What We Find

by Robyn Carr

He pulled her a little closer. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Was that the cause of the breakup? The pregnancy?”

  “Not completely. Even through our disagreement, and it was pretty fierce, I stuck. He wanted me to abort, I refused, we fought. Then I lost the baby and he was very sensitive and supportive. Kind. But I couldn’t get beyond it—my heart was so broken. I was so grief-stricken it surprised even me. I cried all the time. I was a total basket case, but there was so much going on—my ex-partners being indicted, my lawsuit, the threat of bankruptcy... No one noticed there was one more disappointment in my life. Except Andrew, he noticed. He said he couldn’t take it anymore. He told me to get myself together. To get professional help if necessary.”

  Cal grimaced. “That was decent of him.”

  “He did me a favor, I can see that now. I can’t be with a man like that. With or without a child.”

  “I bet he’s kicking himself now...”

  “He’s too late.”

  “He’s back?” Cal asked.

  “Begging for another chance. Seriously, he’s much too late.”

  “How about me?” he asked. “Are you sure I’m the right kind of man? Dead wife, crazy family, living in the rumpus room, practicing law for free?”

  “Is that what your life is always going to look like?” she asked.

  “What if it does? What do you want your life to look like?”

  “I don’t have all the details worked out yet,” she said. “But I’m getting closer. I want a man who adores me—check. I want to live around here—check. Baby? Am I too old for that?”

  “You have plenty of time,” he said. “You do very well with Beau. You’ll make a fine mother. Are you going to work?”

  “Maybe. Are you?”

  “I will always work,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ll work as a defense attorney, but there’s always a lot to do. Are you going to raise this alleged child in the rumpus room?”

  “I said I haven’t worked out all the details yet! Probably not, but I haven’t come up with a good alternative. Do you want to grow old with me in the rumpus room?”

  “I’d say yes to the first part of the question and reserve judgment on the second. Maggie, are we in a hurry? Do you sense your eggs hatching?”

  “Do not make fun of me,” she said.

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight. “I’m not making fun of you. I think you know I love you...”

  “Even though you haven’t bothered to say so?” she asked, a little sarcastically.

  “Even though I haven’t exactly said so. But you did ask me to get together a... What did you call it? A statement of intent and a plan? Very sexy, Maggie. I’ve been working on that. Working like mad, really.”

  “You have?”

  “I have. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m trying. You can’t be cranky about that since you don’t even know where you’re going to raise your child. I should get the summer to devise a really excellent mission statement, don’t you think? You can’t accuse me of stringing you along until the end of August. Right?”

  “Are you planning to take your sweet time and let me down easy?” she asked.

  “Actually, I was planning my statement of intent. But then someone needed my help and I spent a lot of time reviewing the law. But more important, Maggie.” He stroked her upper arm. “I’m not taking any chances falling for you, but you’re risking plenty getting involved with me. Just the gene pool alone should give you second thoughts. Don’t you want to meet my family before you make a final decision?”

  “Humph, what does it matter? You never know what’s going to hatch.”

  “It’s schizophrenia, Maggie. I’m pretty sure my youngest sister has it but it’s hard to tell because of her drug use. In fact, we’ll never know unless she stops using and since she doesn’t want help with that...”

  “That would be a grandparent and an aunt, not a parent or sibling. Less than ten percent likelihood of a genetic component. The odds are worse she could turn out like Phoebe.”

  “You looked it up,” he said.

  “Well, yes. I look up everything. You’re also not wanted for murder anywhere, congratulations.”

  “I don’t want you to have regrets.”

  “I don’t want you to,” she said.

  “You have to do your part. You have to know how you want to spend your life. People can change their plans, that’s all right. I don’t want you giving up things to be with me. Things like neurosurgery.”

  “I’m not sure giving it up would be the worst idea. It’s fraught with complications and stress.”

  “It took a lot of that to break you and you still didn’t really crack,” he said. “You took a leave. You cried. Just remember when you’re thinking about this—it’s your identity. I don’t want to strip you of it. I want to be part of it.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Wow. You’re so amazing. Is this how it was with your wife?”

  “Lynne,” he said with a tender smile. “Most of the time. She wasn’t as bossy as you.” He nuzzled her neck. “There are still things for us to talk about before you let those eggs loose, okay? This is a good start. Let’s keep at it, all right?”

  “Listen, there’s something,” she said. “I was ready to tell you about the pregnancy and miscarriage sooner, but then you told me about Lynne and her death and it was just...it was inappropriate. My loss wasn’t nearly equal to yours. It wasn’t just because my loss was less; it was because I was a little afraid to tell you what it meant. Cal, I wanted that baby. I want a family. I was reminded that I’m thirty-six, that there might not be a lot of time for that. Getting hooked up with me might be more burdensome than you signed up for.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The next day Cal called Tom. “There’s something I’m going to need your help with. It might be a little complicated. And it’s top secret. Is there a time you’ll be alone at your house and I can come over? Because my business is never my business at Sully’s place.”

  * * *

  Every summer Sully invited special groups of kids out for the day or even an overnight. No charge of course. As she watched her father with a group of special needs kids, Maggie realized as never before how fantastic he was as a leader of children. He showed them how to drop a line and catch a fish, how to pitch a tent, how to roast marshmallows. He made hot dogs for lunch and went out on some of the shorter trails with them. The only thing Sully wasn’t doing this summer was getting in the lake with the kids.

  Maggie supposed it was because she’d been thinking about a family for the first time. For all these years she’d been so busy working, scrambling to keep up, she hadn’t had the time to think about children of her own. In fact, she hadn’t had time to think about a lot of things. But she’d been at Sully’s for five months and in that time some of her most immediate pressures had resolved themselves.

  Her practice was permanently closed and all the equipment, office and medical, and furniture had been sold. Most of it had been picked up by colleagues who were expanding while she was downsizing her life. The office space she’d been leasing was taken back, rented and bankruptcy was no long inevitable.

  Her partners had been indicted but they didn’t go to trial. One gave up his license in a plea deal and the other was reprimanded and fined, and he moved to Florida. If there were civil suits lurking out there, no one seemed to know about them.

  And she’d been invited by more than one of her colleagues to join their practices. John Halloran, a noted neurological surgeon from University Medical Center, advised her to keep a hand in. “Don’t stay out of the operating room too long, Maggie,” he said. “At least assist a few cases a month so when you do decide what you’re going to do next your decision won’t be forced b
y lack of practical application. Operate, Maggie. It’s what you were trained to do.”

  It was good advice. She decided she’d drive into Denver a couple of times in August, scrub in with a colleague who could use a hand. While she was there she planned to see friends, so she took Cal with her once. It wasn’t at all surprising that her friends fell in love with him, even if he was a little hard to understand. She introduced him as a homeless criminal defense attorney who had a big crush on her. He explained himself as someone recently escaped from the rat race, simplifying his life. Maggie’s type A friends had trouble understanding that.

  Maggie’s friends from the hospital, having had the mother lode of medical experiences, were fascinated by criminal law and plagued him with questions about his work, his clients, his experiences. They wanted to know if he’d ever defended murderers and he was quick to point out he had defended people accused of capital crimes. Had his life ever been threatened? Had mafia bosses tried to control him or had he ever been afraid for his life, being involved with scary people? And the one that interested Maggie the most: “Will you die of boredom being a maintenance man at a campground?”

  “I’m not bored yet,” was all he said.

  He only went to Denver the one time. He didn’t want to leave Sully shorthanded while Maggie was away in Denver for a night or two. Besides, there were other things going on over summer in addition to fishing, roasting marshmallows, and cleaning the public bathroom and showers. There were wildfires. One had been contained recently after raging for two weeks northeast of Colorado Springs. Another took out hundreds of acres near Salida and the smoke drifted over the crossing. Even though they were in no immediate danger, Cal wanted to be nearby in case Sully had to evacuate the camp and himself.

  Maggie adored him for his care for Sully and others.

  The summer routine was relaxed and low-pressure but Maggie noticed that Cal had become mysteriously morose and quiet. He went off by himself several times; she spotted him standing at the edge of the lake a few times, tossing pebbles into the water. She tried asking him what was bothering him and he brushed her off, saying he was just thinking.

  Frankly, Maggie was getting a little scared. Had he been thinking about his mission statement and come to the conclusion that it was time to move on? She decided the best approach was to demonstrate that she was mature and rational, but, unable to help herself, she pitched a fit.

  “What the hell is up with you? Why are you depressed? Why aren’t you talking to me? When did we become strangers? How do we go on from here if you can’t talk about whatever is on your mind that makes you go silent? How am I supposed to take it? Are you ready to dump me? Is that it?”

  Cal took a deep breath. “I have to go to Iowa for a few days. My sister is in the hospital and my father has gone off the rails. I’d like to ignore the situation but I can’t. And, I think you should come with me. In fact, I insist, unless there’s some reason you can’t leave here. Maggie, you have to know where I come from so you can decide just how involved you want to be.”

  If any man seeks for greatness,

  let him forget greatness and ask for truth,

  and he will find both.

  —Horace Mann

  Chapter 17

  “Let’s get this over with,” Maggie said. “I know your family’s troubles are hard on you and you worry about the effect on me, but I’m a doctor. I’m sure I can keep this in perspective.”

  “We’ll see,” Cal said.

  “You have so little faith in me,” she said.

  Cal explained to Sully that he wanted Maggie to meet his parents because they were pretty wacky. He didn’t want to terrify Sully so he described his father as unstable and his mother as nutty but loving. He could’ve said schizophrenic, but he hadn’t.

  When Cal was out of earshot Sully spoke to Maggie. “Be nice to his wacky parents and don’t screw this up.”

  “Oh, very nice, Sully!” she said.

  “You know what I mean. I like him and he fits in and I don’t know that I’ve ever been around a man who treats you better, including one husband and one steady boyfriend.”

  “Oh my God,” Maggie said. “I had more than one boyfriend! And I was engaged in med school for three weeks.”

  “You were engaged?” Sully asked.

  “It wasn’t worth mentioning,” she said. “I didn’t want to be engaged, but... Never mind, it doesn’t count. But I’ve had boyfriends.”

  Sully just shook his head. “Be nice to his wacky parents. And don’t tell them where we live.”

  Cal took care of the tickets—Denver to Des Moines, one plane change. Maggie packed and as she did so, she was confident she could handle meeting Cal’s parents, even if they were in crisis. She’d been around plenty of mostly functional people with mental disabilities. It was standard fare in emergency rooms. She knew neurological disorders weren’t exactly easy on behavioral patterns. But, Cal was completely sane and nearly ideal. And she was of above-average intelligence and had a great deal of medical experience. She could help him and put his mind at ease.

  We all have our issues, she reminded herself.

  Pratt, Iowa, a tiny farming community between Des Moines and Iowa City, had a small population—just a couple hundred. The drive from Des Moines with all the crops in lush maturity was lovely. It was hot and humid and buggy and there were some dark clouds gathering in the west. Cal stopped at a motor inn in Newton and checked them in.

  It was perfectly adequate and she decided not to even ask why they wouldn’t stay with his parents. It was early afternoon so they had a bite to eat and headed for Pratt. They drove another thirty minutes to a completely charming little village. The Jones farm was just on the outskirts of town. It was shaded by big leafy trees and the fields were full of wheat and corn. There was a big barn and a darling little farmhouse at the end of a drive through the fields. As they got closer Maggie noticed the details. The windows were covered with tinfoil. The weather vane on top of the house had tinfoil streamers on it.

  “Oh boy,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “We’ll visit for a couple of hours and get the lay of the land, then head back to Newton.”

  “Just a couple of hours?” she asked.

  “I’m sure that’ll be enough,” he said.

  Finally, she was starting to see why bringing her here was important to him and she grew nervous.

  “Your dad farms all this?”

  “No, he leases the land to local farmers. Sometimes he thinks he’s done a lot of farming, however. But, so far, there hasn’t been any problem with that and the lease income is helpful.”

  Up close, the house seemed to be in poor repair—the steps up to the porch were slanting one way, the floorboards were rickety and creaked and it had been a long time without paint. But the inside was pleasant and clean. It was very old-fashioned—overstuffed furniture with doilies, mission-style dining chairs around the table, appliances that had seen better days. There was a TV tray in front of a chair that still bore the imprint of its frequent occupant. And on the tray, a pile of spiral notebooks.

  Cal’s mother, Marissa, turned from the kitchen sink, saw them, and immediately looked worried.

  “Cal. I didn’t know you were bringing anyone,” she said, her voice very soft.

  Her gray hair was very long, tied in a band and trailing down her back. Her expression was pained but her complexion was the picture of health. She seemed to be in good physical shape, not too thin, not too heavy. She wore a long, flower-print skirt, brown leather lace-up boots and a shirt over a tank top. Her breasts were small, but she was braless and they swayed. When she smiled at Cal her eyes glittered sweetly.

  But Marissa twisted her hands.

  “Mom, this is Maggie, my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, hello. I’m sorry my husband isn’t here.
”

  “Where is he, Mom?”

  “He’s in the barn.” She looked at Maggie. “I’m sorry it’s such a bad time.”

  Maggie murmured a greeting.

  “Why is it a bad time, Mom?” Cal asked.

  “I told you,” she whispered. “On the phone, I told you. It’s been fine till Sierra went to the hospital. I don’t know what she was thinking, bringing all that attention.”

  “What attention?” Cal asked.

  Marissa’s pretty face became pinched. She spoke so softly Maggie could barely hear her. “She sent people here. County people. To look at us, at your father. He’s been hiding in the barn since they were here.”

  “For two weeks?” Cal asked, sounding appalled.

  “He’s started come to the house after dark. He’s afraid of them.”

  Cal looked at Maggie. “It was probably social services. He’s afraid of being taken to the hospital. He’s afraid of their drugs and tests and electric shock.” Then to his mother he said, “Make him something to eat. I’m going to go get him now.”

  “He won’t come.”

  “Make him something to eat,” Cal said. “Maggie? Will you be all right here?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “I’ll help your mother in the kitchen.”

  * * *

  The barn wouldn’t keep out the cold in winter, it was that rickety. It hadn’t been used to house animals in a good twenty years. Sunlight shone through the spaces between the boards. Cal’s father had latched the big double doors but as Cal remembered from long-ago visits, all you had to do was lift the door on the right and the latch fell away, allowing him to walk inside.

  His father had constructed himself a desk by putting an old door on top of two wooden barrels, using a third to sit on. There were papers scattered on top of the desk, held down by rocks. An empty bean can held pens and pencils, a couple of large sheets of paper were rolled up. Butcher’s paper. There was a grocery store bag sitting beside the desk, filled with balls of string. On the other side an identical brown bag filled with balls of tinfoil.