Like Grownups Do

by Nathan Roden

  Babe glanced briefly toward Wanda, who stood nonchalantly with one hand on her hip, expertly displaying a much practiced “I-told-you-so” stance.

  Babe crossed the floor and leaned into Sophia’s shaky embrace. He carefully patted her back, and rose up, holding her feeble hands.

  “It’s so good to see you, Sophia,” he said.

  “Don’t you get all uppity with me, Michael. You always called me Mommy, before you went off to that fancy school,” Sophia scolded, although she wore a broad smile.

  “Mommy is good enough for Gabriel and it’s good enough for you. Oh, my precious Michael. I’m so glad that you’ve come.”

  “Mommy, do you know where Gabriel is?” Babe asked.

  He pulled a chair to sit next to Sophia.

  Sophia’s smile faded.

  “He’s gone off to war, again. I asked him to stay. But he has very important things to do. The President needs him. There are bad people about, Michael. But Gabriel always comes back to me, Michael. Just like you do. I love my boys so very much.”

  A tear ran down Sophia’s cheek. Wanda cleared her throat.

  “Mommy, I have to go now. I’m going to watch after Gabriel and bring him back safely. We love you very much,” Babe said.

  “We love you, Michael. I hope your father can be here when you come back; when you and Gabriel come home. We’ll have a picnic. You can ride your bicycles and we’ll have another picnic. Lord, I have to get started on those pies—a nice apple pie for you and a lemon custard for my Gabriel. Oh, we’ll have such a time. Won’t you like that?” Sophia said.

  “That will be perfect. You take care, now,” Babe said.

  “Goodbye, my sweet Michael.”

  “Thank you very much, Wanda. Could I get the name of Sophia’s physician? I would like to ask him a few questions,” Babe asked.

  “That would be Dr. Evans. Out in Woodbridge,” Wanda said.

  “Thank you very much. Good day, ladies.”

  Thirty-Six

  “Hello, my name is Josh Babelton. From Boston,” Babe said to the receptionist in Dr. Daniel Evans’s office.

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Babelton?” the receptionist said.

  “I would like to speak with Dr. Evans, if possible, about two of his patients. Mr. and Mrs. Angelis,” Babe said.

  “Just a moment, please. Let me see if the doctor has a few minutes.”

  A total of seven small children and two young women about Babe’s age occupied the small waiting room. The children played with an assortment of well-worn toys, shuttling them in and out of an adjacent room. The room contained a large homemade toy box and it did double duty as a supply closet.

  The two young families were neat and clean, yet dressed in a way that said ‘economically challenged’. The receptionist, who doubled as the physician’s assistant, called the name of one of the women. She ushered her four children through the door toward the exam rooms.

  “Mr. Babelton,” the receptionist said. “The doctor will be able to see you shortly. He has a few checkups to do first.”

  “That’s fine,” Babe said. “Thank you.”

  Babe browsed the walls of the waiting room where an array of photos showed an older man in a lab coat and stethoscope posing with an assortment of children. Other photos showed the same man in civilian clothes taken with his family in assorted vacation destinations.

  Babe selected a dog-eared two-year-old copy of Sports Illustrated from the magazine rack and sat down.

  He was working to flatten out the pages of the magazine when a two-year-old little boy stood up from where he was playing with his two sisters and toddled up to him. The boy was sucking on a pacifier and carrying a yo-yo that had no string. He offered the yo-yo to Babe.

  The boy’s mother jumped from her seat and swooped up her son.

  “JJ. Leave that man alone.”

  “He’s not bothering me, ma’am. I think he just needs a little help with this yo-yo,” Babe said.

  He stood and went to the toy box inside the janitor’s closet. He pulled out several toys before finding what was left of the yo-yo string. He went back to his seat and wrapped the shortened string around the yo-yo.

  The toddler watched the operation with great interest. Babe stood.

  “It’s been a long time. Let’s see if this is like riding a bike.”

  He was able to make the yo-yo perform its most basic functions, much to the delight of the little boy. He stomped his feet and pointed at the yo-yo. His pacifier dropped from his mouth and he began to squeal. He looked toward his mother to make sure she was witness to this miraculous display. She laughed.

  “I’ve never heard him carry on so,” the young mother said. “And all it took was a two dollar yo-yo.”

  Babe yo-yoed for several minutes and then tousled the little boy’s hair and sat back down. The little boy immediately attempted to climb into Babe’s lap.

  The exasperated mother again leapt from her seat to retrieve her son.

  “JJ, leave the poor man alone. I’m sorry; he doesn’t ever act like this. He’s as shy as they come.”

  Babe raised a hand. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am. He’s fine.”

  JJ settled into Babe’s lap. He picked up the yo-yo and studied it as if it were the most magical of devices.

  “What does ‘JJ’ stand for?” Babe asked the mother.

  “It doesn’t really stand for anything,” the mother said. “His name is Joseph Lee. We used to call him Joe, but—”

  “But ‘Joe’ sounds like ‘no’,” Babe said quietly.

  The young mother moved her mouth silently and then looked oddly at Babe.

  “But ‘Joe’ sounds like ‘no’.”

  A man in a white lab coat opened the door to the exam room area. He extended his hand and said, “Mr. Babelton? Daniel Evans.”

  Babe handed JJ to his mother and shook hands with Dr. Evans.

  The doctor saw Babe glance toward the photos.

  “Daniel Evans, Junior, Mr. Babelton,” Evans said.

  He pointed toward one of the family photos.

  “I’m the one that looks like he’s wayyy to cool to be having a good time at the Grand Canyon with his old fogey parents. Dad retired eight years ago and he passed four years ago, now. Let’s go back to my office.”

  Evans addressed JJ’s mother.

  “I’ll have you back in just a few minutes, Sally. Hi, JJ.”

  When the two men arrived at Dr. Evans’ office, the doctor said, “Mira says you’re asking about Dr. And Mrs. Angelis.”

  “That’s right, Doctor. Wait. Did you say Doctor Angelis?”

  “Yes sir. Dr. Nikolas Angelis. If you didn’t know that then I know you’re not from around here,” Daniel Evans said.

  “No. Boston. I won’t keep you long, Doctor. I’m looking for their grandson, Gabriel. I just came from Seaside Manor. I didn’t know about Dr. Angelis’s passing or Mrs. Angelis’s condition. Gabriel has been missing for a few days and there are some important people looking for him. It’s not trouble or anything like that. In fact, I know some people who would like to shake his hand and buy him dinner,” Babe said.

  “Let’s step into my office, Mr. Babelton,” Daniel Evans said.

  Babe did not care at all for the look on Evans’s face.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Babelton. You say Gabriel is the grandson of Mr. And Mrs. Angelis?” Dr. Evans said, still standing.

  “That’s right. They raised him following the death of his parents— although I just visited Sophia and she recognized me as her son Michael, and she also referred to Gabriel as her son. I’m not familiar enough with dementia to know if this is significant. I’m a psychologist, but I’m certainly no expert in that condition.”

  Daniel Evans nodded. The concerned scowl remained. He turned and pulled open a drawer behind his desk. He flipped through some files.

  “Do you know Gabriel, Doctor?” Babe asked. “The ladies at Seaside said he visited Sophia two weeks ago. I really need to fin
d him.”

  Daniel Evans sat and spun around in his chair. He made no response as he turned through pages of the file. He took off his reading glasses and looked at Babe with a worried expression.

  “Mr. Babelton, life in these small towns is probably quite different from what you’re accustomed to. My father and Dr. Angelis went back a lot of years. In fact, for as far back as I can remember, my father referred to Dr. Angelis as his hero.

  “Nikolas operated his practice from home and he made house calls every day, often well into the night. He never turned anyone away, especially the kids. Dad always he said he couldn’t understand how Nikolas and Sophia made ends meet because he knew how much Dr. Angelis did for people that couldn’t possibly pay him. And it wasn’t unusual to see people leave his office carrying one of Sophia’s homemade pies or baskets of bread.”

  Babe stared ahead silently for a moment. He turned his head toward the door that led toward the waiting room.

  “I suspect that Dr. Angelis was not the only Guardian Angel in town, Dr. Evans. I would guess that he influenced at least one other, and that his legacy is alive and well,” Babe said.

  Daniel Evans smiled. He looked over a sheet of paper from the file, spun it around and laid it on the desk.

  “What am I looking at?” Babe asked.

  “This is the executor copy of a trust fund that pays the Seaside Manor Retirement Village on the first day of each year—like clockwork. And when the rates go up, as they do every year, the payment never misses a beat. This happened before Nikolas passed and it continues to this day,” Evans said.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you have this?” Babe asked.

  “Sophia called Dad one night. Nikolas had fallen in the tub. He broke a hip and severely damaged a knee. Dad called an ambulance. After a week in the hospital, Nikolas was about to be released. Dad went down to the cashier’s office, where he found that everything was already paid— anonymously.

  “The cashier gave Dad a note that asked him to call Seaside. Seaside told him that they had received an electronic payment for a year of top of the line lodging and care at their facility in the name of Nikolas and Sophia Angelis,” Daniel Evans said.

  “If you were there, Mr. Babelton, you know that this is not your run-of-the-mill retirement home.”

  “Not by a long shot, Doctor,” Babe said.

  “So who pays for it? Who funds the trust?”

  “We have no idea. We get a copy like this once a year along with the form that goes to the IRS. Hell, it even comes with an envelope with prepaid postage,” Evans said. “The envelope these come in has no stamp and no return address. Any traces on the account begin in the Cayman Islands and disappear immediately into a black hole.”

  Babe started to ask something else when Daniel Evans interrupted him with another piece of paper.

  Babe read the paper and looked up.

  “I don’t understand—Power of Attorney?”

  “This was in my father’s name until he passed. The day I came into the office after his funeral, all of this same paperwork was on my desk—but in my name.”

  “It’s none of my business, Dr. Evans, but you’re not—”

  “We’re not family, no. No relation.”

  Babe attempted to form another question but nothing came out.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Mr. Babelton. My father was the family physician for Dr. And Mrs. Angelis since 1978. There are thirty years of records in this file. I’ve seen Sophia Angelis a half dozen times since taking over my father’s practice, including four complete physicals.” Dr. Evans said, as if his story caused him physical pain.

  “I am completely lost,” Babe said, shaking his head.

  “Mr. Babelton, Sophia and Nikolas Angelis had no children.”

  Daniel Evans walked with Babe back to the waiting room.

  “Herd ‘em up, and come on back, Sally,” Evans said.

  JJ toddled toward Babe. He stopped in front of him, dropped the yo-yo, and held up his arms. Babe looked toward the child’s mother, who could only shrug her shoulders. Babe bent down and picked up the little boy.

  “You do look a little bit like his daddy,” Sally stammered while she blushed. “If his daddy was like, ten times more handsome.”

  The little boy put his arms around Babe’s neck and squeezed. Babe squeezed back, sniffing a little.

  He gave the little boy to his mother.

  “It was nice to meet you, Joe Joe.”

  “Joe Joe,” Sally said. “I never thought of that. Yeah, I like that. Thank you, Mister—”

  “Babe. Just call me Babe. Everybody does.”

  “Thank you, Babe. Joe Joe gets a shot today so if you stick around, you’re going to hear his bad side.”

  Babe laughed.

  “Sounds like my cue to go.” The little family went back with Dr. Evans.

  Babe put on his coat and stood for a moment.

  He walked to the receptionist counter.

  “Excuse me. Could I have an envelope?”

  The receptionist handed him one. Babe stepped back and took out his wallet.

  He placed two hundred dollars inside the envelope, and on the outside, he wrote “Toys”.

  He handed the envelope to the receptionist. She looked at the front of the envelope and then looked inside.

  She looked at Babe with a raised eyebrow.

  “The toy collection is a little bit tired, is all. Maybe it’s time for a little upgrade?” Babe said.

  “I’m sure it is,” the receptionist said, passing the envelope back. “But I’m pretty sure that it’s not legal for us to take your money.”

  Babe laughed, but made no move to take the envelope.

  “I’m almost positive that it’s not. Have you ever heard of the Medical Alumni Association?”

  “No.”

  “Most people haven’t. We’re off-the-radar—like secret agents; or ninjas. I’m just a charter member.”

  Babe turned to go and then turned back.

  “Yo-yos. You’re going to need some yo-yos.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Babe walked into the office after another night of sleep deprivation. Earlier, he had thought about calling in, but while he considered the possibility his body continued the morning ritual of work preparation on autopilot: The shave, the shower, the dressing, the walk to the bus stop—all the while debating whether he really had to go in.

  A little late for that now. I don’t know who’s in charge here, but it doesn’t seem to be me.

  He was not prepared for the greeting he walked into. Millie met him at the door; squealing while she bounced on her toes.

  “Babe, why didn’t you tell us? Jack and MG—Oh my God. Isn’t it fan-fucking-tastic? I’ve been waiting for this to happen, forever.”

  “It is awesome, right, Babe?” Tom said.

  “Man, I hope Jack is in shape.”

  Tom and Babe were close enough to Millie to be sucked into her vortex, and soon the three of them were bouncing on their toes with their arms locked as they danced around in a circle. Tom and Babe fought it for a few seconds, but Millie’s energy prevailed. Before long they were okay with it.

  Dammit. It was pretty awesome.

  The phone rang.

  It was Jack. And he didn’t sound that happy.

  “Okay Jack. Got it. Tom and me—ten in the morning. See you then,” Babe looked at his stalled out dance partners and shrugged.

  Tom and Babe sat outside of Jack’s office.

  “I have no idea, Tom. I haven’t talked to Jack since yesterday. All I know is that we haven’t done any real work for weeks. Maybe they’ve figured out they can live without us and we’re not worth the headache. Judging from the tone of Jack’s voice yesterday, I’m not expecting much,” Babe said.

  Tom leaned forward in his chair and exhaled.

  “You think I should tell him that we’re pregnant?”

  Babe looked at Tom.

  “You are not.”


  Tom didn’t look up.

  “Am, so.”

  “Really? This would be a really shitty time to lie to me,” Babe said.

  “We’re pretty sure. Got a positive on the drug store kit, just last night,” Tom said.

  Babe mauled Tom in his chair. Tom tried to get away, but not very hard. This was the exact moment that Lucy came to tell them that Jack was ready to see them.

  “Have a seat,” Jack said. He was pacing and abusing his hair, as he so often did when he was tense. He stopped behind his chair and made nervous adjustments to two pieces of paper on his desk. He walked around his desk, to sit on its corner.

  “I’m not going to pull punches, guys. Washington is shutting us down. You know I feel like shit about it. I’ve made every argument I could think of. You two have done exemplary work—there’s no denying that. The Director has told me that most of our system is already slated to becoming integrated into personnel protocol; one field office at a time.

  “The difference maker, of course, has always been the politics. The next election cycle is about to begin, and with all the publicity of late neither party wants to deal with the pressure that RCI creates,” Jack stood, and made his way back behind his desk.

  “It’s the same old thing that we’ve been dealing with since we set up shop. The politicians are afraid for what they perceive to be a lack of control, and young people have always made them nervous. Remember, many of this current crop of politicians are former love children and hippies—the peace activists and the protesters that grew up tormenting that generation of politicians.

  “The D.C. office has been under too much pressure to make us go away. This really only leaves me with one question,” Jack said.