both panting. Until their hands traveled downward and they were fumbling with snaps and zippers. Johnny forced himself to stop rubbing his thumb within the folds of her open zipper. She moaned as he pulled back slightly.
Her eyes were dark with desire as she questioned in a husky voice, “John?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been such a gentleman when all he really wanted was to plunge himself inside a woman. He wasn’t certain he ever had been.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. “Are you ready?”
“God yes, I’m ready. I’m sure. I’m sure, John. I want this.” She placed a hand on the front of his jeans and squeezed. “Lord do I want this.”
Johnny’s eyes twinkled at the thought of what was to follow. “All right, if you’re sure then.”
Ashton gave a little cry of delight as Johnny scooped her into his arms. She kicked off her shoes as he carried her to the condo’s master bedroom, their lips molded together the entire way there.
Later, after they’d made long and drawn out love twice and were cuddled together on Johnny’s bed beneath the thick maroon comforter, Ashton said he’d treated her like a virgin, and that she loved him all the more for it even though his gentleness and patience weren’t necessary.
Like a lot of things that were firsts that night, it was the first time since they’d started dating that she said she loved him. He slid on top of her again, nuzzled her hair, whispered, “I love you, Ashton,” and then made love to her for a third time. This session was frenzied and filled with a passion Johnny could barely control. A display meant to show Ashton that Johnny knew she wasn’t a virgin, but instead, a woman who instinctively understood how to satisfy him in the same way he seemed to know how to satisfy her.
The next month brought a variety of dates, then returning to Johnny’s condo to make love and spend the night together. Soon it seemed silly for Ashton to pay apartment rent given she was at Johnny’s more than she was at her own home. Her lease was due to expire at the end of May. It was the perfect time for Johnny to ask her to move in with him. He didn’t hesitate to do so, and Ashton didn’t hesitate to say yes.
She’d been renting a furnished apartment so she had few personal items to bring to Johnny’s with her other than her clothing, shoes, jewelry and medical textbooks. When Johnny teased her on the day he moved her things to the condo by saying, “For a woman, you travel light,” she responded with, “Denver was never meant to be permanent. I’ll be headed back to New York eventually.”
Johnny should have taken that comment as his first warning of what their future might hold since he had no strong desire to move again, and especially not to New York City. But he was head over heels in love, and “eventually” seemed like a long way off, especially on that gorgeous spring day in Colorado when the sun bounced off of Ashton’s hair as she made trips from the Land Rover to the condo with armfuls of clothing.
Johnny had moved into the condo on January 20th with the help of the guys he worked with just like he’d planned. And like he’d planned as well, by the end of January he’d brought all of the items to the condo that were in storage. When he wasn’t at work or seeing Ashton, Johnny spent the winter unpacking, wallpapering, and decorating. The condo’s builder had contracted a crew to put a coat of white paint on all of the walls that blended blandly with the beige carpeting in the great room, hallway, and bedrooms.
The first thing Johnny decided after he moved in was that the condo needed some color. By the time Ashton moved in, he had it transformed to a manly lair. Various shades of maroon, brown, blue and green dominated throughout. Johnny’s taste in wallpaper ran toward stripes and plaids, and in the laundry room, paper that depicted a man fly-fishing in a stream. Nothing with flowers, or teapots, or pastel colors, or anything else that women usually chose. Because of this, Johnny told Ashton she could change whatever she wanted to, especially in the master bedroom and bathroom, where maroon and hunter green were the predominate colors. Ashton said everything looked just fine to her, and that besides, “We won’t be living here forever.”
That should have been Johnny’s second warning Ashton had other goals for her life that might not include Denver, and when she said, “we” he should have realized she was already making future plans for both of them that he hadn’t been consulted about. But their relationship was young, and she still had two more years of her internship at Central Hospital, and he was happier than he’d been in a long time, so it was easy to get lost in his love for her and ignore what Johnny perceived to be “little things” they could hash out in the future.
Ashton worked long hours at the hospital like all interns do, while Johnny’s career involved twenty-four shifts, plus any overtime that came his way. When the couple had time off together, Johnny introduced Ashton to hiking, kayaking, fishing, and camping. She enjoyed the first two activities, but wanted no part of fishing or c