Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Her parents’ wedding photo was at the top, the original of Jordan’s—the one she’d cut up. Next to it was one of her mother smiling but harried. She was holding a fat, crying baby—Jordan—on one hip. Her free hand clasped that of a little boy in a sailor suit who was squinting into the camera and obviously struggling to escape.

  Next to it was another black-and-white shot of their mother, more professional, probably taken by a street photographer. Tall and slender, she was striding along, wearing a fashionable tweed coat, a perky little hat and heels, and she was smiling in a dreamy sort of way. Jordan could see her own face in this picture. She touched the photo with her fingertips.

  “That was just before Mom and Dad were married,” Toby said. He was standing at her elbow. “Dad told me she quit training to be a nurse to marry him.”

  “Big mistake.” Jordan snorted, staring at the photo and wondering when that young woman first realized she’d taken a wrong turn.

  “Dad loved her,” Toby said, contradicting Jordan. “He didn’t really start drinking until after she died.”

  Jordan barely heard him. Incredibly enough, she was looking at a row of photos of herself, her graduation from high school—why had she never noticed that the hem on the white organdy gown was uneven? And there was that snap of her and Toby during her first year at med school. He’d appeared unannounced at her dorm and taken her to a Chinese café for lunch. The waiter had taken their picture.

  “You must have given these to Mike,” she said. There she was, graduating from university, looking solemn. In the next, she was receiving her medical degree. Jordan was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, realizing that Mike had had these pictures of her.

  “I had copies made for him.” Toby touched a photo of himself, shoulders hunched, face set in grim lines. “This was when I got out of jail. I was mad at the world in those days.”

  “You had reason to be.” But now Jordan was staring at her own wedding photo. She and Garry had been married at the registry office, but his parents had arranged a small reception in their home. The Hughes had hired a photographer. Jordan wore a simple white sheath dress and jacket. She was sitting on the arm of a sofa, smiling up at Garry with much the same dreamy, hopeful expression her mother wore in her own wedding photo.

  One of the few photos of Mike showed him standing in front of a cake, smiling. His face was lined and haggard, and he had several missing teeth.

  “That was two years ago. It was his five-year cake at AA,” Toby explained. “He was really proud of getting sober.”

  Jordan looked at the picture and saw a stranger. She doubted she’d have recognized her father had he been brought into the E.R.

  “We’d better get started.” Toby opened a drawer and began packing pajamas and the few worn shirts into a carton. Jordan began to unpin the photos and slide them into an envelope. It was like filing away their family history once and for all, and a terrible sadness filled her.

  For the rest of that day, the photos flickered across her mind like a slide show. She and Toby spoke with the funeral director, arranged for a simple service the following day, and finally checked into a comfortable downtown hotel.

  “I’m bagged, I’m going to order something from room service,” Toby said apologetically when she asked if he wanted to meet for dinner. “And I still have to call some of Dad’s buddies and let them know about the funeral. Then I’m going to bed.”

  With the empty evening ahead of her, Jordan thought of calling friends from St. Joe’s but decided against it. Instead, she ordered chicken salad from room service, had a long, hot bath and curled up in bed with a magazine she’d bought at the airport, determined to ignore the brown envelope she’d shoved into her carryall.

  After fifteen minutes, she swore at herself and retrieved it.

  “Damn you, Mike Burke.” She dumped the photos onto the bed. “Don’t think you can get around me this easily, just by tacking up a few sorry pictures. It doesn’t make up for a thing,” she whispered in a fierce, shaky voice, picking up one shot after another, studying it, laying it down, only to pick up the next.

  Before long, her heart was beating hard and her hands were trembling. She had the irrational feeling that there was a key hidden here that would unlock something she needed to know, not only about Mike but about herself.

  She studied her father’s young face in the wedding photo and reluctantly admitted that although she’d always sworn she looked like her mother, she had his stubborn jawline. What else had she inherited from this man who’d died a veritable stranger to her? Who, her brother had said desperately wanted her forgiveness, but had never been able to say it to her.

  She saw so clearly the damage done to her father’s life by his not being able to address and then act on his deepest emotions. And as she looked at the photographs, Jordan recognized that she’d done exactly the same thing.

  With Mike, with Garry…and now with Silas.

  She glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Silas would be sleeping.

  Well, too damned bad. Getting dragged out of sleep by a woman who wants to say she loves you isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a man. It was far worse to die without ever having spoken your truth. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Silas’s number.

  HE SAT ON HIS FRONT STEPS in the darkness, swatting mosquitoes and thinking over the things Christina had said. She’d left some time ago, but the sound of her voice reverberated in his head.

  She’d come to tell him Jordan’s father had just died, and that she and her brother Toby had gone to Vancouver to arrange the funeral. Christina had also said that Toby was seriously ill.

  “She doesn’t have any other family but this one brother,” Christina had told him. “And because she’s never had anyone but him to care about her, I think it’s hard for her to trust anyone. If you have feelings for her, cut her a break, why don’t you?”

  Silas looked up at the night sky. After Jordan’s visit and the harsh words they’d exchanged, he’d tried hard to put her out of his mind. It hadn’t worked.

  How dare she casually dismiss what they’d had between them? After his anger faded, he’d told himself he felt only relief. He didn’t want an emotional relationship, he was a loner, better off by himself.

  But tonight when Christina said Jordan’s father had died, all he’d wanted to do was hold her in his arms.

  Jordan had told him she had no feelings for her father, but he knew that wasn’t true. He’d tried to pretend he had no feelings for Angus, either.

  The door to his cabin was open, and he heard the phone ring. Getting up, he went to answer it.

  “Silas here.”

  “It’s Jordan.”

  He felt as if his lungs had stopped working. He heard her quick intake of breath, and in that instant he could see her clearly: her blue eyes, the fine narrow bones of her face, long nose, bow-shaped lips… His heart turned over. She was the woman in his dreams, the other half of himself. Her image had been imprinted on his heart and soul before he was born, but he’d been afraid to recognize her—until now.

  “I called to tell you that I’m in love with you,” she said in an aggressive, angry tone. “I don’t care whether that embarrasses you or not, I don’t even care what you say back. I just wanted you to know. I promised myself I’d be honest with you, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  And before he could get his breath back, she hung up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  STUNNED, SILAS SAT for several moments. Then he sprang to his feet and danced, giving a wild, whooping cry that set all the dogs in the village barking. Thanking the spirits of modern technology, he tapped out her cell number, praying she hadn’t changed it yet again.

  It rang, and after a few tense moments, she answered. Her voice was hesitant this time. She knew it was him.

  He didn’t waste words either. “When is your father’s funeral?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “If you tell me where
and when, I’ll be there.”

  She hesitated, but then she told him.

  THE FUNERAL WAS AT TWO. Silas arrived at the Vancouver airport at eleven, and on an impulse he took a cab to his father’s house on the city’s west side.

  The old, rambling stucco house looked a little more run-down than he remembered. There was moss growing on the roof, and the lawn was dry and patchy, but the roses were blooming. It took courage to walk up the driveway and ring the doorbell.

  A tiny Asian woman opened the door.

  “I’m Silas Keefer. I’m here to see my father.” And he hoped his nervousness didn’t show.

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows shot up, but all she said was, “He’s having his lunch on the sunporch.”

  “I know the way.” Silas walked down the hall, through the den, across the kitchen. He stepped out onto the sunporch.

  Angus was sitting facing the garden. He was alone at a round, glass-topped table, newspaper spread out, eating a sandwich. Silas was shocked at how old he looked, older even than his seventy years. His hair was mostly white now, with only a few flecks of brown over his ears. In spite of the warm summer day, he was wearing a blue sweater, and his shoulders were slumped. His tall frame was much heavier than Silas remembered.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  Angus’s head whipped around, and he stared at Silas over the top of half-moon reading glasses. His face was deeply wrinkled, but his authoritative baritone voice was still the same.

  “Silas.” There was no welcome in the word, only shock. Angus didn’t get up. “Where the hell did you drop from?”

  “Ahousaht.” The single word was like a gauntlet thrown down between them.

  Angus scowled. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Visiting you. Can I sit down?”

  “Of course, sit.” Angus waved a hand at a chair. In a gruff tone, he said, “You want some lunch?” Without waiting for an answer, Angus bellowed, “Kim, make another sandwich.” He swept the newspapers aside and then studied Silas, his green eyes narrowed. “I see you’ve gone native. Still no barbers in Ahousaht?”

  Silas refused to be baited. “It saves on haircuts. How are you, Dad?”

  “So-so. Have to have another operation on my hip. I broke it a few months back, it didn’t heal the way it should have.”

  Silas hadn’t noticed the heavy cane beside Angus’s chair.

  “Sorry to hear that. You’re retired now, of course?”

  “Two years ago. I still guest lecture at the university occasionally.”

  Kim set a sandwich in front of Silas. “Hope you like roast beef. You want some tea?” She poured Silas a mug of the strong Irish Breakfast Angus had always preferred, and left them alone again.

  Angus waited while Silas took a bite of his sandwich. “So I assume you’re here because you need money, right?”

  Silas swallowed the food with difficulty, struggling with the anger and outrage that flared in him. His first, powerful impulse was to get up and walk out. Before he could do it, however, he seemed to hear an echo of Sandrine’s voice in his head, urging him to take the peaceful path. Like all of Sandrine’s teachings, it wasn’t easy.

  “I don’t need anything, Dad,” he was finally able to say. “I came because we haven’t spoken in a long time, and I thought it’s time we did.”

  Angus eyed him suspiciously. “And what brought about this change of heart? You thinking of coming back to the university?” There was the slightest note of hopefulness in his voice.

  “No. I’m happy where I am, doing what I do.”

  Angus sneered, “And what exactly is that?”

  Silas could have truthfully said he was a writer. He knew it would be more acceptable to Angus, but gaining his father’s acceptance wasn’t necessary. What he wanted instead was harmony.

  “I’m a healer, Dad.” And in stating it, Silas thought about the real meaning of the word, to make whole, to restore well-being. If only he could do that with his father.

  “Bunch of mumbo jumbo,” Angus scoffed. “Never get anywhere in the world that way.”

  “Depends on where a person wants to go.” Silas took another bite of sandwich and chewed slowly. It gave him time to think. When he’d swallowed, he knew exactly the direction he wanted for his life. “I’m hoping to get married soon, and have kids.” It took all his courage to put it into words. He and Jordan hadn’t discussed any of this. He was relying heavily on trust and intuition here. “I hope that you’ll come to my wedding and, if I’m lucky enough to have them, be a grandfather to my children. The thing that seems to matter most to me these days is family.”

  “She from Ahousaht?”

  “Yes, she is.” And she was, at least for the next year.

  Silas knew Angus was asking whether the woman was First Nations. Let him think so. It was wicked to tease the old man, but he richly deserved it. It was never going to be easy with Angus. Silas waited for the lecture he was certain was coming.

  “Coming to Ahousaht would depend on whether I’m mobile enough. Unless you wanted to get married here.”

  Speechless, Silas stared at Angus. When he got his voice back, he said, “The woman makes that decision, but I’ll ask her.”

  “Bring her here to meet me,” Angus ordered. “I’ll ask her myself.” Then he said, “How’s your mother doing, anyway?”

  And for the next hour, until he had to leave for the funeral, Silas had an almost-enjoyable conversation with his father.

  THE FUNERAL WAS HELD in a small room at the chapel. There were a dozen people present, three of them nurses from the rest home.

  Jordan held tight to Toby’s arm with one hand, and Silas with the other. His strong fingers interlaced with hers; his tall, powerful presence giving her strength and comfort. She didn’t cry, but she hadn’t expected to feel such a deep, gut-wrenching sadness and regret. She also felt a kind of peace that came from knowing that in spite of everything, her father had cared.

  The chaplain read from the Bible, and then gave a short, kind summary of Mike’s life. Jordan listened closely as several strangers got up and spoke about her father. The man they described was kind, generous and had a sense of humor. But to Jordan, he was still a stranger, and that was the saddest thing of all.

  “Mike helped me get sober,” one of the men said. “He was my sponsor, and he used to tell me if he could do it, anybody could.”

  When the service ended, a wizened little woman came up to Jordan and Toby and shook their hands. “Mike and I were good friends over the years,” she said, wiping away tears with a tissue. “He helped me through a rough time in my life. I wanted you to know he talked about you two all the time, he was really proud of you.”

  Even the day before, Jordan’s response would have been skeptical and sarcastic. Now, she held the woman’s hand, said thank you and meant it.

  Afterward, Silas took Jordan and Toby to a restaurant. She sat quietly, picking at her food, watching and listening as the two men she loved got to know each other. As far as she could tell, they even liked each other.

  Her heart ached for Toby. His navy suit hung on his emaciated body, and his skin was gray from exhaustion. Nothing could disguise the fact that he was very ill.

  The contrast between Toby and Silas was startling, and she kept stealing glances at Silas. She hadn’t seen him dressed up before, and it almost hurt to look at him, he was so handsome. His exotic black hair with its white streak was held back neatly at the nape of his neck, charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his long, lean body, white dress shirt immaculate. He caught her looking and smiled at her, green eyes eerily transparent in the softly lit restaurant.

  He’d met them outside the funeral chapel, and there hadn’t been any opportunity for private conversation. The memory of the phone call she’d made to him was now uppermost in her mind, and she alternated between acute embarrassment and defiant pride at what she’d told him.

  So now he knew she loved him. But when he’d called her back, he hadn’t said
a single thing about how he felt. The fact that he’d come to Mike’s funeral was encouraging, but maybe he was just being kind.

  “I’m going back to the hotel for some shut-eye,” Toby said. “Why don’t you two drop me off so you can take the car and do some sightseeing?”

  “Thanks, we’ll do that,” Silas said, turning to her. “As long as Jordan drives. I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car since I moved back to Ahousaht. Is that okay with you, Jordan?”

  “Sure.” She knew she didn’t sound enthusiastic. This meant she’d have to really talk to Silas, and now Jordan wasn’t at all sure that’s what she wanted to do. Maybe too much truth wasn’t a good thing, after all.

  She drove to the hotel and Toby got out. Pulling the car back into the late-day traffic, Jordan asked, “Where do you want to go?” Her nervousness was escalating into something like full-blown panic.

  “A place where there’s trees, where we can go for a walk.”

  That was easy. She aimed the car west along 16th Avenue, toward Pacific Spirit Park, glad that he didn’t say anything until she’d found a shaded spot to park and turned off the motor.

  “This is a good place.” He took off his suit jacket and flung it and his tie into the back seat. “I used to wander in these trees a lot,” he said as he got out and held the door for her. “The school I went to is only a few blocks away.”

  He led the way into the old-growth forest, and the incongruity of him in his white shirt and suit pants and her in a short black dress and heels would have made Jordan smile, if she wasn’t so tense.

  Almost immediately, the traffic noise died and the bustle of the city seemed far away. Sunlight splintered down among huge old cedars and pines, and gigantic ferns bordered the well-worn pathway. They walked in silence, and the nervous anticipation Jordan felt slowly drained away when Silas took her hand in his. Just being with him gave her such happiness.