Starting Over

Chapter 10

Chapter 10Andy headed down the busy corridor of the cardiac wing of Salem's Hospital to visit Garrett. On the way, he'd picked up a basket of goodies for the man: paperback books and puzzles. When he came to Garrett's room and heard raised voices coming from inside, he hesitated, deciding whether to head for the waiting room for a few minutes to wait the argument out.

“Dad, you can't keep driving. You need to give your license up.”

“Before what, Michael? I kill myself,” the old man softly said. “I have one little incident and you'd think the whole world was falling apart. I'm fine–soon as I get out of here, that is.”

“You're not fine! You just had a major heart attack and damned near killed two people in the process.”

“I'm truly sorry about that, but how am I supposed to get around,” the man muttered. “I have places to be. I can't live being locked up in a house, Michael.”

“Where, Dad? Where do you have to go?” The son said raising his voice.

“The Alzheimer's Gala, for one. They've invited me to talk about your mother and hand out an award.”

“That's not until January. As far as getting you there, I'll take you. And, for being locked up, there's alternatives and you know it as well as I do.”

“Right! Assisted living or whatever they're calling it these days.”

“I'm trying to help you.”

“I'm not selling the house, and that's final.”

Andy had heard arguments like these before. Tragedies did things like this to families, stressing frayed and anxious nerves. The man's son burst out of the room, his face red and skewed in bewilderment. He eyed Andy then turned back toward his father. “Well, you won't be driving anymore.”

There was no reply. Just empty silence. As if being silent would make it all go away.

The son shook his head and rolled his eyes at Andy as he walked out of the room. “Looks like you have company.”

He pressed his lips together and went in. Garrett's gaze was turned toward the window. He set the basket he'd bought for the man on the small chest of drawers. “Hi, Garrett.”

The man turned his head toward him. “And who might you be?”

“Name's Andy. I was there the other morning, and I … well, I wanted to come up. See how you were doing.”

The man flashed a smile. “Oh, why thank you, I appreciate it. I'm Garrett. Pleased to meet you.”

“How you feeling?”

Garrett tried to pull himself up in bed so he was sitting upright, but was having a hard time. Andy reached over and helped him up. As he did so, Garrett winced. “Ahhh … My ribs, they feel like they've been kicked by a mule.”

“I bet. Can I get you anything?”

“What I'd like, they don't have up here,” Garrett said. He rubbed his chest, took a deep breath then sank into the pillows and shut his eyes. “So you were there, then? Word has it someone pulled me outta my car and saved my life.”

“That's what they say.” He pulled the blanket up around the Garrett's shoulders.

Garrett opened his eyes and considered Andy for some time. At last he said, “You're him, aren't you?”

He smiled. “Just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

“Lucky for me,” Garrett answered looking off toward the door. “My Michael, he wants me to go in one of them homes across town. He says I'm too old to be driving. That I need help. Maybe he's right, but I'm not ready for a rocking chair … at least not yet.

Andy nodded.

“I know, he means well. But I could never leave my home.” Garrett reached over and took a cup of water from the rolling tray table beside him. After a long, shaky sip, he continued. “I built it myself for my Annabelle, God rest her soul. Every beam and stud in that house has a part of me in it and every flower a part of her. He doesn't seem to understand that. I guess it's all this modern thinking: out with the old and in with the new. It seems no one appreciates the value in old-fashioned things anymore. They just toss out whatever doesn't work for them.” He was quiet a moment. “You have children?”

He shook his head.

“A wife?”

“Nope.”

Garrett studied him. “So sad. If you did, you'd know what I'm talking about.”

He reached over and put his hand on Garrett's shoulder. “I don't think he's trying to toss you away, Garrett. He just wants you to be safe.”

“So he doesn't have to worry, don't you mean?” Garrett paused then sighed. “Forgive an old man, that probably wasn't fair…but it's how I feel,” he said raising his voice an octave. “I need to be free to go about doing the things I love. I can't do that when people are hovering over me like the proverbial hawk watching the mouse,” he continued, emphasizing the last word. He glanced toward the door where a nurse was standing. “Speak of the devil, here comes one now.”

“Now, now, Mr. Anderson, we aren't all that bad,” the slender redhead said sweeping up next to him.

That was his cue. It was time to say good-bye, so he patted Garrett's shoulder and let himself out.

After Andy got back to the store, he retired to his office to return phone calls and go over emails. The last two days had been a hell of a ride. The accident and its subsequent aftermath had derailed his plans to catch up on all the little things crying for his attention. On top of all that, he was dealing with the barrage of reporters wanting interviews. How odd, he thought, that when he was saving lives on the force he was never pursued for interviews. It appeared one had to be a regular Joe in order to be noticed when it came to doing the right thing. He sucked down a gulp of coffee and picked up the latest trade magazine from Penguin Publishing as the background headache buzzed in his head. As he scanned the upcoming January releases, looking for a fresh title, the phone rang. Christ, another reporter. He had a mind to let it go to voice mail, then thought better of it and picked up.

“McNamara's.”

“Is this Andy McNamara,” said a female voice.

Wait for it. Andy mused, picturing a young journalist. He flipped the magazine page. “It is. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I'm Janet Porter.”

He sat forward and dropped the trade journal onto his desk. “Janet!” He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

She was quiet a moment and he wondered if she was still on the line. Finally, she said, “Is there a chance we could meet for coffee?”

“Umm…yes,” Andy said, delighted and a lot curious. “What's up?”

“It's my son Nate. I…I know you've been talking with him… and well, I just need to talk to someone.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Sure. I have tomorrow afternoon free. Say around one?”

“That would be great. I could come to you.”

He chuckled. “Looking for that free scone, I see.”

She was quiet on the other end, then said, “Oh, that. No. I just thought it might be easier for you.” She paused. When she spoke again, her serious tone brightened. “Besides, it would give me a chance to check out your store.”

“It's not much, but it's growing.” He made a mental note to have her books placed front and center in the display window.

“I'm sure it's wonderful,” she said. “By the way, I heard what happened the other day at Riverfront City Park. Is the old man you rescued okay? Did he make it?”

“He did, thanks to God and a few good folks.”

He heard an audible sigh. Finally, she said, “Oh good. He's such an amazing man. Such an influence on so many people.”

“Sounds like you know him.”

“Garrett Andersen? Yes…well, sort of. He was a guest speaker at my college when I was a sophomore. Anyway, you are a man of many hats.”

He was intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“Well, a volunteer at the VA, a book store owner and a paramedic,” she said. “What else do you do in your spare time?”

“Oh, that,” he said. Obviously, she'd heard about his being a paramedic from Nate. He cleared his throat. “That's a part of my life that's over with now. Retired, and no other trade secrets, scouts honor.”

She laughed. “You sure about that? I heard you've got connections with the Trailblazers.”

“Yeah, the assistant coach and I go back some. He throws me a few tickets here and there.”

“So I understand,” she said. “My son tells me you've invited him to a game. On the 23rd…is it?”

“Yes. He mentioned he's a fan, so I thought it'd be a good diversion for him. We're going up with a couple friends of mine. I could see about grabbing another ticket if you're interested in tagging along.”

“No, that's all right, but thanks. I have family coming in for Christmas and there's a crap-load of things I need to do,” she said with a sudden shift of tone. Almost sad, Andy thought. “Well, I'll let you get back to work. You take care. Bye now.”

The connection went dead but his heart was soaring.

Janet showed up promptly at 1:00. Andy led her to an out-of-the-way table in his café and took her jacket. As he did so, the scent of vanilla wafted out at him. He inhaled it, basking in the scent and sat casually taking in her soft cashmere cream-colored sweater accentuating her graceful figure. What he noticed more though was the necklace she wore. It was an antique piece of silver with a heart-shaped topaz stone in the center. She fingered it as she crossed her legs and offered him an unassuming smile.

She cast her glance around the room. “Thanks for taking the time to talk. I really appreciate it.”

He sensed her anxiety. “Let me get you a cup of coffee and that scone.”

“Not to be a pain, but do you have tea?”

“We do, but nothing fancy,” he replied, getting up.

“That's okay. Whatever you have will be fine.”

He left her sitting there and went over behind the checkout counter. His sister Amanda was changing the filter in one of their coffee makers. As he grabbed a pair of tongs and placed a scone on a plate, Amanda flipped the top lid back down and started wiping the counter. Without looking up, she said, “You sure you know what you're doing?”

He glanced back at Janet, who was perusing a book. “What do you mean?”

Amanda turned toward him and gave him one of her classic Doubting-Thomas gazes. Although he loved his sister, she had a tendency to be guarded of people. Not that he could blame her. Their whole lives, when they were growing up in foster care, had been one of survival. Trust came hard when all you knew was fighting for your place in a family where the other kids come first. Finally, she said, “Well, you always told me it's never a good idea to get involved with patients and their families.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He wasn't overly fond of the reminder. He snatched a couple napkins and a fork. “But sometimes you make exceptions. Would you mind grabbing me a cup of tea and a coffee?”

“Right,” she said, drawing the word out while pulling out a couple of mugs and setting them on the counter. As she poured his coffee, she added, “I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact she's drop dead gorgeous.”

When Jonah looked up with a knowing grin, Andy frowned. She was half right and he couldn't deny it. “No, it has nothing to do with it.”

She gave him a crooked smile the way she always did when she knew he was bullshitting her and threw a tea bag into the mug. “She take cream and honey?” When he hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “Never mind, I'll bring it over.”

He snitched another scone for himself, eyed her sidelong and shuffled back over to Janet. Pushing the plate with the scone toward her, he said, “So, what're ya looking at?”

She set the book down and turned it around so the cover was right side up for him.

“Snow Falling on Cedars. Heard it was a good read,” he said picking it up. He turned it over and glanced at the back cover as Amanda came to their table.

“Hi there,” Amanda said, setting Janet's tea in front of her along with a creamer and a jar of honey. As she did so, he saw her furtively giving Janet the once over. “I like your necklace. Where did you get it?”

“Thank you. It was a gift from my late husband,” Janet said, looking up. She tossed Amanda a smile and drew her shoulders inward around the silver braided strand as she poured cream into her tea.

He put the book down and sipped his coffee as the women exchanged small talk about the upcoming holidays. As he looked on, Janet casually sat back, nibbling on her scone while Amanda prattled on about never having enough time to get things done. Finally, he eyed his sister and said to Janet, “So how's Nate?”

Taking his cue, Amanda thanked Janet for her compliment on the pastry and left. As she walked away, Janet pushed her plate aside and toyed with the simple yellow band on her ring finger, turning it around and around. She took a sip of her tea. “He's angry.”

He tilted his head and nodded but kept his mouth shut and waited for her to continue.

“He's…well…” She paused, pressed her lips together. As her gaze drifted toward the window, her tone took on a reflective quality. “Nate's father was much older than I was when I met him and he had grown children. One of them was my best friend before I met him. Anyway, it started as sort of a business relationship. He was a tenant of mine.

“At the time, I wasn't looking for anyone. I was happy being on my own.” She turned back to him and smiled. “But things happened and well…we fell in love and Nate was born shortly after we were married. My pregnancy was a surprise for both of us, but Neil was delighted. I remember him telling anyone who would listen he was gonna be a father again. He was a good father; bathed and fed Nate, read him stories, helped him with his homework, but…he just…well, he just didn't know how to get down on the ground with Nate when Nate was little. Play with him at his level, you know.”

She narrowed a sobering gaze on him, cleared her throat and went on. “And then he developed Parkinson's.” Again she paused, and as she did so, her shoulders sagged. She took a deep breath. “As it progressed, it interfered with his work. As an architect, my husband's life revolved around being creative. When he couldn't draw anymore, it crushed him. His life, and how he defined it, was taken from him, so he turned in on himself. Became frightened. Consumed with his failing body. The toll it took on our family was huge, affecting Nate most of all. He didn't understand what was happening to his father.”

Now things are making sense, he thought. He looked down, pitying this proud woman whose story was firing bullets at him.

“But it was 9/11 that really hit him and Nate the hardest,” she went on. “It devastated my husband and enraged my son. He was supposed to go to OSU that year, but changed his mind and enlisted. Shortly after Nate was deployed, my husband's memory began to fade. At first we wrote it off as him getting older, but as time went on, it became apparent it was more than that. His mother had died not knowing her own children, and the fear of it happening to him was terrifying. He wouldn't go to the doctor.”

There was a long silence and he wondered if she was finished. At last, she swallowed. “I realized I…I was losing him when he started getting lost during walks around the neighborhood. I had to watch him like a hawk because he was leaving the stove on and walking away. Eventually, I had to take the car keys away. That was the worst. He…he just gave up after that.”

He waited for her to collect herself then leaned forward. Gently, he said, “And Nate was away when all this was happening?”

“Yes. I didn't tell him what was going on with his father. He had enough to contend with. When he came home on his first leave and saw his father's condition, he closed himself off from everybody. I tried to tell him there was no way he could know what was going to happen, but he wouldn't listen, at least that's what it felt like. He went back to Iraq moody and quiet. I should've prepared him before he came home. It's my fault. I was scared.”

She looked at him with desperation in her eyes. As a tear rolled down her face, her voice cracked. “He likes you. He'll talk to you. Please help him.”