Sunday, January 3rd, 2010

 

     My father and I went to church together this morning, then had lunch at Mr. Ochlou’s before going our separate ways. Papa had some work to do at the station, and I came home since Gus didn’t have anything for me to do today. 

 

We saw the New Year come in with Uncle Roy like we’d planned.  We got home from eating dinner at nine-thirty, and then the three of us stayed up until two in the morning playing cards.  Because of that, we all slept late.  Uncle Roy stayed in Clarice’s room while he was visiting us, and I think he was the first one to get up at about nine on New Year’s Day.  I vaguely heard someone moving around in the kitchen, then a little while later woke up again when I heard my father walk by my room and go down the stairs. I fell back to sleep, and didn’t wake up until eleven. As much as I wanted to roll over and sleep for a few more hours, I got up so I could spend some time with Uncle Roy before he left. He was catching the two o’clock ferry to Juneau, where he would return his rental car and board his plane for home that was departing at five-thirty. 

 

I got up, grabbed clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom.  I stopped at the head of our open stairway when I heard Uncle Roy’s voice drift up to me.  His words were faint, but clear.

 

 “Are you sure that’s what you wanna do?  Sounds like a lot of responsibility to me.  I thought you’d be ready to slow down a bit when Trevor went off to college, not work even more hours than you already do.”

 

I set my clothes on the landing and eased down seven stairs, being careful to avoid the spots that I knew creaked. I lowered my butt to the first step that allowed me to look through the banisters and see into the kitchen.  Roy’s back was to me, and because Papa was seated next to him at the head of the table, I could see him in profile only. Unless he turned and looked to his right, he couldn’t see me. 

 

I pressed my body into the railing, feeling kind of foolish doing so – like a little kid trying to catch some juicy family gossip that wouldn’t be spoken of if the grownups were aware of his presence.

 

Empty plates sticky with maple syrup still sat on the table, and I could smell pancakes and bacon being kept warm in the oven for me.  I easily heard Papa’s response to Uncle Roy’s words.

 

“It’ll be a lot of responsibility, yeah.  But as for slowing down once Trevor’s gone...no, that’s not what I’d planned to do.”

 

“No?”

 

“Roy, what the hell am I gonna do once he’s off to college?  Sit around here and twiddle my thumbs? If I had someone in my life like Joanne, then sure, it might be time to start thinking about retirement, but once Trev’s gone I’ll need something to keep me busy, and I guess this will do it.”

 

“Yeah, I’d say being Eagle Harbor’s Fire and Police Chief is gonna keep you busy all right.  Now you’ll never return my phone calls.”

 

Papa chuckled.  “Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson where that’s concerned. If I don’t return your phone calls, I’ll come home one night to find you sitting in my driveway.”

 

“You just might,” Uncle Roy teased, before growing serious again. 

 

“Does Trevor know about this?”

 

“No, no one does except the members of the Police and Fire Commission.  I didn’t make my decision until yesterday.  I’ll talk to Trev about it later today.  Since he’s graduating in June, and then headed for Anchorage at the end of August, it really won’t change our normal routine much.  If he was still a kid, I wouldn’t be willing to give this a shot, but in May he’ll be eighteen.  He doesn’t need me like he did just a few years ago.”

 

“He’ll never stop needing you, Johnny.”

 

“I realize that, but it’s all gonna change once he’s in college.  He’ll come home for the holidays, and then he’ll be here in the summer to work for Gus, but more or less he’ll be on his own.  Then when he goes to medical school...well, he can’t do that in Alaska, so I’ve already faced the fact that in four years he’ll fully be on his own in one way or another.”

 

“Where’s he wanna attend medical school?”

 

“Anywhere he can get the most scholarship money – oh wait, that’s what I want.”

 

Uncle Roy laughed.

 

“Seriously, he’s talked about attending somewhere on the East coast so he can be near his mother. He doesn’t wanna live with her, but he’d like to have the opportunity to see her more...get to know her better.”

 

“That’s understandable.  You okay with it?”

 

“I don’t blame him for it, if that’s what you’re asking. Other than that summer he lived with her for a month or so, he’s only seen her two weeks out of each year since he was three.  He owes it to himself, and to Ashton, to develop a relationship with her that’ll last the rest of his life.”

 

“You’re a good father, Johnny.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“A lot of things, but at the moment, because you put your son’s needs ahead of yours.  I know the issue of Ashton is...a touchy one for you.”

 

“Touchy, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the place she has in Trevor’s life.  After all, if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have him.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

“And believe me, Roy, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on Trevor for all the money in the world.”

 

“I know. Anyone who’s around you for more than five minutes can tell he’s the apple of your eye.”

 

“I can’t deny that.”

 

Uncle Roy shifted the subject back to what they’d originally been talking about. 

 

“So, how are you gonna make this work?  You don’t have any experience in law enforcement.  Didn’t Carl have an assistant who could take the job?”

 

“Yeah, there’s an assistant chief.  A guy by the name of Anton Baklanov.”

 

“Sounds very Russian.”

 

“He is. Or at least, his great grandfather was.  Anyway, Anton’s good at what he does, and the job was offered to him within a few days of Carl’s death, but he turned it down.”

 

“Why?  If you can tell me, that is.”

 

“I can tell you.  Anton’s wife was diagnosed with MS seven years ago, and they have a twenty-two year old son with Down’s syndrome. Because of all that, Anton pretty much takes care of everything on the home front – cleaning, cooking, laundry, grocery shopping, getting his wife to doctor appointments, and doing what he has to for Jeremy – his son.  Jeremy’s fairly independent, all things considered. He works as a stocker at the hardware store, but still, he’s mentally disabled, and can’t live by himself.  Anton’s got a lot on his shoulders. His wife’s health isn’t good.  He doesn’t want the extra stress and workload being the chief of police will bring him.”

 

“Given his circumstances, I don’t blame him, but how’d they get around to asking you to take the job?”

 

“They were looking for a good leader, and I guess I fit the bill in their eyes.”

 

“After seeing how you run that fire department, I won’t disagree with that. You are a good leader. Your employees have a lot of respect for you. But still, Johnny, you don’t have experience in law enforcement in any way, shape, or form.”

 

“Hey, I got those bank robbers to turn themselves in that time, remember?”

 

Uncle Roy laughed. “Yeah, ‘cause you talked ‘em to death.”

 

“Whatever works, partner.  Whatever works.”

 

There was a pause in the conversation, then Uncle Roy said half in awe, half with disbelief, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?  You’re really going to take that job.”

 

“Dead serious.  And yeah, I’m taking it.”

 

“And you’re gonna be able to handle fire calls and police calls both?  Sounds like you’ll have to clone yourself.”

 

“No, it’s not gonna work quite that way.”

 

“Then how is it gonna work?”

 

“The commission is going to name another assistant chief, so instead of just Anton in that position, there’ll be another guy who can share the load.  My job will be more administrative than anything else.  And to be honest with ya’, Roy, Eagle Harbor isn’t exactly the crime capital of the nation.”

 

I could hear the smile in Uncle Roy’s voice.  “I didn’t figure it was.”

 

“Other than when Crammer came here...well, that was about the most excitement the Eagle Harbor Police force has seen in a century.  That’s not to say the guys don’t have work to do, or that they don’t know their jobs, ‘cause that’s not true, either.  Carl had a well-trained staff, but let’s put it this way, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about solving any big crimes.  Drunk driving, underage drinking, speeding, teenagers shooting off firecrackers on a Saturday night, car accidents, water patrol in the summer, searching for lost kids in the National Forest, a few cases of domestic violence now and again - Tina Browder packs a mean punch, and her husband isn’t always sober enough to duck – stepping in-between the McGee sisters at St. Peter’s Church on Monday nights when they get into an argument over whose Bingo card is whose, and keeping things under control at Barnacle Bill’s, about sums up the extent of what the police around here have to handle.”

 

“Barnacle Bill’s?”

“A tavern down on the waterfront.  Things can get pretty wild in there on Friday and Saturday nights. Especially when Rick Schneider and Tony LaMeer start arguing about their girlfriend.”

 

“Their girlfriend? As in one woman?

 

“Yeah. And you should see how crazy things get when their wives get involved.”

 

“You mean as in Rick’s wife and Tony’s wife?”

 

“Uh huh.  It can get kinda dangerous when the chairs and beer bottles start flying.”

 

“I bet. Sounds like Eagle Harbor has a cast of interesting characters.”

 

“It does. But despite our faults, this is a good place to live.  There’s no place else I wanna call home.”

 

“I know. Eagle Harbor has been good to you...good for you.”

 

“That she has.”

 

“And your back is gonna hold up for all of this?”

 

“My back is gonna hold up,” Papa confirmed. “I’m feelin’ a lot better than I was just last week.  Mark...my doctor, wants me to have a few physical therapy sessions, and then make it a daily habit of doin’ whatever exercises the therapist shows me.  There’s nothin’ wrong that’s not pretty common for guys our age who spent a lotta years climbing ladders, climbing hose towers, jumping from engines, running to the squad every time we were toned out, and repelling down cliffs, to name just a few things that, on some mornings, my body wishes I’d never done.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Uncle Roy agreed, then reeled off what were evidently the common back problems for men their age that Papa had referred to. “Degenerative disk disease, bulging disks, arthritis--”

 

“That’s about the size of it” Papa confirmed with a grin and shake of his head.  “Thirty-eight years ago we’d a’ never thought we’d be sittin’ at my kitchen table someday talkin’ about all our aches and pains, huh?”

 

I could hear amusement laced with irony in Uncle Roy’s voice. “No, we never woulda’ thought that, but then, we never thought we’d get old either.”

 

“Sure didn’t.”

 

“So, what’s next?”

 

“With my job, ya’ mean?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, believe it or not, when Trevor goes off to college, I’ll be doing the same.  Starting next fall, I’ll take a two-year Police Science course at the technical college in Juneau. Before that, I’ll be working with Anton and Jim – the guy who’s gonna be named the other assistant chief – to help them adjust to the changes.”

 

“Think they’ll work well together?”

 

“I’m pretty sure they will.  Jim’s a good guy. Carl always thought a lot of him. He and Anton get along well, so I don’t foresee any big problems once we get all the kinks worked out.”

 

“What about Carl’s house?” Uncle Roy asked.  He knew the Fire and Police Commission provided the police chief with a home as part of his salary, just like our home is provided as part of my father’s salary  “You obviously can’t live in two places at once.”

 

“Nope, I can’t. That’s why I suggested to the commission that we let Clarice stay in the house and rent it from us.  Everyone was in agreement to that, so I’ll be talking to Clarice about it tomorrow.”

 

“It sounds like a pretty good deal if the rent is reasonable.”

 

“It is. No more than what she’d pay each month for an apartment, and for that price, she’s got a better deal. More living space, a garage, and a yard.  I’m sure she’ll go for it.  She likes the house, it’s in excellent condition, and since it’s right in town, it’ll be easy for her to get wherever she needs to go - grocery store, bank, post office, doctor’s office – without driving too far.  She’s seventy-seven, so it won’t be too many more years before it’ll be important that she can run errands without driving more than a few blocks. With Carl gone...well, she’s got a lot of nieces and nephews who’ll lend her a hand, and I’ll lend her a hand whenever she needs one, but still, I feel better knowing she’ll be in the center of town, in a house she likes living in and that’s located on main street, meaning every cop on patrol will pass by the house several times a day.”

 

“Kind of like looking out for your mother, huh?”

 

“Yeah, kinda like that.  God knows she’s been a mother to Trevor and me both since we moved here.  I owe it to Carl to do all I can for her.”

 

“I’m sure Carl wouldn’t think you’d do any less than that.”

 

“I suppose not. But...you know, I wonder sometimes if I could have...well, if I could have done more for him that night in the helicopter.”

 

“Johnny, don’t do this to yourself.  You did all you could for Carl, and you know it.  The types of injuries you told me he had meant he needed to be in a hospital as soon as possible. And even then, it’s hard to say if he would have pulled through.”

 

I didn’t know when my father and Uncle Roy talked about Carl’s injuries, but they would have had plenty of opportunity during the week Uncle Roy was visiting.  I worked at Gus’s on most days, meaning I was out of the house for seven or eight hours, and on the days Pops worked, Uncle Roy met him for lunch and then hung around the station for a while.

 

“I know,” I heard my father say in response to Uncle Roy’s words, “but still...he was a good friend.  It’s difficult...sometimes it’s difficult to think about.”

 

“I’m sure it is. I’m sorry this happened.  I liked Carl. He seemed like a great guy.”

 

“He was. I’ve been lucky, Roy.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I think we all tend to throw the word ‘friend’ around without really givin’ a lot of thought to what it means.  We think of most of our co-workers as friends, and sometimes we think of our neighbors as friends, or the people we go to church with – when I go, that is - but when push comes to shove, none of us have very many people in our lives that we’re not related to, who will stick by us through thick and thin. The reason I say I’m lucky, is because I’ve had two friends like that in my life.  You, and Carl.”

 

There was a long pause before Uncle Roy said, “You give me too much credit.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Chris. The incident with Monroe.  The years that followed.  I didn’t do right by you, Johnny.”

 

“We hashed this out nine years ago. There’s nothin’ left to say on the subject.  I told you then what I’ll tell you now. If I hadn’t gone to Denver and met Ashton, I wouldn’t have Trevor.  That pretty much negates everything else in my mind.”

 

“Still, sometimes I still feel guilty about all you went through because of me.  Because I turned my back on you.”

 

“Put it behind you, Roy.  Guilt’s a pretty unproductive emotion.”

 

Uncle Roy was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again I got the impression he’d led my father right into a well-planned trap.

 

“You’re right, guilt is a pretty unproductive emotion. So how about if you let go of your guilt, too.”

 

“About Carl?”

 

“Yes, about Carl, but also where Chris is concerned.”

 

“It was a long time ago.  I don’t--”

 

“You’re right, it was a long time ago, but don’t try to tell me you’ve cast aside the guilt you felt, because I know better.”

 

“Oh yeah? How?”

 

“Because if you didn’t still feel guilty, you wouldn’t have asked Trevor to stop writing his book.”

 

Silence lingered at the table for one minute, then for two.  As a third minute was approaching without my father making a response, Uncle Roy said, “Johnny, about Trevor’s book.”

 

“What...what about it?”

 

“I think you need to let him finish it. He told me that his mother says it’s good.”

 

“I’m sure it is.”

 

“Have you read any of it?”

 

“No.”

 

“I have.”

 

“When?”

 

“On Wednesday.  After you left for work I asked Trevor if he’d let me take a look at it.  He said I could, so I sat at his computer and read parts of it.  It is good, Johnny. Your boy has a talent that shouldn’t be disregarded.”

 

“I’m not disregarding anything.  I want Trevor to explore whatever career options interest him.”

 

“Even if that means he doesn’t go to medical school?”

 

“Roy, all I’ve ever wanted is for Trevor to be happy and live an honest, productive life.  If he’s happy being a garbage man, I’ll be happy as long as he goes to work every day and gives it his all. As long as he’s the best garbage man he can be.”

 

“I don’t think you need to worry that your son is gonna be a garbage man.”

 

“I doubt I do either. He wants to be a doctor.”

 

“And I’m sure he’ll make a fine one, but let him finish this book, Johnny.  Read it, and then tell him he can finish it.”

 

“I...I can’t read it.”

 

“There’s nothing in it that’ll embarrass you. Quite the opposite, in my opinion.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

 

“Then what are you worried about?”

 

“I...I just don’t wanna relive some of those years, Roy.”

 

“I realize that, but you’re not giving your son enough credit. The main focus of the book isn’t about the bad times, Johnny, it’s about the good times.  It’s about friendship. It’s about the extent one friend will go to for another. It’s about...well, despite the fictional names, it’s about us, and what we’ve meant to one another for almost forty years now. You’re doing yourself a disservice if you don’t read it, and you’re doing your son an even bigger disservice if you don’t let him finish writing it.”  Uncle Roy got a sheepish look on his face, then added, “In my opinion, that is.  Trevor’s your son. I don’t mean to overstep my bounds.”

 

Papa didn’t make a response to Uncle Roy’s last sentence.  Instead, he was quiet a moment, and then asked, “Did Trevor put you up to this?”

 

“No he didn’t. I was the one who brought it up by asking him if I could read what he’d written so far.  Other than telling Trev that I thought he’d done a great job, we haven’t discussed it.”

 

“And it’s really that good?”

 

“It’s really that good.”

 

Papa didn’t say anything else, which left Uncle Roy...and me, unsure about what he was thinking. He changed the subject then, and I silently crawled back up the stairs.  I made it sound like I’d just gotten out of bed by opening and closing dresser drawers with a lot more force than I ever use, then jogging from my bedroom to the bathroom so my pounding footsteps could be heard below, and then shutting the bathroom door just hard enough so the sound would travel to the main floor. I showered, dressed, made my bed, and bounded down the stairs to the great room.  Uncle Roy and Papa looked up when I entered the kitchen.

 

“Hey there, young man.”

 

“Hey, Uncle Roy.”

 

“ ‘Bout time you joined us,” Papa said.

 

I gave him a light rap on the head with my knuckles. “I need my beauty sleep. Unlike some people around here, that all the sleep in the world can’t help.”

 

Papa made a grab for me, but I swerved so he only caught the back of my shirt.  I laughed as I yanked it out of his grasp, then opened the oven and filled a plate with the food he’d put away for me.

 

Other than when I stood to put the dishes in the dishwasher, we didn’t move from the table until Uncle Roy had to get ready to leave.  My father and I put on our boots and coats, then followed him out to the Dakota.  Roy stowed his suitcase in the cargo hold, shut the door, and turned to face us. I hugged him, told him goodbye, told him to tell Libby, Aunt Joanne, and the rest of the family hi for me, patted his back as my way of thanking him for all he’d done since he’d arrived, and stepped out of his embrace.

 

The embrace my father and Uncle Roy shared lasted several long seconds.  Papa finally clapped him on the back and said, “Thanks for everything, Pally.”

 

I could have predicted the response.

 

“You’re welcome, Junior.” 

 

“Next time I think you’re overdue for a visit, I’ll quit returning your phone calls.”

 

Uncle Roy laughed, said, “That just might get me here again,” then climbed in the driver’s seat.

 

Papa said, “Have a safe trip.” He stepped back from the vehicle as Uncle Roy promised, “I will.”

 

“Tell Joanne and the kids I said hi.”

 

“Will do.”

 

We stood waving goodbye until the Dakota reached the road, and Uncle Roy turned toward Eagle Harbor.  Papa and I did chores together, then went in the house, took off our coats and boots, and washed up at the laundry room sink.  When my hands no longer smelled like horses, I headed for the great room.

 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

 

“Uh...not just yet.” Papa stood at the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for each of us.  “Come ‘ere and sit down a minute.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I’ve got a few things I wanna talk to you about.”

 

If I hadn’t already known I wasn’t going to be punished for drinking with Connor, I would have thought that was coming. Since I’d overheard Papa’s recent conversation with Uncle Roy, I assumed he was going to tell me about the job he’d accepted. I assumed right, because pretty much word for word, he said the same thing to me about it as he had to Uncle Roy.

 

I smiled when he was finished.  “I think that’s great.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah. They picked the best man for the job, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“Well...we’ll see about that. Other than seminars and short refresher courses, I haven’t attended classes since I trained to be a paramedic back in 1971. That’s been a long time ago now.  The thought of being a student again at my age...”

 

“You can do it, Pops. I know you can.  You’ll probably ace all your classes.”

 

“I don’t know about that.”

 

“Well I do. Besides, you have to do this.  Carl would want you to. I know he would.”

 

 “Maybe.”

 

“There’s no maybe about it.  He would. I can hear him now. ‘Gage, park your skinny butt in my office and take care of things for me.’”

 

Papa smiled.  “Yeah, that’s what he’d say all right, and then he’d make a bet with me he had no chance of winning.”

 

Now it was my turn to smile.  “Yeah, he would, ‘cause no matter how many times he lost, he was always ready to try again.”

 

When my father didn’t say anything else, I reminded him, “You said you had a few things to talk to me about.”

 

“Yeah...yeah, I do. About the trip to your grandpa’s that I canceled. I--”

 

“Papa, I understand.”

 

“But I haven’t even explained anything yet.”

 

“You don’t need to,” I said firmly. “I understand.”

 

And I did.  Based on what I’d heard Papa say to Uncle Roy, and based on my own recent recognition that I wasn’t the only person who’d felt guilt - however unjust it might have been - over Carl’s passing, I knew the trip to Grandpa’s had been canceled because Papa hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate much of anything in recent weeks, let alone a holiday as festive as Christmas. As well, the news about his impending promotion to police chief also clued me in on why he’d been so preoccupied during the month of December, and why he’d probably felt this wasn’t the time for him to be gone from Eagle Harbor on vacation.

 

Before Papa could say anything else about the way our Christmas had unfolded, I said, “What’s next?”

 

“What’s next?”

 

“What else did you wanna discuss with me?”

 

“Oh.  Well, the next thing...the next thing is about...about your book.”

 

Two months ago I would have jumped in and said, “Did you change your mind?  Can I start working on it again?”  But I’d grown up a lot since Carl died, so I sat there and waited Papa out. It took him a minute before he continued.

 

“If you’ve got time, can you print it for me?  I’d like...I’d like to read it.”

 

“I’ve got time. I can do it now. But it’s not done.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I haven’t worked on it since you asked me not to.”

 

“I realize that, but I’d still like to read what you have.”

 

“Okay.”

 

I didn’t pressure my father into telling me what this request to read my book might ultimately mean. Would he tell me to return to work on it, or would he say he’d prefer I find another plot?  I wanted to finish telling that story with an urgency and desire I couldn’t describe, but like I said, I’d grown up a lot since Carl’s death, and if Papa said he’d prefer I’d settled on another plot, then I was prepared to do so, regardless of whether or not I thought he was being fair.

 

I went upstairs, turned on my computer, opened the book file, and hit the print command on the tool bar.  Thirty minutes later, I carried the manuscript downstairs.  After a brief search of the kitchen, dining room, and laundry room, I finally found my father in his office.  I handed him the stack of pages.

 

“Here.”

 

“Thanks. Shut the door on your way out, okay?”

 

I hesitated a moment, uncertain as to how to interpret his mood, then said, “Sure,” and did as he asked. 

 

I watched a movie, then went into the kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge until I’d collected a smorgasbord of leftovers comprised from meals Clarice had made for us that week.  I filled a plate with everything from roast beef to spaghetti to chicken and rice to a dinner roll, and warmed the food in the microwave.  I put various pans and casserole dishes in the oven for Papa, and set it on Warm.  I had no idea if he realized it was suppertime, but some instinct told me not to disturb him. 

 

When I finished eating, I put my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then lingered outside Papa’s office door for a minute.  I could see light spilling from underneath it, but I couldn’t hear anything – which would make sense if he was reading, as opposed to talking on the phone or working on his computer.  I finally turned away and headed up the stairs to my room.  I grabbed the book from my nightstand that I’d been reading.  I sat on my bed, pulled my pillows from beneath the quilt and propped them against the headboard, leaned back, opened the book to the place I’d left off, and started reading.

 

It was ten o’clock when I heard my father walking up the stairs.  He poked his head in my open doorway, and when he saw I was awake, walked in.  He was carrying the manuscript in his right hand. He placed it on my computer desk, and turned to face me. His command was quiet but firm.

 

“Finish it.”

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Yeah. I do.”

 

I couldn’t help but grin as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of my mattress. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For asking you to stop working on it. You were right when you told me I wasn’t being fair.”

 

“You...I understand now that you had your reasons.”

 

Papa nodded, but didn’t say anything else.  I realized he was leaving a lot unspoken, and not all of it had to do with Evan Crammer or Scott Monroe.  Some of it had to do with Kent Stone, the man who’d murdered my father’s wife, Kim, and their baby daughter, Jessie, in 1967.  The publicity the Crammer case attracted in 1978 brought Stone, a fugitive from justice, out of hiding.  He stalked my father for weeks, then tried to kill him.  My enthusiasm for my book had caused me to lose sight of all the reasons why a plot involving Evan Crammer would not be an easy one for Papa to be a part of - either as the person the book was based on, or as a reader. 

 

When my father spoke again, he said simply, “You’re a very talented writer.”

 

“I’m only seventeen.”

 

“That doesn’t matter. You have a lot of talent. Put it to good use.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Papa shrugged. “Whatever you want it ta’ mean.  Only you can decide.”

 

I was left uncertain as to what he was getting at, but let the subject drop. I looked up at him, not sure how to ask my next question.

 

“I’ve...I’ve never told Mom that I quit working on the book.  She’s waiting for me to send her some more chapters to review.”

 

“Then I guess you’d better get writing.”

 

“I know.  I will.  But I wanted to ask you...uh... when the book’s done, before...before I turn it into Mrs. St. Clair, would you...”

 

“Would I what?”

 

“Would you...uh...well, would you read it all the way through for me?”

 

The look on Papa’s face told me it was hard for him to agree to my proposal, but his answer came without hesitation.

 

“Sure. I’ll be happy too.”

 

I knew just how difficult it was for him to say that, so I smiled again. “Thanks a lot.”

 

“You’re welcome a lot.”

 

He reached out and laid a hand on the side of my face. Neither of us said anything as he gazed down at me, but in that moment, I saw his mind taking him back to the afternoon I was born, and then reliving, in bits and pieces, the seventeen and a half years that had gone by since then.

 

Papa let his hand drop to my shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, said, “Good night,” and left the room.

 

“Good night, Pops,” I called as he headed down the stairs to the kitchen to eat supper. 

 

After Papa left, I stood, shut my door, and walked over to my computer.  I opened my book file and began reading in order to refresh my memory as to where I’d left off, and where I was headed with the next chapter.

 

Other than taking time out for this journal entry, every spare minute I’ve had since Friday night I’ve written non-stop on my book.  School resumes tomorrow, meaning I’m really going to have to cram in order to get the book done and turned into Mrs. St. Clair by April first.  When I think of all my other obligations – homework, my job, the hockey team, the student council, the school newspaper – my head starts to spin and I break out in a cold sweat, because I don’t see how I’m going to manage to keep up with it all, plus write a book. But then I think of how hard my father fought on two different occasions to keep himself and a young girl alive when they were caught in the hands of a serial killer.  When I remind myself of that, I walk away with a new resolve and know that somehow, I’ll get through this. After all, I am John Gage’s son. If even half of his perseverance has rubbed off on me, then I know I can weather any storm that comes my way as long as I put my mind to it.

 

It feels good to be writing my book again. Real good. I’m still going to be a doctor, but I have to admit, I sure like to write.

 

Sunday, May 30th, 2010

(Memorial Weekend)

 

     I feel like I’ve neglected an old faithful friend the past five months.  I haven’t had time to write in my journal since the entry I made on January third.  A lot has happened since then.  One of the best things that happened is Jake came back to school on February first. Until March, he used a cane to get around, but now he’s doing pretty well without it.  He still has a slight limp, but Jake’s doctor thinks he’ll overcome that if he continues to work hard in physical therapy, and continues to do the exercises at home that his physical therapist assigned him.  Jake isn’t shying away from that hard work, because he hasn’t changed his mind about wanting to be a firefighter/paramedic, and still plans to attend the technical college in Juneau come September.

 

     I added to my workload by volunteering to go to Jake’s house during January and tutor him so he’d stay caught up with his classes.  He didn’t want to have to repeat his senior year.  I didn’t want him to repeat his senior year either.  We started kindergarten together, so it wouldn’t seem right to graduate without Jake on the stage with me.

 

     My father started his new responsibilities in January.  Everyone in Eagle Harbor seems happy that Papa was named Chief of Police. He’s gotten a lot of support, both from the town’s people, and from his police and fire department staffs, so I know he’s going to do just fine.  He’s put in a lot of long hours at the station this year, but I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly noticed. When hockey season ended, our school’s baseball season started.  I barely had a break between the two sports.  Then there was the usual stuff like homework, the school paper, my job with Gus, animal chores, writing my book, and whatever else has come my way as my senior year glides toward a close.  Even with as busy as Pops has been, he always made it to my hockey matches, and has attended all my baseball games.  I think he was a little worried that I’d feel neglected given all the time he’s putting in at the station, but I keep reminding him I’m old enough to understand things have changed for him, just like they’re going to change for me when I head to college in the fall.

 

     Clarice still cooks and cleans for us, and still stays at our house overnight when Pops works a twenty-four hour shift. Carl’s death has been so hard on her, which is why she likes to keep busy.  She’s happy that she got to stay in the house she and Carl had shared, and she’s told me more than once that she knows the Police and Fire Commission picked the best man to replace Carl when they picked my father for the job.

 

     “Carl would be proud of your papa, Trevor,” Clarice said to me one day shortly after the new year began. “He loved his job. He’d be happy to know someone he thought so much of took it over, and will keep things running smoothly.”

 

     Clarice has also been busy spearheading the efforts to raise money that will assist Gus with replacing his helicopter.  The fire department wants another air ambulance, and though Gus had the chopper insured, additional funds will be needed in order to have the new helicopter outfitted with the necessary radio and medical equipment.  Clarice volunteered to help Gus in any way she could, and so far, the people of Eagle Harbor have been generous with their donations.  Gus has promised my father that a new helicopter (well, new to us, though probably somewhat old in years) will be ready to serve Eagle Harbor’s paramedics by the end of this year.

 

     Things remained uncomfortable between Kylee and me during the winter months. Since our class is so small, it was impossible to avoid one another, which only made things tenser between us.  I started dating Jake’s little sister, Amber, in February, but it was more to have a girl to hang out with when I got together with Jake and the twins and their girlfriends, than it was because I had any strong feelings for her.  I like Amber, but not in the way I liked Kylee.  I guess that was the reason I thought of her as a good date for a night of pizza with the guys and their girlfriends, or when all of us went to the movies, but it was also the reason why I never took her on a date that was just the two of us.  I didn’t want to hurt Amber’s feelings by making her think I was serious about her, when I really wasn’t. It worked out okay.  Because Amber’s a freshman, her parents weren’t too crazy about the idea of her dating anyway, so they limited our time together to group dates, which was fine with me.

 

     It was the end of March when Kylee and I bumped into one another – literally - outside of Hayward’s Grocery Store.  She was coming out of the store carrying a plastic bag that held lunch meat, bread, and Chips Ahoy cookies, and I was walking in because Papa had asked me to pick up a couple of gallons of milk on my way home from school. Neither Kylee nor I were paying attention to what we were doing. When I felt my body impact with someone else’s, I took a quick step back and said, “I’m sorry.  I shoulda’ been watching where I was...”

 

     I never got the word “going” out.  I looked into Kylee’s face as she too, cut-off the apology she’d started to make.

 

     I felt as awkward and shy as I had the first time I’d asked her out. “Uh...uh, hi.”

 

     The half-smile she gave me was uncertain and tentative.

 

     “H...hi.”

 

As though we didn’t see one another in school five days a week, I asked, “How...how’ve you been?”

 

     “Fine...just fine. How about you?”

     “Okay.  Fine. I’m doin’ all right.”

 

     Her smile seemed more genuine when she said, “I’m gla...glad to hear that.”

 

     People were circling around us, so we moved as one from the automatic doors to the sidewalk.

 

     “How’re your folks and Chandler?”

 

     “Good. Chandler misses you.”

 

     “I miss him too.  Maybe...maybe I could stop by sometime and tell him hi...when your mom and pops are home,” I hastily added.

 

”Sure. That would be nice. He’d like to see you.”

 

I cast about for something that would keep the conversation going.  “So...uh...did you decide what college you’re goin’ to?”

 

“Yeah. The University of Florida in Orlando.”

 

“Oh...that’s...that’s great,” I said, while trying to hide my disappointment.  The last I had known, Kylee’s first choice had been Anchorage University, so we could attend college together.  Her paternal grandparents had retired to Florida in 2007, and lived in Orlando. Kylee had visited them several times in the past three years, and I knew she liked Florida in a way I could never imagine liking any state but Alaska.

 

“My parents are comfortable with it since Grandpapa and Grandma only live about a thirty minute drive from the campus.”

 

“Are you gonna stay with your grandparents?”

 

“For my freshman year. Papa was pretty firm about it, even though I’d rather live in a dorm.  But he says if things go well, then I can live on campus when I’m a sophomore.”

 

“He’s just worried about you.  Florida’s a long way from home.”

 

“I know. It’s okay.  I’m not upset about it.”

 

A cold wind was blowing, making it uncomfortable to talk out in the open. I jerked my head toward Donna’s.

 

“Wanna get something to eat with me at Donna’s?”

 

“Now?”

 

“Yeah, now.”

 

She chewed on her lower lip a moment.

 

Please say yes, I thought.  Please say yes.

 

“Well...okay. But I need to be home before six.  Mom’s with Chandler at his Cub Scout meeting. If I’m not home before they are she’ll wonder where I’m at.”

 

“All right.”

 

We walked down the street to the diner, where we ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and Cokes.  Our conversation remained stilted while we ate, but once our empty plates were pushed aside conversation came easier. 

 

 

April first was just three days away then.  Because of that, Kylee’s first question was, “Have you finished your book?”

 

“Just barely, but yeah, it’s done.”

“Have you turned it in yet?”

“No. I’m still revising it.”

 

“You don’t have much time left.”

 

“I know. I’ve got a couple of late nights ahead of me. Is yours done?”

 

She nodded. “I turned it in after class two weeks ago.  It doesn’t have the happy ending I originally wanted it to have but...” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s the way life goes sometimes, I guess.”

 

“Yeah...yeah, I guess...guess you’re right.”

 

Things were awkward again, and suddenly, I felt I owed her an explanation for my behavior during November and December.  Without going into details, I told her my father had asked me to stop working on the book for “personal reasons,” and that I hadn’t handled his request very well, and then Carl’s death only made things worse.

 

“I...I’m really sorry, Kylee.  If I could go back and change things for us...if I could take back that night we...that we went to dinner, and everything that happened afterwards, I would.”

 

“I know you would.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Sure. You’re just that kind of guy, Trevor.” 

 

We talked a little while longer then about school, our friends, and our futures.  When Kylee looked at her watch and said she had to go, I stood to leave too.  Kylee tried to pay me for her half of the meal, but I wouldn’t let her.

 

“This wasn’t a date, Trev.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I can pay for my share.”

 

“I know, but don’t worry about it.  I wanna get it.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

She didn’t argue with me further. I left enough money on the table to cover our meal plus the tip, then we walked out of the diner together.  We stood on the sidewalk a moment, and I shifted nervously from foot to foot.

 

“Uh...listen...I was wondering if...well, if you have a date for the prom?”

 

“No.”

 

In a way, I was surprised by Kylee’s answer, yet in another way, I wasn’t. She’s one of the most popular girls in school, but given the small size of our class, everyone is paired up with someone else.  Unless she wants to dip into the pool of under classmen like I had with Amber, she was pretty much left dateless during the rest of her time at Eagle Harbor High.

 

“Would you...would you wanna go with me?”

 

The look of indecision on her face made me rush to say, “Just as friends.  Nothing more.  Just so we can be with Jake, and the twins, and Jenna, and Steph, and Amanda, like we were for last year’s prom.”

 

“I thought you were seeing Amber.”

 

“I was...I mean, I do sometimes, but it’s not serious.”

 

“Does she know that?”

 

“Yeah. Besides, her parents won’t let her go to the prom.  They said she has to wait until she’s a junior.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Mr. Shipman said Katie and Jake weren’t allowed to go until they were juniors, so Amber can’t either. He says that’s why it’s called the Junior Prom. Then he said he doesn’t plan to buy new prom dresses every year for the next four years.”

 

Kylee rolled her eyes. “No wonder Mr. Shipman and my papa are such good friends.  He sounds just like Pops.”

 

“So...uh...would you go with me?”

 

She thought a moment, then said, “Just as friends, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Then that means I pay for my own dinner.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And it means we ride with the twins.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Kylee nodded her consent. “All right.  I’ll go with you.”

 

I grinned. “Thanks. That’ll be great. Thanks.”

 

“I’d better get going.  My mom’ll be home soon.  See ya’ tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, see ya’ then.”  I was feeling giddy enough to add, “Tell your mom and Chandler I said hi. And your pops too.  Tell him I said hello.”

 

Kylee’s eyes twinkled with amusement.  “I will. You tell your papa hi from me, too.”

 

“Okay.”

 

We parted ways then. Kylee headed down the sidewalk to her house, and I headed back to the grocery store.  The prom was six weeks away at that time, but nothing came along that caused us to break our date for the evening.  We had a good time, and I’m glad I asked Kylee to go with me. Shortly after that, I asked her to attend the senior banquet with me that was held this past Friday night in a private room at the Seaside Inn, and included all of my classmates, our parents, the teachers we had this final year of school, and Mr. Hammond. Kylee agreed to that, after we both again emphasized we were just going as friends – which we did.

 

The other gathering Kylee attended where I was present, too, was at the surprise birthday party Pops threw for me. My eighteenth birthday was Friday, May fourteenth.  I thought Papa, Clarice, and I were going to dinner in Juneau to celebrate. On our way to the ferry, Papa swung into the station’s parking lot, saying he needed to check on something. I thought it was kind of odd when he insisted Clarice and I both come in with him, but when he said, “A new guy just started I want ya’ to meet,” I didn’t think much of it.  Papa’s been introducing me to new employees for as long as I can remember, so his request didn’t seem out of the ordinary.

 

We came in through a back door that opens into the hallway where the community room is located.  It’s a huge room that civic groups in Eagle Harbor can use to host meetings, and it’s where the Police and Fire Commission meetings are held, and occasionally a baby or wedding shower is held there, or a retirement party. 

 

That night it was a birthday party everyone was gathered for - my birthday party, and I couldn’t have been any more surprised than I was.  My classmates had a done a great job of keeping it a secret. They were all there; along with some underclassmen I play on sports teams with, as well as Amber and a few other kids I think of as friends who aren’t seniors. Many of Clarice’s relatives were in attendance, as were Gus and Evelyn, along with every firefighter and police officer that wasn’t on-duty.  Those men and women who were on-duty popped in for pizza, sub sandwiches, and cake when they could.

 

The party didn’t wind down until midnight. Clarice had gotten a ride home from one of her sisters earlier in the evening, so it was just my father, the twins, Jake, and me left when the party ended.  All of us pitched in to take down the decorations Papa had hung, throw out the garbage, wipe off the tables, and wrap up the leftover food.  Papa put the food in the station’s refrigerator so his staff could eat it for lunch the next day.

 

It was shortly after one a.m. when Papa and I got home. For the second time that night I thanked him for the party.

 

“So you enjoyed it?”

 

I grinned. “When haven’t I enjoyed being the center of attention?”

 

Pops grabbed the nape of my neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re a chip off the ole’ block, kiddo.”

 

“So I’m noticing more and more.”

 

“Clarice wants us to come to dinner at her house on Sunday evening so just the three of us can celebrate your birthday. You’ll get your presents then.”

 

“That’s fine. I don’t need any presents any way. The party was more than enough.”

 

“The party was just that – a party. It wasn’t supposed to be a present.”

 

“Whatever you say. It’s not like I’m gonna turn down a present if you insist on givin’ me one.”

 

“I didn’t think you would.”

 

We trudged up the stairs toward our rooms, pausing together on the landing. I hooked my father’s neck with my right elbow and pulled him to my chest.

 

“That party was great, Papa.  Thank you.”

 

I felt his strong pat on my back.  “You’re welcome.”

 

“Good night.”

 

     “ ‘Night, kiddo.”

 

     I flipped on my light and shut the door. I had just pulled my shirttails out of my pants, when Papa knocked on the door.

 

     “Come in!”

 

     Pops opened the door and stepped into my room. He was carrying a thick black binder that I’d left on his nightstand prior to us leaving the house earlier that evening. He held it up, immediately recognizing what it was since he’d seen me walk out of the house with it on April first.

 

     “Your book?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “And?”

 

     “Open it.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “Open it. Mrs. St. Clair put a note inside it with my grade.”

 

     As Papa opened the front page of the binder, I thought back to the day I’d handed it to Mrs. St. Clair. I was the last student to turn his book in. It wasn’t until after class, and after everyone else was gone, that I’d approached her desk. Binders containing books written by my classmates were stacked on the table to her right.  Mrs. St. Clair had read thirteen books since Jenna had turned hers in last fall, and had seven to go including mine.

 

     “So, Trevor Gage, despite your conviction that you aren’t a writer, you got it done.”

 

     “Yeah, I got it done,” I’d said, as I handed it to her. “But not without a lotta blood, sweat, and tears.”

 

     Mrs. St. Clair couldn’t have known how much I meant that, yet she nodded as if she had insight to things I wasn’t aware of.

 

     “No writer completes a novel without expending some blood, sweat, and tears, Trevor.”

 

     “I wish you woulda’ told me that when I started this project.”

 

     “Wasn’t it more fun learning that for yourself?”

 

     I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘fun’ to describe the ten months I spent working on that book, but I had to silently admit there were many parts of the project I wouldn’t have wanted to miss - interviewing Doctor Brackett, Dixie, and the DeSotos about a time in my father’s life I knew little of, and then having the opportunity to connect with my mom in a way I never had before.  She stuck with me on the book until the last word was written, even though I know her busy schedule must have meant she had to put in some late nights proofreading chapters I’d sent her. Sometimes her e-mails came to me at three in the morning, yet she never once said, “Trevor, I don’t have time for this now. You’ve procrastinated too long. I’m too busy to help at this late date.”

 

     Over and above all of that, the bonus to the hard work was getting to know my father on a deeper level than I’d ever thought possible.

 

     I didn’t say any of that to Mrs. St. Clair. In answer to her question, I nodded and said thoughtfully, “Yeah...yeah, I guess in an odd sort of way, it was fun learning it for myself.”

 

     She started flipping through the pages of my book, which made me nervous. It was one thing to know she was going to read it, but another to be standing there as she did it.

 

     “Uh...I don’t know if it’s very good.”

 

     “You don’t?”

 

     “No.  I mean it might not be good at all.  My mom...she thinks it’s good, but then, she is my mother, so she’s probably a little prejudiced where I’m concerned.”

 

     “Probably. Has your father read it?”

     “Yeah.”

 

     “What did he think?”

 

     That was a good question. Papa had read the book for me from start to finish like I’d requested of him, but just like that night in early January in my room, all he’d said was, “You’re a very talented writer, Trev.”  I realized that was a compliment, but he didn’t give me in-depth comments on the book like my mother had, nor did he point out where I might have gone wrong with his story, or where I hit the nail on the head when I wrote of my main character’s feelings regarding all he’d gone through.

 

     “Um...well, he liked it. He said I have talent, but...you know, he’s my father, so just like my mom, he tends to think that I’m good at everything I do, which isn’t true.”

 

     Mrs. St. Clair nodded her understanding.  “I guess I’ll be the true judge of your talent where this book is concerned then.”

 

     I swallowed hard. I knew Jenna and I were running neck and neck for Valedictorian honors. She’d gotten a B+ on her book, so the pressure was on me to do better than that. I knew Jenna’s grade had been the highest Mrs. St. Clair had given so far on the books, and there was a lot of speculation amongst my classmates that no one would earn a better grade than Jenna had. As Dylan had said, “Let’s face it, we’re a buncha’ high school kids. How can any of us write a book that’s good enough to earn an A? Maybe...just maybe, someone who’s just graduated from college with a degree in creative writing could pull it off, but we just started writing for the school newspaper in September. I don’t know why Mrs. St. Clair thinks that qualifies us to write a decent book.”

 

     I had silently agreed with Dylan’s thoughts on the subject, but telling that to Mrs. St. Clair on the day I turned my book in wasn’t going to do me any good, so I nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess you will be,” in response to her comment about being the true judge of my talent.   

 

“So, do you want to give me an overview?”

 

I hadn’t been expecting that request. 

 

“Uh...no...no, not unless it’s required for my grade.”

 

Mrs. St. Clair chuckled. “No, it’s not required for your grade.” She shut the cover of my book and sat back in her chair.  “I have six books to read ahead of yours, so it will be a while before I give you an oral review, along with your grade.”

 

I tried to act as though I wasn’t dying to get my grade within the next twenty-four hours.

 

“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry.”

 

Again, Mrs. St. Clair chuckled. “I’ll just bet you aren’t.” She started to stand, which I took to be my cue to leave.  The school day was over, and like me, she probably didn’t want to hang around any longer than she had to.

 

I headed for the door.  “See ya’ tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Trevor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

I got halfway between Mrs. St. Clair’s desk and the door when I turned around.

 

“Oh, about that overview you mentioned?”

 

My teacher’s tone was one of puzzlement.

 

“Yes?”

 

“When you gave us this assignment last June, you told me I should begin my quest for ideas close to home.”

 

Mrs. St. Clair nodded. “Yes, I did.”

 

“Well, I took your advice, and then I found out you were right about something else, too.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“That the best stories come from within the writer.  So I guess that’s all you need for an overview of my story. I found it close to home, and then when I actually started writing the book, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was gonna be, because it really did come from inside of me.”

 

“Then I’d say it must be a pretty good book.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s good or not, Mrs. St. Clair, but let’s put it this way, I’m proud of it. I’m really proud of it.”

 

I didn’t wait for Mrs. St. Clair to answer me that day before leaving her room. My nervousness over what grade I’d get left me, because I was finally able to acknowledge that I’d done the very best job I could, and couldn’t ask more of myself than that.

 

I guess you could say Mrs. St. Clair gave me a gift on my eighteenth birthday, because it was after class that day when she gave me an oral review of my book, and then told me my grade.  I hadn’t mentioned it to Papa when I’d come home from school, and it was only after he’d showered, dressed, and had gone downstairs before leaving for my party, that I’d slipped into his room and left the book for him to find.

 

It was one-thirty in the morning as my father stood across from me silently reading the hand-written insert Mrs. St. Clair had placed over the front page of my novel.

 

You told me I was to be the true judge of your talent, Trevor.  In light of that, I can’t say anything other than excellent writing. You have surpassed my expectations, and have truly written a novel of professional quality.  It’s my opinion that with experience and maturity on your part, along with a little rewriting, Portrait of a Friendship could someday be a best seller. Set this book aside for a few years, Trevor, and then promise me that someday, you’ll revisit it again. I think you’ll find you have a novel that should be shared with others. You have crafted a tale of suspense, mystery, intrigue, and adventure. Most important, however, is that you’ve given the readers a look at a heartwarming friendship that has endured both good times and bad times, yet managed to grow only stronger as the years have passed, despite some undesirable forks in the road. You don’t deserve less than an A+. Congratulations Eagle Harbor’s Valedictorian, Class of 2010.

 

When my father finally looked up from Mrs. St. Clair’s note he was wearing a huge grin, though his eyes were a little misty too. 

 

“I’m...” He had to pause to clear his throat. “Saying that I’m proud of you, Trevor, doesn’t even begin to sum it up.”  Papa set the book on my bed and pulled me to his chest. “Fantastic job, Trev. Fantastic job.”

 

“On what?” I asked against his shirt. “My book? Or being named valedictorian?”

 

He kissed the top of my head. “Both,” He confirmed softly. “Both.”

 

     Papa released me after a long moment, said, “Good night,” again, said once more, “I’m really proud of you,” and then left my room.

 

     I knew he’d be on the phone to Grandpa, Aunt Reah, and Uncle Roy first thing in the morning, and I was right. And I also knew that shortly after that, he’d be telling anyone he encountered in Eagle Harbor that I’m this year’s valedictorian.

 

     Rather than being embarrassed at the thought, like I was just eleven months earlier, I smiled with the satisfaction of knowing I’d given my father good reason to be proud that I was his son.

 

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. Papa’s taking Clarice and me out to breakfast, then we’re going to watch the town’s Memorial Day Parade, then we’re going to the graveyard to lay a wreath on Carl’s grave, and one on his father’s grave.  I know it sounds stupid, but I’m going to tell Carl what grade I got on my book, and that I’m the valedictorian...that is, if Papa doesn’t tell him first.

 

 

Sunday, June 13th, 2010

 

     I graduated from high school on Saturday, June 5^th.  In some ways, it seems like that day was a long time in coming, and in other ways, it seems like it was just yesterday that I was holding my father’s hand and walking into my kindergarten classroom on my very first day of school. Papa’s said the same thing about ten times since last Saturday, and then walks away mumbling, “I don’t know where the years have gone.”  

 

     Papa was on vacation this past week, which was nice, because we had a lot of people to entertain.  He had a great time, and I think all of our visitors kept his mind off the fact that my graduation marks the end of my childhood.

 

     Grandpa, Grandma Marietta, and Aunt Reah arrived on the Thursday prior to my graduation.  They stayed at our house until they left for home yesterday morning. 

 

My mom, Franklin, and Catherine also arrived on Thursday. They stayed at a Bed and Breakfast in Eagle Harbor. It was neat to have Mom visit my hometown for the first time.  She and my stepfather seemed genuinely interested in the place I’ve called home for as long as I can remember. Catherine seemed interested, too, but she’s only five, so a trip anywhere is a big adventure to her at this point.  They headed back to New York on Tuesday. I saw them each day during the five days they were here, and if small town life bored them, they did a good job of hiding that fact. Mom and Pops even got along while Mom was here, which was a nice bonus.  Not that I thought they wouldn’t get along, I suppose, because they’ve always made the effort to for my sake. But on the other hand, they hadn’t seen each other since I was six and started flying to New York each summer without Papa accompanying me, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I sure didn’t expect to see Mom give Pops a hug at my graduation party, and then see him put his arms around her and hug her in return. 

 

“You’ve done a tremendous job raising our son, John,” I heard Mom say to him. “You deserve all the credit for the wonderful young man he’s become.” 

 

“I can’t take all the credit,” Papa told her. “A lot of people who’re important to Trevor have had a hand in bringing him up.”

 

Papa didn’t elaborate to Mom about which people had influenced me for the better, but I knew he meant Clarice, Carl, school teachers like Mrs. St. Clair, various guys at the fire station, and good family friends like Roy DeSoto.

 

Speaking of Uncle Roy, on the Friday before my graduation, the entire DeSoto family arrived, and by entire, I mean everyone, including Jennifer’s boyfriend, Ron.  Neither Chris and his family, nor John and his, had ever been to Alaska before, nor had Ron. Uncle Roy, Aunt Joanne, Jennifer, and Libby had never been beyond Eagle Harbor and Juneau, so on the Tuesday after my graduation, the DeSotos set off on a tour of the interior of Alaska in four motor homes they’d rented. They’re all headed back to their respective homes sometime next week. 

 

     Dixie and Doctor Brackett arrived on Friday, too.  Pops had sent each of them a graduation announcement, but he didn’t expect them to come. He was surprised, and pleased, when Dixie called in late April to say that she and Doctor Brackett would be here, and then to ask about available lodging in Eagle Harbor. Clarice wouldn’t hear of them staying anywhere but with her, and by the time they returned to Los Angeles yesterday, Clarice had made two new friends she plans to keep in touch with.  

 

     The biggest surprise came when Chet and Marco showed up just a couple of hours before the graduation ceremony. They hadn’t wanted my father to know they were coming, though Uncle Roy was in on their secret, because he’d told them how to get to Eagle Harbor from Juneau. They flew into Anchorage on Friday, then rented a car and drove to Juneau, where they got a hotel room. They hung around a week, and enjoyed seeing where we lived after all these years of hearing about Eagle Harbor.  Even Chet complimented my father at my graduation party.

 

     “This is a great place, Johnny. I can see why you like it so much.  You’ve made a good life for yourself here.”

 

     “I have,” Papa agreed. “And yeah, it is a great place, but not for all the reasons you think – the mountains, the ocean, the small town, my job...”

 

     “Then what’s the reason?”

 

     “It’s a great place ‘cause you don’t live here, Kelly.”

 

     Everyone had laughed, and then agreed that for once, Papa had gotten the better of Chet.

 

     My graduation party was last Sunday. It wasn’t ruined by a drop of rain, and the temperature stayed at seventy degrees until late in the evening when it got cool enough that my guests starting putting on jackets and sweaters. At one point, I think everyone who wasn’t on-duty at the police and fire departments was there, and those who were on duty took turns stopping by for a few minutes.  We had a huge picnic in our yard with tons of food made by Clarice, her sisters, Aunt Reah, and Grandma Marietta. In addition to that, four grills were going most of the day.  I don’t know how many dozen hamburgers, hot dogs, and pork chops we cooked, but since various guys who work for Pops kept volunteering to man the grills, the flow of food was never interrupted.  Most of my classmates got a chance to come by, just like I did my best to stop by their graduation parties.  Our parents tried to stagger the parties as much as they could from last weekend through this weekend, so we’d all have a chance to attend the celebrations.

 

     Because I was senior class president, I was master of ceremonies at the graduation. At first, I was nervous when I stood on the stage and looked out at the gymnasium packed with people. I made myself even more nervous when I spotted my father, my grandparents and aunt, Clarice, my mom, Catherine, and Franklin, the DeSoto family, and everyone else who was visiting us, all sitting together in the first and second rows of folding chairs on the gym floor.  I briefly wished I hadn’t looked for them, but then raised my eyes so I was gazing out over the audience, which helped my anxiety recede.

 

     I prayed my voice wouldn’t come out in a high-pitched squeak (thank God it didn’t) when I said into the microphone, “My classmates and I would like to welcome you to the graduation ceremony of Eagle Harbor High School’s Class of 2010.”

 

     The entire gym erupted into cheers and applause, and that set the tone for the rest of the ceremony.  The band played the National Anthem, our state song, and then our school’s song. Mr. Hammond spoke for fifteen minutes, and even cracked a few jokes about how often he’d issued detention to Tyler Cavanaugh, and how he was still going to find out which ones of us had toilet papered his house on Halloween. (That was Tyler, Ethan Hackstrom, and Travis Wieland.) Mr. Hammond then introduced me as the class valedictorian. 

 

I wiped my hands on my navy blue robe before standing to give my speech.  I kept it short, because I’ve sat through enough ceremonies where the speakers get long winded and put everyone to sleep.  As speeches go, it wasn’t anything outstanding, nor did it include anything vastly different from what any other valedictorian has ever said.  I touched on the past I’d shared with my classmates that dated back to kindergarten, mentioned the highlights of our four years at Eagle Harbor High, and then spoke of our hopes for the future. I briefly referred to Carl when I spoke of “a friend Eagle Harbor lost this year,” and how the senior class had mourned his passing, and then referred to Jake as “a friend we’re thankful to still have with us.”  If nothing else, my speech was well written and well rehearsed, so although I don’t consider myself a public speaker by any means, I was happy with the end result.

 

The juniors who are members of the school’s video/yearbook club, taped the ceremony from start to finish, and then provided copies to all the parents.  I think my father has watched his copy a half a dozen times since he got it on Tuesday.  

 

     After my speech, Mrs. St. Clair, as our class advisor, spoke about the unity of our class, and how she’d enjoyed watching us grow and mature over the past four years. 

 

     “I knew this class was comprised of talented and bright young men and women the first day they arrived in Freshman English. We’ve traveled a few rocky roads together, and more than once I’ve heard them moan, ‘Oh, Mrs. St. Clair, not another writing assignment.’”

 

     The audience laughed at Mrs. St. Clair’s imitation of us. I have to admit it was a good one, and my classmates and I laughed too. 

 

     “Despite their reluctance to put pen to paper at times, they grew in many aspects of creativity during their years in my class. As most of you know, my senior students are the editors, writers, cartoonists, and photographers for our school’s newspaper. Under the guidance of a young man who was, at first, reluctant to be the paper’s editor, this year’s seniors took our little newspaper above and beyond what it has been in the past. Therefore, next year’s incoming seniors will have to work that much harder in order to meet my expectations. So, members of the junior class, you have Trevor Gage to thank for how difficult I’m going to make your lives when September gets here.”

 

     Again, everyone laughed, and I heard a couple of the junior guys yell, “Thanks a lot, Gage!”

 

     When the gym was quiet again, Mrs. St. Clair continued.

 

     “On a more serious note, our town lost a beloved friend last November when Carl Mjtko passed away.  Shortly before winter break in December, Trevor came to me and said he wanted to devote an issue of the school’s paper to Carl.  I tried, without success, to convince Trevor that such an undertaking couldn’t be accomplished in nine days, and that while his idea was an excellent one, it needed to be put on hold until after school resumed in January. That wasn’t the first time I’d encountered Trevor’s stubborn streak, but it was the first time that I allowed his stubbornness to overrule my own.” 

 

     Mrs. St. Clair paused, looked at me briefly, and smiled before continuing.  I had no idea where she was headed with her speech, or why she was focusing on the school’s paper.

 

     “There was something in Trevor’s eyes that day – determination is the best way I can describe it – that caused me to go against my better judgment and agree to his proposal.  He promised me this very special edition of our paper wouldn’t be done halfway, and it was a promise he and his classmates, to their great credit, kept.  I’ve never seen a group of students work so hard to accomplish a common goal, as I saw when I watched these young people seated up here on this stage, put in hours of their own time outside of school in order to honor Carl in the way he deserved to be honored.  I don’t believe there’s a person in Eagle Harbor who didn’t see that edition of our paper.  I received so many compliments from friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and business owners – compliments that I immediately acknowledged should be given to my students.

 

     “Unbeknownst to those students, I submitted that edition of our paper to a national contest, in which newspapers from high schools all across the country are critiqued and judged by a panel of professional journalists and writers.” 

 

A big smile broke out on Mrs. St. Clair’s face at this point, while my classmates and I exchanged puzzled glances.   

 

     “Words can’t convey how thrilled I am to announce that our little senior class, made up of just twenty students, won in the category of Best High School Newspaper for 2010.”

 

     The reaction amongst my classmates was mixed as the audience broke into cheers and applause once again.  Some of my friends, like Jake, Dylan, and Dalton, jumped out of their chairs and punched their fists in the air.  Kylee and Stephanie sat there with tears streaming down their faces, and I just sat there in stunned silence.  I hadn’t expected this.  Heck, I didn’t even know there was some kind of national contest for high school papers, and even if I had, I would have never, in a million years, thought my tiny school had a chance of winning.

 

     When things quieted down once more, Mrs. St. Clair said,  “Eagle Harbor High School won an award in another category as well.”  She glanced at me again, before returning her attention to the audience. “Ironically enough, it was my most reluctant writer who walked away a winner in this category.  Please join me in congratulating Trevor Gage for his first place award in the category of Best Editorial, as a result of his tribute to Carl entitled ‘The Measure of a Man.’”

 

     Things got pretty crazy then.  I heard the shouts and claps and cheers coming from the audience, then my classmates were hugging me and pounding me on the back.  I was pulled to my feet, and the twenty of us shared one big group hug that the girls instigated, and that us guys didn’t try too hard to get untangled from, even though we’d never admit it.  It took forever for the gym to grow quiet this time.  When silence did finally descend, and when my classmates and I had reseated ourselves, Mrs. St. Clair announced that, as part of our award, we were getting an all-expense paid four-day trip to Chicago in July, in order to receive our plaques.  Since I’d never been to Chicago, I thought that was cool, and since a lot of my classmates had never been outside of Alaska, they thought it was cool too.

 

     The remainder of the ceremony went by so fast – too fast, in my opinion. For as anxious as I’d been to graduate and move on to the next phase of my life, I was suddenly apprehensive about all that was changing. A warm glow of nostalgia filled me as I watched my classmates walk across the stage to receive their diplomas one by one. 

 

I remembered how Tyler ate paste in kindergarten, and how Dylan and Dalton had always insisted on sitting with me during milk break.  I remembered how Travis spent at least part of each day in the time-out corner during first grade, and how even back then, I was worshipping Kylee from afar. I remembered that Stephanie had been the best kickball player in the third grade – even better than all of the boys, and how a strong friendship began growing between Jake and I in the fourth grade, when we were assigned to do a Social Studies project together.  It was hard to believe that all of us would never make up a part of the same classroom again, and that after our trip to Chicago, we’d go our separate ways.  Granted, some of my classmates would settle in Eagle Harbor, but I knew some wouldn’t either.  I don’t plan to.  Once I get my medical degree, I plan to be a doctor in remote areas of Alaska where medical care is scarce, and where I can combine my love of flying with my desire to provide a valuable service to those in need of it.

 

     When Mr. Hammond announced, “Trevor Roy Gage,” I rose to receive my diploma.  Cameras flashed in the first and second rows, and I heard my family, my guests, and my friends clap and cheer.  I paused after receiving my diploma and looked at my father, so he could get a picture of me shaking hands with Mr. Hammond.  Papa looked so proud of me, and that’s when I recalled another memory - that of a single father in the prime of his life, and without any gray in his hair or lines around his eyes, and before he had to use reading glasses, walking his young son into a school building for the first time.  I remembered how Papa assured me I was going to like school, and that there was nothing to be afraid of, and that he’d be right down the street at the fire station, and that when I got out of school at noon, he’d be waiting by the main doors to pick me up.  Whatever fears I had evaporated then, because I knew he wouldn’t go back on his word, and that when the school day was over, he’d be waiting for me just like he’d said. 

 

It seems like an insignificant act I guess, but the memory means a lot to me.  It wasn’t my mother who walked her scared little boy into that school building, and though my father could have delegated that job to Clarice, or asked Dylan and Dalton’s mother to drop me off at school when she took the twins, like a lot of men in his position might have, he didn’t.  That small action was a reflection of how, for all of my eighteen years, he was both father and mother to me.  Because of that, I didn’t walk back to my seat on the stage, but instead, walked down the steps, crossed the gym floor, and headed directly for Papa. He stood as I approached him.  I wrapped my arms around him, gave him the kind of bear hug he used to give me when I was little, and then said, “Thank you for everything.  You’ve been the best father a guy could hope to have.”

 

     Papa was too choked up to say anything in response, but that was okay. We stood there like that long enough for Uncle Roy to snap a couple of pictures, then I turned and ran back for the stage.  Fifteen minutes later the ceremony was over, and I was officially a high school graduate. 

 

     We celebrated my graduation that night with a dinner in one of the private banquet rooms at the Seaside Inn. All of our out-of-town guests and Clarice attended at Papa’s expense, which Chet made a big deal over, considering how cheap my father is known to be at times. Then afterwards, everyone came to our house for ice cream and cake.  My graduation party was held the next day, and ever since then I’ve barely had a free minute to myself.  Between entertaining our visitors, going to graduation parties, writing thank you notes for the gifts I received, and working for Gus, my days have been full. It was nice to see my grandparents, aunt, mother, and everyone else, and I’m really glad they all came, but it was also nice to wake up this morning to a quiet house, and to wake up knowing I didn’t have to entertain anyone.  I think Papa feels the same way, because he seems to be savoring his newspaper at the breakfast table for longer than usual.

 

     I’m going to Kylee’s graduation party this afternoon (but only as a friend, not as her boyfriend) then tomorrow the twins, Jake, and I are headed to Glacier Bay National Park on a week long camping trip.  Our parents have never let us do anything like this before, so we’re pretty pumped. It feels good to be eighteen and out of high school. 

 

     I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m looking forward to it. My father has given me a strong, solid beginning. I’m anxious to see where that solid beginning leads me, and what I ultimately make of it. As my grandpa told me at my graduation party – looking behind me is what I have to do when I need to remember where I came from, but looking ahead is what I have to do when I need to see where I’m going. 

 

     My only regret about my graduation is that Carl wasn’t there to be a part of it.  Clarice says she’s sure he was a part of it in ways we’ll never imagine.  Maybe she’s right. I’d like to think so, anyway.  When I receive my plaque for my editorial, I’m giving it to my father, so it can be hung on the wall at the station that, in early August, is being dedicated to Carl’s memory, and his service to our community. I’m also having my copy of the school newspaper’s tribute to Carl framed, and I’ll have Papa hang that up the day of the dedication ceremony too.

 

     I’ve learned a lot this past year about my father, about myself, about good friends and how we should enjoy each moment we have with them, and about life in general. Some of those lessons I would have rather not experienced, but Papa keeps assuring me I’ll be a better man for them.  Only time will tell if his prediction is correct.  For now, I plan to enjoy the ‘little things.’ A hike with my father in the mountains behind our home, a couple of hours spent at Kylee’s party, and then treating Pops to supper at Donna’s Diner.  None of that may seem very exciting, but Carl’s passing has taught me not to take anything for granted, no matter how small and insignificant it might be.  Besides, watching Pops dodge Donna’s attempts at getting a date is always worth an hour of amusement.  Carl would think so too.

 

     A pessimist would say high school graduation marks the end of a long road, while an optimist would say it marks the beginning. I like to think it marks the start of many roads as of yet not traveled, but every one of them well worth the drive.  If I veer off the path, as I’m bound to do now and then, I’ll put my grandpa’s advice into practice, and look behind me so I remember where I came from, then look ahead to see where I’m going.  I don’t know if that’s a guarantee for success, but I’d say it’s a pretty good place to start.

 

Part 8