Like

by Bart Hopkins

  The transformation in Danny had been almost instantaneous. Every grade he had gotten the past two weeks had been an A. He cleaned his room without asking, took out the trash … he even suffered through tomatoes in his dinner salad with only marginal complaints.

  When she picked him up (late) the other day, alone outside of the school, he wasn’t forlorn, or bothered in the least. He hopped right into the car, asking as he slung his backpack into the back seat, “You think Dad is going to Skype tonight?”

  “Hope so, buddy,” she’d answered with a smile.

  “Awesome,” he had replied, clicking his seat belt closed.

  She finished prepping another patient for examination, gave the obligatory, “The doctor will be with you in a moment” spiel, and stepped into the hallway. They had several examination rooms, and at any time there were three or four patients in them, waiting, being checked, undressing, and so on.

  “Doc, Mrs. Simmons is ready, room two. File is at the door. Nothing new to note.”

  “Thanks, Susan,” he replied. He tilted his head back, very slightly, and looked through the bottom portion of his bifocals at the computer screen. He scribbled some notes, talking without looking up, “You seem to be in a good mood. Win the lottery? No, I don’t suppose you’d be here if you won the lottery. I sure wouldn’t be.”

  “Ha, you’re funny, doc.”

  “Don’t hold back on an old codger like me … what’s the story?”

  “Oh, nothing. I guess I’m in a good mood because I’ve been able to talk to Jason a lot lately,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, yeah, they have him doing some work at camp instead of being on patrol, so we’ve been able to talk pretty much every day.”

  “Well, that’s great!”

  “It sure is, doc, and it’s really been good for Danny.” She nodded her head, a pleasant smile taking up residence on the lower portion of her face. “But we can’t chit-chat or you’ll get backed up, doc. I’m going out to get your next.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Susan, but remember, take those good moments and savor them, use them like a trusty flu shot, to build a tolerance against the bad moments … or something like that.”

  She laughed and went to get the next patient’s chart from Jackie, the receptionist. Jackie’s hair was disheveled, some sticking up on the side, and her glasses looked a little crooked.

  “Holding up, Jackie?” Susan asked. Jackie’s husband, Dan, was a plumber, and they had six kids; their lives were always hovering on the edge of being uncontrollable chaos. Of course … Dan was home every night.

  “Yeah. You know … we had a band recital and a game last night. Went into overtime. Beat.” She looked it. “Here’s your next one,” she added, handing over a file.

  Susan looked down and smiled when she saw Lange, Martin D. across the top of the folder. His cancer recovery was the biggest success story she’d seen in her time there. Even though his manner of speaking was very—academic—she’d warmed to him considerably the past year and was happy he was next on the docket.

  She popped through the adjacent doorway into the waiting area and glanced around. There were several people waiting and, just like always, they were all tap-tap-tapping away on phones and tablet computers. The television, the center of all attention only years before, now went unnoticed in the corner.

  Well, not everyone was on a gadget. There was a gentleman with immaculate posture, hands outstretched, cradling a book. Practicing the fading art of … reading.

  “Professor Lange,” she called. Smiled broadly.

  “Ah, Susan! Hello!”

  They met near the door and he took her hand gently in his. She noticed the nice color in his cheeks. He was recovering well.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she began.

  “My dear, the pleasure is wholly mine,” he intoned, cutting her off in a gentlemanly way with a small bow of his head. As they walked to the back, he added, “You are looking very well.”

  She blushed. She hadn’t realized how obvious it would be … wondered at what a sourpuss she must have been before. “I’ve been able to talk to Jason a lot lately. Makes life easier.”

  “Oh, that’s good news. How do you communicate with each other? On Facebook?”

  “Sure, Facebook. Skype.” She tried to hide her amusement.

  “Hey,” he told her with a smile, “I’m hip. I know all about Facebook and Skype. Pinterest. I even know about Tweeter.”

  She giggled. “It’s Twitter, Professor.”

  He shook his head and chuckled along with her. “I was only testing you. Life is a test, you know, dear.”

  “Sometimes, every second of every day is a test,” she told him.

  “True.” He nodded knowingly.

  Susan pushed the cart of equipment closer to his chair. Wordlessly, he stood and removed his corduroy sports coat with elbow patches. She pushed buttons. He took his place at the chair, one arm extended, but resting on the chair. She took the pad and wrapped it around his bicep. They’d done this dance together many times before.

  “I was thinking I’d start looking for a house again, while Jason’s deployed. The apartment was supposed to be temporary, but…” She rolled her eyes, gave the you-know-how-that-goes look. “I don’t know. I’m just not even sure I know where to begin anymore.”

  “Oh, well, you know…” he began. Rubbed his chin. Pushed his glasses back. “I know a good realtor.”

  “Really?”

  “Excellent realtor! Could be the best in town. Very popular. Friendly. A student of mine, what … a decade ago.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Hard to imagine that much time has passed already. But, I could have him get in touch with you…”

  “Oh, that would be great.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows you’re a friend.”

  The machine kicked in, clack-clack-clack, and they both watched the band grow tight around his arm. The clacks stopped, replaced with a periodic click … click … click as the band slowly loosened.

  “I’d really appreciate that,” Susan told him, writing down the numbers from the display. “You’re vitals are really good. Anything been bothering you?” she asked.

  “No. I feel fantastic. Better than I have in years, really. Zoe and I have been walking every day, eating right … I feel like a million bucks,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Good.” She made some more notes, then typed everything into the computer at the desk.

  “How is young Daniel?”

  “Better,” she said, unable to hide her surprise. “You remember my son’s name?”

  “Of course,” he told her.

  “That’s impressive, wow…”

  He saw her expression of amazement and laughed. “Well, it’s not that amazing. Daniel is my middle name.”

  They laughed.

  “Danny is doing well. Jason’s been talking to us over the computer almost every night.”

  “Ah! Finally, something positive comes from all of the electrodes and electrons,” he harrumphed. He tells his students at the beginning of each term that they should never assume he has received something unless he sends them a reply. You are all technology natives, he’d tell them, born into this age of Game Boys and flat screen televisions. I am a technology immigrant, born long ago in the far away land of typewriters and reel-to-reel video.

  “True. It’s really pretty amazing that we get to talk to him at all, much less see him. You know? Danny sits in front of our computer and he sees his dad on the screen. His dad who is off in Afghanistan. It seems crazy.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “Well, when you talk to him again, please tell him how much his service is appreciated. You both sacrifice so much,” he said. “I feel humbled.”

  “Thanks. I will tell him.” She was proud of what her husband did, even though she wished he could be home more often. Many of the best things in life, it seemed, could be contradictory.

  “And, I’ll tell the you
ng man I know to get in touch with you. He has a website and all of that stuff, if you’d like to look at it.”

  “Oh? What’s his name?”

  “Greg. Greg Thomas. He’ll take care of you.”

  Chapter 11

  Greg, Susan, and Candy

  Greg pulled into the driveway of a modest, two-story wooden home and cut his engine. The house was a pleasant, mild green, with light brown shutters. The colors reminded him of fall, even though it was spring. Giving the street a quick eyeballing, he took in the neatly trimmed lawns and shrubs, and he could imagine a cool, fall day, leaves changing colors, pumpkin decorations, and kids playing outside. His instincts rarely failed, and they told him that his new client would like the house.

  The phone call from his old teacher requesting assistance had been a nice surprise. When he had learned of Professor Lange’s medical problems, years back, he helped out behind the scenes by soliciting donations, and following Doc Lange’s Facebook page, but they hadn’t actually spoken. The old guy was a fantastic teacher—one of the reasons Greg had stayed in college after hitting a rough patch.

  “Hello, Gregory Thomas?” Years had elapsed, but there was no mistaking the voice that reached out to him when he answered.

  “Professor! Hey, wow! How are ya?”

  “Gregory, why, I’m doing well, thank you.”

  “Ha,” he laughed. Nobody called him Gregory. “It sure has been a while...”

  “It certainly has. And don’t think I didn’t notice your … help … when my health was failing.”

  “Oh, shoot, sir…” He mentally recalled the passionate English professor, tweed hat and umbrella, even on sunny days. Always smiling.

  “Gregory, I have a favor to ask, for a young woman I know…”

  For the most part, Professor Lange’s request wasn’t a favor at all. Heck, that’s my job, Greg thought.

  Of course, Professor Lange asked him if he could “help her out” and “take care of her,” polite euphemisms for cutting her a deal on the price. He’d told the professor not to worry about it; he would, indeed, take care of her.

  He got out of his car and looked up. He thought it was a great place, somewhere between starter and retirement home for most Americans. Middle class, middle of life, middle of the road.

  Mentally, he began ticking through the stats on the house: three bedrooms, 1700 square feet, nice back yard. Fenced. Perfect for a puppy. Lange had told him they had a son, and fenced yards were great for boys and puppies.

  The browns and greens were warm and welcoming. Reminds me of summer camp, he thought.

  Then his phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

  Facebook notification…

  His heart sped up a little. He glanced up and down the street, but there wasn’t anyone around. Even if there were, they wouldn’t know him, and wouldn’t care if he was messing with a cell phone anyway, right? Everybody was always on their phone—no law against that.

  He tapped through to his messages and saw that his new one was from Candy.

  Hey, just thinking about you… what are you doing? Saving the world, one house sale at a time? LOL

  Greg smiled. As a matter of fact, I’m about to help a damsel in distress, he typed.

  Oooh… I’m in distress, she replied, and I definitely need saving.

  Greg felt butterflies in his stomach, the kind of stirrings you felt when you had just started dating someone.

  He figured he had to be wrong, but it seemed like everything that Candy wrote had sex just beneath the surface. He kept his messages clean, but fun, but it seemed like she wanted to drive it back to the innuendos. Sex.

  Well, I’m not sure I can save you, ha ha, I might not have what you need, he replied, thinking that she probably needed a husband, or help he couldn’t provide.

  Her reply was immediate: Oh you have what I need.

  “Shit,” he said out loud. She’d done it again, taken it right into sex. He considered things, and that’s what it felt like, to him. He was frightened, guilty, and excited, all at the same time.

  A two-story, 3BR house in Austin? he wrote, dodging the topic, but not abandoning it completely.

  Not exactly, Greg…

  He was trying to think of a reply when he heard the car door. There was a woman just down the block, getting out of her car. She was wearing one of those medical uniforms, with sections of blue and green and pink, sort of like modified scrubs. He saw her scan the block with an earnestness he immediately recognized as that of someone in the market for a home.

  Gotta go… damsel is here, he typed quickly, putting away his phone.

  “Susan?” he called out, walking slowly toward her.

  She swiveled her head, saw him, and smiled. “Yeah, hi! You must be Greg?”

  “I am,” he said, shaking her hand, looking at her uniform. “Doctor?”

  “Nurse,” she replied. “Couldn’t take any more school.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he said gamely. “It took me five years to get my four-year degree. Would have taken me twenty years to become a doctor,” he said, laughing. As if from a different world, he felt his phone vibrate rapidly three times in his pocket: new Facebook message.

  “Ha,” she laughed. “I think you would have missed your calling.”

  “Huh?” For a second he was confused, the phone had wrecked his concentration. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, well, I saw your website and everything. And Professor Lange spoke well of you…”

  “Right! I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, got distracted for a second. Long day.”

  “That’s okay…”

  “I think you’re right, about it being my calling, I mean. At least, I hope so. It’s what I love to do.” He looked from her to the houses next to them and back at her. “So, what do you think? Pretty neighborhood, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she cooed, eyes sparkling, looking up and down the block. They were in the shade of one of the many trees that lined the street. “It’s really something. Beautiful. It reminds me of fall.”

  “Me, too,” he agreed. “I was just thinking something like that, that it reminded me of this camp my parents sent me to when I was a kid. The colors…”

  “The trees, the leaves … I think you’re right, Greg.” She looked past him, down the driveway, toward the porch. “This is it?”

  “Yep. Wanna head inside, start looking around?”

  “Sure.”

  They moved to the front door, which he opened, and held open for her.

  “Thanks,” she told him, stepping into the small foyer with black and white tiles. She couldn’t explain it, but it felt familiar to her, as if she’d been there before. Which she knew she had not.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. She tried to shake off the weird feeling that she’d been there.

  “Okay. Just let me know if you need something. I have a little cooler with water in my car…”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Okay. Well, we’ve got tile in the entryway here, modern, but in synch with the original style of the home. The rest of the home is really, just, striking hardwood floors, all replaced in the past few years.”

  “Oooh.”

  “Three bedrooms. You have one child?”

  “My son.”

  “That’s good. Extra bedroom if you decide to have more kids. Plus a study.”

  “Great,” she replied, her autopilot response.

  “Seventeen hundred square feet, fenced back yard, great for a dog…”

  “Oh, great.” Danny would love a dog, she thought to herself.

  They continued their tour of the house, and with every step, Susan fell more in love. Too in love … she didn’t even know the price of the place, but it was Austin, Texas, which meant that it was probably going to be expensive.

  When they reached the back yard fifteen minutes later, she sighed contentedly, taking it all in. There was a small garden, a pond, room to play catch, an
d a swing on the back porch. There was a tree with pointy green leaves and yellow flowers that caught her eye.

  “Do you know what kind of tree that is?” she asked.

  “Strangely, I do,” he told her, laughing. “I just started taking an interest in them the past few years. That one’s a Big-tooth Maple. I know it because, some winters, the leaves turn an absolutely spectacular red color.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Pretty gorgeous. There are some more out front, up and down the block.”

  She looked around and sighed, imagined a red tree, sipping sweet tea. It was the set of a made-for-television movie, perfect for relaxing, swinging on the porch.

  And even though it was all brand new to her, she just couldn’t shake the feeling of having seen it all before, of having been there.

  “You look perplexed,” he commented.

  “Yes, it’s weird,” she replied, shaking her head. “I just cannot get rid of this feeling, like I’ve been here before. It’s weird. Déjà vu or something.”

  “Ahh. Well, you know what we call that, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Home. We call it coming home.”

  Chapter 12

  Martin and Zoe

  Martin didn’t waste any time jumping back into teaching.

  Zoe asked him to take it easy, and he promised her he would. But, his zeal was hard to contain, bubbling below the surface of his body like boiling water, as he pushed his way through the glass doors of the Liberal Arts building. It was early April, his first full day back after publicly announcing his remission, and he was excited.

  And nervous.

  He’d been in and out of his classes for so long that, excited as he was, he also felt like an interloper.

  “Hello, Linda,” he called as he entered his office.

  “Professor Lange, welcome back!” His top graduate assistant, Linda Lozano, ran over and hugged him. “We really missed you around here!”