Chapter 17

 

  

Despite the hard work, and Chet Kelly’s badgering, Johnny enjoyed his two weeks at Jackson Lake. The first week spent in solitude had been just what he’d needed, and the second week spent with old friends had also been just what he’d needed.  The men called it quits by six each night, and then gathered in Chet’s backyard that overlooked the lake to eat supper around a bonfire.  They’d talk until it grew dark, and then talk some more.  Shop talk about the L.A. fire department, shop talk about the fire department in Eagle Harbor, talk about Marco’s restaurant and catering business, and talk about their families. Johnny was the only one who didn’t contribute when the subject turned to children and grandchildren, or in Marco’s case, nieces and nephews.  He knew it wasn’t lost on his friends that he didn’t mention Trevor, but they respected his silence and didn’t pressure him for news of the teenager. Surprisingly enough, even Chet respected Johnny’s reticence where Trevor was concerned, which meant one of two things. Either Chet had acquired some semblance of tact in recent years, or Roy had pulled him aside and warned him to keep his mouth shut.  An educated guess told Johnny it was the latter, but regardless of how it had come about, Johnny was simply grateful that Chet was remaining mum on this subject.

 

     By the time Saturday evening arrived, Chet’s house was taking shape.  The new shingles were in place, the back deck had been rebuilt, and Johnny and Roy had rewired the house while the other three men trimmed trees, dug out dead bushes, cleared away brush, and mowed the lawn. Chet still had a lot of work ahead of him if he wanted his vacation home to truly be what he pictured in his mind, but between the help he’d have from Collin and Ryan for two weeks in mid-August, and the fact that three of Chet’s brothers were going to help him for a couple of weeks in October, Chet thought by the time winter arrived the house would be looking pretty good. 

 

     Johnny had nodded his agreement to that statement as the men sat around the bonfire on Saturday night. Chet’s vacation house was similar to what Johnny had thought of buying, or possibly building, for himself when he retired. He didn’t own his sumptuous home in Eagle Harbor; it belonged to the fire department. When Johnny retired, which he figured he’d be doing sometime between his sixty-seventh and seventieth birthdays, the house would be passed onto the new fire chief.  Johnny wasn’t positive he’d stay in Eagle Harbor then.  If Trevor did become a doctor, then depending on where in Alaska he set up practice had been where Johnny thought he might live.  Alaska was filled with small towns that contained small fire departments. Johnny had pictured himself working as a part-time volunteer firefighter and paramedic in his later years, while at the same time living near his son. But who knew what would happen now?  The way things were currently looking, it was possible that Trevor would never return to Alaska. If that proved to be the case, then Johnny had no idea what his future held.  Maybe he’d just go on being Eagle Harbor’s fire chief until he died, or until he got so old they kicked him out.  He loved his job, and he loved Eagle Harbor and the people who inhabited it, so that alternative wasn’t the worst one in the world if his son never came back to him. 

 

     Johnny blocked out the conversation around him as the logs on the fire crackled and spit. In January he wouldn’t have imagined that seven short months later, he’d be wondering if Trevor would ever live with him again. He wished he could turn the clock back and seize the moment when things began to fall apart between himself and his son, because somehow that moment had passed him by. One minute they were arguing about the petty things all teenagers argue over with their parents, and then the next thing Johnny knew, May had arrived and they were engaged in an all-out war. This past week he’d found himself envying the relationship Chet had with Ryan.  He’d watched them work together, and tease and poke fun at one another. Then there had been times when Chet would give his son a pat on the back, or Ryan would do the same to Chet, and Johnny would think, That’s all I want for Trevor and me. I’ve always wanted our relationship to keep the father and son element to it, but I had always hoped that once he reached adulthood, we could be friends, too.

 

     Johnny had made his weekly phone call to Trevor on Friday evening. Considering the last time they’d talked, they’d gotten into an argument over the party Trevor wanted to attend, their conversation was understandably strained.  If nothing else, Johnny was happy that Trevor was working at the Gap.  He figured employment, to some extent anyway, would keep the teen out of trouble, and give him something to do during the long hours that Ashton and Franklin were away from the apartment.  Nonetheless, it wasn’t the life Johnny wanted for his son, and the fact that his fifteen-year-old was so far from him, and living with so little supervision, worried the hell out of him.

 

     Johnny leaned forward in his chair and massaged his temples.  He’d woken with a headache that morning, and no amount of Motrin would abate it.  Nor was the Motrin helping the sore muscles in his thighs, lower back, and shoulders. 

 

     Based on the concern in Roy’s tone, Johnny realized this was the second time the man was asking him, “Johnny?  Are you okay?”

 

     “Um...yeah.” Johnny straightened and rolled his neck from side to side. “Just tired.  I’ve had a headache all day I can’t get rid of, and I’m kinda sore, but I’m okay.”

 

     “Whatsa’ matter, Gage,” Chet asked, “gettin’ old?”

 

     Johnny glared at the Irishman, who was seated to his left on the other side of Marco.  “No, Kelly, I’m not gettin’ old. Maybe I’m sore and tired because you’ve just gotten two weeks of free labor outta me. Ever think of that?”

 

     “Nope, that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Like I said, I think you’re gettin’ old.”

 

     Johnny grabbed the arms of the lawn chair to use as leverage to push himself to his feet.  He bit back a groan at the pain that shot through his thighs.

 

     “Well, Chet, since both you and my son think I’m ancient, I guess it’s time for this old codger to go to bed.”

 

     “Hey, Johnny, come on.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  It’s only eight o’clock.  I thought we’d go inside and play cards in a few minutes.”

 

     “You guys play all the cards you want to.  I’m goin’ to bed.”

 

     “Okay,” Chet reluctantly agreed, uncertain if what he’d said to Johnny about being old was driving the fire chief away, or if, in fact, Johnny was sore and tired like he claimed.  “See ya’ in the morning.”

 

     “Yeah, see ya’ in the morning.”

 

     “Good night, Johnny,” Marco said.

 

     “Night.”

 

     “See ya’ in the morning, Johnny.”

 

     “Yeah, Ryan, I’ll see you then.”

 

     Roy was the only one who didn’t bid Johnny goodnight. He watched the man walk to the back door, his gait stiff and cautious, as though every step was painful.

 

     “He’s not moving too good,” Chet said once Johnny had entered the house.

 

     “He looks pretty sore,” Marco agreed.

 

     “Roy?”

 

Roy turned to face Chet. “What?”

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

Roy couldn’t help but smile.  Johnny’s number one foe was still the guy who worried about him the most sometimes.

 

“I’d say he’s tired and sore.”

 

“Roy...”

 

“Chet, if Johnny says he’s tired and sore, then he’s tired and sore.”

 

“But he was okay yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, but like he said, he’s been up here working for two weeks now.  I know we all think of Johnny Gage as Station 51’s perpetual kid, but let’s face it, guys, Johnny hasn’t been twenty-five in a long time now, and neither have we.”

 

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t argue with that,” Marco said as he stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to relieve a few sore muscles of his own.

 

Ryan reached over and smacked Chet on the thigh.  “Neither can you, Dad.”

 

Ryan’s remark caused Chet to forget about Johnny as he and his son bantered back and forth in typical Kelly fashion.  When the teasing came to an end, Chet put the fire out and led the way into the house.  The four men played cards until eleven, and then one by one headed to bed. 

 

Johnny was sleeping when Roy entered the room they shared.  The light from the full moon that was coming in through the screens of the sliding doors allowed Roy to forego turning on the overhead bedroom light.  This past week of bunking with Johnny had displayed to Roy that the man’s favorite sleeping position was still on his back, with his right arm resting over his eyes.  But tonight, Johnny was on his left side and burrowed deep in his sleeping bag. Roy found that a little odd considering that even with the windows open and the door slid open that led to the deck, the room’s temperature didn’t warrant more covers than a sheet. 

 

Roy kept his footsteps light as he crossed to his cot and sat down.  He removed his work boots and quietly set them on the floor, then stripped down to his boxer shorts. As far as Roy could discern, Johnny never woke while he got ready for bed. Ten minutes after Roy had entered the room, he was sound asleep as well.

 

 

Chapter 18

 

     The same Saturday night Johnny had gone to bed early with a headache, Trevor was walking out of the Gap at eleven o’clock. This was the first evening he’d worked until after dark.  Inventory was being done in the store, and Trevor had volunteered to work as long as needed. He’d punched in at nine that morning, and was glad the day was finally over. As he walked out the back door of the store with his shift manager and another girl, Trevor bid the young ladies goodnight.  His manager, Nicole, asked, “Need a ride home, Trevor?”

 

     The teenager shook his head. “No thanks.”  He knew Nicole lived in the opposite direction from his mother’s apartment, as did the other girl he had worked with that evening, Crystal. Nicole was giving Crystal a ride home as it was.  Trevor didn’t want to impose on Nicole to go out of her way on his behalf.  Besides, it was a nice summer night.  Considering he’d been in the store for over fourteen hours, Trevor was looking forward to the walk home.

 

     “See you on Monday then,” Nicole said in regard to the next time she and Trevor would work together.

 

     “Yeah, see you Monday. Bye, Crystal.”

 

     “Bye, Trev.”

 

     Employing the manners he’d been taught by his father without even thinking about it, Trevor waited until the young women were safely in Nicole’s car before walking out of the small parking lot.  He followed the path Nicole took through the alley. She turned her Hondo Civic right when she came to the main thoroughfare, while Trevor walked in the opposite direction and headed home.

 

     The boy daydreamed as he walked. The sidewalks were filled with people going to and from restaurants and theatres, or just out for a summer evening stroll. Trevor thought about how he’d spent the day, versus how he would have spent it back in Eagle Harbor if he were still living there.  In Eagle Harbor, he would have been outdoors, working for Gus.  He might have done maintenance on a plane, or cleaned out the airport’s hanger or mechanic shop, or flown with Gus while the man tried out a new plane, or just listened to how an old plane they’d just finished repairing sounded. Instead, he’d spent the day cooped up inside a building, folding clothes, returning misplaced items to their proper racks, clerking behind the cash register, and taking inventory.  Admittedly, he was having a hard time understanding how Libby Sheridan could love a job so much that he was beginning to hate.  His co-workers were nice enough, and even though he’d left Zach’s party early, they were still friends.  But despite those factors, Trevor was discovering that, like his father, he wasn’t cut out for a job that didn’t allow him to expend his enormous amount of energy. And, as a direct result of his father’s influence, he’d grown up with a great love for the outdoors, so city dwelling and clerking in a store were not things Trevor enjoyed.  Though admitting that meant admitting he’d made a mistake by coming to live with his mother, and the stubborn fifteen-year-old wasn’t ready to make such a confession. Especially not to his father.

 

     Because he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, Trevor didn’t notice when he’d turned from a busy sidewalk onto one that was far less traveled that evening.  Nor did he notice the three boys who stepped out from an alley and began to follow him.  It wasn’t until Trevor heard footsteps pounding from behind him that he turned around.  All he heard was, “Get him!” before Trevor, too, started to run.

 

     Because he’d been caught unaware, Trevor had little chance to flee the boys who were intent on getting his wallet.  He was flung to the sidewalk and felt the weight of three bodies on top of him.  His mind automatically begged, “Papa, help me!” as fists pounded against his sides, and a hand groped his back right pant’s pocket where his wallet was nestled. 

 

     Trevor was no match for the boys and he knew it.  He also knew he would have been seriously injured if sirens hadn’t suddenly sounded, along with a man’s voice projecting from a speaker.

 

     “Hey, stop that!  Break it up!”

 

     Trevor’s assailants scrambled to their feet and ran before they were able to hurt him further, or able to get his wallet. The teenager didn’t know who was more shocked when a man gently helped him sit up, himself or Captain Blain.

 

     “Trevor?”

 

     Trevor sat on the curb the captain led him to. For the first time he saw both the Station 83 engine and paramedic squad parked on the street with their red lights illuminating the area in strobe fashion.

 

Trevor spoke around a split lower lip to the man who was crouched beside him. “What...what are you doing here?”

 

“We were headed back to the station after a run and saw those boys tangling with you.” Captain Blain moved aside as his paramedics knelt in front of Trevor. “I didn’t know it was you they were beating up, but I figured whoever was underneath that monkey pile needed help.”

 

“Thanks,” Trevor said, wincing as his bloody lip was dabbed with gauze.  “I don’t even know who those guys were.”

 

“I’m guessing they were trying to mug you.”

 

“Mug me? But why? I never did anything to them.  I don’t even know them.”

 

Captain Blain gave the boy a sad smile. “Well, Trev, welcome to the big city. Unfortunately, whether or not someone knows you has little to do with whether or not they commit a crime against you.”

 

After taking Trevor’s vital signs, asking him questions, and examining his abdomen and rib cage, the paramedics determined his injuries didn’t extend beyond a few bruises, his split lip, and a long scrape on his left cheek where his face had landed against the sidewalk. They cleaned his face and conferred as to whether or not he should be taken to the hospital.

 

“No,” Trevor said. “I’m fine.  I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

 

“Trevor, you’re a minor,” the captain said.  “I can’t—“

 

“My mother’s a doctor. She’s home from work by now.  I’ll have her look at me when I get there.”

 

“I’m not sure—“

 

“I don’t live far from here. I’ll be fine. Mom can look at me when I get home.”

 

The last thing Trevor needed was his father finding out he’d walked home from work after dark, been mugged, and ended up in the hospital. Trevor knew he’d be in big trouble over this incident with Pops, and while he knew he deserved to be chastised for his foolishness, he just wasn’t up to going another round with his father on the telephone.  If he were in the hospital, there was no way his mother would keep that fact from his father.  But, if he downplayed this, then maybe Mom wouldn’t tell Pops.

 

“Really, Captain Blain, I’m okay.”

 

“I should at least call the cops so you can give them a statement.”

 

“No, don’t,” Trevor pleaded, again fearful that his father would find out about this if the police got involved. “I didn’t see the guys, so there’s nothing I can tell the cops anyway. I’m fine. I just wanna go home.”

 

The man thought a moment, then nodded to his paramedics who began to gather their equipment.

 

“All right. If you say so.”  The captain hooked a hand under Trevor’s right armpit and helped him stand.  He led the boy to the passenger side of the fire engine.  “Come on. Climb in.”

 

“Why?”

 

“We’re taking you home.”

 

“You can’t do that. You’re on-duty.  You’ll get in trouble.”

 

“Why? You plan to tell on me?”

 

“No, but—“

 

“Then don’t worry about it.  If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m doing my civic duty as a public servant of New York City.” The man smiled.  “Now climb in and give Ben directions to your mom’s place.”

 

Trevor did as he was instructed. He sat between the engineer, Ben, and Captain Blain, and told Ben how to get to his mother’s apartment.  The paramedic squad headed back to the station while the engine turned left at the next corner. Within five minutes Trevor was standing in front of his mother’s building.  The night-shift doorman stepped out to see if everything was all right. When Captain Blain assured him that there was no emergency, he went back into the building.

 

Captain Blain’s crew waited in the truck while the man said goodbye to Trevor.

 

“Now I’m taking your word for it that you’ll tell your mother what happened and have her look at you.”

 

“I will.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Thanks for bringing me home.  And thanks for helping me.  I...those guys would have really hurt me if you hadn’t come along.”

 

“Hey, from one firefighter’s brat to another, no thanks are necessary, okay?”

 

Despite the pain it caused him, Trevor smiled.  Since meeting Rich Blain, he’d come to learn that the man’s father had been a firefighter for forty years before his retirement in 2002.

 

“Okay.”  Trevor waved to the men in the truck, and then turned for the door and the heavily lit foyer beyond it.

 

“Trevor?”

 

The teenager turned around to once again face Captain Blain.

 

“Yeah?”

 

 

“There’s no shame in admitting you made a mistake.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The more I get to know you, the more I get the impression you aren’t happy living here.”

 

Trevor’s eyes dropped to the sidewalk as he shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, yeah...I’m happy.”

 

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

 

Trevor looked up at the man. “Now you sound like my pops.”

 

“So he doesn’t think you’re happy here either?”

 

“No, he doesn’t, but that’s just ‘cause he wants me to move back hom...back to Eagle Harbor.”

 

“I don’t know exactly what happened between you and your father, but you’ve told me enough that I can take a pretty good guess.”

 

“We had a few fights,” Trevor confessed. “We don’t always see eye to eye.”

 

Rich laughed. “What father and son do see eye to eye when the son is a teenager?”

 

Trevor didn’t have an answer for the man’s question, which caused the captain to continue.  “Listen, Trev, not everyone is cut out for big city life, just like not everyone is cut out for small town life. From the way you’ve described Eagle Harbor, it sounds beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine living there.”

 

“You’d love it.  It’s a great place to live.”

 

“I’m sure it is, but I’m a city boy, born and raised here in New York. I couldn’t adapt to life in Alaska.  It just wouldn’t be for me. So given that, maybe life here in New York isn’t for you.”

 

“Maybe,” Trevor reluctantly admitted. “I’ve...sometimes I wonder about that.”

 

Captain Blain placed his hand on Trevor’s right shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It was a boy’s choice to leave Alaska, Trevor. But if you return...well, that will be a man’s choice, because it takes a man to admit he’s made a mistake, apologize to someone he’s hurt, and then move on.”

 

Trevor nodded while absorbing the man’s words.

 

“Now go in and have your mom take a look at you. And if you do decide to leave New York, make sure you come by the station and tell me and the guys goodbye.”

 

“I will.”

 

“See ya’, Trev.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Trevor watched as the man climbed up into the cab of the big rig.  As Ben started to pull away from the curb, Trevor called over the noise of the rumbling diesel engine, “Thanks, Captain Blain!”

 

Using a gesture that made Trevor think of his father, Captain Blain gave the boy a thumbs-up as the truck headed down the street.

 

Trevor watched until he could no longer see the vehicle, and then entered his mother’s building.  Captain Blain had given him a lot to think about, not the least of which was the difference between a boy and a man.

 

_____________________

 

   

Trevor used his key to enter the apartment. The only light shining was coming from an antique lamp in the living room. His mother was curled up in one corner of the sofa wearing a pair of pale blue stain pajamas and a matching robe. She had the television on, but wasn’t paying any attention to it as she read a medical journal she had open in her lap. She turned when she heard the door close and lock. Trevor’s face was still hidden in the shadows of the foyer when his mother said, “I was beginning to wonder where you were.”

 

Because he usually didn’t see his mother before she left for work in the morning, Trevor always left a note on the kitchen bulletin board for her that let her know when he’d be home from work.  Oftentimes that made little difference since he was generally home before her each evening, but it was another habit he’d been taught by his father – the courtesy of leaving a note to let a family member know where you were and when to expect you back.

 

“I left you a note,” Trevor said as he bent to remove his tennis shoes.

 

“I saw it. But it’s after midnight. I was expecting you home forty-five minutes ago.”

 

     Then in that case, if you were Pops, you would have come looking for me, instead of sitting here watching TV.

 

     Trevor was surprised at the bitter note behind his thoughts, but chalked his feelings up to weariness and a sore face.

 

     It was that sore face that prompted his mother to set her journal on the coffee table and stand when Trevor stepped out of the shadows of the foyer.

 

     “Honey, what happened?”

 

Trevor thought of lying to his mother. He knew exactly what he could say that she’d believe.  He could tell her that he and Zach were racing one another down the sidewalk and that he fell. He almost did say it, but then he remembered Captain Blain’s words about being a man, and how so much of the reason why he was in New York in the first place was because he wanted to prove to his father that he deserved to be treated like a man.

 

“I...some guys tried to mug me.”

 

“Trevor!”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

 

Ashton led her son to the couch.  As she carefully probed his face she said, “It looks like these wounds have been cleaned.”

 

“They have been. The paramedics from Station 83 took care of them for me.”

 

“You were hurt badly enough that someone called paramedics?”

 

“No, no,” Trevor said, then told his mother how the men from Station 83 just happened to come along while the mugging was in process.

 

“That was a blessing,” Ashton said. 

 

“Yeah, it was.”

 

Ashton parted Trevor’s hair and probed for bumps while asking him if he’d been hit on the head or had lost consciousness.

 

“No.”

 

“You’re not dizzy or nauseous?”

 

“No.”

 

“And you’re not hurt anywhere else?”

 

“Just some bruises around my ribs, but I’m okay.”

 

“Let me see.”

 

“Mom...”

 

“Trevor, let me see.”

 

Trevor unbuttoned his khaki safari shirt and allowed his mother to examine his ribcage.  As he knew would be the case, she didn’t find any signs of injury, and he was able to tell her that no, he didn’t feel any pain each time she palpated his ribs and then his abdomen. When Trevor’s mother asked him if he’d reported this to police, he told her the same he’d told Captain Blain. He hadn’t gotten a look at the faces of the boys who assaulted him, so what was the point?  His mother didn’t insist they call the cops anyway, like his father would have, which further emphasized to the young man how different his mother and father were in terms of their parenting styles.

 

“Okay, Mr. Gage, you can button your shirt,” the doctor said to her son with a smile.  “I believe you’re fine.”

 

“I am.”

 

Ashton reached out and fingered combed Trevor’s thick bangs back into place. “Good. And since you are fine, we won’t mention this incident to your father, all right?”

 

Trevor mulled this suggestion over a moment. It’s not as though he wanted to mention this to his father, especially since he’d been told by his father not to walk home after dark, but still, he found it surprising that his mother wasn’t going to make him tell Pops. Or, if nothing else, tell Johnny herself. Trevor knew Pops would tell her if something like this had happened to him in Eagle Harbor. 

 

“Trev?”

 

“All right. If that’s what you want.”

 

“I think it will be easier on both of us if we don’t bare our souls where this matter is concerned, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“I know your father has told you not to walk home after dark.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Because he’s told me not to let you walk home after dark.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Then where were you tonight when you read my note and knew I’d be getting off of work so late?

 

“So, from now on, honey, please call a cab if it’s dark when you get off of work, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Trevor acknowledged, while at the same time pushing away the disappointment he was feeling over the fact that his mother didn’t say she’d pick him up if he had to work late, or that she’d have Franklin do so.  Again, it was another reminder of how different his life was in her household as opposed to what it had been in his father’s household. 

 

Trevor stood to button his shirt and tuck it back into the olive green cargo pants he was wearing. 

 

“Now, young man, I think you’d better get to bed,” Ashton said, as she turned off the TV.  “Everyone else is asleep, so you and I should join them.”

 

Trevor couldn’t deny that he was tired, but other than the first two weeks he’d spent here, he so rarely had time alone with his mother, that if he was going to get a question answered that had been plaguing him for months, now was the time to ask it.

 

“Mom?”

 

Ashton looked up as she set the remote control on the corner of a marble-topped end table. “Yes, sweetheart?”

 

“How come you and Pops never got married?”

 

Silence lingered in the room.

 

“Mom? How come? It’s because he didn’t ask you, isn’t it? It’s because he didn’t want to make a commitment to you.”

 

Ashton looked her son in the eyes, eyes such a deep shade of chocolate brown like his father’s.

 

“That’s it, right?” Trevor pushed on when his mother didn’t answer him. “He didn’t want to make a commitment to you, did he?”

 

Ashton didn’t answer her son.  Instead, she put an arm around Trevor’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

 

“Where?”

 

“To the kitchen. I didn’t have any supper, how about you?”

 

“Just a sandwich on my break at five o’clock.”

 

“Then I’ll make us some scrambled eggs and toast.”

 

“But I wanna know about you and Pops. About what happened. About why the two of you never got married.”

 

“If you think you’re ready to hear some things you might not like, then I’ll tell you,” Ashton said softly. “But in the kitchen, while we eat.”

 

Trevor hesitated a moment, but when he saw his mother would have it no other way, he nodded.  He didn’t even know she could cook, since he’d never seen her do that domestic chore in all the years he’d been visiting her.

 

The living room and formal dining room were really one vast room in the center of the apartment.  Franklin’s study and the master bedroom suite were housed in a short hallway off the living room, while the remaining three bedrooms and bathroom were in a hallway behind the dining room. The kitchen was through a swinging door off the north end of the dining room.  Trevor followed his mother into the room, squinting slightly as the bright overhead light she turned on assaulted his eyes.

 

As anxious as Trevor was to continue the conversation that had been started in the living room, he respected his mother’s silence as she prepared scrambled eggs while instructing Trevor to make toast.  Considering her profession, she was generally conscientious about the foods she ate, therefore Trevor was surprised to see her add shredded cheese to the eggs, and pull out a frozen bag of hash browns that she cooked in a separate pan. She smiled at her son when she caught him watching her. 

 

“Just don’t snitch on me to Franklin, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Trevor got out plates and silverware, and set the items on the center island behind him.  When the food was dished up, his mother poured herself a glass of orange juice, and her son a glass of milk.

 

“You love milk, just like your father always did.”

 

“He still does. He drinks even more of it now that he quit drinking coffee a few years ago.”

 

“I’m sure he does,” Ashton agreed.

 

Trevor carried the plates to the square oak table at the far end of the kitchen, his mother following with the beverages. They ate in silence until their plates were half empty, then Ashton sat back in her chair and dapped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

 

“That tastes good, even if I do say so myself.” 

 

“It is good. Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Ashton played with her fork a moment, and then asked, “Trevor, do want to hear the truth about your father and me, even if that truth isn’t what you expect it to be?”

 

“I wanna hear it.”

 

“Even if it hurts you?”

 

“Hurts me? How is it gonna hurt me?”

 

“Trev, not every situation in life is as we imagine it to have been. Especially a situation like this – one you have no memory of.  I get the impression you’ve created a certain...vision in your mind of the time your father and I spent together.  If you find out that vision is wrong, can you accept that?”

 

“Sure I can.”

 

“Don’t sound so certain of something you know nothing about, sweetheart.”

 

“But how can I know about it if you and Pops won’t tell me?”

 

“Just what has your father told you?”

 

“All he’s told me is that the two of you never got married because it wouldn’t have worked out.”

 

“And what do you think about that?”

 

“I think it’s an excuse, for one thing. I think he doesn’t want to tell me that he never asked you, and that eventually you got tired of waiting around for him to, and left us. Then you came here to New York and found other opportunities, and that was the end of it. Even if Pops had wanted to ask you, it was too late.” 

 

“I see. Well, son, you’re wrong. Your father asked me to marry him numerous times. I...I continuously turned him down.”

 

Trevor’s jaw dropped. For so many months now, he had been certain he’d had his parents’ relationship figured out.  He had been certain he knew the reasons why a marriage never took place, and why he’d been raised clear across the country from his mother.  He’d thought it was his father’s fault. He’d thought his father had somehow driven his mother away.

 

“But...but why?”

 

     “For a number of reasons, the main one being exactly what he told you.  A marriage between us just wasn’t going to work out.”

 

     “But why not?”

 

     “Honey, look around you. Look at how I live.  Look at where I live. Look at the lifestyle I’ve created for myself.”

 

     “Yeah? So?”

 

     “Now think of your father and the man he is. Of where he lives, and the lifestyle he’s created for himself and you.  Do you really think John...your father, would be happy living here in New York in this apartment?”

 

     Trevor thought of his life in Eagle Harbor. The home in the wilderness surrounded by pine trees and mountains. The barn and the animals it contained.  The way his father loved to hike, and camp, and fish, and ride horses. The way his father loved the responsibilities he had to the hamlet of Eagle Harbor and the surrounding small communities.  The way everyone knew his father by name and by sight, and depended on him for so many things. Important things, like running Eagle Harbor’s fire department and paramedic program.  Fun things, like organizing the town’s picnic each summer and Christmas parade each winter.  Charitable things, like the holiday food and clothing drive. And then the things John Gage didn’t get paid for, like visiting elderly people who were housebound and in need of periodic basic medical care such as blood pressure checks or a minor wound treated. 

 

“I...I...no, I don’t guess Pops would wanna live like this.”

 

     “He doesn’t. He didn’t.  That’s one of the reasons why things didn’t work out between us.”

 

     “But you guys lived together for seven years. How could you live together for seven years and not figure out a way to make it work?”

 

     “Seven years?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “We only lived together for six years, sweetie. Actually, about five and half.”

 

     “Huh?”

 

     “We went our separate ways right after you were born.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “You didn’t know?”

 

     “No. I...I guess I always assumed that you and Pops lived together until he and I moved to Eagle Harbor when I was a year old. That’s when I thought you came to New York.  I...I thought he drove you away. I thought he wouldn’t let you take me with you.”

 

     “How long have you thought this?”

 

     “I don’t know.  I guess for the past six months or so.”

 

     “Trevor, I realize you and father haven’t gotten along very well since Christmas, but it sounds to me as though you’ve been fabricating things in your mind in an effort to have a reason to be angry with him.”

 

     “No, I haven’t been! And besides, it’s not my fault he won’t tell me the truth.”

 

     “To a large extent, he did tell you the truth when he told you that things weren’t going to work out between himself and me.”

 

     “But—“

 

     Ashton held up a hand to silence her son, who, when he got on a rant, could be just like his father when it came to trying to stop him. “And I strongly suspect the reason he hasn’t told you more than that is because he’s afraid the truth would hurt you. Along with that, he’s protecting me, and protecting my relationship with you.”

 

     “Protecting you?  How?  Why?”

 

     “The why is easy. Because that’s just the kind of man he is. The how...this is the how...if you think you’re old enough to hear the truth, that is.”

 

     “I’m old enough.”

 

     And so Trevor heard the how.  He heard how his mother hadn’t wanted children back then. He heard how her schooling and career were her top priorities during the years she was living with his father. He heard how she had wanted to have an abortion when she found out she was pregnant with him, and he heard how his father had begged her not to.  Then he heard how, on the day he was born, his mother handed him to his father and said, “Here. He's yours. You wanted him, you raise him.” 

 

     After that, Trevor heard how his mother had not returned to the condominium his father had owned in Denver when she was released from the hospital after his birth, but instead had lived with a girlfriend for a short period of time before moving to New York. According to Trevor’s mother, it then wasn’t until he was three years old that she had expressed interest in establishing a relationship with him.

 

     “I can’t and won’t make excuses for the past, Trevor,” the woman said when her story was done.  “I’ve been very blessed to get to know you as my son these past twelve years, and to have you in my life.  If it hadn’t been for your father’s willingness, I wouldn’t have gotten to know you at all. He’s your custodial parent.  He could have refused my request to have a yearly visit with you, especially considering you were three before I expressed a desire to establish that arrangement.  If John had wanted to fight me on it, it’s quite possible a judge would have ruled for him based on the fact that I had willingly walked out of your life the day you were born.  And then, added to that, the fact that through e-mails and phone calls, your father has kept me abreast of so many of your accomplishments and events these past twelve years. Again, he didn’t have to do that, and honestly, I never asked him to. You’re his whole world, Trevor, and he’s done his best to make certain you’re a part of my world, too, even though I think, deep down, there have been times when John wishes I’d never come back into his life when you were three.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     Ashton gave her son a sad smile. “Don’t you think it might be hard for him to see me married to Franklin?  Don’t you think it might be hard for him to have to communicate with the woman who turned down his marriage proposals?”

 

     “Yeah,” Trevor nodded thoughtfully, “I suppose it is.”

 

     The woman reached across the table and grasped her son’s hand in hers.

 

“Trevor, I can’t tell you what to think of me as a result of what you’ve just learned. Only you can sort out your feelings about all of this. I’ll respect anything you decide, or whatever choices you make, now that you know the truth. I had never planned to tell you any of this, any more than it sounds like your father planned to share it with you. But I couldn’t let you go on blaming your father for something that wasn’t his fault, or assuming things about his role in the breakup of our relationship that just aren’t true. Your father is a good man, Trevor. He loves you so much. He wanted you so much. Despite the fact that the day you were born marked the end of our relationship, your father’s eyes lit up every time he held you.  He did what a lot of men in his position wouldn’t have.  He took you with him and made a home for you.  He always worked his schedule, and his life, around you and your needs.  He passed up a promotion within the Denver Fire Department when you were just weeks old, because he knew it would interfere with his ability to be with you.  He chose to move to Eagle Harbor because he didn’t want to raise you in a big city, but instead, wanted to give you the safety and security of small town life. Whether or not the choices he made for himself are choices I would have made, is neither here nor there.  John’s choices have always been based on what’s best for you, and I can never fault him for that.”

 

Trevor nodded because the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow him to speak. He squeezed his mother’s hand, while keeping his eyes on his plate. When he released her hand and stood, he kissed the top of her head, said softly, “I love you, Mom. Thanks for telling me,” and headed for his bedroom.

 

Ashton knew she’d given Trevor a lot to think about.  As she began cleaning up the kitchen, she wondered how much longer it would be before he decided to return to Eagle Harbor.

 

 

_____________________

 

    

Libby,

 

     My mom told me some really shocking news last night.  She wanted to have an abortion when she was pregnant with me, but Pops begged her not to. He had asked her to marry him a lot of times, too, but she kept telling him no. I wish Pops had told me the truth when I’d asked, but I realize he was trying to protect my mom. Trying to make her look good in my eyes, you know what I mean?  I wish he hadn’t done that, though.  I wish he’d told me the truth, because now I know I said some things that must have hurt him a lot.

    

     I got mugged last night, but they didn’t get my wallet, and I’m okay. Pops had told me not to walk home from the Gap after dark, but I did anyway.  I’m going to tell him about it when I talk to him. I know he’ll be mad, but that’s okay, because I deserve to get yelled at.

 

     Today’s my day off from work, and I’m glad. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

 

Trevor    

 

       

     Chapter 19

 

     The last morning spent at Chet’s home wasn’t designated as a morning for work, but instead, it was a morning to load the vehicles, clean the cabinets and refrigerator of all food, and secure the house.  By nine o’clock, three vehicles were headed toward the town of Jackson Lake, where Chet was buying everyone breakfast. Johnny’s gear had been loaded into Roy’s mini-van so that he’d have as few delays as possible when dropping off his rented Explorer.

 

     Johnny didn’t reveal to anyone that he still wasn’t feeling well.  Despite the fact that he’d had eleven hours of sleep, he was tired and plagued by severe muscle aches. His headache was more of a dull throb now, rather than a vicious pound, but nonetheless, it was painful. Roy thought Johnny looked pale and seemed sluggish as they folded their cots and sleeping bags, but when he asked Johnny if he was all right, Roy was told, “Yeah, I’m fine,” so didn’t pursue the matter.

 

     When all Johnny ordered for breakfast was orange juice and toast, Chet quipped, “What’s goin’ on, Gage?  You on a diet or something?”

 

     “No. I’m just not that hungry.”

 

     “Since when?”

 

     “Since now, Chet, okay?”

 

     “Geez, Gage, you don’t have to get testy about it. When a guy’s offering to buy you breakfast you should take him up on it.”

 

     “Tell ya’ what, Kelly, the next time I feel like pancakes, eggs, hash browns, bacon, and French toast all in one sitting, I’ll give you a call.”

 

     “Hey, I’m retired now, remember?  My generosity isn’t gonna extend that far.  Do me a favor and lose my number before you get that hungry.”

 

     “I’ve been tryin’ to lose your number for years, Kelly, but every time I do, you buy an old house and manage to track me down.”

 

     “Shut up, Gage.”

 

     “No, Kelly. You shut up.”

 

     Roy and Marco exchanged smiles over the fact that the week was going to end just as it had begun, with a typical Johnny and Chet exchange. Roy figured that, despite Johnny’s meager breakfast, he couldn’t be feeling that bad if he was up to bantering with Chet.

 

     When breakfast had been eaten and the bill paid, the men gathered in the restaurant’s parking lot to say goodbye.

 

     Chet held his hand out to Johnny. “Gage, even though you’re still a pain in the ass, thanks for all your help these past two weeks.”

 

     Johnny shook the hand he was offered, only to jump and howl, “Chet!” when he grasped a buzzer.

 

     Chet laughed. “Told you the Phantom was gonna have to come out of retirement.”

 

     “Yeah, well if you ever want my help again, you’ll put him back in retirement.”

 

     “Aw, Gage, ever since you’ve become a big shot up there in Alaska you’re no fun,” Chet said as he climbed behind the wheel of his Jeep.  “See you guys next Saturday at Roy’s.” 

 

“See ya’ next Saturday,” Roy confirmed to Chet, Marco, and Ryan.

 

     “See ya’ Saturday,” Johnny said.  “But leave the damn buzzer at home.”

 

     That directive sent Chet into a new round of laughter. “Like I said, Gage, you’re no fun.  But, hey, thanks a lot. And I mean that.”

 

    

     “You’re welcome.”

 

     As Chet drove his Jeep out of the parking lot, Roy and Johnny got in their vehicles.  Johnny led the way through Jackson Lake, and then on to Fresno.  It was noon when Johnny climbed in the passenger seat of Roy’s mini-van.  Roy had waited in the parking lot of the rental car agency while Johnny returned the Explorer.

 

     “Everything all set?” Roy asked.

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “You hungry?”

 

     “Not really, but if you wanna stop somewhere, go ahead.”

 

     “No, I’m not hungry yet. I’ll drive a while.  I just thought you might be hungry since you didn’t have much for breakfast.”

 

     “No, I’m okay.”

 

     “All right,” Roy nodded.  

 

     Johnny kept up his end of the small talk Roy engaged him in for the next few minutes, but then fell silent.  Several miles later, Roy glanced to his right and saw that his friend was sleeping.   

 

     Geez, Junior, and I was even gonna let you drive.

 

     Roy had to wake Johnny up when he pulled into the parking lot of a Burger King at two o’clock. 

 

     “Hey, Johnny, wake up.  Let’s get something to eat.”

 

     Much like that morning at Chet’s house, Johnny seemed sluggish and sore.

 

     “You okay?”

 

     “Yeah. I think Chet worked me like a horse, that’s all.”

 

     “I’ve never known hard work to bother you before.”

 

     “Well, Pally,” Johnny said as he climbed out of the vehicle, “like my son would be happy to tell you, I’m gettin’ old.”

 

     Johnny winced as he walked on sore legs toward the restaurant.  The men visited the rest room first, then Roy approached the counter. 

 

     “What do you want?”

 

     Johnny didn’t look up the menu. “Just a hamburger and a Coke.”

 

     “Nothing else?”

     “No.”

 

     “Just a plain hamburger? Not a Whopper or something like that?”

 

     “No. Just a plain hamburger.”

 

     Johnny reached for his wallet and handed his friend a ten dollar bill.  “Here, use this to pay for yours, too.”

 

     “You don’t have to do that.”

 

     “You put gas in the mini-van, so let me buy lunch.”

 

     Roy didn’t argue, simply because he knew it would do him no good.  John Gage didn’t easily part with his money, but when he insisted he was going to pay for something, then he meant it.

 

     Roy decided to forego a big meal for himself, as well. He knew Joanne would have supper ready at six o’clock, so ordered a cheeseburger and a Coke.

 

     Roy carried the food tray to the table Johnny had chosen. Considering the time of day, the restaurant was empty with the exception of one family of four, and three teenaged girls.

 

     “Whatta ya’ knockin’ my lunch for, if that’s all you’re eating?” Johnny asked as he picked up his hamburger and drink from the tray. 

 

     “I’m not knocking your lunch, but you can afford the calories better than I can.”

 

     Johnny chuckled. “What? Does Joanne still have you on a diet?”

 

     “Joanne always has me on a diet.”

 

     “Then it’s your lucky week, Roy, ‘cause whenever Trevor and...whenever I visit, Jo cooks like she’s feeding an army.”

 

     “Now you know why I want you to visit more often.”

 

     It didn’t escape Roy’s notice that after Johnny had eaten two bites of his hamburger, his enthusiasm for the meal was gone.  He picked off two more small bites with his fingers, and then wrapped the remainder up in the paper.  He swiveled in his seat and deposited his trash in the receptacle behind him. He wouldn’t meet Roy’s eyes after that, which might have meant nothing, or might have meant he didn’t want Roy to ask him why he had eaten so little, or if there was something wrong. 

 

     Roy finished his own meal a few minutes later.  He tried to get Johnny to take his change from the ten off the meal tray, but Johnny shook his head.

 

     “You keep it.”

 

     Roy picked up the four singles and handful of loose change, then carried the tray to the trash bin.  He emptied it of cups and paper before setting the tray in the holder on top of the bin.

 

     “You ready?”

 

     “Yep.”

 

     “Wanna drive?”

 

     “You need me to? Are you tired?”

     “No. I’m not tired. I just thought you might wanna drive the van the rest of the way home.”

 

     This mini-van was new to Roy and Joanne since the last time Johnny had visited, and because he enjoyed driving, he would have normally jumped at the chance to try out the vehicle. But today he said, “No, thanks.”

 

     Roy cocked an eyebrow as the men crossed the parking lot to the van.  “You sure?”

 

     “Yeah. Unless you need a break from driving.”

 

     “I don’t need a break.”

 

     “Then you drive.”

 

     “Okay, who are you and what did you do with John Gage?”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

     “You didn’t make Chet buy you half the menu for breakfast this morning.  You hardly ate anything for lunch. And know you’re turning down my offer to let you drive.  Thirty five years ago, you begged me to let you drive.”

 

     “And since you rarely said yes, I guess I must have gotten used to seeing you in the pilot’s seat, so take us home, Pally.”

 

     “Okay,” Roy agreed as the two men climbed in the van.  Ten minutes later, Roy noticed Johnny was sleeping again.  He frowned with concern, but kept on driving toward Los Angeles.

 

     _____________________

 

    

     Johnny woke up when Roy was thirty minutes from home. 

 

     “Have a good nap?”

 

     Johnny glanced at his friend and smiled slightly with embarrassment. “Yeah. Sorry.  I guess I haven’t been good company today.”

 

     “Don’t worry about it. If you’re tired, you’re tired. You’ve had a couple of...rough months.”

 

     Roy didn’t expect an acknowledgement from Johnny on that subject, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get one.

 

     Johnny seemed to be feeling better, or if nothing else, he held up his end of the conversation for the remainder of the ride.  Roy swung into his driveway at five-thirty.  The twin slams of the van’s doors brought Joanne from the house. She approached her visitor with outstretched arms.

 

     “Johnny!”

 

     Johnny grinned as he hugged the woman. “Hey, Jo.  You look good.”

 

     “You look good too, mister,” the woman said as she kissed Johnny’s cheek before stepping out of their embrace.  The words had been automatic, and now that Joanne was standing in front of Johnny, she realized what she’d said wasn’t true.  Though his arms and neck were deeply tanned from his two weeks spent working outside at Chet’s place, his face was oddly pale in contrast.  There was a weariness around his eyes, too, that made Joanne wonder how much sleep he’d been getting since Trevor left for New York. And, add to that, he’d lost weight.

 

     Joanne kept her observations about Johnny’s appearance to herself.  She assumed everything she was seeing had to do with Trevor’s decision to leave Eagle Harbor.  She gave her husband a hug and a kiss, then stood by while the men unloaded the mini-van.  They hauled Roy’s gear to the garage, but left Johnny’s cot and sleeping bag in the back of the van.  There was no point in unloading it, only to load it up in a week when Johnny flew home to Alaska.  The fire chief grabbed his suitcase and shaving kit, then Roy shut the cargo hold door and locked it. 

 

     Johnny followed the DeSotos into the house.  He didn’t have to be told where he was sleeping, or be shown the way.

 

     “Jennifer’s old room is ready for you,” Joanne said.

 

     Johnny nodded. “Thanks.”

 

     He headed down the hallway behind the dining area, followed by Roy. Johnny turned right into the first bedroom he came to, while Roy proceeded to the end of the hall to the master bedroom. Johnny opened his suitcase, put several articles of clothing in an empty dresser drawer, and set his shaving kit on top of the dresser. He unzipped the kit and took out his bottle of Motrin. He opened the cap, shook two of the pills into this hand, and then put them in the pocket of his blue jeans. He returned the Motrin bottle to the kit and zipped it closed.  He shoved his suitcase under the bed, and put his cell phone on the nightstand for the time being.

 

     Roy had unpacked his own suitcase while Johnny was getting settled in what was now considered to be the guestroom.  The men met up in the hallway again and headed for the kitchen.

 

     Joanne was tossing a salad to go with the pan of manicotti she’d made. She pointed toward the cabinets. “Guys, if you want to set the table on the deck for me, we’ll eat out there.”

 

     The men did as Joanne requested.  They carried plates, silverware and glasses out to the round, wrought iron, white table on the deck.  Johnny looked down at the deck while Roy set the table.

 

     “This has held up pretty good,” the man commented of the deck he’d helped Roy build in 1974.

 

     “Yeah, it has. I’ve had to replace a few boards over the years, but I think the seal-coating I put on each summer has made all the difference in how long it’s lasted.”

 

     Johnny grinned in the boastful way that reminded Roy of the young man he’d been partnered with so many years ago now.

 

“Told you it would.”

 

     “Yeah, you did,” Roy acknowledged of a tip Johnny had given him when they built the deck.

 

     “Who did what?” Joanne asked as she carried out the big wooden salad bowl and a hot pad to set the pan of manicotti on.

 

     “I told Roy if he seal-coated this deck each summer, it would last for years.”

 

     “And he faithfully does just that every June,” Joanne said, “though in Grandpa’s old age, he’s gotten a little lazy.  The last two years he’s hired Libby and Chris’s girls to help him.”

 

     “What’s the matter, Gramps? Can’t handle a little hard work?”

 

     “No, it’s not the hard work I can’t handle, it’s getting on my knees on a hard surface that I can’t handle.”

 

     Johnny laughed. “Tell me about it.”

 

     Roy pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.  I’ll help Jo bring out the rest of the food.”

 

     Roy entered the house through the patio doors while Johnny sat down. The DeSotos returned a minute later, Joanne carrying the pan of manicotti using potholders, and Roy carrying a basket of garlic bread in one hand, and a pitcher of lemonade in the other.

 

     The meal progressed with Joanne getting caught up on news in Johnny’s life that covered the past year.  Though they talked about Johnny’s sister, father, and stepmother, Trevor wasn’t mentioned.  Joanne waited for Johnny to bring the subject of his son up, but when he didn’t, she didn’t either.

 

     When he’d finished eating, Johnny leaned back in his chair and fished in his pocket with his fingertips. When Joanne saw him pop the two pills in his mouth and swallow them with a swig of lemonade, she asked, “Do you have a headache, Johnny?”

 

     “Yeah, kinda. My back and legs have been botherin’ me, too. You know, Chet, he’s gonna get all he can outta free labor.”

 

     “Yes, I know Chet,” Joanne agreed.  The woman gestured to the food on the table. “Seconds?”

 

     “No, thanks.”

 

     “Well, this must be a first.”

 

     “What must be a first?”

 

     “John Gage eating at my table and refusing an offer of a second helping.”

 

     “Sorry. Everything was real good. I’m just not that hungry.”

 

     “You don’t have to be sorry.  I was only teasing.”

 

     When Johnny refused a bowl of ice cream with fresh peach slices, the woman knew he wasn’t feeling good.  She didn’t push the issue, though. She dished up bowls for herself and Roy, and told Johnny if he wanted some ice cream later to feel free to get it.

 

     Joanne wouldn’t let the men help her clean up when dessert was finished. 

 

     “I’m sure you guys had long days up at Chet’s.  Just sit here and relax.  It won’t take me more than a few minutes to get the leftovers in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher.”

 

     “Thanks, honey,” Roy smiled. “The meal was great.”

 

     “Yeah, Jo, thanks again. Everything was good, as always.”

 

     “Oh, you two. I think you’ve spent the last thirty-five years raving about my cooking just so I’ll make more food.”

 

     Johnny smiled at Roy. “Guess she’s onto us, partner.”

 

     “Guess so.”

 

     Joanne made three trips between the table and kitchen, then shut the screen door on the patio.

 

     The men passed the next few minutes in silence.  The smell of hamburgers cooking on a neighbor’s grill mixed with the smell of freshly mowed grass. The shouts of children at play coming from down the street reminded both Johnny and Roy of the many nights they’d sat on this deck when Roy’s kids were small, and watched them play with their friends in the backyard.

 

     The thought of children prompted Roy to ask, “Johnny, this thing with Trevor...how are you doing with it?”

 

     Roy figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of being told something other than, “I’m fine,” but was still surprised when he did get a response that went beyond those two words.

 

     Johnny looked out over the clear water of the DeSoto swimming pool. “Let’s put it this way, Roy. How would you have felt if Chris or John, at the age of fifteen, had chosen to move out of your house?”

 

     “Not too good,” came the honest answer. “Hurt. Angry. Upset. Worried.”

 

     “So now you know how I’m doing.” Johnny propped his elbows on the table and massaged his forehead a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I thought I had done everything right. Or at least done things as right as any parent can in an effort to raise a good kid.  I’ve always spent a lot of time with Trevor. I’ve always encouraged his friends to spend time at our house, rather than the other way around.  I’ve always limited his TV viewing, his time on the Internet, and been careful about what kinds of movies he sees and what types of video games he plays.  I’ve always encouraged him to spend time outdoors, and to read when he was inside, instead of watching TV or playing a video game.  I’ve kept Clarice on as our housekeeper, not because I’ve needed to, but because even though Trevor is old enough to be home alone, I don’t want him to spend hours there by himself while I’m at work.  So here I thought I was doing everything right, when actually, all the stuff I was worried about – the influence of TV, or video games, or movies, or friends, had nothing to do with the reason why my son is living in New York.”

 

     “Why is Trevor living in New York?”

 

     “Oh, gee, let me count the reasons.” Johnny held up a hand and counted off on his fingers.  “Number one. I’m too strict. Number two. I’m too old.  Number three.  I don’t let him do everything he wants to. Number four. I don’t buy him everything his little heart desires.  Number five. I haven’t tried to bribe him with offers of a free college education, new clothes, and who knows what else.”

 

     “And these are things his mother will give him?”

 

     “Oh, yeah. Things. Believe me, Ashton’s big on material possessions.  But even though the thought of it pisses me off – her spoiling Trevor with a lot of crap he doesn’t need – what I really worry about is the fact that I know there’s very little supervision in that home.  Ashton’s gone from early morning until late at night, and Franklin...well, I don’t know exactly what he does, but I know he’s gone most of each day.  I know, without being told, Trevor is more or less on his own now.  I don’t like that thought, Roy.  I don’t like it one bit. Especially because I know all the places it can lead to.”

 

     Roy nodded as he thought of the same things he knew Johnny was worried about - Trevor getting mixed up with the wrong group of kids. As a result of that, there was the potential for drug use, alcohol use, skipping school, smoking, and teen sex, just to name a few concerns.

 

     “You’re the custodial parent, Johnny.  Why not make him come back to Alaska?”    

 

     “I could, but he’s old enough now to go to court and petition for the right to live with his mom. I could fight that, but what good would it do me?  First of all, I don’t have the money Ashton does, which means I’d likely come out on the losing end in a court battle.  And second of all, it will only make Trevor angrier with me. I...I’m trying my best to let this be Trevor’s decision. Which parent he lives with, I mean.  I really thought it would only be about three weeks before he was calling me and telling me he was ready to come back home. I just can’t picture Trev being happy living his mother’s lifestyle.  I...I  know my son too well not to feel pretty certain that, in the long run, living in New York City is not going to be something he enjoys.”

 

     “I see your point,” Roy said, in regards to Johnny letting this choice be Trevor’s. To a lesser extent, he’d seen Jennifer go through this same thing two years earlier when Libby expressed the desire to spend the entire summer in Ohio with her father, Dan Sheridan.  At that time, Dan had been remarried for six years and was the father of a five-year-old son and a three-year-old daughter.  Libby didn’t know her father or her half siblings well.  Jennifer had been reluctant to allow her to go, but at the same time had been afraid not to allow it, for fear Libby would accuse Jennifer of trying to keep Libby from her real father. In the end, Libby made the trip, but after two weeks returned home. She never again mentioned staying with her father, and Roy thought it had done her good to see that life with her mother wasn’t so bad after all.

 

     “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a concerned father, or if, like Trevor says, I don’t want him to grow up.  Maybe I am trying to keep him my little boy forever.”  Johnny raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Roy. I don’t think that’s what I’m doing.  I think I’m allowing him privileges a kid his age deserves.  I just wish he’d understand that I can’t say yes to every request. That when I say no, it’s not because I’m too old to understand what it’s like to be fifteen, but because I love him and have his best interests at heart.”

 

     Roy chuckled. “Johnny, no teenager ever thinks that when his dad says no, it’s because Dad has his best interests at heart.”

 

     Johnny smiled. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

 

     “Believe me, I’ve gone through a lot of this same kind of stuff with each one of my kids.  The only difference between my situation and yours is that Trevor had another option.”

 

     “Huh?”

    

     “Trevor had a place to go when he got mad at you.  He used his mother to fall back on. My kids had no choice.  They could get as ticked off as they wanted to, but they were stuck here with Joanne and me.”

 

     “Yeah, well, right about now I wish Trevor hadn’t had another choice.”

 

     “Maybe that’s part of this.”

 

     “Maybe what’s part of this?”

 

     “Maybe Trevor is trying to get to know his mother.  Maybe he’s trying to connect with her.”

 

     “He knows his mother.”

 

     “Do you really think the two weeks he spends with her every summer makes him feel like he knows her?”

 

     “Yeah...no. I don’t know. No, I don’t suppose it does. The last couple of months before he left, Trev had been asking me a lot of questions about Ashton, and about my relationship with her.”

 

     “What kinds of questions? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

 

     “I don’t mind. As far as the questions go, mostly he wanted to know why Ashton and I never got married.”

 

     “What’d you tell him?”

 

     “The truth. That a marriage between us wouldn’t have worked out.”

 

     “Did you tell him that you did ask Ashton to marry you, but that she said no?”

     “No.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “Because I don’t wanna make her look like a shit in Trevor’s eyes.  Because I’ve always tried to speak positively of her to Trevor. I never wanted him to feel as though he had to take sides where Ashton and I are concerned.”

 

     “But maybe now he’s old enough to hear the truth.”

 

             “Is any kid ever old enough to hear that his mother wanted to abort him?  Is any kid ever old enough to hear that the only reason he’s alive today is because his father had to beg his mother not to abort him?  Is any kid ever old enough to hear that on the day he was born, his mother placed him in his father’s arms and said, ‘Here. You wanted him, now you raise him.’”

 

     “That is some pretty heavy information.”

 

     “Yeah, it is. And as far as I’m concerned, Trevor doesn’t need to know any of it.  He and Ashton have a good relationship.  I might not like the fact that he’s living with his mother, but I do want him to love her, Roy.  It’s not my intention that his feelings for her be any less than that.” 

 

     “Then you’ve just proven what you said earlier.”

 

     “What’s that?”

 

     “That you love him and have his best interests at heart.”

 

     “I suppose so.”

 

     “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Johnny. You’ve done a super job of raising Trevor.  He’s a good kid with a good head on his shoulders.  Give him some more time. If Trevor is the young man I believe him to be, then pretty soon he’ll grow tired of material possessions taking the place of his father’s time and attention.”

 

     “Maybe,” Johnny said as he stood, “but what if he doesn’t?”

 

     Johnny didn’t give Roy a chance to answer. “Listen, I’m sorry to call it a night so early, but I’m beat.”

 

     “You don’t have to apologize. You know where everything is. Make yourself at home and go to bed if that’s what you want to do.”

 

     “Thanks, Roy.”

 

     “Night.”

 

     “Good night.”

 

     Roy heard Johnny said goodnight to Joanne. He smiled as Joanne reminded Johnny where the bath towels were, and that as long as he was guest in their home he was welcome to raid the refrigerator, any time of the day or night. Johnny’s, “Thanks, Jo,” drifted out to Roy, and then a few seconds later he heard the door to the guestroom close.

 

     When Roy’s wife joined him at the table he said, “So he can raid the refrigerator any time of the day or night, but I can’t?”

 

     Joanne gave her husband’s stomach a playful poke.  “He needs to be fattened up. You don’t.”

 

     “Hey, you,” Roy threatened in a teasing tone, before leaning sideways to kiss his wife on the lips.

 

     When the kiss ended, Joanne asked, “How is he, Roy? Really?” She’d heard snatches of the men’s conversation as she worked in the kitchen, but once she started the dishwasher cycling most of their words had been lost on her.

 

     “He’s hurting, Jo.  He’s really hurting.”

 

     “He’s not feeling well, either.”

 

     “How do you know? Did he say something to you about it?”

 

     “No, I can just tell. He’s pale and looks tired. And it’s not like Johnny to complain about having sore muscles. Or to go to bed at seven when he’s visiting us.  I hope it’s nothing serious.”

 

     “I don’t think so.  He might have picked up the flu.”

 

     “The flu? This time of year?”

 

     “It’s not that unusual for someone to pick up a virus he hasn’t been exposed to after traveling to a new location.  Or, it could be a slight case of heat exhaustion, given all the outside work we were doing around Chet’s place.”

    

     “Was it really that hot up there? It’s been mild here.  I haven’t had to turn the air conditioner on since you left. The ceiling fans have done a good job of keeping the house cool.”

 

“It wasn’t bad.  Didn’t get much over eighty-five on the hottest day. But, let’s face it, Eagle Harbor isn’t exactly known for its sunny days and high temperatures. It’s probably been years since Johnny’s worked outside in the kind of direct sunlight he was exposed to during the past two weeks.”

 

“I guess you’re right.”

 

“Regardless of what’s wrong, a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed will probably do him wonders.  I don’t have any plans for us tomorrow, so if he wants to sleep in, or sleep all day for that matter, it makes no difference.  I imagine by Tuesday, he’ll be feeling better.”

 

“I’m sure he will,” Joanne agreed. “And if he’s not, we can always have him stop at Rampart and see Jennifer. Or, for her Uncle Johnny, she’ll be willing to make a house call.”

 

“Yeah, Jennifer will make a house call for her Uncle Johnny. I have no doubt about that.  But I don’t think it’ll get that far. He’ll be fine in a day or two, Jo. This thing with Trevor just has him run down, and working ten-hour days at Chet’s place probably didn’t help matters much, even though Johnny said he had a good time.”

 

“Only Johnny could have a good time while spending his vacation fighting with Chet.”

 

“How do you know Chet and Johnny fought?”

 

“For the same reason I know the earth travels around the sun. It’s a fact of life.”

 

Roy laughed, and then reached out a hand to his wife. They sat together on the deck watching the sunlight slowly fade away.

 

         

     _____________________

 

 

For the first time since arriving in New York, Trevor initiated a phone call to his father that Sunday night in mid-July.  When Johnny’s cell phone went unanswered, Trevor had no way of knowing his father had turned the volume off upon going to bed, because he felt too sick to be awakened by a ringing telephone.

 

    

 

     Chapter 20

 

 

     John Gage doubted there was anything worse than being ill while you’re away from home. Or, at least if there was, he couldn’t say what it would be. All he wanted was to be in his own house, and curled up in his own bed. He figured that would shake this flu he’d caught.  Instead, he was spending the week at Roy and Joanne’s, and because he didn’t want to put a damper on any plans Roy had made, or be a dull houseguest, Johnny didn’t reveal how sick he was.  

 

John woke at eight on Monday morning. Sore muscles, a headache, and a queasy stomach, made him want to sleep the rest of the day. Despite that desire, he forced himself to get up and shower. He stood under the hot water for twenty minutes, but even that didn’t ease the deep ache in his thighs, back, and shoulders. Johnny shivered as he dried off with a towel and got dressed.  He shaved, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair, all the while thinking that the only place he wanted to be was in bed. By the time he entered the kitchen at nine o’clock, the DeSoto house was quiet.  He knew Joanne had left for work at seven-thirty, not because he’d heard her depart, but because past visits had shown him this was her habit.  He spotted Roy through the patio screens. The man was on his hands and knees, weeding one of the flowerbeds that bordered the property line of the neighbor behind Roy. Johnny made himself a piece of toast and poured a glass of milk. He didn’t take his meal out to the deck like he normally would have so he could visit with Roy while he worked, but instead, ate at the kitchen table.  He was glancing through the newspaper when Roy entered.

 

“‘Morning.”

 

Johnny looked up and did his best to smile.  “Good morning.”

    

“Feeling better?”

 

“Yeah...yeah, I am.”

 

“Good.”  Roy saw the empty plate littered with toast crumbs, and the half full glass of milk pushed to one end of the table. “You ate?”

“Yeah.”

 

Based on what he was seeing, Roy concluded that Johnny hadn’t eaten much.  “Wanna go out for breakfast?”

 

     Johnny threw Roy a puzzled look. “I just told you I ate.”

 

     “Yeah, I know. But I thought you might want more than toast.”  

 

     “No, toast was fine.”

 

     “We could go over to Marco’s place. He serves breakfast now.”

 

     “No. I’ve had enough.”

 

     “Or, I could cook some scrambled eggs and—“

 

     “If you’re hungry, go ahead and make something for yourself. But I don’t need anything else.”

 

     Considering Johnny’s meager breakfast, Roy was about to argue that, but then thought better of it. Johnny said he was fine, so who was Roy to debate that? Besides, years of working with Johnny had taught Roy that the last thing you wanted to do was deal with a ticked off John Gage on your vacation.  There was enough feistiness of the ‘young Johnny’ left in this older version of the man for Roy to know it would be a miserable week for both of them if he played mother hen. 

 

     “Well, if you get hungry, you know where everything is. Help yourself.”

 

     “Thanks,” Johnny said as he went back to reading the paper.  “I will.”

 

     “I’ll have to go grocery shopping for Saturday’s party sometime this week,” Roy said as he rounded the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.  “I might do that tomorrow morning and get it out of the way. I thought we could meet Dix and Doc Brackett for lunch on Thursday if you want to. Charlie Dwyer’s gonna meet us at Marco’s restaurant for lunch on Wednesday. He said he’d get in touch with some of the other guys who started in the paramedic program with us, and see if they can make it, too.”

 

     “Sounds good.”

 

     “Other than that, I don’t have much planned for us. The kids are coming over tomorrow night for a cookout.”

 

     By “the kids” Johnny knew Roy meant Chris and his family, and Jennifer and Libby.  John and Shawna wouldn’t be flying in this year for the reunion. They’d been home for Christmas, and had discovered how stressful traveling with three young children can be. In light of that situation, Johnny knew Roy and Joanne were going to Wyoming to visit them for two weeks in August.

 

     “That’s fine,” Johnny said. “I’m lookin’ forward to seeing everyone.”

 

     “Otherwise, I figured we’d make use of the swimming pool, or do whatever you want to. Are you gonna call Bill?”

 

     Bill McKinney had been a friend of Johnny’s from Station 8. Whenever Johnny had been in L.A. the past few years, he had always made it a point to get together with Bill, as well as any other men Bill could gather who had worked with Johnny almost forty years ago now.

 

     “I don’t know,” Johnny shrugged as he read the sports section. “I’ll see.”

 

     “Feel free to make whatever plans you want to.  You can use the mini-van. I’ve got the Porsche if I need to go somewhere, so it’s not a problem.”

 

     “Okay. Thanks.”

 

     Roy frowned as he studied his friend. This lack of enthusiasm on Johnny’s part wasn’t like him. Usually he was eager to contact old buddies during his visits, and get together with as many as he could. 

 

     “Johnny, are you sure you’re okay?”

 

     Johnny’s eyes rose from the newsprint. With that glance, Roy could tell he was beginning to annoy his friend.

 

“Yes, I’m fine.”

 

     “Okay, if you say so.”

 

     “I say so.”

 

     “Okay, but—“

 

     “Roy, I’m fine.” And because Johnny knew he’d have to prove that statement to Roy, he folded the paper and stood up.  He drank the rest of the milk in his glass and carried his dishes to the dishwasher. “So, did you say something about making use of the swimming pool?”

     Roy pointed out the patio doors. “It’s right that way.”

 

     Johnny smiled. “Yeah, I know where it is. If I can use one of your floating lawn chairs, I just might stay out there all day.”

 

     “Fine by me. And you can use whatever you want to.”

 

     “Great,” Johnny said as he headed for the guestroom to change into his swimming trunks. 

 

Roy watched Johnny walk away from him.  The fire chief’s movements were slow and stiff, but Roy kept his thoughts to himself as he walked to the master bedroom so he could change into his own swimming trunks.

 

     _____________________

 

 

As Trevor had told Libby he was going to do, he spent Sunday mired in heavy thoughts. It was difficult for him to reach the point where he could admit to his father that he wanted to move back to Eagle Harbor, so he came up with another plan that might just allow that to happen naturally. Trevor decided he’d call Johnny and tell him that he’d changed his mind, and that yes; he would like to spend this week with his father in L.A.  He’d tried calling Johnny’s cell phone three times on Sunday evening, but had never gotten an answer.  Trevor had wanted to call his father on Monday morning, but he had to be at the Gap at nine. Considering the three-hour time difference between New York and California, Trevor decided the call would have to wait until he got back to the apartment at five-thirty.  What he hadn’t counted on upon his arrival home was his mother being there, and insisting on taking him and Catherine out for dinner.  She and Franklin were leaving for Paris the next morning. They were combining a lecture at a medical symposium with a vacation, and would be gone fourteen days. In their absence, Malaya would be in charge of the household.

 

After dinner, Franklin returned to the apartment with Catherine, while Ashton took Trevor to a movie.  The teen would have preferred to return to the apartment, too, so he could make the call to California, but he didn’t voice that to his mother.  Seeing a movie with her was a rare treat. Since Trevor wasn’t certain if he’d be living in New York by the time summer ended, he decided to take advantage of this night out with Ashton.

 

It was after eleven when they arrived back at the apartment.  Ashton kissed Trevor goodnight.

 

“Franklin and I will be leaving early in the morning, honey, so I’ll say goodbye now.  If you need anything, send me an e-mail. I’ll check for messages every evening.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Otherwise, I’ll call several times while we’re gone to see how things are going.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Malaya will handle things with Catherine, and you’re old enough to take care of yourself, so all will be fine, won’t it?”

 

“Yeah...yeah, I guess.”

 

Ashton smiled at her son. “You don’t sound too certain of that.  Why the long face?”

 

Trevor didn’t even know how to put into words what he was thinking. Or at least not in words that wouldn’t offend his mother.  His father had never gone on a trip and not taken him along.  There were times when his father had to attend firefighting or paramedic conferences in Anchorage, but he’d always brought Trevor and Clarice along unless school was in session.  Trevor warred with his feelings.  He had no desire to go to Paris, so it wasn’t as though he was upset about not being taken on the trip, yet this was just another example of how life with his father differed from life with his mother.  His father would have never take a vacation and left Trevor at home.  But it wasn’t himself Trevor was feeling sorry for.  It was little Catherine. More and more he was seeing that the child’s nanny was raising her, and he wondered why his mother had even bothered to adopt her. 

 

“Trev? The long face? Is there a reason for it?”

 

Trevor forced a smile. “No. No, Mom. I’m just tired.”

 

“Then you’d better get to bed.”

 

“I will.”

 

“When Franklin and I get back, we’ll take you and Catherine to the Hamptons for a few days, then we’ll head to Massachusetts so we can visit St. Charles. School starts right after Labor Day, which means we’ll be busy during August getting you ready to go.”

 

“Uh...yeah.  Okay. Yeah, that’s...that’s fine.”

 

Trevor didn’t want to voice his doubts to his mother about how much longer he’d be in New York just yet. He figured he’d wait until he got things ironed out with Pops first.

 

When Trevor didn’t voice the doubts Ashton suspected he was harboring, she didn’t voice them either. If he really wanted to continue to live with her, then that’s what she wanted too.  If he decided to leave, then so be it.  Above all else, Ashton wanted Trevor to have the certainty that the decision was his and his alone.  She didn’t want to influence his choice, and she didn’t think John should attempt to influence it either.

 

“Good night, honey,” Ashton said as she headed for the master suite.

 

“Night, Mom.”

 

     _____________________

 

Catherine’s room was dark and quiet when Trevor passed by it.  He could see light coming from beneath Malaya’s door, and could faintly hear a program playing on her television.  He entered his own room, flipped on the light, and shut the door. He changed his clothes, putting his socks, pants, and shirt in the wicker hamper that sat in one corner. He opened a bureau drawer and put on a pair of pajama bottoms. He flopped stomach down onto his bed and reached for the phone on his nightstand.  He dialed his father’s cell phone number, waited a few seconds while the connection went through, then counted the rings.  At ring ten he was getting ready to hang up, when a hoarse, groggy voice answered on the other end.

 

“‘Lo?”

 

“Pops?”

 

“‘Lo?”

 

“Pops, it’s me, Trevor.”

 

“Um...um...yeah.  Yeah, what...whatta ya’ want?”

 

“I...I was wondering...well...do you think I could...that I—“

 

“Uh? Whatta ya’...whatta ya’ want?”

 

“I...uh...I was kinda hopin’ that I could come...come to L.A this week and...and visit you at Uncle Roy’s.”

 

“No...uh...no.  No.”

 

“What?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh...oh...well, okay.  Okay fine!  If that’s the way you want it, goodbye.”

 

Trevor slammed down the phone. He didn’t know that he’d woken his father out of a heavy sleep, and didn’t know that his father’s temperature was so high that the man didn’t realize it was his son he was talking to. Seconds after the phone call ended, Johnny had no memory of receiving it.

 

 

     _____________________

 

Libby,

 

     I called Pops tonight because I thought I could come to L.A. so we could patch things up.  He doesn’t want to see me though, so I’m going to stay here in New York and live with my mom.  I don’t care if I never see Pops again.

 

Trevor

 

 

   Chapter 21

 

 

Johnny coughed and rolled over with a muffled groan. He was hot, the deep ache in his muscles was still present, and his headache was back in full force.  Sometime during the night two more maladies had been added to his symptoms, the nagging cough and dizziness.

 

From what Johnny could recall of Monday, he’d spent most of the day in Roy’s pool, and then had helped Roy cook supper on the grill prior to Joanne’s arrival from work. He thought he’d eaten enough to keep Joanne and Roy from suspecting he had the flu, but he couldn’t remember for certain, simply because dwelling on the thought of food caused an overwhelming feeling of nausea.  Like Sunday evening, he and Roy had sat on the deck talking after supper.  Johnny could vaguely recall Joanne joining them after the supper dishes were cycling in the dishwasher, but from that point on his memory was a blur. He’d obviously gotten to bed on his own, but what time that had been, he didn’t know.

 

Johnny opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut when the red numerals on the digital alarm clock spun and blurred.  He swallowed convulsively several times while fighting back the urge to vomit.  When his stomach settled a bit, he risked opening his eyes again.  He peered at the clock and saw it was nine thirty-seven. Johnny was surprised that Roy hadn’t knocked on the door to try and rouse him out of bed, but on the other hand, they had no plans for today other than getting things ready later in the afternoon for that evening’s cookout with Roy’s kids. Because of that, it likely didn’t matter to Roy how late Johnny slept.

 

The fire chief kicked at the covers tangled around his legs. The sheets were soaked with perspiration, as were his pajama bottoms. Johnny knew Joanne kept the clean linens in the hallway closet. He just hoped he could stand up long enough to change the bed and throw the sheets and pillowcases in the washing machine.

 

Johnny pushed himself to a sitting position.  Once again, he had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he could attempt to stand.  A harsh coughing spell caused him to grasp his ribs until it passed.  He frowned when he found himself struggling to draw in air. His chest felt congested, and he wondered if he was once again battling the onset of pneumonia.  His years of being exposed to smoke, and the lack of his spleen, made him vulnerable to upper respiratory problems.  But this didn’t feel quite like any bout of pneumonia that he’d ever dealt with in the past. Whatever this virus was, Johnny hoped it would run its course, and soon.

 

As Johnny stumbled to his feet his cell phone fell to the carpeting from where it had been buried in the bedcovers. Johnny grasped the footboard of the bed with a trembling hand when he bent to pick the instrument up. He looked at it for a moment, wondering how it had gotten from the nightstand to the bed.  He didn’t remember talking to anyone the previous evening.

 

John set the phone on the nightstand as he staggered for the door. His entire body throbbed like a toothache so hellacious that you were willing to let a dentist do anything necessary just so you’d feel better.  

 

Johnny glanced at the bathroom as he passed by. Though his body ached worse than it had any day since Saturday morning when he’d started feeling sick, he couldn’t tolerate the thought of standing under hot water.  He staggered through the silent house, one foot crossing in front of the other like a clumsy drunk, no longer certain where he was going, or what he was going to do once he got there.

 

The linen closet. Change...wanna change the bedding.

 

Although Johnny’s mind was telling him what his intentions had been, he couldn’t focus on the thought. He grabbed for the end of the table when he got to the dining area, but missed the handhold he was seeking.  He fell, knocking his forehead against a sharp wooden corner. He didn’t notice the open gash, or the blood running down the right side of his face, as he grabbed the table again and pulled himself to his feet. He stared out the patio screens, mesmerized by the water in the swimming pool.  It looked so clear and clean, but most important of all, it looked cold. Johnny craved that cold water as he lurched for the doors. He slid one open and stepped onto the deck. The wood scorched his bare feet, which made Johnny realize he didn’t want to be any hotter than he already was.

 

Co...cold. Want some...thing cold.  Anything...anything cold.

 

The fire chief clung to the wooden railing as he climbed the steps he and Roy had built in 1984 that led to the wooden deck surrounding the pool. When he came to the edge where deck and pool met, he stood looking down at the shimmering water with confusion.  For a brief moment, Johnny wondered how he’d gotten outside, and what he was doing standing over the swimming pool in his pajama bottoms.  Before he could stagger back to the steps, a wave of dizziness sent the world spinning.  Johnny stepped sideways, but rather than his left foot landing on the solid surface of the pool deck; it landed in water.  As he tumbled into the pool, Johnny learned he was right.  The water was cold.    

 

     _____________________

 

 

Roy swung the mini-van into the driveway. When all was still silent in the guestroom at eight that morning, he’d decided to get the grocery shopping done. He’d taken over a large number of the domestic chores since Joanne had started working full time when John went off to college, and couldn’t say he minded running the household.  It wasn’t much different than all the domestic chores he’d done at fire stations throughout his career, and with the kids grown and gone, there wasn’t a lot of work involved to keeping the rooms clean and the laundry caught up.

 

Roy parked the van, got out, and walked into the garage. He unlocked the door that led from the garage to the laundry room and opened it.  He returned to the van, walking around to the cargo hold.  He lifted the rear door and grabbed a bag of groceries with each arm.  He nestled the bags in the crook of his elbows and walked back into the garage. He stepped up into the laundry room, traveling through it as he made his way to the kitchen. He set the bags down, and then stepped around the counter. He looked past the dining area and down the hallway that contained the bedrooms.  He could tell the guestroom and bathroom doors were open, but couldn’t hear Johnny moving about in either place. He took a few steps forward.

 

“Johnny! Hey, Johnny? Joh--”

 

Roy caught sight of the blood on the floor by the table, then spotted the open patio screen.

 

“What the...” the man mumbled. Roy stepped on to the deck and saw Johnny standing by the edge of the pool wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue pajama bottoms.

 

“Johnny, what are you—“

 

When Johnny fell into the water, Roy could tell it wasn’t because he was planning on taking a swim.  By the way Johnny had swayed before going over the side, Roy suspected he’d passed out. He didn’t waste time wondering what was going on.  He raced up the stairs, pounded across the deck, and dove into the pool.  Johnny was rapidly sinking to the bottom of the ten-foot deep center.  Roy wrapped his left arm around the man’s chest and swam upward using his right arm while kicking with his legs.  By the time Roy broke the surface, Johnny was coughing and choking on water.  Roy took that to be a good sign, because at least it meant his friend was getting air.

 

Johnny struggled against the force taking him out of the cold water that had been bringing him so much relief.  He couldn’t process the words, or identify the speaker, as he was told, “Don’t fight me, Johnny.  Johnny, don’t fight me!”

 

Whether Johnny understood him, or whether he had no energy left to put up a struggle, Roy didn’t know. He wasn’t about to question his good fortune.  Getting a compliant Johnny from the water to the pool deck was a lot easier than getting a combative Johnny there.

 

As soon as Roy had Johnny on the deck the fire chief began to cough up water again. Roy turned the man onto his left side so he wouldn’t aspirate on anything he brought up.

 

“Johnny?” Roy questioned, as he ran a practiced hand down Johnny’s spine. He was checking for injuries as a result of Johnny’s fall in the kitchen, and then the second fall into the pool.  When the examination was completed, Roy was as satisfied as he could be that Johnny had suffered no spinal injuries. “Johnny, can you hear me? Johnny?”

 

In-between coughs Johnny mumbled, “Ro...Roy?”

 

“Johnny, what happened?”

 

“I...I...dizzy. I...Ro...what...where...where am...am I?”

 

“Johnny, don’t you know where you are?” A long, silent moment passed with no response forthcoming, so Roy tried again.  “Johnny, do you know where you are?”

 

“Ho...home.”

 

Roy wasn’t certain if Johnny meant that he thought he was at his home in Eagle Harbor, or if he wanted to go home, but either way, it wasn’t the response Roy was seeking. He placed his fingers on the pulse point of Johnny’s right wrist, and frowned while studying the second hand on his watch. Roy’s frown grew deeper when he monitored his friend’s respiration rate. Johnny’s pulse was racing, and his breaths were coming in rapid, shallow pants. When Roy laid the palm of his right hand against Johnny’s face he could feel the heat radiating from the man. 

 

Roy looked around with indecision.  He didn’t want to leave Johnny to go into the house and call for a squad, but concluded that was the only choice he had until he saw his next-door neighbor step outside.

 

“Stan! Stan!”

 

“Hi, Roy.”  The man began walking toward Roy.  “What are you doing to stay outta trouble tod-”

 

“Stan, call 911 for me!”

 

“What?”

 

“Call 911 and request an ambulance and paramedic squad be sent to my address. Tell the dispatcher there’s been a near drowning! And bring a couple of bath towels!”

 

Stan Kizelman didn’t know what was going on, but he’d been Roy’s neighbor for thirty years.  Based on Roy’s urgent request, and his dripping wet hair and clothes, he was fearful one of the DeSoto grandchildren had fallen into the pool.

 

Stan did as Roy asked. While he made the phone call, his wife, Betty, ran over with the towels.  Roy gave a distracted, “Thanks,” while he folded one towel and placed it against the bleeding head wound, and used the other to dry Johnny’s body in an attempt to combat the fever-induced chills the man was suffering from.

 

When Stan came out to report that he’d made the call, Roy requested that he stand in the front yard and direct the paramedics when they arrived.  It was then that Stan saw the person Roy was aiding wasn’t one of his grandchildren, but rather his friend, John Gage.

 

“What the hell happened, Roy?”

 

“I don’t know for sure.  I think he’s sick, came out here for whatever reason, and somehow fell in the pool.”

 

“Is he gonna be all right?”

 

“I’m sure he will be once Jennifer has him under her care.”

 

The older man nodded and lumbered around to the front yard on knees made stiff from forty years as a carpet layer. Stan stood at the curb, watching for the squad, while his wife remained on the pool deck with Roy.

 

Roy kept Johnny’s spine straight when the fire chief rolled onto his back. His breathing was growing more and more labored. Roy knew Johnny was struggling to get air, but didn’t think the dunk in the pool was the cause.

 

“Johnny?”

 

“Sor...sorry.”

 

“You’re sorry for what?”

 

“For...for bein’ sick.”

 

At least Roy now had confirmation that Johnny was ill, and quite likely had been since the previous Saturday when he’d said he had a headache and sore muscles. 

 

“Don’t worry about it.  Have you been feeling sick since Saturday? Since we were at Chet’s place?”

 

“Che...Chet’s?” Johnny questioned with uncertainty while squinting at the sun that was assaulting his eyes. Roy cupped his left hand and held it over Johnny’s eyes in an attempt to alleviate this small discomfort. 

 

“Remember, we were at Chet’s place up on Jackson Lake last week?  Have you been feeling sick since then?”

 

     “I...I...I don’t...I...Roy...I can’t...it’s hard to...hard to breathe...”

 

     Roy watched as Johnny’s chest heaved up and down in a fight for air, and saw the confusion on the man’s face.

 

     What’s going on? What in the heck is wrong with him?

 

     Just when Roy thought Johnny was on the verge of respiratory arrest, two paramedics rounded the corner of the house led by Stan. 

 

     “Get that oxygen over here now!” Roy ordered.

 

     Roy had trained the young man and young woman just one year earlier.  Though Andy Hubbard and Michelle Klug were shocked to discover whose house they were at, their teacher had taught them well.  They remained professional and competent as they began offering assistance to the semi-conscious Johnny.

 

     Roy put the non-rebreather mask on Johnny and set the oxygen regulator on high flow.  Stan took his wife by the elbow and ushered her to the front yard with him so they’d be out of the way, and so they could watch for the ambulance.

 

     “His respirations were 36 a few minutes ago,” Roy said as Michelle began taking a new set of vitals. “Pulse was 132.”

 

     “Respirations are still 36,” Michelle relayed to her partner a minute later. “Pulse is 134 and b/p is 60 systolic.”

 

     Andy started an IV with saline and allowed the flow to run wide open. Roy silently acknowledged his approval of Andy’s action, while slipping a c-collar around Johnny’s neck as a further precaution because of the falls Johnny had taken.

 

     “Is he a neighbor of yours, Chief?” Michelle inquired as she started the process of taking a patient history.

 

     “No, a friend. He’s staying with us this week. He’s here on vacation from Alaska. He’s the chief of a fire station up there. He was my partner when I was a paramedic at 51s.”

 

     Michelle and Andy exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Chief DeSoto to say more than was necessary, so all the information he had just offered was his way of telling the young paramedics that this man had something in common with them, and meant a lot to him.

    

“How long has he been sick?” Michelle asked before looking at Andy and saying, “Temp is 104.”

 

     “Since Saturday,” Roy said, estimating as best he could, based on when Johnny first complained of having sore muscles and a headache.

 

     “Has he complained of chest pains?”

 

     “No.”

    

     “Any vomiting?”

 

     “Not that I’m aware of.”

 

     “Complaints about shortness of breath?”

 

     “No.”

 

     “Has he been coughing?”

 

     “Some during last night. I heard him a couple of times.”

 

     “Productive cough or dry cough?”

 

     “I don’t know,” Roy said, while Andy used his stethoscope to listen to Johnny’s lungs. “I didn’t see him this morning.  He was still sleeping when I left the house to grocery shop. I had just walked in when I spotted him out here on the deck, and then saw him fall into the pool.”

 

     Andy straightened from his hunched position by Johnny’s side and hung the earpieces of his stethoscope around his neck.  “I’m hearing rhonchi and rales.”

 

     Two possibilities ran through Roy’s mind, congestive heart failure, or pneumonia.  Given the fever and respiratory distress, he knew pneumonia was a strong possibility.

 

 

     “Michelle, get a b/p again,” Roy instructed.  With as wet as Johnny’s lungs were based on Andy’s findings, Roy had concerns about the IV continuing to run wide open.

 

     Michelle did as Roy ordered. 

 

“Now its 84 systolic, Chief.”

 

Roy looked at Andy. “Let’s titrate the IV to a b/p above 80.”

 

“All right,” Andy agreed, while Roy moved to check Johnny’s feet, ankles, and legs for signs of swelling. He took the bandage scissors Michelle handed him and cut the legs of Johnny’s pajama bottoms from ankle to thigh.

 

Roy studied Johnny’s feet, ankles and legs, then ran his hands over them. He pressed his fingers into the skin in numerous places in an effort to make certain there was no indention left that would indicate an accumulation of fluid.

 

“Any signs of edema in the lower extremities?” Michelle asked.

 

“No,” Roy said, as he returned the scissors to the woman. For the time being at least, these findings were one small bit of good news.    

 

     Stan and Betty rounded the corner of the house with the ambulance attendants. Roy knew Michelle and Andy were being forced to think as fast as he was when it came to assessing Johnny’s condition, and giving the appropriate treatment.  Watching Johnny struggle to get air in his lungs even with the help of the oxygen, caused Roy to instruct, “We won’t use a back board. I want him on the gurney in a semi-Fowler’s position.”

 

     “What about the falls he took?” Michelle asked.

 

“I’m more concerned with keeping him breathing than I am about the possibility of a back injury. I’ll take responsibility for this decision if something turns up later.”

 

Michelle nodded. “Okay, Chief.”     

 

     The attendants carried the gurney across the main deck, and then up the stairs to the pool deck. Based on what Roy had said, they raised the head of the gurney to a semi-seated position in order to aid in the patient’s efforts to get air. In deference to his sixty-two year old back, Roy stepped aside and allowed one of the attendants to put his hands under Johnny’s arms, while Andy and the other attendant lifted his legs.  They placed him on the gurney and secured a strap over his knees, and another over his waist.  The canister of oxygen was placed between Johnny’s legs. Roy held the IV bag aloft as the entourage maneuvered down the stairs to the main deck, then across the deck and down another set of stairs until they reached the yard.  Roy placed his free hand on Johnny’s shoulder and left it there until they reached the ambulance.

 

 

     _____________________

 

 

Roy climbed in the back of the ambulance with Andy, while Michelle drove the squad. His white tennis shoes and socks were soaked, and water dripped from his tan cargo shorts, red shirt, and hair.  For the time being, Roy wasn’t concerned about the damp spot he was leaving on the bench in the ambulance. Because of his duties for the fire department, he was still certified as a paramedic. Because of that certification, there was no way Roy wasn’t going to assist Andy with Johnny’s care on the way to Rampart. He didn’t know what the cause was of the erratic readings, but he didn’t like them.  The excessively rapid heartbeat, accompanied by low blood pressure, elevated temperature, and rapid, shallow respiratory rate meant Johnny’s body was under attack from some source.

 

Stan and Betty had volunteered to carry Roy’s groceries in and put them away, then lock the house for him.  Beyond that, all other concerns were minor until Roy had some specific answers about Johnny. Calling Joanne, or trying to get a hold of Charlie Dwyer to cancel Wednesday’s lunch at Marco’s, could wait.  If this was pneumonia, then with rest and medication, Johnny might be back on his feet to some extent by the weekend. If it was more than that...well, there was no use in borrowing trouble before all the facts were in.    

 

Johnny was semi-conscious throughout most of the ride to Rampart, but just like at Roy’s house, wasn’t able to make a coherent response to any question Roy asked of him. His finally lost consciousness completely, and seconds later he went into respiratory arrest.

 

Unlike when Roy had been a paramedic in the field, the L.A. County paramedics could now intubate a patient based on standing orders, just as a number of other procedures, like the saline IV, could be done with standing orders. Andy lowered the head of the gurney so Johnny was lying flat. Roy’s movements were quick and efficient as he intubated his friend.  He inserted the laryngoscope into Johnny’s mouth and looked down his throat in order to aid with the proper insertion of the endotracheal tube. Once the ET tube was in place, Roy attached the ambu-bag to it.  While he squeezed the bag, Andy used his stethoscope to listen to Johnny’s lungs, and then to his stomach. They had to make certain the ET tube had been passed into the trachea, rather than being passed into the esophagus in error. Andy nodded as he heard air entering Johnny’s lungs, as opposed to air entering his stomach.

 

“You got it, Chief.”

 

“Thanks,” Roy said. He was grateful that he was still proficient enough so that his former student was unable to detect how long it had been since Roy had done anything like this under emergency conditions.

 

Roy swiveled and grabbed tape from the drug box.  He taped the ET tube in place, and then hooked the ambu-bag up to the oxygen. He continued to monitor Johnny’s airway while Andy contacted Rampart for the first time since they’d begun treating the fire chief.

 

“Rampart, we have male approximately...” Andy glanced at Roy.

 

     “Sixty,” Roy said, without taking his eyes off his best friend.  “He’s sixty.”

 

     “We have a male sixty-years-old. Stand by for vitals.”

 

     _____________________

 

 

Jennifer DeSoto wasn’t the physician who had answered the call at the base station.  Therefore, all she knew was that a sixty-year-old man was being brought in who was ill with flu-like symptoms, and who had taken a fall into a swimming pool as well. It wasn’t until the gurney was pulled from the back of the ambulance that she saw who that ill man was. And saw who one of the assisting paramedics was.

 

“Dad?”

 

It was odd what you’ll notice in a time of crisis, Roy thought, while realizing that his shoes squished while he ran down the corridor with his daughter.  Andy and an orderly pushed the gurney into Treatment Room 1, where a nurse stood holding the door open.

 

“I don’t know, Jenny,” Roy responded to the remainder of the question his daughter didn’t have to voice. “He hasn’t been feeling well since Saturday, but I thought it was the flu.  Or maybe a mild case of heat exhaustion brought on by all the work we were doing outside at Chet’s last week.”

 

Jennifer nodded as she helped Andy, the nurse, and the orderly transfer Johnny from the gurney to the exam table.  The nurse began taking Johnny’s vital signs, while Jennifer dismissed the orderly and Andy with a quick, “Thanks, guys.”

 

“B/P is 76 over 50, Doctor Sheridan. Pulse is 130. Temp is 104.2”

 

Two more nurses entered the room, making it easier for Jennifer to get the assistance she needed.  She had one of them start another IV of saline.

 

“Run it wide open,” she ordered. She turned to the other nurse. “Judy, get Doctor Morton in here for me please.”

 

By the time Jennifer no longer needed her father’s assistance, Johnny was on a ventilator, had a central line in his neck, and numerous vials of blood had been drawn and sent to the lab. A Foley catheter had been inserted and a urine sample had been taken, as well as arterial blood gases being drawn. He’d been hooked to a monitor that was displaying his blood pressure, pulse rate, temperature, and heart activity, he had a pulse ox that was measuring the oxygenation of his blood wrapped around one finger, and there was a square patch of gauze covering the gash on his forehead for the time being.  

 

Roy stood in the corner of the room as Jennifer and Mike Morton worked to stabilize Johnny. Roy knew there would come a point when they’d want to speak with him. Any other friend of a patient would have been asked to step out to the waiting room, but both Jennifer and Mike had too much respect for Roy to request that he do so unless circumstances warranted it.

 

When the doctors did finally turn to speak with Roy, it was Mike who suggested they step into the hall for a moment.  An intern and nurse were with Johnny yet.  Roy cast one glance at the friend who, though naked and covered with just a sheet, was perspiring heavily.

 

Mike put his hand on the back of Roy’s damp shirt and urged him into the corridor with Jennifer following. Doctor Morton’s bedside manner had changed little over the years.  He got right to the point as he requested, “Give me a history here, Roy.”

 

Roy didn’t have to be prompted, or asked the questions a doctor might normally ask a person who had come to the hospital with someone in Johnny’s condition.

 

“To the best of my knowledge, Johnny started feeling ill at Chet Kelly’s place up in Jackson Lake last Saturday.”

 

“Jackson Lake?  I thought Kelly still lived here in L.A.”

 

“He does, but he bought a vacation home in Jackson Lake this spring.  Several of us spent last week up there working on the place, including Johnny. Johnny was up there by himself working the week before that.”

 

“And he complained of feeling ill for the first time on Saturday?”

 

“No, he didn’t complain. You know Johnny.”

 

“Yes, I know Gage. He’s still as stubborn as he was thirty years ago.” The doctor sighed and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “So he didn’t complain, but you thought he was sick?”

 

“Not then, I didn’t. He said he had a headache and sore muscles.  At that time, I assumed it was a combination of stress, and the physical labor we’d been doing.”

 

“Stress?”

 

Roy glanced at Jennifer. She gave her father a slight smile, understanding that he didn’t want to betray Johnny’s privacy, especially where this subject was concerned.

 

“He’s having a few challenges with Trevor, Mike,” Jennifer told her colleague.

 

“All right,” Mike nodded. Like Johnny, Mike had been older than the thought-of norm when fatherhood arrived. He had two teenagers of his own now, and knew the word ‘challenges’ could encompass a magnitude of issues where a boy Trevor’s age was concerned. He looked at Roy. “And when did you think this was more than the result of stress and physical labor?”

 

“By Sunday night after we’d gotten back to my house. I noticed on Sunday that Johnny wasn’t eating much, and he seemed tired...exhausted, would be the better way to put it.  He slept most of the drive home, and then turned in for the night around seven.  He slept until eight on Monday morning, but didn’t seem any better. He ate very little all day, and mostly floated around in my pool on a lawn chair. By eight last night, he was in bed again, and was still sleeping when I left the house at eight this morning to go grocery shopping.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like Uncle Johnny,” Jennifer said.

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Doctor Morton agreed. He only saw John Gage once a year when the man visited L.A. in July, but Jennifer talked enough about him for Mike to know Johnny still lived an active lifestyle. In addition to that, John’s employment with the Eagle Harbor Fire Department meant he had to pass a rigorous physical each year.

 

“When I first got here with Johnny,” Roy said, “I told Jennifer that by Sunday night I thought he had the flu, or was possibly suffering from a mild case of heat exhaustion.”

 

“Well, it’s not heat exhaustion,” Mike said.  “As for the flu, I have my doubts, but I’m not ruling it out at this point. The flu would be a far better alternative than what I suspect we’re dealing with.”

 

“What’s that?” Roy asked, not liking the deep furrow of Mike’s brow that reflected his concern.  

 

 “We’ll know more once the blood work is back. Jennifer ordered a chest X-ray, so we’ll see what that shows as well. She’s also ordered a CAT scan and c-spine x-rays as a precaution to rule out any hidden injuries from the falls he took.”

 

“All right,” Roy nodded, glad that Johnny was in the capable hands of his daughter and Mike Morton.

 

“Dad, why don’t you go to the doctors’ lounge and get a cup of coffee. You look cold standing there in those wet cloths.”

 

Roy had to admit that now that he wasn’t moving around, and was in an air-conditioned building, he was cold.

 

“Call Libby and ask her to bring you some dry clothes. She’s home today.”

 

“Okay, I’ll do that.”  Before Roy turned to head for the doctors’ lounge he said, “You’ll let me know if—“

 

Jennifer nodded. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

The doctors re-entered the treatment room where Johnny lay, while Roy turned right at the next corridor junction and made his way to the lounge.

 

____________________

 

Two hours later Roy was still in the lounge, but far more comfortable thanks to his granddaughter.  Libby had the day off from her job. She had been at home playing her flute. She was practicing for an upcoming event her high school’s marching band was participating in, when her grandfather reached her. Because Libby had practically grown up in her grandparents’ home, she knew where everything was. She also had her own key to the house, so it didn’t take her long to put clean clothes for her grandpa in a plastic grocery bag and drive to Rampart. She waited in the doctors’ lounge while he changed in the men’s room, then continued to wait with him in the lounge when he returned.

 

“Do you think Uncle Johnny will be okay?” Libby asked for the fourth time in thirty minutes.

 

“I’m sure he will be,” Roy said.

 

“But what’s wrong with him? How could he get so sick so fast?”

 

What Libby knew of Johnny’s illness was only what her grandfather had been able to tell her.  She hadn’t seen the man since he’d arrived at her grandparents’ home on Sunday evening.  It was this evening that they were all supposed to get together for a cookout, and then get together again on Saturday for the reunion picnic.

 

“I don’t know, Libby. Your mom will come and talk to us as soon as the test results are in.”

 

“Do you think it could be the flu like you said?”

 

“It might be, but I don’t know that for certain.”

 

“It sounds like the flu, don’t you think?”

 

Roy smiled at the girl who was sitting beside him on the sofa in the desolate lounge.  She looked so much like Jennifer had at the age of seventeen, and also possessed a good deal of Jennifer’s personality. He ran a hand over her long, honey-blond hair.

 

“Yes, I think it sounds like the flu in some ways, and it sounds like pneumonia in some ways, too. Though among other things, the low blood pressure has me concerned.”

 

“But you said they were giving Uncle Johnny a drug to help with that. To help bring his blood pressure up to normal.”

 

“They are.”

 

“So there’s really nothing to worry ab--”

 

Before Libby could finish her sentence, the lounge door swung open.  Libby and Roy looked up as Jennifer entered the room.  She grabbed a chair from the table, turned it around, and sat down.  The look on Jennifer’s face caused Roy’s heart to beat a little faster with dread.

 

“Dad, we’d better get in touch with Trevor.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“We’ve moved Uncle Johnny to ICU. We’re having challenges keeping him stabilized, and the chest X-ray shows pulmonary edema.”

 

“What’s that mean?” Libby asked her mother.

 

“It means that Uncle Johnny has an abnormal accumulation of fluid in his lungs.”

 

“Is it serious?”

 

“Yes, sweetie, it’s serious. Very serious.”  Jennifer turned her attention to Roy. “We don’t have all the test results back yet, Dad, so I still can’t say for certain what’s wrong. But his white cell count is elevated, and the liver enzymes are elevated. Combined with the fever he’s running, the tachypnea, tachycardia, and dyspnea, I-—”

 

“Wait, wait,” Libby said. “What’s all that mean? Tachy...tach...whatever you just said.”

 

“Tachypnea is a rapid, shallow respiratory rate. Tachycardia is another term for a rapid heartbeat. And dyspnea refers to shortness of breath, which translates to labored breathing. These combined symptoms are what we refer to as ARDS, or acute respiratory distress syndrome.” Jennifer anticipated her daughter’s next question, so explained, “ARDS is a condition in which the lungs’ ability to transfer oxygen to the blood is severely impaired, which in turn means all the body’s organs are put under great stress, and their ability to function properly is compromised.”

 

Roy knew that ARDS was generally caused by one of two things, severe physical trauma, or a massive infection.  In Johnny’s case, Roy knew physical trauma wasn’t the source of this, which only left one alternative.

 

 “So this is from an infection,” the paramedic chief said to his daughter.

 

Jennifer nodded. “It certainly appears that way. I’ve never seen anything with quite this combination of symptoms, though Mike has on one occasion a few years ago. Which brings me to my next question. Do you know if Uncle Johnny came in contact with any mice in Chet’s house?”

 

“Came in contact with them?”

 

“Yes. Whether that was by discarding carcasses, or sweeping up feces, or even being in an unventilated room or area where mice might have been living.”

 

“Let me put is this way. I didn’t witness Johnny doing any of those things, and I didn’t see signs of any mice, but Johnny did make Chet pay him back for Decon he’d purchased. Plus, he had spent the week before we got there cleaning the house from top to bottom.”

 

“Then that may go a long way in telling us what we need to know. We’re running a test now for hantavirus antigens.”

 

“Hantavirus?  But I thought that was rare here in California. And I didn’t think it was a concern in the area where Chet’s cabin is located.”

 

“It is rare,” Jennifer agreed. “But every so often, a case turns up. As I said, Mike treated a man with it a few years ago.”

 

“What’s that?” Libby asked. “What’s hantavirus?”

 

“The complete term is hantavirus pulmonary syndrome, or HPS,” Jennifer explained. The doctor drew on the knowledge she’d already had of the virus as a result of articles she’d read in medical journals throughout the years, and the newly acquired knowledge Mike Morton had passed on to her. “It’s an acute respiratory illness that’s transmitted by some rodents, such as deer mice.  It can’t be transmitted from person to person, which is the one bit of good news about HPS. A person becomes infected if he’s handled rodent carcasses, or inhaled aerosolized particles from infected rodent droppings.  It can be anywhere from one week to six weeks after exposure before symptoms first start to appear.  It’s often difficult to diagnose, because in the early stages, the illness mimics the flu, which explains Uncle Johnny’s symptoms over the past few days.”

    

 

“But if the test you’re doing tells you that Uncle Johnny has this virus, then you can help him, right?”

 

Jennifer’s eyes flicked to her father.  By the look on his face, she knew he was already aware of the answer she was about to give her daughter.

 

“We can help Uncle Johnny through supportive measures, Libby, but there are no medications available that will treat the strains of HPS that we encounter here in the United States.”

 

“But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” At seventeen years old, Libby couldn’t fathom medical science not being able to treat someone for a virus, regardless of its source. “People don’t die from this, do they, Mom?”

 

There was silence in the room for a moment before Jennifer finally nodded her head. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but close to fifty percent of the time, HPS is fatal.”

 

Libby felt tears well up in her eyes, but she refused to give in to them.  Though she was pretty certain by looking at her grandfather’s face that he had known the main facts about HPS before her mother detailed them, she was also aware that he felt like he’d been sucker punched. That he had assumed he’d brought a friend to the hospital who had a bad case of the flu, only to find out it was much worse than that. Because of that, Libby also knew now was not the time to force her grandfather to be strong for her. Instead, she’d be strong for him. She took his hand and urged him to stand up with her.

 

“Come on, Grandpa. Let’s go to Mom’s office. I’ll help you send an e-mail to Trevor.”

 

____________________

 

 

Trevor,

 

     I’m sending you this through Jennifer’s e-mail address at Rampart.  Your father is very sick, and is in the Intensive Care Unit here. Please call Jennifer or me as soon as you possibly can.

 

Uncle Roy

 

 

Part 4