To Be Where You Are

by Jan Karon

  ‘I figured I wouldn’t go home when I left camp—I’d hitchhike to Charlotte and disappear. Everybody would think I was lost on th’ mountain and send up helicopters.’

  ‘You’d like it if people were searching for you?’

  ‘That would be cool.’

  ‘People will be searching for you. Starting tomorrow.’

  She was startled. ‘Why?’

  ‘When word gets around, everybody will want to thank you, Jessie. Think about it. If you hadn’t gone for help when you did, the injuries would have been far more complicated by the time help arrived, and the pain pretty unbearable. Drew knew how to keep them warm and hydrated, but God chose you to bring help, which was key. Sounds very cool to me.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I know you must be beat. So no more talking unless you want to, I can be on my way.’

  She gave him a look. Clearly, she wanted to talk.

  ‘I was like tendin’ th’ fire. Mary Ellen and Father Brad had disappeared an’ everybody else was scroungin’ for a log we were supposed to learn to cook on. I hated sleepin’ in th’ tent with Tiff an’ Sarah th’ night before; I was so, like, ready to bust out of there.

  ‘I was puttin’ on my backpack when I heard Mary Ellen callin’ me. She didn’t call the other guys, she was callin’ me. So I went up to th’ ridge and . . .’ She caught her breath. ‘It was scary. No way could I pull anybody out of that hole.

  ‘When Drew saw what was goin’ on, he, like, freaked. There was so much pain . . . an’ it was so hard to . . . to help them up an’ . . .

  ‘But we had to do it, we had to get ’em to th’ fire an’ heat rocks an’ wrap ’em in blankets an’ oh, my God, it was . . .

  ‘I said I’d go for help an’ Father Brad said he would, like, trust me to find my way down. He said there was a compass in his backpack; I said I wouldn’t need it.’

  She looked at the IV needle in her wrist as if just seeing it. ‘An’ I don’t need this drip thing goin’ on. Why am I in here anyway?’

  ‘Mild hypothermia, dehydration, exhaustion. You’ll be fine. I hear your mom and dad will check you out in the morning. By the way—congratulations. I guess you know you’re an aunt again.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you know your mom won an eight-ball match?’

  ‘No way. Who was she playin’?’

  ‘Sammy.’

  ‘Totally no way. He let ’er win.’

  ‘We don’t know that. She shot a great game. Even Sammy said so.’

  She drew in her breath, stared at the ceiling.

  ‘In the end, did you still want to hitchhike to Charlotte and disappear?’

  She shook her head no.

  ‘Were you scared hiking down the mountain with night coming on?’

  ‘Yeah. It was totally dark in an hour. Old people say there are panthers up there. Painters, they call ’em, they scream like a woman.’

  ‘It was a tough slog.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So the rescue people probably knew the mountain pretty well and could have found their way up. Why did you decide to go back with them? An even tougher slog.’

  She shrugged, turned her gaze toward the wall.

  ‘I’m just an old guy, Jessie, what do I know? But I think you cared about Father Brad and the others.

  ‘I also think you might want to have a good cry.’

  And she did.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13

  At three in the afternoon, he walked to Avis’s house to go through the mail.

  They hadn’t wanted to let him in the room this morning. But he had prevailed, knelt by Avis’s bed, prayed from the heart. Wilson was looking older. ‘We’re being as aggressive as we reasonably can, but he’s managing to play dead. What can I do with that?’

  He riffled through the mail at Avis’s kitchen table—stacked the bills, tossed the junk, set aside cards to take to the hospital and read aloud whenever the time came. He hoped the time would come. He felt a sudden despair.

  He was staring at the kitchen wall when he heard a scratching sound.

  He opened the door; looked out, then down.

  ‘Chucky!’ he said. ‘Chucky-y-y-y!’

  • • •

  He carried Chucky into the hospital without interference and took the elevator to the second floor. Nurse Kennedy was leaving Avis’s room.

  She closed the door, bearing its OXYGEN IN USE sign, and stood squarely in front of it.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, Father.’

  ‘Kennedy . . .’

  ‘Dander.’

  ‘I know, I know. But Avis is on oxygen, he won’t be breathing any dander. To see this little guy will be the best medicine we could possibly give him. I challenge you, Kennedy, to name a pharmaceutical that has greater healing power than a good dog. Just look at that face.’

  Kennedy did not look.

  ‘Interacting with a dog slows the heart rate! Boosts the immune system! Can even improve mood and reduce pain. All scientific fact, Kennedy. And look at that tail wagging. I think he likes you.’

  He was hell-bent on getting this dog through that door.

  ‘This is no therapy dog, Father, and even if it was . . . ’

  He had known Kennedy for years, come on! ‘Any good dog is a therapy dog,’ he said, sticking to his guns. ‘Besides, I just gave the little guy a hot bath in Avis’s tub, and dander will not be a problem.’

  ‘Why are two of his feet bandaged?’

  ‘Sore pads. I cleaned them up and used antiseptic. He’s been walking, Kennedy. He’s very likely come all the way from Tennessee!’ The miracle of it!

  ‘That dog does not look healthy. I can see its ribs.’

  ‘Of course you can. He’s just had what may be his first decent meal in who knows when. He is perfectly healthy, I can assure you.’

  ‘A white collar does not permit you to break rules.’

  ‘Blast, Kennedy. This dog needs to go in there.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you so pushy. Take him in, then, but do not let the patient handle him. Do you understand? Stay away from the patient!’

  ‘Scout’s honor.’

  ‘You are a reasonable man—at least most of the time. Maintain a reasonable distance from the patient.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘This is a busy hospital, Father, and I don’t have time to check back in two minutes. However, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Two minutes,’ she said. ‘On the dot. Mr. Packard is a sick man, and if you ever tell this to Dr. Wilson, I will say . . . you prevaricated!’

  He noticed that she narrowed her eyes to show who was boss.

  With Chucky in firm grasp, he entered the room. ‘Do not bark,’ he said under his breath. ‘Whatever you do.’

  Avis looked spectral. That was the word. Chucky’s tail whipped the air, and there went the straining to leap from his arms. He tightened his grip.

  ‘Avis.’

  Avis opened his eyes.

  It was like trying to hold on to a rocket in blastoff. ‘Chucky has come back, Avis! I think he walked all the way from Tennessee!’

  A long stare. Then tears. Flowing onto a pillow made in a faraway factory and as hard as stone.

  Avis smiled a ghost of a smile, held out his hand.

  Could that be a spark of life he just saw in Avis’s eyes? Only a flicker, but still . . .

  ‘We can’t touch you, Avis, or they’ll have our heads.’

  In a single leap, Chucky was out of his arms and onto the bed.

  • • •

  With a foolish grin on his face, and clutching Chucky with a death grip, he met Kennedy as she came in the room.

  ‘No more of this,’ she said in her Darth Vader mode.

  ‘Righto,’
he said, and walked up the hall at a trot.

  Truman would not go for this arrangement. No way. And his wife wouldn’t go for it either. He would be in the doghouse.

  But he would cross that bridge when he got to it.

  He talked to Chucky on the way home. Chattered like a magpie, as he did with Barnabas when they were in the car.

  ‘Chucky, Chucky, where have you been? Round th’ world an back again? Now listen up, buddy. We have a cat. Truman is not fond of dogs. I must ask you to be a gentleman. Keep your distance! Are you listening?’

  Chucky looked at him, tail wagging, one ear up.

  He wouldn’t mind having a . . . but no. Never again. Barnabas had been the best of the best. And that was more than enough.

  • • •

  Truman threw a double left jab at the nose, then a right to the head.

  Chucky appeared to think a moment, then powered a retaliation to Truman’s left ear. Truman shook his head, looked bewildered.

  ‘Boys, boys!’ said Cynthia.

  ‘Do you mind?’ he said, fearing the truth.

  His wife burst into laughter. ‘You are so hilarious, honey. Really you are. Of course I mind!’

  ‘But can we keep him till . . . you know . . . ’

  ‘Till kingdom come? Till the cows come home? Of course. But only for you and Avis.’ She delivered a theatrical pause. ‘There is a caveat.’

  He felt his own tail between his legs, in a manner of speaking.

  ‘Do not let him go beyond this puppy gate at any time.’

  ‘Fine, fine.’

  ‘At any time, Timothy.’

  ‘Right.’

  She gave him a look. ‘You know what I mean?’

  He knew, he knew.

  • • •

  He rang Dooley and told him about Chucky’s homecoming.

  ‘Bring him out, I’ll look him over.’

  ‘Many thanks. Have Kenny and Julie decided on a name?’

  ‘Colleen Marie.’

  ‘Good, good! So how did it go with Jack?’

  ‘He’s busy planning what they’ll do together. Swing. Go fishing. Ride bikes. Learn to swim. By the way, he made several visits to the clinic today to announce th’ time.’

  ‘When you told him the facts of life, what did he say?’

  ‘We didn’t tell him everything. He stopped us somewhere in the middle and said, That is too much information.’

  Talk about laughing your skin off.

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 15

  At seven-thirty in the morning, he called for a report on the bookends. Father Brad could return to the pulpit for Christmas Eve Mass, albeit in a half cast and with crutches. Mary Ellen’s knee surgery would happen today. She would remain through the holy days and undergo PT before returning to Boston.

  Even with two bandaged paws and the restraint of a leash, Chucky led him a merry chase around the yard. Not to mention that he barked most of the night—again—because Truman was skulking on the other side of the gate.

  After an ear-splitting barkfest at the sight of Otis and Lisa, Chucky was settled in the back room with a beef bone.

  ‘I’ve got a problem at home,’ he confessed to Otis.

  Otis blanched. He did not like hearing people’s personal problems.

  ‘Our cat’s going to make mincemeat of him. And my wife is, shall we say, on edge.’ He had to tell somebody.

  ‘We’ll take ’im!’ said Lisa.

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you . . .’

  ‘It’s fine, we love Chucky. Don’t think about it again, not for minute.’

  He did think about it again, with some guilt, but only for a minute.

  • • •

  He talked with Pauline on her break at Hope House.

  Jessie had agreed to get help in a detox program available in Holding and Pauline had arranged counseling of her own. They were driving down together in the morning. Tiffany and Sarah may—or may not—be considering the detox program.

  A very, very long valley. Then one day the view of the mountain, and God willing, the beaten path to the summit where others had journeyed before.

  He was breathing easier.

  • • •

  Raking ashes over the coals, turning out the lights . . .

  The phone.

  He went to his desk. Let’s get this over with, he thought.

  ‘There you are, Ms. Logan. How may I help you?’

  ‘I need to talk, Father. With someone I won’t run into at the post office or the food store. I don’t know much about priests except that they hear confession.’

  ‘I’m Anglican, so if you’re Catholic, Ms. Logan, I can’t hear your confession or offer absolution. Otherwise, yes.’

  ‘I’m a lapsed everything; I’m nothing. Please call me Brooke. My husband suggests I spare you the fine details and remain unemotional. I rehearsed this but now I hardly know where to begin.’

  ‘Jump in anywhere. That works.’

  An intake of breath.

  ‘My father is an important man. A four-hundred-thousand-acre beef cattle ranch near Sioux Falls, inherited from my grandfather. Oil interests, new visions for the cattle industry, philanthropy.

  ‘He and my mom lived in Hartford, my two brothers and I grew up there. But Dad was always in South Dakota on business when we were kids. We adored him; my mother was completely devoted to him. He was prince, king, and saint to us. When I went away to college, he started going to Sioux Falls for even longer periods. By then his absences were normal to me, and I stopped paying attention.

  ‘I’m a criminal defense attorney, Father, thus far unable to successfully argue my own case. Which is this:

  ‘Three years ago, I flew to Sioux Falls on business. None of us had gone to the ranch since I was nine years old. It was strictly off-limits—it was where Dad ‘worked very hard to give us all a beautiful life’—that was my mom’s mantra.

  ‘I took a car out to Star Creek. And there I met his other wife and his other three children.’

  A long pause. ‘Living happily at the family ranch,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine?’

  ‘I can.’ And he could.

  ‘It was devastating. Completely.

  ‘My mom was the most wonderful woman I ever knew. I didn’t tell her; it would have destroyed her. But the cancer did it, anyway; she died two years ago. I haven’t told my brothers—they’re just finishing college and have their own issues. Only my husband knows. As for what this has done for me—it has wrecked my marriage and gone to work on my health.

  ‘That’s where you came in, Father.’

  He sat down. This was not a phone call for standing.

  ‘The journalist I was trying to call is writing a book about important ranchers in the West. The upside on these families is easy to find; he also wants the dark side. I said I would talk if I could remain anonymous. I was thrilled to have an opportunity to destroy my father’s image. To grind him to dust. It gave me pleasure to know I would have power over one who abused his power over us.

  ‘And then my husband asked for a divorce.

  ‘Where I’m going with this is that maybe I didn’t get the wrong number when I called you. Talking with you even briefly reminded me that I should pass this by someone else, a third party. My husband and I can’t speak of it again.’

  ‘You wish to . . . ?’

  ‘To learn how to live with what I’m going to do. I’m meeting with the journalist next week. Telling the truth will be healing, but it frightens me, too. Somehow there should be another way.’

  ‘There is another way, Brooke. But only one. Forgiveness.’

  ‘You’re going to talk about that?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘That’s out for me. Totally out. There has to be something else . . . ’

  ‘
Something else to do what?’

  ‘To help me live with what he’s done. I’m bound and gagged by the rage I feel. I want to be able to love again—to give it and receive it and not sabotage it. How could I ever forgive him? Were his children nothing, that he had to have more? His devoted legal wife nothing, that he must have another? Please try to understand!’

  ‘I do understand. My father had a relationship with another woman, and sixty years later, I learned that I have a brother. I, too, shall spare the details, but I was able to reap the fruit of this new relationship by forgiving my father. Forgiving him was the path to loving my brother.

  ‘We’ll never see each other at the post office, as you say, so I’m going to be very open here.

  ‘You’re clearly depressed. I imagine that all your relationships have suffered, including those in your profession. You mention that your health is affected and your marriage may be ending.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Given that, Brooke, this is not about your father. This is about you.

  ‘Confiding the dark side to the journalist won’t alleviate the hurt. It will only extend it, for you and countless others. It’s important to remember, too, that it would dishonor the memory of your mother.

  ‘So let’s drop the notion of humiliating your father, and concentrate on Brooke Logan.

  ‘In nearly five decades of working with human souls, I’ve seen how we can define ourselves by how we’ve been wounded. In every way, un-forgiveness makes us the victim—nothing that an attorney would wish to be, I’m sure.

  ‘Surrender is the key that unlocks the hard heart and gives love the liberty to enter. Where love enters, the possibilities for forgiveness go viral.’

  ‘I don’t surrender, Father. I really don’t. I think we need to end this conversation, it’s not going anywhere for me.’

  ‘May I give you a few words more? By someone far wiser than either of us?’

  ‘If you must.’ Snappish.

  ‘Blaise Pascal was a brilliant mathematician, inventor, philosopher. There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, he said, and it cannot be filled by any created thing. It can only be filled by God, made known through Jesus Christ.

  ‘At the age of forty, I was a priest who believed with the intellect, but knew nothing of the intimacy with God that comes with surrender. I was certifiably lost—holding on to my pain, trying to fill the God-shaped vacuum. Then one day, standing in the backyard of the rectory, I was moved to pray a simple prayer from the heart. I surrendered everything. And everything changed.’