Daddy in the Making

by Lyn Cote

  At Mike’s place, now Jeannie’s home till spring, Jake repeated the backing up to the door. Mike joined him and began helping him unload the bunk beds. The snug white bungalow had a small living/dining room at the front, a kitchen at the rear, one bath, and two bedrooms. Up until his grandfather had retired from farming, a farm hand and his family had always lived there. Then it had been vacant. When Jake started college, Mike had moved in and stayed.

  Jake heard Jeannie enter and greet Ginny, who had stayed with the girls. He and Mike were in the spare bedroom, fitting together the bunk beds, and watched avidly by the twins in the doorway.

  He and Mike hurried to get the bunk bed frame and mattresses in place. Then they helped Jeannie carry in the boxes and place them in the rooms where they belonged. Again, this took very little time.

  As Jake looked around, he saw that the furnishings Mike was leaving for Jeannie looked worn, especially the bed in Mike’s room, now Jeannie’s. It didn’t look like it was going to hold up much longer. And plainly Mike slept in a kind of trough in the middle of the mattress. I don’t like that at all. Jeannie needs her sleep and that bed…

  Jake wanted to linger but got the impression that he’d just be in Jeannie’s way. And watching her obvious stress over having to make this unexpected move twisted his stomach into a hefty knot. He and Mike headed for the McClure house just a half mile up the dead end road.

  “I’m happy Jeannie finally gave in and accepted my offer,” Mike said. “I see now, though, we’re going to have to help her get some furniture for her new place when she moves in in a few months. We should look up in the attic. Lots of unused furniture up there.”

  “That’s right. As soon as it warms up some, Jeannie can go through and take what she wants.”

  Mike gave him an odd sideways look. “We’ll have to come up with some clever way to get her to do that. I told you that Jeannie is intending to pay you rent, didn’t I?”

  “Rent?” Jake nearly stopped his truck. “I don’t want any rent from her.”

  Mike shrugged. “That’s what I told her. But she refused to listen.”

  Jake fumed at his predicament. I don’t want to insult Jeannie, but I won’t accept a penny from her.

  Then Jake recalled once more how few possessions Jeannie had. He’d inherited a house, barn and outbuildings filled to the rafters with generations of “stuff.” Jeannie evidently hadn’t moved to Hope, Wisconsin, with much except a loving heart and two little girls. How can I help her? Or how can I get her to let me help her?

  That was the question.

  Jake stood in his kitchen staring out the window over the sink. Against the late afternoon slate gray sky, snowflakes swirled gently in an unusual lazy wind. Jake gripped the back of the chair in front of him, trying to quell the volcano erupting silently inside him. He, his father and Mike had just arrived home from Madison. Since the tests had taken longer than expected, he and Mike had spent Monday night at a motel near the hospital. From there, he’d called so Jeannie could reschedule his Tuesday appointments.

  Usually on Tuesday afternoon, he’d be busy, not standing here thinking darkly. His father’s diagnosis had come as a shock—an understatement. As he stood there gripping the chair till his knuckles turned white, a great need swelled inside him. There was only one place he wanted to be.

  He turned and obeyed the urge he couldn’t ignore. Within minutes he and Bummer drove up to the little house where Jeannie now lived. The fact that the girls would be home from school didn’t deter him. He hurried through the cold to the back door and knocked. Bummer scratched at the door.

  Through the door, he heard the girls shriek, “Mom, it’s Bummer!”

  “Sit there on that couch,” Jeannie ordered.

  He’d rarely heard her use that stern tone of voice.

  The door opened and Jeannie looked at him, tears in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as Bummer bounded into the room and raced to the girls.

  Jeannie turned from him, hiding her face.

  Oh, Jeannie, why are you crying? “What’s happened?” he asked sharply, hanging his jacket on the peg by the door.

  “We’re sorry, Dr. Jake!” Mimi exclaimed.

  “We didn’t mean to break it!” Cindy added.

  “You two are to go and sit on your beds,” Jeannie ordered, “until I tell you to come out.”

  Downcast, Mimi and Cindy obeyed without a word. Bummer padded after them, woofing quietly as if consoling them.

  Jeannie waited for them to go and then motioned for him to follow her.

  What had the girls done that had upset her so?

  Jeannie preceded Jake into the bedroom and moved to the side.

  Jake immediately saw the problem. The old double bed had caved in on itself.

  “The girls were supposed to be dusting in here,” Jeannie explained, her chin bent down. “I heard the noise and came running.”

  The contrast between his shock and gloom over his dad’s diagnosis and this inconsequential household mishap hit him. He laughed out loud and then tears sprang to his eyes. He sucked them in and tried to hold back his inappropriate mirth.

  Jeannie came to him and rested a hand on his arm. “It’s your dad, isn’t it?”

  He wanted to let his father’s diagnosis flow out, but was afraid he might break down. He sucked it in. “Later,” he murmured. “Let’s deal with this catastrophe first.”

  He knelt down and lifted the bed skirt to survey the damage. “Looks like the slats and bed frame broke.”

  “I’ll pay for it.” The agitation had jumped back into Jeannie’s voice.

  He ducked his head out and rose. “It’s just a bed. And an old one, too. The dry air this winter probably finally did the wood in, made it brittle.”

  “The girls know better—“

  “Jeannie,” he said, taking her slender hand, “didn’t you jump on beds when you were a kid? I did.” Then he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her into his arms. He buried his face in her sweet lavender-fragrant hair.

  Jeannie knew she should pull away, but Jake’s chest was so firm. Resting against it gave such comfort. Something within her eased. Then she recalled where Jake had just been and why. What did a silly bed mean compared to a father who might have a life-threatening condition? No wonder he’d reacted as he had to the broken bed.

  “How did it go with your dad?” she murmured, her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. When he didn’t reply, she ventured on, “I don’t want to pry but is your dad going to be all right?”

  The levee broke in Jake. Emotion threatened to overcome him. “It’s bad.” For a moment, he couldn’t say more.

  Jeannie pressed nearer. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Her tone was rich with sympathy and he found he could speak again. “My dad was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”

  “What does that mean?” She looked up into his eyes.

  He nearly succumbed to her warmth and nearness, nearly bent to claim her lips, so near now. He drew up his resistance. “Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, HCM, is a condition where the heart muscle becomes thickened.”

  Her first thoughts were Poor Jake. Poor Dan. Jake’s dad didn’t like her, but she couldn’t help feeling compassion for him. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Her voice curled around Jake’s neck, making him even more sensitive to her. “You’re right. HCM forces the heart to work harder to pump blood out.”

  “How long has he had this?” She moved back slightly to look up into his eyes.

  Jake shrugged. “We don’t know. A person can have it and not have any symptoms and then collapse and die. HCM is usually the cause when a young athlete dies instantly right after a game.”

  She rested a tentative hand on his shoulder.

  “In my dad’s case, an associate finally cajoled him into have his first physical—since medical school, I think. They found evidence of heart abnormalities. That’s why he c
ame home for more tests.” Though of course he didn’t tell me that.

  She rubbed his shoulder hard and moved closer again. “I’m so sorry.”

  He leaned his head on top of hers lightly, her hair silken against his cheek. There was something about his father’s condition that plagued him too deeply for words. He gently disengaged from her. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  Jeannie drew away from him and turned to face the bed with him. She wished she could do something for this good man and his father.

  “Let’s just get the broken bed frame out of here and then we’ll go into my barn and find another one,” Jake said.

  She glanced up at him quizzically. “Barn? You keep beds in your barn?”

  He chuckled and it felt good. “In my barn loft and attic, I keep a lot of stuff.”

  “It’s okay. I can just sleep on the mattress and box springs,” she said, not wanting to accept more help from him.

  “No, and that mattress needs replacing, too.”

  She drew an envelope out of her pocket and tried to slip it into his. “My rent.”

  He caught her wrist gently but firmly. “Why can’t you accept this as you accept the Habitat house? I don’t want any rent. And you need a complete new bed.”

  “I will pay you rent,” Jeannie insisted, holding out the envelope. “And I can buy my own bed. I’ll pay you for this wrecked bed, too.”

  He didn’t want to argue with her right now. So he didn’t. But I don’t want your rent and I will buy you a new mattress set and get a bed frame for you, Jeannie Broussard.

  Jeannie didn’t want to argue with him now. But I am paying you rent and you’re not giving me a new bed, Jake McClure.

  He read the determination on her face. It triggered a thought which he’d tried to repress till now. Till this moment, he’d refused to let the chance he might have inherited HCM stick in his mind. And an even worse consequence tried to be heard. No, not now. I need to concentrate on Jeannie and my dad. Not me.

  Jeannie watched the shadows flit over Jake’s expressive face. The bed and rent check couldn’t be the source of his pain. “Jake?” she whispered.

  Glancing at Jeannie, Jake tried to think of something to say to lighten the sober mood they obviously shared. Nothing rushed to his beleaguered mind. Still, these moments with Jeannie had strengthened him. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered back.

  Then across the hall, Bummer began baying.

  “What now?” Jeannie asked, heading for the doorway.

  Jake followed her, glad Bummer had come to the rescue. He didn’t want to blurt out his worries about HCM. No way. Jeannie had enough heaped on her plate already.

  Sunday afternoon, a lump still lodged inside Jake’s chest. Ever since he’d heard his dad’s diagnosis, the heavy lump had settled over his heart and lungs. And the possibility of his having it, too, had only made it heavier. Now he stood in the midst of the barn and tried to drag up some enthusiasm for the temporary shelter, take a deep breath. He had to find a way to push the weight off his heart. A day’s hard work should help, he sincerely hoped. Soon volunteers would arrive to help to clear the barn and prepare it for the animals to move in.

  The side door opened and Jeannie walked in. “I’m here to help.”

  Jake stared at her, longing to draw her close, feel her warm breath against his neck. He imagined the comfort of having her softness against him again and shuddered in response.

  “You look troubled, Jake. What’s wrong?” she asked, coming nearer.

  To hide his upset, he turned his back to her. He tried to come up with some way to brush off her question, make light of the situation. But why? Maybe telling Jeannie would lift the weight over his heart. “It’s my dad’s HCM.”

  She rubbed his shoulder—her touch feather-light, yet so powerful. “What about his HCM? Have you learned something else?”

  Jake grimaced at himself. Why had he been so transparent? He couldn’t say: “It’s not about him really. It’s about me. HCM is usually passed down through families. It’s believed to be a result of defects of the genes that control heart muscle growth.”

  His mind went farther, putting into words what weighed upon him. “I could have this. I could curse a future child to suffer this.” His heart lurched and then raced. He twisted away, glancing over his shoulder.

  Obviously startled, Jeannie blushed—with what? Embarrassment? No, Jeannie, this has nothing to do with you. He nearly reached for her hand.

  “Sorry. Just forget I asked.” Her contrite voice whispered over his senses.

  “No.” Another thought, a better thought, came to him. “Come back here. I found a bed frame for you.”

  “Jake, I already told you. I don’t need—”

  Happy for the distraction, he took her elbow and pulled her along with him to the rear of the barn. He helped her navigate the dusty center aisle between bales of hay and stored furniture. “Here. What do you think?” He gestured to an ornate iron bed frame painted white.

  “Jake, it’s an antique!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t—”

  Hearing the note of appreciation in her voice, he grinned. “Yes, you could and you will. We need to get all this stuff out of the way. That’s why we’re here today.”

  The side door down below flapped open. Mike called out, “Boy! It’s cold out there. Jake, where are you and Jeannie?”

  Both Jake and Jeannie turned and headed back to where they started. “I was just showing Jeannie that bed frame we’re taking over to her place later.”

  Mike grinned at them knowingly and winked as if he’d caught them kissing or something. “Sounds like a plan. Bummer is bent out of shape being locked inside the house. He’s parked just inside the back door, baying. He knows something’s going on.”

  The moment of intimacy had evaporated. Jake dragged himself into the present conversation. “Bummer will get over being left out. Where do you think we should start, Mike?”

  He felt Jeannie slip an envelope into his pocket. He stiffened, guessing that it might be that blasted rent check again. Did he have to deal with that today, too? I told her I didn’t need or want any rent.

  “I think we should move all the spare furniture, every farm implement and machine to the back of the barn.” Mike motioned. “Then they’ll be out of our way, since we’ll be using this side door and the little office there that your grandpa built at this end.”

  The door opened again. Brooke Hyde walked inside, surprising Jake.

  “Hi, Brooke,” Jake said, wondering why she’d come. Jeannie waved.

  “I’m here because I’m the ditzy volunteer who turned the heat down too low. I didn’t realize that the shelter didn’t have a basement. And I’d never worked alone.” Brooke’s tone was light over a current of self-mockery.

  “Oh,” Jeannie said.

  Annie walked in, followed by a group whom Jake recognized as regular shelter volunteers. Annie and Mike took charge. Soon men carried bats of insulation up the old rickety stairs to the loft, and others began moving old tools and farm paraphernalia to the rear of the barn. Then sweeping began.

  Jake hustled up the old stairs and helped lay another bat of insulation down. He and the others working with him all wore safety glasses, gloves and white nose-and-mouth masks. Jake stopped to stretch his back muscles. He walked to the end of the loft and looked out a small window. He glimpsed someone walking toward the back door of the house. Brooke. What did she need in there? Jake shrugged. Maybe Mike had sent her in for something.

  “Break time!” Annie called out.

  He shuffled down the steps to join everyone at the large coffeemaker Annie had brought and filled. She’d also brought several dozen doughnuts. Jake took off his work gloves and sat on one of the many hay bales. Mike always liked to farm a few acres of hay to give to friends or churches for fall decoration and to provide seating at fall outdoor festivities. Sometimes he sold some and gave the money to charity.

  Jeannie sat across from Jake. He caught her attention
and mouthed: I told you, no rent.

  She shook her head and mouthed back: Yes, rent. Stop arguing.

  Jake bit into his doughnut hard. Stubborn woman.

  Brooke walked in the side door. “Oh, great. We got here just in time for a coffee break. Do all of you know Jake’s dad, Dan?”

  Jake swiveled so fast, he splashed a bit of hot coffee onto his jeans.

  His dad raised a hand and smiled. “Hi.”

  Jake blinked. Since they headed back from Madison days ago, he hadn’t seen his dad smile. And Brooke had persuaded his dad to come out of the house, something he also hadn’t done since they’d arrived home.

  His father scanned the room. “You’ve accomplished a lot this afternoon.”

  Brooke had poured him a mug of coffee and was handing it to him. “Pick out a doughnut for me and one for you.” She sat down on a hay bale. Dan actually did what she asked and then sat down beside her.

  Jake exchanged a meaningful glance with Jeannie, who raised her eyebrows and then smiled. He hoped Brooke was really interested in his dad. That might help. Even as he thought this, a funny sort of scratchy feeling zigzagged through his chest.

  He’d never given much thought to the fact that his dad must date women. Again, they’d spent too much time apart. And now his dad had a life-threatening disease and might have to retire from the career that was his life. And I might have HCM, too.

  Jake drove through the cold, moonless Tuesday night. After two days of work on the barn, he ached all over. Now he’d just delivered a foal at a nearby horse farm, owned by a friend of his dad’s. Although he’d been busy handling the difficult delivery, he’d also fended off questions—about his dad’s health and also hints about Brooke and Dan becoming a couple. Mentally and physically, Jake ached as if he’d wrestled a shark or maybe something bigger like an irritated whale.

  Now he paused in his drive with the motor running. The house was dark except for the back porch light. Had his dad gone to bed already? He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just past nine o’clock. “Wait here, Bummer.” Jake’s worry flapped its black wings.