by Bob Avey
Luke seemed to consider the possibility. Moments later he said, “Okay.”
Martin breathed a sigh of relief. The day wasn’t over, not by a longshot, but small victories were always good.
Luke played with his food, moving the oatmeal around with his spoon, not eating it. Oatmeal with nuts and raisins. It was his favorite.
“Well, what about the birthday parties this weekend?” Martin asked. “I hope everyone shows up. Have you heard from Chris and Jennifer?”
Susan gave Martin a curious look. “I think everything will turn out fine.”
She checked her watch again. “Okay, guys. Time to hit the road. You don’t want to be late.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARTIN
May 4, 2020, 9:00 a.m.
You can do this, Martin. You have to.
He paused near the entrance to the office, a red-painted, wooden door that might have belonged to an old, colonial home had it not been so large. Luke had been silent during the drive, but he’d jumped from the car and bravely walked across the parking lot. There had been a slight hesitation in his step, though—something only a father might notice—and Martin could sense the tension building.
“Your mother mentioned that she wants to go out to eat tonight. She wants you to pick the restaurant.”
His attempt to calm Luke wasn’t working. He was too nervous, and Luke could tell. He tried again.
“Maybe we can try that pizza place you like, the one with all the video games.”
Luke didn’t answer. With what seemed to be determination, he took it upon himself to move forward with the appointment. He grabbed the door handle, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
Martin reached for the open door and followed before Luke could change his mind.
The receptionist, a neatly dressed young man sitting inside a walled off area with window-like openings, shuffled some papers on his desk and came to one of the windows. “You must be Luke?”
“I ready,” Luke said, his voice edgy and a bit too loud.
Martin just stood there with his legs locked into place. He should have been thinking ahead, ready for whatever situation that might arise, but he wasn’t a take-charge kind of guy, and everything about this office suddenly seemed out of place.
The receptionist maintained his calm facade. He was probably used to that kind of thing.
“You must be, Mr. Taylor,” the receptionist said, “Luke’s father?”
All Martin could manage to do was nod like some bobble headed doll. “That’s right.”
Martin put his arm around Luke’s shoulder. Bad idea. Luke tensed, moving away slightly. It was a reaction he seldom gave, and it was not a good sign.
“Sorry,” Martin said. “We’re both a little rattled this morning.”
The receptionist gathered some papers and fastened them to a clipboard. “You’ll need to fill this out. Both sides, please.”
Martin took the clipboard and walked over to an area where a row of chairs lined the wall. Luke followed. So far, so good. He thought about telling Luke that everything would be all right, that it wouldn’t take long, but decided against it. Best not to push it. Anyway, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he wasn’t at all sure everything would be all right.
A few minutes later, Martin handed the clipboard to Luke and pointed to an underlined area where his son was to sign the document.
Luke took the clipboard and pen. He brought the pen to the paper as if to comply, but then he paused.
Before Martin could figure out what was happening, Luke hurled the clipboard onto the floor and walked out of the office, leaving Martin behind.
The other patients drilled Martin, an obviously bad father, with angry stares. Not to be outdone in his own office, the receptionist shot Martin a nasty, disapproving look.
“Maybe you should go after him.”
Martin didn’t know what to say, much less what to do about the situation. He sat there stunned, staring at the door that had closed behind his son. It might not have been the worst thing to happen, but it was close. An image of Luke stalking away, perhaps even walking into traffic, ran through Martin’s mind, and the frightening truth of his lack of parenting skills put a knot in his stomach. Sitting there looking helpless might be taken by the others in the office as a sign of weakness.
He stood to go after Luke, steadying himself on legs that felt like rubber. He had to do something.
Thankfully, Luke resolved the issue. The door opened, and he came back into the office. He paused before strolling back to the chairs along the wall where Martin was still standing and lowered himself into the chair. “I sorry.”
Martin smiled and sat back down. “It’s okay, nothing to be sorry about. It took a lot of courage to come back in here like that. I’m proud of you.”
Luke picked up the clipboard and then scooped up the pen. After signing the paperwork, he handed it back to Martin.
“I’ll take that,” the receptionist said. “Doctor Stewart is ready. You’ll need to wait here, Mr. Taylor. It’s Doctor Stewart’s policy to visit one on one with the patient. I hope you understand?”
Martin nodded, but he wasn’t so sure he did understand. He always went in with Luke on doctor’s visits; his presence benefited both parties. No one had ever objected before.
“It’s okay,” Luke said. He followed the nurse, or whatever she was, out of the reception area. They both disappeared as the door, a freshly painted white door, closed behind them.
An uneasy sensation crept through Martin. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let Luke down, that he lacked the courage to do anything and had let his son walk alone into a situation that, for Luke, was scary and possibly even unsafe.
Martin pushed the ridiculous notion aside and leaned back into the chair, trying to relax, but his thoughts chaotically rambled through his mind. Writing was one of his passions, not that he had any real success with it. But he loved it, so he kept at it. Thoughts of characters and scenes often ran through his mind. Similar to how a computer might run two programs simultaneously, he’d found he could think of writing on the inside while carrying on with reality on the outside. But this was different. His characters and situations had always been fictional until now.
Now, he thought of his wife, Susan.
. . .
“Martin Taylor, what in blazes is wrong with you?”
They were riding in the car, though Susan was driving while Martin rode in the passenger seat, gazing through the side window. “Let me explain.”
“Well, it had better be good. One simple task, Martin, that’s all I asked. Take Luke to an appointment. And what do you do? Get into a fight with the doctor. Are you freaking kidding me?”
Susan paused. Tears moistened her eyes. “This is important, Martin. Luke’s insurance coverage rests on it. Or doesn’t that matter to you? I’m beginning to wonder if anything matters to you anymore. What were you thinking? You’ve never even said a harsh word to anyone I know of, and now you’re punching out doctors? I’ve never even seen the inside of a jail before, much less bail anyone out. I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Doctor Stewart was out of line, spouting off insulting statements about Luke’s intelligence.”
Susan went silent for a moment, trying to take in what Martin had said.
He noticed his hand balling into a fist, and he forced himself to calm down. He and Susan had gone through things like this before, too many times to count. It wasn’t easy raising someone like Luke. But going through it had strengthened them—brought them all closer as a family.
“It was a psychological ex
am, Martin. The doctor had to make some determinations. I know these problems are too close to the surface for both of us. But maybe the doctor was just being… well, just being blunt about the matter.”
“I might believe that,” Martin said, “if I was the one Doctor Stewart had spoken to about it.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I heard it from Luke.”
Susan frowned. “That makes it even worse. You know perfectly well how Luke gets things mixed up. He could have completely misunderstood.”
“You’re missing the point. Why would a psychologist confide things of that nature to the patient, knowing full well the patient wasn’t operating on a sufficient level of understanding?”
After a moment of silence, she said, “What exactly did the doctor tell him?”
“That you and I, his parents, didn’t deserve this, and we’d be better off without him.”
Susan slowed the car for a moment and then resumed some speed. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would a doctor jeopardize his career like that?”
. . .
“Mr. Taylor?”
Martin shook off the reverie or whatever it was—a memory, a premonition—and then stood and strolled across the floor toward the reception area. Once there, he said, “May 4, 2003.”
“What’s that?”
“Luke’s date of birth.”
The neatly dressed young man smiled. “You’ve done this before.”
Martin nodded, but he thought it odd the receptionist should put it that way. “More than a few times,” he said. “7205 South Mulberry Avenue.”
The white-painted door opened, and Luke came out by himself— no nurse or doctor. He sauntered nervously over to where Martin stood near the reception area.
“Hey, buddy. How did it go? Not so bad, I’ll bet.”
“I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”
“You guys are good to go,” the receptionist said. “Doctor Stewart will relay his findings to Luke’s primary care physician.”
Martin thought of asking why it would be handled that way but decided it was best to leave it for now and just get Luke out of the nervous environment. At home, he would talk to Susan about it and go from there. “Thanks for your help,” he said.
He strolled across the floor with Luke close behind. Then with a shaking hand, his mind busy with thought, he pushed open the door. Just as he stepped through the doorway, he couldn’t resist an urge to once more glance toward the white-painted door. It was then that he saw who he suspected was Doctor Stewart. For a brief moment, Martin looked into the doctor’s eyes. A flash of something close to familiarity filtered through his mind only to disappear as quickly as it’d come.
Martin thought about Luke’s life, having been examined and questioned by doctors only to be constantly told everything would be all right when in fact it was far from that. At least, Martin suspected, it must seem that way to Luke.
With those thoughts running through his mind, Martin got into the car, waited for Luke to get fastened up, and drove out of the parking lot.
Luke sat silently for a while. Then he said, “Can hummingbirds get sick? You know, eat too much?”
“I don’t think so,” Martin said. He’d recently hung some feeders from the back porch, and Luke had quickly become fascinated with the birds. Oddly enough, he referred to them as tiny, flying horses. “They need a lot of energy.”
“I thought they could get sick.”
Martin had recently bought an old sign Luke had become intrigued with. It had been at an antique shop, and he’d paid too much for it. “Not really. God made them that way. Their wings move fast, so they need energy. They get it from nectar.” He paused and thought about the feeders. “And from the sugar water we put out for them.”
“I thought they could get sick.”
The antique sign featured Pegasus, the mythical flying horse. Luke had asked for it to be hung on the wall over his bed.
“No, they burn it off.”
“Kind of like you and Mom?”
Martin considered what his son had said. At times, Luke’s insight was remarkable. Then again, when he got into these circular thought patterns, he might simply say things that only seemed that way. “Sort of,” Martin said. “Hummingbirds need energy to fly, so they fly to get the energy. Mom and I want food to eat, a place to stay, and other nice things, and we have to work to get that. Like the birds, we work to live and live to work.”
Luke grew silent again and stared through the window.
“Is everything all right?” Martin asked.
“You be happy without me?”
Martin gripped the steering wheel. He’d never gone beyond surprise with Luke. The things he said seemed off the wall, but sometimes they were not. “Why would I ever be without you?”
“I cause problems?”
Martin struggled to come to terms with what he was hearing. Earlier at the Doctor’s office, he’d gone through a scenario where he and Susan discussed improper behavior from Doctor Stewart. But that had only been in his mind, hadn’t it? “Did something happen with Doctor Stewart?”
Luke grew silent and looked through the window, but his behavior was enough of an answer.
Martin slowed the car. It was all he could do to maintain even a reasonable amount of composure. “What did Doctor Stewart say?”
“You and Mom don’t deserve this.”
“He said that to you?”
“It’s okay.”
“No, Luke, it’s not okay.” Martin took the next exit and pulled off the highway.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“No, you don’t have to. I promise. You can stay in the car.”
A few minutes later, Martin pulled into the parking lot where he and Luke had been earlier. He reached for the door, but Luke put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to pause.
“The fence man took the orange cord, and a hummingbird flew past my ear. He took the orange cord. I thought you gave it to him.”
Martin took a deep breath. They were in the process of having a fence installed. It had been quite an ordeal, going through several installers to get it done. “No,” Martin said, “I didn’t give it to him. He hasn’t finished the job, anyway. Maybe he’ll bring it back.”
“There was a dove on the roof. The fence man’s truck wouldn’t start. He and that skinny guy pushed it down the driveway.”
Martin opened the door. “We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay?”
“No, Dad. Please don’t.”
Martin hesitated, once again going over the strange scenario he’d run through his mind where Susan had scolded him for getting into a fight with Doctor Stewart. “Yeah,” he said, “maybe you’re right.”
He closed the door and started the car. However, he’d only gone a few feet when he saw the black BMW parked near the rear of the building. He turned the steering wheel toward the black car and taxied toward it. In a spot just behind the BMW, he stopped and shut off the engine to his car. Like his own car, the BMW was without a scratch.
“What you do?” Luke asked.
Martin opened the storage compartment between the seats. His mother had always insisted he keep toothpicks in the car, God rest her soul, and the toothpicks were still there. Martin got one toothpick and then pushed the button that popped open the trunk in the rear. “Just a little insurance policy,” he said.
And with thoughts of the previous night’s nightmare running through his mind, Martin got out of the car, hastened to the trunk, withdrew a roll of duct tape, and headed toward the BMW. Stopping on the side away f
rom the street where he hoped he wouldn’t be seen, he glanced around then bent over, removed the valve cover from the tire, and shoved the toothpick in until the air started to come out. He then wrapped it in place with tape. During the errant task, he realized why Doctor Stewart’s eyes had frightened him. They were the same eyes he’d looked into with clarity just as the BMW crashed into his car. With that, a sensation of being watched came over him, and he imagined those cold, steel eyes now hovering over him.
“What you do?”
Martin jerked around, fully expecting he’d been caught letting the air out of Doctor Stewart’s car, but instead saw his son hovering over him. “Dang it, Luke, you just cost me several years of my life.”
“What you mean?”
“Never mind,” Martin said, “let’s get out of here.”
Martin drove his son home. After getting Luke settled in, he left his son at the house. It wasn’t unusual. Luke had shown that he was okay alone for short periods. In fact, it made him feel important—more grown up.
A few minutes later, Martin gripped the steering wheel. Why was he so convinced that something nefarious was going on?
That question kept running through his mind, and each time he asked himself he got the same answer. It was something he sensed, maybe even believed on some gut level.
Conversely, why did everyone else, with the possible exception of Luke, seem so oblivious to what was nearly obvious to Martin?
Which brought up another important point. If he was convinced that Doctor Stewart was up to something wrong, what was he going to do about it? He wasn’t exactly anyone’s knight in shining armor, not that he wouldn’t like to be. His inner doubts and fears— the feelings he tried to keep hidden, even from himself— were just too deeply rooted.
It wasn’t that a single, devastating act had put him on such an unsteady course. It was an accumulation of ordinary, innocuous aggravations levied by his insecure father on a daily basis.
At a stoplight less than three miles from his work, Martin reconsidered. He shouldn’t go to the office today. Luke’s appointment had only taken a couple hours, as was expected, and he could still get in four or five hours. But with the unsettling thoughts about the dream and the appointment running through his mind, he’d be useless. He hadn’t discussed the appointment with Susan. He and Luke had decided—Luke because he just didn’t want to deal with it anymore, and Martin because he wasn’t ready—that they would just keep what happened after the doctor’s appointment between themselves. Martin wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets, especially from Susan. He just needed time to think and sort this all out.