Starting Over

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Andy set his toolbox on the back seat of his Suburban and looked wearily at the old white colonial clapboard house. He'd worked all morning installing a new railing, and replacing an old basement window for the new owners. Once, it had been his and Brenda's home. No more. Now it was just an empty box they'd bumped around in. Why was it every relationship he'd ever had turned to sand, sliding through his fingers? Brenda had hung with him the longest; almost seven years, and he'd really believed he met someone who'd go the distance. What he didn't know was their marriage had fallen apart two years after it began. Looking back, he realized he'd been too wrapped up in the day-to-day emergencies of others to notice her drifting away from him. They'd been going through the motions, like an exercise at the fire station, never getting anywhere until one day, she'd had enough.

It was over an ice cream cone at Sammy's. She said she wanted out. She'd had enough of the Job, as she called it. Was tired of the Job tearing him away from her at all hours of the night. Tired of him taking care of everyone else but her. It stunned him and he didn't know how to answer for a long time. Finally, he'd said, 'So, you wanna go to a movie?' She'd looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. It wasn't far from the truth at that moment. Going out for ice cream had been their way of reconnecting after a long week of passing each other back and forth doing their jobs – not ending a marriage. How did one throw in the towel on loving each other while eating an ice cream cone? It didn't make sense. Ending a marriage while eating ice cream was just wrong.

Jack popped his head over the front seat and nuzzled his hand. He'd gotten the little beagle pup to fill the empty moments when he was home alone. To a point the little dog did. It was the utter silence of the nights that were the hardest, when dark memories of the accident and his past came roaring back. Yes, it was time to move on like Brenda had said when they met for lunch last week. He looked down at Jack and saw the excitement in the dog's eyes about the impending road trip. Jack loved riding shotgun with his head out the window.

“Yeah, I know, hurry it up and let's get on with it.” He shut the back door, got in the car and pulled out of the driveway. A few minutes later, he was in town, driving past the shops, cafés and stores that had been woven into the fabric of his life. As the car rolled along under the bright sunshine, he suddenly felt abandoned; ejected into a new life he had no control over. It'd happened before, a long time ago when he was a toddler. One day, Mom and Dad were there and the next, gone. He passed the First Baptist church where he and Brenda had been married in the summer of '99, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed down on the accelerator.

Fifteen minutes later, he turned onto the Salmon River Parkway, heading for Salem. As he drove along the rural road passing open fields and woods, he settled in for the hour-long ride. Dialing to his favorite radio station, KOAC out of Corvallis, he turned the volume up. Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers were on. It didn't take long until they had him smiling and laughing along with them as they diagnosed a problem that had nothing to do with cars. A young lady was trying to figure out how to get her handsome mechanic to ask her out for a date.

He turned to Jack. “Maybe I should open a service station. What'd'ya think, boy?” The dog barked and he reached over and patted him on the head. “Yeah, I know, get on with it.” Truth was, dating was the furthest thing from his mind. Besides, he had lots of things to keep him busy; a fledgling bookstore he'd started a year ago for one.

He'd always been an avid reader and a bit of a history buff since his discharge from the Marines in '72, and had, from time to time over the years, toyed with the idea of retiring from the Fire Department and giving his dream a shot. But there never seemed to be the right time to roll the dice. The real reason, of course, was there were men who'd depended on him down at the station, along with a steady paycheck to pay the bills. But that was all in the past now. A life he could never go back to.

And then there was the VA where he volunteered on Mondays and Thursdays in the Physical Therapy department. With a strong medical background along with a history of service in Viet Nam, the therapists were glad to have him. Returning soldiers who were injured needed someone who understood; someone they could trust and bond with. Nothing sped the healing process up like having someone helping you who'd been in the trenches.

When he pulled into his driveway on Aspen Street, it was nearing dusk. His small one-story Tudor sat in shadow on the pie shaped lot at the end of the cul-de-sac. A large semi-arched picture window looked out over a front lawn in need of mowing. Flanking the house was a stout Gary Oak that had shed most of its orange and yellow leaves. A swath of mountain laurel and rhododendron backed up against a raised slate porch. He opened the car door and got out with Jack bounding behind him. The street was quiet tonight. Must be the neighbors are at the jazz festival downtown.

He grabbed his toolbox from the rear seat and headed to the detached one-car garage, still loaded with boxes waiting to be unpacked. They'd been sitting there since he moved in a year ago. Maybe he'd get to them next weekend. Right now, he had a more pressing matter at hand. He looked down at Jack. “Yes, I know, dinner-time.”

Setting the toolbox on the workbench, he set off through the garage for the back door as Jack followed close behind. The Long galley-style kitchen was cluttered. Dirty dishes were scattered on the counter, empty pizza boxes and beer cans on the table. He set a bowl of chow down then went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer and a leftover sandwich. As he stood munching on it, his cell phone vibrated.

“Hey, Matt. This is a surprise.” He hadn't heard from Matt Fuller in over two months. For him to call out of the blue was out of character.

“Sorry I've been so out of touch. How's things?

“They're good. Finished the last of the repairs at the house. Closing this Tuesday. What's up?” Andy said.

The Lincoln City Fire Marshall cleared his throat. “Umm … a problem's come up that we need to deal with. You know me. Never been one to candy-coat things.” He paused and for a minute Andy thought the call had been dropped. Finally, Matt came back on and said, “Anyway… Leonard's parents have brought a civil suit against the department and you're named in it. Some ambulance-chasing lawyer must've gotten in their ear. Sorry about this, big guy, but I think you're gonna need to get a lawyer involved.”

Andy looked up at the ceiling and sighed. A lawyer was one thing, but going over all the details of the accident again wasn't what he needed right now. “It's all right, Matt. Not your fault.” But it wasn't all right and never would be. The events that happened on a sweeping bend of highway leading out of Lincoln City had haunted him relentlessly over the last year and a half. And now, he was going to be put through that wringer all over again.

Andy woke up in a cold sweat as the sounds of shrieking metal and shattering glass faded from his mind. Another dream about the accident! Would the nightly terror ever leave him alone? He flipped the sheet off and sat up rubbing his temples. Bending forward, he pinned his hands on the mattress, drew breath and looked at the alarm clock. 6:30 AM. In four hours, he and his partner Bob Lightfoot would be sitting across a table from a lawyer representing the Stewart family, giving yet another deposition regarding the accident.

Right now, he had to pull himself together, shower and shave. After that, he'd start going over his transcript of the previous deposition testimony he'd given during the initial investigation. Unpleasant business, but necessary. He trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall with Jack following.

Twenty minutes later, he was slurping coffee at the kitchen table with the file in front of him. Fingering the manila folder, he peered through the rain-spattered sliding-glass doors next to him and thought of Brenda. Even though she'd been on her way to a new life, she'd put her interests aside to take care of him during the hellish six months that followed the accident. Now, there was no one left except Jack to quiet the inner demons, and there were many.

At length, he opened the file and stared at the field report. Flipping the page, he read Bob Lightfoot's account of what happened. A diagram of the accident followed showing how he'd valiantly tried to miss the eight-year-old boy, who had chased a ball out onto the highway. The report indicated the weather had been clear and cool. A slight southeast wind had been blowing across the two-lane highway. The siren and emergency running lights were in full operation. His speed: just a hair over fifty-five. Ten miles per hour over the posted state speed limit. Well within the parameters of rushing to an emergency situation. The only problem was he hadn't seen the 'Deaf Child' sign that had recently been posted a hundred yards from the bend in the road. That was the omission that haunted him.

The next seven pages documented the accident in pictures. Those, he flipped through. The memory of Bob pulling him through the jumbled disarray of fallen medical equipment and oxygen bottles in the overturned truck was plenty. He shook his head and was about to turn the page when his sister called. He flipped his phone open and yawned. “Hey, Panda.”

“Hi Bruddy. I just wanted to let you know I'll be there in spirit with you today,” his sister, Amanda, said. “Sure you don't want me to come with you?”

“I'll be okay. Bob'll be there. 'Sides, who'd open up the store?”

“Well, Jonah could,” she said.

He c****d his brow as he thought of the grizzled Viet Nam war veteran he'd hired six months ago. While Jonah was competent and could easily manage it, he didn't want to push flying solo on the man so soon. Finally, he said, “I know he could, but I don't think he'd be comfortable with that just yet.”

“Okay, I was just throwing it out there,” she said. “Anyway, I'm here for you and so are Tom and Tuck.”

“Thanks, I'll be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself of it.

“I worry about you sometimes. By the way, have you told Brenda what's going on?”

“No. Didn't see the need,” he replied, knowing his sister hadn't approved of Brenda's coming back to take care of him after the accident.

“Good idea.” She paused. “You're not gonna lose the store. You did everything right. It's just a horrible thing that dear child ran out in front of you.”

“Yeah, maybe … but doing everything right didn't change a damned thing did it? The boy died and I was behind the wheel, so that makes me a part of it.”

He heard her sigh on the other end. “Bruddy, you need to stop beating yourself up.” She paused and added, “Maybe you should get back in touch with your therapist.”

He shook his head. “Mark's retired. I'll be all right.”

“You need to talk to someone,” she said. “I know of someone who –”

“Panda, please,” he said a little harsher than he intended. He sat back and rubbed his eyes. “I'm fine.”

“Okay, okay,” she replied with a huff. She was quiet a moment then spoke up. “Look, why don't you and Jack join us for dinner tonight? We'll throw some steaks on the grille and I'll put a tater salad together with something sweet for dessert.”

“Now, you're talking! By the way, I scheduled Tyler to come in at four today.”

“Good, and he better be on time,” she said. “I have to get to the bank to make deposits before it closes. So, when should I expect you?”

Andy paused. “Six-thirty?”

“Don't be late. Love you.”

“Ditto.” He flipped the phone shut. But getting back at it was the last thing he wanted to do and his expanded vision wasn't helping. He sat back, closed his eyes a moment then turned the page to read the statement he'd written a year ago for the inquiry. The passage of time did little to change how he felt about his role in the accident. He should've seen the 'Deaf Child' sign and been a little easy on the pedal. If he'd only been more careful.

The attorney who'd been coaching him on how to handle certain questions, told him to speak to 'just the facts' and avoid emotional responses. The term, 'I don't recall,' was to be a stock answer for dealing with difficult questions. It was 'cover-your-ass' mentality. He didn't like it. Except this was about money. Where the dollar was concerned, the lines between fact and fiction were blurred. A decision against the department would affect their ability to provide needed services to the community, to say nothing of what the suit was asking from him. Three hundred-fifty thousand! Where was he going to get that kind of cash? It would wipe him out financially. And the award to the family; that would do… what?

How do people put a price on a human life? It was blood money. The only winners as far as he could tell were the lawyers. He shook his head and closed the file. It was like trying to wash his hands and leave the water clean. No matter what he said, it wouldn't set things right.