Lost Years

Throughout the Dances with Rattlesnakes series, the reader has gotten a vague picture of Johnny and Roy’s lives during their fifteen-year estrangement.  Johnny relocated to Colorado, where he met Ashton Riley, and where Trevor was born in 1992.  Roy’s family grew and changed as his children pursued careers, left home, and married.  Roy suffered the heartbreaking loss of his grandson Brandon Sheridan to cancer, while Johnny suffered the heartbreak of Ashton’s rejection, and then leaving him to raise Trevor alone.  Roy and Johnny eventually mended fences, and the friendship that was once torn apart by tragedy grew strong again.  But it would take another tragedy for the men to talk about the years in which they had no contact, and to finally get a complete understanding of what each other went through during those lost years.

~ ~ ~

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 he looked angry.

“What?” I held up the key ring so he could see how I’d gained entrance. “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, 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.  

~ ~ ~

Lost Years

By: Kenda

“Lost Years” is rated PG13 for the occasional use of strong language.  “Lost Years” is the 9th story in the Dances With Rattlesnakes series.

~ ~ ~

Miles create a distance not easily crossed, but true friends will always be together in spirit.

Chapter 1

I wasn’t expecting the news the caller gave me.  But then I don’t suppose you’re ever expecting bad news when the phone rings in the middle of the day.  Calls delivering bad news seem to come late at night, or during the early morning hours before dawn.  You’re jarred from sleep, heart racing as you grope for the receiver, sure that someone you love has been in an accident or had a heart attack.

When the kids were teenagers and out with friends or on a date, Joanne and I hated it if the phone rang late at night. Like most parents, we immediately thought the worst. Once our sons and daughter were grown, I assumed our worries were over, but now that we have a teenaged granddaughter, and my mother is approaching her eighty-third birthday, the worries have started all over again during those rare times that the phone rings after ten at night or before seven in the morning.

Now you know why I wasn’t thinking a phone call at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon was anything to be alarmed about.  I’d arrived home twenty minutes earlier, after a day of teaching emergency medicine to my latest group of young men and women attempting to obtain their paramedic certification.  I’d picked up my granddaughter Libby on my way past the high school. 

Joanne and I have assisted our daughter Jennifer with raising Libby, ever since Jennifer and Dan Sheridan, Libby’s father, divorced when Libby was eight.  Libby’s fifteen now. I’ve overheard her say many times that I’ve been more of a father to her than a grandfather. Because Dan has been absent from her life for the most part, Libby’s right I suppose. 

I hadn’t planned to be a father figure to any of my grandchildren.  Being a grandpa who could spoil them rotten and then return them to their parents would have been fine with me.  But as I’ve learned in recent years, life is what happens when you’re making plans.  Libby’s little brother passed away at the age of six after a long and pain filled bout with cancer. Jennifer and Dan divorced seven months after Brandon’s death, the marriage strained beyond repair.

After that, Jennifer needed Joanne and I to help her with Libby. Jennifer’s an ER physician at Rampart, so long days and odd working hours are the norm for her. Since my work schedule provides me with more flexibility than Joanne’s provides her, I was the one who, in large part, took over the parenting role with Libby.  That hasn’t necessarily been a bad thing. Actually, a lot of rewards come with this, the most important being a close relationship with my oldest grandchild.  I’ve been involved in her life in a way I wasn’t involved in my own kids’ lives because of the overtime I worked to make ends meet in the days before Joanne had a job outside of the home.

Libby was in the room in our house we consider hers – our son Chris’s old bedroom, doing her homework.  I could hear the sound of the television too. When my kids were teenagers, Joanne and I didn’t allow TVs in their rooms, so the fact that we let Libby have one, and let her do her homework while watching it, reflects that I am her grandfather and not her father, and do spoil her at least a little bit.

The sun streamed through the patio doors.  It was a mild mid-January day, the temperature sixty-eight degrees.  I slid one of the doors open to let fresh air in through the screen.  I’d just walked into the kitchen and started opening cabinets so I could decide what to make for supper, when the phone rang. As I hurried around the breakfast bar to grab the receiver, I hoped it was Joanne calling from work with some suggestions for supper, or to say she’d pick up a pizza on her way home.

I sat on a stool as I snatched the portable receiver from its base. 

“Hello?”

A female voice that seemed vaguely familiar, yet that I couldn’t immediately identify, asked, “Is this Roy?”

My tone turned from friendly to wary.  I was certain I was about to be pestered by a telemarketer.

“Uh…yes, it is.”

“Roy, this is Clarice Mjtko.”

 My response was delayed long enough for Clarice to decide I needed further explanation, though actually I didn’t.

“I work for John...Johnny.”  She hastily tagged on the nickname John Gage’s friends in Los Angeles know him by, but that no one in Eagle Harbor, Alaska ever uses.

“Sure, Clarice.  I’m sorry. You caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting to pick up the phone and hear your voice.”

“No. No, I suppose you weren’t.”

Her tone – a combination of worry, upset, and dread, as though she needed to give me news she wished she didn’t have to convey – caused me to question, “Clarice, is everything okay?  Johnny...Trevor...”

“Trevor’s fine,” Clarice assured me regarding Johnny’s thirteen year old son. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the phone line. Or at least uncomfortable for me. I’d already surmised that, whatever the reason behind Clarice’s call, it wasn’t good. After all, why would Johnny’s housekeeper, a woman I’d been around briefly only a few times in the past six years, call me unless there was some kind of problem?

“What is it, Clarice?  What’s wrong?”

“Roy...Roy, John’s in intensive care at the hospital in Juneau.”

It took me a moment to find my voice.  I sat forward on the stool as though I was ready to take action of some sort.  Years of working in emergency medicine had me reaching for the pad of paper and pen we keep propped in a holder by the phone. 

I held the pen over the paper, ready to write down everything Clarice said.

“What happened?”

“He collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon.”

“Collapsed?”

“It…it was an aneurysm, Roy. A brain aneurysm.”

The fact that she’d said “it was an aneurysm” led me to conclude the blood vessel involved had ruptured, as opposed to Johnny having symptoms like a severe headache or double vision, that sent him to the hospital prior to this reaching a crisis level.

I asked the question I already knew the answer to.  “It burst?”

“Yes.”

Because Clarice was less than ten years younger than my mother and a woman to boot, I didn’t say what I was thinking.

Shit. Oh shit, Johnny. Why?  Why?

I had a feeling I already knew the answer to my, “Why?” Johnny’s mother died from a ruptured cerebral aneurysm when he was twenty-one.  Johnny had found her in the barn on his parents’ ranch.  She was already dead, and probably had been for a couple of hours.  Though aneurysms can result for several reasons, heredity plays a large factor in whether or not a person might have what doctors consider to be a congenital malformation of a blood vessel.  I knew these malformations could be present since birth - a kind of internal ticking time bomb that can go off with little warning, or might never go off at all. 

“How is he? What’s his condition?”

“As of a few hours ago, the neurologist was saying ‘guarded but stable,’ whatever that means.”

“It means not terrific, but could be a lot worse.”

“That’s what Carl and I took it to mean.”

Carl is Clarice’s son, a good friend of Johnny’s, and Eagle Harbor’s police chief, while Johnny’s the town’s fire and paramedic chief. 

“Have you called Johnny’s father?”

“I got a hold of him last night.  Chad and Marietta should be arriving in Juneau within the hour. Carl and Trevor are there now, waiting to pick them up at the airport. They’ll take them to the hospital for a little while, then bring them here.”

“And Reah?” I inquired of Johnny’s sister, who worked as a midwife in Newfoundland.

“Chad said he’d try and reach her.  That’s all I know right now.”

Clarice and I talked another ten minutes.  I got all the details, writing everything down so I could accurately relay the information to Jennifer.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’d pictured a more traditional role for my daughter of wife, mother, and maybe part time bookkeeper or grocery store clerk, back when she was a little girl.  But there are many times when it comes in handy to have a doctor in the family, and years ago I’d been forced to set aside what Joanne jokingly refers to as my “old-fashioned notions” when it comes to a woman’s role in society.  I knew that after identifying herself as Doctor DeSoto to the Juneau hospital staff, Jennifer would be able to obtain a lot more information about Johnny’s condition than I would.

I was vaguely aware of Libby entering the room and opening the refrigerator to rummage inside for an after-school snack. With my eyes on Libby’s back, I wrote down the hospital’s phone number and the name of the neurosurgeon treating Johnny. 

“Thanks, Clarice.  I appreciate the information.  I’ll talk to Jennifer just as soon as I can reach her. She’ll be able to find out more from the nurses than I can.  Maybe she’ll even be able to talk to Doctor Webber.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just sorry I had to call with this kind of news.”

“Believe me, I’m sorry too. I’ll keep in close touch.  In the meantime, please call me if anything changes for the...the worst.  I don’t care what time of the day or night it is.  Can I give you my number at the station?”

“Sure. Just a second.  Let me get a pen and paper.”

When Clarice told me she was ready, I rattled off the phone number of Station 51, which was now the paramedic-training center I worked out of for the L.A. County Fire Department.

“I’m usually there by quarter to eight, and home by four. If you call while a class is in session an answering machine’ll pick up. Leave a message. I’ll get it as soon as we take a break.”

“All right.”

“Better yet, here’s my cell phone number.”

Although I don’t usually have my cell phone turned on while I’m teaching since I don’t allow my students to have their cell phones turned on during class time, I decided rank has its privileges. If Johnny’s condition went downhill, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number if you can’t reach me any other way.  I’ll keep the phone on until I know he’s outta the woods.”

“Okay,” Clarice said. “Hopefully...well, we’re all praying that things only improve from here on out.”

“We’ll be praying for the same.” I caught Libby’s puzzled look as she turned from the refrigerator with an orange in her right hand. “Please tell Trevor that my family and I are thinking of him, and let Chad know you called me.”

“I will.”

“And Johnny...let him know, too, please. Tell him that as soon as his doctor lets him take phone calls, I’ll be the first one on the other end of the line.”

“I don’t think he’ll understand me if I tell him now, but as soon as things are...better, I’ll do that.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If you don’t hear from me, then assume no news is good news.”

“Okay. In-between that assumption, I’ll be checking in with you if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. You’ll probably be able to reach me here – I’m at John’s house. But I’ll give you my home phone number and the number that rings in Carl’s office at the station.  You can call him if you can’t get in touch with me.”

I wrote down the two numbers Clarice gave me, told her, “Thanks again for calling,” and then said a reluctant goodbye, as though if I could just keep a connection open between myself and someone in Eagle Harbor, I’d know the second anything changed for Johnny, be it good or bad.

I didn’t have the receiver back in its base before Libby questioned, “What’s wrong?  What happened to Uncle Johnny?”

I barely registered her question as I stared at the notes I’d made. 

“Grandpa? Grandpa, are you okay?”

When I looked up, Libby was standing across from me on the other side of the Formica counter top.  She’d set her orange down as though she’d suddenly lost interest in eating.

I offered her the best smile I could manage.

“Yeah, button, I’m fine.”

Libby smiled at the nickname I hadn’t used in several years now, but then just as quickly as her smile appeared it was gone.

“Something’s happened to Uncle Johnny hasn’t it.” 

I gave a slow, pensive nod.  “Yeah...yeah, something’s happened to him.”

“It must be bad. You look upset and worried.”

If Libby had been a few years younger, I doubt I would have acknowledged any of my emotional vulnerabilities to her.  I’d been raised in an era when a man was nothing less than strong for his family one hundred percent of the time, and when boys were still encouraged to hide their feelings.  But considering Libby was no longer a child, it would have been foolish for me to deny the obvious. And besides, if Brandon’s illness taught me one thing of value, it’s that life’s short and unpredictable, and expressing feelings doesn’t make me less of a man.  Still, years of conditioning made me hesitate a moment before giving Libby an honest answer.

“Well...yeah...yeah, I am upset and worried.  It’s serious, honey.  Very serious.”

“What happened?”

“An aneurysm ruptured in his brain.”

“What’s an aneurysm?”

“It’s an abnormal widening of a blood vessel.”

“What makes it rupture?”

I thought a moment so I could explain it without a lot of medical jargon that would mean nothing to her.

“Think of the vessel like a bike tire that’s been filled with too much air.  When it finally bursts, blood floods the area surrounding it.”

“What causes it?”

“An aneurysm?”

“Yeah.  How come this happened to Uncle Johnny?”

“There’re several things that can cause an aneurysm. Chronic high blood pressure or a head injury are two common reasons.   But I don’t think either of those things apply in Uncle Johnny’s case.”

“Why?”

“Because Uncle Johnny doesn’t have high blood pressure as far as I know, and Clarice didn’t mention any recent head injury that he’d suffered. Some people are vulnerable to aneurysms because of heredity.  Uncle Johnny’s mother died from a brain aneurysm a long time ago. When Johnny was twenty-one.”

Libby chewed her lower lip while absorbing what my words might mean.

“Could...could Uncle Johnny die?”

“Yes,” I nodded slowly.  “Yes, he could.  But let’s hope for the best, okay?”

Libby struggled to return the smile I gave her.

“O...okay. Sure. You know I will.”

“I know.”

“If Uncle Johnny gets better will he be okay?”

“You mean as healthy and active as he’s always been?”

“Uh huh.  The way you described this, with bleeding in the brain and all, it kind of sounds like a stroke.”

Al Sheridan, Libby’s paternal grandfather, suffered a stroke two years ago, so she has some knowledge of the long- term physical effects a stroke victim can suffer.

“In essence, that’s what it is.”

“So will Uncle Johnny have problems walking and picking up things like Grandpa Sheridan does?  He can’t write any more, you know. And it’s even hard for him to change T.V. channels with the remote.”

I nodded.  Aside from being left with permanent disabilities on the right side of his body, Al had also lost a good deal of his fine motor skills because of the stroke.

“I’m not sure what problems Uncle Johnny might or might not have.  Some patients who’ve suffered from a ruptured aneurysm will go on to make a full recovery with no side effects at all.  Others may have some minor problems, but those problems won’t prevent them from returning to their jobs or leading an active life.  Then, in some cases...” I paused, let out a sigh that broadcast my concern for Johnny, and finished by saying, “in some cases, the patient is left permanently disabled.”

“Like Grandpa Sheridan?”

I nodded. “Like your grandpa Sheridan.”

Libby’s eyes filled with tears. “But that’s not fair. Uncle Johnny...he’s so...he acts so young, and he still does stuff like jog, and bowl, and ride his mountain bike on the trails with Trevor, and takes care of his horses.  I don’t mean that it was fair when it happened to Grandpa Sheridan, but he’s really old, and he never took good care of himself. Grandma Sheridan says that all the time.  He smoked, and ate all the wrong foods, and he didn’t exercise, and he wouldn’t take his high blood pressure pills, and all kinds of things he should have been doing he wasn’t, and the things he shouldn’t have been doing he was.”

I smiled a little at my granddaughter’s words. It’s funny how our perceptions of people can be so different simply based on their personalities and lifestyles.  Al is only twelve years older than Johnny, which makes him seventy-one.  Libby made it sound like her Grandpa Sheridan was ninety-eight, and Johnny all of twenty-eight.  But she was right.  Al never led a particularly healthy or active lifestyle, and from what I knew, had been content to sit around and watch television for most of the day after he retired.  By far, John Gage’s lifestyle was as opposite of Al Sheridan’s as it could be.

“I don’t think it’s fair either, sweetheart, but unfortunately, there’s not always anything we can do to avoid health problems that come our way because of heredity.”

“When will the doctors know if Uncle Johnny’s gonna make a full recovery, or have problems walking, or writing, or remembering things?”

“I don’t know. He had surgery this morning to clip the ruptured aneurysm.”

“What will that do?”

“Reduce the risk of further bleeding.”

“Oh.”  Libby thought a moment. “It doesn’t sound like much of a cure.”

“It’s not a cure, more of a preventative measure.  Doctors have had good luck with the procedure, so hopefully, it will work well for Uncle Johnny.”

“So could this happen again?”

“It could, but the doctors’ll do all they can to prevent it.  Clarice told me Uncle Johnny will undergo an MRI when he’s a little stronger. After that’s done, his neurologist will know if he has any other aneurysms that could rupture in the future.”

“And if he does?”

“Then they’ll do surgery in an attempt to prevent that. There’re several methods neurologists use now days to plug the weakened vessel so it won’t burst.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Surgery’s always dangerous to some extent, and given what Uncle Johnny’s already been through...yes, it could be dangerous, but let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it, okay?”

Her “Okay,” was half-hearted and quiet.  When you’re fifteen, you want absolutes. By the time you reach my age, you’ve learned life holds few of those.

Again, I tried to be encouraging by offering Libby what positives I could.

“A lot of people die from ruptured aneurysms before they ever reach the hospital, Libs. Uncle Johnny had luck on his side because he collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon while he was conducting a meeting. He was surrounded by dozens of paramedics and EMTs, which means he got the kind of immediate treatment he needed.  It would have been very important to get his blood pressure down, which I’m sure they did as soon as they took his vitals.”

“Did Uncle Johnny know what was happening?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I doubt it. Carl was in the station when it happened. He told Clarice that Johnny doubled over, grabbed his head, and managed to say he had a bad headache right before he lost consciousness and collapsed.”

“He must...it must have hurt him a lot.”

“I’m sure it did, but he may never remember the actual episode, so don’t let that upset you.”

“It upsets you.”

I smiled at how well my granddaughter could read me.

“You’re right, it does. I guess it’s only natural for us to be upset when we hear that a good friend was in pain.”

“Is Trevor okay?”

“I’m sure he’s worried, if that’s what you’re asking. But Clarice and Carl will take good care of him, and his Grandpa Gage is due in Juneau in a little while, so that’ll be good for Trev, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty close to his grandpa.”

“I imagine he is,” I acknowledged.

Trevor is Chad’s only grandchild, and though they don’t see one another more than a couple of times a year because Chad lives in Montana, I knew, based on things Johnny’s told me, that Chad and Trevor have the type of relationship every boy should be lucky enough to have with his grandpa.

Libby grabbed her orange and put it back in the refrigerator.

“Aren’t you gonna eat that?”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.  I’m gonna send Trevor an e-mail to let him know I’m thinking about him.”

“That’s nice. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“And maybe I can call him later tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m going to call your mom right now, but later this evening we’ll place a call to Alaska so all of us can let Trevor know he’s in our thoughts.”

Libby walked around the snack bar and hugged me. I put my arms around her and held on a moment, touched by her concern for her old grandpa. She kissed my left cheek and said, “I love you,” then headed to the bedroom that used to belong to our youngest son, John, that now houses a computer.

After Libby left, I picked up the receiver and punched in the number for the nurses’ desk at Rampart’s emergency room.  I didn’t know the woman who answered the phone, but in order to avoid any delays I identified myself as Doctor DeSoto’s father and said I needed to speak with her if she wasn’t with a patient.

“Just a minute, Mr. DeSoto. Let me see if I can locate her.”

I watched five minutes pass on the kitchen clock before I heard Jennifer’s “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

“Hi, Jen. Listen, I just got a call from Clarice.”

There was a pause, then, “Clarice? Uncle Johnny’s housekeeper Clarice, you mean?”

“That’s who I mean.”

“Why would she be calling you?”

“Johnny’s in a hospital in Juneau.” I glanced at my notes.  “Bartlett Regional is the name of it.”

“What happened?”

“A cerebral aneurysm burst yesterday afternoon while he was at work.”

I barely heard my daughter’s soft, “Oh no.”

Jennifer’s had Johnny wrapped around her little finger since the first day they met when she was three.  That was over thirty years ago, and even yet, they’re close in the way an uncle and his favorite niece might be.

When Jennifer spoke again her voice was stronger and the physician in her came through clearly.  “Tell me all you know.”

I glanced at my notes, reciting everything Clarice had said.  I could tell by the way Jennifer responded that she was writing down the name of Johnny’s neurologist and the phone number of the hospital.

“I’ll call and see what I can find out.  As soon as I know something, I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks, Jenny. I would have called up there myself, but I figured you’d be able to get more information.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, sweetheart.”

“Hang in there, Daddy. I know you’re worried about him, but if nothing else, Uncle Johnny got immediate treatment.  If he’d been home alone when this happened...”

Jennifer didn’t finish her sentence, but I didn’t need her to.  If Johnny had been by himself when the aneurysm burst, then like his mother, he’d have probably been found dead hours later by his son.

I thanked my daughter again and told her goodbye.  Although I was anxious to hear back from her, I knew there was no point in sitting by the phone. If trauma patients came into the ER that she was assigned to treat, it could be several hours before she’d be able to call Bartlett Hospital. Or if Johnny’s doctor wasn’t available when Jennifer called, then again, several hours could pass before she’d have information for me.

I got up and walked around the counter, resuming the search for something to make for supper.  Like Libby, I’d lost my appetite. After pulling open cabinets for ten minutes and staring at everything from canned vegetables, to boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, to jars of spaghetti sauce, I pulled out two cans of tuna fish and two cans of Campbell’s chicken and rice soup.  While the soup warmed on the stove, I chopped celery and diced onions for the tuna.  I dumped everything into a mixing bowl, added two tablespoons of Miracle Whip along with some seasonings, and stirred it all together.  I took a loaf of wheat bread out of the breadbox and then set the table. When Joanne walked in the door at twenty minutes to six, supper was ready.

“What?” my wife teased as she set her purse on the counter and caught sight of the soup simmering. “I slave all day to bring home a paycheck, and all I get in return is cold sandwiches and canned soup.”

I kissed her cheek. “Now you know what a crummy job bringing home a paycheck is.”

“Especially when I have to eat tuna and soup.”

“Sorry,” I apologized for the supper, though I knew Joanne was only kidding. “I was on the phone quite a while, so time was running short when I finally got around to cooking.”        

“Don’t worry about it.  You never complained when time ran short on me back in the days when I was chasing after little kids all day and we ate grilled cheese, so I’d better return the favor, huh?”

Joanne wrapped her arms around my waist, which is a bit wider than it was back in the days when we ate grilled cheese for supper on occasion, and kissed my mouth.

“Guess you’d better,” I agreed, while kissing in her return.

Jo slid out of my grasp and stood leafing through the mail I’d left lying next to the toaster.

“What had you tied up on the phone? Paramedic business?”

“I was talking to Clarice.”

“Oh. Were you trying to get a hold of Johnny?”

“No. She called to tell me Johnny’s in the hospital.”

Joanne immediately lost interest in the mail and turned to face me. “Why? What happened?”

I told her the same things I’d told Libby and Jennifer, ending with, “Jennifer’s going to call the hospital and try to get in touch with Johnny’s doctor.  After that, I hope to know.”

Joanne shot me a small, teasing smile. “It’s good to have a doctor in the family, rather than a bookkeeper, isn’t it?”

“At this moment, yeah, it is,” I teased back.

“And Trevor?  Did Clarice say how he’s handling this?”

“I guess he’s doin’ okay. When she called, he was with Carl. They’d gone to pick up Chad and Marietta from the airport in Juneau.”

“Good,” Joanne nodded. “It’s good that Chad’ll be there.  Trevor will need him.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “He will.” 

Trevor was in the eighth grade, and at the age where a boy needs a man in his life for guidance and discipline. At a time like this, when things would be stressful and uncertain for Trevor, I thought it was important for a father figure to be present in the house. That might be another of my “old-fashioned notions” given how many kids today are raised without a father and how many people think nothing of that, but it’s a notion I’m clinging to.

“Libby sent Trev an e-mail to let him know we’re thinking of him.  She also asked if she could call and talk to him later tonight.”

“Good idea. We’ll all talk to him.”

“That’s what I told her.”

Joanne laid her head on my shoulder.  “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Johnny’s got too much to live for, and is just too damn stubborn, not to fight his way back to health.”

I stroked a hand through her hair while staring at the far wall. “I wish it were that easy, Jo. But when there’s been bleeding in the brain, it’s hard to predict what the future holds for him.”

My wife hugged me tighter, kissed the corner of my mouth, gave my chest a gentle pat, and then went to change her clothes and tell Libby to wash up for supper.

The three of us were quiet throughout dinner. No one complained about the meal that was more like lunch than supper. We’d just finished eating when the phone rang. The three of us were still seated at the table.  Neither Joanne nor Libby rose to answer the call, both assuming, I suppose, that I wanted to answer it.

For a change, it wasn’t one of Libby’s friends, but instead, Jennifer.  She’d been able to speak with Johnny’s neurologist, though the information she gave me didn’t differ much from what Clarice had said.  That indicated to me that Doctor Webber believed in keeping family and close friends as informed as possible regarding a patient’s condition.

“If Uncle Johnny remains stable,” Jennifer said, “then in the next day or two the MRI will be done. If it reveals further aneurysms, surgery will be performed when Doctor Webber feels Johnny’s strong enough to undergo it.”

“What about long-term disabilities?”

“That remains an uncertainty at this point. Bruce - Doctor Webber, said there may be some speech impairment, and there appears to be some weakness on Uncle Johnny’s left side.”

“How much weakness?”

“It’s too early to tell, Dad. It’ll be a couple of days before that can be determined.  For the next forty-eight hours the main concern will be keeping Uncle Johnny quiet and calm so he can get the rest he needs in order to recover from everything he’s been through.”

I gave a heavy sigh that voiced my frustration at the situation, then said, “Thanks for all you’ve done, sweetheart.”

“I haven’t done much, but Doctor Webber did say I was welcome to contact him at any time, so at least we can go right to the top when need be.”

“Just knowing that helps. Thanks again, Jenny. I know this took time out of a schedule that’s already overloaded.”

I could tell my daughter was smiling. “For my dad, anything, no matter how full my schedule is.  And for Uncle Johnny, anything too.”

I smiled at the places of importance Johnny and I still held in my daughter’s life, and then asked, “You wanna talk to Libby before we hang up?”

“Sure.”

I gave the receiver to Libby. While she talked to her mother, who was on duty until seven the next morning, Joanne and I cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher.  From the one-sided conversation I could hear, I determined Jennifer was asking Libby about her day in school, questioning her about how much homework she had left to do, and then telling Libby that she’d see her the next day after school.

When Libby had said goodbye to her mother and put the receiver back in its base, she paused before heading to her room.

“Let me know when you’re going to call Trevor, okay?”

I glanced at the clock.  It was quarter to seven. Eagle Harbor was an hour behind us.

“I will. Clarice said Carl was taking Chad and Marietta to visit Johnny for a little while before heading to Eagle Harbor. We’ll call around nine our time. By then, they should have had a chance to settle in and eat supper.”

“All right. I’ll get my homework done so I can talk to Trevor for a little while.”

“Good idea.”

After Libby walked away, Joanne asked me if I was going to call Chris and give him the news.

“I will in a minute. What about John?”

Our youngest child was named in honor of John Gage. He, his wife Shawna, and their three little girls live in Wyoming, where John and Shawna are forest rangers at Yellowstone National Park.

“I’ll e-mail him while you’re on the phone with Chris.”

Joanne went to the computer room and I called Chris.  I was on the phone with my oldest son for twenty minutes.  Just as with Jennifer, John Gage had been a big part of Chris’s life throughout his growing up years. The news about Johnny upset Chris, but he was positive for my sake.

“He’ll come through this just fine, Dad.  Uncle Johnny’s got a lot of determination, not to mention he’s tough as nails.  Tougher actually.  He’ll be okay.”

I didn’t bother to tell Chris what I’d told Joanne – that when a person has suffered hemorrhaging in the brain, it makes little difference how much determination he has, or how much toughness he possesses.  By now, I was feeling the effects of what was turning out to be a long stressful day.  So I said simply, “I know,” to my oldest child, told him to say hi to his wife and daughters for me, promised to call him with an update on Johnny’s condition the next day, and said goodbye.

Joanne had finished her e-mail to John long before I was off the phone with Chris.  I joined her in the living room.

I sat in my recliner trying to concentrate on a TV show, while Joanne sat in her recliner reading the newspaper, but my mind remained on Johnny.  Even if I had been able to lose myself in the television, Libby wouldn’t have let nine o’clock come and go without telling me.  She was at my side five minutes before the hour.

“Can we call Trevor now?”

I aimed the remote control at the TV, shut it off, and looked up at my granddaughter.  “Is your homework finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we can call.”

I set the remote on the end table, then got out of my chair and headed for the kitchen. Joanne went to our bedroom so she could pick up the phone in there.  Libby sat on the stool next to me at the snack bar as I placed the call.

It didn’t surprise me when Clarice answered the phone.  I assumed she’d take it upon herself to stay at Johnny’s house with Trevor even with Chad and Marietta there.  Carl was there as well. They’d just finished eating supper.

After I’d said hello and then Joanne had said hello, I once again got a report on Johnny that didn’t differ from what I already knew. 

“Chad’s not sure if John knew who he was,” Clarice said, “but he’s sedated right now, so I guess that’s normal, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s normal,” I assured the woman.  “Jennifer spoke with Doctor Webber. It sounds like he wants Johnny to have plenty of rest, so it might be a few days before he’s very coherent.”

“Would you like to talk to Chad? He might be able to tell you more since he just saw John a couple of hours ago.”

“Sure.”

I hadn’t spoken to Johnny’s father in over twenty years.  I wasn’t sure if he knew the reason behind the estrangement that marred my friendship with Johnny from July of 1985 until July of 2000, but if he did, I couldn’t detect any animosity in his tone. 

It was good to hear Chad’s voice.  Though he’s not nearly as talkative and outgoing as Johnny, he and Johnny look alike, and sound enough alike that if I didn’t know I was talking to Chad, I would have thought it was Johnny on the other end of the line. 

After Chad and I had exchanged hellos and voiced pleasure over talking to one another again after so many years, and then Joanne had told him hello, therefore making him aware she was on the line too, I asked, “How was Johnny when you saw him?”

I could immediately tell Chad was being careful about what he said, which led me to believe that Trevor was sitting as close to him as Libby was sitting to me. 

“I probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know, Roy.  John was pretty out of it when Marietta and I saw him.  Maybe in a few days he’ll be more alert.”

“I think he will be.”

“He’ll come through this just fine.”

I could hear the false note of optimism in Chad’s voice.  I knew he was being strong for Trevor’s sake, but that as well, memories of how Johnny’s mother died had to be at the forefront of his mind.

“Yeah, he will,” I agreed, for lack of anything else to say that Chad didn’t already know about the range of consequences a cerebral hemorrhage could cause. “I told Clarice I’d stay in close touch until we know Johnny’s on his way to making a full recovery.”

“Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to John. I’ll make sure I tell him just as soon as he’s more alert.”

“Great. I appreciate it.”

I glanced at my granddaughter when she tugged on my shirtsleeve and whispered, “Trevor?”

“Chad, is Trevor there?  Joanne and I wanna say hi to him, and then my granddaughter wants to talk to him for a few minutes.”

“Sure, he’s right here. Thanks for calling, Roy.  Like I said, it’ll mean a lot to John to know you’re concerned.”

“I couldn’t be less than concerned at a time like this.”

“I know. Thanks again. Talk to ya’ later.”

Before I could respond, Trevor’s voice came over the line.

“Uncle Roy?”

“Hey, Trev, how’re you doin’?”

“O...okay. It’s kinda...it’s kinda scary, ya’ know.”

“I know, son.  You hang in there, though. That’s what your papa would want you to do.”

“I will.”

Joanne said hello to Trevor next, then offered him the type of maternal encouragement he needed at that moment.  When she was done, we both told the boy goodbye and I turned the phone over to Libby.

“Talk as long as you want to,” I said to my granddaughter.  This was one night when I didn’t care how high the phone bill ran.  

Joanne hung up the bedroom phone and returned to the living room while Libby and Trevor talked.  Fifteen minutes later, Libby handed the phone back to me.  I told Trevor goodnight and asked him if I could speak to Clarice again.  When the woman came on the line, I thanked her once again for notifying me of Johnny’s illness, then told her I’d call the next evening if she didn’t have reason to call me before then.

“Let’s put it this way, Roy. I hope I don’t have reason to call you.”

“I hope you don’t either, Clarice,” I agreed. “I hope you don’t either.”

After I’d said goodbye and hung up the phone, Libby, Joanne, and I sat at the dining room table eating grapefruits. 

“How’s Trevor doing?” Joanne asked our granddaughter.

Libby shrugged. “I don’t really know.  He didn’t say much about Uncle Johnny, but I can tell he’s really worried. He mostly wanted to talk about school and stuff in general, so that’s what I did.” Libby looked to me for guidance. “Maybe I should have tried to get him to talk about Uncle Johnny more, huh?”

“No, I don’t think so. If Trevor wanted to talk about school, then talking about school was fine.  The past twenty-four hours have probably been scary for him. Sometimes talking to a friend about things that seem trivial is just what a person needs when he’s worried.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I figured when Trev’s ready to talk about Uncle Johnny he’ll let me know.”

I nodded. “He will.”

When we’d finished our snack, Libby said goodnight and went to bed.  Joanne and I went to bed a half hour after our granddaughter. Because we hadn’t discussed anything but Johnny since Joanne arrived home, we talked softly for a little while about her day at the bank and my day teaching as she lay with her head on my chest.  After our conversation wound down, Jo rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

I tried to sleep too, but it didn’t surprise me that I was plagued by insomnia.  I tossed and turned for an hour. When it reached a point where I was afraid my restless movements would wake Jo, I eased out from under the covers, grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, shoved my feet into my slippers, and quietly exited our room.

The house was dark except for the nightlight we leave on in the dining area. I shuffled into the living room and sat in my recliner. I pulled the footrest up, thinking if I got comfortable I might fall asleep.

I didn’t bother to turn on a light, nor did I turn on the television. I leaned the chair back a little bit and rested against its thick cushioning. I stared up the ceiling, thirty-four years worth of memories racing through my mind.

Good times and good memories far out number bad times and bad memories when it comes to my friendship with John Gage.  For some reason though, on that night, it was memories of the bad times that kept seeping through.  I don’t know, maybe it was unresolved guilt on my part. Or maybe it had to do with those fifteen years in Johnny’s life - 1985 to 2000; that were still a mystery to me, as much as those fifteen years in my life were a mystery to him.  Of course, each of us was aware of the obvious changes time had brought – the birth of Trevor, the marriages of my children and births of my grandchildren, Johnny’s move to Alaska and his position as Fire and Paramedic Chief in Eagle Harbor, my rise to Battalion Chief with L.A. County, and then my eventual choice to accept the position of Chief Paramedic Instructor years after I’d thought I’d left the paramedic field for good.  But it was the day-to-day connection that often makes a friendship continue to grow that Johnny and I had lost out on during the years I’d refused to acknowledge I’d ever known the man, let alone had considered him my best friend.

I sat there hoping that Johnny, while lying in a hospital bed in Juneau, wasn’t plagued by bad memories too, as I thought back to the night Chris lost the use of his legs. Ironically enough, it started with a phone call that brought me bad news, and ended with me declaring that I never wanted to hear John Gage’s name spoken in my house again.

Chapter 2

Roy’s heart kicked into high gear before his eyes even opened.  The shrill ring of the phone on his nightstand jolted him from sleep. Joanne stirred beside him murmuring, “Who could that be?” as Roy struggled to his right elbow and groped for the receiver. 

“Better not be a prank call,” Roy mumbled in return, squinting at the bright red numbers on the clock radio.  Four thirty-five a.m.  It was Roy’s day off. Waking up prior to seven-thirty hadn’t been a part of his plans.

Roy’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Lo?”

A feminine voice inquired, “Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Dixie.”

Immediately Roy knew something was wrong.  The remnants of sleep faded as fear-induced adrenaline kicked in.

“Chris and Johnny have been involved in a shooting. You need to get down here as soon as possible.”

Roy wasn't sure where he found the voice to question, “Dix?” At that moment, he had no idea if it was his son who was injured, or his best friend, or both of them. All he knew was that no matter the scenario, he was terrified at what the woman might say next.

          “It's Chris, Roy. It's...it's serious. You and Joanne need to be here.”

Roy didn’t waste time asking Dixie what was wrong.  His words were quick and succinct.

“We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

The man hung up without waiting for Dixie’s response.  He heard Joanne’s, “Roy?” but didn’t turn to look at her as he threw the covers back and catapulted from the bed.

“It’s Chris. He’s at Rampart.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”  Roy yanked clothes from dresser drawers.  “We need to leave.”

Joanne didn’t ask her husband if Chris’s condition was serious.  She could tell by Roy’s urgency that it was.

While Roy used the master bathroom, Joanne rushed to the bathroom in the hallway with clean clothes in her arms.

By Roy’s watch, it was seven minutes later when he and his wife met in the hall.  The commotion of feet scurrying across the floor, doors opening and closing, toilets flushing, and water running in the sinks woke Jennifer.  The sixteen-year-old opened her bedroom door and poked her tousled head out.  Her face broadcast her confusion at finding her parents dressed, and her mother carrying her purse, at quarter to five in the morning.

“Mom? Dad?  What’s wrong? Where’re you--”

“Chris has been hurt,” Roy said as he rushed past the girl. “Your mother and I’re headed to Rampart. You stay here with John.”

            Jennifer trailed her parents down the hall, asking questions she received no answers to. She hurried to follow them through the dining room, kitchen, laundry room, and into the garage. She ignored the chill of the concrete on her bare feet.

“But who called you?  How do you know Chris is hurt?  Was he at a fire? 

Was--”

Joanne turned and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze as she slid into the car.  “Just do as Daddy asked and stay with John. We'll call you as soon as we know anything.”

“But--”

Jennifer’s final attempt at asking another question was cut off by the sound of the Impala’s engine.

Joanne’s last glimpse of Jennifer was of the girl standing in the garage watching the car back onto the street. The normally fearless teenager appeared to be as frightened as Joanne felt.

Joanne didn’t like seeing her daughter look so young and vulnerable.  On this morning when she and Roy were rushing to the hospital, it was a poignant reminder that there are so many things in life a mother can’t protect her children from, no matter how much that mother might want to.

Chapter 3

Roy hung onto Joanne’s hand as they ran through the desolate emergency room corridor.  Whether Dixie heard their pounding foot falls, or whether she was watching for them, Roy wasn’t certain.  She stood on the patient side of the nurses’ counter, hurrying to meet the worried parents.

“Dix, where is he? Where’s Chris?”

“In surgery.”

“Surgery?” Joanne questioned, while her eyes darted around the waiting area. It was devoid of firemen, police officers, or any type of activity that would indicate to the mother that her son had been hurt at a fire, or at the scene of an accident.  It was also devoid of John Gage, which Joanne found odd, because if Johnny wasn’t injured, he’d be here waiting to meet them.  “What happened, Dixie? Why’s Chris in surgery? Where’s Johnny? Was he hurt too?”

Dixie guided the couple away from the waiting area where a young couple sat who had brought their twelve-month old son in an hour earlier because of a high fever and chronic cough.  The nurse pressed the number 2 button on the elevator panel with her right thumb.

“Johnny’s in a conference room with the police.”

“The police?” Roy put an arm around Joanne’s shoulders as Dixie ushered them inside the elevator. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Johnny and Chris were toned out about two this morning on an unknown rescue. I was the one at the base station when Johnny called in.”

“And?”

Dixie closed her eyes a brief moment. She wasn’t sure if she was up to reliving those early morning hours when she and Kelly Brackett knew Johnny and Chris were pinned down by a gunman, Chris shot, and Johnny doing all he could to keep the young man alive while bullets pinged off the squad.  Dixie could still hear the sounds coming over the open bio-phone line.  One second, Johnny would be assuring Chris that he was going to all right, and the next second glass would shatter, or a tire would blow out, or there’d be a heavy “thunk” as a bullet buried itself in one of the squad’s compartments.

“Dix?” the impatient father questioned. “Dixie, come on. Tell us what happened.”

Dixie opened her eyes. She chased away the images she’d been forced to imagine since she was only able to hear what was going on.

“The man at the house Johnny and Chris were called to had a gun.  From what little I know, as soon as they got out of the squad he opened fire. Chris was shot in the back.”

Joanne’s hand flew to her mouth. That action didn’t stop an anguished, “Oh no,” from escaping.

Roy pulled his wife against his side. He held her tightly until the elevator stopped. Roy and Joanne followed Dixie to the surgical floor’s waiting area. It wasn’t until all three of them were seated that Dixie continued.

“Somehow Johnny was able to get Chris to the side of the squad that wasn’t facing the house. He got on the radio to dispatch and put in a call for the police, then got the bio-phone out and called here.”

It wouldn’t be until days later that Roy would think to ask Dixie what she and Kelly Brackett were doing working Rampart’s graveyard shift the night Chris was shot. Dixie told him she’d switched hours with the woman who normally supervised the ER from eleven to seven because that nurse needed the night off, and Doctor Brackett had remained on duty to cover for an ER physician who’d been in a car accident that afternoon. Roy knew that meant Kelly Brackett had a long day, and probably had caught just a couple of hours of sleep on the couch in his office before Dixie summoned him to the base station when Johnny called in.  Roy felt then, that fate had worked in his favor because two of Rampart’s best were on-duty when Chris arrived.

“How...” Roy had to stop a moment in order to add strength to his voice.  He gave Joanne’s hand a light squeeze while making eye contact with Dixie.  “How bad is it, Dix?”

“He’d lost a lot of blood by the time he got here. It took the police almost two hours to get the situation under control.”

“Did they arrest the man?” Joanne asked.

“No. He got away.”

Roy’s voice rose an octave.  “He got away? How the hell did he get past the police?”

“I don’t know, Roy. The details I have are few and sketchy. The only reason I know that much is because some detective by the name of Anders has--”

“Anders?” Joanne questioned.  “Troy Anders?”

“I think that’s his first name. He’s talking to Johnny now.  You know him?”

Roy nodded. “He assisted Mark Bellman with the investigation a few years ago.”

Dixie didn’t need an explanation. She’d met Mark Bellman several times during the course of the investigation regarding the man who’d tried to kidnap Jennifer DeSoto, and who had seriously injured John Gage in the process.

“Detective Anders will have a police officer guarding Chris,” Dixie said, though she kept her remaining thoughts to herself.

If he makes it through surgery, that is.

“What about Johnny?” Joanne asked.  She didn’t see the fleeting scowl that flickered across her husband’s face, but Dixie did. “Will a police officer be guarding him?”

“I don’t know. Regardless, I’m sure it’s just a precaution until the police catch the man.”

“So they don’t think this guy targeted Chris or Johnny specifically?”

“Again, Roy, I don’t know.  I’m sure Johnny can fill you in later.”

“He’ll be filling me in, all right,” Roy murmured. “On a lot of things.”

The women exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Roy to be bitter, or to hold a grudge against someone for any reason, but right now he sounded like he was warming up to harbor a bitter grudge of some sort.

Dixie chalked Roy’s attitude up to worry and stress; assuming it was temporary.  Joanne, on the other hand, had a feeling she knew the source of it, and hoped that no matter what happened to Chris, Roy wouldn’t blame Johnny for things that weren’t his fault.

The nurse reached over and placed one hand on top of Roy’s, and the other on top of Joanne’s. 

“I need to get back downstairs.” Dixie glanced up at the clock on the wall.  “I’m off duty at seven. I’ll bring some coffee to you then.”

Joanne smiled her thanks. “You don’t have to do that.  You’ve been working all night.  I’m sure you’re ready to go home and get some sleep.”

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to.” Dixie stood.  “I’ll see you both in a little while.”

The nurse’s heart constricted at the fear she saw in Roy’s eyes when he said, “If you hear anything about Chris before then...”

Dixie nodded.  “I’ll come right up and tell you if I hear anything.”

“Thanks, Dix.”

“You’re welcome.”  The nurse did her best to give the frightened parents an encouraging smile. Roy’s face was shadowed by the stubble he hadn’t shaved off before leaving the house, and Joanne’s face was pale – a combination of her anxiety for her son, and the fact that she hadn’t had time to put on any makeup.  “Chris is in good hands. You have to keep reminding yourselves that he’s in good hands.”

“I know,” Roy acknowledged, thankful that Kelly Brackett was one of the surgeons in the operating room with Chris.  Depending on the location of the bullet in relationship to Chris’s spine, a neurosurgeon might be present as well, but since Dixie hadn’t said anything about Joe Early, Roy assumed Doctor Early hadn’t been on duty when Chris was brought in.

For reasons Dixie couldn’t explain, she felt the sudden need to add, “And Johnny did everything he could and then some to keep Chris alive until they arrived here.”

Again, there was that fleeting scowl Dixie had noticed earlier. She wondered at the source of it, and then once again chalked it up to worry and stress.  Even if Roy was unjustly placing blame for Chris’s injury at Johnny’s feet, it wouldn’t last long.  Roy and Johnny had been best friends for too many years for anything to come between them. Once everything was sorted out and they’d had a chance to talk, Roy would know that Johnny’d done all he could for Chris in the field.

It was just a bad call, Dixie thought with heavy sorrow. A bad, bad call.

The nurse headed for the elevator, leaving Roy and Joanne alone in the waiting area.  Joanne laid her head on Roy’s shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to keep her tears from falling.  Roy pulled her against his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

“He’ll be okay,” Roy whispered. “Chris’ll be okay, Jo. Doctor Brackett’s with him.  He’ll pull through this.  I know he will.”

Joanne didn’t say what she was thinking.  She knew her husband thought highly of Kelly Brackett, and she knew the man had a reputation for being one of the best surgeons in the country.  Still, he wasn’t God.  He was a human being, and that meant Doctor Brackett didn’t possess any special powers, or the ability to breathe life back into her son should he die on the operating table.

Within minutes Roy’s nerves would no longer allow him to sit.  He eased Joanne away from him, then stood and started pacing.  His eyes kept flicking to the elevator at the end of the corridor.  At first, Joanne thought he was watching for Doctor Brackett, but when Roy growled, “Where the hell is he?” Joanne’s feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better was validated.

The woman asked, “Who?” though she already knew the answer.

“Johnny.  Where is he?”

“Dixie told you. He’s with Detective Anders.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed.  “I wanna talk to him.”

“Detective Anders?”

“Him too.  But Johnny first.”

“Roy, calm down.  I’m sure Johnny will come talk to us as soon as he can.”

“He’d better.”

Joanne’s, “He will,” broadcast firm conviction.

The woman was grateful when her husband changed the subject.  He pointed to a row of vending machines down the hall.

“Want some coffee?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Actually, Joanne would have preferred to wait until Dixie brought them coffee from the cafeteria. She had her doubts that vending machine coffee would have much flavor, but the trip down the hall gave Roy something to do, and seemed to take his mind off of Johnny.  That alone made drinking the ebony liquid that tasted like cardboard worth it to the woman.

For the next thirty minutes, Roy alternated between sitting beside his wife and pacing the floor. He finished his first cup of coffee, then bought himself a second one.  He asked Joanne if she wanted another cup, but she shook her head.  She wondered how Roy could consider drinking a second cup of the vile liquid.  She’d thrown hers away after consuming only half of it. She realized he probably didn’t even taste it.  Sipping at his coffee while he paced simply gave Roy something to do.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Roy swiveled around. His mouth set in a grim line when he saw who exited, though it wasn’t John Gage walking toward him, but instead, the daughter Roy had told to wait at home.

Chapter 4

Jennifer had stood in the garage in the gray sweat shorts and red Carson High School t-shirt she’d slept in, watching as her father backed the car onto the street. It was just getting light. Even though the hour was early, the teenager felt the sultry thickness in the air that indicated it would be another day when the temperature rose above ninety.

Jennifer’s father must have hit the automatic garage door opener on the car’s dashboard, because the door slowly closed, blocking the girl’s view of the lone automobile speeding toward Rampart General Hospital.

Jen turned and ran into the house.  Her parents hadn’t said she should call Wendy, Chris’s girlfriend of almost a year now, but then, they hadn’t said she shouldn’t either.

Jennifer and Wendy had grown to be good friends in recent months, and the teen dialed Wendy’s phone number by memory.  Wendy’s father didn’t sound pleased at being woken up at five a.m., but he didn’t give Jennifer a hassle when she identified herself and said she needed to speak to Wendy.

“It’s an emergency, Mr. Adams.”

“Chris?” the man questioned, logically assuming the reason behind Jennifer’s call given Chris was in training with the fire department. 

“Yeah.  My parents just got a call. He’s in the hospital.”

When Wendy got on the line, Jennifer conveyed what little she knew. 

“I’m going to Rampart,” Chris’s strong willed redheaded girlfriend declared.

“Wait! I wanna come with you.  Let me get dressed, get John up and dressed, and give him a bowl of cereal.  Can you pick us up in about forty-five minutes?”

“Okay. That’ll give me enough time to shower and dress too.”

“See you in a little while.”

“Yeah, see you then. And...and Jen?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re...you’re not lying to me, are you?”

“About what?”

“Chris. You’re not keeping something bad from me?”

“No, I’m not keeping anything from you.  Mom and Dad said they didn’t know what was wrong, and honestly, I don’t think they did.  They looked...confused and upset.  They ran outta here real fast.”

“Then maybe it isn’t anything serious.  Maybe they just got scared when someone from the hospital called.”

“Maybe,” Jennifer replied, while keeping the remainder of her thoughts to herself. Her father had too many years of paramedic experience behind him to go rushing to the hospital with the scared look Jennifer had seen on his face for this to be anything less than serious.  Dad would have known what questions to ask.  Besides, the nurses in Rampart’s emergency room knew her father well.  None of them would have called and told him it was important that he come to Rampart right away if the only thing wrong with Chris was a sprained ankle or broken wrist.

“Just come over whenever you’re ready. John and I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay.”

Jennifer said a hasty, “Bye,” and hurried down the hall.  She struggled to wake her six-year-old brother, who was still deep in slumber. 

“Come on, John.”  Jennifer tugged on the boy’s arm, urging him to a sitting position in his bed.  “You have to get up.”

The boy swatted at his sister’s hand and looked at her through bleary eyes.  “Jenny, leave me ‘lone. I wanna sleep.”

John plopped to his pillow while Jennifer threw the covers back. 

“You can’t.”

“Mom! Mom, Jenny’s makin’ me get up and it’s not even light out!”

“Mom’s not here. And before you scream for Dad, he’s not here either.”

John squinted and rubbed his eyes when his sister flipped on the ceiling light.

“Where are they?”

“They had to go to the hospital. That’s where we’re going too. Wendy’s coming to pick us up in a little while.”

“Why’d Mom and Dad go to the hospital?”

“Chris...they went to see Chris.”

“Chris?” The boy shot to a sitting position. “What happened? Why’s Chris

in the--”

Jennifer could hear panic rising in her little brother’s voice and realized she was scaring him by the way she was scampering around his room pulling clean underwear, socks, a shirt, and a pair of shorts from dresser drawers.  Maybe she shouldn’t have woken John.  Maybe she should have called Grandma DeSoto to come stay with him.  But it was too late now. John was awake, and Jennifer had already said too much. She turned around, willing herself to calm down and give her brother a reassuring smile.

“Chris is fine.” Jennifer grabbed a pair of John’s tennis shoes from his closet floor. “We just need to go see him.”

“Did he get hurt at a fire?”

“I don’t know. But he’s fine. Don’t you wanna go see him?”

“Okay. Will Uncle Johnny be at the hospital, too?”

Jennifer realized that was a good question.  Chris had started his paramedic training in February, and it was only in recent weeks that he’d begun working in the field with his paramedic instructor, John Gage.

“I don’t know...probably. Sure, probably,” Jennifer said, recalling the times when her father had been injured on the job, and how Uncle Johnny was always at Rampart with him until forced to return to duty.  “Let’s hurry so you can see Uncle Johnny before he has to go back on-duty.”

That was all the incentive John needed to hop out of bed.  Jennifer helped him get dressed, then combed his hair and made him wash his hands and brush his teeth. She ushered him back to his bedroom and grabbed the backpack from John’s closet that he’d used for kindergarten the previous school year.

“Here. Put some toys and books in this.”

“Why?”

“So you have something to play with if we’re at the hospital for a while.”

“But if Uncle Johnny’s gonna be there, I’ll play with him.”

“I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to stay if he’s on-duty, so you’d better bring some stuff to play with.”

John sighed, but did as his sister told him to.  While he was busy pulling toys and books from shelves, Jennifer went to the kitchen, filled a bowl with Corn Flakes, poured milk over the cereal, and carried the bowl to the table. She poured a glass of orange juice next, then called down the hall, “John, come eat your breakfast while I take a shower and get dressed!”

The six-year-old raced from his bedroom with his bulging backpack in his hands. He let it drop to the floor with a “thud” and climbed onto his chair.

“I got lots of neat stuff in there, Jenny.”

Jennifer gave her brother a distracted smiled. “Good for you.  I’ll be in the shower.  If the bell rings, it’s probably Wendy.  Look out the living room window to make sure it’s her before you open the door.”

“I will.”

Jennifer showered and dressed in record time. Her parents would have been astonished at how quickly she could blow-dry her long hair and put on her makeup when the need arose. The girl ran to her bedroom and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill from her sock drawer. She’d gotten a summer job at the Tastee Freeze across the street from her high school.  Most of the money was being saved for college, but Jennifer was allowed to use a portion of each of her paychecks for spending money.  She shoved the money in a pocket of her jeans in case she needed it, and picked up her house key.  That went in her jeans as well.  She didn’t want to keep track of her purse if they were at the hospital all day, so left it setting on her dresser. 

The teenager had just put some apples, bananas, and granola bars in a bag for herself, Wendy, and John, when the doorbell rang.  Even though Jennifer was in the kitchen, John jumped off his chair and charged through the living room.  He followed his sister’s instructions from earlier, parted the drapes, and looked out the picture window.

“It’s Wendy!”

“Okay. Get your backpack.  Hurry!”

With beds unmade, wet towels strewn around the bathroom, the curtains and draperies still shut, and John’s cereal bowl and juice glass setting on the table, Jennifer left the house with her little brother.  She made sure the front door was locked behind her, then hurried John to Wendy’s Chevy Chevelle.

Jennifer helped John climb in the back of the two-door vehicle. “Put your seatbelt on,” she ordered while slipping into the front passenger seat.

Wendy looked over her shoulder to check for traffic before backing the car onto the desolate street.  She glanced at Jennifer right before she put the car into drive and whispered, “I hope he’s okay, Jenny.”

Jennifer turned around to see John playing with a Transformer he’d pulled from his backpack. She reached across the console and squeezed Wendy’s hand.

“I do too,” the teenager whispered back as tears welled up in her eyes. “I know Chris and I still fight sometimes, but oh God, Wendy, I really hope he’s okay.”

Chapter 5

Roy met the little entourage coming toward him halfway between the elevator and waiting area. 

“What’re you doing here?”

“Dad, I’m sorry, but I...” Jennifer’s eyes flicked to Wendy, who nodded her willingness to get in trouble right along with Jen.  “We had to come.  We had to know what’s happening with Chris.”

“I wanna see Chris.”  John looked around Roy’s body. “And where’s Uncle Johnny? I wanna see him, too.”

So do I, Roy thought, before focusing on his daughter again.  He knew he should send Jennifer right back home, and then ground her for disobeying him, but the last thing he wanted was an angry scene with his headstrong middle child.  Besides, he couldn’t fault Jennifer for her concern. This was one of those moments when a parent felt good about the job he’d done raising his kids. Roy was pleased to see that Jennifer’s family was the number one priority in her life, and that her worry for her older brother was so great she’d organized this rushed trip to Rampart.

“Daddy, I said I wanna see Chris. And do you know where Uncle Johnny is?”

Roy looked down at his youngest. He cupped a hand against the side of the boy’s face.  “We can’t see Chris right now.”

“Then what about Uncle Johnny?”

“He’s talking with the...” Roy stopped himself from saying the word police, fearing that might frighten John and make him conclude something bad had happened to Chris. “He has to talk to someone for a few minutes. Maybe we’ll see him later.”

Joanne joined her family and immediately began asking all the questions a mother does.  She wanted to know if Jennifer had remembered to lock the house, and if John had eaten breakfast, and if the girls had eaten breakfast.  When she was told yes to her question about John, and no to her question regarding Jennifer and Wendy, Joanne reached in her purse and pulled out her wallet.

“You girls go down to the cafeteria and get yourselves something to eat.”

Jennifer held up the paper bag she was carrying. “I brought some snacks.  We can eat here for now.  We’ll go to the cafeteria later – after we know more about Chris.”

“It might be a while before we hear anything.”

“I know, but we’ll wait.”

Wendy nodded. “I’d rather wait up here, Mrs. DeSoto. A nurse Jennifer talked to told us this is where the doctor would come when the surgery is over.”

Joanne assumed Jennifer had spoken with Dixie, and that it was Dixie who had directed the girls to the surgical floor.

Roy pointed toward the vending machines while handing his daughter several one-dollar bills. “Get yourselves some juice at least.  And get a bottle of juice for John.”

“Chocolate milk.”

Roy glanced down at his son. “No juice?”

“Jenny already made me drink orange juice at home.  I want chocolate milk.”

“All right. Chocolate milk it is then.”

While the girls made their selections from the vending machine, Roy and Joanne took John to the waiting area.  Joanne helped him get his backpack off his shoulders, and settled him next to her on the couch.

“What’s in your backpack?”

“Toys and books. Jenny said I should bring ‘em with me.”

“It sounds like Jennifer had some good ideas this morning,” Joanne said. “Why don’t you open your pack and show me what you brought.”

Joanne’s ploy to distract John about any concerns he held for Chris worked.  Jennifer and Wendy arrived in the waiting area a few minutes later. Each one of them carried a bottle of orange juice. Jennifer handed a carton of chocolate milk to her brother.  The teenager sat in a chair and opened the bag containing the food. She chose a banana, while Wendy took a granola bar.  Roy shook his head when Jennifer held the bag out to him. She offered it to her mother next, who also took an apple.

“Daddy, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Roy smiled at the form of address Jennifer chose to use. She hadn’t called him “Daddy” since she was ten, unless she was trying to get him to cave into a request for a later curfew, or a few more minutes on the phone with a girlfriend. 

“No, honey, I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

“But you have to eat.”

“I will later.  After I’ve talked to Doctor Brackett.”

Roy leaned forward in his chair and gave Jennifer’s left knee a reassuring pat.  He hated the haunted look that shadowed her eyes.  He knew it was a reflection of what she saw in his own eyes. He glanced at John.  The boy was absorbed with the Transformers he’d brought from home, appearing not to have a care in the world.

It’s so much easier when they’re little.  When they’re six, you don’t have to worry about your son being shot, and your daughter being scared over the possibility that her big brother might die.

Time dragged for Roy that morning.  When he wasn’t staring at the clock, or watching the elevator doors, he was pacing. People who’d heard the news about Chris began to gather with the DeSotos.

Dixie joined them at seven-thirty with fresh coffee as promised, and Wendy’s parents arrived shortly after that with a box of doughnuts. Wendy had gone to the bank of pay phones by the vending machines and called Chris’s best friend, Dean Cheveron.  Dean rushed off the elevator at eight-thirty, and by nine, some of the men who were under Roy’s command at Station 26 had arrived. Word about the shooting spread through the department, as Roy knew it would. Whether someone who had been at the scene of the shooting had called one of Roy’s men at home, or whether the shooting made the morning news, Roy wasn’t certain, but either was a possibility.

As the morning progressed, more fire department personnel arrived, from off-duty station captains Roy was personal friends with, to Ronald Evans, the chief of the department.  Some of the people, like the men under Roy’s command, remained with the DeSotos throughout the long morning, while others, like Chief Evans, came by for a few minutes to offer encouraging words, then left to go to work, or to proceed with whatever plans might have been made for a day off duty. However, the one fireman Roy wanted to see the most didn’t appear.

“Where is he?” Roy muttered to Joanne when he paused in his pacing and sat down next to his wife on the sofa. John was curled up beside his mother sleeping soundly, his toys in an abandoned heap on the floor. 

“Where is who?”

Roy kept his voice low so those in attendance didn’t overhear him.  “Johnny.”

Joanne’s voice was equally as quiet.  It helped that the firemen gathered with them were talking shop; their deep voices easily drowning out any other conversations around them.

“He’s probably still talking to the police.”

Roy looked at the clock. It was now ten a.m. Over five hours had passed since Johnny arrived at Rampart with Chris.

“No. Not this long.  It wouldn’t take this long. He should be here by now. Why isn’t he here?  Why won’t he come talk to me?” 

Roy’s lips formed a grim line.  Joanne watched as he ran a hand through his thinning hair.

The woman glanced down at John to make sure he was still sleeping, before returning her attention to her husband.

“Roy,” she said quietly, huddling closer to the man.  “Don’t you dare think it.”

“Think what?”

“That this is Johnny’s fault.”

“He’s avoiding me.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“What else would it be? And before you say it, he’s not still with Anders.  There’s no way Johnny would be giving the man a statement for five hours.”

“Why don’t you just wait until you’ve spoken with Johnny before jumping to conclusions.”

“I’d like to speak to him, but if you haven’t noticed, he’s no where to be found.”

“You haven’t gone to look for him.”

“I shouldn’t have to. He should be here. If not for me, then for Christopher.”

Before Joanne could assure her husband that regardless of what was keeping John Gage away from the surgical floor both Roy and Chris were at the forefront of his thoughts, Roy stood and starting pacing again.  There was a tight stiffness to his movements that broadcast his anger to Joanne. She doubted anyone else present picked up on it.  Roy didn’t have a short temper. It was rare that anyone who worked with him, or knew him casually like Wendy’s parents did, had ever seen him reach his boiling point.  She’d seen that side of him a few times; the kids had seen it on occasion if they pushed him too far with bad behavior, and Joanne knew Johnny had witnessed that aspect of Roy’s personality now and then as well, but that made sense.  Johnny was Roy’s best friend, so Roy’s comfort level with the man was par to Roy’s comfort level with his own family. 

Johnny, I don’t know whether to hope you walk off that elevator soon, or whether to hope you stay away until after Doctor Brackett has spoken to us about Chris, and Roy’s had a chance to work through all this day will bring us.

Joanne knew the source behind her husband’s anger, and while she thought Roy was wrong to blame Johnny for decisions Chris had made during the past ten months, she also knew Roy needed to hold someone responsible. Since the gunman was nameless, faceless, and still at large, John Gage was the focus of a distraught father’s fury over what had happened to his son.

When John woke up, Joanne’s thoughts were drawn away from her husband and Johnny.  The first thing the boy said was, “Can I see Chris now?”

Joanne smoothed John’s auburn bangs into place with her fingers and gave the boy a gentle smile.

“Not yet.”

“Then when?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.  Maybe later.”

The boy looked around.  He saw a lot of familiar faces, but he didn’t spot John Gage amongst the men gathered with them.

“Where’s Uncle Johnny?”

“He’s...he’s busy right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking to someone.”

“But Dad said Uncle Johnny was talking to someone too, and that was hours ago.  Isn’t he done talking yet?”

“Maybe he’ll be done soon.”

“How soon?”

“I’m not sure, John.”  Joanne pulled a coloring book and crayons out of John’s backpack. “Here. How about coloring a picture for Chris?”

“Okay.”

Joanne watched John color for a moment, then looked over at the grouping of chairs Jennifer had pulled into a semi-circle for herself, Wendy, Wendy’s parents, and Dixie.

“Jennifer, keep an eye on John for me, please.”

“Sure. Where’re you going?”

“To call Grandma DeSoto. I want you to take John to her house.”

Roy had spoken to his mother earlier in the day to tell her about Chris before she heard news reports about the shooting. At that time, Roy persuaded her not to drive to Rampart during morning rush hour. Given her age and everything on Roy’s mind, he didn’t need to be worrying about her safety too. When his mother asked if there was any way she could be of help, Roy had replied, “Would you mind watching John if one of us drops him off later?  Jennifer brought him here when she came with Wendy, but it’s gonna be a long day for everyone, and way too long for a six year old.”

“You know I don’t mind.  Bring him over whenever you want to. I’ll just be sitting by the phone waiting for you to call me about Chris.  If John’s here, he’ll take my mind off my worries.”

Roy smiled a little then. “I’m sure he will. Thanks, Mom. We’ll keep him here for a while yet, but you’ll probably see him in a few hours.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Not having been privy to his father’s conversation with his grandmother, John now protested what he’d just overheard his mom say.

“But I don’t wanna go ta’ Grandma’s.  I wanna stay here and see Chris and Uncle Johnny.”

“You’ll be able to see Chris and Uncle Johnny later.  Grandma’s sitting home all by herself.  Don’t you think she’d like you to come over and keep her company?”

John shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Well, I think she would.  Besides, Daddy and I would feel so much better if you’re there with Grandma so she doesn’t get lonely.”

“Is that an important job?”

Joanne tweaked her son’s nose.  “Yep. A very important job.”

“Well...okay, I’ll go, just as long as I get to come back later ‘n see Chris ‘n Uncle...”

Joanne didn’t hear the rest of her son’s sentence. Her eyes were drawn to the man walking toward them.  Kelly Brackett was wearing a pair of tan dress slacks and a white shirt, though his tie was askew as if he’d hastily put it on, his top collar button open, and his hair matted against his forehead as a result of the hours it had spent beneath a surgical cap.

Roy rushed to meet the doctor. “How is he? Chris...did he...is he still...did he--”
 

“He made it through surgery, Roy.”  Brackett placed a hand on Roy’s back. “Now come on, let's go to the waiting area where I can talk to everyone at once. It looks like Chris has a number of people here who are worried about him.”

Wendy’s father stood, offering his chair to the physician.  Brackett nodded his thanks, then waited until Roy sat down next to Joanne.  Brackett instinctively felt everyone leaning forward, Chris’s family and friends eager to hear what he had to say. Kel’s eyes flicked to Dixie, who remained seated in a chair next to Jennifer. Roy didn’t take that silent communication as a good sign.

            It had been a long morning filled with anxiety and unanswered questions. Roy’s patience, which was usually vast and often times seemingly endless to outside observers, was now non-existent.  He clasped Joanne’s hand and prompted the physician to begin by asking, “Doctor Brackett. Christopher?  How is he?”

No one heard the deep internal breath Kelly Brackett took, but everyone in attendance could sense the doctor doing so before he began speaking.  The physician focused his gaze on Roy and Joanne, but spoke loud enough for all of Chris’s friends and family to hear.

            “He’s in serious condition, Roy. Because of the length of time it took the police to get Chris and Johnny out of that situation, Chris lost a lot of blood before he got here. Johnny did an outstanding job of keeping him alive, but nonetheless, Chris was deep in shock when they arrived. We gave him five units of blood before we took him into surgery, and four more while he was on the operating table. The precarious location of the bullet meant the surgery was an extremely delicate and time consuming procedure.”

“But he'll live?” Wendy asked, while clinging to Jennifer's hand. “He'll pull through?”

            Brackett’s eyes flicked to Wendy.  He didn’t know who she was, but just by reading the expression on her face the doctor concluded this young lady and Chris meant something special to one another.

“I can't make any promises at this time,” Brackett stated with his usual caution. “However, he's young and he's strong. I believe, barring unforeseen complications, that yes, Chris will pull through.”

            “But there's something you're not telling us,” Joanne stated while studying the doctor's face. “There's something else, isn't there?”

Roy knew there was something else, too. He'd known Kelly Brackett too long not to detect the sorrow radiating from the man's eyes.

A soft “clump clump clump” came from the hall behind Roy.  Eyes flicked in that direction, but Roy didn’t turn around.  He recognized the sound. The person approaching was wearing thick-soled firemen’s boots. The kind you pulled on with your bunker pants if you were summoned out of the station in the middle of the night, like Chris and Johnny had been. 

Unlike her husband, Joanne turned slightly and glanced up.  Johnny’s turnout coat hung open. The way he was walking – his shoulders slumped with fatigue and defeat – made the coat appear far too baggy for his lean frame.  Dried blood was splattered in random streaks across the front of the coat, and two round circles of dried blood stained the knees of Johnny’s bunker pants. Joanne could clearly picture him kneeling beside her son, trying desperately to keep him alive until the police could get the situation under control.

Johnny’s eyes focused on the floor tiles as he stopped a few feet behind the couch. If he could sense Joanne trying to make eye contact with him, he ignored her. Johnny remained on the edge of the group, as though he now classified himself as an outsider.  Not even John’s wave and sunny invitation of, “Come sit by me, Uncle Johnny!” enticed the man to join the people gathered in a tight group around Kelly Brackett.

“What else, Doc?” Roy asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “What else is wrong with my son?”

             Brackett's eyes took in the upset parents, then traveled briefly to the pale face of John Gage. He took a deep breath before speaking to these three people who loved Chris so much.

            “I'm sorry, Roy. Joanne. If I could have done more, I would have. I promise you that.”

            “Done more about what?” Roy asked.

            “The bullet damaged Chris's spine. We already know he's suffered paralysis to his lower extremities.”

           Roy swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “Permanent?”

           “Yes, Roy. It's permanent.”

Roy squeezed his eyes shut.  He heard Wendy’s choked sobs, and briefly wondered if she’d stick by Chris through this. The young couple had grown serious about one another in recent months.  Serious enough that Joanne just said the other day she suspected Chris would give Wendy an engagement ring for Christmas.

Now she won’t want Chris, and who can blame her? She’s just nineteen. No girl that age is going to saddle herself with a disabled husband. With a husband who can’t work, and who’ll have to be taken care of by his wife both financially and physically. Oh God, who knows if he’ll even be able to have kids. Enjoy a normal sex life.  Oh God, Chris.  God. How much has been taken from you, son?  How much have you lost?

The murmur of voices ran together in Roy’s ears.  He heard Joanne’s gasp, and at first thought she was reacting to Brackett’s words, but when she said, “Roy...my hand,” he realized he was hurting her and released his grip. 

Rage burned within Roy. His hands curled into fists; his eyes narrowed; his jaw clenched. At that moment, he hated the man who had shot Chris, hated the police for taking so long to get the situation under control, but most of all, he hated John Gage.

Roy flew off the couch. He rounded the piece of furniture, not realizing he jostled John’s legs in his haste.

“You bastard!”

 Roy grabbed the front of Johnny’s turnout coat with his left hand. With his right, he landed a punch to the man’s jaw.

“You did this to him, you bastard!  It’s your fault my son will never live a normal life. He’s nineteen years old, Johnny! He’s just a kid!”

Roy hit Johnny again, and then again.  He took no notice of the fact that Johnny wasn’t defending himself.  He shook off the hands that tried to pull him away from Johnny and ignored the shouts of “Roy, stop it!” that belonged to Kelly Brackett, Joanne, and Dixie, and then Jennifer’s, “Dad, no! Don’t!” followed by John’s terrified cries.

“Daddy! Daddy, stop it!  Daddy, don’t! Stop! Stop it, Daddy!  You’re hurting Uncle Johnny!  Daddy, stop!”

Roy’s fists kept flying.  He pummeled Johnny’s face, chest, and shoulders. 

”If you hadn't interfered, if you hadn't encouraged him to drop out of school, this would have never happened! You knew how much I wanted him to finish college! You of all people knew how important that was to me! He should have been in class today! He should have walking around campus instead of answering a call in the middle of the night! It shouldn't be Chris who's laying there paralyzed, it should be you! Do  you hear me, Gage? It should be you! Get outta here!  Just get the hell out! Go! Get outta my sight!”

Kelly Bracket and three of Roy’s men finally managed to yank Roy off the paramedic instructor.  As soon as Roy’s grip on Johnny’s turnout coat released, Johnny’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled.  Whether it was reflex, or the remaining remnants of a long and close friendship, Roy was the person who reached out and caught the man before he hit the floor.

Chaos prevailed for the next few seconds.  Brackett spotted an orderly at the end of the corridor pushing an empty gurney.

“Hey you! Get that gurney over here!”

Roy stood and stepped back when Doctor Brackett knelt beside Johnny. The physician placed his fingers at the pulse point of Johnny’s throat, then used a thumb to lift Johnny’s right eyelid, followed by his left.   

Roy knew it wasn’t like the doctor not to say what he was thinking.  Under normal circumstances, Brackett would be shouting at Roy, asking him what the hell this was all about. But Brackett didn’t shout, because he knew what it was all about.  Instead, the brief gaze Brackett landed on Roy as he helped the orderly and Roy’s men lift Johnny to the gurney was filled with sympathy.  The gaze the doctor cast upon Johnny as the gurney was rushed toward the elevator was also sympathetic, clearly broadcasting the man’s feeling that any way you looked at it, this was a no-win situation for the two men who had for so long been best friends.

Chapter 6

After the elevator doors closed, an uncomfortable silence descended over the waiting area.  No one knew where to look or what to say.  The only sounds were John’s sobs and the soft murmur of Joanne’s voice as she comforted the boy.  She had her son’s head pulled against her chest while staring at her husband with a look that said, “How could you have done that?” but Roy refused to make eye contact with her, or with anyone else.

Roy’s shoulder was briefly squeezed by one of his men.  Roy wasn’t certain if the man was communicating that he didn’t blame Roy for how he felt toward John Gage, or if he was just letting Roy know that he understood things were overwhelming right now, and that when devastating news is delivered we sometimes do things in the heat of the moment we wouldn’t normally do otherwise.  Either way, it didn’t matter to Roy.  If someone told Chief Evans about Roy’s assault on Johnny, then so be it.  Roy would take whatever disciplinary action the chief deemed necessary without making any excuses, or offering any apologies to anyone...John Gage included.

It was Dixie McCall who salvaged the situation. Her gaze took in everyone but Roy and Joanne.

“Chris won’t be able to have visitors today other than immediate family.  All of you are welcome to stay here with Roy and Joanne if you’d like, but since it’s lunch time, why don’t you take a break and get something to eat.”  Dixie’s gaze shifted to Roy and Joanne. “I’m sure Chris is still in recovery. I’ll go find out how long it’ll be before you can see him.”

Roy’s quiet, “Thanks, Dix,” was echoed by Joanne’s, “Thank you, Dixie,” as the nurse headed for a pair of swinging doors at the end of the corridor.

Dixie provided everyone with the excuses they needed to give Roy and Joanne some private time.  One by one, Roy’s men told him and Joanne goodbye, and then told Roy to call them if he needed them for any reason. Wendy’s parents suggested they take Wendy, Jennifer, and John out to lunch.

Glenda Adams addressed Joanne.  “If you’d like us to drop John off at your mother-in-law’s after lunch we’d be happy too.”

With her arms still wrapped around her youngest son, Joanne nodded. “Thank you.”  She encouraged John to untangle his arms from her waist, and then spoke to him quietly about picking up his toys, and going to eat lunch with Jennifer and Wendy, and then going to Grandma’s house afterwards.  Joanne expected the boy to protest. When he didn’t, she knew it was a reflection of how upset John was over what he’d just witnessed.

While Joanne helped John put his toys in his backpack, Dean approached Roy, who still stood by himself a few feet beyond the waiting area.

“I’m gonna head to work.  I switched shifts with someone so I could come here. I have to punch in at three, so by the time I get something to eat and--”

Roy nodded. “Thanks for coming by. It’ll mean a lot to Chris.”

“Tell Chris I’ll come see him just as soon as the doctor says he can have visitors.”

“I will.”

Roy held out his right hand to Chris’s friend. They shook, and then Roy took his left hand, placed it on top of Dean’s, and squeezed.

“You’ve been a good friend to Chris for a lotta years.  Joanne and I appreciate that.  Right now...” Roy had to pause in order to speak past the lump in his throat.  “Right now he’s going to need all his friends to help him through this.”

“I’ll be here for him,” Dean promised. “It’s a given.”

“Thanks, Dean. Chris is a lucky man.” Roy’s face darkened as he broke his grip with Dean. “Take it from me. Good friends are hard to come by these days.”

Roy watched Dean walk away and enter the elevator. He recalled the first time he’d met the young man.  He’d been off-duty, and walked to the neighborhood grade school to pick up Chris.  Dean and Chris had run out of the building together.  When Chris spotted Roy, he’d grabbed Dean by the arm and said, “Come on and meet my dad.  He’s a fireman!”

Even halfway across the playground, Roy could see the sparkle of excitement in Dean’s blue eyes.

“Wow! Your dad’s a real live fireman?  You mean it?”

“Yep.”

The slight smile that memory brought to Roy’s lips was gone as quickly as it had come.  The little boy who had run to greet him that day would never run again. Chris was just nineteen years old, and thanks to John Gage, he’d spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Roy turned when Gilbert Adams came up beside him. Wendy had inherited her flaming red hair and freckles from her father.

“Roy, don’t worry about a thing. We’ll get the kids fed, and then take John to your mother’s.”

“Don’t you need to get to work?”

The man smiled. “Hey, I’m the owner of the company, remember? I don’t have to answer to anyone when something comes up that keeps me out of the office for the day.”

“Thanks, Gil. I really appreciate this.”  Roy reached for his wallet. “Let me give you money for lunch.”

“No, no. It’s on us.”

“Gil--”

“I won’t have it any other way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Gil patted Roy on the shoulder. He had a son two years older than Chris, who was in the Army.  Though he had no idea what had transpired between Roy and the dark headed man Roy punched, he could easily put himself in the fire captain’s place.  If Gil knew someone was to blame for paralyzing his son, he’d beat the crap out of the guy, just like Roy had done to that man he apparently blamed for the choices Chris made regarding his career.

“You hang in there.  If there’s anything Glenda and I can do, from watching John for a few hours when you’re visiting Chris, to doing some grocery shopping, to mowing the lawn, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Roy nodded. Generous offers like this made it hard to speak.

“Thanks.”

Gil stepped aside as Joanne approached holding John’s hand. 

“Say goodbye to Daddy.”

John glanced up at Roy, then dropped his gaze to the floor. 

“John,” Joanne urged, “say goodbye to Daddy.  We won’t see you until later this evening.”

When John still wouldn’t say anything, and still refused to look at Roy, the captain crouched down so he was face to face with his son. 

“John?”

The boy’s eyes didn’t lift.

Roy bent his head further. “John? Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your ole’ dad?”

Several lengthy seconds passed before John finally gave Roy a somber gaze through his eyelashes.

“Why’d ya’ do it?”

“Do what?”

“Why’d ya’ hit Uncle Johnny?”

Roy glanced up at Joanne, but by the firm set of her jaw he knew she wasn’t going to give him any help.  The man shifted his attention back to his son.

“It’s...Son, it’s one of those adult things you’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I already understand.  I don’t haf ta’ be older.  You hit Uncle Johnny. You hurt him.  I understand that real good.”

The boy gave his father a final glare, then turned on his heel and marched away.

Roy held an arm out.  “John. John, come here--”

Joanne’s words were firm in the knowledge that as John’s mother, she knew what was best for him at this moment.

“Leave him be, Roy.” 

Roy stood. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t reveal. He watched John get on the elevator with Jennifer, Wendy, and Wendy’s parents.  Joanne detected a note of remorse around her husband’s eyes.  Because she and Roy were finally alone, things could now be said that couldn’t be said earlier.

“When the time is right, you can tell him you’re sorry, you know.”

“I will.”

Joanne couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “You will?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to John.  I’ll make him understand what happened.  I’ll make him understand that sometimes things between two friend...people...that sometimes things between two people change.”

“I didn’t mean John. I meant Johnny. If you start by apologizing to him, then everything else will fall into place with John.”

“I’m not apologizing to Johnny.”

“Roy--”

“Listen, Joanne, it’s Johnny who should be apologizing to us, not the other way around. And even if he does, it makes no difference. Chris will never walk again.  As far as I’m concerned, that means any ties we once had with John Gage are now broken.”

“Roy, you’re being unreasonable. You haven’t even talked to Chris yet.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Don’t you think you should hear how he feels about all of this before you go making decisions that involve the whole family?”

“How do you think he’s gonna feel?  He can’t walk for God’s sake.  He’s nineteen years old and he can’t walk. He’ll never walk again. Don’t you get that?”

Water sprang to Joanne’s eyes. The tears she’d been holding back so she could be strong for Jennifer and John now broke free.

“Of course I get it!  I’m Chris’s mother!  Yes, Roy, I get it!  I understand that my son will never walk again! He’ll never stand.  He’ll never walk.  He’ll never run. I don’t know if he’ll be able to provide for a family, or if he’ll even be able to have a family. I get it, Roy!  I get it!  Oh God, I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Roy reached out and pulled his wife to his chest. She sobbed into his shirt; finally releasing the grief only a mother can have for the child she’d brought into the world whose life was so tragically changed in the mere seconds it took a man to aim his gun and pull the trigger.

“Why Chris?” Joanne sobbed. “Why Chris? Why our boy?”

Roy ran a hand through his wife’s hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know.  If it hadn’t been for Johnny--”

Joanne rubbed her head back and forth, silently saying no.

“Don’t. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault.  Don’t blame him.”

Roy let the subject drop for the time being.  Right now, his wife needed his comfort, and he knew in the days to come that he and Joanne would have to be a united front for Chris’s sake, as opposed to a divided one. 

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.

Chapter 14

When Chris finally regained consciousness he was weak, confused, and frightened.  It was Johnny’s voice that finally calmed Chris and enabled him to focus on the situation. An overwhelming feeling of exhaustion made it difficult for Chris to open his eyes more than halfway.

“What...whaz happ’ning? Sounds--bullets?”

Johnny bent over Chris so the young paramedic could see his face. 

“We’ve got ourselves in kind of a tough situation here, Chris, but we’ll be all right.”

“Wha’...wha’ happened?”

Chris panicked when he couldn’t move his head.  He raised his arms, his hands reaching for his neck.  Johnny grabbed the young man’s arms and laid them back against Chris’s side.

“Hold still, Chris.  Don’t move. You...you were shot, but you’re gonna be okay.”

Chris’s question was muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Sho-shot?”

“Yeah.  There’s some nut in that house with a gun. With a whole lotta guns.”

As bullets bounced off the street, Johnny flung himself over Chris once again.  When a reprieve took place, the paramedic cautiously raised to a crouched position.

Chris’s eyes flicked to the right and left, though because of the towel Johnny had secured around his neck, he couldn’t get a good view of the area.

“Co-cops?”

Sirens continued to wail as more police officers arrived.

“The cops are here,” Johnny confirmed. “They’ll have us on the way to Rampart in no time.”

Johnny continued to talk to Chris while pulling down the blanket and checking the bandage on his chest.  It was soaked with blood, just as Johnny surmised the one on Chris’s back was too.  The paramedic quickly attached another folded square of Chris’s turn-out coat to the bandage already covering his chest, then said, “I’m gonna have to roll you to the right, Chris, so I can take a look at your back. You let me do all the work, okay?”

“ ‘Kay-okay.”

Johnny cut the strips of duct tape he’d need and attached them to a bandage square before log rolling Chris. He wanted to make this as quick and painless as possible for the young man.  When Chris drew a ragged gasp of air, Johnny assured, “It’s okay.  You’re okay.  I’ll be done in a second.  Just hang on for me, Chris.  Hang on.”

After Johnny got the bandage secured, he rolled Chris to his back and covered him with the blanket again.  The oxygen mask was fogged up by Chris’s strained puffs for air; beads of clammy perspiration clung to his forehead. The paramedic chief’s attention was so narrowly focused now that the gunshots, flashing lights, and sirens didn’t exist for him. Johnny rose just high enough to grab another towel from a compartment, then crouched beside Chris and dabbed at the sweat on his brow.

“You’re gonna be okay, Chris. Just hang in there for me. You’re gonna be okay.”

Chris blinked heavily three times. “Ba...bad, huh?”

“Nah, just a scratch.”

Chris gave the man a lopsided half smile. “Doesn’t...doesn’t feel like a-a scratch.”

“You’ve lost some blood, but you’ll be okay.  I’m in touch with Rampart.  You’re gonna be fine until I can get ya’ there.”

Johnny continued to wipe at the perspiration breaking out on Chris’s face. He knew the young man was in shock, yet Johnny could tell Chris was trying to access his injuries.  Both of Chris’s arms moved beneath the blanket, and then his fingers and thumbs rose a few inches from the pavement. Chris’s brow furrowed next and his shoulders tensed as he tried to raise his upper body.

Johnny pressed the young man’s shoulders to the street.

“Chris, don’t do that.  Relax.  Just relax. You’re gonna be fine.”

Johnny saw nothing but panic when Chris’s eyes opened wide.  Before he had a chance to wonder what was going on, Chris panted, “Johnny...Uncle Johnny, I can’t...I can’t feel my legs.  I can’t...I can’t feel my legs, Uncle Johnny!”

That was the only time since Chris DeSoto had started his paramedic training with John Gage, that he’d referred to the man as “Uncle Johnny”.  “Uncle Johnny” had gone by the wayside during recent months, to be replaced by “Chief,” or “Chief Gage,” when Chris was in Johnny’s classroom, or just “Johnny” when they were riding together in a paramedic squad, or when they were away from the fire department and Chris ran across Johnny at his parents’ home, or stopped by Johnny’s ranch to shoot the bull.

“I can’t feel my legs, Uncle Johnny! I can’t--”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny soothed. “Calm down, Chris.  Calm down and I’ll check it out.”

Johnny remained by Chris’s head and shoulders until the young man gained control of his emotions. He patted Chris’s arm.

“I’m gonna see what’s goin’ on with you, okay?”

“O-okay,” Chris said with trepidation, as though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know why he had no sense that his legs were still attached to his body.

Johnny carefully removed Chris’s right boot.

“Can you feel me taking this boot off?”

“N-no.”

Johnny removed the left boot next.

“How about this one?”

“No…no.  I can’t feel anything.”

“Okay.  Don’t get upset.  It’ll be all right. You’re gonna be all right.”

Even though a part of Chris was aware Johnny’s words were meant to keep him calm and nothing more, there was also a part of Chris that clung to what the man said.  If Uncle Johnny said he would be all right, then Chris believed him without question.

Johnny took Chris’s socks off, then grabbed a pen from the pocket of his turnout coat and ran the dull end over the sole of Chris’s right foot.

“Feel that?”

“I didn’t...didn’t feel anything.”

Johnny turned the pen around, so the pointed end was now running up Chris’s bare foot.

“How about this?”

“No.”

Johnny repeated his actions on Chris’s left foot. Chris’s responses remained the same. 

“I can’t...Uncle Johnny, I can’t feel anything!”

“Okay, Chris, okay. It’s all right.  Calm down, kiddo. Just calm down.” 

Johnny put his pen back in his pocket.  He picked up the sheers and slit the legs of Chris’s bunker pants to his upper thighs, then grabbed a thin sealed packet from the drug box.  He tore it open, and pulled out a sterile needle.

“Chris, I’ve got a needle here. Let me know if you feel anything.”

“All...all right.”

Johnny poked the needle in various places from Chris’s left ankle, all the way to his upper left thigh.  Each time he’d ask, “Can you feel that?” Chris would say, “No.”  By the time Johnny finished with Chris’s right let, Chris’s “No’s” had grown distant and disheartened.

Johnny hid his own heartache from Chris.  He put the needle in a disposable container, tossed it into the drug box, then moved to Chris’s head again.  The young man’s eyes sought out his mentor. Johnny had to strain to make out the soft, weak words over the sound of a man’s voice shouting through a bullhorn, and the crackle of radio transmissions coming from the squad cars lining the street.

“I-I can’t feel...Uncle Johnny, I can’t feel my legs.”

Johnny squeezed Chris’s shoulder.  “I know, Chris, but don’t jump to conclusions. We won’t know anything for certain until after the docs at Rampart have had a chance to look at you.”

“Do you...do you think...do you really think I might...that I might still...still be able to walk?  Still be able to…to be a para-paramedic?”

Chris DeSoto respected John Gage more that night because he told him the truth, rather than lying to him and giving him false hope.

“I...” Johnny paused and swallowed hard.  “I don’t know, Chris. I can’t make you any promises.”

Chris gazed at Johnny through half-open lids, then gave a slight nod.

“Than-thanks for bein’ hon-honest.”

Johnny’s “You’re welcome,” was soft and strained.

“Don-don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Bla-blame yourself.  Not...not your faul-fault.  Bad...bad call.  Juz...just a bad call.” Chris shot Johnny a weak smile. “Guess...guess I shoulda’...shoulda’ listened to Dad when he tole’ me...tole’ me to stay in school, huh?”

As the young man drifted off, Johnny closed his eyes and whispered, “Yeah, Chris.  Yeah, I guess you should have. I guess we both should have listened to your dad.”

For the remainder of the time Johnny and Chris were pinned behind the squad, Johnny tended to his patient. He let Brackett know that Chris had no sensation in his legs and feet, and provided the doctor with updated vital signs every ten minutes.  When Chris would regain consciousness for brief intervals, Johnny never failed to assure the young man that he was going to be all right, and that he – Johnny - would remain by Chris’s side until this ordeal was over.

At one point, Chris ordered,     “If...if they...the cops...if they can-can get you out...go. Go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere without you.”

“Uncle Johnny--”

“Chris, don’t argue with me. When I go, you go with me.”

“Dad...Dad always...always said you were stub-stubborn as a mule.”

“I am. And proud of it, too.”

That remark earned Johnny a lopsided smile before Chris lost consciousness again. 

Johnny didn’t know what transpired after the S.W.A.T. team arrived, but suddenly the front door of the dark house was rammed in, and men were shouting and running through the neighborhood. It wouldn’t be until Troy Anders interviewed Johnny, that the paramedic chief discovered the man who’d been shooting at him and Chris had somehow eluded the police and fled. Anders promised Johnny they’d catch the guy, but by then, Johnny’s only concern was that Chris survive surgery.

When the scene was secured, the paramedics from Squad 22 helped Johnny get Chris ready for transport. Because Chris’s blood pressure was rapidly dropping, it was as close to a “wrap and run” as possible.  Johnny rode in the ambulance with Chris, as did Clem Harding, 22’s senior paramedic.

Johnny and Clem worked together to keep Chris alive on that swift ride through city streets. Johnny was thankful the hour was early yet, meaning traffic was light and no one hindered the ambulance’s progress.

Chris surfaced to a semi-consciousness state when they were halfway to the hospital.  He was too weak to talk, and that same weak, lethargic feeling made it impossible for the paramedic to figure out where he was or what was happening. The only thing Chris was aware of with any certainty, were Johnny’s assurances that he’d be all right.

“You’re doin’ fine, Chris. You’re gonna be okay.  Everything’s gonna be all right. We’re on our way to Rampart now. You’re gonna be all right.”

Chris’s eyelids fluttered until he was able to open them far enough to focus on Johnny.  He tried to give the man a smile, but had no idea if his mouth moved at his brain’s distant command. The two things Chris’s foggy brain did absorb, was Johnny’s pasty features, and the fine tremor of his hands.  Chris wanted to say, “I’m okay, Uncle Johnny. I’ll be okay. It’s not your fault,” but talking was too much effort, and in a few seconds, Chris was unconscious once again.

Johnny had unloaded patients at Rampart with just as much urgency as he unloaded Chris DeSoto, but this was one of the few times he’d had such close personal ties with a patient. Johnny felt like it was someone else running beside the gurney holding Chris’s IV bags aloft and giving Brackett an update. He was on autopilot now, doing everything by habit, because to acknowledge that the young man on the stretcher was like a son to him was more than Johnny could handle.  So instead, now that Chris was in Brackett’s hands, it was easier to pretend Chris was just another patient.  That game of pretend was why Johnny was able to competently assist the team of doctors and nurses Kelly Brackett had assembled in Treatment Room 2, and why, after Chris was whisked to surgery, Johnny was able to calmly and thoroughly answer all of Troy Anders’ questions.

It wasn’t until eight o’clock that morning, when Johnny silently slipped into Rampart’s small chapel, that the facade of professionalism he’d kept in place ever since Chris had been shot began to crumble.

Although the room was empty, Johnny sat in the back pew on the right and slid all the way to the far end. During the three hours he remained there, a few people came and went – a gray headed man who knelt in front of the alter, made the sign of the cross, and used a rosary while reciting some prayers, a teenage girl and her mother, and two women in their mid-fifties, who seemed to be wrestling with a medical decision that had to be made regarding an elderly parent – but no one noticed the paramedic. 

The room was dimly lit by round, recessed ceiling lights and contained no windows. The majority of light was shining through a six-foot high white cross at the front of the chapel.  The cross was built into the wall a few feet above the small podium that held a lectern. Johnny hadn’t been aware that a minister actually held services here, though he did know Rampart had two volunteer chaplains. Based on what he was seeing, Johnny assumed services of some sort were held on Sundays, and maybe on certain holidays, but overall, it didn’t matter to him, because he wasn’t here to sit through a church service, and if one started, he’d get up and leave.

Johnny remained in the dark corner, willing his hands to stop shaking. He finally clasped them together in what some would say was a form of prayer. Johnny; however, had no conscious memory of praying for Chris DeSoto’s life while he sat in that quiet little chapel with his hands folded. Instead, he was assaulted with a jumble of images that ranged from the first day he’d met Roy, to the first time he’d been introduced to Roy’s wife and children. So many years had passed since then. Chris had been in kindergarten, and Jennifer was just three years old. Seven years after that first meeting, another child was added to the DeSoto family. A boy named after John Gage, which was a testament to all Johnny meant to not only Roy, but to Joanne, Chris, and Jennifer as well.

It was when Johnny thought of those years of friendship with the entire DeSoto family, that a tear trickled down his face. The last thing he wanted was for Roy and Joanne to have to bury their oldest son, or for Chris never to walk again. When he thought of those alternatives, either of which were strong possibilities, Johnny couldn’t help but feel that he’d let Roy down. That he hadn’t done what Roy asked of him six months earlier right here at Rampart. 

Johnny had been recovering from a back injury after having gotten caught under a collapsing circus tent. For several days prior to that incident, Roy was struggling to come to terms with Chris’s decision to drop out of college and join the fire department. Johnny was the person Chris coerced into breaking that news to Roy, which caused a temporary rift in Johnny and Roy’s friendship.

On the day Johnny was released from Rampart, Roy picked him up.  The paramedic recalled a portion of their conversation.

“And now I want you to make me a promise.”

“Anything,” Johnny had said, without inquiring first as to what type of promise Roy was going to extract from him.

“You took care of my youngest son for me yesterday, now I’m asking that you take care of my oldest son.  There are a lotta reasons why I’d rather see Chris go into almost any other line of work but ours, and first and foremost is because I don’t want to see him injured in the line of duty.  I worry about that a lot, Johnny. I know you won’t always be the person Chris reports to, but while you are...during the time period he’s training in the field with you, take care of him for me, okay?  Promise you’ll take care of him.”

“I promise, Roy. I won’t let anything happen to Chris. I promise I won’t.”

Now that promise haunted Johnny. He’d thought of it so many times during the hours since Chris had been shot.  He wished to God he’d never made it.  But how could he have refused to make it?  How could he have refused his best friend something that was a given?  Johnny would have laid down his life for Chris.  If there were any way he could go back and change what happened outside that dark house, he’d do so without giving it a second thought.  If there were any way it could be him on that operating table fighting for his life and his ability to walk again, then Johnny would make that happen.  Chris would still be healthy and whole, and Johnny...well, it didn’t make any difference what happened to him.  He wasn’t young like Chris, with his whole future ahead of him. He wasn’t married.  He had no children.  Why the hell couldn’t it have been him?  Why the hell did God let this happen to Chris?

Johnny was alone in the chapel when he clutched the lip of the pew in front of him and laid his forehead on its smoothed polished wood.

“Why?” he murmured. “Why Chris? Why damn it? Why couldn’t it have been me instead of him? Just tell me why.”

The paramedic’s head shot up when a hand rested on the back on his turnout coat.

“Johnny, don’t do this to yourself.” Dixie’s voice was soft and wrought with sympathy. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Johnny swiped at the moisture on his cheeks and stared at the floor. 

“Who do you want me to blame?”

“The man who was hiding in that house with a gun.”

“I was the one who told Roy he had to accept the fact that Chris dropped out of college.”

Dixie sat down next to the paramedic.  “And what does that have to do with what happened this morning?”

“If Chris had been in school, he wouldn’t have--”

“Chris is a grown man, Johnny. You had no control over the decisions he made, any more than Roy did.”

Johnny didn’t feel like debating with the nurse, because in the end, the facts would remain the same. Had Chris stayed in school, he wouldn’t have been on the call with Johnny, and he wouldn’t have been shot.  Rather than point any of that out to Dixie, Johnny questioned, “Chris?”

“He’s still in surgery.”

“Roy and Joanne?”

“They’re in the surgical floor waiting area. Jennifer and John are with them. Some of the guys who work for Roy are up there too, along with a few other people I don’t know, and a red headed young lady who seems really worried about Chris.”

Johnny smiled slightly. “Wendy Adams.”

“Chris’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

Dixie removed the lid from a large Styrofoam cup and handed the cup to Johnny.  That action forced him to look at her.

“Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Orange juice. And after it’s gone, I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Johnny--” 

Johnny’s, “I’m not hungry, Dix!” came out louder and sharper than he intended for it to.  He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I just...I don’t feel like eating right now.”

“Then at least drink the orange juice. I put ice cubes in it.  You look hot.”

“I’m okay.”

The paramedic saw the woman eyeing him with doubt. He knew his hair was matted to his head with perspiration, and since he hadn’t removed his turnout coat, he understood why Dixie was under the assumption that he was warm.  But he wasn’t warm. In fact, he felt cold despite the heat within his heavy boots, coat, and bunker pants.

“Johnny, why don’t you go to Kel’s office, take your coat and boots off, and stretch out on his couch. I know he won’t mind.  I’d like to have Mike take a look at you, then I think you’d better eat something and--”

“No.”

“Johnny--”

“Dix, I’m fine. I just wanna be alone for a while, okay?  I came in here to be alone.”

The woman waited. On the rare occasions Johnny had been short with her, he usually apologized within seconds of losing his temper. Today, however, he didn’t.  Today was different. Today Johnny’s soul was weighted with worry for his best friend’s son, which superseded everything else going on around him.

Dixie patted the paramedic’s knee. “I understand. I’m sorry I intruded.”

As the woman stood, Johnny grasped her hand and looked up at her.

“Dix...will you...will you come and tell me if anything changes with Chris? Please?”

Dixie nodded. “I will.”

“And thanks for the orange juice. And for...for caring.”

Dixie leaned forward and kissed the top of the paramedic’s head.  She’d known him for so long, thought of him as a lovable, pesky little brother for so long, that it seemed like a natural thing to do.  The show of affection was part maternal, party sisterly, and that’s the way Johnny accepted it.

The man shot Dixie a smile.  “Better not let Brackett find out you did that.”

Dixie frowned and tried to look stern.  “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“That people aren’t nearly as good at keeping secrets around here as you might think.”

“Believe me, I’ve never thought that.”

Johnny’s smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. He turned and stared straight ahead at the altar.

“Johnny, when you’re ready to go upstairs, I know Roy and Joanne want you to wait with them.”

Johnny hesitated a moment, then nodded.  He wasn’t certain if Dixie was correct; however, he also wasn’t going to voice that to the nurse. What happened from here on out was between Johnny and the DeSoto family.  If things...if things went sour with Chris, and Roy and Joanne blamed Johnny for that, then Johnny didn’t want anyone interfering and trying to mend fences on his behalf.  Roy and Joanne had enough to deal with.  They didn’t need further stress as a result of people sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

“I’ll...I’ll be up in a little while.”

“All right.”

Dixie stood over the man a few seconds longer, waiting to see if he’d drink the orange juice she’d handed him. He didn’t, so Dixie hoped that once she left he would. The paramedic was pale, shaky, and his face was covered with beads of clammy perspiration that he appeared to be oblivious to. Dixie was about to suggest again that Johnny lie down in Brackett’s office, when he requested in a weary voice, “Dix, go...go, please.  I’ll be okay. I just...I just need to be alone for a little while longer.”           

Although Dixie thought Johnny needed a friend by his side right then more than he needed to be alone, she respected his wishes and quietly left the chapel. 

When Johnny heard the double swinging doors softly plunk against each other, he put the lid back on the Styrofoam cup and set the cup on the floor beside his feet. He rested his head on the pew in front of him again, wondering how he’d face Roy and Joanne if Chris didn’t make it through surgery. 

Chapter 15

Johnny paused after stepping out of the elevator. He had a clear view of the waiting area where Roy’s family and friends were gathered around Kelly Brackett.  Since there were no visible signs of hysterical grief, and since Dixie hadn’t given Johnny any further updates on Chris’s condition after her visit to the chapel two hours earlier, the paramedic assumed Chris was still alive.  However, judging by the expressions Johnny could see on the faces of Wendy and Jennifer, the man knew Brackett was in the process of delivering bad news.

Johnny couldn’t think of any other situation that would find him wondering if he was welcome at Roy’s side. Through all their years of friendship, through all the ups and downs, Johnny had never questioned whether Roy would be receptive to his presence, or instead, tell him to go to hell.  In the past, when the going got rough, they’d always been there for one another without hesitation, no matter what disagreement they might have been having five minutes earlier.

But this was much larger than a disagreement about the purchase of a hot dog stand, or if they should go into the floor cleaning business together, or if Johnny was hearing things again when he insisted there was a mysterious rattling noise coming from the squad’s engine.  This was about Chris’s life, and what role Johnny had played in altering a promising future. 

The paramedic closed his eyes.  An observer might have concluded Johnny was gathering the strength he needed to face Roy DeSoto. On the other hand, when Johnny swayed to the right and threw a hand out for the wall, the observer might have concluded Johnny was gathering the strength he needed to stay on his feet.  In the end, both conclusions would have been correct.

Johnny fought to rise above the physical exhaustion that was so heavy his shoulders sagged beneath its weight, and shoved aside the emotional exhaustion that made him long for the oblivion a deep dreamless sleep would give him.

The paramedic finally opened his eyes, squared his shoulders, and headed down the corridor that seemed one hundred miles long. 

When Johnny was a few feet from the couch Roy and Joanne were seated on, he stopped.  He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but instead, focused on the white floor tiles. He ignored John DeSoto when the boy shouted, “Come sit by me, Uncle Johnny!”

Johnny didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings, but this wasn’t the time to force himself into the DeSoto family circle. The paramedic refused to take advantage of a six year old’s inability to understand the gravity of the situation, and why his parents might hold John Gage accountable for at least some of what Chris was suffering.           

The chief slipped his hands into the pockets of his bunker pants. He was hot now rather than cold; thirsty, and just light headed enough to wish he hadn’t tossed his orange juice into a garbage can without drinking any of it.  With his eyes on the floor, Johnny listened to what Brackett was saying. 

“I'm sorry, Roy. Joanne. If I could have done more, I would have. I promise you that.”

Random thoughts raced through Johnny’s mind.  Had Chris died on the operating table? Had the blood loss been too great for the surgeons to combat?  Had a bullet damaged a vital organ?

Roy’s voice pulled Johnny from his internal dialogue. Roy wanted to know what Brackett meant. Johnny’s eyes briefly flicked to the physician’s face before returning to the floor. If a person hadn’t known Kelly Brackett for as long as John Gage had, he might not see through the professional veneer to what was beneath the surface.  Sorrow, regret, sympathy, and a look that said Brackett wished it were anyone but himself who had to deliver this news to Roy. 

Johnny knew whatever was coming wouldn’t be good. His only hope now was that, when things calmed down, Roy would allow him to help in any way he could.

“The bullet damaged Chris's spine. We already know he's suffered paralysis to his lower extremities.”

Johnny heard the fear in Roy’s one word question.

           “Permanent?”

Then he heard the finality in Brackett’s brief, matter-of-fact answer.

            “Yes, Roy. It's permanent.”

Silence hung over the area, brought on by shock and a momentary inability to fully accept what the doctor had said.  The only one who didn’t have trouble accepting it was Johnny. Not that he wanted to accept it.  What he wanted to do was shout, “No! No, goddamn it, no! Not Chris! Not Chris, damn it!  Not Chris!” But shouting wouldn’t change the damage the bullet had done, and ever since Chris told Johnny that he couldn’t feel his legs, Johnny’d suspected that the news Brackett had just given Roy and Joanne would be the end result.

Because Johnny’s head remained bowed, he never saw Roy coming at him.  Even if he had seen the man charging him, Johnny wouldn’t have moved.  The paramedic kept his hands in his pockets.  He refused to defend himself, even as Roy shouted, “You bastard!” while grabbing the front of Johnny’s turnout coat with one fist, and landing a hard right against Johnny’s jaw with the other.

The beating continued with Roy raging hate-filled words.  Johnny wasn’t nearly as shocked by Roy’s behavior as everyone else seemed to be.  He heard the shouts from various voices for Roy to stop; yet the paramedic on the receiving end of Roy’s fists said nothing.  Roy’s actions and words told Johnny just how deep the father’s pain went.  Just how much blame Roy was putting on himself, too, for Chris’s decision to join the fire department. Despite Roy’s, “You did this to him, you bastard! It’s your fault my son will never live a normal life,” Johnny knew it wasn’t just John Gage whom Roy was blaming.  Roy was remembering the little boy who’d idolized his father, and imitated everything his dad did. Roy was remembering how much Chris loved to visit Station 51 when he was a kid, and how happy Roy always was when Joanne stopped by with Chris and Jennifer.  Roy wasn’t blaming just Johnny for Chris’s decision to leave college, but he was also wondering what more he could have done to keep his son focused on getting a degree, and then choosing a career in any field but firefighting.

In a distant, dreamy sort of way, Johnny found it interesting that he knew with so much clarity what Roy was feeling and thinking. No one else had figured it out, not even Joanne.  As blood gushed from Johnny’s nose, Joanne cried, “Roy, stop it! Please stop it!”  Even she didn’t understand the depths of her husband’s pain, or that he was shouldering a good portion of the blame for Chris’s injuries as well.        

Hands were pulling at Roy now. Johnny felt like a rag doll that a little kid was refusing to give up as he was jerked forward, then backwards, then forward again. Nonetheless, the only time Johnny wished Roy would stop was when he heard John’s terror filled screams.

“Daddy! Daddy, stop it!  Daddy, don’t! Stop! Stop it, Daddy!  You’re hurting Uncle Johnny!  Daddy, stop!”

Poor kid. He shouldn’t have to sit there and watch this.

Scuffling feet, rubber soles squeaking against tiles, and men’s shouts filled the air. Powerful tugs yanked Johnny forward as Roy was yanked backwards. Everything was growing dim and distant. Even the pain caused by Roy’s fists wasn’t nearly as sharp as it had been just seconds earlier.  As Roy’s hands were finally pulled loose from Johnny’s turnout coat, the paramedic wanted to tell someone that he needed to sit down, and he wanted to ask Dixie to get him another glass of orange juice, and he also wanted to tell her that maybe laying down on Brackett’s couch wasn’t such a bad idea after all, but before he got any of those words out, Johnny’s knees buckled.  As he sank toward the floor with black dots dancing in front of his eyes, Johnny was aware of hands thrusting forward to catch him.

Roy’s hands.  

That was one of the first memories Johnny had upon regaining consciousness in an ER trauma room twenty minutes later, but he didn’t allow it to give him false hope. Even years after the incident, Johnny wasn’t certain if Roy’s gesture was made from genuine concern for his safety, or simply reflex. 

Given the chance, Johnny would have asked Roy, but he wasn’t given the chance. Roy never came to see Johnny during the twenty-four hours he was hospitalized, nor did he attempt to contact the paramedic in the weeks that followed.

That gave Johnny a good indication of what the future held for his and Roy’s friendship, because as the old saying went, actions speak louder than words.

Chapter 16

It was Kelly Brackett who gave Johnny a ride home upon the paramedic chief’s release from Rampart the next afternoon.  At first, Johnny had been hesitant to accept the man’s offer. Although in a sense he’d worked for Brackett during his years as a paramedic in the field, and now worked with the doctor as chief paramedic instructor for the fire department, Johnny still looked upon the man as more of a superior than a peer.  He had an enormous amount of respect for Doctor Brackett, but the friendship they shared was on a professional level and based on their ties to the paramedic program, as opposed to being based on things they had in common.  They didn’t go to ball games together. They didn’t go fishing together. And they didn’t normally have a reason to offer one another a ride home. 

Johnny cast about for someone to call while Brackett waited for him to get dressed. There were plenty of men he considered to be friends, but they all worked for the fire department. By now, over twenty-four hours after the shooting, they’d all undoubtedly heard what happened.  Because Johnny had no desire to answer questions about the incident, he decided accepting a ride from Brackett was probably the best alternative.

“As long as I’m not putting you out,” Johnny finally said while dressing in the clothes Dixie had brought him before she’d gone on-duty that morning.

Dixie had left Rampart the previous afternoon with Johnny’s key ring in her pocket, and with his permission to go to his ranch and get a change of clothes for him so he had something to wear home other than his bloody turnouts and heavy boots. As Johnny dressed, he tried not to dwell on the fact that these types of favors – retrieving clean clothing for him, and then giving him a ride home when he was released from the hospital – were all things he’d been able to count on the DeSotos for over the years.

Brackett’s voice interrupted Johnny’s thoughts.

“You’re not putting me out.”

Johnny didn’t argue with the man, though he was well aware Brackett would have a two hour round trip by the time the doctor drove him to his ranch, then returned to his own home.

Johnny finished buttoning the denim shirt Dixie had taken out of his closet, then tucked his shirttails into the waistband of his blue jeans before bending to tie his tennis shoes. He grabbed the sturdy shopping bag Dix brought for his turnout coat, bunker pants, and boots.  Johnny shoved those items into the bag and picked it up by the handles.  He followed Brackett into the corridor.  It wasn’t until they were in the elevator and away from anyone who could overhear them, that Johnny asked quietly, “How’s Chris doin’?”

“He’s critical, but he remained stable throughout the night. He’s got youth on his side, Johnny.”

Johnny nodded. Life could be such a mocking bitch.  It was Chris’s young age that might help him survive this ordeal and yet, at such a young age, his ability to walk had been taken from him.

“Do you want to see him before we leave? He won’t know you’re there, but we can stop in for a minute.”

Johnny shot the doctor a sideways glance. Given the bruises on his face from Roy’s fists, Johnny thought that was the most asinine question he’d ever been asked.  He’d be about as welcome in Chris’s room at this moment as a rat carrying the bubonic plague. Though when Johnny took the time to mull the physician’s question over, he realized Brackett probably had no clue that Roy’s anger went far deeper than a brief, crazed moment when an upset father was looking for someone to blame for his son’s injuries.  Because Roy’s friendship with Kelly Brackett was just as much on a professional level as Johnny’s was, Brackett had no insight into how much Chris’s decision to drop out of college had upset Roy, and how ticked off Roy was upon discovering Chris confided in Johnny about it long before Chris discussed it with his dad.

“I’ll...I’ll wait a few days.  Let things...calm down some.”

Brackett must have decided there was wisdom to those words, or maybe he didn’t want to have to patch Johnny up again should Roy give a repeat performance of the previous day’s beating.

“That sounds like a good idea. Besides, you need to get home and rest.”

“I’ve been resting.”

“No one ever rests in a hospital.”

“Then why’d you keep me here overnight?”

“Because I’m not in the habit of sending someone home who looks like he’d pass out before he made it through his front door.”

Had Johnny been in the mood for humor, he could have bantered with the doctor on this issue all the way to his ranch.  But he wasn’t in the mood for humor, and the hour-long ride was a quiet one.  Brackett made a couple of attempts at small talk that didn’t progress far.  Johnny gave him one-word answers before turning to stare out of the passenger side window again, effectively preventing any further conversation.

After Brackett pulled his car into Johnny’s driveway, he said, “I can take you to get your Land Rover tomorrow if you need me to.”

Johnny’s truck was parked in Station 36’s lot, as was Chris’s vehicle.

“Thanks, but I can get my neighbor to give me a ride there.”

“The guy who takes care of your horses when you’re on duty?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Johnny’s Malamute, Joe, had recognized his master in the strange car, and was now barking at the passenger side door. Johnny commanded, “Sit,” through the open window. The dog did as his master instructed, and then quit barking when the next command was, “Quiet, Joe.”

The paramedic reached for the door handle.

“Thanks for the ride, Doc.”

“You’re welcome. Before you get out, I have a message from Jennifer.”

“Jennifer?”

“She wanted me to tell you that she and Joanne came to see you yesterday afternoon in the ER.”

When Johnny didn’t do anything but stare out the windshield, Brackett asked, “Johnny?  Did you hear what I said?  Jennifer wanted--”

“Yeah...yeah, I heard you. Thanks for lettin’ me know.”           

“And Joanne wanted me to contact her if you needed a ride home today.”

“And Roy?”

“Pardon?”

“Did Roy want you to call?”

“I...that I don’t know. Roy wasn’t with them.”

Brackett’s answer didn’t surprise Johnny. He grabbed the shopping bag he’d set between his feet and opened the car door. Before the paramedic could climb out of the vehicle, the doctor spoke again.

“Johnny, give Roy a few days. He’ll come around.  I’ve seen parents react like he did more times than I can count.  You were nothing more than a convenient target.  He doesn’t really blame you, and you can’t blame yourself. You did all you could for Chris. None of this was your fault.”

Johnny turned and looked at the man.  “In all the years you’ve been a doctor, have you ever had an angry father blame you for something that wasn’t your fault? Blame you for something that happened to his son, even though you did all you could for the boy?”

Brackett gave a slow nod.  “I’ve experienced that a few times.”

“It caused you to stop and think, didn’t it.”

“Think about what?”

“What you would have done differently if you’d only known the outcome.  What you would have done if you had the opportunity to go back and relive the moment when things started to go wrong.”

“Yes,” Brackett admitted, “but after I got past the heated emotions an incident like that causes, I always had confidence that I’d done my best. Done all I possibly could for the patient. You have no reason not to have that same level of confidence where this situation is concerned.”

The paramedic shrugged.

“Maybe I would if it had been any other trainee with me but Chris.”

“How does that make it different?”

“He’s my best friend’s son.  That’s how it makes it different.”

Before Brackett could respond, Johnny said, “Thanks again for the ride,” grabbed the shopping bag, climbed out of the car, and shut the door.

Johnny bent to pet his dog, then straightened. “Come on, Joe.”

As Johnny headed for the house with the Malamute at his heels, he was aware of Brackett’s car idling in the driveway.  It wasn’t until the paramedic had entered his home that the doctor finally left.

Johnny sat the shopping bag by the door.  He shuffled to the kitchen table, finally giving in to his weariness as he pulled out a chair and sagged to its seat.  Johnny hadn’t wanted Brackett to know that he was just as exhausted as he had been when the doctor hospitalized him, and that a feeling of overwhelming depression seemed to have taken all the light from his world.

With Joe sitting at his side, Johnny rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands.  A part of him knew Brackett was correct. He’d done the best he could for Chris.  He couldn’t have given the young man more in the way of medical care than he had. But the part of him that reminded the paramedic he was Roy DeSoto’s best friend was the part that contained all the doubts and regrets.

If I could just turn back the clock. If only I’d let Chris drive, then I would have been the one who got out on the passenger side. 

If I could go back to the first time Chris told me he wanted to be a paramedic.  To the first time he made me promise not to share that news with Roy.  If I’d only known what was gonna happen, I never would’ve tried to make Roy accept Chris’s decision to drop out of college.  I never would’ve been so accepting of Chris’s decision myself. I woulda’ told him there was no way he should leave school.  I wouldn’t have been the friend he could confide in. Instead, I woulda’ been the guy kickin’ his butt all the way back to class.

Then other doubts crept in.

Would Chris have lost the use of his legs if I hadn’t moved him?  Was he paralyzed from the time the first bullet struck, or did I cause the bullet to move when I dragged him around the side of the squad?

At the moment it seemed like an insignificant fact that, had Johnny not moved Chris to safety, the gunman would have killed the young man before the night was over.

The paramedic paid no attention to the passing time. It had been years since he’d felt this adrift, this alone, and this depth of sorrow.  Not since Kim and Jessie died.  In many ways, the DeSotos had become Johnny’s family in the years since he’d move to L.A., and now gut instinct told him that bond was broken.  Maybe things would be okay between Johnny and Roy after a few days passed, as Brackett had said, but Johnny didn’t think so.  He didn’t think anything would ever be the same between them again.

Johnny finally stood and headed for the barn with Joe following him.  Later that evening, he picked up the phone five times before working up the nerve to dial Roy’s house. He didn’t want to make things harder on the DeSoto family if a phone call from him wasn’t welcome, yet he wanted Roy and Joanne to know he cared, and that if they needed his help for anything from babysitting for John, to mowing the grass, all they had to do was ask. 

Based on what Brackett had said about Jennifer and Joanne, Johnny assumed they’d be at least somewhat receptive to hearing from him.  As he listened to the phone ring, he hoped one of them answered. If he talked to either of them first, he’d be able to determine if Roy was willing to speak with him.    

 On the sixth ring the line was connected, but the answering machine clicked on.  The paramedic listened to John’s voice.

“Hi, this is where the DeSotos live. My dad’s busy puttin’ out a fire, Chris is busy savin’ someone’s life, Mom’s busy keepin’ me outta trouble, and if you got this machine, that means Jennifer isn’t on the phone for a change.  Tell us who you wanna talk to, and someone in this family will call you back.”

Johnny gave a slight smile at the message he’d helped John record a few weeks earlier.  He waited for the beep, hesitated a few long seconds, but then hung up without saying anything.

The paramedic went to bed shortly after that.  It was the first night of many where Johnny’s sleep was haunted by dreams of the shooting that caused him to wake up wondering what more he could have done for his best friend’s son, and wishing he’d been the one to take the bullet in the back instead of Chris DeSoto.

Chapter 17

I left Johnny alone while I made supper. I’d found a package of thawed ground beef in the refrigerator. Since I’d never heard of a kid who didn’t like Sloppy Joes, and since I knew Johnny liked them, I decided that was a safe meal to settle on.  Johnny was already mad enough at me. I didn’t want to make him madder by fixing something for supper he wouldn’t eat.  Although if there is a food Johnny won’t eat, especially when someone other than himself is cooking it, I can’t think of what it is.

It took time to locate everything I needed for the Sloppy Joes, then to find the cabinets and drawer where plates, glasses, and silverware were located. The fact that I didn’t know where to find things in Johnny’s kitchen wasn’t a bad thing.  At least not considering the circumstances.  It gave me something to do while Johnny...well, while he sat in his office cussing me out, or throwing things, or stomping around in circles, or brooding, or whatever it was he was doing to let off steam.  I figured I was smart to stay out of his line of fire until he’d cooled down a bit.  

 I set the table while our supper simmered on the stove. I searched for hamburger buns but didn’t come across any, though I did find a cabinet filled with canned vegetables.  I grabbed a can of corn since corn’s a popular choice with kids, although I’d never known Trevor to be a picky eater. He takes after his father where his appetite is concerned. But since it was my first night taking Clarice’s place – in a manner of speaking – I wanted things to go smoothly.

Supper was ready at quarter to five. I turned the oven on ‘warm’ and set the pans inside. I stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, waiting for Johnny. I assumed he knew Trevor had to be picked up at five-thirty, since it was noted on the calendar in Johnny’s handwriting. Because of his recent health problems, I surmised the reminder had been written back when basketball season started in mid-November, but it was in thick black marker and impossible to miss if you went anywhere near the refrigerator.

I watched as the clock’s hands indicated it was now five, and still I couldn’t hear movement coming from the office. It doesn’t take more than ten minutes to drive to the grade school from Johnny’s home, but the snow would add time to the trip. Given Johnny’s physical limitations, it would also take him longer to get his coat and boots on than it had in the past. I didn’t think Trevor would head for home on foot in the middle of a storm if he thought someone had forgotten to pick him up, but I didn’t want to take that chance either. That’s another way Trev is like his father. Or at least like Johnny in his younger years. Trevor’s impulsive and doesn’t fear much of anything – or at least he never lets his fear rule him. How many eight year olds have the guts to stow away on a plane, fly to a city they’ve never been to before, and launch their own search for their father? If Trevor would do that, I had no doubt he’d trudge several miles through a snowstorm after dark if he thought he had good reason to.

I kept an eye on the clock, giving Johnny five more minutes. When those five minutes passed and he hadn’t appeared; I headed for his office. I paused outside the closed door, listening. He has a radio/CD player in there sitting on a bookshelf, along with a portable T.V. set. I didn’t hear any sound – not from the radio or the television, nor sound that indicated Johnny was moving around the room, or using the computer.  I glanced down. No light was spilling from beneath the door. I suddenly had a vision of Johnny sprawled on the floor because of an aneurysm the doctors hadn’t detected.

How could you have been so stupid, Roy? You came here to make sure he was okay, not to leave him alone for two hours just because he stomped off in a huff. You should have checked on him. You should have...

I knocked on the door.

“Johnny!” I called in a calm voice, despite what I’d just been thinking. “Johnny, you okay?”

When he didn’t answer, I knocked again.  The room had originally been the home’s master bedroom and included its own bathroom.  I didn’t want to walk in on Johnny if he was in there. If I’d thought my presence wasn’t welcomed two hours earlier, I could just imagine Johnny’s reaction if I crossed this last boundary of privacy.  I was pretty sure I’d find myself planted head first in a snow bank, and then hitchhiking back to Carson.

I pounded on the door three times with my fist so he’d hear me if he was in the bathroom. 

“Johnny! Hey, Johnny!”

When I still didn’t get an answer, I had no choice but to open the door. The room was dark. My right hand slid up and down the wall in search of the light switch. I found it and flipped it on.

Johnny was sitting behind his desk. He’d started to turn around when I entered the room. From the way the chair was angled I knew he’d been staring out of the French doors. He blinked at the bright overhead light, looking like an angry owl who’d had his solitude disturbed.

“Uh...sorry to bother you, but it’s after five.”

He arched an eyebrow and shrugged. The look on his face plainly said, “So what?”

“Trevor needs to be picked up at five-thirty.”

His expression changed.  The emotions were fleeting, but I saw upset, disappointment, and then anger.  The upset and disappointment were directed at himself for the faulty memory that caused him to forget his son needed a ride home.  The anger, which wasn’t fleeting, but instead caused the corners of his mouth to turn down and his eyes to narrow to a squint, was directed at me. I wasn’t sure if he was mad because I’d entered the room without his permission, or because I’d had to remind him Trev needed a ride, or if he was just mad in general because I’d shown up on his doorstep after he’d told Carl he didn’t want me to come.

“Look...I know you don’t want me here, but--”

“En-en go.”

My voice was quiet but firm.  “No, I’m not going.  Or at least not anywhere except to the school to get Trevor.” I smiled, hoping he’d take that as a peace offering. “Now come on. Let’s go pick up your son.”

The negative shake of his head surprised me. Johnny has a close relationship with Trevor.  I thought he’d be eager to go with me considering he hadn’t seen Trev since early that morning.

“Don’t worry. Supper’s ready.  There’s nothing you need to do here.”

His scowl deepened, his glare growing darker.

“Um...I didn’t mean--”

“Know...know wha-wha you me. You...li-li ev one...you t-t-tin I ca-ca’t ta’ car me...mesel’ and me so--son.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No.”

“Yes you are. At least where I’m concerned. I do think you can take care of yourself and your son. It’s just that right now, you need some help.”

“Did-did as you...as you ‘el.”

“Friends don’t have to ask for help. Sometimes help’s just a given, don’t cha’ think?”

Johnny didn’t immediately respond. When he did finally speak, I couldn’t understand what he said.

“Why...why ca-ca’sh my?”

I tried to decipher the words by putting them in context to what I’d asked about help between friends being a given.  The trouble was, the only appropriate response to my question would have been a simple yes or no. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m not sure what you said. Can you repeat it?”

His jaw muscles worked in exaggerated fashion as he tried to enunciate each word.

“Why...why ca-ca-sh my?”

I understood “why” and “my,” but the closest I could come to determining the other sound he was making was “cash.”  And even the “why” and “my” was iffy, since he could have been pronouncing words wrong, and simply making the sounds necessary for why and my.

“Cash? Are you talking about money? If you need me to take you to the bank, we can do that tomorrow.”

Disappointment blanketed his features, softening the scowl and causing the glare to recede as his eyes settled on the floor as though he was too embarrassed to look at me. Since my arrival just two short hours earlier, my success at understanding Johnny had caused him to think I was the one person who would always be able to comprehend anything he said.  Admittedly, I’d foolishly thought the same thing.

I walked toward the desk.

“Why don’t you write it down for me,” I suggested in a tone that I hoped broadcast support and patience. “Do you have paper and a pen in one of these draw--”

“Go.”

“But--”

He looked up. The embarrassment was gone. Once again, anger dominated his features. 

“Go-go gee Tev-Tevor. Go!”

I decided the best thing I could do for both of us was drop the issue of the misunderstood sentence.

“Yeah, we’d better get going.”

“You.”

“Me? Without you?”

“Ye-yes.”

“You’re not riding along?”

He shook his head and turned to look out of the French doors again.

“Johnny--”

“Ju-juz go, ‘oy.  Juz-juz go.”

I stood there for a few seconds but he didn’t turn around, nor indicate in any way that he’d change his mind. I glanced at the fire engine clock Joanne and I had given him for Christmas. 

“I...I guess I’d better getting going then.”

Johnny’s nod was barely perceptible.

“Sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

He shook his head no.

I sighed.  “All right then. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Johnny didn’t respond. He stayed in his office while I went to the laundry room and put on my coat, hat, boots, and gloves. I locked the door behind me and stepped out onto the deck.  I bent my head against the wind and slogged through snow to the garage.  I opened the service door, and fumbled around until I found the light switch. 

The Land Rover was parked in the middle of the concrete floor.  I slipped behind the wheel, reaching for the garage door opener clipped to the visor. I could hear Nicolai and Tasha – Johnny’s Malamutes - barking.   I didn’t see them, and after a few seconds realized they were locked in the barn.

I hit the button on the opener and started the Rover. I backed out into the storm, then hit the opener’s button again and watched to make certain the door closed.

I fumbled around until I found the switch for the lights. I turned them on, put the truck in drive, and headed toward the road.  As the vehicle passed by the house, its headlights swept over Johnny. He was still seated in his office staring out of the big glass doors. He didn’t seem to notice the Land Rover. Even with the storm raging and the distance that separated us, I got the impression his thoughts were on another time and place. 

That made me wonder what I’d interrupted when I’d knocked on the door. But then the need to concentrate on my driving, and figure out where the switches were for the windshield wipers and the heater, caused me to set aside the concerns I had for Johnny, and the questions I had about the far away look I’d just seen on his face.

Chapter 18

Johnny stared at the wind driven snow pelting the French doors. He refused to acknowledge the departing Land Rover by tracking its progress with his eyes, or by walking to the great room and watching it through the front window. It should have been him driving, not Roy.  He should be the person heading out in a blizzard to pick up Trevor.

It wasn’t that Johnny didn’t trust Roy to get Trevor home safely, even though Roy rarely drove in snow. It was just that Trevor was his son, not Roy’s.  From the day Trev had been born, Johnny had seen to his needs.  Yes, Clarice helped out, but it was Johnny who made the final decisions where Trevor’s well being was concerned, and Johnny who fielded the requests of, “Papa, can I go to Juneau with Jake and his parents on Saturday?” or “Pops, can Dylan and Dalton come over after school tomorrow?” and Johnny who kept track of where his son was, what he was doing, who he was with, and what time he needed to be home.  A lot of men in Johnny’s situation would have turned those responsibilities over to whomever it was that watched the kids while the father was at work, but not Johnny.  He had no concerns about Clarice’s judgment; nonetheless, he’d decided long ago that when Trevor looked back on his growing up years, he’d always say that his father had raised him, as opposed to saying their housekeeper had done that job.

Now someone else was doing what Johnny saw as his responsibility – probably the most cherished and important responsibility he had - and that only made him angrier with himself for failing Trevor, and angry with everyone who was interfering, including Roy.  Most especially Roy, now that Johnny gave it some thought.

Roy, of all people, should know to respect boundaries, because twenty-one years ago he’d erected more than a few of his own with Johnny where Chris was concerned.  Where his entire family was concerned.  Ultimately, those boundaries had driven Johnny from California.  As odd as it might seem to some, Johnny didn’t blame Roy for that.  He never had. At the time it seemed like just punishment, and then after Trevor was born, Johnny even better understood how fiercely protective a father is, and how you can’t put into words the enormous love you feel for your child from the moment the squalling newborn is placed in your arms. The last thing you want is for anything to happen to that child, regardless of whether he’s an infant, a toddler, a young boy, a teenager, or a grown man.

Sometimes, that desire for safety and good health even extends to your best friend’s children, which was why Johnny still felt like he’d failed a son of his own whenever he saw Chris DeSoto sitting in his wheelchair.

Chapter 19

Her hand on his bare arm was warm and comforting, in complete contrast to the regret and sadness in her eyes.

“Johnny, I’m sorry.  I’m just...I’m really sorry.”

Johnny briefly covered her hand with his own, then slipped his arm from beneath her light grasp. 

“It’s not your fault, Jo.”

“I thought I could talk some sense into him.  I thought if he had time to think things over without any pressure, he’d finally realize he’s being a horse’s ass.”

Johnny laughed.  An odd sound to hear for both himself and his visitor, considering reasons to laugh these days were hard to come by.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause when I think back to the first time I met you, I never woulda’ guessed that someday you’d be sittin’ at my kitchen table calling your husband a horse’s behind.”

Joanne smiled at the way Johnny still couldn’t use off-color language in front of her, even after all the years they’d known each another, and even after she’d used it first.

“Why? Because I was a young wife with a bad case of hero worship for her husband back then? Or because I thought you had all the maturity of a fifteen year old, along with an ego the size of the Grand Canyon.”

“And don’t forget about telling Roy that you had about as much use for me as you did a leaky bucket.”

Joanne chuckled. Too many years of friendship had passed between herself and John Gage for the woman to remember any longer if she had been the one who’d eventually told Johnny of her initial dislike of him, or if Roy had.

Joanne fingered the condensation on the glass setting in front of her.  “There’s that too.”

Johnny pointed to the glass that held three half-melted ice cubes.  “You want another Coke? Or I can get you something else. Water? Juice?”

“No thanks.  I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure. Or at least where cold drinks are concerned I’m fine.”

Johnny’s puzzlement was plain to read.

“I’m not fine where this thing between you and Roy is concerned.”

“I’m not fine with it either, Jo, but I don’t know what else to do about it. I tried ta’ apologize to Roy – ta’ talk to him - two weeks ago, and he turned his back on me.”

“When was this?”

“After a department meeting.  I caught up to him in the parking lot.  I was hopin’ he’d be willing to come back here and talk to me, or let me take him to lunch or something.”

“Back here” was Johnny’s ranch.  Joanne had arrived at two o’clock that afternoon without letting Johnny know she was coming.  It was the first time since Chris had been shot a month earlier, that they’d seen or spoken to one another. On Johnny’s part, the silence was a result of his assumption that, for all concerned, it was best if he had no contact with the DeSoto family. On Joanne’s part, the silence was a result of her waiting to see if her husband would change his mind regarding the declaration Roy had made to her and Jennifer two days after Chris was shot.

“I don’t want to hear John Gage’s name spoken in this house again.”

“But, Dad--”

“Oh, Roy, for heaven’s sake--”

“I mean it.  And I don’t want anyone having contact with him, either.”

“But that’s not fair!” Jennifer had protested. “Just because you don’t wanna see Uncle Johnny doesn’t mean the rest of us feel the same way.”

“Well the rest of you should.”

“Dad, come on!  You’re being ridiculous.”

“You wanna see how ridiculous I can be when you’re grounded for the rest of the summer?”

“Dad! Now you’re being just plain stup--”

Before Jennifer said something that caused her more trouble than she wanted, or than any of them needed at that moment, Joanne stepped in.

“Jen, go and make sure John’s still playing in the back yard.”

Jennifer looked out the patio doors. “He is. I can see him from here.”

“Go make sure.”

“But--”

Joanne jerked her head toward the glass doors. “Jennifer, do as I asked, please.”

Jennifer must have realized her mother was giving her time to cool off before she ended up spending the remainder of the summer in her room.   The teenager got off one last parting shot before she threw back the screen door and stomped outside.

“You’re not being fair, Dad. You’re not being fair to any of us.”

Joanne walked over and slid the screen door shut, then slid the glass door shut, too, so the children couldn’t hear what was being said.  She crossed her arms over her chest as she turned and glared at her husband.

“She’s right, you know. You’re not being fair.”

“She’ll understand when she’s older.  When the day comes that she realizes how much Chris’s life has changed.”

“She’s not a little girl any more, Roy. She already realizes that Chris’s life has changed.”

“She doesn’t act like it.”

“Why? Because unlike you, she doesn’t blame Johnny for it?”

“Yeah.”  Roy turned his back on Joanne. “Yeah, something like that.”

“John Gage has been a friend to this entire family for a lot of years now.  We named our youngest child after him.  Have you forgotten that?”

“No, I haven’t, and now I wish we hadn’t.”

“Well we did, and with good reason.”

“Good reason at the time.”

“No, Roy, not just at the time.  Johnny saved Jennifer’s life.  He risked his own life to keep both her and Chris safe that night. Nothing has changed that fact.”