Road to Damascus
Part 5

 

Still dressed in the demure blue dress she had worn to Mass, Katie finished going over yet another avalanche of insurance forms with Johnny.  The sheer volume of paperwork was overwhelming, and he was grateful for her help.  Of course, Johnny didn't understand half of what she stuck in front of him to sign, but he trusted her.  Katie was an extremely capable young woman, and she obviously had his best interests at heart.

After sorting the forms into separate little bundles, Katie attached a note to each stack with a binder clip.  "Okay, Mr. Gage.  I've labeled everything for you as to who needs to sign what.  Once you've collected all of the signatures, I'll pick these up and make copies for your records before I mail the originals.  It will probably be at least two or three weeks before your short-term disability claim is processed and you get your first check, but the payment will be calculated all the way back to June 9th, the date of your accident.  You're eligible for up to thirteen weeks of short-term disability benefits, then your long-term disability coverage kicks in.  But about two or three weeks before that happens, you'll need to submit another round of paperwork to a different address.  I don't understand why your insurance carrier set their system up like this, but short-term benefits are paid through the medical claims office in Fresno, and long-term benefits are paid out of their disability office in Palo Alto.  Unfortunately, their computer systems don't talk to each other, so it's possible there may be a slight delay before you receive your first long-term disability check."

Johnny shook his head in bewilderment.  "Man, I don't see how you keep up with what's what.  I would have been completely lost without your help.  Thanks, Katie."

"You're welcome, Mr. Gage.  I'm glad I could help you out for a change."

"Aw, Katie," Johnny protested.  "All I did was help to move a few sticks of furniture up the stairs.  I'm just glad I didn't ruin your couch when I fell down on the job."

Her long auburn hair danced about her shoulders as she laughed.  "No, silly.  Not that, although I am grateful.  I meant that I really appreciate everything you've done for Boomie."

"Boomie?"

"Yeah.  Boomer's my best friend in the whole world, but he drives me nuts half the time.  You see, despite his dumb jock persona, he's actually a pretty smart guy.  It's just that he never would get serious about hitting the books.  Boomer was always more interested in having a good time and goofing around with his football buddies.  I thought it was such a huge waste of potential.  Good grief, the man practically has a photographic memory, and school should have been a breeze.  Now me?  I had to spend hours and hours to learn the same amount of material that would only have taken him only a few minutes to master.  It just seemed so unfair."

"Anyway," Katie continued, "that all changed when he met you, Mr. Gage.  You helped Boomie figure out what to do with his life.  He's totally focused now.  Did he tell you what he's been up to when he's not here?"

"Not really."

Her eyes shone with pride as she described Boomer's recent activities.  "He's been waking up early every morning so he can go work out at the gym for a couple of hours, and then he goes running in the evenings.  Boomie wants to be in tiptop shape when he starts his training at the fire academy.  He's even stopped by your station a couple of times to hang out for a few hours.  Captain Stanley loaned him a couple of training manuals, and Boomie has absolutely devoured them like he's cramming for final exams.  And when he found out that you guys have to take turns preparing meals, he asked Nana to teach him how to cook.  Boomie was worried that his shift-mates might get tired of eating Frito pie and Sloppy Joes all the time."

"It's okay," Johnny snickered.  "They'll live.  The guys at the station are always kidding me because I usually only cook hot dogs or hamburgers.  But when they've all missed a meal or two after being out on a rescue or fighting a fire, they'll eat just about anything.  Well, maybe not anything.  Chet's tofu quiche is awful!  Cap wouldn't even let him feed it to Henry, our station mascot."

Katie's smile was positively enchanting, and her laughter was refreshingly uninhibited.  Johnny finally realized what intrigued him about this vibrant young woman.  She wasn't particularly pretty, not at all like most of the girls he dated.  Katie was short, maybe only about five foot two, and what his mother would have called pleasingly plump.  Her reddish-brown hair was frizzy, each iris was a different shade of green and her makeup failed to conceal a smattering of freckles across her slightly crooked nose.  Yet, her self-confidence and outgoing personality overshadowed her physical imperfections to the point where they no longer mattered.  Her beautiful spirit was what people noticed.

Johnny suddenly felt ashamed of himself for placing so much emphasis on physical beauty.  How many opportunities had he missed to get to know a nice young lady like Katie simply because he had always judged a book by its cover?  For all he knew, he could have been married with half a dozen kids if he hadn't been so petty and shallow.  And now it might be too late for him to find that kind of happiness.  What kind of woman would want to fall in love with a man imprisoned by his own body?

Katie frowned as she lightly touched his hand.  "Mr. Gage?  Are you okay?"

Johnny quickly roused himself from his gloomy reverie and flashed her his most charming smile.  "Sorry about that.  See what happens when you get to be my age?  Your mind starts to wander, and then you forget what you were talking about.  But you know what they say, the memory is always the second thing to go."

"What's the first?"

In a manner reminiscent of a silent movie star, Johnny lifted his arm to his forehead to strike a dramatic pose.  "Oh, no!  You mean you forgot?"

Realizing that she had just fallen for his stupid joke, Katie groaned.  "I can't believe I just did that.  Boomie's right.  I'm so gullible."

Her eyes suddenly widened, and she glanced down at her watch.  "Oooooh, that reminds me.  I need to get going.  Nana sort of volunteered Boomie and me to help out at the church bazaar this afternoon, and I need to go home and change before I head back over to St.  Bernadette's.  Can I bring you back anything?  Mrs. Bianchi makes the best lemon pound cake you've ever tasted, and Mrs. Ortega is bringing homemade tamales."

Johnny's mouth began to water at the mention of tamales.  The tube feedings always made him feel so full and miserable, but he supposed he could make room for a few bites of the spicy Mexican treat.  "I wouldn't object to a tamale or two."

Katie picked up her purse from the windowsill and slung the strap over her shoulder.  "Consider it done.  Anything else?"

Technically there wasn't, but Johnny couldn't pass up the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity.  "Actually, there is.  Do you mind if I ask you a stupid question?"

"There's no such thing as a stupid question, Mr. Gage.  But I can't guarantee that I won't have a stupid answer," Katie teased.

"If you and Boomer are such great friends, how come you've never dated?"

"Oh, that's easy," Katie replied in a cheery voice.  "I didn't date anyone when I was in college.  My parents dropped out after their freshman year to get married, and I was afraid I might do the same thing if I met Mr. Right.  I really wanted to get my degree before I got serious about a guy."

"But you just graduated," Johnny reminded her.  "What's your excuse now?"

"Well, for one thing, Boomie hasn't asked me out."

"Then maybe you should ask him."

"Are you crazy?" Katie sputtered.  "Women aren't supposed to ask men out on dates!"

"Maybe they do if the man needs a little encouragement."

Katie appeared to give the matter some thought.  "You think so?"

Johnny nodded emphatically.  "I know so.  Think about it, all right?"

"All right," Katie answered as she headed toward the door.

"And Katie?"

"Yes, Mr. Gage?"

"If it's not too much trouble, go ahead and bring me a slice of Mrs. Bianchi's famous lemon pound cake, too.  I can always eat that later, like after you ask Boomer on that date."

Katie erupted into a fit of giggles as she left the room.  But there was no doubt in Johnny's mind that she was going to ask Boomer out, or that he would accept her invitation once he got over the initial shock.  Once Katie Murphy put her mind to something, she didn't take no for an answer.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Nine days after his surgery, Johnny felt guardedly optimistic as Early performed yet another assessment.  His neurological function had improved significantly since the inflammation around his spinal cord had finally subsided.  However, Johnny knew that he had a lot of hard work ahead of him before he could achieve a decent level of independence.  Even so, he was encouraged by his progress.

Early proudly demonstrated Johnny's latest achievement to his colleague.  "Look, Kel.  See how far he can lift his foot off the bed?  He couldn't do that at all a couple of days ago."

Johnny grinned as the extremity dropped back onto the mattress.  "I know I'm not exactly setting any speed records, but I'm getting there.  It's like that story about the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady wins the race."

"You've come a long way in a short period of time, in more ways than one," Brackett remarked.

The paramedic's expression suddenly grew wistful.  "I know.  About this time last week, I was ready to throw in the towel.  Rehab seemed so pointless.  I can't tell you what a difference it made when I started to look at the whole process as a series of little goals instead of one big one.  Now I don't feel like such a failure anymore if I can't do everything at once.  I try to focus on what I can do.  For instance, I never thought I'd be so excited to use a urinal bottle again!  It sure as heck beats the alternative.  To be honest, that probably bothered me more than anything.  It was bad enough to lose the use of my legs, but the bladder and bowel thing really freaked me out.  Just being able to pee in a bottle or use a bedpan like a normal person makes me feel...well, normal.  I'm hoping that as I learn to do more stuff for myself, I'll feel even more normal, even if I'm still stuck in a wheelchair forever.  I never thought I'd see the day when I'd say this, but I'm actually looking forward to rehab.  The sooner I find out how much I'll be able to do for myself, the sooner I can start making some plans."

With a flourish of his pen, Early finished making a notation in Johnny's chart.  "Barring any unforeseen circumstances, we'll transfer you to St.  Anthony's Rehabilitation Center a week from today.  I think it would be best to wait until after the July 4th holiday."

Johnny subtly nodded his consent.  "That's fine with me.  The physical therapist would probably have the day off anyway, and I'd feel more comfortable staying here since I know everybody and I'm familiar with the routine."  A note of depression crept into his voice as he added, "Of course, if I wouldn't keep getting myself into these predicaments, then Rampart wouldn't feel so much like my home away from home."

Brackett stole a quick glance over at his colleague before he responded to Johnny's statement.  "Johnny, do you still feel this is your fault?"

"Maybe a little bit.  I guess I've been trying not to think about it too much."

The dark-haired physician nervously rubbed his chin as he prepared to disclose the real reason for his visit.  "Johnny, do you remember how we all felt after you and Joe were in that car accident?"

"Sure, I remember.  We were so busy blaming ourselves and each other, we forgot to blame the drunk driver who caused the accident in the first place."

"How did you feel after Dr. Hauser told us about Ted Marsh, and how he had been charged with eleven DWIs and injured several people in three separate accidents before he died in that crash?"

Johnny's eyes flashed in anger at the memory.  "I was mad when I found out that he'd never spent a single day in jail, and that he kept drinking and driving even after his license was taken away.  He had no business being on the road.  That jerk nearly ended my career as a paramedic, and he sure put a lot of other innocent people at risk.  It's a miracle he didn't kill anybody but himself.  You know, I hate to say this, but I'm glad he didn't survive the accident.  He's not a danger to anyone else anymore."

Brackett slowly let out a breath he had been holding.  "Johnny, something very similar has happened recently, and we need your help."

The paramedic's confusion was written all over his face.  "I'm not sure I understand.  How can I possibly help?"

The two physicians had previously agreed that the neurosurgeon's near legendary calming demeanor made him the better candidate to deliver this part of the news, and Early took the question as his cue.  "Johnny, Kel has a friend who's been looking into Dr. Grant's background, and he's turned up some rather disturbing evidence.  Nathan Grant has apparently been a drug addict for a long time, and his habit has seriously affected his work.  Over the past six years, he's had his medical license revoked in New Mexico and Nevada, and he already has at least a dozen complaints filed against him in California."

Johnny's mouth gaped open.  "He what?"

"From what Kel's source has been able to determine thus far, Dr. Grant has quietly settled several malpractice claims to avoid going to court, but we don't know the details, at least not yet.  However, we do know that Dr. Grant often demonstrated poor medical judgment, and abandoned his patients without making arrangements to have someone cover for him in his absence."

The hairs on the back of Johnny's neck stood up.  "What exactly do you mean by abandoned?  You mean like always supposedly being out of the office on an emergency, or not returning phone calls when a patient really needed him?  That sort of thing?"

Early nodded.  "Johnny, I hate to admit this, but Nathan Grant's frequent disappearing acts have become something of a joke here at Rampart, albeit a very bad one.  It's not uncommon for his patients to show up in the ER when they couldn't get an appointment to see him, or they gave up on him ever returning their phone calls."

"Like me," Johnny muttered in a barely audible voice.

"I'm afraid so."

Johnny wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he felt compelled to ask anyway.  "Dr. Early, have any of his other patients wound up disabled, or worse?"

The kindly neurosurgeon inched closer to Johnny's side.  "Mike Morton saw one of his patients over the weekend, a young pregnant woman who hemorrhaged to death shortly after she arrived in the ER."

For one of the few times in his life, Johnny was rendered speechless while the doctor's words sank in.  He had been mentally beating himself up for days for tolerating Grant's apparent neglect.  Now he derived a perverse sense of relief in knowing that he hadn't been the only one of Grant's patients who had been too trusting of the smooth-talking general practitioner.  But at least he was still alive, even if he never walked again.  Grant's other patient obviously hadn't been that lucky.

When the injured paramedic didn't respond to Early's revelation, Brackett rejoined the conversation.  "Johnny, I'm so sorry that this happened to you.  We've filed several complaints with the powers that be here at Rampart and expressed our concerns to the state medical board, but no one seemed to take us seriously.  But if you're willing to help us, maybe we can do something to prevent him from practicing medicine anymore."

"How?"

"By filing a lawsuit and a complaint to the Medical Board of California."

Johnny snorted in disbelief.  "I don't see how that would help, Doc.  All of those other lawsuits didn't keep him off the streets."

"That's true," Brackett admitted.  "But we need to try.  If you initiate legal proceedings, Joe is confident that the girl's parents will do the same.  The more voices that join the choir, the better our chances are of succeeding."

"But I can't afford to hire a lawyer," Johnny protested.  "I'm barely going to make ends meet as it is on sixty percent of my regular salary."

"That's not a problem.  I have a friend who has agreed to do this pro bono."

"What does that mean?"

"That means that he'll do it for free.  Pro bono is a Latin term that means for the public good."

"Public good," Johnny repeated with a hollow laugh.  "I'd say that about covers it."

"So you'll do it?" Brackett asked.

"Sure.  I want to make sure this bastard doesn't kill or maim anyone else."

Brackett allowed himself a sad smile.  "Okay.  I'll give Russ Howe a call to let him know that you're on board."

Concerned that Johnny might start to blame himself again for his misfortune, Early wanted to head any such notion off at the pass.  "Johnny, I hope you don't question your decision to seek follow-up medical care somewhere besides the ER.  Considering how busy we were about that time, it's perfectly understandable.  Unfortunately, there was no way for you to know about Dr. Grant's history of drug abuse, or how it affected his ability to render proper medical care.  If anyone was at fault, it was our profession as a whole.  All the right people knew about his problems, but they refused to do anything about it.  You did nothing wrong.  You placed your trust in your physician, and he failed to fulfill his obligations to you."

"That's right," Brackett agreed.  "But hopefully with your help, we can finally do something about removing this menace to the profession."

"Yeah, but I still feel pretty stupid though.  Now that I look back on it, some of his actions make perfect sense.  I'll bet he was even shooting up or whatever he does that day when I saw him in his office.  Dr. Grant seemed really tired and irritable when I first met him, but when he came into the room after calling to get the results of my throat culture, he kind of reminded me of Tigger.  You know, that tiger in the Winnie the Pooh cartoons that's always bouncing all over the place?  At the time, I thought it was because he was all happy that he was about to give me some good news, but...oh, wow.  He never called, did he?"

"That appears to be the case.  The lab sent Grant a copy of the report, but none of the technicians ever got a phone call from him asking about the results of your throat culture."

"So if I hadn't stopped taking my antibiotics like he told me to, I might still be able to walk right now?"

"It's probable."

Johnny pounded the mattress with his fist.  "Shit.  That bastard lied to me.  He got his fix, and I got a spinal epidural abscess out of the deal."

After Johnny sulked for a moment, all thoughts of self-recrimination and self-pity were pushed aside as his fury was quickly transformed into a steely resolve.  Johnny recalled what Boomer had said about how it was possible for good things to come out of bad things.  He knew that he might not ever walk again, but if he could prevent Nathan Grant from ever hurting anyone again, then perhaps he would feel that his suffering had served some useful purpose.  He owed that to himself, and to the memory of the dead pregnant girl and her baby.

"Dr. Brackett?  When can I talk to this lawyer friend of yours?" Johnny asked.  "I want to get started on all this legal stuff as soon as possible so we can protect the unsuspecting public from this creep."

The physician sighed with relief as he pushed himself out of his chair.  Johnny had taken the news exactly as they had hoped he would.  "I'll go call him right now," he promised.

Brackett knew that their task would not be easy.  Most state medical boards rarely revoked a physician's license despite clear and compelling evidence of malpractice.  The medical profession tended to close ranks to protect its own, even when a physician's judgment was obviously impaired as a result of alcoholism, drug abuse, mental illness or other physical or psychological disorders.  However, if at least two other state boards had deemed it necessary to revoke Grant's license, then perhaps the Medical Board of California could be persuaded to do the same.  Brackett knew that he had to try, even if it meant committing professional suicide.  After all, he would be violating the unwritten commandment, "Thou shalt not speak ill of a fellow physician."  But Brackett was prepared to take that risk, even if it meant becoming a pariah within the medical community.  If that came to pass, he jokingly reminded himself that he could always reconsider his plans and go back to law school after all.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

While Joanne ran some errands, Roy occupied himself by vacuuming the living room floor.  He was trying to make more of an effort these days to help out with the housework now that she was back home.  Although he thought most of the chores were nothing more than repetitive drudgery, he was surprised to discover that he actually enjoyed a few of them.  Roy found vacuuming to be a great stress reliever.  There was something oddly hypnotic about pushing the self-propelled Hoover upright back and forth across the avocado shag carpet.  Of course, aside from getting back into his wife's good graces, his newfound domestic side provided an unexpected benefit.  Joanne said there was nothing sexier than a man who helped out around the house, and to his astonishment and delight, she had become the aggressor in some rather adventurous activities.  It was a good thing that his sister-in-law had offered to keep the kids for a few weeks!  Roy would have been mortified if his children had walked in on them while they were in the throes of passion.

Roy turned off the vacuum cleaner as soon as he heard Joanne open the kitchen door.  She appeared flustered and upset as she set several shopping bags on the table, and he immediately became concerned.  What had happened to her?  Had she been in an accident or something?

Abandoning his vacuum cleaner in the middle of the floor, Roy rushed over to greet her.  "What's the matter, Jo?  Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure," she answered in a tremulous voice.  "Roy, I just did something really crazy.  Maybe I should go back and tell him that I've changed my mind."

His eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline.  "Tell who about what?"

In her haste to offer an explanation, Joanne's words ran together without any apparent rhyme or reason.  "Oh, Roy!  I didn't plan to, but I stopped by Builder's Barn to pick up some of those special light bulbs for the chandelier over the kitchen table and to look at some ballerina wallpaper for Jennifer's bedroom and I noticed this help wanted sign in the window.  I asked one of the cashiers about it, and she said it was for a part-time position, so I went to the manager's office on a whim to fill out an application.  It turns out that Martin Anderson from church is the guy in charge of personnel, and he hired me on the spot!  He said that most of the applicants had been high school kids that just wanted a job for the summer...anyway I start tomorrow.  It's just for a few hours a day, and I'll be home in plenty of time before the kids get home from school, that is once school starts again in September.  But maybe I should go call Mr. Anderson and tell him I've changed my mind.  I don't know what got into me."

"It's okay," Roy assured her as he took her into his arms.  "If this is what you want, then it's what I want, too."

"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm positive."

Although Roy had agreed to accept and support whatever decisions she made, Joanne was relieved to know that his words had not been merely an empty promise.  She gave him a quick peck on the check.  "Thanks, hon.  You have no idea how much this means to me.  In fact, I got so excited that I went a little berserk and started spending money that I haven't even earned yet!  Brockman's had this huge sale, and I bought some new nightgowns that were half off."

He tried to appear enthusiastic about her purchases.  No doubt she had bought more of those full-length, floral tricot nightgowns that she liked so much.  But if Joanne was excited, then by George, he was going be excited, too.  Roy plastered his most convincing smile on his face as he pointed toward the paper bags.  "Well, hurry up.  I can't wait to see what kind of fancy nightgowns a career woman buys."

Joanne blushed as she started rummaging through the purple sack.  "I hope you'll like them.  Like I said, I normally wouldn't have splurged on something this extravagant, but they were half off."

Roy thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head when she held up a black silky negligee for his inspection.  Half off was right, not that he was going to complain about which half was missing!  "Um, that's...uh...that will look beautiful on you," he managed to stammer.

"You think so?  Maybe I should go try it on."

He knew that he had probably had the most idiotic grin in the world on his face, but he didn't care.  Joanne hadn't worn anything that revealing since their honeymoon.  If this was any indication of how she planned to spend her earnings, Roy wholeheartedly approved.  He picked up the purple sack and handed it to Joanne.  "Babe, why don't you go ahead and take these with you?  Then you can model all of your new gowns for me."

Joanne had only taken a couple of steps when she turned around and crooked her finger in a come hither motion.  "I might need some help getting undressed," she coyly replied.

Roy didn't need any further encouragement, and eagerly followed her to the bedroom.  After so many months of mere coexistence, he thought he'd never enjoy another moment of physical and emotional intimacy with his wife again.  But the once dying embers of their romance had been re-ignited and been fanned into a fiery passion, all because he had finally been able to put Joanne's needs above his.  Captain Stanley had been right.  The willingness to say those three little words, "I was wrong," went a long way toward paving the road to reconciliation.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

A barefoot Kelly Brackett held his shoes in his hand as he walked along the beach after a violent summer storm.  Gentle waves splashed over his feet, and he felt oddly comforted as he looked back to watch his footsteps fade from the sand.  As the water receded, it was as if he was momentarily suspended in time.  There was no longer any evidence of his past to haunt or accuse him, and the vast expanse ahead of him seemed full of possibilities.

He wasn't sure why, but he always felt simultaneously relaxed and energized the morning after a storm, no matter how much devastation it wreaked.  The air seemed to be alive with electricity, and the new day brought with it a renewed sense of hope and optimism.  Kel spotted a small piece of driftwood in his path, and instinctively reached down to pick it up.  He thought that the trail of debris left in the storm's wake was an oddly appropriate metaphor for this stage in his life.  The crises had passed, and now he needed to sift through the wreckage and determine what was worth salvaging, and what wasn't.  Only then could he begin to move forward again.

Kel lost track of time as he stood at the water's edge.  He had become so transfixed by the resplendent sunrise that he didn't notice the approaching figure on the horizon.  An off-key rendition of an old Tony Bennett song finally roused him from his contemplative trance, and he turned around to greet the source of the musical abomination.  "Good morning, Dad."

"Morning my foot," the elder Brackett growled.  "The day's half over.  Do you have any idea how many fish we could have caught by now if we had gotten an early start?"

Kel smiled at his father's remark.  "You always were impatient."

"And you were always stubborn."

"Like father, like son?"

The elder Brackett seemed pensive as glanced up at the morning sky.  "That's probably why we always had so much trouble getting along.  We were too damned much alike, impulsive and hardheaded.  It's just as well that you became a doctor instead of a lawyer.  There's no way we could have worked together without wanting to choke the living daylights out of each other half the time."

Even after all these years, Kel still felt the need to apologize for his decision.  "Dad, I can remember a time when I wanted nothing more than to become a lawyer and join your practice.  But Mom's death changed everything.  I couldn't help her when she got sick, so I wanted to help other people.  It's a debt that I felt I owed to Mom."

James Brackett sighed heavily.  "Kel, I know that you blamed me for not letting you see her all those times when she was in the hospital or on her deathbed.  But I thought it was my duty as a father to shield you from suffering and death, just as much as it was my duty as a husband to protect your mother's dignity and to carry out her wishes.  As hard as it might be for you to understand, breast cancer carried a certain stigma back then.  She was ashamed of her disease, and of how the treatments ravaged her body.  That's not how we wanted you to remember her."

"We?  I always thought that was your choice."

James sadly shook his head.  "I shouldn't have listened to your mother.  The cancer and the treatments affected her mind a lot more than I realized.  You were only fourteen years old when she got sick, and she didn't want to burden you with what she thought were grownup problems.  Then as the cancer spread to her lungs and her brain...well, it was a pretty gruesome sight.  She didn't look or act anything like your mother anymore.  We thought we were doing the right thing by sparing you from that unpleasant aspect of her illness."

"But I needed to see her.  There were a lot of things that I never got a chance to say."

"You mean that you loved her, and that you were sorry for any grief you may have caused her over the years?"

"Yes."

"Your mother knew that, you didn't have to tell her."

"Maybe she didn't have to hear it, but I still needed to tell her," Kel protested.  "I feel like I never got a chance to say goodbye or to really grieve for Mom.  After she was diagnosed, she was either in the hospital or barricaded in her room with the private duty nurses that you hired.  Do you have any idea how much it hurt to stand outside that bedroom door and know that I wasn't allowed to go in?  My mother was dying, and no one would let me see her.  Hell, for that matter, I couldn't even see her after she died.  You insisted on a closed casket at her funeral."

"Kel, please try to understand," the elder Brackett pleaded.  "We did what we thought was best for you.  I'm sorry that we were wrong, but we made our mistakes out of our love for you."

Kel lowered his eyes as he dug his toes into the wet sand and reflected upon his parents' decision.  He had always assumed that his father was solely responsible for depriving him of any precious last moments with his mother.  Now he was troubled to learn that it was just as much her idea as it was his.  Kel wasn't sure how he felt about his father's revelation.  Part of him was angry with his mother for her role in this family tragedy, while another part of him felt guilty for laying the blame at his father's feet for so many years.

James lightly rested his hand on his son's shoulder.  "Kel, I'm sorry that you didn't get to spend time with your mother before she died.  But for what it's worth, you were always in her thoughts and prayers.  Just before she lost consciousness that last time, she said her only regret was that she wouldn't get to see you grow up into the fine young man that she always knew you would be.  She was so proud of you, Kel."

Kel tried to choke back a sob.  "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before?"

"To be honest, I don't really know.  I felt I had to be strong for you at the time, and I suppose I was afraid that I'd completely break down if I talked about your mother.  It was easier for me to carry on if I pretended that her cancer never happened.  So when you announced your reasons for wanting to become a doctor, it felt like you were pouring salt into an open wound.  It took me a long time to accept your chosen profession, but now I understand that whether your mother passed away or not, you were meant to be a physician.  Medicine is your calling, just as the law was mine.  I just wish we hadn't wasted so much time being mad at each other, especially there toward the end."

Kel wiped the tears that spilled onto his face with the back of his hand.  "Dad, I'm so sorry about all those terrible things that I said to you during our last argument.  Trust me, if I could take every single word back, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I know, son.  But you had every right to be angry with me.  I behaved like a complete ass."

"I still should have listened to you," Kel insisted.  "You told me you were dying, but I thought you were exaggerating to make me feel guilty for not taking that leave of absence.  I should have known better.  After what happened to Mom, I had always promised myself that we weren't going to have any unfinished business between us when you died.  I sure screwed that up, didn't I?"

James shook an admonishing finger at his son.  "Kel, don't do this to yourself.  That was more my fault than it was yours.  You didn't need to take off work for six whole months for us to spend some time together.  We could have gone on some weekend fishing trips, or out to dinner or a movie once in a while.  I should have been willing to accept a compromise, but that stupid Brackett pigheadedness got in the way."

His tone softened as he gently traced a spot over Kel's heart.  "Besides, if you ever want to talk to me or your mother, we'll always be right here."  Then shaking off his usual reserve, James Brackett embraced his sobbing child.  "I love you, Kel.  I always have, and I always will.  I'm damned proud that you're my son."

Kel tightly wrapped his arms around his father as he allowed himself to be comforted.  However, this time his tears were not borne of grief, but from a release of pent up emotions.  His soul at last felt free, and he knew he could finally let go of the past and forgive himself for his imagined transgressions.  His body shook violently as he cried on his father's strong, broad shoulders.

The convulsive sobs awakened Brackett with a start, and he instinctively bolted upright in bed, still clutching his tear-stained pillow in his arms.  Several seconds elapsed before he realized that he hadn't been on the beach at all.  It had all been another dream.  But this time, he had not been screaming in fear when he awakened.  Instead, he was imbued with a sense of peace and renewed hope.  Brackett lay back down on the bed and rested his head on the damp pillow.  He intuitively knew that it was safe to fall into a deep, cleansing sleep.  His father's fearsome ghost would never again torment him in his dreams.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

For the past week, Chet's shift-mates had embarked upon an aggressive campaign to scare the pants off the Phantom.  Fortunately, their efforts had been handsomely rewarded.  This was the third shift in a row that the uncharacteristically sedate firefighter had wandered around the station in a daze.  Roy and Captain Stanley had been briefed on the plan, and both men had enjoyed playing their roles with great gusto.  Of course, Captain Stanley had figured out right away that Gabriel Martinez was the real mastermind behind the plot.  But he was willing to forgive the Shadow for making an unscheduled appearance during his brief assignment since it served his diabolical scheme to keep the Phantom in a perpetual state of fear, at least for a while.  He felt that Chet needed to learn that his hapless victims didn't always enjoy his pranks as much as he did.

However, Captain Stanley decided that they had sufficiently achieved their objective, and it was time to alleviate Chet's distress.  But he didn't plan to let his young charge off the hook all at once.  He would do it in stages.  His immediate goal was to sufficiently allay Chet's panic so that he didn't go running to Chief McConnike or HQ to voice his concerns about his captain's welfare.  Then he'd worry about reassuring Chet that they weren't really mad at him about anything he might have said or done to Johnny.

While Captain Stanley holed himself up in his office to catch up on another round of paperwork, Chet made a fresh pot of coffee.  He nervously glanced over at the couch at the temporary paramedic.  Brice's pen was flying fast and furious, but Chet couldn't tell what he was doing.  Was he writing a letter to someone at Headquarters?  His anxiety mounted as he noted a slight smirk on Brice's face.  "Uh, Brice?  What are you working on, pal?"

"Pal?" Brice asked with a puzzled expression.  "Since when did I get to be your pal?"

"Oh, it's a firefighter thing, you know?  We're all pals, right guys?"

Marco looked up from the section of the newspaper he was reading and shrugged his shoulders.  "If you say so."

Chet dried his hands on a dishrag and wandered over to the dayroom.  "So are you writing a love letter or what?"

"Or what."

"Huh?"

"You asked if I was writing a 'love letter or what.'  Since it's not the former, it's the latter by default."

"C'mon, Brice.  What are you working on?  You're not writing a letter to anyone at HQ to tattle on Captain Stanley are you?"

Brice derived a perverse sense of pleasure in watching Chet squirm.  Although he didn't always see eye-to-eye with Johnny, he understood what it was like to be picked on by his coworkers.  By playing this elaborate hoax on his fellow paramedic's nemesis, Brice felt that he was in effect exacting revenge for Johnny as well as for himself.

The bespectacled man sighed heavily.  "Kelly, if you must know, I'm working on the crossword puzzle from today's newspaper."

Chet nearly passed out from relief.  Good.  The little snitch hadn't informed on his captain, not yet anyway.  However, Chet thought there wasn't something quite right about Brice's protestation of innocence.  "Then why are you using a pen?" he asked suspiciously.  "Nobody does crossword puzzles in pen."

Brice held up the nearly completed puzzle for Chet's inspection.  "Are you satisfied now?"

"Oh, all right," Chet grumbled.  "But I think it's a dumb idea to do a puzzle in pen.  What if you make a mistake?"

"That would be highly unlikely.  I possess an extensive vocabulary, and have an excellent recall of a vast array of information."

Mike was more interested in the odd fact that Brice never seemed to have a problem with his new writing tool.  During the entire twenty-one days since the department had issued the officially sanctioned pens, Brice had never once lost the plastic cap or had a problem getting the ink to flow properly.

Roy decided that it was his turn to keep the momentum going in this peculiar game of tag.  Designating himself as 'it', Roy tried to adopt an aura of profound sadness.  "You know, it's going to be a shame when Brice files his official report with HQ.  Cap might as well kiss his career with the fire department goodbye."

Marco agreed between sips of coffee.  "I know.  He's worked for the county for...what, about seventeen years?"

"Something like that," Mike agreed.  "It's too bad Cap hasn't put in enough years to qualify for a pension.  He could end up in dire financial straits, with nothing to show for all his years of service."

"I don't know about that," Roy countered.  "I'm sure Cap has some money set aside for a rainy day."

Mike scoffed at the absurdity of Roy's comment.  "There's a huge difference between a rainy day and a monsoon!"

"He'll probably wind up losing his house," Marco lamented.  "Sooner or later, he's going to go through all of his savings and won't be able to afford the note anymore."

Roy sadly shook his head.  "I guess it's a good thing Cap and his in-laws are back on speaking terms, even though they still don't get along too well.  The Stanleys will probably have to stay with them until Cap can get back on his feet financially.  Hopefully his brother-in-law can give him a job at one of his used car lots."

Marco had a sudden flash of inspiration.  "Hey, I have a better idea!  My uncle, Tio Guillermo, is a manager at a nudie bar.  He could put Cap on the payroll right away as a bouncer."

Chet was sick to his stomach as he listened to the depressing exchange.  It was one thing for him to get written up or suspended for a couple of shifts after a prank went seriously awry, but this was far more than he ever bargained for.  He had to do something before his childish antics completely ruined Cap's life.

The grim discussion abruptly ceased when they heard Captain Stanley's approaching footsteps as he headed toward the kitchen.  Rubbing his aching head, he made a beeline for the bottle of aspirin they kept in the kitchen pantry.

"Uh oh.  Another bad headache?" Roy asked.

"Yeah.  Damned paperwork.  Every time I think I have it under control, I get hit with another wave.  You won't believe all the hoops they've had me jumping through ever since John got hurt.  I suppose from a paperwork standpoint I should be grateful that his injury didn't happen on the job, or that really would have complicated matters.  Of course, I know that doesn't make any difference from John's perspective."

"He's doing a lot better though," Roy reminded him.

"True," Cap said as he poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.  "I can't tell you how worried I was about John's frame of mind there for a while.  He's made incredible progress, and I'm really proud of how he's handling a very difficult situation.  John seems to have found some middle ground where he's realistic about his chances, but is eager to forge ahead and find out how much of a recovery he's going to make so he can get on with the rest of his life.  It sounds like he's definitely heading in the right direction."

The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted their conversation, and Mike jumped to his feet to take the call.  His expression quickly grew wary as he learned the identity of the man on the other end of the line.  "Uh, Cap?  It's Chief McConnike."

"What does he want?" Captain Stanley growled.

"I don't know.  He just said that it's urgent."

Captain Stanley rubbed his throbbing head again.  "Oh, all right.  I'll take it in my office."

Chet was horrified by the implications of the phone call.  What if Brice had already filed a report?  The prospect chilled him to the very core of his soul.  As soon as Captain Stanley was no longer in the room, Chet flung himself on his knees in front of the paramedic and clasped his hands together as if in fervent prayer.  "Brice, please tell me that you haven't reported Cap to HQ."

"I said I hadn't," Brice replied without diverting his attention from his puzzle.

"No, you said you weren't writing a letter, as in the present tense.  I'm asking if you've already written to some bigwig at HQ."

"No.  Not yet."

His mouth was dry from his body's physiological response to fear, and Chet struggled to work up enough saliva to speak.  "Look, Brice.  I'm a real jerk, okay?  And I know that I've done a bunch of mean and stupid things in my day, but please don't punish Cap.  It's just not right.  If you want to report someone, report me.  I'm the one who deserves to be kicked out of the fire department.  I'll go turn in my resignation right now if you'll leave Cap out of this.  I'll do anything.  Whatever it takes to make you happy."

"Anything?"

"Anything!" Chet promised.  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Brice exchanged a quick glance with the three men sitting at the table.  "I don't know."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Marco spoke in support of his friend.  "Chet's right.  Captain Stanley's a good man and a fine captain.  He shouldn't have to suffer the consequences because of Chet's foolish actions."

"He has been with the department for a long time," Brice conceded.  "And it would be a shame to end an otherwise distinguished career because of an underlying problem that could easily be corrected."

"What do you mean?"

"If you'll give me your word that you'll permanently retire the Phantom, I'll let the matter drop."

Chet broke out into a wide grin.  "You got it!"

"All right, but I better not hear from one of your shift-mates at a later date that you've reneged on your word," Brice warned menacingly.  "Otherwise, I'll have to reconsider my position."

"Not a problem!  In fact, I'll turn over all of the Phantom's paraphernalia as a token of good faith."  Chet got up from the floor and ran toward the door.  "I'm going to go get my stuff out of the trunk of my car, and then grab a couple of things from my locker.  I'll be right back."

As soon as Chet left the room, Roy smiled at Brice.  "Thanks, man.  We appreciate your help.  There's no way we could've pulled this off without your cooperation.  You're a very convincing actor."

Marco seconded Roy's compliment.  "Yeah, you ought to take up acting for real.  You'd be great at it."

"You really think so?" Brice asked hopefully.

"Absolutely," Mike gushed.  "You're a regular Gary Cooper."

Brice positively glowed with pride, and he felt about ten feet tall.  It was a rare occasion when one of his coworkers actually praised him for something, and he did enjoy the role-playing experience.  "Uh, now that you mention it, there's a little community theater near my neighborhood that's going to be putting on a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.  I suppose I could audition for a small part."

Roy nodded in approval.  "There you go!"

The budding thespian was on cloud nine.  Could it be that his luck was finally starting to change?  Was it possible that his peers could genuinely accept him, and that he wasn't doomed to spend the rest of his career as an object of ridicule?  He was almost afraid to believe his apparent good fortune.

However, Brice's moment of glory was quickly marred by a strange wet sensation on his fingertips.  He reflexively looked at his hand, and was stunned by what he saw.  Despite his fastidious efforts to maintain his department-issued writing utensil in optimum condition, his hand was smudged with a large glob of blank ink.  Alas, even perfect paramedics weren't immune to the dreaded nekkid pen curse.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Early took advantage of a momentary lull to sneak a quick cup of coffee in the doctor's lounge, although he wasn't sure why he bothered.  It was bad enough having to drink decaf, but being forced to forego sugar and non-dairy creamer had truly added insult to injury.  Still, he knew that matters could be a whole lot worse, and he tried to feel adequately grateful.

"Joe, are you okay?" Dixie asked as she cautiously opened the door.

"Sure.  Come on in."

She hesitantly approached her brooding friend.  "What's up, Joe?  You haven't said a word about how your appointment with Josh Goldberg went yesterday.  I was starting to get worried."

Early sighed as he pushed his coffee cup aside.  "It went okay, actually a lot better than I thought it would."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that that my heart checked out okay.  There haven't been any changes in my EKG, and I just need to get a better handle on my blood pressure.  Josh pretty much gave me the standard lecture...modify my diet, lose some weight, get some exercise, be more conscientious about taking my meds...that kind of thing.  He and Sam Vance got together and agreed upon a dosage of Inderal that should bring my BP down and keep the migraines at bay at the same time."

Despite the good news, Dixie had a feeling there was more to the story.  "Then why the long face if everything is so peachy keen?  Does this have anything to do with your glucose tolerance test then?"

Early rocked his right hand back and forth in a seesaw motion.  "A little.  I definitely have type 2 diabetes."

Dixie sat down at the table and lightly rested her hand on his.  "Joe, this isn't the end of the world."

"I know.  I guess I was just hoping that the results the other day were a fluke, or that I could manage my glucose level by diet alone.  Now I have to take these damned pills and do all that other stuff."  He reached into his lab coat pocket and retrieved a small amber vial.  "I had this prescription for Diabanese filled yesterday.  Rather than refer me to an endocrinologist at this point, Josh wants me to start seeing an internist so he can coordinate all of my medical care."

"That's probably a good idea since you already have to follow up with a couple of specialists," she conceded.  "But hopefully your blood sugar will be easier to manage once you shed a few pounds."

Early tried to lighten the mood by making a lame attempt at humor.  He patted his stomach as he dryly remarked, "It looks like I found all that weight that Kel lost, although I was hoping that some of the hair that's starting to fall out would have offset the difference."

"Joe, what's really the matter?" Dixie persisted.  "It isn't like you to mope around like this."

He shrugged as he stared at his now cold cup of decaf.  "I feel old all of a sudden, Dix.  My hairline keeps creeping backward, my gut's growing forward and now I find out that I'm hypertensive and diabetic.  Before you know it, I'll be eating bran muffins and stewed prunes for breakfast and scheduling yearly prostate exams.  Hell, if I'm not careful, I might even move to Florida, trade my Ferrari in for a Cadillac, start driving about five miles per hour, wear my pants hiked up to my nipples and spend all day playing shuffleboard and canasta while complaining about my gallbladder."

Dixie chuckled at the humorous scenario he portrayed as she got up to pour herself a cup of coffee.  "It's not time to order the rocking chair yet, Grandpa.  I just think you're stressed out from worrying about Kel and Johnny."

"You might be right," Early admitted reluctantly.  "They have presented a few challenges."

"I have this weird feeling of déjà vu all over again," Dixie said as she retrieved a ceramic mug from the shelf.

"How so?"

"Let's see, Johnny's hurt and it looks like his career as a paramedic might be over.  Then there's you and Kel, except your roles are sort of reversed.  This time Kel's was the one in the hospital who was letting his guilt get in the way of his recovery, and your health took a slight turn for the worse while you were holding down the fort.  Oh, and to top it all off, there's an underlying license issue involved in this mess.  But instead of a drunk driver who had his license revoked by the courts, we're dealing with a drug addicted doctor who needs to have his medical license taken away by the state board."

Dixie frowned as she scooped a couple of spoonfuls of non-dairy creamer into her coffee.  "Sometimes I could just strangle that Chester B.  Kelly.  If Johnny hadn't been worried about providing fodder for the Phantom, then maybe he would have asked one of us to refer him to a general practitioner when he came down with that sore throat."

Early wearily leaned back in his chair.  "Johnny filled me in about what happened that day at the station when they had to complete that new form.  I told him that it was okay with us if he wanted to put one of our names down as his family physician."

"And what did Johnny say to that?"

"He said that if the need arises, he'd probably list Kel's name since that's who he reports to, technically speaking."

Dixie absently stirred her coffee as she sat back down at the table.  "I sure hope that Johnny will have that chance some day, to be a paramedic again."

"Amen to that," Early agreed.  "I don't know how much function he'll regain, but he's doing a lot better than I ever expected.  Maybe Kel was right.  Maybe Johnny might defy the odds and make a full recovery after all.  It's not the usual outcome, but Johnny's not your usual patient either."

"His outlook sure has improved by leaps and bounds, especially after you told him about Grant.  I was really worried that your plans were going to backfire, but you and Kel had him pegged perfectly.  Johnny seems more determined when he feels he's fighting for someone else or a cause greater than himself.  I don't know if he doesn't think he's worth the effort or what, but I'm not going to complain.  As long as Johnny's improving, I'm not going to question his motives."

"Kel's essentially the same way.  He's really fired up about this business with Nathan Grant.  I don't believe I've seen him this excited about anything in ages."

"The other night, he said he needed to feel needed," Dixie recalled.  "Maybe that's the best form of therapy for Kel right now."

The silver-haired physician nodded sadly.  "It's too bad that it's necessary to go through so much trouble to protect the public from people like Nathan Grant.  It's not that I believe he's an evil person, mind you.  He's sick and he needs help.  Perhaps that's why our profession is so reluctant to censure a fellow physician that's addicted to drugs or alcohol.  For all we know, it could happen to any one of us.  I know I've certainly been guilty of having a drink or two to unwind after a bad day.  Who knows how many bad days Grant had before he stumbled upon the path to perdition?"

"There but for the grace of God go I?"

"Perhaps."

Early took a quick swig of his coffee before he pushed himself away from the table.  "Well, I suppose I should head on back and see what's going on out there.  I need to feel needed, too," he said with a sly grin.

Dixie smiled as she pointed toward the sink.  "If you really want to feel needed and appreciated, you could wash that pile of coffee cups."

"There's a difference between being a Good Samaritan and a martyr," he joked before he slipped out the door.

As she finished her coffee, Dixie's eyes alit upon a certain maroon and silver mug that Brackett frequently used.  Someone had set it on the top shelf in an out of the way spot, as if to keep anyone from using it in his absence.  Dixie didn't know who had done it, but she appreciated the gesture.  However, the coffee cup wouldn't occupy that special place on the shelf much longer.  She lifted her cup in the air in a silent toast to Brackett's return.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Johnny was thrilled to be wearing real clothes as he awaited his transfer to St.  Anthony's Rehabilitation Center.  Gone were the baggy pajamas and humiliating open-backed hospital gowns.  For this auspicious occasion, he donned a pair of faded blue jeans, a blue Oxford cloth shirt, socks and sneakers.  He had to admit that the Adidas running shoes seemed a bit overly optimistic for the occasion, but Johnny didn't care.  He was ready to move onto the next phase of his life, wherever that led.

While Johnny looked at his watch for what seemed like the thousandth time during the past half-hour, Roy double-checked all of the drawers and the room's small locker to make sure he hadn't overlooked any of Johnny's personal effects.  It was amazing how much junk a person could accumulate during a sixteen-day hospital stay.  He and Boomer had made numerous trips to Johnny's apartment to pick up various items like pajamas and toiletries, while the guys at the station had brought things to help pass the time, like magazines, playing cards and jigsaw puzzles.  Chet had even bought Johnny a couple of games, and the two of them had spent countless hours playing Parcheesi and Yahtzee.

Once he was satisfied that he had packed everything, Roy zipped the canvas gym bag closed and set it in the corner next to the two overflowing shopping bags.  "You do realize that the ambulance attendants won't be here for the transfer for about another hour, right?" he asked his constantly fidgeting partner.

"I know," Johnny said with an exasperated sigh.  "It's just that I'm ready to get this show on the road."

"What's the matter?  Are you sick and tired of being stuck on a ward with a bunch of middle-aged, married nurses?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm sort of glad it turned out that way," Johnny confessed.  "Somehow it wasn't quite as embarrassing when I needed help with certain things, you know what I mean?  It's different when your nurses are grandmas in their forties and fifties rather than someone you'd want to ask out on a date."

"Haven't there been any young single nurses to flirt with?"

"Who said I haven't been flirting with the older nurses?  Do you really think it's that easy to turn off the Gage charm?" Johnny retorted with a playful wink.  "But now that you mention it, there's a little wisp of a thing that usually works the 3-11 shift.  Her name is Debbie.  She's blonde, has the biggest blue eyes that you've ever seen and gets spooked real easily.  Man, you should see her when Brackett's here.  She turns white as a sheet and looks like she's about to pass out."

Roy laughed at his friend's description of the young nurse's reaction.  "Brackett tends to have that effect on a lot of people.  That's why someone coined the term Brackett-itis.  I know he sure made me a nervous wreck when we first started working with him."

"You're kidding?  You, 'mister cool as a cucumber under pressure'? I thought nothing fazed you."

"Nope.  He had me shivering in my size 11 booties."

"You sure had me fooled," Johnny said as he shook his head in disbelief.

Roy shrugged.  "When you're married and have a couple of kids, you learn to develop a decent poker face."

"Speaking of married, how are things going with Joanne these days?"

"Good.  She's only worked three days so far, but she loves her part-time job at Builder's Barn.  It's new, it's different and she's looking forward to the extra pocket money.  But I have a sneaking suspicion that we're not going to come out ahead financially.  She's already plotting and scheming to wallpaper half the house, put in some new light fixtures, retile the kitchen floor and repaint the outside of the house in a different color.  She'll get an employee discount and all, but I don't care.  She's happy, so I'm happy."

"Are Chris and Jennifer still staying at your sister-in-law's house?"

"Yeah.  Eileen and her husband have been great.  They've offered to keep the kids all summer to give Joanne and me some time alone.  I wish we could take off and go on a second honeymoon, but that's out of the question since she's working now.  But that's okay.  We're basically homebodies anyway.  Like last night.  We just stayed at home and snacked on a couple of leftover pints of Baskin-Robbins ice cream and watched the Fourth of July fireworks on TV."

Johnny lecherously wagged his eyebrows up and down several times.  "You watched fireworks, or created a few of your own?"

Roy didn't deny the charge, but his reddened face spoke volumes.  Eager to deflect attention from himself, he nervously cleared his throat.  "Is that why you can't wait to go to rehab?  To meet some pretty new nurses and start your own fireworks?"

"Nah.  I'm not interested right now."

Roy pressed his hand to Johnny's forehead.  "Hmm.  That's odd.  You're obviously delirious, but you're not running a fever."

Johnny swatted his partner's hand away from his face.  "Roy, it's not forever.  I just need some time to sort some stuff out in my head."

"Such as?"

"It's complicated."

"Then explain it to me."

Johnny listlessly stared out the window while he drummed his fingers on the metal railing.  "I think I've finally figured out why I have such a terrible track record with members of the fairer sex.  I'm basically a pretty shallow guy.  I've probably passed up a lot of opportunities to date some really nice girls because I've been too fixated on looks."

Roy was clearly intrigued by the admission.  "What brought this on?"

"Promise you won't tell a soul?"

"Promise."

"I've been thinking about Katie Murphy.  She's the type of girl that I never would have asked out unless it was some weird kind of pity date.  Katie's not that pretty, but she's a lot of fun to hang out with.  Unfortunately, I've never been able to get past a girl's looks long enough to really get to know someone like that.  Now I feel like the shoe is on the other foot.  How many women won't give me the time of day now that I'm stuck in a wheelchair?  I think I'm a fairly decent guy, but will anyone be willing to look past my disability and give me a chance?"

"You are a decent guy," Roy replied.  "And there are plenty of women who would love to go out with you."

"I dunno, Roy.  It would take a special woman to ignore some obvious flaws here.  Hell, I don't even know if the plumbing still works."

"Even if it doesn't, there's a lot more to a relationship than sex, Johnny."

Johnny nodded.  "I know.  Maybe this is all a blessing in disguise like Boomer says.  I'm starting to see a whole lot of things in a different light ever since this happened.  Take my approach to relationships for example.  I've always had this starry-eyed, storybook vision of romance where I'm this handsome prince who charges in on a white horse to declare his love for a beautiful princess.  Now I'm beginning to understand that it isn't all love at first sight and instant chemistry.  Look at you and Joanne.  You've known each other since the fourth grade.  You had years and years to get to know each other before you got married.  Then there's Boomer and Katie.  They've been best friends since their freshman year in college, and they just went out on their first official date Saturday night.  Maybe I need to spend more time learning to be a friend first before jumping to the romance part."

Roy rubbed his chin as he mulled over Johnny's new philosophy.  "I think that's a very mature way to look at it, Johnny."

"Well, it's going to be a while before I ask anyone out anyway.  First I need to learn to accept whatever hand fate deals me.  I don't want to start a relationship until I'm not as emotionally needy and vulnerable.  If I get married, I want it to be an equal partnership, not a patient-caregiver arrangement.  Hopefully if I can learn to accept myself the way I am, I can honestly believe that someone else can do the same.  That's one of the reasons why I want to hurry up and get started with the rehab and occupational therapy."

"So you're really excited about this, huh?"

"Excited, maybe even a little scared," Johnny answered truthfully.  "I feel like I'm about to get on a plane, but I don't know where I'm going or if it's just for a visit or what.  I might up end up vacationing in Paris or some exotic tropical island, or I might freeze my buns off in Siberia for the rest of my life.  It's frustrating because I don't know what kind of clothes to pack or how to prepare myself.  And I'm afraid that once I reach my destination, I won't be able to learn the language or the customs or anything that I'll need to do to survive."

"But you could end up back home," Roy reminded him.

There was a twinkle in Johnny's eyes as his mouth turned upward into a famous crooked grin.  "I'll guess we'll have to wait and see."

Roy was so proud of his partner, and how he was handling a difficult situation with such grace and aplomb.  He impulsively squeezed Johnny's shoulder in a friendly gesture of support.  "Just promise me that you'll send me lots of post cards, okay?"

"You got it, Pally," Johnny promised.  "I might even call you for a ride home from the airport someday."

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

In late August, Johnny celebrated his birthday at the DeSoto's newly redecorated home.  He wouldn't actually turn thirty-two for another two days, but Joanne had insisted on hosting the party on Saturday.  That made it possible for everyone to attend the festivities, and it was a heck of a lot easier for him to get a day pass from the rehab facility on a weekend.

Johnny was in high spirits as he scooted around the house with his walker.  He still relied upon his wheelchair for weekend outings when there was a lot of ground to cover, or when he was exhausted or didn't feel well.  But for the most part, Johnny preferred to use his walker to get around.  Early was extremely pleased with his progress, and believed that given more time and a lot of hard work, Johnny could probably graduate to a cane in a few more months.  It wasn't a complete recovery, but he felt he had plenty to celebrate today.  He was alive, he enjoyed a limited degree of mobility and independence, and he had his friends' unwavering support.  Johnny felt truly blessed as he enjoyed the familiar camaraderie and friendly banter.

Chet helped himself to another chocolate chip cookie as he talked to the new fire academy recruit.  "Boomer, I'm glad you finally cut out that 'mister' business.  Every time you called me Mr. Kelly, I thought you were talking to my dad.  Man, you were driving me nuts!"

"Short drive," Marco teased.

Chet rolled his eyes as he wiped a crumb from this moustache.  "Anyway, I'm glad you finally got that out of your system.  You're part of the sacred brotherhood of firefighters now, and we're strictly on first name basis.  No more of this Mr. Kelly or Mr. Lopez stuff.  We're real informal at the station, like family.  Yep, it's just good ol' Chet, Marco, Mike, Roy, Johnny and Hank.  Shoot, we're so chummy, we even call Henry 'Hank' for short."

Mike wagged his finger back and forth in a friendly warning.  "Boomer, don't you dare listen to him.  Anyone with the rank of captain or higher is always addressed by his title, or some variation of it.  As far as we're concerned, Captain Stanley's first name is Cap.  And I don't care what Chet says.  You never call Henry 'Hank'."

Boomer laughed as he wrapped his arm around Katie and pulled her closer to his side.  "Chester B., are you trying to get me into trouble?  I'm about to be a married man.  I can't afford to jeopardize my career before it even gets started."

"I'm glad to hear that someone around here is trying to act in a responsible manner," Captain Stanley growled.  However, his warm smile belied his gruff tone.  "By the way, congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."  Boomer beamed with pride as he gave his fiancée a quick peck on the check.  "She's amazing, isn't she?  I still can't believe it, though.  After a 'whirlwind' courtship, I'm finally tying the knot with this awesome woman that's been my best friend for the past four years."

Holding onto his walker with both hands, Johnny gently nudged Boomer in the ribs with his elbow.  "Took you long enough to propose."

The firefighter trainee blushed.  "Um...I...well, you see..."

Katie unsuccessfully tried to stifle a fit of giggles.  "He didn't ask me to marry him.  I asked him."

"Uh oh," Mike joked.  "You're done for now.  She already has the upper hand."

"All wives do," Captain Stanley stated wryly.  "It just takes most men a while to figure that out."

Katie flashed her engagement ring for all to see.  "I still can't believe it.  By Christmas, I'm going to be Mrs. Matija Viktor Tomjanovich."

"That's your real name?" Chet asked.  "Dang.  And I thought John Roderick Gage sounded funny."

"I was named after both of my grandfathers," Boomer explained.  "They emigrated from Croatia.  I don't mind the unpronounceable last name, but I sure wish that my parents had at least Americanized the other two names to Matthew Victor.  Oh, well.  No one ever calls me that anyway, not even my family.  For some warped reason, my older sister used to call me Boom-Boom when I was a baby.  Somehow that got changed to Boomer, and the nickname stuck."

Joanne gushed over Katie's very modest engagement ring.  She knew that the young woman had refused a much larger diamond because Boomer couldn't afford it without going into debt, and recalled a similar decision that she had made when she became engaged.  Roy had wanted to buy her a diamond ring, but she thought the money would be better spent toward their first house.  Now after eleven years of marriage, she occasionally felt a twinge of regret that her practical nature had taken precedence over her girlish notions of romance.

As if sensing her thoughts, Roy took Joanne's left hand in his and kissed her plain gold band.  Joanne thought it was an extremely sweet and romantic gesture, and the absence of an engagement ring on her finger was quickly forgotten.  She already had what mattered most -- a loving husband and devoted father of their children.

Katie waxed enthusiastic about some furniture that her grandmother planned to give them as a wedding present.  "It's the most gorgeous four poster bed that you've ever seen in your life!  She bought it at an auction several years ago.  Then last weekend, Nana found the most amazing bedroom suite and armoire to go with it."

Johnny nearly choked on his Pepsi as images of his ill-fated moving adventure flashed before his eyes.  "An armoire?"

Boomer vehemently protested his fiancée's plans.  "No, Katie.  Absolutely not.  What are you trying to do, kill or maim all of our friends?"

"But Boomie..." she whined.

Captain Stanley firmly gripped the young man's shoulder as he prepared to dispense some fatherly advice.  "Boomer, I've been married to Mrs. Stanley for many, many years, and I've learned a lot of things the hard way.  So let me save you some trouble, not to mention countless nights on the couch, by sharing my secrets for a long and happy marriage."

Holding up his free hand, Captain Stanley extended a finger as he enumerated each point.  "Always put the toilet seat back down.  Never go to bed mad.  Don't be afraid to say 'I was wrong.'  Don't forget special dates like your anniversary or her birthday.  And when it comes to decorating the house, for God's sake, get out of the way and let your wife make all of the decisions."

"Oh, all right," Boomer grumbled.  "But we'll hire someone to move everything.  I don't want our friends to risk life and limb over a bunch of dumb old furniture."

"Speaking of furniture..."  Roy caught his friend's gaze and motioned toward the back door with a subtle nod of his head.  "Johnny, why don't you come outside with me for a few minutes.  I want to show you the new picnic table I built."

Johnny appeared momentarily confused as to why Roy would want to show him something he had seen a couple of weeks ago.  However, as Roy inched toward the door, Johnny finally understood what his partner had in mind.  "Oh, sure."  He handed his soft drink to Roy so he could put both hands on his walker.  "Here, hold this for a sec."

Chet grabbed another cookie and started to follow after them.  "Oh, I want to see, too."

Marco thwarted his friend's effort by grabbing onto his arm.  "Maybe later, mi amigo."

"Huh?"

"Later," Marco repeated emphatically.  "I think Roy wants to talk to Johnny alone."

"Oh, okay."  Chet grinned at the two paramedics.  "I guess I'll have to polish these cookies off by myself then."

Roy held the door open while Johnny carefully navigated the small step down onto the patio.  "You need any help there?"

"No, thanks.  I can manage."

"You're really getting the hang of that thing," Roy commented as his partner shuffled over to the picnic table.

"I suppose," Johnny answered between steps.  "It's sure a lot slower than using a wheelchair though."

"A lot safer, too.  At least for the people around you."

Johnny laughed at the reference to some of his recent wheelchair mishaps.  "I guess I did get pretty rambunctious."

"Rambunctious?  I never knew that wheelchairs could leave skid marks like that before!"

After being helped onto one of the picnic benches, Johnny looked around the back yard to see if Roy and Joanne had made any new improvements since the last time he was here.  It didn't take long before he spotted an unpainted piece of latticework in the garden.  Johnny pointed toward the article in question.  "What is that supposed to be?"

Roy handed Johnny's soft drink to him as he sat down beside his partner.  "That's for the cucumber vines.  They started to get out of hand, and Joanne thought they looked too unruly and snaky on the ground.  So I decided to tie the vines to a trellis to get them under control.  But as you can see, that didn't work out too well.  The vines keep going in every direction except the one I want them to."

Johnny surveyed the results of Roy's handiwork from a distance.  "I dunno.  I think you're onto a good idea.  Maybe next time you could try to train the vines as soon as they start to grow."

"Isn't that the way life goes?  You try to learn from your mistakes and hope you do better the next time."

"So are you doing better these days?"

Roy stared at the top of his can of Mountain Dew while he distractedly ran his finger around the rim.  "I'm getting there.  I haven't had a drop of alcohol in over two months.  I'm still going to AA meetings and seeing Dr. Nielsen once a week.  He wants me to stay on the antidepressant for a few more months, even though Joanne and I are doing okay.  I'm not too thrilled about some of the side effects, but I'll manage."

"Is she still excited about her new job?" Johnny asked.

"Joanne is mostly excited about the money," Roy chuckled.  "Her paycheck is usually spent before she brings it home.  She's always on the lookout for bargains so she can budget for our next project.  That's how everything gets prioritized.  Jo's system is based on when we can get the best deal on materials, not necessarily what makes the most sense.  But we splurge on other things, too.  We try to go out on a date two or three times a month to put some romance back into our marriage.  Like a lot of people, Jo and I made the mistake of putting our relationship as a husband and wife on the back burner while we took care of the kids and everything else.  Chris and Jennifer are helping out with the chores now, and we're trying to teach them to become more independent."

"What do the kids think about all of these changes?"

"They love it.  It makes them feel so grown up and important.  You should have seen Chris the other day when he sewed a button back on his shirt all by himself.  I hadn't seen a grin that big since he hit a triple last year in a Little League game."

"Isn't that a girl thing?  Sewing, I mean."

Roy stroked the humble beginnings of the moustache he was trying to grow.  "You're a single guy.  Who sews the buttons back on your shirts when they fall off?"

"The button fairy," Johnny replied with a straight face.  "I put the button under my pillow before I go to bed, and she sews it back on during the night."

"Sure, you go right ahead and believe whatever you want to believe," Roy laughed.  "I have to make sure my progeny doesn't turn out to be another knuckle-dragging Neanderthal."

"How is that coming along?"

"It's confusing," Roy admitted.  "He has a lot of questions, and I don't have a lot of answers.  So we're both on a learning curve.  Maybe by the time he has children of his own, he'll have it all figured out."

"We're talking about women," Johnny reminded him.  "I'm not sure they can be figured out.  Ever."

"Amen to that, brother."

Johnny cast a quick surreptitious glance toward the house before he changed the subject.  "Hey, Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Have any of the guys said anything about the articles in the newspaper?  You know, about Nathan Grant?"

Roy let out a loud sigh.  "Yes, but no one thinks you brought any of this on yourself, if that's what you're worried about.  If anything, Chet feels that everything is his fault.  I can't tell you how bad he feels about teasing you that day when we were filling out that stupid form.  He said that if he had known you needed a doctor, he would have recommended his."

"But there's no guarantee that he wouldn't have been a drug addict either," Johnny said in a sad voice.  "That's what's so frustrating about this whole experience.  I put my trust in someone because he had an M.D. after his name.  How many other Nathan Grants are still practicing medicine that shouldn't be?"

"Johnny, I'm really sorry about what happened to you.  But maybe something good can come out of all this.  Maybe the state board's licensing policies will change, or people will be more willing to question a doctor's judgment instead of taking everything on blind faith."

Roy took another sip of his soft drink before setting the can on the table.  "By the way, how did your meeting with the lawyers go the other day?"

Johnny tiredly rubbed his face before answering.  "Grant offered me a lot of money to settle.  I had mixed feelings, but I decided to take it.  Brackett and his attorney friend were pushing for a trial when we first filed the malpractice lawsuit, mostly to drum up negative publicity.  I wasn't really that interested in the money.  I was just interested in getting the word out that this guy is bad news.  Anyway, Grant was there for the meeting.  He looked like death warmed over.  Brackett doesn't think he's going to be around much longer, and advised me to go ahead and take the money.  If Grant overdoses or gets himself killed in a car accident or something before we can go to trial, I'd probably wind up with nothing.  I don't mean to sound mercenary here, but I might need some extra money to help me out with some expenses.  So I gladly took the check.  It's already in the bank, waiting for me to decide what to do with it."

"Just how much money did he pay you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"If I invest it wisely, I'll be comfortable for the rest of my days.  Not a millionaire or anything like that, but comfortable.  Let's just say that if I want to go to veterinary school, tuition and living expenses won't be a problem anymore."

Roy rested his elbows on the table and leaned back.  "You're still serious about starting college, huh?"

"Absolutely.  But I'll have to sit this semester out.  I still have another month or so before I'm discharged as an inpatient, and then I have several months of outpatient rehab ahead of me.  Then when I'm done with that, I'll need to get settled into my new job before I can even think about signing up for classes.  Well, I'm only going to start off with one class at first to see how it goes.  I don't want to bite off more than I can chew, especially with so many changes at the same time."

"So how are you feeling about everything these days, Johnny?"

Johnny picked at a tiny hole in his blue jeans while he mulled over the question.  "A little older, and hopefully a little wiser.  I've had a lot of time to reflect back on my life, and I'm not necessarily happy with the results.  Until recently, I never really realized what a selfish and irresponsible guy I've been."

Roy was quick to protest.  "Johnny, that's not true.  You're a very generous and caring person."

"That might be true in some respects, but I've been a jerk, too.  Remember what we talked about that day while I was waiting to be transferred to St.  Anthony's?  I'll ask a girl out just because I think she's cute, and then I wonder why it never works out.  It's like I've been seeing women more as objects instead of people.  That was terribly wrong of me.  And I've been guilty of living in the moment too much.  Oh, sure.  I put money aside for a rainy day, but I haven't given a lot of thought to my future.  I just kept showing up for my shift and plodded along.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I assumed I'd be a paramedic for as long as I could, and then take the captain's exam some day before I retired.  That's been the extent of my planning.  I need to get serious about setting some goals.  For example, where do I want to be five years from now?  Ten years from now?  What do I want to do when I retire?  When do I want to get around to buying a house, or get married and have kids?  See what I mean?"

Roy knew the question was rhetorical, and didn't bother to answer.  Instead, he followed Johnny's lead and looked up to watch the clouds change shape and float across the summer sky.

After a few minutes, Johnny broke the pensive silence.  "Roy, do you ever think about the purpose of suffering?"

"I can't say that I have."

Johnny continued to wistfully to gaze at the fluffy clouds.  "It's funny in a way.  Before this all started, I wondered if suffering was supposed to be a punishment for something that I'd done wrong, or to teach me some kind of lesson that I was too dumb or too hardheaded to learn any other way.  I even started to suspect that fate simply hated me or had a weird sense of humor.  But over the past couple of months, I've been giving the subject a lot of thought."

"And what have you concluded?" Roy prompted.

"I'm not sure why suffering happens.  I guess what's more important is what we learn about ourselves in the process, and whether or not we take those lessons to heart.  I'm not thrilled that I fell down some stairs and wound up developing a spinal epidural abscess.  But I hope that I'm a better person for having gone through this.  I'm more at peace with myself these days, and I believe I'm ready to accept whatever happens.  If I don't get any better than I am right now, I can live with that.  I like who I've become in other ways."

"You know," Johnny continued.  "Boomer once told me that every time God closes a door, He opens a window.  If I hadn't gotten hurt, maybe I wouldn't have realized that I needed to make some changes in my life.  I watched this documentary on TV about forest fires the other night.  This guy said that fires are nature's way of getting rid of dead and decaying debris to make room for new growth.  That way the forest is constantly being regenerated.  In order for new pine trees to grow, the fire has to melt the resin in the cones so that they can pop open.  Then the seeds fall out on the ground and plant themselves.  Before you know it, little saplings are growing all over the place.  Anyway, that's how I feel right now.  This problem with my back took a part of my life away, but it made room for something new."

"So are you saying that you feel like a sapling?" Roy lightly teased.

Johnny grinned.  "Nah.  Just a sap.  But that's a notch up from being a pigeon."

Roy laughed as he gave his partner an affectionate slap on the back.  "I suppose we ought to go back inside before someone puts an APB out on us."

"Sure thing."

After Roy helped him to his feet and put his walker in front of him, Johnny hesitated before heading toward the house.  "Roy?"

"Yeah, Johnny?"

"Thanks.  Not just for the party, but for everything.  It's good to have you back."

Roy smiled.  "You're welcome.  Happy birthday, Johnny."

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Riding in the passenger seat of his friend's Lincoln Continental, Early viewed the passing scenery with mounting skepticism.  Brackett said that they'd be dining at some new place off the beaten path, but this isn't quite what he had in mind.  "Uh, Kel?  Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Yep."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Early vainly continued to search for signs of civilization along the deserted stretch of road.  Finding none aside from a couple of grazing horses in a distant field, he turned sideways to face his friend.  "Look, Kel.  I'm a doctor.  I understand that there's a basic flaw in the y-chromosome that won't let men admit it when they're lost.  But if you want to circle back and stop by that gas station that we passed about fifteen minutes ago and ask for directions, I swear I won't tell a soul."

Brackett laughed as he stopped the car, apparently in the middle of nowhere.  "There's no need.  I know exactly where I am.  I'm home."

"Kel, I'm beginning to think that David Chan overlooked something when he performed that angiogram.  Maybe you threw a clot and it cut off the circulation to your brain.  Have you completely lost your marbles?  There's nothing out here!"

"Not yet," Brackett conceded.  "But soon."

A glimmer of recognition finally registered on the other man's face.  "Oh, so you finally broke down and bought you a plot of land to build on, huh?"

"Sure as hell beats buying another kind of plot," Brackett dryly replied as he turned off the ignition and removed the keys.  "C'mon, I packed us a lunch.  It's in the cooler in the trunk."

Early scanned their surroundings as he got out of the car.  "So how much of this is yours?"

"It's a five acre lot.  I've already made arrangements to clear a spot of land for the house.  Hopefully they can pour the foundation in a few weeks.  They've already started to build a couple of houses about half a mile beyond that tree line over there.  This will be a quasi-rural neighborhood before you know it."

"Five acres?"

Brackett grabbed the red and white Playmate cooler and a couple of blankets from the trunk.  "I know it seems a bit much for just one person, but I wanted to have the illusion of living out in the country.  The illusion won't last too much longer though.  Most of this land has been slated for residential and commercial development in the very near future.  But that's perfectly okay with me.  Once a few businesses and houses start dotting the landscape, the extra acreage should give me plenty of elbow room."

"How long will it take to get to work from here?"

"About forty-five minutes.  I've clocked it a couple of times during usual commuting hours."

"That's not too bad."  Early rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "So what pushed you to take the plunge into home ownership?"

Slamming the truck closed, Brackett answered with a sad smile.  "I felt that it was time to put down some roots and start living for me instead of my job.  I'm going to start cutting back on my hours so I'll have more free time and less stress in my life.  And at the end of the day, I want to come home to a real home.  I want to putter around the yard, and maybe start a garden or set up a little woodworking shop.  I always thought that would be a fun way to relax.  Plus, I finally felt that it was okay to spend some of my inheritance.  I can't take it with me, so I might as well enjoy it while I'm here.  Remember those two houses that Dad left to me?  I put those on the market as soon as I got out of the hospital and I sold the boat.  That was the last of the unfinished business I had involving Dad's estate.  My attorney had all of the money and the stock portfolio transferred over to my name months ago."

Early could easily understand why the houses had been put up for sale.  Both were hundreds of miles away, and it simply wasn't practical for Brackett to inhabit either one of them if he planned to continue to work at Rampart.  Renting the properties wasn't a viable option, either.  Brackett didn't need the hassles of being a long-distance landlord.  But the fate of the Tempus Fugit was completely unexpected.  "I thought you liked to go fishing.  How come you got rid of the boat, too?"

Brackett let out a deep sigh as he set the cooler down and began to spread the blankets on the ground.  "There were several reasons.  The marina fees and upkeep cost a small fortune, and to be perfectly honest, I always thought that monstrosity was far too pretentious for my simple taste.  All I need is a flat-bottomed boat with a little Johnson or Evinrude motor and I'm a happy fisherman.  But mostly, I sold it because I could.  I could finally let go of the past and start looking toward the future again.  The boat was Dad's dream, not mine.  It's time that I step out of his shadow and pursue my own dreams without feeling so damned guilty."

Early sat down on the faded blanket and reached into the cooler with the expectation of finding a cold soft drink.  He was surprised when his hand latched onto a bottle of imported beer instead.  "Um, does Dixie know about this?"

"No, and I don't plan to tell her either."

"Tired of the health food police, are we?" Early teased.

"She means well, even if she does get obnoxious about it.  But I felt like celebrating today, and a thermos full of decaffeinated tea didn't seem adequate.  Of course, I tossed in a few diet sodas, too.  They're on the bottom."

"Oh, I suppose I could manage a few sips of this good imported stuff in honor of the occasion."

Brackett took the cold beer from Early's hand and removed the cap with a bottle opener.  "Joe, I've been wondering about something you said while I was in the hospital."

Early involuntarily flinched.  "Uh oh.  I'm almost afraid to ask.  I said a lot of things, many of which I now profoundly regret."

Passing the opened bottle of beer back to his friend, Brackett grinned as he helped himself to a cold, dark lager.  "No, nothing like that.  I was thinking about what you said about how I wasn't the only man to ever disagree with his father about his choice of career.  Did you and your dad have a falling out about you going into medicine?"

"Not exactly."  Early took a quick swig of his beer.  "It was the other way around.  I had other plans, but Dad thought that I ought to do something more constructive with my life."

"What did you want to do?"

There was a pinkish tinge to Early's complexion as his chin dropped down toward his chest.  "This is sort of embarrassing.  I wanted to play the piano."

"That's a perfectly respectable career," Brackett opined.  "Not much money in it though."

"That's exactly what my father said.  You see, I had these romantic notions of working in nightclubs, sharing my tips with the sultry chanteuse with the smoky voice who graced the top of the piano."  Early chuckled at the long-forgotten memory.  "Hey, I was a kid, okay?  When you're an egghead teenager with zits, it's easy to develop a healthy fantasy life, especially when you spend way too much time at the movies.  Anyway, Dad eventually convinced me that it was in my best interest to get a good education so I could become a doctor or a lawyer."

Brackett's jaw slacked open in surprise.  "You never told me that before."

"Scary, isn't it?" Early joked.  "Just think, instead of working together at Rampart, we could be constantly butting heads in the courtroom."

"Instead of in the emergency room?"

"That's never happened.  I work for a real marshmallow, remember?"

"I thought you said he was a real bear."

"Bear on the outside, marshmallow on the inside."

Brackett failed to conceal his mirth as he lifted his beer to his lips.  "I suppose I can live with that kind of reputation."

Early's expression suddenly grew pensive as he stared at the bottle in his hand.  He knew that he shouldn't be drinking like this, but he had hated to spoil Brackett's festive mood.  His blood sugar still hadn't stabilized as well as his internist had hoped, but that wasn't the only reason why he felt uneasy imbibing in an alcoholic beverage.

Brackett lightly touched him on the arm.  "Joe, are you okay?"

"Huh?

"I asked if you were all right.  You looked like you were in a trance there for a minute."

Noting Brackett's fingertips on his wrist to check his pulse, Early hastened to reassure his friend before he became the object of more intensive diagnostic scrutiny.  "I'm okay.  I was just thinking about Nathan Grant."

"Oh?"

Early picked at the bottle's silvery paper label with his fingernail.  "I never gave it much thought before when I'd have a drink or two to unwind or to celebrate a special occasion.  Now I wonder what makes me any different from Nathan Grant.  He wasn't always a drug addict, you know.  Your friend Matt Connors said that Grant was a well-respected plastic surgeon before his wife and two sons died of carbon monoxide poisoning while he was away at a medical conference.  It's perfectly understandable that he'd have trouble dealing with such a terrible tragedy.  If, God forbid, something awful like that happened to me, could I honestly say that I wouldn't make the same self-destructive mistakes that he did?"

"Yes, you can."  Brackett firmly squeezed his friend's shoulder.  "You wouldn't fall into that trap because you have friends who deeply care about you, and we wouldn't let that happen.  We'd make sure that you got the professional help that you needed, and we'd do whatever was necessary to keep you from putting anyone at risk while you were trying to put your life back together.  And I know that you'd do the same for me."

"Just to be on the safe side, maybe I should have one of those diet sodas after all.  I really shouldn't really have alcohol anyway."

"Sure, no problem."

Early tried to shake off the remnants of his melancholic musings while his friend rummaged through the cooler.  "So how are you feeling about everything these days, Kel?"

Brackett handed Early an ice-cold Diet Dr. Pepper and a grilled chicken sandwich.  "I feel much better physically.  David's pleased with my recovery from a cardiovascular standpoint, and I've managed to gain about ten pounds since I was discharged from the hospital two months ago.  However, Bob still wants me to put on another fifteen or twenty.  I didn't realize how skeletal I looked until the mental fog started to clear.  I still can't believe I functioned as well or as long as I did.  Oh, and speaking of which, I'll just be seeing Chris Hauser twice a month now instead of three times a week.  He tapered me off my meds since they made me feel so tired all the time.  I can't exactly be dragging around when I start back to work in another week.  But all in all, I believe I've made a lot of progress in relatively short period of time.  After more than a year of self-induced purgatory, I've finally put the ghost of my father to rest."

Reaching back into the red and white cooler, Brackett helped himself to the other sandwich that he had packed.  His mouth twitched slightly as he paused to remove the plastic wrap.  "Joe?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks.  Not just for coming out here today with me to break bread, so to speak, but for everything."

A relaxed smile crept across Early's face.  "Anytime, Kel.  Anytime."

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

On his first day back at work in the ER, Brackett took advantage of the momentary lull to enjoy a quick cup of decaf at the nurse's station.  He had been insufferably pleased with himself ever since they treated the morning's first round of trauma patients.  It was one thing for his doctors to declare him fit for duty, but it was quite another to actually prove it to himself in a crisis situation.  Joe had been right.  He was an adrenaline junkie, and he thrived on the organized chaos of his beloved emergency department.  Brackett thought it ludicrous that he had ever contemplated abandoning his career in medicine for one in the legal profession.  He belonged in the ER, not in a courtroom arguing some minutiae of the law as a debt to his deceased father.  Now that he had been absolved of his self-imposed guilt, Brackett felt free to pursue his own dreams and ambitions once again.  His fourteen-month long descent into hell had finally ended.  Kelly Brackett had made his peace with the past.

Sitting in her customary place behind the desk, Dixie smiled at him over her own cup of coffee.  "I can't tell you how great it is to have you back, Kel."

"It's great to be back," he replied.  "I've been going stir-crazy just sitting around the apartment all day long doing nothing."

Early scoffed at the notion that his friend had been idle during his enforced convalescence period.  "I'd hardly call burning up the telephone lines and writing tons of letters doing nothing.  You're probably on a first name basis by now with most of the Medical Board of California, not to mention a few legislators at the state and federal level since you've been lobbying for licensing and malpractice reform.  In fact, I think we treated your mailman last week for a hernia caused from hauling all that correspondence around!"

"Well, I could have done more if it hadn't been for that stupid six-week driving restriction," Brackett grumbled.  "It was too much of a hassle calling for a cab every time I wanted to go somewhere.  I can't begin to describe how wonderful it felt to get in my own car this morning and drive to work."

"Let me guess.  You felt normal?"

"Yes!  That's exactly it."

Early smiled knowingly.  "Thought so.  I remember how excited I was to come back to work after both my heart bypass and brain surgery.  I was so sick and tired of feeling like a patient instead of a doctor.  Yet the same time, I had started to harbor a few doubts as to whether I could still handle the job or not.  But those fears were quickly put to rest after I survived the first onslaught of patients.  I felt downright euphoric, damned near like Superman himself."

Brackett laughed.  "So what does that make us?  The Diagnostic Dynamic Duo?"

"Something along those lines," Early grinned mischievously.  "Except that we wear white lab coats instead of red capes."

The younger man's expression suddenly grew somber.  "I know what you mean, though.  I nearly had an anxiety attack when I took that first call at the base station this morning.  The memory of my MI came rushing back in all its vivid glory."

"You weren't the only one who was having a flashback," Dixie dryly remarked.  "I thought Joe was going to go into respiratory arrest if he held his breath for another second while he watched you run the call.  I could have sworn his lips were starting to turn blue."

Morton's ears picked on her comment as he signed off at the base station and joined them at the desk.  The young black doctor's countenance was grim.  "Speaking of arrests, Squad 24's patient should be here any second.  He just went into full arrest as they were pulling into the driveway.  Probable heroin overdose."

Dixie immediately jumped to her feet.  "Treatment room 3 is open."

Setting his maroon and silver mug down on the counter, Brackett jogged toward the emergency room entrance along with his colleagues.  A tangle of arms and torsos initially obscured his view as a paramedic performed CPR while someone else ventilated the patient with a bag-valve mask en route to the treatment room.  It wasn't until they transferred the forty-something year old man onto the examination table did Brackett get his first unobstructed glimpse of his face.  He momentarily froze when he realized the identity of their patient.

"Oh, my God!" Dixie whispered.  "It's Nathan Grant."

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Sitting on the couch in the dayroom, Johnny absentmindedly scratched Henry behind the ears while he waited for Captain Stanley to begin his presentation.  No doubt the subject involved some new change in administrative procedures judging by the sheaf of paperwork in Cap's hands.  The paramedic inwardly smiled.  It seemed that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.  Benjamin Franklin had only been partially correct.  In this world, nothing was certain except for death, taxes and bureaucratic insanity.

Johnny could hardly believe that this day had finally arrived, and he was almost tempted to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.  Over a year had passed since he fell down the stairs at Katie's apartment complex -- a year often filled with uncertainty about his future.  But after months of grueling rehabilitation and hard work, Johnny eventually regained the full use of his legs.  He knew that he had been extraordinarily lucky, and his recovery had been nothing short of a miracle.  Dr. Early said that it was like surviving two separate lightning strikes and winning the lottery in the same day.  The odds against Johnny surviving his ordeal completely unscathed were astronomically high.  Yet, here he was, back at work as though nothing had ever happened.  Now as he sat on the couch waiting for Captain Stanley to explain some new form or change in policy, his first day back seemed like an eerie reprise of the last shift he worked before his accident.  Perhaps it was an omen that this day would be the closing chapter to an eventful year.

So much had transpired during his lengthy convalescence.  Two months after his birthday party at the DeSotos' home, Johnny graduated from a walker to a cane.  Brackett had recently taken up woodworking as a hobby, and had made him a beautiful walking cane as one of his first projects.  However, Johnny didn't need to depend upon it for long.  Six months after his injury, he was able to walk without any kind of aid or assistance.  However, it would be several more months before he regained the strength and muscle tone necessary for him to return to work as a firefighter/paramedic.

For the past six months, Johnny had performed a number of different administrative duties within the fire department.  Headquarters had approved the proposal that Brackett and Captain Stanley had helped him put together and present to them, and had created a temporary position that provided flexible hours at full salary.  Johnny was extremely grateful for the accommodations, as they made it possible for him to continue his physical therapy and schedule follow-up appointments with Dr. Early.

Once his outpatient rehabilitation had been completed, Johnny started working out at the gym with Boomer three evenings a week.  The friendly competition against the probationary firefighter served as an unofficial form of physical therapy for the sidelined paramedic.  In the process, Johnny discovered that exercise was good for his mental as well as his physical health, and he had become something of a fitness enthusiast.  However, he would be losing his regular workout partner by the end of the year since Boomer would soon have additional family responsibilities.  Katie was expecting a baby on Christmas Eve, eight days after she and Boomer would celebrate their first wedding anniversary.  To his horror, Katie Tomjanovich had taken a fancy to Johnny's middle name.  If the baby was a boy, she wanted to name him Roderick, and call him 'Roddy' for short.  Johnny wasn't normally a praying man, but he humbly beseeched the Almighty to let the child be a girl.  The poor kid was already going to have one unusual name.  There was no need to make matters twice as bad.

And on the subject of marriage and anniversaries, Roy and Joanne were getting along better than ever.  He had finally embraced the idea of a wife who worked outside the home, although there had been a few compromises along the way.  Roy needed to feel that he at least provided the basic necessities for his family, so his salary covered the mortgage payment, utilities, car insurance, doctor bills and so forth.  Joanne's earnings paid for optional expenses like lessons for the children and other little extras, or when something fell into a gray area such as the decision to buy a new car.  Normally they would have kept making repairs and tried to limp along until they felt they could afford another one.  The extra income made it easier to go ahead and take the plunge without worrying whether or not they'd be able to pay the notes.  So they recently traded in Joanne's station wagon, and she was now the proud owner of a brand new Buick LeSabre sedan.

Earlier in the month, the DeSotos had renewed their vows on their wedding anniversary.  Roy surprised Joanne with a ring that he had made especially for her.  In addition to a long overdue engagement diamond, both of their children's birthstones had been incorporated into the intricate design.  Joanne had been positively ecstatic, although she was already starting to hint that she would like to add another birthstone to the ring.  Interestingly, there was absolutely no mention of her quitting her job if they did have another baby.  It was automatically assumed that Joanne was going to continue to work, especially since she had recently been promoted to a full-time managerial position.  She was even thinking about taking a few college courses so that she could apply for a better job in the accounting department within the next year or two.

So far, Johnny had only been able to complete three classes at UCLA.  It took longer than he had expected to finish his rehab and get settled into his temporary administrative job, but he was satisfied with his progress under the circumstances.  Nine semester hours wasn't a lot, but it was a start in the right direction.  Johnny hoped to take one or two classes every semester until he eventually earned a degree.  And if he still wanted to go to school to become a veterinarian after he retired from the department, money was no longer an issue.  Brackett had recommended an excellent financial planner to help him invest the money he received to settle his malpractice case against Nathan Grant, so there would be plenty of funds to cover his tuition and living expenses should the need arise.

Johnny was glad he took Brackett's advice to settle that day when they met in the attorney's office.  Grant died of a drug overdose nine days after the birthday party at the DeSotos' house.  No one seemed more relieved than the Medical Board of California.  They were spared from having to make a ruling on what had become a very public and a very embarrassing matter.  Shortly after Johnny had been transferred from Rampart to the rehab facility, Matt Connors wrote a series of scathing articles in the Los Angeles Times about the board's reluctance to suspend or revoke medical licenses, and how their dirty little secret endangered the public.  Nathan Grant had been one of many examples cited in the exposé.  However, if the state board thought they were off the hook after Grant died, they were sadly mistaken.  Brackett enlisted the help of several of his colleagues to lobby for change, not only at the state board level, but at the legislative level as well.  Most of their efforts had been in vain, but they had enjoyed a few modest successes, enough to keep them determined to continue the fight.

A few months ago, Johnny had seen a feature on the local news about Mr. and Mrs. Wolters, the parents of the pregnant girl who had died.  As Dr. Early suspected it would, his lawsuit had encouraged them to file one of their own.  They had pooled the proceeds from their settlement with private donations to build a teen crisis center in their daughter's name.  It was too late to help Tina Wolters, but they wanted to help other young people who found themselves in a difficult situation and felt they had nowhere else to turn.  Johnny was deeply saddened by their loss, but was glad that they had found something they felt would give her death meaning.

Johnny silently chuckled as he recalled one of the unintended consequences of his misfortune.  Before he got hurt, he had developed something of a reputation for his pursuit of pretty young members of the fairer sex.  Johnny struck out more times than he cared to admit, but that didn't keep him from trying to snare a date or two anyway.  But once he decided that he needed to take a break from the dating scene so he could reprioritize his life and concentrate on his rehabilitation, girls started chasing after him.  Johnny politely declined all of their offers, but they still kept shamelessly flirting with him in hopes that he would ask them out.  Part of him enjoyed the attention, and was relieved that the Gage charm still worked, even if his legs didn't.  On the other hand, Johnny was embarrassed by his own annoying and obnoxious behavior toward women before the accident.  Of course, he never thought of it in those terms until he became the recipient of unwanted attention.  Johnny promised himself that when he was finally ready to start dating again, he wasn't going to make a pest of himself anymore, especially when a girl turned him down.

Speaking of pests, Chet had sworn up and down that he had permanently retired the Phantom.  He also promised to stop teasing Johnny about his propensity to become sick or injured.  Only time would tell whether or not Chet would actually live up to his pledge.  But from what Johnny understood, he could feel reasonably confident that the Phantom wouldn't be rigging his locker with water bombs anymore.  Apparently Brice had absolutely scared the beejezus of out Chester B.

The sound of Captain Stanley clearing his throat and shuffling a handful of papers suddenly startled Johnny from his daydream, and he immediately sat up a little straighter.  Well, as much as anyone could with an overweight Basset Hound in his lap.  Captain Stanley gave him a slight wink before he started the informal meeting.

"Gentlemen, we have three causes to celebrate this morning," Cap began.  "First of all, I'd like to officially welcome John back to his rightful place at Station 51..."  His voice was drowned out as his men shouted their congratulations and applauded the newly returned paramedic.

"Woo hoo!"

"Way to go, Gage!"

"Welcome back!"

"I knew you could do it!"

Johnny grinned at their enthusiastic response.  "Thanks, guys.  I can't tell you how happy I am to be here."  Then he held his right hand up in the air as if clutching an imaginary statuette.  "I'd like to thank everyone here for their undying support, my doctors and my physical therapists who made this day possible, the members of the Academy, my producer, my director...oh, wait a minute.  I'm getting my speeches mixed up."

Cap attempted to assume a stern expression, but the slight upward curl of his mouth negated the impact of his serious tone.  "Okay, pal.  If you're done with your acceptance speech, can we proceed?"

"Sorry.  The floor is all yours."

"All right then.  As I was saying, we also have two other reasons to celebrate.  Headquarters, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to reduce paperwork by eliminating extraneous carbon copies from all department-issued forms.  Therefore, we are no longer required to complete official paperwork using an extra-fine ballpoint pen with black ink.  Medium point is fine."

Chet scrunched his face.  "Medium point is fine?  You're confusing me here, Cap."

Captain Stanley rolled his eyes.  "I meant that it's okay to use a medium point pen like we used to, you twit."

"Then why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Kelly, do the words 'permanent latrine duty' ring a bell?"

Chet slunk down in his chair.  "Sorry, Cap.  Go ahead."

"Anyway, to commemorate HQ's rare display of common sense, everyone will receive a new and improved writing utensil."  Captain Stanley proudly held up a box of retractable ballpoint pens for their inspection.  "Ta-da!"

Marco breathed a sigh of relief.  "Thank goodness.  This is really going to cut down on my dry cleaning expenses."

"No kidding," Roy agreed.  "I've lost count of how many times those stupid pens leaked all over my shirts."

Mike removed the despised item from his pocket.  "So what are we supposed to do with these, Cap?  Do you need them back, or can we toss them?"

"Toss them."

"With pleasure!"  Mike immediately jumped to his feet and threw his pen into the nearest trashcan.  Not surprisingly, most of his shift-mates were hot on his heels as they eagerly disposed of their pens as well.

Johnny hated to shove Henry out of his lap, so he decided to stay put for the time being and discard the pen later at his earliest opportunity.  Then as if a light bulb had gone off in his head, Johnny positively beamed as he reached into his pocket.  "All right!  I can go back to using my lucky pen again!"  He jokingly gave it a kiss.  "Looks like both of us are being returned to active duty on the same day."

Once everyone had returned to his seat, Captain Stanley enthusiastically clasped his hands together.  "Okay, and now for the third item on this morning's agenda, the pièce de résistance.  I know you want to make sure that those brand new pens work properly, so you're going to have an opportunity to break them in...by filling out a brand new form."

"Oh, no," Marco groaned.  "Not again."

"We just did that!" Mike protested.

Captain Stanley didn't even try to keep up the pretense of support for HQ's nonsensical policies and procedures as he distributed a revised form to everyone.  "I know, I know.  It seems like a waste of time, but you gotta do what you gotta do.  And 'I gotta' have you guys fill these out or I'm toast."

Chet grudgingly clicked his pen and started to fill out the new form.  "Fine.  But I'm only doing this to keep you out of the doghouse."

Johnny grabbed a couple of magazines to use as a makeshift writing surface and rested them atop the sleeping Henry.  As he scanned the piece of paper, he couldn't understand why they were required to complete this form again.  It didn't look any different from the last one he filled out.

Roy immediately picked up on his partner's confusion.  "What's the matter, Johnny?"

"Nothing, I guess.  It's just that it looks the same to me."

"That's because you missed a few versions while you were out," Marco explained.  "Since then, we've had to complete the PRS-1013-B, PRS-1013-C and the PRS-1013-D."

Johnny frowned as he searched for the near microscopic print in the lower right hand corner.  "So what's this supposed to be?"

"PRS-1013-E," Mike replied, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"Oh, man!  Now I'm almost glad I wasn't here!"

"You mean you didn't have to fill these out when you worked at HQ?" Marco asked incredulously.

"Nope."

Captain rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand while shaking his head in disbelief.  "Maybe I should request for a transfer to Headquarters if that means less paperwork.  I'm drowning in it right now!"

Johnny retracted his green ballpoint pen and prepared to get to work.  He quickly filled out his name, sex, date of birth, address and phone number.  When he got to the part that asked for the name of his family doctor, Johnny momentarily hesitated.  This one little question had resulted in so much grief the last time he filled out this form.  Hypersensitive to jokes about his extensive medical history, Chet's innocent remark had inadvertently set the disastrous chain of events in motion that nearly left the paramedic permanently disabled.  However, all of that unpleasantness was now behind him.  The doctor who had failed to properly diagnose him was dead, and the paralysis was nothing more than a very bad memory.  Johnny supposed he could ask Dixie or one of the doctors at Rampart to recommend a family doctor, but he decided to take Dr. Early up on his suggestion instead.  Johnny felt a strange sense of catharsis as he wrote a certain physician's name on the form:  Kelly Brackett, M.D.  In that moment, it was as if he had exorcised the demons of the past year with a stroke of his pen...his lucky green pen.  Johnny smiled.  It finally felt like everything was completely back to normal.

 

finis

 

Song lyrics:
I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, lyrics written by Hank Williams
Hardly Anymore, lyrics written by Doug Kershaw
I Can't Stop Loving You, lyrics written by Don Gibson

Other quotes:
Hamlet, Act III, Scene I

 

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Stories by Satchie