Daddy in the Making

by Lyn Cote

  He jumped out, slammed the door behind him and jogged to the garage door. His dad’s SUV wasn’t inside. Jake parked in the garage and then he hurried inside and went through the house to his dad’s room. Nobody home. Where could his dad have gone?

  Jake went back to the kitchen and scanned it for a note. He found a small yellow Post-it on the fridge. Out to supper at the Pavleks. D.

  Though glad to find this, Jake couldn’t shake his uneasiness. The old SUV his dad used had an old battery that might fail. And this cold was bad for Dan’s heart, weakened by HCM. The extreme weather alone could tax his heart and trigger a cardiac arrest.

  Jake ran outside to check on his outside dogs. Then, shedding his outerwear, he camped in the living room, waiting. He switched on the TV and found a show on Animal Planet about whales.

  Finally, after the local ten o’clock news with its depressing weather forecast, Jake heard a vehicle come up the drive. He pressed the TV’s Off button and picked up a magazine, trying to act like he was just up reading.

  His dad came in, slamming the door against the wind. “You still up?” he called, while noisily scraping snow off his boots and hanging up his coat in the back hall.

  “Yeah,” Jake replied.

  “Thought you needed to get to bed early. You’ve got clinic hours tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  His father appeared in the living room. He halted, propping his hands on his hips. “You didn’t stay up because I was out, did you?”

  Jake tossed the magazine down and looked intently into his dad’s eyes, letting his aggravation build. Why not the direct approach? “Of course that’s why I’m still up. It’s a treacherous night. That SUV’s battery is ancient and you’re not a well man. Why wouldn’t I stay up to see that you got home safe?”

  “You’re not my nursemaid.”

  Jake’s jaw hardened. “No, I’m your son.” He rose and faced his dad. “And whether you like it or not, I’m going to start acting like one.”

  “I will not have you treating me like an invalid—”

  “I’m not tucking you into bed and spooning up your medicine,” Jake snapped. “I said I’m your son and I’m going to act like one. Thanks for leaving me the note. But tomorrow go into town and buy a new battery for the SUV. I don’t want you stranded in this kind of weather.”

  His dad glowered at him and then stalked up the front stairs to his room. “As soon as they decide on my treatment,” he called from the second landing, “I’m heading back to Colorado!”

  That went well. Not. Jake slumped down, waiting again. He didn’t want to run into his dad in their shared upstairs bathroom. He knows he won’t be going back to life as usual. But he’s not going to make this even a little easy. Why am I not surprised?

  Jake didn’t know how to work all this out, but some way, somehow, he had to bridge the gap between his father and him. His dad couldn’t run away from home anymore. They would have to face each other and deal with matters, past and present. Or let them get worse. It was his dad’s choice. What would he choose?

  Tuesday morning Jake and his dad sat sipping their second cups of coffee. Mike stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes. Outside the window, lazy snowflakes fell. Inside, the atmosphere in the kitchen could have been termed “toxic.” The delicious breakfast Mike had prepared had been spoiled by his dad’s simmering antagonism.

  “So, Jake, when are you going to be tested to see if you have HCM?” Dan asked, staring into Jake’s eyes tauntingly.

  Jake refused to react to his dad’s goading. “I’ve already called and scheduled tests at the clinic in town. They have me scheduled for Friday but will call me if they have a cancellation.”

  Jake noted that his dad wore dress slacks and a professionally pressed shirt. Why not his usual around-the-house jeans? Jake wanted to ask what his dad’s plans were for the day but was afraid that anything he said would be the wrong thing. His father’s bad mood probably had nothing to do with him. I’d know how to handle dad’s diagnosis and early retirement. I would, if we knew each other better. But we don’t—a sad fact.

  “You’re all dressed up, Dan,” Mike said, obviously trying to change the subject. “Where you off to today?”

  “I’m going to the local community college,” Dan announced.

  Both Mike and Jake faced him. “Oh?” Mike asked in a provocative tone. “Do tell.”

  “I’ve been asked to speak to nursing students about working with doctors. The topic is etiquette in the hospital setting.”

  “Who asked you to do that?” Jake wondered out loud.

  “I’m still known here. Have friends,” Dan said with a disgruntled frown.

  Doing his best to ignore his dad’s ill humor, Jake shut his mouth so he wouldn’t issue some health cautions. Again, that would be the wrong thing to say.

  “Not going to tell me I’m too weak to drive myself to the college?” his dad asked.

  Jake sipped his lukewarm coffee, not rising to the bait. “You’re a grown man and a physician. You know your limits.”

  “Limits,” Dan said the word as if spitting it out of his mouth. Then he looked into Jake’s eyes. “I wonder if you’ll be dealing with limits soon, too.”

  At the uncalled-for dig, angry heat flushed through Jake. No one liked to be told he had a life-threatening condition. But Jake refused to let his dad take it out on him. I didn’t give you HCM. But you may have given it to me. Jake leaned forward to reply, but Mike beat him to it.

  “That was a nasty thing to say,” Mike growled. “It’s time you grew up, Dan. You’ve been ‘Mr. Five-Gold-Stars Super Achiever’ all your life. But now you’re going to have to face being human—like the rest of us.”

  Bleak silence.

  “Sorry,” Dan mumbled, hiding behind his coffee cup.

  Grateful for Mike’s words, Jake masked how his father’s words had stung. He hated this tension between them. It has to end somehow. “I’m heading to work. Good breakfast, Mike. Dad, hope you do well with your talk.”

  He walked to the back hall and dressed to face the icy morning. Jeannie’s sweet face came to mind. Seeing Jeannie would be a good way to start the day over again with a more positive outlook.

  He hoped Mike’s harsh but pithy comment would gain some headway in helping his dad cope with reality. They all had to cope with reality daily—humble rural vets and nationally known transplant surgeons, included.

  Two evenings later, after opening the door, Jeannie frowned at Jake and Mike, barring the way in. The two men each carried an end of a box spring wrapped in plastic. Cold air rushed in, making her wrap her arms around herself.

  “Are you going to let us in or make us freeze here like garden gnomes?” Mike barked.

  She gave way, letting them bring in the mattress set. They propped it against the wall beside the dinette table. She wanted to protest but realized the futility of this.

  The men obviously read her silence as a good sign. They made three more trips in and out. Finally in the center of her living room sat the white iron antique bed frame Jake had shown her and the new mattress set.

  The twins, already in their pajamas, crept out of bed and from the hall archway they watched this happen. She didn’t bother telling them to go back to bed. She’d have to settle them down again once this production was done.

  “Why don’t you rip off the plastic while Jake and I take out the old mattresses?” Mike suggested and then didn’t wait for her response.

  She did as he requested, churning inside. Of course, they were being kind, but having to accept this stirred up the unhappy past. In silence, she let the two of them set up the new bed. Her chastened girls stood in her bedroom doorway solemnly watching the bed being set up. She joined them there. Once it was done, Mike invited the girls to sit on the bed to see if it was soft enough.

  Jake stepped into the hallway toward her. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  She sighed. How could she be cross? “You don’t take �
�no’ very well, do you?”

  He grinned. “I need my office manager to get a good night’s sleep. And that old mattress was a recipe for a bad back.”

  She sighed and shrugged, trying not to take offense at this man’s honest kindness. “All right, you took the rent and I’ll take the bed.” After all, it wasn’t charity since a bed had come with the house.

  “Great.” He looked like he was going to say more.

  But Mike came out with the girls, interrupting. “We better get going. These little ones need to get in bed and stay there.”

  Jeannie nodded, forced to agree, though she longed for a few more moments with Jake. She swallowed this down and walked them to the door. Everyone called out, “Good night!”

  Then Jeannie shut the door, herded the girls to their bedroom and then entered her bedroom to put the bedding back on. She found that Mike had already made up the bed and on the quilt sat an envelope. Her rent check back again? Oh, that man!

  The phone rang. She hurried to answer it. It was Ginny.

  “Jeannie, I hope you didn’t fuss at those two for bringing you the bed.”

  “Would it have done any good?” Jeannie let out a long sigh.

  “Jeannie,” Ginny’s voice lowered, “I know it’s better to give than receive, but sometimes we have to receive in order to let someone experience the joy of giving.”

  Jeannie repeated the convoluted sentence in her mind.

  “Jeannie? Don’t let pride trip you up.”

  How could she argue with that? “Okay, Ginny, thanks.”

  “Good night, dear.”

  Jeannie chuckled to herself. Leave it to Ginny.

  Saturday, the first day of March, came and with it the Big Move of the shelter animals. Jake tried to focus on this and not the tests he’d undergone the day before at the clinic in Rhinelander. Though a vet, he’d had a pretty good grasp of the tests. He thought that the tests had gone well, and he hadn’t been able to detect anything troubling. Of course, the lab techs had been noncommittal. They administered the tests; they didn’t read and evaluate the results. So this left Jake with a tight band right around his ribs.

  Annie must have parked on the street. She came striding up the drive to Jake. “What are you standing out in the cold for? Why aren’t you driving over to load up some animals?”

  Jake laughed. “Okay, boss!” He saluted.

  “And as a bonus, you’ll get to see Jeannie. She’s in charge of loading up. I’m in charge of unloading.”

  For once, Annie’s innuendo about him and Jeannie didn’t rile him. He climbed in his pickup and headed toward the animal shelter a few miles away, unable to stop grinning over the idea of seeing Jeannie. Jeannie was one of those rare people who were centered in the midst any storm. And he felt as if he were in the midst of one now. She always exuded the sense that she was planted on a firm foundation. Jake wondered if this foundation was her obvious faith in God. He’d taken God for granted for years now, as if He were just a distant relative.

  On the county road, a driver going in the opposite direction beeped his horn in a friendly greeting. Jake recognized him as another volunteer who’d evidently already loaded up the back of his pickup. Jake beeped in reply and then sped on. When he pulled up to the shelter, Jeannie was supervising the loading of another pickup. She waved and gave him a brilliant smile.

  A man could live on that kind of smile for a month. He beamed at her and waited his turn. Finally the truck being loaded headed off and he backed up to the shelter. Then he jumped out and came around to help those ferrying the cages of animals from the shelter into trucks. He and Jeannie had no time to do more than to smile.

  When his pickup bed was loaded with a group of loudly unhappy cats, he saluted her and drove toward home. As soon as he left her presence, worries over HCM attacked him. Visions of him clutching his heart and collapsing in his clinic…Stop that.

  As he backed up his drive to the barn, he noticed a white van with a satellite dish on top. The Rhinelander TV station must have come out to film the animal shelter move. TV again? Jake’s jaw clenched. He nearly drove away. But Annie waved wildly toward him. He sucked in air and got out and headed toward her with Bummer at his heels.

  “Here’s our benefactor, Dr. Jake McClure!” Annie called out, gesturing theatrically toward him. “And his faithful companion, Bummer the basset hound.”

  Annie, you should join the local theater group, Jake groused silently.

  A different TV person shoved a microphone into his face. “Doctor, how does this move affect the needs of the animal shelter? Has there been a significant increase in adoptions?”

  “Unfortunately, only a few families came forward after our first interview on your station.” He managed to get the words out without stammering.

  Annie leaned forward. “That’s why one of our volunteers, Ms. Jeannie Broussard, has persuaded the principal at our local elementary school to add an Adopt-a-Pet special to the school’s annual Winter Pet Parade.”

  The interviewer asked for the specifics of day and time, and Annie beamed into the camera. Jake smiled stiffly and counted the seconds till the interview ended. The interviewer thanked them, and then within minutes, the van drove away.

  “Great publicity!” Annie enthused. “Glad you showed up right on cue.”

  Jake gave her a twisted smile and shook his head. “Now can we move the animals inside the barn?”

  “Details, details,” Annie retorted with unimpaired good cheer.

  The Big Move was accomplished before noon. The barn was filled with cages. The cats and dogs let the world know how unhappy they were about the move. Many of the volunteers headed home, but a few came inside the house for coffee and sandwiches that Mike had made with the help of Ginny, Mimi and Cindy.

  When Jake sat down at the crowded kitchen table, Mimi handed him an envelope. He looked at it and hoped it wasn’t the blasted rent check again. He glanced up at Jeannie.

  She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “No, it’s not the rent check. You win.”

  Grinning, he opened the twins’ envelope. The note began with Dear—Then a blank filled in with what must be Mimi’s careful printing: Dr. Jake, please come to the Pet Parade. It gave the date and time. Jake smiled and gave Mimi a one-armed hug. “I’ll try to make it.”

  “Bring Bummer,” Mimi urged.

  Jake chuckled. “I’m sure he’d enjoy it immensely.” And he bathed in the glow of Jeannie’s smile. “I will, too.” Everything was better with Jeannie.

  Unable to suppress her bubbling anticipation, Jeannie walked into the twins’ school for the Winter Pet Parade. She carried a box with their two kittens. Just inside the school doors, she was welcomed by the principal.

  “So glad you could come, Ms. Broussard.” He shook her hand. “Parents and pets can go right into the gym. The children will be dismissed to the gym soon.”

  Jake arrived and the principal turned to him. “Dr. McClure! Thank you for coming. Why don’t you follow this pretty lady into the gym?”

  Jake with Bummer—on a leash for once—had barely nodded before the principal turned to greet another parent laden with a pet carrier.

  Jeannie had known Jake received a special invitation to come, this one from the principal, along with a request that he bring Bummer, a favorite of the community. But at seeing Jake here, she experienced a twinge of anxiety.

  When she handed him the mail earlier today at the clinic, she’d noticed a letter from the lab which must contain the results of Jake’s heart tests. Had he opened it?

  He walked beside Jeannie on their way into the gym. He leaned close to her ear. “This pet day parade may be a lot of fun. Or result in complete disaster.”

  Jeannie chuckled, hiding her concern over his health. The worry that he might have HCM nagged her. She hid this behind a bright smile. “The parade’s a wonderful idea. Everyone needs a lift from this awful winter. A gymnasium full of kids and pets is bound to do that. Even if it’s a disaster, it will
be fun.” Have you opened the letter yet?

  “I like that optimism. Let’s hope the cats and dogs of Wisconsin have declared a truce for the day.” After that, they could not hear nor be heard. The barking and meowing and human voices bounced off the cement-block walls, wood floor and bleachers. Everyone tried to be heard, so nobody could be heard—unless they shouted into someone’s poor, noise-numbed ear.

  Jeannie was glad her kittens couldn’t see the cocker spaniels, schnauzers, poodles and mutts that filled the gym. Most cat owners had tucked their pets into carriers. Even inside these, the cats were spitting and hissing out the cage doors or hunkered down as if this were D-Day. Jeannie looked around for Annie but couldn’t see her. She grinned to herself, thinking of the surprise yet to come for Jake. He certainly didn’t behave as if he had a clue.

  A parent, who wore a baseball cap with a paper taped to it that read “Pet Volunteer,” approached Jeannie. “We’re going to have the dog’s parade first!” she shouted into Jeannie’s ear. “Please go to the bleachers over there to wait!”

  Tempted to stuff tissue into her ears, Jeannie nodded and followed directions. She sat down, gazing around at all the pets and owners. Dogs and cats made up the majority of pets. But people holding fishbowls, terrariums with turtles and birds in cages added to the cheerful commotion.

  Twinkie and Peanutbutter mewed loudly. She peeked under the blanket and reassured them. They did not appear to place much confidence in her guarantees. Jake had moved near the front of the gym and Jeannie realized she needed to put away worries about his test results. In a gymnasium full of animals, she had to stay alert!

  With the bleachers on one side now nearly filled with parents and guests, the principal officially entered. And the children, class by class from the youngest on up, followed him into the gym. Jeannie was impressed by the way the teachers kept order. From the raised podium, the principal managed to quiet most of the people and some of the animals. Over the loud speakers, he welcomed them to the Sixth Annual Winter Pet Parade.