The Legend of Safehaven

by R. A. Comunale

  “Look at it this way—nothing did happen until we got here. Besides, can you imagine the battle royal that would have ensued if a copter had disturbed her birds?”

  Edison paused, reluctant to say what he was thinking. He swallowed then looked into his old friend’s eyes.

  “Didn’t you see anything, any signs or symptoms that might have warned you about Nancy?”

  Galen looked up at his friend. He was too tired to reply.

  They sat and waited.

  “Mrs. Edison, we’ll use mild sedation and local anesthesia to hook you up. You’ll be aware of what’s going on. Let us know if you feel any discomfort.”

  Crescenzi and his resident assistant began their prep, as the nurse-anesthetist administered the combination of conscious-sedation medications to Nancy. She felt relaxed but remained alert enough to watch the monitor screen above her, as the doctors threaded the electrodes and placed the small, under-the-skin pouch just below her left collar bone.

  “There. Now let’s see how she paces.”

  They activated the unit, and Nancy felt a sudden, slight jolt, as the defibrillator/pacemaker started to time her heart. Soon it became unnoticeable.

  “Okay, Mary. Let’s lighten up on the meds.”

  The anesthetist slowly titrated back on the midazolam drip, and the light fog lifted in Nancy’s mind.

  “Let’s watch her in recovery for awhile. Then we’ll get her up to a monitor bed in intermediate CCU.

  “You did just fine, Mrs. Edison.”

  She nodded at the young woman peering down at her and smiled.

  “Thanks … uh…”

  The nurse noticed that she was squinting at her name badge.

  “It’s Mary, Mrs. Edison. Now just rest in the unit for awhile, and then we’ll see if Dr. Crescenzi wants you moved to a regular bed.”

  She smiled and resumed pushing Nancy’s gurney. They reached the observation unit, and Mary efficiently positioned Nancy’s stretcher and monitor units for easy visibility. Then she turned to the nurse on duty and gave her the OR records and post-op order sheet.

  “I’ll check on you later, Mrs. Edison.”

  “Thanks, Mary.”

  Nancy lay there, hearing the muted sounds of the heart monitor. The steady-paced beats did not relieve her uneasy feeling. Something was definitely not right between Bob and Galen. His words echoed in her head: “Didn’t you see anything…?”

  “Mr. Edison, we’re going to keep Mrs. Edison at least overnight to make sure everything remains stable. So far her pacemaker is doing a fine job.”

  “That’s routine, Edison,” Galen added, as his friend’s eyes started to widen in fear.

  “Can I see her, Doctor?”

  “Certainly. Come on, I’ll take you in.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Galen hesitated to follow. He knew how traumatic and personal this whole situation was to his friend.

  “Yes.”

  The three men walked down the hall to the intermediate-care unit, but Edison didn’t wait for the other two. As soon as he saw Nancy he ran to her gurney.

  “Nancy … I … uh … I…”

  He couldn’t speak. He just laid his head against her cheek and kissed her repeatedly. She wrapped her arm around him.

  “Honey, I think we’re going to have guests,” Nancy said gently, as she spotted Galen and Crescenzi standing in the hallway.

  Her husband of almost fifty-five years lifted his head and wiped his eyes then nodded. He stood by her bedside, as the old and young doctor approached.

  “Everything is going well … so far, Mrs. Edison. I told Mr. Edison that I’d like to keep you here at least overnight to monitor for any irregularities in your heartbeat. The pacer is doing its job well, but I always like to be sure. Is that all right with you?”

  “Can’t I go home today? I feel fine. Besides, I don’t want Norton and Kramden here messing up the house while I’m not there.”

  Crescenzi raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re too young to remember, Sal. Maybe ‘The Odd Couple’ is a better reference.”

  Crescenzi seemed startled.

  “You don’t mean…?”

  “No, no, Sal, not that way. Let’s just say that neither Edison nor I should be trusted alone in a well-kept kitchen or house.”

  The young doctor blushed and smiled, as a knowing look passed between him and Galen.

  “Mrs. Edison, let’s just see how things go. We’ll take it day by day.”

  “Can’t I stay with her?”

  “Go home, Bob. One of us in the hospital is enough.” Nancy clasped his hand, and he bent over and kissed hers.

  A few minutes later, after more hand-kissing from Edison and reassurances from Crescenzi, the two men walked slowly down the hall. One kept turning around to look back at the room they had just left. The other kept steering him gently toward the hospital exit. It was one of the few times Edison allowed Galen to drive him home.

  “Stop pacing, Edison. That won’t help.”

  His friend of over sixty years was wearing a hole in the living room carpet. Edison sat down, fidgeted a few minutes, and stood up again.

  “She’s not here. She’s not here!”

  “But she will be, and soon. What you’re doing won’t help, little brother.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  He moved closer to the bear-sized man, shook his fist in Galen’s face and snarled, “I’m not your little brother, and, for that matter, what gives you the right to tell me what to do in my own home?”

  Galen stood stunned for a moment.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, right, go ahead—play the innocent bystander. If you’re so smart, you quack, how come you didn’t pick up on her heart thing, huh? You’re supposed to know everything—right? This might not have happened if …”

  “Edison, that’s unfair. I know you’re distraught over Nancy, but…”

  “You big jerk, you don’t understand. I almost lost her once. If I lost her again … how could you possibly unders…?”

  The sudden look on Galen’s face sent a chill through him.

  “Uh ... I … uh…”

  Galen turned without a word and went to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  Leni, Cathy, he doesn’t know how lucky he is.

  Each man spent an anguished, sleepless night—Edison frightened at the prospect of losing his beloved wife, and Galen feeling alone and lonelier than he had in years. He sat on the edge of his bed, clutching Leni’s stuffed toy dog to his chest.

  Neither man spoke, as each fixed a quick breakfast of toast and marmalade then headed to the car. They exchanged no words, as Edison took the driver’s seat, and they headed down the mountain road leading to the hospital. They walked separately to the intermediate ICU, and they waited separately, while the unit nurse called Crescenzi.

  “Mr. Edison, your timing is perfect. Your wife had a good night, so I’m sending her home this morning.”

  They followed the cardiologist into the small, glass-enclosed room, Edison moving quickly to his wife’s side and planted a kiss on her forehead. He smiled for the first time in two days, but his voice trembled, as he said, “Nancy, we’re taking you home today!”

  Crescenzi turned to Galen then back to Nancy.

  “Now, young lady, you’re not to do anything around the house, until your resident quack says you can. Understand?”

  She looked at her husband, her face glowing. Then she noted the silence. She looked at Galen.

  Neither man was looking at the other.

  “What’s going on, you two?”

  Silence.

  Crescenzi wisely stepped outside.

  “What’s going on?”

  She knew, as women always do, and she shot an exasperated frown at the pouting, geriatric little boys.

  A few more moments of silence then Edison and Galen turned to each other. The old engineer started to speak then stopped. He l
ooked at his friend and nodded. Almost in unison both mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

  Then Edison leered at Galen.

  “Heeey, Ralphie boy, you are so fat!”

  A rare smile crossed Galen’s face. He cleared his throat, made a fist with his right hand, and struck his left palm as he roared out, “So help me, Norton, one of these days, POW! Right in the kisser!”

  The three old friends, two walking and one in a wheelchair, headed for the hospital exit.

  CHAPTER 11

  Elegy for Aaron

  It was said of Galen that his mind was sharp as a tack, even to the day he died. And that was not far from the truth. Indeed, the retired doctor’s proverbial steel-trap memory of things, people, places, dates, and times endured. But what few realized, and only two really understood, was how the old man managed to store those bits of data that clutter the intellect to the point of confusion and distraction.

  He awoke earlier than usual that day. He lay in bed, underneath the same quilt that had covered him and Leni their first night together. He stared nearsightedly at the still-night-darkened window.

  His joints ached even after his usual four hours of rest. Maybe it was just the events of the previous evening. He quietly shook his head and touched the pillow that Cathy had made for him, when they had moved into their first house.

  He reached for his glasses, slid them over his nose, and looked at the calendar on the opposite wall. The numerals stood out bleakly in heavy black, not just in print but in his heart.

  He shook his head again and sat up on the edge of the bed.

  Another day .

  He stood up, put on the Beacon bathrobe that June had insisted he wear when he turned fifty-five, and headed to the bathroom.

  He dressed warmly. His beloved Leni’s sweater, a gift more than a half-century old now and still bright in its variegated fall colors, protected his seven-plus-decades-old chest. The sheepskin-lined leather gloves, Cathy’s reminder that he needed to keep his then late-forty-something hands warm, still fit, even over the arthritic knobs on the ends of his fingers. The gloves matched the woolen scarf he carefully wrapped around his neck before putting on June’s London Fog coat. She had jokingly told him that his late-fifties body needed the extra protection, and that he could be sure of her advice, because she was a doctor, too.

  He carefully protected these and a few other, tangible reminders of shattered dreams as holy relics of his bygone youth.

  As he tried to slip out of the house, he caught his reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer.

  So, Galen, who would have thought you’d be spending your last days living with friends and shepherding children, wolves, bears, and assorted other creatures on the top of a mountain in Pennsylvania?

  He opened the heavy oak door of the house and stared out into the night.

  His destination, even at this early hour, was deep into the woods. His two friends were still soundly asleep, and breakfast was several hours away. But old habits die hard. Ever since he had retired, he still managed to take his solitary, predawn walks, barring the inclement weather the altitude frequently would bring.

  His walking stick, a whittled down maple branch Edison had run through his router as a surprise for him a few birthdays ago, tapped lightly on the gravel, as he stood outside deciding in which direction to turn.

  The bird pond … yes, that should do it.

  He headed down the path still covered by last autumn’s dried leaves. He moved past the old blind, where they all had first studied the wolves and other mountain fauna. Soon he reached what he always had considered his own private little beach.

  The winter snows and spring rains had filled the pond almost past capacity, and its shoreline became a pit stop for the thirsty denizens of the forest.

  Spring had only declared itself by the calendar. The overnight mountain temperatures still dropped to the low thirties. He pulled the knee-length coat—June’s parting gift before that fateful flight to Colombia—close to his neck. His large ears supported the old pith helmet hat he had worn in the past while planting his Virginia gardens—memorials to his past loves.

  He came to the seat-high, glacier-strewn boulder not far from the pond edge and sat to catch his breath. It had been a while since he had been able to walk that far without stopping. He liked to think it was because he was more introspective and not in physical disarray.

  Dawn was casting its fireplace glow over the horizon.

  They watched the large, two-legged one. Definitely a male to their keen senses, he was well known to them, and they accepted his position of dominance. They didn’t fear him. He and the other two-legged ones had never threatened them, and they often left food.

  They moved forward, some on four legs, others by wing, and sat in council with him.

  His ears, the only sense that had actually improved with age, picked up the leaf rustling and changing air currents. He turned toward the rock outcropping and cave formations that comprised the wolf den and saw emerald-green eyes returning his gaze. They formed the dominance phalanx with the alpha male and its littermate consiglieres at the fore.

  The stirring of dried leaves beneath the nearby, still-bare oak tree brought the young owl into view. Its bowling-pin form with folded wings sat on a low limb. The old man’s laughter broke the stillness, and the wind-rippled waves on the small pond provided soft accompaniment.

  “Where is my Baloo? Come on, old bear. Come sit with your brother!”

  Galen laughed even louder then put his hands to his face to hide the tears.

  If they knew how much I still cried, they would’ve dispatched me long ago .

  He didn’t look up until he heard the low-groaning growl and heavy-padding footsteps approach.

  Only the Great Horned Owl showed none of the effects of over-wintering, while Lupus and Ursus displayed the matting and early shedding of their seasonal, thick fur.

  “You look as bad as I feel, Baloo. You’re a young bear, not like me.”

  The black bear waddled slowly to the pond edge, lapped at the water, then moved to within twenty feet of Galen and sat back comfortably on its haunches. It stretched then let out a loud yawn.

  The old doctor looked at each of the forest creatures. He raised himself from his sitting position, turned to the rippling pond water, and returned to his audience.

  “If this were a vaudeville routine, I’d start off with a joke, but I don’t feel like making jokes. I know I’m probably crazy for even standing here and talking like this, speaking to a group of wild mammals and birds. But I sense this strange affinity for all of you.”

  He felt their keen eyes fixed on him. Okay, he was an old fool, but who else could he talk to? Edison and Nancy would tolerate it, but would they truly understand?

  Lem, Ben, Lachlan, the kids? No, he had to remain an image of wisdom and fortitude in their presence. They depended on him.

  “My friends, do you know what today is? It’s my birthday.”

  The bear rolled over on its back, large tufts of fur falling out as it scratched itself on the ground. The “tchk-tchk” of the owl kept pace.

  The alpha wolf moved forward and sniffed the old man’s hand. He looked at its piercing eyes, reached over, and stroked the canine’s head.

  He began crying again, but it wasn’t because he was a year older. He sat back down on the boulder, tapped the ground with his stick, and cleared his throat.

  “My friends, let me tell you a story. Would you like to hear a story?”

  Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe it was just poor eyesight, but the animals seemed to grunt and chirp in agreement.

  “Okay, since you asked, I’ll tell you a story about a past time, long before the years when your great, great, great, great grandparents roamed this forest. I was just a boy then … and full of hope.”

  The old man stared ahead, his mind leaping over the mountains of memory.

  * * *

  “Edison, are you sure your Mom and Dad won’t mind? I can
still catch the bus home.”

  He hadn’t even visited another kid’s house in years, much less stay for dinner. But he had told his parents that Edison and he were working on a school science project, so the bases were covered.

  Hours had passed, as they worked on the circuit for the muscle stimulator, tweaking the controls to get it just right, when a car horn beeped in the driveway in front of Edison’s father’s garage/workshop.

  “It’s my Dad. He had to go into work today. They’re designing some new type of light fixtures, and he’s their top man.”

  Robert Edison was proud of his old man, and Ron Edison was just as proud of his son. The sailor boy who had courted Gloria and then gone off to war was still tall and lean, with just a touch of gray toward the back of his russet-brown hair. He walked easily, just a hint of shipboard sailor’s roll left after a fifteen-year hiatus from his navy service.

  “What are you two guys up to now?”

  He grinned at his son and the big, quiet kid standing next to him.

  “It’s a muscle stimulator, Dad. We’ve designed the circuit so the current and the frequency of pulsation can be varied.”

  Edison the younger proudly held up the unit that he and Galen had built into a piece of bent-aluminum sheeting.

  The older man looked it over, still smiling, and turned to the boys.

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure,” they said in unison.

  Galen wasn’t certain how to act around Edison’s parents. They were the friendliest people he had ever met, and they lived in a pretty house in the suburbs, not in the drab middle of town.

  “Well, if you position the controls this way…”

  Ron Edison went on to point out some changes that, as soon as the boys heard them, made perfect sense. Then he wisely added, “But it’s your gadget. Change it only if you think it will help.”

  The three turned at the sound of the workshop door opening.

  “Ron, dinner will be ready soon. Bobby, would your friend like to stay?”

  Gloria Edison, floral aproned, smiled from the doorway at her husband and son—and Galen.