by David Allen
“I don’t know why you’d need a safe for counseling and prescribing anti-depressants, but I do know there’s no way I can sleep in my room unless we get all that cat stuff out of there.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange something. Just let me deal with it. Your dad is in a bad mood right now.”
“I could have guessed that,” Scott grunted. “Is my truck still parked by the woodshed? I think I’ll go for a drive.”
Scott went out the garage door so he wouldn’t have to walk past his dad. All he knew was that he needed to get out, before anything more happened. His old Chevy pickup fired up without any problem. His dad had used it for hauling firewood.
Scott noticed that the fuel needle was right on empty, though he was sure he had left it with a full tank. Better not complain about that. His dad would be sure to turn it around on him.
Scott arrived at the gas station a few minutes later and stood outside while the fuel pump slowly chugged away. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned so the wind could rustle his hair. The smell of diesel drifted up to him from the pump.
He paid the attendant, grabbed a Sprite, and pulled away from the station. He turned his truck toward Palmer and let one hand steer as he sipped his soda. He needed time to think. The familiar sights along the Palmer-Wasilla highway greeted his eyes as he drove: Wasilla Lake, a gravel pit, the fire station and potato farm. He looked up toward the large snow-capped Pioneer Peak rising majestically to his right. His gaze swept the valley, Matanuska Peak, Lazy Mountain; he’d climbed both of them before. If I can find a new start, this isn’t a bad place really, he mused. Scott rolled down the window and let the cool fall air roll into the cab around him. It smelled of birch and grass.
Halfway to Palmer, Scott turned off the highway. A minute later he was rolling up at a familiar brown house. He switched the engine off and stepped out onto the soft gravel. A golden retriever barked from the porch and trotted with tail wagging to greet him. Scott stroked the silver muzzle.
“You still remember me, Wagner?” The golden retriever gave a friendly thump of his tail and turned his trusting eyes up to Scott. Scott patted the dog’s head. “Of course you do, old boy.” He turned and headed toward the door, the old dog walking next to him, brushing him with his furry tail.
Scott rang the old doorbell and waited. He heard soft footsteps and then the door opened. A silver-haired man with a bushy gray beard stood in the door, wearing round reading glasses and fur slippers. He held a sandwich in one hand.
“Scott?” The man swayed for a second. The half-eaten sandwich loosened in his hand and a piece of chicken fell to the floor. Quick as a flash, the old dog licked it from the porch, barking excitedly. “Scott, it is you! I sure wasn’t expecting to see you in this half of the world.” The tall man stepped forward and stooped slightly as he shook Scott’s hand and caught him in a friendly hug. He stepped back, his blue eyes bugging slightly behind his glasses as he stared at Scott. “You caught me having a bite to eat. I wasn’t expecting company for another half an hour, but come on in, lad, you’re welcome to join me.” He chuckled softly as he turned in the door.
“Tim, I’m so glad to see you.” Scott stepped through the door. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either.”
Tim walked across the living room and sat down in a leather-backed chair. “Well, whatever happened?” He reached across the coffee table and took another chicken sandwich from a stack. “Care for one?” He held the plate out to Scott, who took a sandwich and bit hungrily into the soft white bread, mayonnaise and peppered chicken slices.
“Thanks. I’ll explain.” Scott stopped eating. He related to Tim his tale. “So now I’m here.” He spread his hands. “I blew in with the fall breeze.”
Tim sat facing him calmly, a leg drawn up across his lap, his slipper-clad foot tapping softly. Other than that, he seemed very relaxed. He took another bite of sandwich and paused to lick the mayonnaise off the tip of his finger.
“Well, sounds like an interesting story.” He nodded. “What are you wanting to do now?” He peered at Scott, then he began to leaf through an open book next to him. He set it down a minute later.
“I don’t know exactly,” Scott admitted. “But I’d like to find a job and a place to stay other than my parents’ house. I know that for sure.”
Tim wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Your dad being hard to live with already?”
Scott shook his head dismissively. “I don’t want to give him the chance.”
He nodded. “Well, lets just take this one step at a time. Up until now, I was thinking you were on the other side of the ocean, teaching school, and diving with man-eaters.” His eye held a twinkle. “At least you won’t have to worry about sharks here.”
He laughed at Tim’s soft humor. “I guess that’s right.”
Tim looked thoughtful. He uncrossed his leg, and thumbed through an address book sitting by the chair. “I do know of one thing, though. I’ll have to give a guy a call. Speaking of shark attacks, how do prosthetic limbs sound to you?”
Scott looked confused. “I’m not sure what you mean. I still have my foot.”
Tim smiled knowingly. “I know a man who is in the business of making artificial limbs. He needs a steady assistant he’d be willing to train into his company, if he took a liking to him.”
Scott leaned forward. “Making artificial legs?”
Tim nodded. “And feet. You’d be making pretty good money once you get going, too.” He eyed Scott thoughtfully. “The man I’m talking about goes on trips to Cambodia twice a year. There are a lot of people who’ve had their feet blown off by land mines there.” He turned and looked out the window. “I just talked to him, and he was saying he needed a young guy to help him. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, if you’re looking for something different.”
“Let me think about it, Tim. I have something else I need to talk to you about, too. It concerns Matthew and Owen, and a journal I read in Guam.”
Tim looked at Scott quizzically. “Really? I’m very curious. I want to hear all about it.” He glanced at his watch. “The problem is, I wasn’t expecting you to be here and I have an appointment with a Methodist minister in five minutes.”
“Oh,” Scott said, disappointed. “When would be a good time?”
“Tomorrow night, I’ll be free,” Tim said. “I’m sorry that it can’t be sooner. If I’d known, I would have had my schedule open for you.”
Scott stood shakily from his chair. “Thanks, Tim, I really appreciate it. I want you to know that.”
Tim smiled. “No problem.” He heaved himself from his chair and headed to the kitchen, carrying his sandwich plate. He stopped by Wagner and let the dog lick the crumbs from it. “You and I go way back, and I’ll make sure to have time for you. Eight o’ clock sound good?”
“Yes, it sounds great, but we’re having a family dinner tomorrow night, so I don’t know if I can make it.”
Tim nodded. “Then come over the next morning, and if you really need to talk, you can come a little after eight.” He turned back into the kitchen.
“Okay, I’ll see you.” Scott waved and petted Wagner as he left. “Good boy.”
As Scott got into his truck, a gray Corolla pulled up next to Scott with a distinguished looking man inside. He nodded gravely to Scott as he backed out of the driveway. It seemed that there was quite a demand for Tim these days. Scott shook his head. He turned his truck and headed for home.
Robert ignored Scott when he came inside. He was still slouched in his chair, watching a football game. He glanced over his shoulder. “Your mom’s in your room.” He turned back to the TV.
Scott walked up the stairs and found his mom finishing vacuuming the bed, the cat boxes had disappeared, but the cat smell still remained.
“Where’s Phillip?” Scott asked.
“Oh he doesn’t come home except for weekends. He’s living in Anchorage and doing his apprenticeship with a doctor there.” His mom was busily fluffing a pill
ow. “We keep his room neat so he has a place to stay if he ever decides to stay here. Didn’t your dad tell you?”
Scott shook his head. “He told me he was apprenticing in Anchorage, but I didn’t know he wasn’t at home.”
“Your father is so proud of him.” Mom was plugging a fan in, “He would be proud of you, too, if you would just go to school and make our family look good.”
Scott’s face darkened. “Mom, I’m different from Dad. He and Phillip both love cats. I’m allergic to cats. They both are psychologists, I’m not interested in psychology. They agree on everything. Dad and I clash on everything. I just don’t understand why you can’t get that.”
His mom looked a little upset. “I know your dad’s not perfect, but I think he’s right about you needing to go a different direction. Your Uncle Matthew, bless his heart, did you wrong when he directed you to mission work.
Scott was fuming. “He died before he ever did that. The only work he ever directed me toward was construction!”
“You know we never approved of you running off to the Marshall Islands and wasting a year of your life, and it looks like we were right. You’re right back where you started.”
Scott shook his head. “That’s not true Mom, I don’t regret it for a second.”
She picked up the vacuum. “Well, I guess we differ on that. Anyway, I’m going to make dinner, come down and talk with your dad and me.” She turned and walked out the door.
Scott sat on the bed. Every time he came into this house, he felt himself close up and angry feelings run around inside.
He banged his pillow, then stifled a sneeze. It still smelled like cats!
*****
The next morning, Scott awoke to his dad knocking on his door. “Since you’re just sleeping in and waiting for something to do, I left a list of things I’d like done on the table. I’m going to actually go to work now, so I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and walked out, leaving Scott sitting up in his bed, feeling stuffy and confused.
Where am I? He rubbed his eyes. It was 7:30 AM, and he had a stuffy nose and headache. The cats. It all flooded back to him. He was at home.
Downstairs, he found a list of items written on a neat Post-It note on the table: stack wood, move tires, take trash to dump, paint trim, and empty cat box. That was adding insult to injury!
Scott could hear the water running upstairs, so he knew his mom was still in the shower. He helped himself to some Cheerios and slipped into a coat and boots and headed outside. The stack of wood was enormous, so it took him until almost noon to finish it. He went on to the other items, only coming in for a quick lunch. The afternoon was passing quickly.
“Thanks for helping, Scott.” His mom opened the screen door. “It’s almost 4 o’ clock, everyone’s coming at 6, are you finishing up?”
“Yes, Mom.” Scott turned, wiping the paintbrush across the roller pan. “I’ll just take the trash to the dump then.”
When Scott arrived back from the Matanuska Land Fill, two new cars were parked in the driveway, a shiny Porsche and his dad’s pickup truck. Scott had to carefully steer his old truck around the new cars to get to his parking spot next to the woodshed.
Scott stepped from the cab, took a deep breath and headed for the front door. Inside, his brother Phillip was leaning against the counter, a glass of wine in one hand, his white shirt unbuttoned, a heavy gold chain showing below the collar.
“Hey brother.” Phillip turned to Scott. “You back from the dump, I mean the islands?”
Scott’s dad laughed from behind the counter. “I think you got them confused, Phillip.”
Phillip leaned on the counter for a second, smirking at his own humor. He glanced at Scott, noticing his offended expression. “I’m totally joking.” He stepped forward. “Give a brother a hug.”
Scott stiffly hugged Phillip. “Good to see you.” He looked out the window, changing the subject. “Whose Porsche is that outside?”
Philip turned from the counter. “You talking about that cherry looking car in the driveway?” He smiled. “It’s mine, got it as a graduation present. You’ll get one if you finish your degree, too.” He turned back toward the living room, “She purrs like a kitten. The girls like that car, too.” He winked at Scott and walked toward the living room. “When’s Owen and Tiff getting here?”
“Should be soon.” Mom made her first appearance, moving in from the hidden pantry, carrying some croutons and a block of cheese. “Scott, help me set the table, will you?”
Scott turned and walked to the kitchen, taking a stack of plates from his mom. His dad and Phillip were on the couch, arguing about who was going to win the Superbowl. Scott was quietly setting the silver dessert forks around the table when a Suburban rumbled up the driveway. Scott glanced up from the table, looking out to see the sign printed on the side of the vehicle. Davis Construction and Renovation. He shuddered, despite himself.
“Uncle Owen and Aunt Tiffany are here,” Mom called to the living room. “Come be social.”
His dad and brother rose and made their way into the kitchen just as Owen stepped through the screen door.
“Good to see you, man!” He pumped Phillip’s hand. “And who’ve we got here?” He pointed and smiled at Scott. “Is this Limpfoot?” Everyone laughed.
“Hey, Owen.” Scott stepped forward and shook his hand.
“Not much of a limp, though.” Owen eyed Scott. “I was told right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were.” Scott explained, “But my foot is healed, so you wouldn’t know now.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about your adventure.” Aunt Tiff stepped into the circle. “Let me take my coat off and help you in there.” She turned to where Scott’s mom was still preparing a salad in the kitchen.
Soon everyone was sitting around the large oak table, fresh herbed salmon, salad and rolls arrayed out in front of them. Scott was used to saying a prayer before each meal, but his mom didn’t wait, and was soon spooning salmon onto plates. “Pass the tartar sauce and lemons.”
Phillip wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Good fish Mom.”
Owen forked a pink slab onto his plate. “You catch this yourself, Robert?”
Robert shook his head. “One of my buddies went to Seward silver fishing this last weekend, caught his limit plus a king.” He nodded. “Good silver run this year.”
“We gotta go, some time.” Owen nodded. “If things get under control in the business, we might be able to spare a weekend.”
Robert nodded. “Tell me about it.”
Scott looked up from his plate. He was about to ask about the business when his aunt spoke. “How’s fishing out in those islands, the Martha Islands? Isn’t that what they’re called?”
“No, actually it’s the Marshall Islands,” Scott corrected. “The fishing out there is good, though it’s a lot different from Alaska.”
“Tell us about it.” Scott’s dad squeezed a lemon over his fish.
“Well, I did a lot of spear fishing, when I was there. Grouper, parrotfish, jack tuna and snapper.” Scott was hesitant, not sure how much to say.
“How’d that go?” Owen was staring at Scott.
“Oh, good.” Scott told how the natives sometimes fished with dynamite, and talked about how he used to fish off the pier for sharks. “The water’s really beautiful there, great visibility and warm, lots of reefs and fish. It’s a whole other world.”
“Sounds like you got good fringe benefits ‘working.’” Phillip used his fingers as quotation marks. “Is that all you did out there, Scott? Swim and fish?”
Scott gulped. “No, I taught school and worked quite a bit. We only had a couple days off a week. The rest of the time, I was working.”