Chapter 7

 

When Dixie returned, she found Roy and Joanne standing alone by the waiting area. Joanne was wrapped in her husband’s arms; Roy’s chin rested atop her head, one hand rubbing slowly up and down her back. 

 

Good, everyone’s gone. They needed some time to themselves.

 

Dixie hated to disturb the couple, but they had to relax for a while and get something to eat.

 

“Roy?  Joanne?”

 

The DeSotos turned as one. Joanne dabbed at her face with a Kleenex. Her eyes were red, and her voice nasally.

 

“Can we see Chris?”

 

“Not right now. It’ll be several hours yet.  Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get something to eat.”

 

“I’m not hungry.”

 

“Joanne, you aren’t going to do Chris - or Jennifer and John - any good if you collapse.  You need to rest for a while and have a decent meal.” Dixie looked up at Roy. “That goes for you too, Mister.”

 

Roy didn’t protest the nurse’s suggestion. Since they couldn’t see Chris, they might as well sit down and try to eat something.

 

“Come on, Jo, let’s do what Dixie says. It’ll be late before we get home tonight. We’ve gotta have something in our stomachs to keep us going.”

 

Joanne gave a reluctant nod of agreement. Dixie walked with the couple to the elevators, then stayed with them until they reached the cafeteria.  She paused just outside the doors.

 

“After you eat, you can return to the second floor waiting area.  A nurse will come for you when you can see Chris.”

 

“Eat with us,” Roy invited.

 

“Thanks, but no. I need to stop by the ER and check on Joh--” Dixie saw the scowl that started to form on Roy’s face and quickly altered her sentence. “Check some patient charts, then grab my purse and head for home.  I’m back on duty at seven tomorrow morning, so I’d better put my feet up for a while and then get to bed early.”

 

Joanne thanked Dixie for all her help and hugged her goodbye.

 

From within the woman’s embrace, Dixie promised,      “I’ll be in touch, Joanne. Take care of yourself.”

 

“I will.”

 

When the two women stepped away from one another, Dixie reached out and hugged Roy.

 

“Hang in there.  I’ll call later to see how Chris is doing. If you need me, you know my number.”

 

“Thanks, Dix.  You’re been a good friend for more years than I can count now.”

 

“You have a lot of good friends, Roy.  Don’t forget that. Sometimes when the going gets tough, all we have is our friends to get us through the bad times.”

 

Though Roy knew there was a deeper meaning to Dixie’s words than she’d revealed, he chose to ignore her subtle reference to his thirteen years of friendship with John Gage.

 

After Dixie left, Roy and Joanne entered the cafeteria.  Although neither of them had much of an appetite, they knew it was important to eat what they could. Over the coming months, Roy surmised he and his wife would expend a lot of physical and emotional energy.  All three of the kids would need their parents in ways they never had before.

 

Roy chose a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Joanne a bowl of vegetable.  They each took a tuna sandwich, and Roy chose coffee for his beverage while Joanne decided on lemonade.

 

The couple spoke of things parents in their situation would.  They wondered how long Chris would be hospitalized, and how long he might spend in a rehab center. 

 

“When I have time, I’ll get Dean to help me move Chris’s things from the apartment.”

 

Joanne nodded.  Just two months earlier, her oldest son took his first big step toward an independent adult life away from his parents by renting an apartment with two other paramedic trainees. It broke Joanne’s heart to think that independent life had ended so soon, and might never be attainable to Chris again.

 

Roy then said what he would do at the house to make it wheelchair assessable in regards to ramps and handicap railings, and how the bathroom in the hallway would have to be modified to accommodate Chris’s needs. 

 

“Eventually it’ll probably be a good idea to build on a bedroom with a master bathroom for Chris.  Maybe a small living room and kitchenette for him too, so he can have some privacy. It’ll be costly, but we can take out a home equity loan, and I can work overtime to help make the payments.”

 

Joanne nodded, pushing the remains of her food aside. She’d eaten all of her soup, but now that Roy was talking about Chris’s future she had no interest in what was left of her sandwich.  She knew without Roy saying it, he was thinking that Chris might live with them for the rest of their lives.  That he might never marry, or might never be able to make a life for himself as a single man in an apartment or small house. 

 

“If it comes to that, I can get a job, too.”

 

“No,” Roy shook his head. “We always said you wouldn’t go to work until John starts high school.”

 

“But if Chris is living with us, then he’ll be at the house when John comes home from school, and during summer vacation.”

 

Joanne could tell Roy hadn’t thought of that.  While Chris’s presence in the house would help their situation from a financial standpoint because Joanne could get a job without concerns for John’s care, the woman knew it was hard for Roy to face how Chris’s life had changed. If you’d asked Roy yesterday, he’d have said Chris’s life was just beginning. Joanne was willing to bet that now Roy would say Chris’s life was over.

 

But it’s not over.  Disabled people are living far more independent lives these days than they did just ten years ago. If Chris is determined to live a full life, then with the right kind of help I know he can accomplish that. Maybe that life will be with Roy and me to some extent, and that’ll be fine. We’ll do all we can for him.  But maybe he can still work, still have some type of a productive life. Still feel like he has a purpose in this world when he wakes up each morning.  If Roy and I project a positive attitude to Chris, then surely he’ll pick up on it and try his hardest to overcome all the obstacles in his way.

 

Roy shoved his tray aside and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I guess we’ll have to cross each bridge as we come to it.”

 

Joanne reached out and clasped Roy’s left hand.  “That’s all we can do, Roy. That, and keep a positive attitude.  We just...we’ll just have to take it one day at a time and see what the future brings.”

 

“Do you honestly think Chris has a future that’ll extend beyond babysitting for John as his new career?”

 

“I...I don’t know, but I want to think it. I have to think it for Chris’s sake. So do you.”

 

“I wish I could, Jo.  God, I wish I could.”

 

Roy stood, picked up their trays and walked them to the big cart where other trays and dirty dishes had been deposited.  Joanne followed him to the hall, but paused there.

 

“I’m going to the ladies room, then I’ll use a payphone to call my parents and Eileen.”

 

“All right,” Roy agreed. “I’ll be upstairs.”

 

Joanne’s parents were retired and lived in San Diego. Her sister Eileen was single and lived in Sherman Oaks. She had a good paying job with McDonall Douglas, and though she led the kind of carefree life a woman without a husband and children could, she and Joanne were close. Joanne called her parents and Eileen earlier that morning, promising to call again when Chris was out of surgery. 

 

“Okay. I’ll meet you up there in a little while.”

 

The couple parted ways.  Although Joanne hadn’t necessarily planned for Roy to return to the second floor without her, she wasn’t disappointed that he chose not to wait for her.  She visited the ladies room, then made the phone calls to her parents and sister. For the time being, Joanne didn’t tell her parents about Chris’s paralysis.  That news could come later, when she knew more about Chris’s condition.  She was forthright about it with Eileen, but made her promise to keep the news from their folks.

 

“I’ll tell them when the time is right.  You know how they are.  They’ll want to rush right up here, and while I appreciate their concern, I don’t want company right now. Within two days Dad’ll be bored and saying he wants to go home, and Mom’ll be rearranging my furniture, moving things around in my kitchen, and telling me that John’s too small for his age and that we let Jennifer have too many privileges for a girl her age.  Besides, you know how Mom drives Roy nuts. With everything else that’s going on, a visit from our mother is the last thing he needs.”

 

Eileen agreed with her sister. Their mother was everything Roy wasn’t – gabby, overbearing, opinionated, and bossy.  She meant well, but no, Joanne and Roy didn’t need additional stress in their household right now.  Eileen promised to keep Joanne’s secret. 

 

“Besides,” Eileen said, “maybe in a few days you’ll have better news about Chris. Maybe his doctor is wrong.”

 

“Wrong?”

 

“Maybe he will be able to walk.”

 

“Maybe,” Joanne said softly, but without much hope. She knew Kelly Brackett wouldn’t have said Chris’s paralysis was permanent if his medical knowledge told him otherwise.

 

“Call me if there’s anything I can do.  If you need me to pick up John and bring him to my house for the weekend, just say the word.”

 

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.  I’ll call you after we get home tonight. I’d better let you get back to work.”

 

“Okay. Talk to you tonight. Tell Roy I’m praying for Chris.”

 

“I will. Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to him.”

 

The sisters said goodbye, and Joanne hung up the phone. She didn’t head to the elevator Roy had used when he’d returned to the second floor, but instead, headed to the Emergency Room.  She wasn’t surprised to see her daughter seated in the waiting area.  Joanne sat down next to the teenager.

 

“You’re back from lunch already?”

 

“Mr. Adams made the mistake of letting John pick where we ate.”

 

Joanne smiled. “Oh, so you stopped at a McDonald’s, is that it?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Did you get him to Grandma’s house without any problems?”

 

“Yeah. He didn’t raise a stink over it or anything. He seemed happy to be there.”

 

“It’s been a tough day for him,” was all Joanne said. “He’ll have fun with Grandma.”

 

“She’ll spoil him.”

 

“I think he needs a little spoiling right about now, don’t you?”

 

The girl’s eyes narrowed with anger.  “After what he saw Dad do to Uncle Johnny, yeah, I’d say so.”

 

“Jen...”

 

“Mom, don’t scold me. You know Dad was in the wrong.  I can’t believe he punched Uncle Johnny like that.”

 

“I know it’s hard to understand, but emotions are running high right now, so cut your dad a little slack, okay?”

 

“But--”

 

“Jennifer, please. For me.”

 

The teenager hesitated a moment, but when she noticed the pink tinge to the whites of her mother’s eyes that indicated the woman had been crying earlier, she agreed.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Jennifer clasped hands with her mom. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Where’s Wendy?”

 

“She went back up to the waiting room with her parents. I told them I’d be up in a few minutes.  I wanna see how Uncle Johnny is first.”

 

“So do I.”

 

“That’s what I figured.  Does Dad know you’re here?”

 

“No. But even if he did, I’d still be here.”

 

Jennifer smiled. “Me too.”

 

Mother and daughter waited ten more minutes, then saw an exhausted Kelly Brackett walking toward the nurses’ station.  The pair stood and approached the physician.

 

“Doctor Brackett?”

 

Brackett turned. When he saw it was Joanne at his elbow, he mustered a smile.

 

“Hi, Joanne. Jennifer.”

 

Jennifer skipped the pleasantries.

 

“How’s Uncle Johnny?”

 

“He’ll be fine.”

 

“My dad didn’t hurt him?”

 

The doctor handed Johnny’s chart to the nurse behind the counter.

 

“Betty, would you file this for me, please?  And make arrangements for John Gage to be moved to a room as soon as possible. He needs to rest. He’s not going to be able to do that comfortably on an exam table.”

 

“Yes, Doctor.  I’ll get right on it.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Brackett placed a hand on Joanne’s elbow, steering the pair away from the nurses’ station.  He hadn’t told anyone the source of the bruises and cuts on Johnny’s face, and he didn’t plan to.  Whatever questions his ER staff had about it, one look at the doctor told them not to waste time asking.

 

When they were out of anyone’s hearing range, Brackett said, “Johnny hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since he and Chris ate at the station last night around five. He was also out on several runs with Chris prior to the final one at two this morning, so all told, he probably got an hour of sleep. I’m treating him for exhaustion, dehydration, and shock.”

 

“Shock?” Joanne questioned with alarm. “Did Roy hurt him that badly?”

 

“No, not at all. He’s got some cuts and bruises from the beat...from the altercation with Roy, but no serious injuries to speak of. Let’s just say it’s been a long night for Johnny, and an equally long day. The stress has finally caught up with him.  The best thing for him right now is rest.”

 

“How long will he be hospitalized?”

 

“Unless something changes, he’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.”

 

“Can we see him?”

 

“Not right now. I gave him a sedative. He’s sleeping, and probably will for the remainder of the day.” 

 

“Oh...okay.  Well, if he needs a ride home in the morning, tell him--”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll see that Johnny gets home if I have to drive him there myself.”

 

Joanne smiled her thanks at the man. She knew he was trying to avoid getting in the middle between Johnny and Roy, while at the same time also trying to spare her any further problems with Roy over this issue. Brackett had probably surmised that Joanne would give Johnny a ride home if he needed one, and he’d probably also surmised that right now Roy needed his wife’s support, as opposed to feeling she was taking sides against him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Would you tell Uncle Johnny that Mom and I came to see him?  That we wanted to make sure he was okay?”

 

Brackett nodded. “I’ll tell him.  And I’m sure when things calm down, you’ll have the opportunity to tell him yourself, too.”

 

Joanne thanked Doctor Brackett again for all he’d done for her family that day.

 

“I’ll be up in a little while to check on Chris,” the doctor promised.

 

As the women walked away from the physician, Jennifer commented, “He looks like he could drop into bed and sleep for about twenty-four hours straight.”

 

“I’m sure he could. I don’t know how many hours he’s been here now, but since he was on duty when Chris was brought in, he must have been up all night. He worked hard to save your brother’s life.”

 

Jennifer nodded, but didn’t openly voice her admiration for Kelly Brackett. For a long time now, she’d been considering a career in medicine.  When she was younger, her choice was based solely on her father’s profession as a paramedic, and at one time Jennifer had thought she’d like to join the fire department. But as she’d grown older, she found herself drawn to practicing emergency medicine in a hospital just like Rampart.  She rarely said anything to her parents about it though, because it would require a lot of money to put her through medical school.  Now, with Chris’s injury, maybe the family finances wouldn’t allow for her to have a college education of any kind.

 

Jennifer pushed her thoughts aside for the moment. There were more important things to think about than her future – like Chris’s future, and what would happen if he could never walk again. As she rode the elevator to the second floor with her mother, the teen asked, “Mom, what’s gonna happen to Chris?”

 

“What’s going to happen to him?”

 

“If he can’t walk, what’s gonna happen? Will he be able to go back to the apartment he was sharing with Darrel and Tim? Will he be able to work for the fire department?  Or go back to college, and then get a job afterwards?”

 

“I don’t know, Jen.  Your father and I talked about all of that a little bit while we ate lunch. We both agreed that for now, we just have to take it one day at a time.”  Joanne gave her daughter a reassuring smile while brushing a strand of long hair over the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. One way or another, everything will work out for the best.”

 

“Do you really believe that?”

 

“I want to.”

 

“So do I.”

 

“Then for Chris’s sake, believe it, Jenny.”

 

“Whatta ya’ mean?”

 

“Whenever you see your brother, have a positive attitude, even if he doesn’t.  You have to make him believe he can do anything he sets his mind to.”

 

“You think that’ll help?”

 

“I know it will.”

 

“Okay. I can do that.”

 

“Good girl.”

 

When Joanne and Jennifer exited the elevator, Joanne spotted Roy seated with Wendy and her parents.  As she reached the group she asked, “No word yet on when we can see Chris?”

 

“No,” Roy answered. “Not yet.”

 

Just by arching one eyebrow and tilting her head to the right, Joanne indicated that she wanted to speak privately with her husband.  Roy relinquished his seat to Jennifer and followed Joanne halfway down the corridor.  When Joanne decided they’d walked far enough away so that no one could hear them, she turned and faced her husband.

 

“I stopped in the Emergency Room to check on Johnny.”

 

Roy sighed. It was the only hint he gave that he wasn’t pleased with his wife.

           

“Johnny hadn't had anything to eat or drink since five o'clock last night, when he and Chris ate supper at the station. They were out on several runs before their final one this morning at two. Doctor Brackett says that between those things, the stress Johnny was under while he was taking care of Chris at the scene, and your attack on him, all of it’s been more than Johnny's body could take.”

           “I didn't attack him.”

           “Just what do you call it then?”

            “I don't call it anything.”

            “It certainly looked like an attack to me. A physical and verbal one, if you want the honest truth. How could you, Roy? Chris made his own decision about dropping out of school and joining the paramedic program, Johnny didn't make it for him.”

            “Maybe so. But Christopher confided in Johnny long before he confided in me. As far back as when he was sixteen years old. You’ve heard Chris say that yourself. Johnny should have told me then. And he should have discouraged Chris. He knows I want our kids to finish college. He knows I don't want Chris or John hauling hose like I did while trying to make ends meet for a growing family. We struggled, Joanne. When the kids were small we struggled a lot of times to make it from payday to payday. It's only been since I made captain that things have gotten better. I don't want that for my children. I don't want them to struggle to make a buck. Gage knows that. He knows I wanted more for my kids. He knows I wanted them to have a future. A bright future. But now, thanks to him, Chris's future is over before it's even begun.”

           “Roy--”

            Roy turned away from his wife. “No. Just drop it. I don't wanna talk about it anymore.”

         “But Johnny--”

          “I don't care about Johnny. I don't wanna talk to Johnny, and I don't wanna hear his name spoken again in my home. All I care about right now is Chris. All I care about is giving Chris every possible chance to get well. Maybe...maybe even to walk again.”

          “But Doctor Brackett said--”

           “Doctors have been wrong before. Even Brackett.”

           And with that, Roy walked away from his wife.

 

Joanne stood alone in the long hallway. She wondered how they’d gone from Roy planning to build an addition on the house for Chris, to him clinging to some elusive dream that Chris would walk again. 

 

And this business about Johnny’s name not being spoken in our house again. Oh Roy, do you have any idea what a mistake you’ll be making if you really mean that?  If you don’t come to terms with all of this and make things right between you and Johnny?  You’re in the process of ending a friendship that’s meant so much to you.  That’s meant so much to the kids and me, too.  Friendships like that are rare.  If you don’t mend fences with Johnny, something tells me that someday you’ll regret losing his friendship in ways you can’t imagine right now.

 

Joanne wanted to say all of those things to her husband, but before she had the chance to catch up to him a nurse appeared and said they could see Chris for five minutes.  When things had calmed down enough three days later that Joanne finally did get a chance to start a serious discuss with her husband about John Gage, Roy proved to her that he’d meant what he’d said. He held up a hand to silence her as he walked out of the kitchen.

 

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear Gage’s name spoken in this house again, and I wasn’t kidding.”

    

Joanne sighed as her husband headed out the front door.  She shouted after him, “Do you even care if I think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life by ending your friendship with Johnny?”

 

The only answer Joanne received was the roar of the Porsche’s engine. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but the woman had a feeling it was the only one she was going to get.

                       

Chapter 8

 

For a man who’d once declared John Gage’s name was never to be spoken in his house again, I found myself saying the name a lot in the days following Clarice’s phone call – and worrying a lot about the person that name identified. 

 

I spoke with Clarice each day for the ten days Johnny was hospitalized.  When he was strong enough, an MRI was done. That test didn’t show any further aneurysms.  I breathed a sigh of relief when hearing that news, as I’m sure Johnny’s family did too.  By the time Johnny was released from the hospital, his doctor knew he was experiencing weakness in his left leg and arm, as well as some problems with his short-term memory.

 

“Doctor Webber is hopeful that with time and physical therapy, John will overcome both of those challenges,” Clarice told me on the morning Chad and Carl went to bring Johnny home from the hospital. “It’s his speech the doctor is most concerned about.”

 

Even though Clarice couldn’t see my movement, I nodded. I’d spoken to Johnny on the phone four times during the two weeks he was hospitalized.  The first time I called, it was impossible for me to understand him.  His words were garbled, leaving me with no idea what he was saying. Before this happened, I would have said having a conversation with John Gage is never a challenge.  No one can accuse the man of not holding up his end of a discussion, and he usually holds up my end as well.  But now talking with Johnny was a challenge. I found myself guessing at his words and struggling to give the proper response.  I’d said, “Sure,” a lot, and, “Oh, really?” like I was talking with someone who spoke a foreign language. It was uncomfortable for me, and even more so for Johnny. I could tell by his tone he was frustrated at his inability to communicate, so rather than risk upsetting him even more, I said, “Listen, I know you must be tired.  Why don’t you hand the phone back to your dad. I’ll talk to you again in a day or two.”

 

Subsequent conversations didn’t go any better. By the time I’d placed the fourth phone call, Johnny wouldn’t talk to me. He had the receiver to his ear and was listening, but he refused to respond.  That worried me enough that I called Johnny’s house later that evening and talked to Chad about it.  He’d been the one who’d answered the phone in Johnny’s room that afternoon, so he’d been present throughout my awkward one-sided conversation with his son.

 

“He’s been that way the last few days, Roy.  He won’t even try to talk.”

 

“But didn’t his doctor say he has to try in order to improve?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what Doctor Webber said, but you know John.  He can be stubborn as a mule when he thinks he has good reason to be.  He’s been like that since he was two years old.”

 

I’d encountered Johnny’s stubborn side on occasion. More than once when we were partners, that stubborn streak of his kept us alive.  However, I didn’t think now was the time for Johnny to allow stubborn pride to interfere with his recovery.  On the other hand, I understood at least some of what he was feeling.

 

Despite the fact that Johnny could run on at the mouth, especially in his younger days, his ability to communicate had taken him far in life.  Back when he was the paramedic instructor for L.A. County, I’d sat in on a couple of his classes.  Johnny was an outstanding teacher. He quickly established a rapport with his students that was a direct result of his ease at standing in front of an audience. It’s an ease I don’t have. Since becoming a paramedic instructor myself, I’ve often envied Johnny’s ability to seem right at home whether he’s speaking in front of five people, or five hundred.

 

  I’d seen this ease again when I’d visited Johnny in Eagle Harbor over Thanksgiving weekend six years ago, and sat in on a staff meeting he held. It’d be difficult for any one of us to have our ability to communicate taken away, but for a man like Johnny, who used his verbal skills to run a fire department on a daily basis, it had to be devastating.  And it wasn’t just the small town of Eagle Harbor that John Gage’s knowledge impacted.  In many ways, the entire state of Alaska had benefited from the man’s presence. Johnny chaired the annual paramedic meeting held in Anchorage each year, and he’d helped implement paramedic programs in small hamlets all across Alaska – places so remote that emergency medical care was days away by vehicle, and hours away by air.  Again, Johnny’s communication skills were a must, as he taught classes to men and women who traveled from all parts of the state just to have the opportunity to learn from him.

 

I was sure Chad had thought of those things as well, and how important they were to Johnny. So rather than mention any of them, I tried to remain positive.

 

“Maybe Johnny’ll be more willing to try once he’s out of the hospital and back in familiar surroundings.”

 

Chad’s, “Yeah. Maybe,” didn’t sound too hopeful, but I knew he was worried, and at eighty-five years old, probably not able to cope with the stress of the situation as well as he would have had he been twenty years younger.

 

I continued to stay in contact with whoever answered the phone at Johnny’s house – usually Clarice or Chad - during the two weeks that followed his return from the hospital. Once Johnny was home, I didn’t want to bother anyone or seem like a pest, so I limited my phone calls to Friday afternoons. Each time I called, Johnny refused to take the phone and talk to me. On the third Friday afternoon, I didn’t get an answer. 

 

I didn’t think too much about that at first.  I assumed Johnny had a medical appointment, or maybe everyone had gotten into the Land Rover and gone to pick up Trevor from school.  I tried several more times throughout the afternoon and evening. Jennifer was off-duty, so Libby wasn’t with us. That meant the phone was free for me to use, rather than it being tied up by a teenager with an active social life and more friends than I could keep track of.

 

When it was nine o’clock in Eagle Harbor and I still hadn’t reached anyone at Johnny’s, I called Clarice’s home.  At first I thought I’d dialed the wrong number. The voice that responded with, “Hello?” was raspy, hoarse, and a bit labored, as though breathing was an effort.

 

I hesitated a moment, then asked, “Is this the Mjtkos’?”

 

“Roy?”

 

“Clarice?”

 

“Yes, it’s me.”

 

“You sound awful.”

 

“I’ve felt better.”

 

The woman’s cough was dry and harsh. I winced in sympathy, knowing how much that action hurt Clarice’s chest.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I’ve got bronchitis and pneumonia.”

 

“Oh...I’m sorry to hear that. You’d better take care of yourself.”

 

“That’s what Doctor Benson said too. He said if I don’t spend the next three weeks at home resting, he’ll put me in the hospital.”

 

“Then you follow his orders.”

 

“Don’t worry. Carl’s seeing to that.”

 

“Glad to hear it.”

 

Clarice coughed again.  I waited until the coughing spell passed before saying anything more.

 

“I won’t keep you.  I just got concerned when I couldn’t reach anyone at Johnny’s.”

 

“You couldn’t?”

 

“No. Should I’ve been able to?”

 

“John’s there.”

 

When she didn’t add any other names like Trevor, or Chad, or Marietta, I said, “Where’s everyone else?”

 

“John sent his father and Marietta home on Sunday. Said he was fine and didn’t need their help.”

 

“He really said that?” I asked, not because I didn’t believe Johnny would say something like that, but because, as far as I knew, he wasn’t saying much of anything lately.

 

“Well, not in so many words, but that’s what he meant. Chad was ready to get back to his own home anyway, and at the time, I wasn’t sick yet.  Oh, I was feeling a little run down, I’ll admit that. But I thought it was because of everything that’s gone on.  It wasn’t until Wednesday that I knew I was ill. By then, Chad and Marietta were back in Montana.”

 

“Where’s Trevor?”

 

“Church outing in Juneau. The kids’re sleeping over at a hotel there. He won’t be home until Sunday afternoon.”

 

“Should Johnny be alone?”

 

“I don’t think so, but he insists that he’s fine. Carl’s checking on him, but John won’t answer the phone, so that means Carl has to drive out there.”

 

“But Trevor’ll be back on Sunday.  He’ll be there with Johnny after that, right?”

 

Clarice suffered through another coughing spasm. I could picture her sitting propped up in one of the large beige reclining chairs I’d seen in her living room the one time I was in her home with Johnny.  I imagined her wrapped in a thick robe with a blanket over her legs, a glass of water and a box of Kleenex on the end table next to her.  I don’t know how correct my mental picture was, but since I could hear the T.V. in the background, and since I could tell she took a drink of something when she quit coughing, I figured the vision in my mind was pretty accurate. 

 

When Clarice was finally able to speak again, she said,  “Trevor’ll be there in the evenings, but he’s in school during the day, of course, and then after school he always seems to have some activity going on.”

 

Trevor was the president of his grade school’s student council, on the school’s basketball team, and he played on a hockey team sponsored by some of Eagle Harbor’s businessmen.  I also knew Trev had started working for Gus Zirbel, the owner of Eagle Harbor’s airport, the previous summer.  Early in the fall, Johnny mentioned during one of our phone conversations that Trevor was still working for Gus a couple of days a week after school and on Saturdays.

 

“What time does Trevor usually get home?” I asked.

 

“Around six. But as soon as he’s done eating, he has homework to do.”

 

“Sounds like Johnny’ll be spending the bulk of each day alone then, until you’re back on your feet.”

 

“I know, and I don’t like it,” Clarice croaked in a voice so deep that it sounded as though I was talking to Carl. “I worry about him falling, and Doctor Webber said the best way for John to improve his speech is by having someone to talk to.”

 

“What about the guys from the fire department? Would some of them be willing to spend a few hours with Johnny on their days off?  They could draw up a rotating schedule of some sort.”

 

“They’d all be willing to. That was the first thing Carl suggested, but John said no. And I do mean he said it.  That’s the one word that comes out loud and clear.”

 

I chuckled. “Knowing Johnny the way I do, I imagine it does.”  I thought further. “What about Reah? Did Chad ever get a hold of her?”

 

“He did. She was here for a few days last week, but flew back home.  At the time, there didn’t seem to be any reason for her to stay.  Now I wish she had.”

 

Given Reah’s nursing background, she would have been the perfect person to be with Johnny while Clarice was out of commission.

 

“And before you ask, Carl already suggested that we call Reah and see if she could come back.”

 

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Johnny refused to let Carl do that.”

 

“You know him well.”

 

“Sometimes too well.” 

 

“What about his physical therapy appointments? I’m sure he hasn’t been released to drive yet.”

 

“No, he hasn’t.”

 

“Who’s going to get him to P.T? And for that matter, get Trevor to where he needs to be after school, or pick him up? And what about the grocery shopping and other errands?”

“Carl’ll do the best he can to handle all of that.”

 

 I could already picture how easy it would be for Johnny to miss some physical therapy appointments.  Carl could probably bully Johnny into going, in the same way the years of friendship between Johnny and I meant I could bully him if it was for his own good, but if Carl got tied up on police business and had to send someone else – especially one of Johnny’s staff members – Johnny might refuse to leave the house if his current mindset was what I surmised.

 

Something in Clarice’s tone caused me to say, “Sounds like Carl’s got a lot on his plate.”

 

“He’s awfully busy at work right now. He’s short handed by two officers. One moved away, and another is out on medical leave. To top it off, he’s in the middle of setting up a new computer system for the department, and he’s taking classes in Juneau three nights a week. He has to every two years.”

 

I didn’t ask Clarice for more details. For one thing, her voice was losing what little strength and volume it’d had when she first answered the phone.  For another, I assumed she meant Carl was required to take classes periodically in order to stay current in the latest police procedures, just like paramedics “continuing education” classes, as they’re referred to now days. 

 

“Thanks for filling me in, Clarice. I’ve probably kept you on the phone longer than you doctor would approve of.”

 

“That’s okay. It’s good talking to you. I...I’m worried about him, Roy.  I don’t like the thought of John sitting alone in that house day after day.  I…I know he’s depressed, and I think he needs someone there with him.  Someone to keep him company, keep his spirits up, get him out of the house for a few hours now and then, and most of all, make him try and carry on a conversation.”

 

“You’re right, but it’s not your fault you’re sick, so don’t get upset over it.  You need to do what you doctor ordered and rest.”

 

“I know. I just wish he didn’t have to be alone.  I wish there was someone he feels comfortable enough with to let the person stay with him at least part of each day.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” I agreed, while the beginnings of an idea began forming in my mind. “Listen, Clarice, I’m gonna let you go.  Take care of yourself, and don’t worry about Johnny.”

 

“The first I can do, the second, I can’t make any promises about.”

 

Clarice started coughing again.  When the spell had passed and she’d caught her breath, I knew it was time to say goodbye. 

 

I told Clarice to take care of herself one last time, she responded with the promise of, “I will,” and then we ended our conversation.

 

After I hung up the phone, I went into the living room where Joanne was sitting on the couch in what she calls “lounging pajama” watching the news.  I sat down next to my wife, though my mind was miles away in Eagle Harbor.

 

I was so distracted by my thoughts that I didn’t hear Joanne until she said a second time, “Roy, I asked you if something’s wrong with Clarice?”

 

I focused on my wife, realizing she’d caught snatches of my conversation over the sound of the television.

 

I nodded. “She’s got bronchitis and pneumonia.”

 

“That doesn’t sound good.”

 

“It’s not. Especially for someone her age. It’s important that she gets plenty of rest.”

 

“Aside from that, she shouldn’t be around Johnny, should she?”

 

“No. The last thing he needs right now is to come down with a virus.”

 

“So will Chad and Marietta be staying for a while?”

 

“They’ve already gone home.”

 

“They did?  When?”

 

Joanne aimed the remote at the TV and shut it off, since neither of us was paying attention to it.  I spent the next few minutes filling Joanne in on everything Clarice had told me and answering her questions.

 

“Johnny shouldn’t be alone all day just yet, should he?”

 

“No. He shouldn’t. He could fall for one thing, and for another, someone needs to get him to P.T., and work with him on his speech.”

 

“What about Carl?”

“He’s doing the best he can to help out, but he’s got a lot of things going on right now.  Sounds like whatever help Carl can offer’ll be hit or miss at best.”

 

“What about some of the other guys from the fire department?  Can’t they--”

 

“I’m sure they can, but Clarice said Johnny already vetoed that suggestion too.”

 

“Why’s he being so darn stubborn?”

 

That was the one question I had an easy answer for.

 

“Pride.”

 

“Pride?”

 

“He’s embarrassed by the way he sounds when he talks.”

 

“Did Clarice tell you that?”

 

“She didn’t have to. No one has to.  I know that’s what it is.”

 

“Well, he’ll have to get past that if he wants his speech to improve.”

 

Only a woman would think it could be that easy. Maybe it’s the male ego that gets in the way of what appears to be a simple solution to the opposite sex.  I was certain Johnny knew what he needed to do to improve, but it was feeling comfortable enough with someone...having total trust in the person he was talking to, that was the key to getting Johnny to try.

 

Jo and I sat together in silence for a few minutes.  She must have thought I had nothing else to say on the subject, because she stood to get ready for bed. 

 

“You know,” I said slowly. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should go up there.”

Joanne sat down again. “To Johnny’s?”

 

“Yeah.”

“But it doesn’t sound like he wants anyone there.”

 

“I know, but what he wants and what he needs are two different things.”

 

“What about your classes?”

 

“There’s only four days left in this session. Monday and Tuesday are review days; Wednesday and Thursday are final exams.  I might be able to get Gene Reyer to cover for me.”

 

Gene had been the paramedic instructor after Johnny left the department in ‘85.  He currently worked at headquarters in personnel, but filled in for me on occasion if I needed him to.

 

“I wouldn’t plan to leave until Wednesday if Gene’s available.  That way I can be there on Monday and Tuesday for the review. It’s only fair to the kids. I’ve brought them this far. I wanna stay at least until the tests are given. That way all Gene would have to do is sit at my desk and oversee things while they take their exams. He can bring whatever work he wants to from headquarters.  There’s not much to it, really.  Just making sure no one’s cheating and helping out if anyone’s confused by the wording of a question or something like that.”

 

“What about the essay questions?”

 

Joanne knew a computer graded all sections of the exams with the exception of the essay portion.

 

“I can have Gene mail them to me at Johnny’s if headquarters approves.”

 

“Sounds like it might work,” my wife agreed. 

 

“I’ll have to get the chief’s approval first. I’ll call headquarters tomorrow morning and see if he’s on duty.  If he is, I’ll take a drive over there and talk to him.”

 

I didn’t foresee not getting approval from the current chief of the department to miss my last two days of classes.  Frank Young was an old friend of mine.  We’d gone through the academy together, and then worked out of the same station as rookies. Frank had lived in my neighborhood when our kids were growing up. Frank’s daughter, Cindy, and Jennifer were friends throughout grade school and high school.

 

“And if he’s not on duty?”

I smiled. “Then I’ll go to his house and talk to him.”

 

Joanne smiled in return.  “It helps to have friends in high places at a time like this, huh?”

“It does,” I agreed. “If Frank okay’s my request, then I’ll call Gene and see if he can cover for me.”

 

Once exams were finished, I had eight weeks off before the next session started, so I had no concerns that I wouldn’t be back in time to begin teaching again. If Clarice wasn’t well enough to return to her roll as Johnny’s housekeeper by that time, and if Johnny still needed someone there with him on a daily basis, then arrangements of some sort would have to be made.  For now, I figured we’d cross that bridge when, and if, we came to it.

 

“The only thing that’s still a concern,” I said to my wife, “is Libby.”

 

“What about her?”

 

“I’m the one who usually picks her up after school. I’m the one who’s usually here with her when Jennifer’s at work.”

 

“She’s old enough to be by herself,” Joanne reminded me.

 

“I know, but we didn’t raise our three as latch key kids, and we said we’d help Jennifer out so that wasn’t how Libby was raised, either.”

 

Joanne chuckled at my concerns.  “Roy, Libby is fifteen years old, and a mature fifteen at that.  I think we can trust her to be a latch key kid for a couple of weeks, don’t you?”

My, “I suppose,” was somewhat reluctant. I didn’t like the thought of shirking my responsibilities to my daughter and granddaughter.

 

“Besides,” Joanne said, “at least three nights out of five she has after-school activities. I can pick her up on my way home from work if Jennifer’s on-duty. On the days when Jen’s working that Libby gets out of school at three, she can walk here. She’ll be fine until I get home at six.  She’s always got enough homework to keep her busy for several hours.  And if we run into transportation problems, I’m sure Chris’ll help out.”

 

I couldn’t argue that.  Chris is self-employed, and works out of his home, keeping a flexible schedule. On most weekday afternoons he was chauffeuring his own girls to activities. Therefore, chauffeuring Libby as well wouldn’t be a big inconvenience.

 

“After you know if you’ll be leaving on Wednesday,” Joanne said, “I’ll talk to Jen and Chris. Between the three of us, we’ll get it all worked out.”

 

“Don’t forget about her job.”

 

Libby started working at the GAP in September. The store was in a mall a few miles from our neighborhood. Since Libby wasn’t old enough to drive, I usually took her to work and picked her up on days when Jennifer was on duty.

 

“I won’t forget about her job,” Joanne assured. “She’s only been working on Saturdays since the Christmas season ended.”

 

“I know, but you work a couple Saturdays a month.”

 

“Then on those Saturdays, Jenny or Chris will get her to work, depending on who’s available.  Like I said, we’ll get a schedule ironed out. You make it sound as though you’ll be gone a year.”

 

I couldn’t help but smile with chagrin at my wife’s teasing. “No, not a year. But it could be several weeks.”

 

“And during those several weeks I’ll keep things running smoothly on the home front, Mr. DeSoto.  Have you forgotten that I was pretty darn good at that during all those years you were working twenty-four hour shifts?”

 

I reached out, took my wife in my arms, kissed her, and then leaned back against the couch as she rested her head against my shoulder.

 

“No, I haven’t forgotten. And if Johnny heard me, he’d say I was wasting my time worrying about things that will fall into place if I’d just quit trying to direct traffic.”

 

“Johnny’d say that, huh?”

“He used to when we were partners and he thought I was trying to fix things that hadn’t gone wrong yet.”

 

Johnny’s words from years earlier echoed in my mind.

 

Roy, you worry about stuff that’s never gonna happen.  And if it does happen, you can’t do anything to change it anyway, so you might as well enjoy life, ‘cause if you don’t know it, Pally, ya’ only go around once as they say.

 

Joanne’s voice brought me back to the present.

 

“Would he say that now?”

 

I thought a moment.  “I dunno. He might.”

 

“But you don’t think that by going to Eagle Harbor you’re trying to fix things that haven’t gone wrong yet?”

 

“No I don’t. Things are already going wrong.  Clarice is sick. Johnny’s family’s gone home. Johnny won’t let Carl call Reah and ask her to come back.  I already see what’s gonna happen.”

 

“What?”

 

“One of three things. Clarice will end up going against her doctor’s instructions and return to working for Johnny before she should.  If she does that, she could end up paying for that decision with her life.  At her age, pneumonia’s nothing to fool around with.”

 

“No,” Joanne agreed, “it’s not.”

 

“If Clarice does stay home and rest like she’s supposed to, then Carl’s gonna try and do what he can for Johnny, but with as busy as he is, I’m afraid that won’t be enough.”

 

“Which brings us to your third concern.”

 

“Yeah.  That Johnny’s gonna be spending a lot of time alone, when he’s not physically ready to yet. And then there’s his speech.  It won’t improve if he doesn’t have someone to talk to.”

 

Joanne chuckled. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d see you do.”

 

“What?”

 

“Volunteer to spend hours in a room with Johnny listening to him talk.”

 

I laughed.  “Yeah, who would have guessed, huh?  On some days I swore I was gonna push him out of the squad if he didn’t shut up.”

 

“But you never did.”

 

Joanne’s simple statement reminded me of how deep my friendship with Johnny ran, and how even on those days when his jabber jaw was driving me nuts, I’d have still said he was the best friend a man could have.

 

“No,” I said quietly, “I never did.”

 

“Based on everything you’ve told me, I think you need to be with Johnny right now.”

 

I looked down at my wife while rubbing a hand over her arm. I knew she was purposely making the decision to go to Alaska easy for me.

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

“No, I don’t mind.”

 

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

 

“That’s okay. The house’ll still be standing when you get back.”

 

“Sounds like you’re tryin’ to get rid of me.”

 

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”  Joanne stood, took my hands, and urged me to stand with her. “Come with me, handsome, and I’ll give you a reason to want to get back as fast as you can.”

 

I allowed Joanne to lead me to the bedroom. Our grandkids – and maybe even our kids – probably wouldn’t believe that Grandma and Grandpa can still light a fire behind closed doors.

 

Chapter 9

 

Joanne had to work until noon on Saturday.  After she’d left the house at seven-thirty, I called headquarters to see if Frank would be in. I was told he was off for the weekend, so waited until nine-thirty before heading for the home he’d bought a year or so after making chief.  It was in an upper-middle class neighbor in Rancho Palos Verdes.  There are several amenities the chief of the department could afford that I couldn’t, but a gardener evidently wasn’t one of them.  Bags of bark were stacked in Frank’s front lawn.  He had just finished spreading the burnt red chips of wood around the base of a young tree, when I swung the Porsche into his driveway. He recognized the car and grinned as he took off his gloves, shoved them in a back pocket of his jeans, and ambled toward me.

 

Frank had lost about forty pounds in the past year and was almost as lean as he had been when we’d worked together. There was a spring to his step I hadn’t seen for a while, which I attributed to the weight loss. His hair had turned snow white since he’d become chief, though I don’t know if that’s a reflection of stress, or simply age catching up with him.

 

“Hey, Roy.”

 

I shook the hand he offered me. “Frank. Looks like you’ve got yourself a big project this morning.”

 

“Yeah. Sue and I love this house, but let me tell ya’, the more space you have, the more work you have.”

 

“Now you know why I’m satisfied to stay where I’m at.  Ever since the kids left, the house is more than big enough for Joanne and me.”

 

“Smart man.” Frank used his thumb to gesture at the massive wood front door with its stained glass window. “Wanna go inside? There’s probably some coffee left.  Or I can see what we have in the fridge.  Sue’s over at Cindy’s helping one of our granddaughters sew a dress for some formal dance or another that’s coming up.”

 

“Hard to believe we’ve got granddaughters old enough to be going to formal dances, isn’t it?”

 

“You’re telling me.”

 

“Listen, I won’t keep you.  I just stopped by to ask you something.”

 

“No, you can’t retire.”

 

“Uh?”

 

Frank laughed. “You look serious.  So if you’re gonna ask me if you can retire, the answer is no.”

 

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but be prepared for the day when I do.”

 

“When can I expect that to happen?”

 

“When Libby graduates from high school in two years.”

 

“You’re sure there aren’t any other grandkids you can help raise?”

 

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Let’s put it this way. There’d better not be, because Joanne and I are ready for some time to ourselves.”

 

“I’m sure you are,” Frank agreed. “So, whatta ya’ need, Roy?”

 

“To request a few days off.”

 

“When?”

 

“This week.”

 

“Isn’t this the last week of your current session?”

 

I nodded. “It is. I wouldn’t ask if it was important.”

 

“I know you wouldn’t. You look worried about something. What’s goin’ on?”

 

I told Frank what happened to Johnny, and what had occurred since he’d arrived home from the hospital. Although Frank and Johnny never worked out of the same station, they knew one another. Throughout the years when Johnny lived in L.A., he and Frank would sometimes be at my house together for picnics, graduation parties, or other gatherings Joanne and I were hosting, not to mention fire department functions that would bring the two of them together.

 

“So I was thinking if I can get Gene to cover for me during finals, then I’d leave for Alaska sometime on Wednesday.  Gene can mail the essay questions to me at Johnny’s house. I’ll grade them up there and mail them back.”

 

There was no hesitation in Frank’s response.  “If you can get this worked out with Gene, it’s fine with me.”

 

“Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

 

“Sure you won’t come inside?”

 

“No, I better get home and call Gene.  If he says yes, I’ll need to set up a time to meet with him to go over a few things, then I have to try and get a good fare on a plane ticket to Anchorage.”

 

“I wouldn’t think that’d be too difficult.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. After all, who wants to go to Alaska in February?”

 

I laughed. “Good point.”

 

“Tell Johnny I said hi.”

 

“I will.”

 

Frank’s voice caused me to pause in the act of heading for the Porsche.

 

“Roy?”

 

I turned around.  “Yeah?”

“What’re the chances of Johnny making a full recovery and returning to work?”

 

I thought about all Johnny had to overcome, especially where his speech and short-term memory were concerned. For the first time I admitted out loud, “Not great,” but then added, “On the other hand, I’ve heard of people who’ve bounced back from a lot worse with little to no side effects, so I’m hoping Johnny is one of the lucky ones.”

 

“Me too. If I remember right, Johnny’s pretty tenacious.  Or at least he was thirty years ago.”

 

“Still is.”

 

“Then maybe he’ll be one of those lucky ones you mentioned.”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed, while trying to sound more positive than I felt, “maybe he will be.”

 

I waved to Frank as I backed out of his driveway. By noon, I’d gotten in touch with Gene Reyer. Gene was a paramedic when the program was in its infancy, just like Johnny and me, so he knew Johnny fairly well. Or I should say had known Johnny well during the years Johnny worked for L.A. County. Gene said he’d be happy to help me out in any way he could, and agreed to meet with me at headquarters after my teaching day ended on Monday so we could go over what he needed to know for Wednesday and Thursday. As soon as I got off the phone with Gene, I got on the Internet. Within twenty minutes, I had an airline ticket purchased. Joanne had arrived home just as I’d gotten on-line.  She’d changed her clothes and fixed a sandwich while I was on the computer. She was sitting at the dining room table eating and leafing through the mail when I walked in. 

 

“My flight leaves at nine on Wednesday morning.  I’ll call Chris and see if he’ll give me a ride to the airport.”

 

“If he can’t, check with Jennifer. I think she’s off that day.”

 

“Okay.”

 

As I picked up the receiver from its base, Joanne asked, “Are you going to let Johnny know you’re coming?”

 

“I don’t see how I can.  He won’t answer the phone.”

 

“Guess that does present a bit of problem, doesn’t it.”

 

“Sure does. But I’ll call Carl and let him know.”

 

That’s just what I did after I got done talking to Chris. My son told me he’d be happy to take me to the airport on Wednesday.  On the other end of the scale, Carl said he didn’t think Johnny would be happy to find out I was coming for a visit.

 

“He might not be happy about it, but someone needs to be there with him.”

 

“I can’t disagree with you on that, Roy.”

 

I’d gotten a hold of Carl at the police station.  I hadn’t called Clarice because I didn’t want to disturb her. Carl told me he appreciated that when I mentioned it. 

 

“She’s really under the weather,” Carl said. “I’m pretty concerned about her.”

 

 “All the more reason she should be resting, and not worrying about Johnny.”

 

“True.”

 

“After I get to Anchorage, I’ll rent a car and drive to Eagle Harbor. Or maybe I can charter a plane to Juneau and rent a car once I get there.”

 

“You could, but don’t do that. Just tell me when your plane’s due to arrive.  I’ll have Gus pick you up.”

“I don’t wanna inconvenience anyone.”

 

“It won’t be an inconvenience. Look at it this way, you’re doing me a big favor by coming here.”

 

“I am?”

“I’m so damn busy right now that it’s all I can do to remember to get Trevor where he needs to be.  I’ve been helping out since Wednesday, when Mom first started feeling sick.  I was supposed to pick Trev up from basketball practice on Thursday and forgot all about the poor kid.  He walked here to the station, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if it hadn’t been snowing like crazy, and if Trev hadn’t left his hat and mittens in his locker. He was soaked to the skin, and for as sick as Mom was, she was ready to shoot me when I told her about it later that night. Then on Friday, I was supposed to pick Trev up after school, take him home so he could get what he needed for this weekend trip he’s on, and then get him to the church.  I woulda’ forgot him again if one of the dispatchers hadn’t reminded me when she left to take her daughter to the church.”

 

“Sounds like you can use some help then.”

 

“I sure can.”

 

“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve gotten good at in recent years, it’s shuffling a teenager from here to there to everywhere.”

 

“Then you’re just the guy I need around here.  How’re you at getting a stubborn, pain-in-the-ass fire chief to his physical therapy appointments?”

I chuckled. “Johnny’s already giving you grief, is that it?”

“You could say that.”

 

“Well, even though I’ve never had to get a stubborn fire chief to his physical therapy appointments, I’m willing to take a shot at convincing Johnny it’s in his best interest to go.”

 

Carl snorted.  “Good luck.”

 

“I’m gonna need it, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

 

“Well, I think I’m up for the challenge. If nothing else, you and I together could hog tie him and throw him in the back of the Land Rover, wouldn’t you say?”

 

I heard Carl’s chuckle, then, “Yep, think we could, Roy, and who knows?  It may come to that.”

 

I told Carl what time my plane was due to arrive in Anchorage.

 

“I’ll check with Gus and make sure he’s free. If he’s not, I’ll call you back before the weekend’s over.”

 

“Okay.  And let Gus know I’ll pay him whatever he normally gets for a charter.”

 

“No you won’t.”

 

“I won’t?”

 

“Nope. The department’ll pick up the tab.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’m sure. We set money aside each year for emergencies that might cause an employee to need financial help.  John’s given the fire department a helluva lot of himself since he came here. This is the least we can do in an effort to repay him.”

 

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

 

“Think nothin’ of it.”

 

Carl and I said goodbye.  Joanne and I left the house shortly after that.  We ran errands that took most of the afternoon, then picked up two large pizzas, went to Chris’s, and spent the evening with our son and his family.  The phone was ringing when we walked in the door at quarter to ten that night.  I recognized Carl’s voice even before he identified himself.

 

“Gus can pick you up, no problem there.  But I went out and saw John for a few minutes to tell him you were coming.  He got really pissed off and said no.”

 

“Which I take it to mean he doesn’t want me there.”

 

“By the look on his face, I’d say you hit the nail on the head.”

 

I didn’t hesitate when I replied with, “Tell Gus I’ll see him on Wednesday.”

 

“So you’re still coming?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Whatta ya’ want me to tell John?”

“That I’ve already bought a non-refundable ticket to Alaska, so he’s stuck with me.”

 

Carl’s laughter – as though this was the best joke he’d heard in a long time – made me smile.

 

“I can’t wait ta’ tell him that.”

 

“And tell him one more thing for me too.”

 

“Sure. What?”

 

“Tell him to quit bein’ so damn bull headed and let his friends help him.”

“I’ll pass it along, but I can already tell you he’ll scowl at me, make a fist, and shout no.”

 

“He can scowl and shout all he wants to, but I’ll still be there around three on Wednesday afternoon.”

 

“You know, when it comes to stubborn, I think John’s met his match in you.”

 

“I don’t know about stubborn.  Let’s just say I owe it to Johnny to help him in any way I can.  Sounds to me like he’s given up on himself.  I need to remind him of all the reasons why he’s still got a lot to live for.”

 

“There’ll be a lotta people around here who’ll be grateful if you can do that.”

 

“I’m not making any promises, but I’m sure gonna give it a try.”

 

Carl and I ended our conversation there.  I didn’t hear from him again, so when I left Los Angeles on Wednesday morning, I had no idea what type of reception I’d get from Johnny when I showed up on his doorstep. I was hoping he’d gotten over his anger and was looking forward to my visit.  It had been years since the two of us had spent any great amount of time alone together – probably not since we’d worked together at Station 51.  I, for one, was looking forward to it. Within a minute of arriving at Johnny’s, however, I discovered he wasn’t feeling the same nostalgic sentiment I was. 

 

Chapter 10

 

I was bundled up against the cold in my winter coat, boots, gloves, hat, and had a scarf wrapped around my neck.  The last time I’d dressed like that was when Joanne, Libby, Jennifer, and I, along with Dixie McCall, had visited Johnny during Thanksgiving weekend of 2000. 

 

A stiff February wind blew swirling snow into my face.  I clutched my suitcase in one hand, and waved at Gus with the other as he made a loop in the large area between the basketball court Johnny had built for Trevor, and the garage/barn.  After we’d landed at his airport, Gus was kind enough to give me a ride to Johnny’s in his Cherokee. I didn’t even have to ask for the ride. I got the impression this had also been worked out with Carl prior to my arrival.

 

After I’d put my suitcase and backpack in the cargo hold and we’d climbed in the vehicle, Gus handed me a round key ring with the Eagle Harbor Fire Department’s logo on it, along with a white envelope embossed with roses, which led me to assume it came from a stationary set.

 

“Carl said to give you these.”

 

I took the key ring that held two keys and put it in a coat pocket. I pulled my gloves off, opened the envelope, took out a piece of stationary with pink roses entangled by green vines, and silently read as Gus drove us toward Johnny’s over a snow packed road.

 

* * * *

 

Roy,

 

   Thank you for rearranging your schedule so you could help John.  Don’t expect him to be very welcoming at first, but don’t let him chase you away either. Your visit will do him good.

 

   I thought it would make things easier if I lent you the set of keys John gave me years ago.  The key with the black plastic head is for his Land Rover.  The other one is for his house.

 

   Trevor has basketball practice until five-thirty tonight in the grade school’s gym. I hope you don’t mind going to get him. If you can’t for some reason, please call Carl at the station and he’ll get Trevor home.  As for the next few weeks, John has Trevor’s schedule written on the calendar in the kitchen.  You should be able to tell where he needs to be and when by referring to that.  There’s also a school calendar hanging on the bulletin by the refrigerator. I wrote John’s doctor and physical therapy appoints on the kitchen calendar, too.

 

    Again, thank you.  Maybe I’ll be well enough to see you before you leave for home.

 

Clarice

 

* * * *

 

I refolded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and shoved the envelope in the same coat pocket that contained the key ring.  Gus and I made small talk as we wound our way over desolate roads to Johnny’s.  Snow flitted in front of the Jeep’s headlights.  It was a few minutes before three, but already growing dark.  I thought back five days to Frank in a short-sleeved shirt spreading bark around newly planted trees.  I stared out the passenger side window at the Sitka pine bows piled with snow, like a picture you’d see on a Christmas card. It was hard to believe that just that morning, I’d left a place where it was seventy degrees and looked like summer when compared to the Alaskan landscape.

 

I could see a light on in the great room as the Jeep rounded the bend in Johnny’s driveway.  Gus stopped parallel to the back door.  If Johnny was aware we were parked outside his house, and I suspected he was since I’d seen the shape of a man pass in front of the bay window, he didn’t come to the door to greet us.

 

Gus must have noticed the shape in front of the window too.  As he opened the cargo hold, reached in, and grabbed my suitcase, he said, “This has been hard for him.”

 

“I know.”

 

“He’s got a lotta pride. I guess most men do, huh?”

 

“Yeah. My wife says so anyway.”

 

“Mine too.” Gus waited while I put my gloves on, then handed me the suitcase and backpack. “Think you can help him?”

“I hope so.  A lot of it’ll depend on how willing Johnny is to accept my help.”

 

The skin around Gus’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. The wind ruffled hair that had once been red, and was now rusty pewter. 

 

“Johnny. It sounds funny to hear him called that.  We only know him as John.”

 

I smiled. “It sounds funny for me to hear him called that.”

 

“Suppose so. You two been friends a long time.”

 

I didn’t allow my mind to linger on the fifteen years when my friendship with Johnny hadn’t existed.  Instead, I said, “Yeah. Thirty-four years now.”

 

“That’s a lotta water under the bridge. I’d say if anyone can help John, it’d be you.”

 

Suddenly I felt like an entire town was looking upon me as some kind of miracle worker who could somehow give them back their fire chief healthy and whole.  I wanted to tell Gus that there were a multitude of medical uncertainties regarding just how far Johnny could travel in terms of his recovery, but it was too damn cold standing in that driveway to go into it. 

 

“I’ll do the best I can.”

 

“I can tell you’re not used to our weather. Better let ya’ get in where it’s warm.”

 

“No, I’m not used to your weather, that’s for sure. Thanks for the ride.”

 

“No need to thank me.  Wasn’t any trouble. I’m headin’ home for the day anyway.  Don’t feel like straying too far from the fireplace tonight.”

 

Snow stung my cheeks and clung to my eyelashes.  “I can understand why.”

 

Gus didn’t wait around as I headed for the house, leading me conclude he knew, or at least had guessed, that the key ring held a key for the back door.

 

I waved to Gus after he’d turned the Jeep around and passed by on his way to the road.  He gave three short toots of his horn and waved back.  Not even the sound of the horn brought Johnny to the back door.  I reached out a finger and rang the bell. I didn’t want to walk in on Johnny unless he left me no other choice. I’m a strong believer that we all deserve our dignity, so despite Johnny’s physical problems, I wanted to give him the same respect I’d want if our positions were reversed.

 

My toes were cold, and the backpack that held two pair of tennis shoes, my shaving kit, several books for me to read while waiting for Johnny during physical therapy sessions, two movies for Trevor, and some games Jennifer had given me that she thought might help exercise Johnny’s short term memory, was growing heavy from where it hung from my right shoulder. 

 

I was just about to forget the respect I wanted to extend to Johnny in favor of fishing the key ring out of my pocket, when he opened the door.  He wore jeans and a flannel shirt that both hung loosely on the man who hadn’t needed to lose any weight, but on whom illness and depression had taken its toll.  He clutched the handle of a three-footed silver cane and gave me a dark glare. After several long seconds of silence passed, I knew I’d have to goad him into speaking.

 

“I came a long way. The least you could do is say hi.”

 

I wasn’t trying to insult Johnny. I was suggesting what I thought would be an easy word for him to repeat. 

 

Rather than responding with ‘hi’ he said in a halting voice hoarse from little use, “I-I-I toe-I toe Car...no.  No.”

 

It was easy for me to translate that into, “I told Carl no.”

 

“Yeah, I know, he mentioned that, but I thought you might change your mind once I got here.”

 

“N-n-no. Go.”

 

I gestured over my shoulder with my right thumb. “If you hadn’t noticed, my ride already left.”

 

His mouth worked as though he was trying hard to get his thoughts out.  When he was finally able to speak, I could tell by the way he squeezed the handgrip on his cane that he was furious over the way his brain was failing him, but even more furious at me.

 

“Tat...tat-tat you-you polem...no my.”

 

That’s your problem, not mine.

 

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you’d let me in. It’s cold out here, ya’ know.”

 

He looked surprised over how easily I’d understood him. I knew then that no one else had been able to decipher his words in the way I’d managed to in mere seconds.  Not that I expected it to always be that easy, but I thought we were off to a good start.

 

“Don-don...I…don ‘are. Gee owe.”

 

It took me a few moments to process those sounds and apply his attempt at words to the current situation. 

 

I don’t care. Get out.

 

“How can you tell me to get out?  I’m not even in yet.”

 

“No co-co-co ‘n, efer.”

 

I roughly translated that to, “And you’re not coming in, either.”  The door slamming in my face aided in the translation.

 

Johnny left me no choice but to use the house key.  I couldn’t stand out on the deck all night in a snowstorm, and besides, I wanted to put my things down, take my coat off, figure out what I could start cooking for supper since Johnny looked like he needed a decent meal, and then make sure I left to pick up Trevor on time.  I didn’t want him standing out in a snowstorm any more than I wanted to be standing in one.

 

I entered the dark laundry room. I quietly set my suitcase and backpack down on the vinyl floor, then opened the closet where the coats were kept. I stuffed my hat and gloves into my coat’s pockets before hanging it up.  I took off my boots, leaving them on the long rubber mat lined with boots – Trevor’s barn boots, Johnny’s fire department boots, Johnny’s barn boots, and a pair of winter snow boots that I guessed belonged to Johnny because they looked too big to be Trevor’s.

 

I smoothed my matted hair into place, then opened the door that led into the kitchen. Johnny swiveled around when I entered and flipped on the light.  For just a few seconds he looked more surprised than angry.

 

“What?” I held up the key ring. “You thought I’d come all this way and then give up without a fight?”

 

When all he did was glare at me through narrowed eyes, I said softly, “Johnny, I came to help you.  I’ll help you in any way I can. You just have to let me.”

 

“La-la-las ‘ime you...you ‘igh me, you hay...hay go. Hay go ‘ell owe.  Me...now me...hay-hay you go, ‘oy. You go! ‘Ell owe! Go ‘ell owe...m-m-m-my sigh!”         

 

I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for a man with a cane to stomp away from me, but that afternoon Johnny did. He retreated to his office, slamming the door while leaving me standing in the kitchen to figure out what he’d said. It took me longer to decipher his words this time.  I was halfway through cooking supper before the meaning behind his garbled sentences finally came to me.

 

Last time you fought me, you said I should go. You said get the hell out. Now I’m telling you to go, Roy. You go! Get the hell out of my sight!

 

 

I’ve often heard that words spoken in anger will someday come back to haunt you. It had taken Johnny twenty years to hurl those hateful words back at me, and though I was at his house purely out of friendship and a desire to help, I knew the words had been a long time in coming, and that I deserved them.  

 

If a bright side existed to any of this, it was that I hadn’t been at John Gage’s home more than five minutes before I’d gotten him to talk.

 

Chapter 11

 

There was something satisfying about slamming a door when rage burned so hot inside you that a “bang!” powerful enough to rattle the pictures on the walls alleviated the need to strangle someone.  In this case, the person John Gage wanted to strangle was Roy DeSoto.  Followed by Carl Mjtko and then Clarice, though Johnny admitted some shame to possessing anger that great directed at the woman who mothered both him and Trevor. Nonetheless, it was likely Clarice who’d told Roy to come to Eagle Harbor, or at the very least, told Roy that she was ill, and as a result Johnny was spending most of each day alone. And then Carl hadn’t told Roy not to come like Johnny had demanded when the police chief first mentioned Roy’s impending visit.

 

“Roy’ll stay until Mom’s back on her feet. That’ll be all right, huh?  It’ll be good for you.”

 

As Johnny stomped around his home office, or stomped as well as a man with a limp using a three-pronged cane could, he recalled that one-sided conversation with Carl.  It had infuriated him, as well as left him frustrated over his inability to communicate. Just thinking about it caused the fury and frustration to become as real and tangible as it had been on Saturday. 

 

Johnny’d managed to get “No!” to come out both loud and firm - something that didn’t always happen, because he could stumble over what was nothing but a one syllable word his father claimed Johnny had been saying loudly and firmly since he was a year old.  But now even getting “no” out could be a battle.  He’d added, “no o ligh,” which Carl either didn’t understand, or chose to ignore.  Ever since Johnny had lost his ability to speak clearly, he hated being told something was “all right” when in fact, no, it wasn’t all right, which was what he’d tried to communicate to Carl.  He remembered his thoughts from that day, and remembered how much he’d wished he could put them into words.

 

No, it’s not all right that Roy’s coming, and it pisses me off royally that you, and Clarice, and everyone else keeps telling me what’s good for me and what’s not good for me.  You’ve even got Trevor doin’ it, for God’s sake!  I’m fifty-nine years old. I can decide for myself what’s all right and what’s not all right, and what’s good for me and what’s not good for me.  

 

Johnny tried to say all of that to Carl, but it sounded like he talking with a mouth full of that marshmallow fluff crap Clarice used to make fudge with each Christmas, and that Trevor had eaten half a jar of when he was four. The boy had wound up with a whopper of a stomachache. Johnny was up all night with him, at first concerned that Trevor had appendicitis, and then concerned he’d gotten into something poisonous. When Trevor finally confessed what he’d snuck into the pantry and eaten while Clarice was sorting laundry, Johnny had ended up laughing, then told Trev he deserved to have a stomachache. That didn’t stop Johnny from continuing to cradle Trevor in his arms while rocking him in the rocking chair, and it didn’t make up for a night of lost sleep, but it did allow his worries to recede since he’d never heard of a kid dying from eating marshmallow fluff.

 

It was odd thinking of marshmallow fluff while trying to communicate with someone, but Johnny found himself thinking of it a lot lately because of the garbled way his words sounded.  As Carl left the house Saturday afternoon, Johnny called after him, “No! To...’oy, n-n-no!  I...I...men ‘ta, Car. I...men ’ta, damn. I men ‘ta!” 

 

That directive probably would have been a lot more effective had Johnny been able to get it out in the same way he heard it in his head.

 

No! Tell Roy no!  I mean it, Carl!  I mean it, damn it! I mean it!

 

Despite the closed office door, Johnny heard pots and pans clanging together as they were removed from cabinets.  It sounded like Roy was settling in, which was the last thing Johnny wanted.  He could be humiliated and embarrassed just fine by himself, thank you.  He didn’t need an audience.

 

When the muscles in Johnny’s left leg began to tremble, he had no choice but to sit down. He sank into the soft leather chair behind his desk.  He stared at his cane, then growled and kicked it over with his right foot. It was a childish act, and because of the thick carpeting, there was no satisfaction of a “bang” this time. The most Johnny achieved was a soft “plunk.” 

 

The fire chief sighed heavily while running a hand over his face. Even he could tell that his cheekbones were more prominent now because of his weight loss, and Johnny knew if he looked in the mirror he’d see a haggard, drawn face looking back.  Pale, with smoky gray shadows beneath his eyes, sunken cheeks, and sometimes, like today, gray beard stubble because his short-term memory was unreliable, meaning Johnny sometimes thought he’d shaved when he really hadn’t.

 

If I don’t even know when I shaved last, then how the hell am I gonna run a fire department?

 

After Trevor, Johnny’s job meant everything to him. He loved what he did, loved the town of Eagle Harbor, and loved the quirky characters that inhabited her. Shortly after arriving here in 1993, Johnny felt at home in a way he hadn’t since leaving Los Angeles eight years earlier. He valued the people who worked for him, considering many of them to be good friends.  In turn, he knew the members of the Police and Fire Commission thought highly of him. But no matter how well thought of he was by the men who had hired him, Johnny knew he couldn’t retain the position of fire and paramedic chief if he wasn’t physically capable of doing the job.   

 

If Johnny couldn’t overcome the weakness on the left side of his body, his ability to be understood when he spoke, and if his short-term memory didn’t improve, then he would have to retire.  A lot of career firefighters his age were retired, but for many reasons Johnny was far from ready for that next phase in his life. For one thing, unlike most men of fifty-nine, Johnny had a son to finish raising and put through college.  For another, Johnny had always thought retirement would come when he was ready to call it quits, not when his body forced him to. A naive assumption? Probably. But an assumption Johnny’d always hoped would prove accurate.

 

The fire chief looked around the cozy office paneled with weathered barn wood. If he had to retire, he’d also have to give up this home. The home Trevor had grown up in.  It was owned by the fire department and was Johnny’s only while he held the position of chief.  Yes, there were homes in Eagle Harbor he could buy or rent – that would be the easiest alternative on Trevor, although they’d have to live on a tighter budget. Keeping the horses, or keeping Clarice on as a housekeeper, would likely be impossible. Still, Trevor would just have to make the adjustment from life in a sprawling home on ten acres of land that bordered the National Forest, to life in a small home in the center of town.  After all, where else would Johnny live at this stage of the game? He’d been gone from White Rock, Montana for so many years now that it was no longer home. And while Trevor might enjoy living near the DeSotos, Johnny had no desire to raise his son in Los Angeles.  He supposed he could move to New York so Trevor could be closer to his mother, but Johnny had no more of a desire to raise Trevor there than he had to raise him in L.A.  And reconnecting with Ashton at this point wouldn’t benefit either Johnny or Ashton in any way the fire chief could see.

 

She didn’t want me. Said she didn’t wanna get married, then turned around and married a geezer old enough to be her father. End of story.  No use in thinking there’s any ties between us other than Trevor.

 

Because it was always better not to dwell on Ashton, Johnny’s thoughts drifted back to how his life would change if he couldn’t return to work.  He’d be everything he’d never wanted to be – disabled, homebound much of the time, dependant on others to take him places like the grocery store and bank, and unable to be the active role model for his son he’d always been. 

 

Age had never been a barrier for John Gage. A mirror would reflect the passage of time as evidenced by the flecks of gray in his hair and the fine lines around his eyes, but Johnny never thought of himself as old, and never thought twice about pursuing the same activities he’d pursued when he was twenty-five.  Running, horseback riding, hiking, bowling, playing baseball and basketball, kayaking, biking – physically he’d been able to do all of these things with Trevor on a regular basis, and more. Now Trevor would be lucky if his father would eventually be able to drive him to and from school, let alone play basketball with him.

 

I don’t want my thirteen year old to have to take care of me.  I don’t want him to carry that kinda burden.  I don’t want him to take on adult responsibilities at a time when he should still be able to enjoy bein’ a kid.

 

And how the hell does a man who can’t be understood raise a teenager?  How do I guide Trevor through the rocky years he’ll be facing once he enters high school, if he can’t understand a goddamn word I’m saying? And how will things change for us...change between us...when the only activity I can do with him is watch T.V.?  When I can’t be an active part of his life any longer?  If he was three and not thirteen, he’d probably be able to adjust pretty easily because after a while he wouldn’t remember how things used to be.  But he’s at an age where difficult changes can throw a kid into a tailspin.  Can cause a kid to make a lotta bad choices that he might not have made if his world hadn’t been turned upside down.

 

The smell of ground beef browning in a skillet wafted in to Johnny.  He scowled at the reminder of Roy’s presence.  Johnny knew he was wallowing in self-pity, but this was his house. If he wanted to sit here feeling sorry for himself and his son, then he should be able to do so without worrying that he had an obligation to be amiable and pleasant for the benefit of his visitor. He didn’t feel like being amiable and pleasant, nor did he feel like having a visitor, and most of all, not when that visitor was Roy Desoto. Roy’s presence reminded Johnny of Chris for some odd reason, and all Chris had been forced to overcome and learn to live with. 

 

Despite his useless legs, Chris was an active part of his daughters’ lives.  Despite his useless legs, Chris ran his own business from his home.  Still, there was a large degree of independence missing from Chris’s life that he hadn’t known since the age of nineteen.

 

Over the years, allowances had to be made. Chris’s wife never had the opportunity to stay at home with her children.  She was the main breadwinner, and the spouse whose job provided the family with health insurance. That would never change, and given Chris’s physical condition, Wendy would probably work well past what was considered normal retirement age in order to keep insurance benefits. Medicare certainly wouldn’t cover Chris’s needs as he aged. Paraplegics faced numerous health problems due to their inactivity.  Everything from cardiovascular problems, to circulation problems, to blood clots, to pressure sores, to an increase in urinary tract infections, to a larger percentage of respiratory infections than the general population experienced.  Last year, Chris had a blood clot in his right leg, and two years ago he’d battled pneumonia for several weeks. As much as Johnny hated to acknowledge it, those were probably just the beginning of Chris’s problems. He’d be forty in October.  Middle age would likely bring with it more health challenges, because in essence, Chris’s crippled body was older than what the actual calendar revealed.

 

Then there was the assistance Chris needed in ways that differed from having a wife who earned the larger salary, or the temporary home health care nurse Jennifer arranged for when Chris had pneumonia.  Roy, Joanne, and Jennifer had all provided Chris and Wendy with help over the years. Help the couple wouldn’t have needed if Chris had two strong healthy legs.  Moving into a new home and making it handicapped accessible hadn’t been something Chris could have done without Roy.  Even small things like building shelves in the girls’ bedrooms or hanging curtain rods, couldn’t be done without assistance from Roy. The same went for yard work, which Chris paid a lawn service to do for him. And unlike Trevor, Chris’s girls had no memories of their father running beside them as they learned to ride their bikes, or taking karate lessons with them, or picking them up, swinging them above his head, and tossing them into a swimming pool. At least Trevor would have memories of a father who was able to participate in activities with him. Johnny knew he should be thankful for that.

 

It was strange how Roy’s presence in Johnny’s home now – his presence that was motivated by nothing other than friendship – could cause all those bad memories and doubts to resurface for the fire chief.

 

Had he been wrong to keep Chris’s confidence by not telling Roy that his son was dropping out of college and had joined the fire department?

 

What would Johnny do differently if given a second chance? Would he have told Roy as far back as when Chris was sixteen that the teenager wanted to do exactly what Roy didn’t want him to do – forego college in favor of being a firefighter/paramedic?

 

And then the question that had haunted John Gage for twenty-one years now - how much of what had happened to Chris was his fault?  How much of what Chris had faced each day since the shooting in July of 1985, was Johnny responsible for?

 

Maybe what Johnny was going through now was God’s way of making him walk a portion of the same path Chris walked.  Maybe it was God’s way of saying, “What goes around comes around.”  Or maybe Johnny was just having foolish thoughts because he had nothing better to do but brood, and because Roy showed up at a time when Johnny didn’t want to see him and be reminded of the way Chris’s disability had permanently altered his life.  It was too easy for Johnny to compare himself to Chris, and then feel ashamed for not handling his physical challenges with the same grace Chris possessed.

 

The man used his right foot to swivel his chair so he could look out the French doors at the growing darkness. Johnny didn’t bother to get up and walk to the switch that turned on the overhead light, even though he was supposed to walk as much as possible in order to strengthen his left leg. The yard lights had come on when dusk fell. Their glow swam across the backyard and bathed the rear of the house in dim light. The fire chief watched fat snowflakes splat against the long glass doors, and thought back to a hot July night when a call came into a fire station in Los Angeles that Johnny wished he and Chris had never answered.

 

Chapter 12

 

 

“Chris! Chris, answer me!” Johnny shouted in a strangled whisper to the young man sprawled face down on the sidewalk. “Chris! Chris!” 

 

Johnny was crouched on the driver’s side of the squad. He peered around the rear of the vehicle, jerking his head back when a powerful blast rattled his teeth and shattered the passenger side window. 

 

Sweat soaked the back of Johnny’s t-shirt, his bulky turnouts gluing the moisture in place. The night was dark, moonless, and heavy with the kind of muggy heat that caused perspiration to bead on your forehead and upper lip the moment you stepped outside. The asphalt still radiated heat from another sweltering July day, but Johnny barely noticed it when he dropped to his stomach and looked under the squad.  He swiped his bangs out of his eyes and squinted. A limp hand dangled over the curb.  Once again, Johnny shouted in a strained whisper, not wanting to draw attention to Chris or himself.

 

“Chris! Chris, can you hear me? Christopher!”

 

Johnny covered his head with his arms and ground his nose into the blacktop when a series of rapid pings sounded. Bullets lodged in the compartments of the squad that faced the house.  The next sound was a massive “boom!” followed by another. The squad sank several feet on the right side, making Johnny think of a ship that had taken on water.

 

Goddamn it! The bastard’s blown out the tires. 

 

Bullets slammed into metal again, followed by the hiss of steam from the radiator.

 

The fucker’s makin’ sure we can’t get outta here!  Goddamn this bastard. Goddamn him!

 

Johnny had been halfway between the mid-section of the squad and its rear bumper when the first shot was fired. He’d heard Chris cry out, then a second shot sent Johnny diving for the ground. The subsequent shots allowed Johnny to determine that the shooter was in the dark house he and Chris were parked in front of.  The call had come into Station 36 - the station he and Chris were working out of while Johnny evaluated the trainee’s performance in the field – at one fifty-eight a.m.  A “rescue of unknown origin” was how the dispatcher had phrased it, which could mean anything from a false alarm, to an old lady who’d been frightened by tomcats fighting outside of her bedroom window, to a husband too hysterical to tell the dispatcher that his wife was in labor.

 

The paramedic instructor crawled for the driver’s side door.  He thought of how Chris had teased him the first day they’d ridden together.

 

“Gonna let me drive?”

 

“No way, Junior,” Johnny teased back, calling Chris by the nickname Roy sometimes used for Johnny. “I put up with your ol’ man’s drivin’ for eleven years. Now you can put up with mine.”

 

Chris laughed, and then continued with the game of goading Johnny to let him drive, but Johnny hadn’t given in. Now, Johnny wished he had.  If he’d been in the passenger seat instead of Chris, then he’d have exited on that side of the vehicle.  Maybe he would have seen some movement, or sensed something odd about the dark hulking two-story house with the sagging porch, broken railing, peeling paint, and tattered curtains at the windows, that would have caused him to hit the ground and shout for Chris to do so, too, before the first shot was fired.  But that’s not the way it happened. By the time Johnny realized something didn’t feel right about this call, it was too late to warn Chris.  A gunshot sounded no more than a second after Johnny thought, Somethin’s off kilter here. It’s too damn quiet, and the house is pitch black.

 

Johnny eased the driver’s door open. His left index finger was poised to press in the silver button that allowed the dome light to shine as soon as the door’s weight was no longer on it.  He had to get to the radio before a bullet shorted out the electrical system.

 

With his finger keeping the tiny metal button compressed, Johnny slithered onto the floor of the squad and grabbed the radio’s mike with his right hand.  The paramedic chief flattened himself against the rubber mat when another round of shots made it sound like Johnny was inside a tin can under siege.  Nonetheless, he didn’t pause as he keyed the mike. His urgent breathless voice was pitched just loud enough so the dispatcher could hear him.

 

“L.A., this is Squad 36!”

 

“Go ahead, 36.”

 

“We’re under fire here, L.A.”

 

“Repeat, 36?”

 

“We’re under fire! We’re bein’ shot at.”

 

Another round of bullets slammed into the squad.  Johnny surmised the dispatcher heard them, because he got a rapid, “10-4, 36.”

 

“Dispatch police and an ambulance to our location. I’ve got a Code I.”

 

“10-4, 36. Dispatching police and ambulance.”

 

Johnny blinked the sweat from his eyes as the call went out for not only the police and an ambulance, but also for the paramedics from Station 22.  No engine companies were called to the scene, which Johnny thought was a wise idea. Until the police arrived and could assess the situation, there was no point in putting more lives in danger than was necessary.

 

Johnny hung up the mike, slithered back out of the cab, eased the door closed, and dropped to the street.  He panted hard from adrenalin, exertion, and the heat building up inside his turnouts. The paramedic looked around. The sudden silence was eerie and disconcerting.  Lights flicked on in houses across the street, but no one stepped outside.  Not that Johnny blamed the neighbors for staying in their homes.  It was the safest place to be at the moment, and he hoped they all had enough sense to stay away from their windows.  If they wanted to help, the best thing they could do was to call the police and give whatever information they knew about this nutcase intent on shooting firemen. 

 

 Johnny peered beneath the squad again.  As far as he could tell, Chris hadn’t moved.

 

“Chris!  Chris! Chris, answer me!”

 

Johnny flinched when more shots boomed.  Dogs barked a frantic, frightened bark somewhere in the neighborhood. The paramedic could picture them pulling at the end of their chains in an attempt to break free and run. When bullets blew out tires in rapid succession on the dilapidated vehicles parked at the curb, a child screamed from one of the homes behind Johnny.

 

Shut the goddamn window and get that kid away from it!

 

This call had brought Johnny and Chris to a working class neighborhood built on a dead end street in an ancient section of the city. A “poor working class neighborhood” would be how a news reporter would phrase it, meaning that half the residents were on welfare, and the other half struggled to make ends meet with low income jobs.  Black, white, and Latino resided here from what little Johnny knew of the area. A mixture of hard working people trying to obtain a small part of the American dream, combined with those who wasted their lives drowning their sorrows in a bottle while attempting to get ahead through petty theft and drug dealing.

 

Johnny’s heart pounded, the hard surface of the asphalt making each beat vibrate within his chest. Perspiration soaked his hair and ran down his face while he quelled his anxiety for Chris as more shots were fired.

 

Asshole must have a damn arsenal in there.

 

Three more bullets burrowed into the battered squad as Johnny slithered beneath the vehicle.  The flattened tires on the passenger side made it a tight fit.

 

Damn! No way can I slide Chris under here.

 

The paramedic scooted back out on the driver’s side.  He remained on his stomach and swiped sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his turnout coat.  Johnny flicked his left wrist sideways. He held in the button that illuminated the dial of his watch. The paramedic tracked how much time passed between each round of shots in an attempt to discern if there was a pattern to the man’s madness, and along with it, a lull significant enough to enable Johnny to reach Chris. It was hell on earth to be just feet from the trainee, but not be able to see him or get a response from him.  Johnny feared that by the time it was safe to give Chris help, it would be too late.  For all the paramedic chief knew, Chris’s body might be riddled with bullets, his life already taken from him by some crazed gunman.

 

Oh God, not that. Please, not that. How will I ever tell Roy and Joanne that their boy is dead?  Let him be okay. Please, let him be okay.

 

Johnny thought it was a pitiful prayer – desperate sounding from a man who was long out of practice where praying was concerned, but it was from the heart, and when Johnny was a little boy, that’s what his mother always said mattered the most. That your prayers were sincere, from the heart, and your desire was that, in some way, your prayers benefited someone else. The paramedic thought his prayer filled his mom’s criteria in all areas.  Now he’d see if Mom had been correct when she’d said a sincere prayer was an answered prayer.

 

Johnny crept back to the driver’s door and entered the vehicle the same way he had when he’d used the radio. Once again, his left index finger kept the dome light from shining.

 

The paramedic grabbed his helmet off the seat just as sirens pierced the night.  Now was his chance.  He slid out of the truck, shut the door, put his helmet on, and scurried to the rear of the vehicle. Two squad cars came flying down the street from the south – the only way into this neighborhood. It was just the diversion Johnny needed. The gunman’s attention was on the police cars.  Bullets sprayed the vehicles with unbelievable speed.

 

What the hell’s he got now?  A machine gun?          

 

The thought of a machine gun didn’t stop Johnny from hugging the ground and scampering around the squad.  He grabbed Chris’s shoulders and pulled.  It wasn’t the best way to move an injured man, but given the circumstances, it was the only way.

 

Bullets embedded themselves in the squad above Johnny’s head, but he didn’t pause. He crouched low and ran backwards, dragging Chris with him until he had the young man on the driver’s side of the vehicle. Johnny hugged the ground again, racing around the squad to grab the drug box Chris dropped when he fell.  A bullet skimmed the top of Johnny’s helmet.  The one aimed for his back buried itself in a car across the street when Johnny threw himself on the pavement and scrambled around the squad to where Chris lay unmoving.

 

Johnny glanced up long enough to see two cops, one from each vehicle, scrambling for the rear of their squad cars. The days of L.A. County cops riding with a partner were over.  Budget cuts meant most patrol officers rode solo now. At this point, Johnny figured that was for the best.  At the rate the gunman was firing, the paramedic doubted four men could have made it to safety. More men translated to more targets. The windshields of the squad cars had already been blown out, as had the front tires.

 

This guy’s making sure none of us is goin’ anywhere. Even if I managed to get Chris to one of those squads without havin’ my head blown off, we won’t be able to get him to Rampart.

 

Johnny set the drug box down and yanked his helmet off. He paid no attention to where the helmet landed when he tossed it aside. He picked up Chris’s left wrist and took his pulse.  He then laid a hand on Chris’s back and counted respirations.  Johnny didn’t know who was shooting at whom – the cops at the gunman, or the other way around – as he grabbed the bio-phone and oxygen from a compartment to his left. The other thing Johnny needed the most right now, the trauma box, was in a compartment on the passenger side of the squad.  If Chris had been carrying it too, Johnny would try and retrieve it, just as he’d retrieved the drug box.  But with the way the gunman was firing, it would be suicide for Johnny to stand up on the passenger side, unlatch a compartment, and get the trauma box out. The chief knew bullets would mow him down long before he got what he needed, which included a backboard.

 

Streetlights enabled Johnny to exam his patient with little problem.

 

Thank God he hasn’t shot those out, too.

 

The back of Chris’s turnout coat was soaked with blood. Blood was seeping from somewhere beneath the young man’s chest, too, and pooling beneath the rubber treads of Johnny’s boots.  The path of the bullet had caused a “through and through” gunshot wound. If the situation could have gotten any worse, it just did.  This meant Chris had two wounds he was bleeding from. Getting him to a hospital before he bled to death was the top priority, but given the situation, Johnny had no idea how he’d accomplish that.

 

The chief stood in a crouched position and reached for a toolbox stored in a rectangular compartment above his head. All paramedic squads had one, and if you opened it, you’d find everything but the kitchen sink in it, as Johnny used to say to Roy.  There were always medical scissors in the trauma box, but the toolbox held just what Johnny needed – a pair of sewing sheers. 

 

Johnny used the sheers to slice open the back of Chris’s turnout coat. Chris’s t-shirt was red now rather than white, but Johnny ignored the impact of that sight. For years to come many images of that night would replay themselves in Johnny’s mind, always against his will.  But during the two hours that Chris’s life depended on Johnny’s skills, the paramedic chief was so level headed and professional that one of the cops at the scene, upon finding out later that Johnny had a personal connection to Chris DeSoto that spanned fourteen years, said he never would have guessed Johnny was working to save the life of his best friend’s son.

 

Although Chris showed no signs of consciousness, Johnny offered encouraging words as he sliced open the arms of the turnout coat.

 

“Hang on, Chris.  Hang on. You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be just fine.”

 

When Johnny had the back of the turnout coat separated from the front, he cut it into fourths.  He folded one of the squares two more times, then pressed it against the bleeding wound on Chris’s back.  He left the other three squares on the pavement. Johnny knew he’d likely need them later, when this makeshift bandage was soaked through.

 

Johnny shifted slightly, using his left knee to keep pressure on the bandage. He grabbed a roll of orange reflective duct-tape from the toolbox, pulled a foot long strip free from the roll, and used the sheers to cut it.  He moved his knee for a brief second, affixing the duct-tape to his makeshift bandage. He repeated this action two more times, making certain the square pad was applying as much pressure as possible to Chris’s wound.

 

Johnny heard more sirens, then heard a cop yell, “Get back!  Get the hell outta here!”

 

The paramedic glanced up to see one of the cops, still crouched behind his vehicle, frantically waving Squad 22 and the ambulance away. 

 

“Get outta here, damn it!”

 

The drivers of the vehicles threw them in reverse as gunshots pelted the street.  At least neither the squad nor the ambulance was disabled. Johnny had a vague sense that they made it to safety, even though he’d returned his attention to Chris.  If it had been Johnny and Roy in Squad 22, Johnny knew they would have driven far enough away so they were out of the gunman’s range, and then would have waited for further instructions from dispatch.  He surmised that’s exactly what the Station 22 paramedics were doing, and assumed the ambulance driver was parked with them while waiting to be called into service.

 

Johnny did a quick check of Chris’s neck and back. He couldn’t detect any injuries that would mean rolling the young man to a supine position would cause him further harm, but Johnny did have one uncertainty to deal with.  He had no idea if a bullet was lodged in, or near, Chris’s spine.  If it was, then moving Chris wasn’t wise. Especially without a C-collar and backboard available.  However, with the amount of blood still seeping onto the pavement, Johnny had little choice.  If the young man bled to death, then whether a bullet moved and caused further damage would be a moot point.

 

Johnny made the only decision he could.  He grabbed a large thick towel from a compartment to his right and rolled it into a log. He cut a long strip of duct tape, then slid his makeshift C-collar around Chris’s neck and secured it.

 

“Chris, I’m gonna roll you over now. Let me do all the work,” Johnny instructed, though he doubted the young man could hear him. “Just let me do all the work, sport.”

 

As more sirens drew closer, Johnny straightened Chris’s limbs, then slowly and carefully log rolled him until Chris was on his back.

 

The young man moaned, his blond lashes fluttering against pale skin, but when Johnny asked, “Chris? Chris, can you hear me?” he received no response.

 

The paramedic removed what was left of Chris’s turnout coat. He set it aside, knowing he could take the time later to cut it into squares if need be. For now, Johnny grabbed one of the squares he’d already made, folded it twice, and attached it to the bleeding wound just beneath the left side of Chris’s rib cage in the same way he’d attached the square on Chris’s back – with duct tape.

 

Johnny put the oxygen mask over Chris’s mouth and nose, then slipped the strap behind his head.  He set the oxygen on high flow, grabbed a blanket pack from another compartment, tore it open, and spread the yellow blanket over Chris. 

 

“You’re gonna be okay, Chris.” Johnny looked over his shoulder to see two more squad cars arrive, along with an unmarked car, which he assumed held an L.A. County detective.  “You’re gonna be okay. Looks like the cavalry’s here.”

 

Johnny didn’t feel as positive as he sounded. All the arrival of the additional men had brought so far was more gunshots.  Regardless, if there was any chance that Chris was hearing him, Johnny was determined the young man would know things were going to turn out all right, simply because John Gage said they were.

 

Johnny reached for the bio-phone, opened the cover, attached the antenna, and lifted the receiver from its cradle. With gunfire providing sound effects, Johnny had to shout to be heard.

 

“Rampart, this is Squad 36! Rampart, how do you read?”

 

Johnny flattened himself on top of Chris as bullets pierced the squad. Without giving it a second thought, Johnny used his body to shield Chris as he waited for someone at Rampart to answer his call.

 

Chapter 13

 

 

Hearing the monotone “buzz buzz buzz” above her head, Dixie McCall glanced up from where she was standing behind the nurses’ station reading a memo. The red light blinked, indicating a paramedic was calling in. 

 

The nurse opened the door to the room that housed the base station, hurrying to the speakerphone. She pressed the white switch.

 

“Unit calling in repeat.”

 

“Rampart, this is Squad 36!”

 

The nurse recognized Johnny’s voice.  “Go ahead, 36.”

 

“Rampart, I have Code I at my location.”

 

“10-4, 36,” Dixie acknowledged. She didn’t give much thought as to who the injured fireman might be, since she had no idea what type of a call Johnny was on – motor vehicle accident, five alarm fire, or an industrial mishap of some sort. 

 

“The victim is a nineteen year old male, Rampart, with a through and through gunshot wound.”

 

Dixie’s heart dropped at the phrase “nineteen year old male.”  The odds that the injured man was Chris DeSoto had just greatly increased. 

 

Dixie knew Johnny had been riding with Chris for the past week, and she’d seen the two of them in the ER with patients several times that evening. 

 

“Pulse is 130, Rampart.  Respirations are 28. At this time I’m not able to get a B/P.”

 

“Repeat, 36.”

 

“I’m not able to get a B/P, Rampart. There’s equipment I can’t get to.  We’re being shot at.”

 

Dixie heard a massive “Boom!” and thought it sounded more like Johnny and Chris were being bombed as opposed to being shot at.

 

“10-4, 36. I’ll get a doctor.”

 

Dixie kept the line open to Johnny while picking up the phone’s receiver and requesting that Doctor Brackett be paged to the base station stat.

 

When Brackett arrived a minute later, his clothes wrinkled from sleeping in them, Dixie filled him in on what she knew.  The doctor and nurse exchange a grave look when more gunshots were heard over the open bio-phone line. 

 

The physician stepped up to the speaker. 

 

“36, this is Doctor Brackett. Give me an update on your patient’s condition.”

 

“10-4, Rampart.” 

 

Johnny supplied Brackett with a new set of vitals, told Brackett the approximate location of the gunshot wounds, and then informed the doctor of what he’d done for the victim so far. Between the gunshots and the sirens, Brackett thought it sounded like Johnny was in the middle of a war zone.

 

“I think it’s Chris,” Dixie said softly.

 

Brackett raised a questioning eyebrow.

 

“The victim,” Dixie said. “I think it’s Chris DeSoto.”

 

The doctor looked at the pad of paper Dixie had handed him when he’d entered.  The words “nineteen-year-old male” stuck out at him, just like they had to Dixie when Johnny’d first said them.

 

Brackett nodded, then turned back to the speaker.

 

“Johnny, is your victim Chris DeSoto?”

 

There was no emotion in Johnny’s, “10-4, Rampart,” but instead, just a calm professional acknowledgement to Brackett’s inquiry.

 

“36, start two IV’s with Ringers Lactate wide open, and transport immediately.”

 

“I can start the IV’s, Rampart, but--”

 

The remainder of Johnny’s response was impossible to hear over gunfire and shattering windows.

 

“36, repeat your last transmission,” Brackett ordered, while hoping Johnny hadn’t just gotten his head blown off.  When he didn’t get a response, Brackett ordered again, “36, I said repeat your last transmission!”

 

When Johnny’s voice came back on the line, Dixie and Brackett breathed sighs of relief. Dixie could easily imagine Johnny covering Chris’s body with his own. She attributed that action to Johnny’s cut-off transmission, and several hours later, she’d find out her assumption was correct.

 

“I can start the IV’s Rampart, but we’re pinned down here.  I don’t know when the area will be secured.”

 

“Have the police arrived?”

 

“10-4, but they’re pinned down too.”

 

Brackett made a fist and came just short of pounding it on the counter. It was a gesture Dixie had seen many times, whenever Kel was frustrated over some situation his paramedics were in that kept them from getting their victim to Rampart as soon as possible.

 

The doctor gathered his emotions, then responded with, “10-4, 36.  Start the IV’s and give me an updated set of vitals every ten minutes.”

 

“10-4, Rampart.”

 

The rapid “pop pop pop!” of gunfire echoed through the speaker. Dixie flinched, and she heard Brackett mutter, “Goddamn it.” When Johnny finally cut the transmission the physician looked at his head nurse.

 

“Have someone set up a treatment room, then put a surgical team on stand-by as well as a neurosurgeon. I wish Joe was on duty.”

 

“Me too.”

 

Dixie knew all of Rampart’s neurosurgeons were competent and highly skilled, yet if Chris were her son, it would be Doctor Early she’d want consulting on his case.  However, that was impossible since Joe was out of town on vacation.

 

The woman paused before leaving the room.  “How long do you think it’ll be before Johnny can get Chris here?”

 

Brackett’s response was a grim, “I don’t know, Dix, but let’s hope it’s soon.”

 

“Should I contact Roy and Joanne?”

 

There was a moment of indecisiveness on the doctor’s part, until he finally shook his head.

 

“No. Not right now. There’s nothing they can do but wait if they come here, and I don’t want to risk Roy finding out where Johnny and Chris are. All we need is for him to show up at the scene and get shot too.”

 

Although Dixie hated the thought of not being able to notify Chris’s parents about the situation, she also didn’t disagree with Kel’s logic. Given Roy’s many years of service with the fire department, it would probably take him less than five minutes to discover Squad 36’s location. Like Brackett had said, they didn’t need Roy showing up there and getting shot too.

 

As Dixie turned to hurry from the room, she saw Brackett flip the switch that reopened the line to Johnny.  He didn’t say anything, but instead, just stood there listening to the gunshots that never seemed to cease.

 

The nurse laid a hand on the man’s arm. She wanted to offer words of comfort, but what do you say when one of Brackett’s first paramedics was in danger of being shot to death, and the child of another one of Brackett’s first paramedics was in danger of bleeding to death long before he could be brought to Rampart?

 

In a gesture that was atypical for him, the doctor reached up and briefly squeezed Dixie’s hand. She squeezed back, finally deciding this was the only comfort she could give.

 

As soon as Dixie had put a surgical team and a neurosurgeon on stand-by and instructed one of her nurses to set up Treatment Room 2, she returned to Brackett’s side.  They stood together for next hour and a half listening as bullets shattered glass and pierced metal. Despite the danger, John Gage never left Chris DeSoto’s side, not even when a police officer ordered him to run to a squad car that had just arrived, was undamaged, and could get him to safety.

 

“Go, Johnny!” Brackett instructed over the open line.  “If they can get you out of there, then go. They’ll get Chris just as soon as they can.”

 

Johnny didn’t waste time telling Brackett he wasn’t leaving Chris. He didn’t respond to the physician in any way. Dixie and Kel knew the paramedic chief hadn’t left his partner because they continued to hear him tell the now semi-conscious young man that he was going to be okay, and that when they left, they’d leave together.

 

Johnny’s choice to remain with Chris didn’t surprise Dixie, and she surmised it didn’t surprise Brackett, either. It was doubtful that any of their paramedics would leave the side of an injured partner given the same situation, no matter what the cops wanted.

 

Just as Johnny remained at Chris’s side that night, in a figurative manner of speaking, so did Brackett and Dixie.  They didn’t move from the speakerphone until the ambulance carrying a gravely injured Chris DeSoto backed into the bay.

 

 

Part 3