Serendipity

  Part 9

Johnny wouldn’t be able to remember later how he ever got through the rest of that day. Maybe it was only because he had to, if for no other reason. Somehow he’d managed to re-erect the crumbling, precarious enclosure he’d placed around his heart, and had driven himself to the morgue to identify the pasty-complected, broken woman who had once been his aunt, and his only remaining family member. It had been bad enough to see her in that condition, but he had been made to wait over two hours to get a look at her, due to the sudden intake of bodies that had been brought in all at once. In that time, he’d been subjected to a roomful of tearful, mourning people, all in the same predicament as him – well, not exactly the same; he doubted that any of them had been responsible for the death of their loved ones. He’d touched her cheek and whispered her name, apologizing over and over for what he’d done; the worst indignity not being able to share his final moments with her alone, as there were others in the room saying their last good-byes as well.

After that, he’d driven to the funeral home to discuss arrangements for a proper funeral. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d done this; he had helped Pam Burke plan her husband’s funeral a few years ago, when his good friend had been killed. So, he knew the procedure. But again, he had been forced to wait, the undertakers’ availability severely overextended.

It was nearly seven o’clock by the time he left the funeral home, and by then, he was dead on his feet. Dizzy and nauseous from not only the trauma to his head, but the lack of sleep and food, he practically staggered back to his Rover; his head was pounding from a severe headache. Barely able to drive, Johnny didn’t know where else to go, but home, so that’s where he headed. He received the final blow of the day when he reached his destination.

It was twilight; a little more than twenty-four hours had elapsed from the time when he had been there last, drinking beers on his back patio trying to forget his problems, and now his troubles had grown exponentially from where they had been just a day ago. His house was gone.

Forcing his gaze away, he put all his concentration into maneuvering the Rover up the driveway. He pulled up into it and parked as far as he could go before the piles of debris prevented it. Slowly, he pushed open the door, mechanically setting one foot down onto the pavement, then the other, and took a few steps into the grass, his face frozen in incredulity. An involuntary shudder went through him as he saw what was left of his home after an obvious fire. It was still smoldering some; the stone columns under the front porch were still standing, although they looked like they had been sheared off at the top by some great force. The rest of the house was a pile of charred lumber, the front having collapsed more severely than the back; it reminded him of pictures he had seen of houses after bombing raids during World War II. The fire department had obviously extinguished it; the telltale puddles of water from the fire hoses remained; the burnt remnants of his home were soaked, leaving the materials slimy with black muck. 

There must have been a gas leak, he thought detachedly.

His mind shut down then, his body giving in to the total emotional and physical exhaustion, and he collapsed right there in his front yard, slowly sinking to the ground after his knees buckled. No one saw him, and he remained there, lying in the cool, dewy grass until the chill of the early morning air awakened him briefly. He sought refuge for the rest of the night in the back of his Rover with a little dog who curled up next to him, in the driveway of a once grand house that didn’t exist any more.

The sun was high when he awoke; the small dog next to him pulled him from his slumber in order to remind him that he had some necessary bodily functions to attend to. Groggily, Johnny sat up, blearily imagining that everything that had happened the day before had been a nightmare, until he noticed where he was. One peek out the window blared the harsh reality that it was no dream.

He let Buffy out, and watched as she dug around in his front yard, trying to keep his eyes from looking upward. It was impossible not to stare at the devastation. The moment he did, he was flooded with the enormity of everything he had lost. All his belongings had been in this house; oh, he didn’t care about any of the expensive furniture or other items he had attained since moving in. No, it was all the personal belongings, a few tattered photographs, the letters, worn from looking at them, awards he’d won, the dream catcher his grandmother had made for him, and the knife that had been his father’s; all the little things that he’d managed to save from his childhood that he knew were gone forever. It was as if his life had been erased.

Not yet able to deal with any of it, he couldn’t stand to look any more, and loaded Buffy in the car, driving away. A quiet spot in an out of the way place at the state park was where he headed, and slept the entire day in the back of his Rover. The police were way too busy to notice, and he was left undisturbed, content to let the serenity of nature surround him.

When evening came, he rose again, and stepped outside the vehicle to let the dog out, and to think. Now that some time had elapsed, Johnny felt duller, and began to reason out what he should do next. Hm. Maybe jump off a cliff. That would be my best option.

Buffy was running around frantically, wanting him to play. What am I gonna do with this dog? His mind switched gears. Funeral’s in three days. I can’t believe they got it arranged  that quick. I gotta give Aunt Rose…a decent burial. She would have wanted that. Then I’ll jump off a cliff.

I’m gonna have to let Meredith know about it…and Rose’s friends. She would want them there. He tried his damnedest not to think about the house. 

He sat on his bumper watching the dog for a long time, thinking, trying to figure out what to do. His mind was sluggish, and it annoyed him that he was having trouble processing thoughts. The headache hadn’t gone away; he figured that was what was hindering him, and that it might be smart to take some pain relievers. He looked down at himself; he was covered in dust; his hair felt grimy, his bruised body was sore and his muscles ached, and he knew his eyes were bloodshot, after an earlier glimpse in the rearview mirror. He needed some food, a shower, and some aspirin. Where to get that? Roy was his first thought, but there were two things wrong with that. First, Roy was probably working overtime to help deal with the earthquake mess, he didn’t need a friend mooching off him when he was probably already under a lot of stress; and second, if he saw Roy, he would have to tell him everything that happened, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. It would be too painful to relay it all, and he didn’t want pity. That was the last thing he deserved; after all, everything that had happened was his own stupid fault. He thought of asking Chet; he knew the curly-haired fireman wouldn’t ask too many questions, and would, despite their seemingly volatile relationship, offer to put him up at his house. But that wouldn’t work either; if he contacted Chet, then Chet would tell Roy what was going on, and then he’d have to face him, plus all the other guys. No, he had to let some time pass first, had to get his shit together. Thinking about the guys brought on worry over whether anything had happened to any of them or their families. They had no way to contact him if it had. He snorted to himself. Hell, if anything happened to Roy, would he even call me? He’d probably rely on Adams to help him out if he needed anything, his new best friend. Then he chastised himself mentally for thinking that way, for putting his own feelings ahead of concern for his friend’s family. He decided he’d try surreptitiously driving by his house, just to check.

The pounding in his skull was relentless. Not now. He had to get somewhere and get rid of this headache. It finally came to him. The solution was pretty simple, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He still had his boat. He could go there and pop a few aspirin, maybe get a bite to eat, and then crash for a while. It would also be a place to take the dog. Yes, that was a good idea, he decided. Quickly calling the dog over, he set her in the back again, and headed for the dock.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The last remnants of daylight streamed in through the hospital window, throwing the shadow of Roy DeSoto’s reclined head across her bed. His hand limply encased hers; both were asleep. He’d been with his wife all day and all the next night, ever since she’d gotten out of a lengthy surgery to repair her leg. He’d been informed that it was a serious break, and there would be a long recovery period. The severe concussion she’d suffered added to his worries – and his guilt.

Why hadn’t he put support rails under the banister to the basement? If he had, her fall wouldn’t have been nearly as bad. What if one of his kids had fallen? It was a miracle they hadn’t yet, and he’d never even given it any thought that the open stairwell might be a danger. Some fireman he was. Wasn’t he supposed to be aware of safety hazards? What if Joanne’s leg didn’t heal right? What if complications arose from her concussion? What if something had happened to one of his children? He would never forgive himself.

She was in a lot of pain; he tried to tell himself that that was normal for this type of injury, or any surgery for that matter. She would be better tomorrow. The fact that he felt responsible for it made it ten times worse.

They’d had a good marriage for nearly ten years. It wasn’t an easy thing these days, and adding children and occasional financial difficulties into the mix compounded the chances of a successful permanent union. But apparently they had a secret ingredient to their marriage that many others did not, and it only seemed to grow stronger over the years. Part of the success had come from the fact that Joanne accepted the dangers and disadvantages of her husband’s job, because she knew how much he loved it. Loving him allowed her to overlook that, and overlook the times he wasn’t able to be there for her – like the night of the earthquake.

After spending the first night with the Adams, the children were with their grandparents now, although Wesley had offered Doreen’s help, and Roy at least didn’t have to worry about them. They were in good hands, and he had planned to bring them to the hospital to see Joanne again the next day.

At nine o’clock, the nurse finally coaxed Roy out of the room, and forced him to go home, jocularly stating that he needed a shower and shave, or he would scare his poor wife when she was coherent enough to see him. After placing a tender kiss on his her forehead, he reluctantly left, heeding the nurse’s recommendation, and trudged to his car to drive home. He planned to be back bright and early the next morning.

He entered a cold, dark house; the gas had been temporarily shut off in order to check for safety; a note on his door stated it would be turned back on tomorrow. Fortunately, it wasn’t a cold night; in fact, he opened the windows to allow some fresh air to enter. The biggest disadvantage was that he couldn’t cook anything to eat on his gas stove. Brightening a little, he remembered the new microwave that Johnny had bought, and decided to warm up some soup.

Roy was exhausted. Thinking about Johnny gave him the urge to call him. Surely Johnny would want to know what happened to Joanne, wouldn’t he? A day had gone by since the earthquake; Roy was a little surprised that he hadn’t heard from his friend, that he hadn’t at least left a message at the station for him. Deciding to check the new answering machine that Johnny had also purchased for the DeSoto family, he saw that the light was blinking once, and pushed the button to play back the message. It was his mother-in-law, saying that the children were fine, and were being good. She stated that she would bring them to the hospital in the morning, if he liked, to save him a trip, and to call her. There were no other messages, and Roy was somewhat perturbed. The thought that maybe something happened to Johnny in the earthquake suddenly concerned him, and he decided to try Johnny’s number. He got no answer, so he hung up, deciding to try again tomorrow. The worry was quelled by the fact that if anything serious had happened to Johnny, Roy was sure that Dixie would have called him. He finished the soup, and headed to bed.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days were a blur. Johnny made it to his sailboat, and brought Buffy in with him. He showered, ate, took some aspirin, and went to bed, trying his best to avoid thinking about anything that had happened, sleep being his only refuge. The next morning, he took the dog out to do her business. He saw nary a soul, surmising that everyone must be busy with repairs from the damage the earthquake caused. Or, maybe they were planning funerals; he didn’t know.

After bringing the dog in, he made himself some coffee for breakfast. It startled him when the hot cup slipped from his hand when he tried to lift it to his mouth, spilling the dark liquid everywhere. Staring at his hand, he flexed the fingers in and out, wondering why it seemed like he’d lost some feeling in it. Cursing at the mess he’d made, he kneeled to wipe it up, then poured a new cup, drinking it with his other hand. It was odd; when he’d woken that morning, that side of his body did seem a bit numb. At least the headache had subsided some. He didn’t give it too much thought.

He didn’t give anything too much thought that day. In the back of his mind, he knew that he needed to talk with the insurance company about his home and his car, but just didn’t have the energy to do it, not to mention the fact that he just really didn’t care. That fact seemed strange to him too, but he didn’t stop to analyze it. That afternoon, Johnny did decide to venture out. His aunt’s funeral was in two days, and he needed to let a few people know. He would stop at Sunnyside, and see Ben, and hopefully, Meredith. With that one goal of the day in mind, he left the boat, closing Buffy in the cabin.

Meredith was there, and bless her, she already knew about his aunt. She was the one person who Johnny felt comfortable with right now, because she was the only one he knew who could relate to what he was going through. She had tried to call him, but was unable to get a connection. Johnny explained in as brief of terms as possible what happened to his house, which elicited a warm, heartfelt dose of sympathy from Meredith. She didn’t ask for details, which Johnny was glad for, and it did feel good to feel her wrap her arms around him in a comforting hug. He didn’t realize how desperately he needed that right now, and clung to her until he felt uncomfortable doing so. She offered to help him with any further funeral arrangements, and also to get the word out to all of Rose’s friends at Sunnybrook so that they might attend.

The dog was the only reason Johnny headed back to his boat. He’d stopped at the store and picked up a leash and some dog food, and had returned to walk her. He wandered aimlessly for a long time; Buffy was in heaven at being allowed to stroll for such an extended period. The headache began to return, and he changed direction, heading back to the boat. In the middle of the way back, he stopped suddenly, alarmed that his vision suddenly blurred, then disappeared altogether. For a short moment, he panicked, blinking furiously, then as quickly as it had disappeared, it came back, and after his heart rate slowed, he continued on back to the boat, discounting the episode to fatigue.

He managed a snack, and after popping more aspirin, lay down to sleep, not having the ambition or the energy to do anything else.

To his irritation, Buffy nosed him awake again the next morning. He had to get the dog back to Heather somehow, but wasn’t sure how to achieve that. He also wanted to find out how Art was doing, as well as see if anyone else he knew had suffered in the quake.

After a shower, some coffee, and a meal for Buffy, he drove to the hospital. He entered through the emergency doors, an automatic habit hard to break. A longing tingled in his heart, and he fought to bury it. The hospital was very busy, as he’d expected, the usual hustle and bustle exaggerated from the last few day’s happenings. He hung around Dixie’s desk a moment, and finally she appeared from one of the treatment rooms.

Her brows raised in surprise at the sight of him leaning against her desk on two elbows, and she offered a friendly smile as she approached. “Hey Johnny. It’s good to see you.”

He straightened. The smile he offered was forced and didn’t reach his tired eyes, and she immediately became concerned, wondering if he had been affected by the earthquake.

“Hi Dix.” He looked around. “Guess things have been pretty busy around here lately, eh?”

She rolled her eyes, momentarily distracted. “Oh, boy, you got that right. It’s been a zoo in here for the last two days.” She scrutinized his face hard; something was wrong about him, he looked….dazed…for a lack of a better word, and his eyes were droopy and tired, his usually perky upright stance today was slightly slumped. “Johnny…” her brows worriedly bent together, “are you all right?”

“Huh?” He wasn’t expecting her to ask about himself for some reason, and subconsciously straightened slightly, trying to look brighter.

“I said, are you okay? You look a little…peaked.”

He brushed off her concern. “I’m fine, Dix.” He turned the tables on her. “Are you okay? I mean, did you get caught in the quake?”

“No; I got lucky, I guess, if you want to call it that. I was here when it happened, and then all Hell broke loose.”

“I can imagine.”

Her next look was laced with a tinge of sadness. She spoke softly. “Wish you’d have been around to help us.”

Pursing his lips together, he looked away. “Yeah,” he muttered tiredly.

“Johnny,” her tone softened, “I don’t mean to be sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but…well…why did you resign? I mean, I understand you’ve got money now and everything, but, well, I just always thought you of all people…” her voice trailed off, and she could see her words were having a stressful effect. She tapped his arm with her pen playfully. “You know, it’s just not the same around here anymore without you.”

His smile was wan and forlorn as he looked down at her from the corner of his eyes. “Thanks, Dix. I appreciate it, but, well, it was just time to move on.”

She scrutinized him for a long moment, and saw a deep sadness in his eyes. “Move on to what?”

Johnny drew in a breath and sighed. His head was pounding, and he had no desire to start up a conversation about anything going on in his life. He just couldn’t deal with it right now. “Dix, I’m sorry, but I just really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

She nodded in understanding, although she didn’t understand. He looked even more tired now, as if an additional weight had been added to his shoulders. “Sure, Johnny.” She continued to examine his mannerisms. “So, what brings you by?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help me, Dix.”

“I’ll try.”

“An Arthur Banks was brought in the night of the earthquake. Could you…find out how he’s doing for me?”

“You know him?” She paused, thinking, then narrowed her eyes at Johnny, as if remembering. She pointed her pen at him. “Hey, you were dating his daughter, weren’t you?”

Johnny looked away and nodded. “Was.”

Dixie’s mouth dropped open slightly and she nodded. “Oh.” She looked up at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

He looked back at her, and put an expression on his face that it was no big deal. He shrugged. “It’s okay, Dix.”

She looked at him, trying to determine if it was an act. “Roy said…you two were pretty serious.”

Johnny frowned. “Yeah. Well, now we’re not.” He saw her empathy and added, “It wasn’t…gonna work out, Dix. It was for the best.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, seeing this subject was also taboo. “Well, to answer your question, I don’t have to find out. I already know. The media’s been dying to get their paws on him for an interview, but Kel’s refused to let them get near just yet. Mr. Banks is doing well. He had surgery for a collapsed lung when they brought him in. He had two broken ribs, and had suffered a heart attack to boot. They’ve got him stabilized, and he’s doing quite well, considering. Kel’s got Darby on his heart case, and he thinks he’ll be able to go home in about a week.”

Johnny relaxed a bit, not realizing how tense he was. “Wow, that’s great. I’m glad to hear it. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”

Dixie looked uncertain for a moment. “Well, he’s not supposed to be allowed any visitors other than family, but in your case, I could probably make an exception – ”

Johnny held up his hand, not really wanting to run into any of the other members of the Banks family anyway. “No, no; that’s okay, Dix. I…probably shouldn’t anyway, you know. But maybe you could do one thing for me? Got a piece of paper?”

“Sure.” She tore a piece out of a notebook and handed it to Johnny.

Borrowing a pen from her desk, he began scribbling a note onto the paper. On the third word, Dixie stared in surprise as the pen slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor, as if his hand wasn’t strong enough to hold it. Embarrassed, he bent to pick it up, swaying ever so slightly, which didn’t escape her scrutiny. Then, she noticed that when he did begin to write, he seemed to be squinting, as if he were having trouble seeing what he was writing. Finally, he finished, and Dixie debated asking him again if he was okay. He could just be tired, but she thought she knew him well enough to see there was something else going on. She just wished she could figure it out.

He folded the note, wrote Art’s name on it, and handed it back to Dixie. “Would you see that he gets this?”

She gazed up at him in concern. “Sure, Johnny, but – ”

“Hey, Dix? Have you seen Roy lately? Is everything okay with him, do you know?”

Again, she looked surprised. “You haven’t talked to him?”

“No.” Now it was his turn to look concerned. “What’s wrong, Dix?”
            “Well, his wife was hurt in the earthquake.”

Johnny looked alarmed. “Joanne? What happened? Is she okay?”

Dixie licked her lips. “Well, I think she will be.” She then explained what had happened, and told Johnny about her broken leg and concussion, followed by the doctor’s prognosis.

Johnny ran a worried hand through his hair. “Oh, man. Dix, is…is Roy here?”

“Johnny, he’s gone back to work today. He’s been here non-stop since they brought her in, but they really needed him back. I know he’ll be stopping in to see her every time he gets a run. You’re bound to run into him.”

“What about the kids?”

“I think they’re staying with Wesley Adams and his family.”

Johnny’s mouth dropped open slightly, for some reason hearing this news felt like someone stabbing him in the heart. He quickly recovered, and nodded slowly. “They weren’t hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Thank goodness for that.” He hesitated, not really wanting to run into Roy. “What room is she in?”

“Three-ten. I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.”

He turned to leave.

“Hey, Johnny?”

He turned back to her, questioningly.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

A trace of a smile pulled at his lips, and he promised. “I won’t.”

She watched as he disappeared down the hall, then slipped his note into her pocket.

He was relieved not to see anyone in Joanne’s room. The awful events of the last few days were still too fresh in his mind to want to discuss with Roy, and all he wanted to do was to peek in on Joanne and see for himself if she was going to be okay, despite what Dixie had said.

He knocked lightly, and when she didn’t respond, he entered the room slowly, setting the vase of flowers he’d purchased at the hospital store on the bedside table.

She was asleep. He peered down at her face, which looked peaceful, then around at the IV’s, examining the medications she was on. He vividly remembered the time he’d had an open fracture in his own leg, after a tumble down the stairs when a gas leak exploded in an apartment building. He’d recovered reasonably well from it, although from time to time that leg tended to ache, especially in cold and damp weather. It had hurt like hell though, and he cringed thinking about his own splintered bone protruding through his flesh, and how, when it had first happened, he’d thought he’d never felt such awful pain in his life, and he’d passed out. That thought blended into an analysis about which had been worse, the open fracture, or the gunshot wound he’d recently experienced, and he cringed again at the memory of his insides being ripped apart by the bullet. It tended to validate his decision about resigning, when thought of in those terms. He was staring off into space, thinking, when he sensed eyes upon him, and he looked down, and saw her gazing up at him.

Joanne’s eyes were open halfway, but she seemed to recognize him, and she managed a weak smile.

“Joanne?” He bent over her, and her hand raised up in a feeble gesture.

“Johnny.” Her voice was gravelly.

Very gingerly, Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, making sure he didn’t cause any discomfort. “Hey,” he practically whispered, then took her hand in both of his. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he teased.

“Kinda different….me being in the bed….and you being…up there…huh?” she joked.

He shook his head. It almost hurt to look at her. She looked so frail, and her arms were bruised. “I’d trade places with you if I could. I’ve got more experience at this stuff than you do, you know,” he teased back.

“Oh, you. You’ve had…more than your share.”

He nodded, smiling. “I can’t argue with that. But I’ve learned all the tricks about this place.”

“Like what?” she slurred.

“Like how to get the kind of jello you want.” He leaned a little closer. “The trick is…tell them you want the green jello, and they’ll always bring you the orange. Works every time. And at night, if you don’t want ‘em to wake you, just ask the nurse if she’ll come in at 3:00 instead of 2:00. See, they change shifts at 3:00, so they almost always forget, and you’ll get another hour of sleep before they figure out they missed you. Or sometimes, I keep bugging the nurses right before I go to sleep, then they don’t bother me as much at night ‘cause they’re afraid I’ll want something else.”

Joanne closed her eyes and smiled slightly. “You’re bad.”

He grinned at her, glad he was able to make her smile. “You just gotta know the ropes, is all.”

She nodded weakly, then frowned, and Johnny could tell she was hurting.

“Jo? Are you okay?”

Her face contorted and she turned her head. “My leg hurts.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know,” he said gently. “I’ll get the nurse.” He began reaching for the call button, but she stopped him.

“No…wait a minute.” She seemed to be working to deal with the pain, then looked back at him. “It’s…good to see you. We’ve….missed you….you haven’t been around much.” Her speech was labored.

Johnny looked down. “I know….I guess I haven’t been…a very good friend.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been a wonderful….friend. How’s….Heather?”

Johnny smiled sadly. “She’s fine. Just fine.”

“When are you two ever gonna get….married?”

Johnny chuckled. Even hurt and in the hospital, she never gave up trying to get Johnny married off to someone. He figured the medication must be affecting her; she usually wasn’t that blatant. “Um, I’ll take the fifth on that.”

“Oh…Johnny….you’re hopeless….”

“Yep,” he murmured, “that’s me….hopeless.” I’d say that’s a pretty good description right now. “Now, you just quit worrying about my love life and get better, okay?”

“I will.”

“I’m gonna call the nurse. There’s no reason why you should be in this much pain.”

“Hate bein’ asleep all the time.”

“Well, that’s what you need.” He reached forward and pushed the call button. “Take it from someone who knows.”

“You’re the expert.”

“That’s right. You just listen to ole Johnny, and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she murmured.

The nurse came right in, and he asked if there was something Joanne could have for pain. The nurse already had the medication with her, and she injected the analgesic into the IV port. Johnny stayed with her until she fell asleep, then slipped out.

Dixie delivered the note to the Banks family, and they were relieved to find that Johnny had indeed rescued Buffy. He’d left instructions for one of them to stop by at the pier and pick her up at his boat. Heather and her mother were met with disappointment when Johnny wasn’t there, but discovered that he’d left the cabin unlocked with a note attached, telling them to take the dog, and leave him a note so he’d know they got her. Barbara and Buffy enjoyed a tearful reunion, as the little dog appeared unscathed, and they scribbled a note of their own back to him. Heather stood by watching sadly, disheartened that she was unable to see John. She not only wanted to thank him, but also to apologize. She’d have to come back later.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were only nine people at the funeral, including Johnny. Meredith and Ben were there, along with some of her friends from Sunnyside, one friend from Abington, and several caregivers. There had been no wake; Johnny didn’t see any reason to subject himself to more anguish, and there wouldn’t have been enough people to show up to warrant having one anyway. Perhaps if Johnny had told his friends about it, they would have been there to support him. But he still wasn’t ready to deal with it. Losing his aunt had been just like losing another parent, and not only that, he had lost his very last living family member.

Meredith and Ben sat next to him, and Johnny stared downward at the wooden pew in front of him through most of the mass. Sweat built up under the starched white dress shirt collar that he’d purchased the night before. Since all his clothing had been destroyed in the fire, he’d gone out and bought a new suit, tie, shirt, shoes, and socks for the occasion. He rubbed at his temple absently, trying to rid himself of another building headache. Johnny paid little attention to what the priest was saying; he knew if he did, it would get too emotional for him. It might not have been so bad had it not been his fault; the knowing that she would still be alive had he not moved her to such an exclusive nursing home brought overwhelming guilt.

It was lucky that his aunt had had the foresight to plan somewhat for her death early, before her hardening arteries destroyed her memory. She must have known that she was deteriorating, and with her nephew’s proneness to accidents, Rose could never be sure that he would even be around for her funeral to plan it.

Perhaps if she’d been his father’s sister, the memorial would have been very different; it would have been a traditional Lakota ceremony. But Rose was his mother’s sister, and grew up Catholic; she had made it known that she wanted a full mass said at her funeral. Johnny thought it fortunate that she’d actually bought a grave plot as well, glad that she would be buried in a place of her own choosing, rather than his. He wondered if it wouldn’t be wise if he did the same for himself. Snorting inwardly, he realized there wouldn’t be anyone to carry out his wishes anyway; well, there was Roy, but with the current status of their friendship, he would feel uncomfortable putting that burden on him now. Maybe he would have a chat with the funeral director sometime soon and discuss his own plans.

The grave was in a shady spot under a tree, and spring flowers were blooming everywhere. The cemetery was full of daffodils and peonies, and rows of purple phlox flourished in the sun. He stood under the tent with Meredith; the others had returned to the nursing homes, and one of the caregivers had taken Ben back for Meredith, so that she could be with Johnny.

They stood silently as the priest prayed over the casket, blessing it, and then it was over. Johnny felt his feet were rooted to the ground, and stayed in his spot, staring sadly at the casket. Meredith went over and took a rose for herself from the flower arrangement, then pulled one out for Johnny and handed it to him. Gently, she guided him away, so that the cemetery attendants could take care of the burial.

Meredith slipped her arm into his and together they wandered around the cemetery looking at the graves. She was hesitant to leave him, knowing he was alone. She wanted to ask him where his friends were, or where his girlfriend was, but felt it would be prying, and so she kept her questions to herself, instead just staying close, waiting to see if he reached out to her. He didn’t. His face was slack and dull, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Meredith thought she should try to get him to open up a little, so she started a conversation.

“This is a beautiful cemetery, Johnny.”

He nodded and spoke in a monotone. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Yes,” Meredith smiled. “Rose made a good choice. It’s very peaceful. And look at all these flowers blooming!”

He nodded minutely.

Meredith turned to him; his sorrow was so encompassing, she could almost feel it emanating from him. Meredith didn’t know Johnny’s family history, but it was apparent that this woman had been very important to him. She faced him and put her hands on his arms. “She’s in a better place now, you know. She’s with God.”

He swallowed. Stop it, Meredith.

“She’s with her sister – your mother, her husband, and all the people she loved. And she can remember everything now.”

He felt moisture building in his eyes and turned away. He was quiet for a long moment. His voice shook then as he spoke. “She’d still be here if I hadn’t moved her.”

Meredith sighed. “Oh, Johnny. It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have predicted that earthquake. You’re not God, you know!”

He shook his head.

“You did what you thought was best for her. We both knew she wasn’t getting the right kind of care where she was.”
            “Yeah. And if I’d have just waited, things would have gotten better. You yourself told me that the new administrator was making a lot of positive changes.”

“That’s true, but not before you moved her.”

“If I hadn’t won that money, I wouldn’t have moved her. She’d still be alive. All it’s done is cause me trouble.” He said it more to himself than to her.

“You don’t know that for a fact. If God wanted her, then he would have taken her anyway.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“I wish you did too. It might help you,” she said softly.

Johnny didn’t answer. His head was pounding severely now. Sweat was building up beneath his collar, and he felt his shirt sticking to his back. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt, stepping away from her, pretending to look at a headstone. Meredith walked up next to him.

“Boy, here’s an old one,” he marveled. The headstone was slanted, so old its support had washed away, and the earth had begun to suck the old marker back to where it had come from. It’s inscription was barely readable, eroded by time. ‘Born 1839, died 1892’.

She walked up next to him, and placed her hand on his back. Together, they silently walked around to look at a few more graves, and he turned to her.

“I want to thank you for coming. Aunt Rose really liked you and Ben.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. She was a wonderful lady. We’re going to miss her.” Meredith noticed a tear slide down his face from behind the sunglasses before Johnny turned away quickly to hide it. She took him into her arms, and hugged him tightly. “Are you going to be okay?”

He pulled away and smiled crookedly at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you come have lunch with me?”

He shook his head. “No, I….I’m gonna hang out here for a little while. You go on, and I’ll catch you another time, okay?”

She was worried about him, but relented. “All right. But I want a rain check. You call me, okay? Or, I’ll call you, in the next day or two.”

“Okay.” He didn’t want to get into the fact that she couldn’t call him because he was homeless and didn’t have a phone. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Johnny saw her off, then walked back near his aunt’s grave site. He sat down on a bench to think and remember. Now that everyone had gone, he finally let himself feel her loss.

It was a very hard day.

After the funeral, a strange sense of complacency came over Johnny. In fact, he felt totally apathetic about everything. It was as if someone had injected a numbing solution into him, not allowing him to feel or care about anything. It didn’t make sense to feel so indifferent, but in a way, it was a relief, and he didn’t care to take the time to analyze it.

The headaches were demanding his full attention now, and while very painful, he wasn’t the least bit concerned with what might be causing them. Anyone who knew Johnny would have been mortified to have learned that he secretly hoped that maybe it was a brain tumor or something that would finish him off. Just dealing with life seemed too overwhelming anymore.

He stayed away from the boat, except to sleep, not wanting to encounter Heather, or anyone else for that matter. It was after ten o’clock that night when he finally returned, and then he crawled into bed immediately, feeling on the verge of collapse.

Feeling a little better, Johnny was up early in the morning, the gentle rocking from the moving water waking him. There was a good breeze going, which blew noisily through the open skylight. As soon as he sat up, the pounding in his head began, and he stumbled to the bathroom for more aspirin. Figuring a strong cup of coffee would help, he made his way to his galley and brewed a pot. Taking it out above deck, he relaxed with it in one of the deck chairs and looked out at the world. Everything was quiet around him, all the boats swaying gently in the breeze. A few gulls sailed overhead, sensing with his presence there might be a handout. Most people were probably up now, leaving for work; he heard a few cars drive down the road near by.

This was what he loved about owning the boat. It was so soothing and peaceful. He closed his eyes and let the tranquility of it surround him and relax him.

He thought about the decision he had made the previous afternoon as he had sat in the cemetery, and had no regrets. They had been stunned and overwhelmed to get the money. He’d never forget the man’s face when he sat down to tell him. It was almost a relief, and Johnny felt as if he had been purged of some evil. Man, everyone would think I was crazy if they knew. Maybe I am. But I don’t care. It didn’t help me any; all it did was ruin my life; at least now it will be doing some good. It’s the least I can do for her.

There were other things that needed to be done, which he contemplated doing, like going and talking to the insurance companies about his house and car, but it seemed too monumental a task to bring himself to do them. He was glued to the chair. After a while, his coffee grew cold, and his stomach grumbled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything, and wondered if maybe he had some eggs in the refrigerator.

Eventually, Johnny managed to pull himself up and head below deck, and soon he had some eggs frying in a pan, along with a couple slices of toast. He poured juice, and sat at the table to eat. It helped eased some of the discomfort in his stomach. With another hot cup of coffee in his hand, he ventured above deck, trying to think through the fog in his brain about what he should do that day.

There were some things that needed doing on the boat, so he set to work. As he cleaned and repaired, he decided it would be a good day for a sail, something he hadn’t done for awhile. Yes, what he needed was to get away; what better place to do that but out on the open water with no one else around? There was a swift breeze going, the perfect weather. He checked the shrouds and the tell-tales, the spreaders and the riggings first, then went on to the jib, the mainsail, and the lashings, making sure everything was secured. All the lines were in place. With all that done, he determined that everything looked ship shape.

He didn’t hear her board the boat.

The voice came from behind him as he knelt. “I thought I might find you here.”

He jumped, a small gasp of surprise coming out, and turned to see Heather behind him.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Squinting up at her, he didn’t return the smile.

“What are you doing here?” His forced tone was cold; it had to be to keep himself from grabbing her and taking her into his arms.

She was taken aback at his iciness. “I…wanted to talk to you for a minute, if that’s okay.”

He shrugged, and stood up, the abrupt movement causing him to sway. He reached out to steady himself, closing his eyes a moment when the headache pierced his skull.

Heather stared at him. “Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes, fighting to keep from rubbing his temple. “I’m fine. What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, I…I wanted to thank you, for what you did for Daddy, and also for going back to get Buffy; mother is so grateful to you…we all are.”

Johnny snorted. “Troy too, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she said sincerely, “especially Troy.” Her brother had come around in a one-hundred-and-eighty degree swing that evening, after seeing what Johnny had done for him, and his family. Like Heather, after watching Johnny in action as a fireman and paramedic, his view of him as ‘blue collar’ took on a new meaning, and he no longer looked down upon the man. It was as if a light bulb had been switched on for all of them, illuminating a newfound respect for the job that firemen and paramedics did. As painful as it might be, Troy intended to thank John himself when he got back on his feet.

“Good. That means a lot,” he said sarcastically.

Heather stared at him some more, not understanding his temperament. It wasn’t like John to be so….nasty. “I…also wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For everything, John. There’s so many things I realize now that – ”

He cut her off before she could get further, holding his hand up. “Look, you don’t have to apologize for anything, Heather. Things are what they are. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

It crushed her that he wouldn’t hear her out, that he at least wouldn’t let her apologize for hurting him. But something was different about him today; he had a menacing look to him that frightened her, and decided it wasn’t the time to push it.

“Okay,” she acquiesced. After a moment of silence, she tried a different tactic. “I saw your house, John. I’m so sorry; it’s such a shame.”

The anger suddenly left his expression and his face fell. “I know. I’m sorry too. I know how much you loved that house.”

Again, she didn’t know what to say. She thought it odd that his mood had seemed to have changed so abruptly. “Didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in surprise. “Well, then why did you buy it?”

“I bought it for you.”

“For…me?”

“Yeah. I’m just sorry it got destroyed; I would have given it to you.”

Her mouth dropped open further, leaving her speechless.

“I guess your house, or your parents’ house is pretty much destroyed too.”

“Y-yes, parts of it, b-but Daddy’s going to rebuild, after he gets well.

Johnny didn’t comment, so she went on. “We’re staying at our country house until then.”

He nodded. “That’s nice.” He walked a short distance away from her and began busying himself with some of the lines.

“So, I guess you’ve been staying on your boat?”

“Yep.”

“I thought so. I would have come by sooner, but, I’ve been spending time with Daddy, and then Mother and I came by to get Buffy and you weren’t here, and then…well, I came by yesterday, and waited almost all day, and you never showed up.”

He glanced up at her. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have waited.”

“Where have you been?”

It sounded innocent enough, but it brushed him the wrong way; he didn’t like her asking his whereabouts, now that they’d broken up. “I was at a funeral. Is that okay with you?”

“A…a funeral?” Her face changed to a mask of sympathy. “Who died?”

“My aunt. Got killed in the quake.”

“Oh my God, John; I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had an aunt.”

He glared up at her. Her statement was a testimony to their failed relationship. Of course she didn’t know he had an aunt. She didn’t know anything about him, because she never cared to ask. But down deep, he knew that wasn’t fair; no one except Meredith really knew about the situation with his aunt, because he never volunteered any information. He saw the mortification and apology on her face and softened. “Yeah, well, I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thanks; you already said that.” He wanted to nip any conversations about his aunt in the bud. He stood up. “Look, thanks for coming by; I appreciate it. I got some work to do so…” he was dismissing her and she knew it.

Standing her ground a minute, she watched him, wondering what he was doing. It looked like he was preparing for a sail. Forgetting he’d just asked her to leave, she inquired, “What are you doing?”

“Fixing this line.”

“You’re not going sailing, are you?”

He glared at her. “Yes, I am.”

Heather looked out at the sky, then back at him. “You can’t sail today. It’s going to storm. Haven’t you checked the weather?”

“It looks fine to me.” He gestured outward with his hand.

She stared at him incredulously, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”

He smiled. “Yep, that’s me. Crazy.” A piercing pain went through his head just then, and he squinted his eyes closed for a second, staggering back a step.

Immediately, she was by his side, but he had recovered already. “John, what’s wrong? There’s something wrong with you.”

He pushed her away. “There’s nothing wrong,” he growled. His impatience was growing.

“I can’t let you go. It’d be dangerous.”

His voice raised to just below a shout. “Heather, you can’t tell me what to do any more. It’s my boat, and I’m going sailing. Now, would you please go?” His teeth were gritted together.

She stood her ground, hands on hips, licking her lower lip, trying to decide what to do. One of the annoying things about her was that her stubbornness matched his.

His eyes grew wide and leaning toward her, he said forcefully, “Go – away.”

That did it. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why he was being so cruel to her. Maybe he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was after all. In a huff, she turned and walked away. Halfway there, she spun around and yelled, “I’ve never met anyone in my life who was so…so…bullheaded! Well, don’t come crying to me when you wreck my father’s boat!”

That incensed him, and he shouted, “It’s not your father’s fucking boat! It’s mine!”

She let out an exasperated cry and stormed off the boat.

Johnny was so angry, he was shaking. Forcing himself to calm down, he set about readying the boat for his sail, and within fifteen minutes, he had gotten hold of himself.

He started the engine, and threw the vessel into reverse, not being very careful not to hit the pilings as he backed out of the slip. The boat scraped menacingly against two of the pilings, emitting a nasty grating noise as the sailboat was scratched, and then he was out in open water.

Johnny sailed on a beat, close to the eye of the wind. He pulled the mainsail in, leaving the boom slightly over the transom. He made quick progress out to sea by tacking, changing the direction of the boat from one side of the wind to the other, trimming his sails expertly in order to reach some undecided destination. Eventually, he luffed up, turning the boat’s head right into the wind, causing the forward part of his sail to flutter, thus slowing down before straightening out his sheets. Hours later, he was far out on wide water, alone.

For a while, the salty, damp sea air calmed him, and he was glad he had come. The only problem with sailing alone was that one couldn’t stray from the control of the boat, unless he dropped the sails and dropped anchor, lest it quickly go off course. Still, he was content to just sit at the helm and feel the wind take the vessel, while attempting to empty his mind of the misery of the past few days.

The intensity of his headache had increased since his argument with Heather, and he found it hard to concentrate on steering. He’d decided to sail today to get away, and to try to find some peace, but instead found himself in a constant tug of war with the wheel. His headache wasn’t the only thing that had increased, the wind had also picked up considerably in the last hour. With chagrin, he realized that maybe he should have heeded Heather’s warning, and not gone out; it occurred to him that it had been stupid not to check the weather before sailing, and he wondered why he had been so careless. That thought made him wonder briefly if there had been times at work where he had also been careless, and that maybe there was some truth to Roy’s accusations about him that Heather had overheard. He shook his head sadly, thinking that it really didn’t matter. Roy wouldn’t have to work with him any more anyway. Looking down at his watch, he was incredulous to find that he’d been out on the water for over three hours already. Johnny decided that it might be wise to head back.

Tilting his gaze skyward, he noticed for the first time that dark ominous storm clouds had blown in, catching him unaware and unprepared, and a foreboding feeling filled him, sending a shiver down his spine. Without warning, a burst of lightning streaked across the sky, and abruptly, the wind turned to a gale, the sudden squall coming from the exact opposite direction from which the wind had blown a moment ago. 

Unexpectedly, a particularly bad pain sliced through his skull, causing his hands to fly up to cradle his head, and when he opened his eyes, he found he could not see. The wheel spun, and the wind took the boat, causing it to pitch and roll, and Johnny flailed for the wheel, grabbing it frantically and righting it, trying to sail by feel only. Panicked, John shook his head, blinking furiously, and a few seconds later, his vision returned, albeit fuzzily. The temporary loss of vision terrified him, and Johnny’s lackadaisical attitude about his own welfare suddenly evaporated. As a firefighter, he’d always tried to prepare himself mentally for the possibility that he might die in the line of duty, and as it had played out, there had been many brushes with death. But when it came to a possibility of death by drowning, alone, out here at sea in a storm, Johnny couldn’t think of anything more frightening.

Continuing to blink his eyes and shake his head, despite the fact that it made the headache pound harder, he moved into action. He had to change course quickly, and try to head back before he was caught in a full-blown storm. Large droplets of rain began to spatter the deck, and quickly soaked his clothing.

It had blown in so fast, he barely had the time to react. His sailing experience told him that it would be wise to shorten the sail immediately, the wind being far too powerful for a comfortable sail home. Fighting past the pounding in his head, he pushed the helm down, bringing the boat up into the wind, then rolled up the bottom of the sail to the row of little ropes on the sheet, making it fast. He decided to come about, passing the bow through the eye of the wind, rather than jibing, which was quicker, but also almost impossible to manage on his own in this kind of wind. With a jibe, the sail would fly quickly from one side to the other. After a five minute struggle, Johnny reversed his course, and was now sailing on a run, the wind behind him, the boom now out at almost a forty-five degree angle. The effort had totally exhausted him, and his vision was blurring as he stumbled drunkenly across the deck. Back at the helm, his chest heaved as he fought to get his breath, and the wind drove the rain into his back.

 Johnny realized too late he should have just lowered the sails, but had been hopeful to be able to get back to port, and had underestimated the storm. Now, as his head felt like it was about to explode, and his vision was waning, he was practically paralyzed. All he could do was wrestle with the wheel and try to stay on course. The problem was, he couldn’t see well enough, and had to rely on the feel of the wind and the boat to guide him. Dread devoured him as he realized that he would never be able to guide the boat back by himself, and that he couldn’t see well enough to lower the sails. He couldn’t even leave the wheel to get to his radio to call for help.

The boat pitched violently as the storm worsened; it seemed like his speed was increasing dangerously. The downpour now blew painfully into his back, stinging his skin even through his shirt, as he was tossed to and fro, barely able to hold on. All at once a great gust of wind propelled him from the wheel, sending him sprawling onto the deck. He scrambled blindly to get back to the helm, but was too late; the wind carried the boat away from the direction of the wind, allowing it to get on the other side of the sail. The sail filled with air, and jibed with incredible power, sending the boom and Johnny flying in the other direction. The boat tipped wildly; gallons of water gushed over the side as Johnny frantically tried to crawl to the downhaul rope to lower the sail.

His vision cleared temporarily, but just as he reached for the rope, the storm blew the boat in another direction, sending the wind back to the other side of the sail again. It flapped angrily, then puffed out with a roar, then the sail jibed in the other direction with unbelievable force. Johnny dove to the deck, covering his head. Then he heard a deafening crack, and to his horror, looked up and watched as the mast snapped clean off the boat at the deck, and was tossed wildly into the air. The huge mast crashed downward, slamming into the cabin before falling into the water.

His ears ringing from the crash and the wail of the storm, Johnny raised himself up and stared in shock at what had just happened; the spray of the sea assaulted his face mercilessly as he tried to focus. The mast was bobbing in the water, the sails lay on top in a tangled heap, and the lines were still attached, holding it to the boat. He instinctively clambered to the starboard side, and withdrew his pocketknife, frantically cutting at the lines to disconnect them from the sails and the mast, his nearly frozen fingers sluggishly refusing to do his bidding.

Sheets of rain doused him unabated while the boat bounced madly, no longer being guided by the sails. The gale blew so hard it sounded like a freight train in his ears, and Johnny’s hair was blown flat against his face.

The boat and cabin were in ruins; splinters of wood littered the deck, and shards of glass and torn fiberglass lay everywhere, blowing aimlessly. Sick both physically and emotionally, Johnny crawled on his hands and knees over the pitching deck, desperately trying to make it to the life jacket, which hung nearby. Lunging for it, he struggled into it, wondering if his boat would take on water and sink. Slowly, he crawled back to the helm, hoping to use the engine alone to guide him back. With a distraught cry of anguish, he worked the controls, but found them dead. The agony in his head built to a crescendo, and his vision dimmed again. Giving up, he slumped down over the wheel, hanging over it barely conscious, incapacitated.

“There it is.” The Coast Guard Captain lowered his binoculars, pointing in a northward direction. His crewman steered the cutter through the blinding rain toward their destination – a possible disabled yacht in trouble.

“Jesus,” he whispered as they neared the disastrous boat, and saw that the mast had broken away, leaving the sails to flap about over the rough water. When they were close enough to the broken boat, two of the crewmen climbed aboard.

Johnny jerked as he felt first a hand on his back, and then other hands under his arms, lifting him up. He blinked blearily up at the two crewmen who were carrying him, or rather, dragging him toward the side.

“Just take it easy,” one of them said, as he struggled, not understanding at first what was happening. His awareness rose as he felt the abrupt surge of the boat under his feet, and his eyes raked over the debris scattered across the deck.

“My boat,” Johnny cried, sick at what had happened. “I can’t…leave my boat.”

“Don’t worry about your boat right now, pal.” Johnny was now standing shakily on his own two feet, still being supported by the crewmen, while the boat continued to rock violently. “Now, we’re gonna help you off; can you climb down this ladder?”

Unsure, Johnny didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, swaying from the pain in his head. He felt like he was going to vomit. Someone was doing something to his waist, and he distantly realized they were fastening a safety belt around him. A voice prompted him to open his eyes, and in a serious tone, one of the men explained what he needed to do. He was to climb down the ladder and into the cutter; one man would go first and be behind him, while the other assisted with ropes from his boat. In this way, they could get him off his wrecked sailboat and into the other craft, and to safety.

Johnny trembled from the cold and they pushed him to begin the short climb, his freezing hands clumsily grasping the rungs of the ladder. Below, he could see the water angrily churning from the storm, causing them all to bob mercilessly up and down.

He’d descended two rungs when his foot slipped off, slamming him into the side of the boat, leaving him dangling. His numbed fingers clawed for the ladder as he swayed from side to side, but he was unable to get a grip. His arms and hands didn’t seem to want to do what his brain told them to do. Guided from above and below, the men lowered him down, and as soon as his feet touched the deck of the Coast Guard craft, his legs crumpled. He felt himself being lifted, then situated onto a seat.

Someone put a blanket around his shoulders, which they then covered with some sort of plastic poncho to keep the rain off. Johnny sat limply, his head in his hands, while his fingers dug into his skull. Swaying, he felt a strong hand grasp his upper arm, holding him upright, then a voice asked, “How much did you have to drink, pal?”

Johnny never looked up. “Drink,” he slurred.

“Yeah,” the voice called over the roar of the boat engine and the storm. “Have you been drinking?”

Johnny raised his head then, squinting up at the man in confusion. “I haven’t been drinking,” he answered slowly, then dropped his head back into his hands.

A moment later, he heard a familiar voice, and someone seemed to be right in front of him. “John. John Gage.” He felt hands on both of his upper arms. “Can you hear me?” The crewman who had been driving the boat had recognized Johnny after he’d lifted his head, and was now kneeling in front of him.

“You know this man?” the Captain asked.

“Yeah,” Earl Williams answered. “He’s John Gage, a paramedic with LA. I’ve worked with him and his partner a couple of times.”

Johnny lifted his head, trying to focus. “E-Earl?”

Earl looked at the Captain. “There’s no way he’s been drinking, Cap. Something’s wrong with him.”

Captain Frederick gestured to another crewmate. “Frank, call for a fire department squad and ambulance to meet us.”

“Aye, Cap.”

Earl patted Johnny on the shoulder. “Take it easy. We’re gonna get you back to dry land and get you checked out.” With that, he hurried to the helm, and quickly directed the boat away from the scene. Through blurry eyes, Johnny lifted his head and glimpsed at the wreckage of his sailboat as it got smaller and smaller, then disappeared.

Heather watched from under a large black umbrella as the Coast Guard cutter neared. She had waited nearly three hours for Johnny to return, and finally, worried sick after seeing the storm rolling in with a vengeance, she had contacted the Coast Guard. She had contemplated taking her father’s yacht out to look for Johnny, but had no idea where he was going, and knew she had no business going out sailing by herself when a storm was brewing. Her attempts to contact him by radio went unanswered, adding to her concern.

As the cutter approached, she ran for the dock, and saw, to her relief, a very wet and bedraggled John Gage sitting in the boat. But something was definitely wrong; he was hunched over, unmoving, clutching his head.

Anxiously, she waited while they docked, and the crewmembers gently helped Johnny up and out of the boat. It was an effort getting him out; as his feet drunkenly crossed over each other, and he stumbled, nearly falling.

He had taken a couple of steps when he saw her. His face was a mask of anguish and pain; his hair was drenched and plastered to his head. His eyes squinted at her as her face swam into focus. Heather stared, wide-eyed and terrified, wondering what was wrong. Behind her, two paramedics from Station 98 were trotting toward them. “John?” she called weakly. “Are…are you all right?”

Johnny took another tentative step toward her. “Heather…the boat…I wrecked it…oh, God…I wrecked…your father’s boat…”

He looked so distraught that she didn’t care about the boat, her own face mirroring the distress on his. “It’s okay John,” she murmured, taking a step toward him, her arms outstretched.

His hands went back to his head then, and his face contorted. “My head…hurts….really bad….” Then, a mind-shattering blast of pain pierced through his skull, and with a quiet, “oh,” his body went limp and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“John!” Heather screamed and rushed to his side, discarding the umbrella.

The two crewmembers lowered him to the sidewalk, and the paramedics took over.

The Coast Guard crew held Heather back out of the way while the paramedics worked on Johnny. It didn’t take long before they were ready to load him into an ambulance. It was then that Heather insisted he be taken to Century Pavilion. When asked what authority she had in making that decision, she introduced herself as Heather Banks, Arthur Bank’s daughter, and John Gage’s fiancée. Since both hospitals were equal distance from where they were, Johnny was taken to Century. No one at Rampart knew at the time that the patient they had been working on was John Gage. Maybe if either of the paramedics from 98 had known Johnny, they would have convinced her to have him taken to Rampart. Unfortunately for Johnny, that didn’t happen.

Johnny awoke in a place he didn’t know, surrounded by voices he was unfamiliar with. He found himself lying supine on a flat surface, and everything was dark. The sounds he heard seemed like those in an emergency room, but for some inexplicable reason, it didn’t feel like Rampart, and it didn’t smell like Rampart either. He wasn’t quite sure where he was; oddly, it felt more like he was shut in a closet. As he lay in a hazy confusion, he felt a slow spinning sensation, and fear tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

His brain told him to open his eyes, but they must have been stuck shut for some reason, because he couldn’t see anything. Then, with a sudden terrifying shudder, he realized that his eyes were open, and yet he couldn’t see. Panicking, he broke out in a cold sweat, and blinked furiously while at the same time struggling to sit up. Strong hands held his shoulders down, and soothing voices commanded him to stay calm.

“What the hell is going on?” His trembling voice was low and barely controlled. “I can’t see anything.” A jackhammer was pounding away in the back of his head, and he swallowed against building nausea.

“Okay. Just relax for me, now. It’s going to be all right. Can you answer some questions for me?” A deep reassured voice spoke.

“Who are you?” Johnny demanded.

“I’m Dr. Paul Jensen. And you are?”

“Doctor….Jensen...” Johnny searched his memory. He didn’t remember that name anywhere. 

“Yes. Dr. Jensen. What is your name?”

Johnny was scared. He reasoned that his lack of vision and the awful headaches he’d been experiencing meant that he probably had a head injury, and that it must be a doozy. But at the moment, his memory was too foggy to remember how he might have injured himself. “I…Is…is Dr. Early here?”

Dr. Jensen looked over at his colleagues. They shrugged. “Dr. Early.” Paul Jensen rubbed his chin, then brightened. “Ah, do you mean Dr. Joseph Early?”

“Yeah.” Johnny breathed. “Is he here? I mean, I…he’s a friend of mine…and…I just wondered if…if he could take a look at me? No…no offense, Doc….kay?”

“None taken; but Dr. Early doesn’t work out of this hospital. He practices at Rampart General. Now, can you tell me your name?”

Johnny grew agitated. “What?! What do you mean he…he doesn’t work at this hospital? He….I….where am I?”

“You’re at Century Pavilion Hospital. Now, I really need you help us out here, and

answer – ”

“Century Pavilion?!! Wha-what am I doing here? I wanna go to Rampart! Who brought me here?” Johnny was really upset now; being blind and in a strange hospital terrified him, and he began to struggle, trying to get off the table. His world tipped dizzily, and he uttered a choked cry as he felt himself slipping off the edge.

Three doctors and nurses grabbed for him, forcing him back onto the table, then quickly put him in restraints. His sudden irrational behavior was more evidence to Dr. Jensen that this young man had suffered some type of neurological injury. He ordered a light sedative in a voice too soft for Johnny to hear, and soon the medication was weaving its way through Johnny’s blood stream.

Johnny struggled wildly against the restraints, screaming to let him go, to call Dr. Early, to take him to Rampart, until he was too weak to fight any more; the combination of the sedative and the agony in his head wouldn’t allow it. He finally calmed down enough to allow the doctor to ask him questions, and resignedly gave the doctor the information he needed, albeit quite sluggishly, and in sudden complacency. In return, Dr. Jensen answered John’s questions as to why he was brought there, instead of Rampart.

After that, a thorough examination combined with a barrage of tests ensued, until a somber determination was made as to Johnny’s diagnosis. 

“He has a chronic what?” Heather asked.

Dr. Jensen slid a little more sideways in his chair to face Heather. “A chronic subdural hematoma. A blood clot on the brain.” He gestured matter-of-factly with his hand. “Tiny veins between the surface of the brain and its outer covering, or the dura, stretch and tear, allowing blood to collect.”

“Oh my God.” She paused a moment, taking in the information, bringing her hand to her mouth. “What would cause that, Doctor?”

“Well, most commonly, a blow to the head.”

“A blow to the head? When could that have happened?”

“His memory wasn’t too clear at first, which is normal for his condition, but after I questioned him, he seemed to remember having debris fall on him during the earthquake. Said he vaguely remembers being buried for quite some time, and thought he might have been hit on the back of the head. And something about a dog. A large contusion on the back of his head seems to confirm his story.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open, and it came to her then how it would have happened. “It must have been at my house,” she whispered, “he went in to get my mother’s dog….I had no idea….he never said a word…” A small desolate cry escaped her chest.

Dr. Jensen sat patiently while she got herself together.

“So, what happens now, Doctor?”

Paul Jensen nodded. “What happens now is that we wait. We have him on a number of medications; Mannitol, to reduce intercrainial swelling, Phenytoin, an anticonvulsant, diuretics, and other supportive fluids, in addition to the Heparin.”

“Heparin?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes. It’s a blood thinner. We’re going to see if that won’t dissolve the clot.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll go in surgically to relieve the pressure and drain the hematoma.”

Heather covered her mouth once again. Guilt and despair filled her, and tears built in the corners of her eyes. She glanced up at him. “Is he…going to die?”

Dr. Jensen offered her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think so. Chronic subdural hematomas actually have a high recovery rate. Now, there’s always complications, but he’s young and strong; I’d say his chances are excellent.”

Heather sighed in relief.

“Sometimes, there’s lingering effects after recovery. He may experience difficulty processing thoughts, some mood swings, numbness, and memory problems. Those usually disappear rather quickly.”

Heather nodded.

“There’s one other thing you should know.”

Could there be anything worse, she wondered. “What is it?”

“Mr. Gage is blind at the moment – ”

“Blind!” Heather exclaimed, interrupting him. “How? Why?”

“It’s a complication caused by the blood clot; it’s fairly common, can be in one or both eyes. We’re hopeful that as the clot dissolves, and the swelling decreases, his vision will return.”

Heather let out an anguished sigh. Blind! Oh my God, what if it’s permanent? It would be my fault…

Dr. Jensen saw the look on her face and laid his hand on her forearm. “Now, I don’t think we need to get too worried about it just yet; give the medications some time, and I think it will resolve.”

“Are you sure, Doctor?” She had to have some reassurance, or she couldn’t live with herself.

“Well, I can’t make any promises, Miss Banks. All I can tell you is that I think his chances for regaining his sight are good.” Dr. Jensen had taken all the time he could, and so he stood up. “Do you have any other questions?”

Heather knew as soon as he left she would think of something, but right now, she was so stunned that her mind was blank. “N-no, I don’t think so.”

“They should be getting him settled in a room in a little while. You can check with the desk nurse and she’ll tell you where he is.”

She nodded again. “Thank you, Doctor.”

They shook hands, and he departed.

Heather let out a deep sigh. She was slightly encouraged by what the doctor had said. She thanked God now that she’d had the paramedics bring him here instead of Rampart. She was impressed with Dr. Jensen; more so than she had been with Dr. Early; Johnny had almost died at Rampart after contracting life-threatening infections the last time he was there. She wouldn’t trust him to that man’s care again.

Heather and her mother had wanted to bring her father here the night of the earthquake. But that night, they’d had no choice. The roads they needed to take to get him to Century Pavilion were blocked from damage, and the paramedics had insisted that he get immediate care. Century was at least fifteen more minutes away – even more with the road damage they would have had to go around. Had he died in transit, they would have had his death on their conscience, and so mother and daughter reluctantly agreed to have him taken to Rampart. They had reasoned at the time that they could always have him transferred later, after he was stabilized. As it turned out, Arthur liked Rampart, and was impressed with their standards. When Barbara and Heather suggested to him that he be moved to Century, he declined, insisting he felt he was being given good care right where he was. Arthur Banks wasn’t a man to be argued with; he was usually very congenial, but also had a strong, stubborn, opinionated side to him, and when he made up his mind about something, nothing could change it.

Johnny’s eyes were open, but heavy when she appeared in the doorway to his room, and it startled her when he didn’t look over at her. He appeared to be focused on something straight out in front of him, yet his eyes looked vacant.

Heather knocked on the open door gently, glad he was awake, and that he seemed calm and out of pain. Her heart wrenched when his head turned in her direction, but he didn’t seem to see her. His voice was slightly slurred. “H-hello?” he mumbled hesitantly.

Heather walked tentatively into the room; his head followed her movement, a confused look was on his face.

“Who’s there?” he asked a little more agitated.

“It’s…it’s me, John. Heather.”

His expression immediately turned hostile, and he stared blankly at a space to the right of her shoulder. “Go away, Heather. I don’t want you here.”

Once again, she was taken aback by his anger, but took a step toward him. “John, I…I’m so sorry…for everything…but everything’s going to be okay…you’re going to be okay…the

doctor – ”

“The doctor,” he snorted sarcastically. “The doctor isn’t my doctor, Heather.” His voice was laced with contempt. “I’m laying here with a brain injury, blind, and you had to take me here! You know I wouldn’t have chosen this hospital!”

“But Dr. Jensen is an excellent doctor, John. And this hospital is the best. After what happened to you at Rampart under Dr. Early’s care, I thought this would be a better choice. You know I only wanted the best for you!”

“Did you know that Dr. Jensen trained under Dr. Early?”

That information stunned her. She said nothing.

 “Why did you bring me here, Heather? I’ll tell you why!” Johnny leaned forward abruptly in his bed, his tense fingers fumbling to clench the bedrail, causing his IV bags to swing on the pole. “You had to have your way, didn’t you? Rampart wasn’t good enough for you, was it, just like everything else about me was never good enough for you.”

“That’s not true, John.”

“Then you had to lie and tell them you were my fiancée,” he spat.

She closed her eyes and sighed in frustration. “I was only trying to do what I thought was right.”

“Well, when it comes to my welfare, you can just stay out of my life!” Johnny’s blood pressure was rising as he got more upset, and his face began to get red. He was breathing heavily, and shaking with anger.

Heather realized that she was just upsetting him, and that she probably should leave, though his words burned as painfully as if someone were searing a hole in her heart with a blowtorch. “John, please, try to calm down; you’re going to make things worse – ”

“The only thing making me worse is you!” he spat. “Now get out!”

His behavior was scaring her. She’d never seen him so upset and irrational before, and tried to tell herself that it must be his injury. After all, the doctor had said that he could experience mood swings. She held up her hands. “Okay. Okay, I’ll leave. I’m leaving now, John. Just…try to calm down, okay?”

His nostrils flared as he breathed, but he slowly reclined against his pillow, then shut his eyes, as if his head was paining him.

After she saw that he had calmed some, she retreated toward the door. “I’ll…I’ll call Roy and…and let him know what happened, okay?”

He didn’t respond, instead, just turned his head away from her.

“I’m sorry…so sorry,” she nearly whispered, then was gone.

Tears filled her eyes as she made her way down the corridor, averting her gaze downward so that no one could see. She blamed herself for everything that had happened to him. Their breakup was her fault; she shouldn’t have been so domineering. His accident with the boat, she shouldn’t have let him go, should have called the Coast Guard right away. And his head injury was both her and her mother’s fault; they never should have asked him to go back into their house to get the dog. Oh, God, the whole thing was such a mess! What if complications arose? What if he remained blind, or worse, what if he died from a brain hemorrhage or something?

Heather ducked into the ladies room and closed herself in a stall. She began to cry. Her weeping lasted almost five minutes before she dried her eyes and blew her nose. She was thankful that no one had entered the bathroom to see her breakdown. Finally, feeling spent and more down than she could remember in a long time, she set her sights on thinking of something she could do to help John. He didn’t want to see her, but maybe his friends could help. With that in mind, she splashed cold water on her face, straightened her clothes, and left to find a pay phone.

Wesley Adams answered the telephone in the dorm, picking it up on the first ring. He always liked to be the one to answer the phone; he liked knowing who was calling, especially if it was someone for Roy, so he could keep tabs on his friend. Things between him and Roy were really good now, and he didn’t want anything interfering with that. He picked up the receiver. “Station 51, Wesley Adams.”

Heather cursed under her breath when she heard who had answered the phone. She loathed the man who had taken Johnny’s place, especially after the comments she had overheard his wife make in the restroom at the spaghetti dinner they had gone to. It was his fault that John had quit his job; after all, if she hadn’t found out how Roy felt about working with John, and hadn’t then told John, he probably never would have quit, despite the fact that Heather had done her best to convince him otherwise, she guiltily realized. It was odd; at one time it had been so important for her that he quit being a fireman, and now that he had, she felt terribly remorseful. Besides that, Wesley Adams just left a bad taste in her mouth. Trying to be as civil as possible, she asked for Roy.

Wes knew who it was instantly; he had a knack for recognizing voices, and quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m sorry, but he’s not available to come to the phone.”

Her face felt hot in anger at his answer. “Well, can you tell me when he might be available?”

“Ah, probably in an hour or two; he’s in a training drill right now,” he lied. “Can I pass along a message to him?” Once again, he looked around, seeing no one.

Heather sighed. The excuse sounded legitimate. “Yes, please. This is Heather Banks.”

“Oh, hey there,” Wesley tried to sound as jovial as possible. “How are you?”

“Well, at the moment I’m not doing very well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Would you please tell Roy that John is in the hospital? He’s been taken to Century Pavilion. He has….a head injury, and….it’s quite serious; he should come to the hospital as soon as possible.”

Wesley’s eyebrows shot up. Gage is hurt again? And it sounds bad. What luck! Maybe he’ll really kick the bucket this time. He tried not to sound giddy when he responded. “Wow, that’s too bad. What happened to him?”

“He was injured in the earthquake several days ago.” The pitch of her voice dropped a notch in despair. “He was trying to get our dog out of the house.”

“I’m mighty sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, well, I think it would help if Roy came to see him – or any of the guys there at the station. Would you please tell them for me?”

“I sure will.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Hope everything works out all right.”

“I do too. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

Wesley hung up the phone, then went into the bathroom to comb the few hairs into place that he had remaining on the top of his head. Whistling, he walked out of the dorm and into the dayroom, where he took a place on the sofa beside Roy, where everyone was watching TV. He said nothing; a trace of a smile danced across his face.

                                                            ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A day and a half went by, and Johnny sat alone in his hospital room. He refused to see Heather, and she stayed away. It didn’t look like anyone else was going to come visit him for that matter, and as the hours drifted by, his feelings of hopelessness grew deeper and deeper.

Depression hit him like a ton of bricks, and he sank to such depths of despair that he found himself wishing he wouldn’t survive. It might not have been so severe had he been at Rampart, among friends, but here the room felt cold and unfriendly. All he had time to do was think, and all he had to think about was the absolute shambles he’d made of his life.

He’d lost everything. His home was gone, and with it every shred of evidence that he’d ever even existed. All the photographs, mementos, and little trinkets he’d saved for years to remind him of where and who he had come from, had turned to dust. It was like his life had been erased. The weight of his aunt’s death hung like an albatross around his neck. He couldn’t get her off his mind, and dreamed of her almost every time he nodded off. She had been his last living family member, and he’d killed her. Heather was gone. He’d driven her away too, not even completely understanding himself why he had been so cruel to her. Even though his mind told him breaking up with her had been the right thing to do, his heart ached with her loss. The career he’d worked so hard for and had been so proud of he had thrown away too. And for what? Some lottery winnings. Why hadn’t he realized that money couldn’t buy the feeling he got every time he helped a person, or saved a life? That money couldn’t buy a purpose in life. Or maybe he had, too late, and he had let his pride get in the way, clouding his judgment about quitting. He’d let some offhand comments about himself and his fading friendship with Roy convince him to give up the most meaningful thing he’d ever achieved. He could have gone to another station to work, but now it was too late; he could end up permanently blind, which would certainly prevent him from returning to almost any type of work. Nothing had changed with his vision since he’d arrived at the hospital; things were as dark and black as they’d been when he’d first awoken. And now not only his career, but apparently his friendship with Roy as well, had gone down the toilet together. He excused the lack of Roy’s presence with the fact that Joanne was hospitalized, not to mention the fact that he himself hadn’t tried very hard lately to keep the friendship alive. It was frustrating; it seemed like every time he tried, Wesley Adams was with Roy, or Roy simply hadn’t been available. Maybe Roy had been trying to send him a message. Apparently what Heather had overheard about Roy’s feelings toward him were proving true.

But what of his other friends? Not a soul had come to visit him. Heather had said she would call Roy and tell him. Could Roy have just ignored Heather’s call and not told anyone? No, he would not believe that. Even if his friendship with Roy had diminished, he knew Roy wasn’t cruel. He had to believe that the man would care if he knew what happened to him. But what if Heather didn’t make the call as she’d promised? He’d been awful to her; maybe she was angry and had decided to just let him lie there and rot. He could have picked up the telephone himself, but by the end of the second day there, his depression had turned to indifference. The next morning, Johnny displayed no reaction at all when the doctor gave him the news that since there had been no improvement, he would need to perform a crainiotomy. The surgery would be scheduled for the following day, and Johnny experienced no trepidation about it; in fact, he developed a small ray of hope that the outcome would solve all his problems – permanently.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So what are you guys all doin’ tomorrow on your day off?” Chet shoved another spoonful of chili into his mouth.

“Well, Christina and I are going to SeaWorld.”

“Mm, that sounds like fun, Marco. Pass the crackers, please, Roy.”

“Yeah, Cap. She’s never been before. It’s supposed to be a really nice day.” Marco turned to Mike, who was buried behind a newspaper, chewing quietly. “What are you doing tomorrow, Mike?”

Stoker lowered the paper and peered over it. “My wife’s brother and sister-in-law are having a birthday party for their one year old. I’m going to that.”

Chet snickered. “Sounds like a great way to spend your day off, Mike.”

Stoker scowled at him, then reburied himself in the paper.

“How about you, Roy?”

“Ah, I’m gonna pick up the kids and take ‘em to see Joanne, and then I’ll probably go home and start workin’ on fixing the basement railing.” Since he’d been home, Roy had temporarily nailed up a board to close in the open space that Joanne had fallen through.

Wesley looked over at Roy next to him. “How about I meet you over at your place later after you visit Joanne and I’ll help you?”

Roy looked uncomfortable, and hesitated. “Uh, maybe; I’ll uh…let you know, okay?”

“Sure, pal.” Wesley acted nonchalant and swallowed another bite of his lunch. He was miffed by Roy’s recent coolish demeanor, but didn’t let on. Inwardly, he smiled, knowing Roy had to come over to pick up his kids, since they were now staying at his house until Joanne came home. After that, Joanne’s sister would be staying with them to help her.

Chris and Jennifer had been staying in their own home with their grandfather, who had been glad to help out, but couldn’t stay more than a week. Wes and Doreen had seemed to be Roy’s only option while he worked, and Roy had reluctantly agreed to let Doreen watch the kids for a few days. While it wasn’t the best solution, he decided he could live with it for a short time. Unfortunately, it also meant spending more time with Wesley, and Roy knew as soon as he got to the Adam’s house in the morning, Wes and Doreen would insist he stay for breakfast.

Roy looked across the table over his coffee cup, quickly changing the subject. “So, what are you doing, Chet?”

Chet leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. “Cindy’s cooking breakfast for me, and then…I don’t know…we’ll probably just hang out at her place….”

“Hang out, huh? I bet I know which body part’ll be hangin’ out, buddy.” Marco smirked, then downed a glass of milk and burped.

“Hey, man, you’re just jealous ‘cause Christina’s so virtuous.”

“Hey, she is not!”

The others all looked up at Marco, and his face turned red, causing them all to laugh.

“Chet, you used to criticize Gage for all the time he spent with Heather; now, you’re just as bad.”

Chet threw his napkin down on the table and looked indignant. “I most certainly am not. Hell, no one’s as bad as Gage is with women; I think we all know that, Marco.”

Marco shook his head. “Ah, I think you could give him a run for his money, amigo.”

Captain Stanley reached for the bread and butter. “By the way, has anyone seen Gage lately? I’d like to know how he’s doing.”

“Yeah, you know, come to think of it, I read the neighborhood he lives in was pretty badly damaged by the earthquake,” Marco commented.

Uncomfortable, Wesley scooted his chair back from the table, taking his bowl with him to the sink. He listened to the conversation with his back turned, not wanting anyone to see his face, lest he give anything away. He’d already made up his mind that if Heather Banks happened to accuse him of not giving the message about Gage to Roy, he’d deny ever having talked to her, but the subject still made him nervous, just the same.

“You’re right, Marco. Roy, you seen John lately?” Hank looked expectantly at Roy.

Roy swallowed a mouthful of chili. “No. But he’s okay.”

“How do you know if you haven’t talked to him?” Chet asked.

“Because he went to see Joanne in the hospital.”

“Oh, really? Well, that was nice of him. Did he happen to tell her how he was doing?”

“No, Cap; although Joanne was kind of out of it when he stopped by. It was right after the earthquake. All she can remember is that he told her how to get the nurses to bring her orange jello instead of green, and how to keep the nurses from waking you up at night.”

Chet laughed out loud. “That sounds like Gage. A man of real substance. I guess with all his hospital experience, he would know.”

Roy didn’t think Chet’s comment was funny. He’d been thinking about Johnny for the past week, and he had mixed emotions about the man. He was still angry with Johnny for quitting his job because of Heather’s manipulation, and he was angry that Johnny hadn’t bothered to contact him or even show his face at the station for weeks. His attitude had softened somewhat when he’d found out that Johnny had been by to visit Joanne, but since that first visit, he hadn’t been back. He didn’t call, didn’t bother to find out if Roy needed any help. Roy felt he was too wrapped up in his own life to care. Yet, he missed him. His increasing discomfort with Wesley had accentuated just how much, and as much as he tried to suppress his feelings, he was beginning to realize that he was growing unhappy with working at Station 51. Without Johnny, he just simply didn’t enjoy the job nearly as much, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Suddenly, Mike broke into his thoughts. Everyone was stunned to hear the excited tone of voice coming from behind the newspaper. “Hey, guys; listen to this!” Stoker leaned forward, scooted his chair up closer to the table, and laid the newspaper down. “Millionaire Fireman Saves Millionaire.” He began reading the article, pointing at it with his finger. “Millionaire Arthur Banks, CEO of Banks Pharmaceuticals, was rescued from his home Saturday night by retired Fireman/Paramedic John Gage. Banks was found unconscious in his home after the earthquake caused a collapse, then later suffered a heart attack. Gage, formerly of Station 51 in Carson, pulled him from the wrecked home and aided Paramedics from Station 8 in his treatment. Banks is recovering from surgery at Rampart General Hospital and credits Gage with saving his life. ‘He saved my life, got me out of my house, and got my heart started again; the man’s a real hero,’ was a quote taken from a statement from Banks. Gage, a former firefighter and paramedic, retired recently after winning millions in the lottery.”

All the men stared at each other around the table, stunned. Wesley turned, looking for Roy’s reaction, and watched as Roy grabbed for the paper.

“Let me see it, Mike,” Roy pulled the paper in front of him, and began reading it silently. It was a short article, buried on the eighth page of the paper, but Roy stared at it a long time, while the others talked about it.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Cap exclaimed. “That’s really something, eh, guys?”

“Wow. It’s funny; Gage quit his job, but it looks like he’s still out there working.” Marco wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stood up to take his plate to the sink.

Chet crossed his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, well, we all know that Johnny actually wanted to come back to work, but someone prevented that by telling Headquarters early that he’d resigned.” Chet glanced contemptuously at Wesley, who looked mortified at his accusation.

“All right, Kelly; that’s enough,” Cap admonished. “I think we settled that little misunderstanding some time ago.”

“Misunderstanding my ass,” Chet muttered under his breath, but not loud enough for the Cap to hear.

Roy looked up, his eyes swiveling between Chet, the Cap, and Wesley. “What are you talking about, Chet?”

Captain Stanley had asked Chet not to mention this incident to Roy when it had happened, in order not to create tension between the men. The damage had been done; he didn’t see why it had to go any further. But now the cat was out of the bag.

Chet looked at Captain Stanley, who gave him a murderous glance back. His gaze returned to Roy, while Wes stood silent at the sink, his stony face looking menacing.

“Roy,” Hank started, but was interrupted by a knock at the back door.

Surprised, all the men’s heads turned to see a woman peering through the glass. Captain Stanley got up to answer the door, and an attractive fiftyish-looking woman greeted him. He opened the door for her and invited her inside. They all stood up as she entered. “Can we help you, ma’am?” the Cap offered politely.

“Yes.” The smile on her face was hesitant but warm. Her eyes scanned the men in the room. “I…was looking for John Gage.”

Speak of the devil…Captain Stanley’s thick brows raised in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry; but he’s not here.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed, and a little confused. “Maybe I have the wrong station? I could have sworn he’s always said he worked at Station 51.”

“Yes, ma’am, he did,” Hank explained, “but John recently…retired. He doesn’t work here any more.” The tall captain hesitated, not sure how much to unveil to the woman.

This information clearly shocked her, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, I…I’m….surprised,” she chuckled nervously, looking away baffled, “I just saw him a few days ago, and he didn’t mention it.” She stood shaking her head, as if trying to figure it out.

The Cap’s curiosity prompted him to find out more. “Would you like to sit down?” She hesitated, then he said, “Marco, how about getting the lady a cup of coffee?” He led her to the table, pulling out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” she smiled graciously. “I guess it’s really true what they say about firefighters being so charitable.” She sat while Marco set the cup of steaming coffee in front of her. “Thank you,” she murmured again. She looked around at all of them. “I’m sorry, I…I’m just so…surprised.” Shocked was more like it. “John’s always told me how much he loved his job, and I know he won all that money, but still, I….I just don’t understand it. Especially now,” she murmured more to herself than the men.

“Apparently, you’re a friend of John’s,” the Cap surmised.

“Yes. Yes, Johnny and I have known each other about four years now.” She looked around at all of them, noticing Roy’s nametag. She pointed at him. “You must be Roy DeSoto,” she squinted, trying to read the name on the tab.

“Yes, I am,” Roy answered for her.

“It’s nice to meet you. Johnny’s said a lot about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” Chet added, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, definitely. He’s always talking about your family, and your two children, and, for that matter, he’s always had nothing but good things to say about all of you.”

Roy was stunned to hear that Johnny spoke to others about his family. Who was this woman? He finally spoke up. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind my asking, how do you know Johnny?”

“Oh! Excuse me, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Meredith Macklin.”

Hank interrupted before she had the chance to go on, introducing all the guys around the table to her.

She continued. “Johnny and I met several years ago at Sunnyside Estates. It’s the nursing home where my father lives. His aunt was a resident there as well, and we became friends. My father, Ben, just loves John; Johnny always stopped in to see him whenever he came to visit his aunt.” Enthusiastically, she went on. “He’s always helping us with things; he just moved some new furniture into my father’s room a couple of months ago, and recently he took Ben out one afternoon to help him shop for some clothes. It’s been nice having him around; Johnny can lift Ben in and out of his wheelchair, where I can’t, and Sunnyside doesn’t have any outside transportation. Heaven knows we need all the help we can get. It hasn’t been the best facility; but now, things are about to change.” She smiled, and took a breath to continue, but Roy interrupted.

“Meredith, did you say you saw Johnny a few days ago?”

She nodded, her face turning somber. “Yes, I saw him at….Rose’s funeral.”

“Rose?”

She looked at Roy, a little surprised that he didn’t seem to know the name of Johnny’s aunt. As close as John had insinuated they were, she would have thought Roy would know that one simple fact about him. “Uh, Rose was his aunt.”

All the men looked at one another. The Cap fidgeted in his seat. Chet chewed on his lower lip, while Mike and Marco glanced uncomfortably at one another. Stunned, Roy sat frozen in his seat, his hand jerked, nearly spilling the coffee from his cup.

Roy looked at the woman in disbelief. “His aunt…died?”

Meredith nodded again. “Yes, unfortunately.” Her eyes rolled upward, and she shook her head. “It’s such a terrible tragedy. After Johnny won all that money, he decided he wanted to move his aunt to a nicer facility, one where she would get better care. You couldn’t blame him, there were so many times when he found her in less than adequate circumstances at Sunnyside. And sometimes, they would sedate her just so they wouldn’t have to deal with her. You know, with her dementia,” she said knowingly, as if she expected them to know exactly what she was talking about. The men all glanced nervously at one another. “Well, he moved her to Abington Manor, a really nice place, but very expensive…I couldn’t afford it, and well, a good part of that whole nursing home was destroyed in the earthquake. She was killed.”

Everyone sat silently, stunned and saddened, speechless.

“Ever since it happened, poor Johnny has been blaming himself, saying that if he hadn’t won the money, he wouldn’t have moved her, and she would still be alive. He feels responsible for her death. I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, but he still feels like it’s his fault. “ Meredith took in all the shocked expressions on their faces, and an uncomfortable pause ensued. Her voice was very soft when she asked, “You didn’t know, did you? He never told anyone about this, did he?”

Captain Stanley swallowed, his lips pursed together. “No, ma’am. I wish he had.”

Chet and Marco were looking at each other, while Roy sat in silent guilt, his mind now whirling with the answer to his question as to why he hadn’t heard anything from Johnny. Why the hell didn’t he say anything to Joanne? It was probably because Joanne had been too sick when he’d been there. But why hadn’t he called or stopped by?

“Well, I guess that explains why hardly anyone was at the funeral,” Meredith pointed out sadly. She looked around at all of them. “She was the last living member of his family, you know.”

Captain Stanley sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he looked back at her, his voice was full of remorse. “No. We didn’t know that. You see, Johnny’s never been very…forthcoming about his family life. I’m sure if any of us had known, we would have been there for him. I only wish he would have told us.”

Meredith smiled minutely. “I’m sure you would have. He’s spoken so highly of you all. Don’t feel badly. I think he’s just been having a hard time dealing with the guilt.”

“That’s understandable.” It was weak, but Captain Stanley really didn’t know what to say.

Meredith stood up. “I really should be going. Thank you for the coffee. It was nice meeting all of you.”

“The pleasure was ours.” Captain Stanley began to escort her toward the door, followed by Roy, when he thought of something. “Perhaps we can get a message to Johnny for you?”

Meredith stopped abruptly, her hand flying to her head. “Oh yes, of course! I almost forgot the whole reason why I came by here today! I wanted to thank him!”

“Thank him?”

“Yes! Oh, I suppose none of you know about this yet either.”

“Know about what?” Roy asked apprehensively.

“About his gift – to Sunnyside.” She looked around at them all excitedly. “We still can’t believe it, but, Johnny donated one million dollars in his aunt’s name to help with improvements to the home!”

Roy’s jaw went slack, dropping open, which was mirrored by the rest of the crew, including Wesley. “Did you say…a…million dollars?”

Meredith nodded, swallowing. “Yes. It’s just the most fantastic thing; no one has ever given such a large gift before. The new administrator will be able to start the remodeling project they’ve been talking about for years, and, best of all, hire plenty of experienced nurses and staff so that no one will ever have a lack of care there again. It’s like a dream come true for my father.”

Meredith finally left, leaving a room full of stunned firemen. After seeing her to the door, Captain Stanley went back to his chair at the table next to Mike, and plopped back into it with a heavy sigh. Roy wandered aimlessly around the room, his perplexed brow furrowed with worry. Wesley stood leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Roy, while Chet and Marco eyed each other.

Marco finally broke the silence. “Boy, it’s a shame about Johnny’s aunt.”

Captain Stanley absently twirled the glass ashtray around on the table. “Yes, it is, Marco.” He paused, thinking. “I wonder why he didn’t tell any of us what happened?” I kind of always thought that John thought of us as his family. Hank didn’t voice the fact that he was a little disappointed that Johnny hadn’t come to them.

“It was like the lady said, Cap. He was probably feeling guilty about it.” Mike carefully folded the forgotten paper up and pushed it away. “Maybe he felt like he couldn’t face anybody. I know if that had happened to me, I don’t think I could have.”

Chet slammed the refrigerator door shut, after not finding anything appealing in it. “Man, Gage must have really gone off the deep end over this.”

“Why do you say that, Chet?” Marco pulled out a chair next to the Cap and sat down with a cup of coffee.

“Marco, we’re talkin’ about Gage here. He gave all his money away. He must be losin’ it to do something that crazy.”

Hank swiveled in his chair. “Maybe he didn’t think it was crazy, Chet. Maybe he thought that after what happened to his aunt, he wanted the money to do some good. I think what he did was…pretty noble.”

“Yeah, Cap; but, all of it? What’s he gonna do for money? He’s out of a job!” Chet cast a bitter glance at Wesley.

“Chet, I’m sure he still has some money left. He won more than a million.” Marco reminded him.

“Yeah. He won three million, but then he had to pay taxes on that, which probably left him with less than half. Then he bought that house, the car, the boat, and God knows all the other stuff he’s spent his money on.”

Hank looked up at Roy, who had stopped wandering, and was staring blankly into space from his spot leaning against the wall. His hands were shoved limply into his pockets. “Roy?”

Hank’s voice jarred Roy from his thoughts and he pushed himself away from the wall. His voice sounded weak when he spoke. “Cap? Can I use your office for a minute?”

Hank smiled knowingly. “Sure, Roy.” He watched Roy head for the door. “Let us know what you find out.”

Roy nodded, and departed. Immediately, Wesley set his coffee cup down and followed him, but Chet stopped him. “Hey, Wes. Roy’s already got a dog at home; he doesn’t need two.” His tone was laced with venom.

Wes never slowed down. He glanced at Chet over his shoulder and uttered, “Fuck you, Kelly,” on his way out the door.

Captain Stanley was so taken aback, his mouth dropped open. A moment later, he was out the door, after Wes. The other three were left to gawk at what had just happened.

Roy dialed the number for the second time, making sure he hadn’t made a mistake. The phone only rang endlessly now, no answering machine picked up either time. Morosely, he set the receiver back into its cradle. He sat perched on the edge of the Captain’s desk for a long time, thinking. What the hell was happening with Johnny? He hadn’t heard from him in over two weeks, then he shows up briefly at the hospital to visit Joanne after the earthquake. He doesn’t call, doesn’t stop by, then they find out his aunt dies, and he’s given all his money away, and he doesn’t tell anyone anything. What the hell is going on?!

Roy glanced up, seeing the Captain walk by. Hank’s face was drawn with tension, his jaw clenched. Roy poked his head out the door. “Cap? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Hank turned at the sound of Roy’s voice and entered his office, his face relaxing a bit. “Sure, Roy.”

Roy walked behind him, and peeking out into the engine bay, gently closed the door.

“What did you find out?”

Roy shook his head. “Nothing. No one answers.”

“I supposed he could have had some earthquake damage; that neighborhood was hit pretty hard. Have you been by his house lately?”

 Roy sighed heavily. “No.” He was ashamed to admit it. “With Joanne bein’ in the hospital and everything….”

“Yeah, I understand. It’s not like we haven’t all been a little overextended since the quake.” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Roy. The man looked tired, and his face was a little pale. “How many overtime shifts have you worked lately?”

“I don’t know, Cap; a couple I guess.” Every firefighter in LA had been working overtime since the earthquake; at least now since they were getting help from the National Guard and the Red Cross, things were easing up a little. Also, firefighters from all over the country were pouring into the area, after volunteering to help. “Cap, I need to know something.”

Hank looked at Roy expectantly. “Shoot.”

“Cap, what did Chet mean when he said that Johnny wanted his job back, but that someone had prevented it by informing Headquarters about his resignation?”

Hank’s lips tightened grimly, and he folded his arms.

“Cap, I thought you were going to hold onto Johnny’s resignation for a few weeks just to make sure of his decision?” When Roy had heard the announcement that Wesley was to be his permanent partner, he assumed that Johnny had been the one to expedite the resignation quickly.

Stanley sighed. “I was.” He began to explain.

Some time later, the door to Hank Stanley’s office opened, and Roy stormed out. He was so angry he was shaking, and strode outside to cool off. He’d only been out there for several minutes, when a three alarm call came in, sending them all out to a fire at a clothing store.

Part 10