Two Medicine

by John Hansen

  I had so little stuff when I moved in that the house seemed pretty empty, even after I helped Sky move in her stuff. We had some furniture and a kitchen table, but not much else, so we went thrift storing at the local Salvation Army to get some knick knacks and kitschy décor.

  We spent the first couple of evenings hanging out on the little stone back porch the house had, getting a feel for the new place, watching the Saint Bernard, which was named “Maddy.” It would romp around in the grass, chewing up the rubber dog toys we got in bulk at the Salvation Army, and slobbering over everything. Nancy had told us that Bernards went through toys like Kleenex.

  I started work at the diner a few days after moving in. I would work days mostly, which was breakfast and lunch shifts. Thankfully, the diner didn’t open at the crack of dawn like many I knew did, but instead at eight a.m. I could shuffle in a little groggy at seven and get things ready.

  A single cook named Buster, who was an old Vietnam vet who still wore a spiky flat top and had old, faded, military-style tattoos, worked the kitchen. He had to be in his seventies, but he smoked Marlboro Reds almost in a chain, stepping halfway outside the back door and still watching the grills cooking on the inside.

  He never got behind on the orders though – we were never that busy anyway. It was actually an enjoyable job for the most part. Most of the customers were regulars and took things slow, were in no hurry to eat and leave. They drank coffee, read the paper, and chatted in a slow, relaxing murmur that I could hear from the kitchen. The crowd was different, more sedate, than the excited tourists we served at the store. The sun would stream in the large windows that made up the front of the diner in the mornings, and flood the restaurant with a warm, glowing haze.

  Lunches were a little faster paced, but Buster kept up with burgers, chicken and salads well, and my experience at the snack bar kept things in line too. My second job in Montana, and I was back in the kitchen!

  Sky worked nights, mostly, so I didn’t see very much her after I started working. But that was okay, as we were able to take care of Maddy in shifts, to prevent her from destroying the rental house.

  There were times, I’ll admit, when I would feel a stirring in me when I looked at Sky, an attraction and desire to touch her, to be close to her – despite my resolve to forego any romances for a long while; but those times were few. Sky, also, had other friends still in Browning, and family too, so I quite frequently had the house to myself.

  The days settled into a comfortable routine, but the weather started growing colder. When I was off work, I would borrow Sky’s car and return to Glacier to hike some of the trails I was missing, and also I’d drive to see other parts of the park, although those trips were rare. I didn’t have a great desire to travel, not anymore; I liked my spot in the world and I felt a peace at where I was. Just like the others I had met when I first go to Two Med… I mused.

  One evening Ronnie and Jamie came over when both Sky and I had off from the diner, and we had a bonfire in our backyard with some food that Ronnie and Jamie brought over. We played with Maddy and talked about the summer that was behind us, remembering odd moments at the store. After a while I pulled out my guitar and strummed some chords, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Ronnie was sitting next to me and had lit up a cigarette.

  “Things have quieted down,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke away from me by twisting his mouth to the far side while watching me. “The store closes next week. I think I gotta plan together for what to do after.”

  “Well,” I said, “there’s a third bedroom here.” I smiled, but I really wasn’t joking – it would be good to have him there. But I knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t be staying.

  “No, I’m thinking of going up to Waterton, into Canada, to fight the wildfires. They’re looking for alotta of people to hire. Anyway it’ll be good to get away from Browning.”

  The fires had been making big news in Montana the last couple of weeks. Forest fires were common in that part of the mountains in that part of the year, but the park’s land in Canada, officially called Waterton, was getting out of control with a massively large one. Some smoke had even made its way in the air down to Glacier.

  “They are paying good money, and providing housing and everything,” Ronnie said, flicking ash off his cigarette.

  “Yea, I heard. Dangerous though, too.”

  Ronnie shrugged. “I’m drawn to danger – what can I say? You of all people should know that, Chiefy… But why not come up with me? You can still get back down her for the park job in a couple of months.”

  I looked over at Sky, who was talking to Jamie and wrestling with a stick that Maddy had clenched in her teeth, and then I glanced back at the house we rented.

  “I’m not leaving; I really feel this is where I belong. It feels right to be here doing what I’m doing, and seeing what I’m seeing, meeting the people I’m meeting. I’ve never felt that before, really.”

  I thought about it for a moment, all I had been through. “I feel like I absolutely belong in this moment now and this place – it’s where I should be.”

  Ronnie nodded. “Then that’s a rare thing, Chiefy. Enjoy it.”

  We hung out for a long time that night, late into the evening. When Ronnie and Jamie finally left it was around two a.m. I helped Sky clean up and get Maddy into the house, and then I collapsed on my bed and slept like a log.

  Forty-Six

  Katie called and made me swear, one last time, to go with her to church that Sunday. It was the last time the park was going to have a preacher available for the camper and tourists, what few were left. So, the next Sunday found me driving Sky’s car up to Two Med to meet Katie at the store. I pulled outside the store in the gravel parking lot, but didn’t go in. I didn’t belong in there anymore.

  Katie eventually came out and we walked the same trail again that led to the empty camp used the last time for the church service. She carried a Bible with her this time, and I saw at a glance that it was the same one she had hurled into the woods. She must have searched it out after her breakdown, I figured. This day was a little cloudy, not like the sun-drenched morning of our first service. But the sun peeked out here and there and cheered my somber mood as we got to the pace and sat down on the benches again.

  The young preacher was there again, standing next to the little wooden fence that ran around the edge of the camp site. Only two other people were there this time, besides Katie and I, an old couple, who seemed more amused at the odd church setting than worshipful.

  The young man thanked us for coming, and opened up with a prayer. After speaking about this being his last time for the services and the closing of the season, he began his short sermon.

  He read from the Bible to start. It was Lamentations, and he identified it as chapter three, verse thirty-one and thirty-two. Katie opened her Bible and pointed to the section with her finger, nudging me playfully with her elbow.

  “For men are not cast off by the Lord forever,” the preacher read, “though he brings grief, he will show compassion.” The young man then spoke very briefly about grief, and how, given enough time, God can turn the grief into a blessing, both in terms of overcoming personal tragedy. But he also said that we could use that knowledge to help others in grief. He finished and told us that we should all hold hands to pray to close out the service.

  We stood and I held Katie’s hand and, awkwardly, the preacher’s in my other hand. The older couple held hands on the other side of Katie and joined the preacher in the circle. He asked if anyone would like to pray, and to my surprise, Katie volunteered.

  “Lord,” she said in a quiet voice, “we thank you for this place to meet, this beautiful, majestic place that we have been fortunate enough to come to. We thank you for your creation: the sky, the lake, the mountains and the creatures. And I thank you for the relationships I’ve made, and the friends I’ve found. I thank you for helping me. You are a wonderful father to me, and I thank you for loving me. You have definitely shown
me compassion, after my grief.”

  She looked up and then shut her eyes again. “And I pray for safe travels for the campers here, and for us staffers. And I hope you bless us with another great summer.”

  I looked at her when we had finished, and her eyes were watery. She then hugged the preacher, who seemed surprise at it, and then for good measure she hugged the old couple too, who told her the prayer was “delightful.”

  Katie and I then walked back in silence for a while. I felt like I had witnessed some upheaval in her, a flash of her thoughts and emotions that had shown itself in a different light than I had seen before.

  “I signed on to work at Two Med again, next summer,” she said as we crunched along the gravel path.

  “Really? Good,” I said. “That means I’ll see you next year, if I’m still working then.”

  “You better be,” she said, taking my arm in hers.

  She sniffed and looked up to the sky, wiping a palm across one eye quickly. “I called my dad last night.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “I told him I forgave him for everything and that I loved him... I said I could never forget it, but that I loved him and forgave him.”

  “Unbelievable…” I said.

  “I signed on to be the preacher next summer, too.”

  “Ahh, so you’ve come to terms with the divorce?”

  She looked at me and then shook her head. “I’ll never come to terms with it… but I love him and I want to heal my family.”

  We walked on a bit. “What on earth did you father say when you told him all that?” I asked.

  Katie cleared her throat. “He said ‘I love you, too.’” She wiped another tear preemptively from her eye. “I think he was more shocked than anything else.” She laughed. “He asked me if I was ‘ok,’ like I sounded crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy,” I said. You were the least crazy person in the store, I thought to myself.

  “So are you going to preach next summer?”

  “I’m still deciding…” she said. “One epiphany at a time.”

  I walked beside her for a while, gravel crunching under my feet. As the store came in sight, she suddenly turned to me and held my hand.

  “I’m leaving in a couple of days Will, to go back home. I’m gonna call you sometimes to talk, see how you’re doing. Ok?”

  “I’ll miss you too, Katie,” I said. “And this is the second time we’ve had to say our goodbyes.”

  “I know, and I don’t like it,” she said. “But I wanted to see you again… you helped me this summer… and you forgiving that hit and run driver for killing her…” She faltered, and quickly looked over at the store and back at me. “When I got here I was totally lost.”

  “And now you’ve been found,” I said, watching her.

  She turned and gave me a little kiss on the cheek and then hugged me, hard.

  I hugged her back and said to her, “So was I.”

  She smiled and let me go, and then turned and walked off towards the store. She turned back to me as she walked, and called back, “I’m going to call you when I get back home – answer the phone!”

  Later, I drove back to my house and thought about her father. Fathers were difficult; and I think daughters and father share a tenuous bond that is easily tweaked into the wrong direction, like flicking the strand of a spider web and sending all kinds of wrong vibrations through the web. Katie’s vibrations were way off when I first met her; but now she seemed to be… in tune. Thunderbird would be proud of my spiritual radar, I smiled to myself.

  Most of all, she seemed to have gotten over making her father’s infidelities personal, which is a common and tragic mistake children make. Forgiving him was necessary and vital, and I think she was on her way. On her way, but not totally there, I suspected.

  It takes a long time to truly forgive.

  One morning that next week, right at eight a.m., the face I least expected to see walked into the diner. Larry sat down at a small table by a large window and gave me a little nod.

  I walked over in bewilderment. “Hello Larry.”

  “How ya doin’ Will?” he said, softly. I saw him glance over the scar on my neck. “You doin’ all right?”

  “I’m good,” I said, “nothing permanent, except a lovely scar to tell stories about.”

  He smiled slightly, and then looked around the diner. “Years past I would come in here all the time, but last couple summers being as busy as they were, I never had time.” His voice took on his usual Kansas up and down rhythm he used to chat with customers and discuss the weather. It was his way of controlling his feeling, this morning, resorting to his practiced rhythms.

  “Katie told me you were working here,” he said. “We closed down the store yesterday, all packed up for the winter. So we were ok without ya.”

  “Yea,” I said, “sorry about…”

  He interrupted me with a wave of his hand. “No need to say anything, son, I understand.”

  I nodded, “Good.”

  I pictured the first day I had walked into the store, seeing Larry hunched over the grill, scrubbing with gusto and dire enthusiasm. He seemed scarred now too, but internally. But, I felt, like a scarred veteran healing from a bitter fight, he was stronger now, more solid. His demons were gone. It made me sad to think back on that morning, so much ahead of us at that time, me standing there with my suitcase and guitar. But things had worked out ok in the end, I figured.

  I served him coffee and gave him a menu. “I don’t suppose you guys have sourdough pancakes,” he said, raising his eyebrows and looking over the menu. “Though I doubt they could compete with mine.”

  “Uh…. no, they couldn’t,” I said, remembering Ronnie’s contribution to Larry’s “prized” concoction.

  He ordered regular pancakes, and I had Buster give him some bacon and sausage as an extra, on the house.

  After he was done I set the bill down, and said, “So where are you going now that the store’s shut down? Back to Kalispell?”

  He shook his head and looked out the window at the slow morning sun pouring in warmly from the sky.

  “No, Phyllis and I are taking a long trip, taking an RV out of retirement, and seeing some sites. Gonna see my son down in Kansas too. There’s even a lumberjack festival in Clinton, Iowa we might visit.” He smiled.

  “Sounds good,” I said, chuckling a bit. “I’ll be working for the park this winter. So maybe I’ll see you next summer.”

  He shook his head. “I think I’m retiring from the store. It’s time I retired for good.” He sipped his coffee. “I told Katie she should manage the place, if the park lets her.”

  I nodded. “I could see her doing that. I’ll put in a good word for her, then.”

  We shook hands; again he grasped my hand like he was trying to crush it, just as he did that morning long ago. I told him to give Phyllis my best.

  I smiled as he left, the door’s little bell ringing as he walked out.

  “Goodbye, Lawrence,” I called after him.

  I never saw or heard from him again, but I hope he is finally happy.

  Ronnie left that week for Waterton, and eventually joined a crew of firefighters known as the “Hotshots,” Jamie later told me. She lost track of him soon after that, though, and many months later she told me that she had heard that Ronnie had died along with a bunch of other Hotshots in one of the wildfires that had spread out of control.

  I couldn’t believe it when she told me, and I had hoped that somehow she had gotten wrong information. Just like Alia had wished her father a different fate, I could not feel certain that Ronnie was dead. But I never heard otherwise, so for all I know he died up in the wilderness. It was a strange ending for such a person, but I couldn’t imagine any other ending for Ronnie.

  Who knows, maybe he off on another adventure, driving his jalopy to some new destination, cigarette dangling from his lips, Led Zeppelin blasting out of the windows.

  A week before I started the job wit
h the park, I was standing in the kitchen of me and Sky’s place, making coffee on a Saturday morning, when Sky came in from getting the mail, and handed me a letter. It was from Greg.

  He wrote, “Will, I was simply going to call you, but Ophie insisted we actually write you a letter, ‘like in olden days,’ she said, so here goes. She says ‘hi,’ and that she wants you to come back. I know, she never said anything like that while you were here – but that’s Ophie for you.

  “Dee sends her love too. I want to come see you in your wild party pad – at least that’s how I imagine that house to be, and I will as soon as possible. I’ll be a little busy for a few weeks though, because I have applied for a position with the police department in Kalispell, and I hope to be a cop come Spring. I know, no more Khaki…

  “Well maybe you had something to do with it – with your crazy goose chase investigation. In fact, I know you did. I think that set me off to give it one last go – give my dream a final shot. I hope I like being a cop! If not, I’m sure Dee and I could always move back into the Two Med house and set up shop again. But I can’t wait to start the job; I’ll be honest with you. Getting accepted was the best day in a long time – telling my boss was even better!

  “Officer Olsterman is retiring, I heard. Also, Jake got twenty years, and Clayton five. There are more arrests to be made, I’ve heard, and the tribe is cooperating, trying to clean up the reservation once and for all – I’ll believe it when I see it – but I hope it happens. A new council has been organized, Floyd Crow was voted out, and I think they are going in the right direction. Thunderbird is on the council – Ha! By the way, next year, Will, if you’re still around, don’t go to the powwow, ok? Ha!

  “Well, take care, and good luck with your new job with the park. I know you’ll do well.