Chapter Twenty-One
C al paused with his hand on the front door handle of Mom and Pop’s house Saturday evening. After looking around to ensure the homestead appeared safe, he pasted on what he hoped was a neutral expression, similar to when he had alarming results to convey but didn’t want to worry the patient.
He sucked in a breath. Let it out. Smoothed his palm over his fleece jacket and black pants.
Opened the door—anything to stop the relentless yapping going on behind the entryway.
Doofus greeted him exuberantly with the usual sniffs and wet-nose nudges, demanding ear scratches. Cal dutifully obliged by petting his parents’ beloved mutt.
The aroma of pot roast and carrots drew him deeper into the cabin. He was surrounded by wood and warmth and childhood memories that ended right when he left Yukon Valley.
Dodging a doggy lick to the cheek, he sat and took off his boots, setting them inside the entryway. Then he hung up his fleece jacket. In socked feet he entered the living room.
“How’s it going?” Pop said, from where he relaxed in his ubiquitous recliner position. beer frothed in a glass on the table next to him.
“Good.” Cal lifted his chin. “That stuff safe to mix with your blood thinners?”
Mom made a hmmph noise, drawing Cal’s attention. Then she rolled her eyes and turned back around to meal prep.
Pop glared at him. “You ever stop being a doctor? Getting in people’s business?”
“You’re welcome?” He ran his hand over his hair. “Twelve years of education and you still won’t listen to my advice.”
“Medical advice is just that—advice.” Lifting the glass, Pop added, “It’s alcohol-free.”
Knock him over with a pine needle. “No way.”
He gestured. “Have some.” Pop peeked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “It’s terrible.”
Cal laughed. “I’m impressed. Old dogs can learn new tricks.”
“See? I changed my ways.”
He leaned down as if scrutinizing the man in the chair, then called out, “Mom, what did you do with Pop? This guy is an impostor.”
Dishware clinked in the sink as Mom said, “Don’t get too excited. We’re shopping in Fairbanks this week. We have to make it past the package store, the smoked meats shop, and a bakery.”
“Hey, Aggie. Some people have superior mental ability to resist temptation.”
“Oh, you’ve got ability, all right.” She set a plate down especially hard.
“Quit picking. All this stress isn’t good for my agita.”
“With respect to your Italian ancestry, you don’t have agita.” She rubbed a strand of hair off her forehead. “You have a heart that was overdue for a sixty-thousand-mile tune-up when the warranty ran out.”
“Huh. How’s dinner coming along? I’m starving.”
Cal shook his head at Pop’s subject change. Avoidance, thy name was Pop.
However, the old man remained planted in the recliner. It wasn’t that Pop was lazy or un-helpful. He’d be in the kitchen helping out if Mom would allow it. The last time she let him run amok with food prep, he scorched one pan and almost lit the wood walls of the house on fire, in his pursuit of creating bacon wrapped venison. Cal felt an imaginary twinge of his coronary arteries clogging up, at the mere thought of the greasy food.
Mom said, “You two come on over. It’s ready. Say, where’s Deirdre?” Mom was also an expert on the topic switch. “I thought she’d be coming by with you tonight.”
For this conversation, Cal would need a real alcoholic beverage. He pushed up from the couch while Pop did the same from the easy chair, their twin grunts foreshadowing Cal’s post-retirement future.
Transporting a large dish from the kitchen to the pad on the table, Cal said, “She had things to do that didn’t involve me.”
“Huh. That’s surprising. You two have been thicker than thieves lately,” Pop said.
“Something like that,” Cal mumbled.
“Anything wrong?” Mom sat down first, and Pop and Cal followed.
“No.” He ignored the assessing stares of his parents. “Wow, that looks delicious, Mom. Mind if I serve up?” One good subject change deserved another. And another.
They passed plates then dug in for a few minutes. Mom’s pot roast was legendary. He groaned as the flavors hit his tongue. “This is really good,” he said after several bites.
“It’s not the same,” Pop groused.
Mom glared at him until he lowered his head and continued eating. In silence.
With a bland expression, she tilted her head toward Cal in explanation. “Less salt, lower fat. Your father isn’t a fan.”
Cal shrugged and stabbed a carrot. “You know what my favorite food is?”
“What?” Mom said.
“Anything I didn’t have to cook!” He popped the bite in and chewed, giving Pop a pointed smile.
Another grunt that sounded almost like agreement. “So, are you sticking around until the Breakup Festival?” Pop asked.
“The committee won’t let me out of the hospice dunking booth assignment, so I guess that’s the plan. My work contract goes through the end of this month.” He tore off a piece of sourdough bread and chewed. “So, any thoughts to what we’d discussed? Wrapping things up in Yukon Valley. Moving to someplace bigger. I worry about the resources here for you two.”
After swallowing a mouthful of stacked carrots that he clearly did not hate, Pop shook his head. “This is home, son. We’ve decided to age in place.”
“Okay, I know aging in place is the new thing touted by AARP. But aging in place implies there are resources that support you in your golden years.”
“I’m not decrepit!” Pop said.
Mom lifted her hand. “Honey, that’s nice that you want to help. We wouldn’t know what to do in an unfamiliar big city. We have doctors here and we have friends—all in Yukon Valley. We don’t want to leave our home.”
Yes, but Cal had a life away from Yukon Valley, and it seemed unfair that he had to bear responsibility to help his folks as they got older. “What is your Plan B, then?”
“No Plan B,” Pop said. “Why do we need one?”
He resisted the urge to drop his forehead in his palm. “Because at some point you won’t be able to swing an axe or shovel snow off the roof. This place was a lot to keep up when you were young. It’s not getting easier. You may need more help.”
“We’re tough, right, Aggie?”
“Some of us more than others,” she said dryly.
“I’m not going to be around to help, you know,” Cal said.
“We do have other friends,” Mom said.
“I know, but…”
She interrupted. “You could always move here if you’re so worried.”
“I’m not worried. I’m being practical.” He studied the lines on both his parents’ faces. “What about that speculator nosing around? Out here, you’re not as safe.”
Mom replied, “We haven’t had any more visitors since we told that survey person to leave.”
That situation could change. He gripped his fork and kept his mouth shut.
“We’ve never been scared here before. Why start now?” Pop said. “Those people are worse than roadkill. To hell with them.”
Mom added, “We both are good shots, if it comes to that.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Cal said.
She dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “We appreciate you helping out your dad after his heart trouble. But we don’t want to uproot ourselves. Despite what you might think, your father and I are adults who can make measured decisions.”
Cal ground his molars together. They’d missed the entire point. “But—”
“I’m getting the custard.” Pop pushed back from the table and returned with the serving dish.
Mom absently waved a hand at him, then focused on Cal. “What about your future? What do you want, now that you finished medical school and residency? You’re multiple years into practice. Do you want to continue in that direction? What are your goals?”
“It’s like I’m talking with a high school guidance counselor.”
Pop snorted as he placed the dish in front of Mom. “She needs to aim those skills at someone. Her counseling doesn’t work on me.”
“You sure about that?” The glare she gave him took his expression from beetle-brow confrontational to innocently contrite in mere seconds.
“Hmm,” Pop said.
“So?” Mom asked Cal, spooning up burned custard.
The caramelized sugar called to him as he took the bowl she offered him. “Hadn’t given it that much thought.” Actually, he had, and that was a big problem.
His brain was crammed full of what-ifs. He’d envisioned every scenario possible, from totally cutting ties with her to going all-in on Team Cal and Deirdre. He wanted to believe that with great risk came great reward, but in this matter, the possibility of failure was way too high.
“Mm-hmm.” Like she didn’t believe him. “You and Deirdre Steen seem cozy. She could do worse than our son, you know.”
Cal laughed. Uncomfortably. “She and I are two old friends hanging out.”
In her bed. Naked.
“Your mother and I started off as schoolmate friends, you know.”
Cal said, “I know.”
Pop waggled an eyebrow and winked. “I was a varsity basketball player in high school. Very popular. Aggie got quite the catch.” His eyes glinted. “Out of the bed and in it.”
No. Nope. Mom and Pop were not reminiscing about sexual history in the same room as Cal. Lines needed to be drawn.
Mom snorted, a faint blush coloring her weathered cheeks. “Anyway, enough about us. You and Deirdre make a wonderful couple. You’re both smart, work in healthcare, and what with the tragedy of poor Elijah…”
“See, that’s the problem,” Cal blurted out.
“What is?” Mom said.
Pop’s eyes narrowed, studying him. Uh-oh.
Sweat prickled his lower back. “Even if I wanted to be more than friends”—and on some level that was his unattainable dream—“I can’t compete with a ghost.”
“You really think that?”
“I know that.”
She rested her chin on her hand. “Elijah was a good person. Everyone liked him.”
Cal’s stomach sank with every true and damning word.
Mom continued. “You and Elijah are different people, special and good in your own way. You have plenty to bring to the table. Any woman would be lucky to have you in their life.”
He squirmed in the wooden chair. “It’s easy to say that, but the reality is complicated. Nothing is going to happen with us.” Except for last night. Damn. Under the table, he curled his fingers into his thigh.
“I think what your mother is saying is, you have to be open to love. Willing to take a chance. Listen to those around you.”
Cal barked a laugh. “Now I know that aliens abducted the real Pop. I can’t believe that the most stubborn person in the state of Alaska gave me that advice. It’s rich.”
Pop shrugged as he spooned a bite of low-fat custard. “Do as I say not as I do, son.”