Logan was almost grateful that his father’s room was on the fourth floor; he had the chance to catch his breath on the elevator up. He hated hospitals.
They brought back too many recent, bad memories. The gift shop’s offerings were as shitty as he remembered. He brought up a paper bag full of goodies and comfort items and a separate sack that contained lunch. He wondered how much of it his dad could eat.
His brother was already there; he heard John’s voice as he interrogated a nurse inside. Logan lingered just inside the door. John’s wife hovered over their father like a mother hen, filling his cup from a pitcher of ice water.
“When did you give Dad his last pill?”
“An hour ago, from what I have on his chart.”
“No, I asked when did you last give him a pill.”
“I passed meds today at 10AM. His chart, however, says he got his last pain dose at four.”
“Are you certain? Dad, when do you remember your last dose?”
“Been about two hours,” he snapped hoarsely. “Quit getting so lathered up and siddown. M’fine. Tired,” he muttered. He took the cup from John’s wife Rose and drained it, handing her the remaining ice chips. She set it on his bed table and adjusted his blankets. He waved her away impatiently. “You sit down, too.”
“Sorry, Dad,” she told him.
“Visit. Don’t fuss.”
“I’m the mother of your grandchildren. It’s my job to fuss.”
“Hmmph,” he grumbled. He spied Logan in the doorway. “Where have you been, Twinkle Toes?”
“Didn’t wanna come empty-handed, Pop.”
Jonathan was still full of spit and vinegar. Logan was silently grateful.
Beyond that, the old man looked like hell. His skin was still wan and his face was drawn and tired. They had him on oxygen and Rose had brought him a long-sleeved pajama shirt that he wore like a jacket to keep the draft off of him in bed. A wicked-looking IV was taped to his forearm. His homely blue hospital gown was further accessorized by small red and white 3M leads below his throat and on his chest. An orange ID bracelet made him itch; he tugged and scratched at his wrist impatiently while he addressed his sons.
“What, ya thought I just called ya to run my errands? It’s been weeks. Never hear from ya anymore.” Aggravation flared inside Logan, along with a hefty dose of guilt. His dark eyes, so much like his sons’, raked over him and landed on the bags. “What’d ya bring me?”
“Survival rations,” he said, setting the stuff on the bed table and removing a few at a time. He handed Rose the small box of See’s peanut brittle to open. His pop took the sudoku book and flipped through it with little interest.
“Your mom was good at these. I never got how to do ‘em.”
“Give it a try,” Logan suggested. He leaned over the bed rail and kissed his temple. His father patted his cheek roughly, the half-smack he’d grown used to over the course of forty-five years. It made him optimistic; clearly he was feeling better.
“How was Mexico, Logan?” Rose asked.
“Hot. Nice,” he explained. “The beaches were unbelievable.”
“We just got back from Martha’s Vineyard this summer,” she boasted.
“It ain’t the same.” Not even close, in Logan’s mind. The weather off the Cape changed every five minutes, according to the locals. Mexico was warm and bright, straight out of a postcard.
The memory of Ororo still plagued him, sharper now since his visit to her office. Logan still cursed his lack of control.
But her buttoned-up look drove him nuts, her body was begging to be let loose. Her hair made his hands itch to undo it. He was still kicking himself.
He couldn’t get the taste of her from his mouth. And worse, he didn’t want to.
“Well, you look good,” Rose assured him. “More relaxed.” Logan wanted to argue with him, but he let it go. Work was a bear. He had three client meetings in three different cities next week. He spent more time in his suits than he liked, and he was barely home long enough to warm the pillows on his bed.
There was an email from Madelyne in his personal inbox, but he hadn’t opened it yet. She left a little smiley face, “:-)” in the subject line. Cute and harmless, he guessed. It fit her. At least his attraction to her didn’t involve any conflict or games.
Rose looked good, Logan noticed. Her dark red hair was cut in a short pageboy and she looked riper, more womanly due to her four-month pregnancy. Once upon a time, John and Logan’s mother, Elizabeth, joked that she couldn’t wait to have a house full of redheaded grandchildren from both of her sons. Jean had been a redhead, too.
“When are ya gonna hurry up and gimme another grandson?” Jonathan nagged, waggling his finger at Rose. She sighed, shaking her head.
“The other two were late. I hope this one is more cooperative.”
“Hardheaded, just like these two. Gotta be another boy.”
“Amen,” she chuckled.
Rose had left Vic and Laura with their other grandmother due to visiting hour policy. Logan’s father was still in the stepdown unit after being in intensive care for three days. Despite the fact that he was feeling more chipper, Jonathan was still too frail.
“Whatsamatter, Jimmy? Ya look a little down.”
“Just worn out, Pop.”
“Slow down. Life’s short. In the grand scheme of shit, Jimmy, none of this runnin’ around’ll make a difference when ya hit the end of the road. Money’s important, but not if ya don’t have a life to enjoy it with. Or the folks ya love.”
“I know, Pop.”
“’I know Pop’,” his father mimicked. “Blah, blah, blah…in one ear, out the other. Don’t mind me, I just love hearin’ myself talk.”
“Dad’s feeling better,” John muttered to Rose. She giggled.
His father helped himself to a couple of bites of peanut brittle.
“Mom was addicted to this stuff,” Jonathan mused. Logan hated the wave of melancholy that threatened to wash over him.
“Pop…John said ya sold the car.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“What, you needed money? Pop…”
“Uh-uh,” he said, holding up his hand. “Don’t, Jimmy. It’s not just about money.”
“Then what, Pop?” Logan’s voice took on an impatient edge. He was hanging on by the fringes of his temper and threatening to slip.
“I know ya loved that car. But ya had no place to keep it. Jimmy…I ain’t getting any younger. I can’t take it with me.” Logan’s fists tightened, and he instantly defused. He was still somewhat pissed, but now that emotion had a different target. “I’m considering a smaller place.”
Logan might as well have been doused with ice water. “Wait…what?”
“Dad and I were out and about a few weeks back, looking at condos,” John confessed.
“Shit,” Logan hissed.
“Watch yer tongue, bub.”
“Sorry,” he told Rose. She gave him a “yeah, yeah, heard it before” nod. “I didn’t know.”
“I haven’t said much about it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”
“That’s how ya feel, huh?”
“This ain’t somethin’ I just woke up and decided to do while I was brushin’ my teeth. The house is paid off, that’s a plus. But repairs are the problem. I need a new furnace. That’s gonna set me back seven grand.”
“Ouch,” Logan muttered. “Damn highway robbery.”
“That’s what the contractor quoted me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hold up. Contractor? Pop, ya’ve got me an’ John. How much is the unit itself?”
“Five,” he shrugged.
“We can install it. Never mind that shit of paying someone that much if ya don’t have to.”
“You’ve got a busy schedule.”
“Yeah, but it’s mine. I’ll make time. I’m your pigeon.”
“So you’ll rush home to save Pop a few dimes,” John said.
“Are you on board ta help, bub?”
“Obviously. I’m just gonna sit on my ass?” John accused, eyes sparking.
“Geez, where did you two get those potty mouths?” Rose insisted.
“Hell if I know,” Jonathan tsked, taking a gulp of his apple juice.
Logan stayed another hour. They managed to find a Pats game despite the hospital’s pitiful excuse for cable. During the post-game wrap-up, Logan stretched and rose from the uncomfortable guest chair. The room was too small for the amount of furniture and equipment in it, but at least his dad didn’t have a roommate yet. He bookmarked the thought that it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the charge nurse to see about a private room. If Logan could help it, his father would have the best. If his father’s insurance wouldn’t pay the difference between private and standard beds, Logan was good for it.
His father’s dark eyes were rheumy and tired. “Ya goin’ already?”
“Yeah. Traffic sucked on the way over here.”
“You could stay at the house with us,” John offered. “The kids want to see you. We told them you were coming.” Logan wavered a moment.
“Yeah,” he decided. “That’s fine.” Rose beamed.
“We’ll move the kids to the living room. They love to watch TV as soon as they get up, anyway. It’ll be like camping out for them.”
“I might camp out with ‘em. Tell ‘em I’ll bring a movie home on my way, too.”
“What else to you have to do?”
“This and that.” Logan sighed and turned to his father. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Get yer act together and get out of here, Pop.”
“He tells me to get my act together,” he grunted, shaking his head. Logan engulfed his in a hug, hating how wasted his normally beefy frame felt. He closed his eyes against the pricking sensation behind them and held his father for several long seconds. “Listen ta this guy, will ya?” But his voice was fond. “You’re my boy, and I love ya, even if ya are hardheaded.”
“Thanks, Pop.” He kissed the top of his salt-and-pepper head and made his way out, not before his brother clapped him on the back.
“I’ll make coffee when we get back. Don’t plan on turning in too early.”
“Fine. See ya.” They shared a look of understanding as he made his way out.
Logan drank in the familiar surroundings, recognizing the same watercolor art print of daisies hanging in the hallway that had a drip mark where the yellow paint bled near the bottom border. It always intrigued and annoyed him whenever he sat in the waiting area, staring at it when his mother was sick. The potted ferns near the nurses’ station needed watering; Logan was never into plants. That was one area that he and Jean agreed on, since they dropped leaves and soil onto her clean countertops whenever anyone gave them some as gifts.
He ran errands on his way home, despite his father’s words that it wasn’t his job. He stopped at Target and picked up some cleaning supplies, a snow scraper and a bag of salt for his pop’s driveway. His next stop was Hollywood Video for a couple of DVDs and snacks for Vic and Laura. He knew they didn’t need any more sugar, but he knew they’d wrangle the chance to stay up later anyway, since it was a weekend. He left the store with an enormous box of Whoppers, Twizzlers and a couple of packs of microwave popcorn. It was good for a few more “fun uncle” points, he figured. They had him wrapped around their fingers.
The rain started as he made his way onto the exit ramp, making the freshly plowed snow slushy and thick. Logan was glad John had already outfitted their Jonathan’s old Ford Escort with snow tires.
Sure enough, the phone rang as soon as he keyed his way inside.
“Howlett Residence?”
“Johnny?” The voice on the other end sounded surprised. “You’re back already?”
“This is Logan,” he explained.
“Oh, goodness, you sound exactly like your brother, and you both sound so much like your father! I’m bringing the kids back in a few minutes, since I caught you at home. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine, darlin’, go ahead and drop ‘em off. I brought back treats and Meet the Robinsons.”
“Oh, boy!” she agreed. “I know they’re up for that. I already fed them a late dinner; I packed their pajamas just in case they would have to stay overnight, it’s all packed up and ready to go.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Be there soon.” Rose’s mother was all right. Ironically, she bore a superficial resemblance to Logan’s mother, petite with dark hair and blue eyes. She was pleasant enough. John lucked out in the marriage department.
Logan seldom spoke to John and Elaine, Jean’s parents. He still kept in touch with her sister Sara, and he enjoyed visiting once in a while with Gailyn and Joey. But sometimes, it was so hard, left him so raw. Seeing Gailyn, in particular, left him vulnerable, since she reminded him so much of Jean. She made him wonder what it would have been like if he and Jean-
He stopped himself and immediately placed that thought on the shelf, all the way in the back of his mind. He wasn’t ready to take it down yet.
While Logan waited for his niece and nephew to arrive, he cleaned up. He noticed that Rose had already taken care of the dishes they’d used for lunch and taken out the trash. He followed up that effort by shoveling the front walk again and salting it like he’d planned. The temperature outside read ten degrees. Logan checked the pipes and decided to wrap them before they froze.
He felt restless. His father’s house smelled the same. The rooms felt smaller now that he was an adult, but they were still cozy and furnished in his mother’s style. His dad had out fewer of her knick-knacks; Logan wondered hollowly if he gave some of them away.
He stared for a while at a picture college in the hallway. Color and black and white photos were fading to different shades of sepia in the frame. He and his brother grinned their way through shot after shot at different ages. His brother still towered over him. Logan took after his mother’s short side of the family.
The pictures of his mother holding each of them as infants gave him pause. She looked so content and vital. Elizabeth was pleasantly plump after having children, but her skin was peaches and cream and she had thick black hair, curly like Logan’s.
His feet took him to his father’s room. He flicked on the light and noticed that the bulb flickered slightly, needing to be changed.
Elizabeth’s cane stood in the corner of the room. Logan didn’t even remember crossing the room. All he knew was the feel of the cool, slick wood in his hands as he sank down on the bed. He turned it in his hands and remembered.
Parkinson’s.
She said nothing would keep her from going where she needed to go as long as she was still on her feet. And she was as good as her word. Every Saturday found her at garage sales, and every Sunday found her in church. When it became too difficult for her to stand for long periods, Jonathan began helping her to make dinner, eventually claiming the chore as his own.
Logan called and visited often during those months. It kept him going, and on better days, her voice was still strong and steady, and he almost forgot that anything was wrong. That was how she wanted it.
She touched him often, imprinting him those last few weeks. He wanted to saturate himself in her words, scent and soft glances before it all ran dry.
During her final decline, they lived her pain.
Logan felt his eyes heat up again. Her cane grew warm in his grip. He set it down in the corner again and tried to steady himself.
“Mom,” he whispered. She didn’t answer him back.
The room stifled him. All he could see were bits and pieces of her. Jonathan and Elizabeth’s engagement photo in a silver frame. An old-fashioned atomizer bottle. Her small silver jewelry box sitting atop a mirrored tray. Her faded bedroom slippers peeked out at him from under the bed. His pop had kept them there…
The front door was assaulted by uneven knocks. Logan heard hooting and giggling and silently gave thanks. He rushed from the room, clicking off the light behind him.
They bowled him over as soon as he opened the door.
“Oof!”
“Uncle Jimmy!” his nephew crowed, grinning up at him from his vantage point of bring wrapped around his waist like an anaconda. Laura was already tugging on his arm, urging him to pick her up. He obliged her, pretending “ or was he pretending? “ to drag himself across the room under their dead weight. They hung on him, talking his ears off at once.
“What’d you bring me?” Laura pried. Logan blew a raspberry on her neck. She exploded into giggles.
“Whaddya mean, what’d ya bring me? Ya just expect me ta bring ya stuff every time I show up? What about bein’ glad ta see me fer me?”
“What’d you bring me!!!” she cried. He took umbrage by tickling her until she turned red in the face. Vic took a different tack.
“Did you bring any video games?”
“Sheesh. Ya can’t leave that stuff alone, eh?”
“I wanna play WWE.”
“Ya know yer sister here always cuts up when she loses.”
“Do NOT!”
“Do too,” Vic insisted. She gave him a shove. Logan separated them before he could return the favor.
“Stop, stop, stop. Don’t get started with that nonsense. I’ve got a movie.”
“A kung fu movie?”
“Nope. Disney.”
“Awwwww!”
“Take it easy. It looks pretty good. No princesses and fairy crap.”
“Okay,” Vic muttered sourly. He wasn’t appeased yet. At eight, he looked like his brother’s spitting image. Neither he nor his sister ended up with their mother’s red hair after all, but their dark brown was shot through with auburn highlights every summer. Logan’s dad was betting on a redhead on the third time around.
“Ya act like I’m killin’ ya…ya used ta love Disney movies! Huh? Huh? Punk!” Logan growled, getting his nephew in a head lock. “Say uncle!”
“Noooooo!”
“C’mon, ya know ya wanna!”
“Uh-uh!”
Within seconds Logan was wrestled to the floor. He was outnumbered and outmatched. Several noogies, tickles and pink bellies later, the three of them waited impatiently for the microwave to ding. The smell of popcorn filled the kitchen. Logan wasn’t restless for his brother and sister in law to return home, but he eventually wanted some time alone with his thoughts.
Despite Vic’s misgivings, the kids enjoyed the movie, mostly at the top of their lungs.
”Why aren’t you seizing the boy?!”
“I have a big head, and little arms. I don’t think this plan was well thought out.” Logan threw his head back and slapped his knee. He needed this.
By the time the movie was over, the kids were showing signs of exhaustion, limbs spilling over the sides of the couch and a lot quieter than they were when they got home. Logan started rounding up the popcorn bowls and candy wrappers, planning to vacuum the next day. John and Rose came tramping inside, stowing their boots in the kitchen.
“Dad’s sleeping,” Rose confirmed. She picked up Laura, who responded by laying her head on her mother’s shoulder and closing her eyes. Her long spill of dark hair trailed over Rose’s sweater. “How were they?”
“We had a blast. Piece of cake.”
“Wore ‘em out?”
“You know it. Uncle Jimmy’s the man.”
John was as good as his word. He perked a pot of Folger’s once the kids were tucked into bed, bundled under several blankets atop an air mattress. Rose turned in herself, pleading exhaustion. Logan didn’t blame her.
“How long are you gonna be here?”
“For however long it takes Pop to get back. I wanna help him get settled in, and I wanna take care of that furnace.”
“Good.” John stared at him over the edge of his cup. “And what then?”
“I’m headed back up.”
“When are you coming back, Logan?”
“I’ll try to get back. I don’t know when.”
“It’d be nice if you’d work it into your schedule a little more frequently. Pop talks about you often enough.”
“Sure,” Logan shrugged, sighing. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Can’t, huh?”
“I’d be here if things were different. It’s called work.”
“I work. Rose works. We’re still here. All Dad’s gotta do is snap his fingers.”
“Goodie for you.” Logan set down his cup and leaned forward, folding his arms and propping his elbows on the table. “I wanna help out. It ain’t like yer gonna be handling stuff for Pop all by yerself.”
“It’s not just about handling stuff for Pop. He wants you here. He misses you!”
“He knows he can call me.”
“You can call him.”
“Look…”
“Don’t be a stranger.”
“What are ya gonna do if Pop moves? Sell the house? Or is he planning on renting it?”
John looked irritated at the change of subject. “Sell. He doesn’t want to get tangled up in checking on tenants.”
“It’d be a monthly income.”
“Dad’s doing all right already.”
“Tell him not ta write it off. It’s paid off. It’s still a worthwhile investment ta keep it up and list it as a rental property to a nice family.”
“Pop used to want one of us to eventually take the house.”
“It didn’t work out that way.” Logan downed half his cup. “I don’t need this much space. It’s just me.” It hadn’t been once.
“Guess so. Did you get the boxes Rose sent?”
“Yup.” He stared into his cup, swirling the dregs. “Got one from Sara, too.”
“How are they doing?”
“Kids are getting big.”
“Do you ever go to see them?”
“Eh. Nah.” He still felt guilty. Sara had asked him when he was coming back out to visit.
“How’s work?”
“Up ta my ass in new contracts and renewing business. The usual.” Then he added, “Met a decent lady at a training recently. Been playin’ phone tag.”
“Is she a Patriots fan?” Leave it to John to ask about what really mattered.
“Dunno yet. Still early in the game.”
“Any possibilities?”
“I just wanna have fun for a while. Nothing fancy. Not yet.”
“So no chance of bringing her home to meet Dad, huh?”
“Pfft…please.” Logan gave him a look; John snorted.
“We can get the furnace tomorrow, if you want.”
“Yup.”
“I’m gonna take a look at the roof, too. I think there’s a leak that’s making its way into the bathroom.”
“Dad’s got the big ladder in the garage.”
“Don’t worry about getting it out til tomorrow.”
They gradually made a laundry list of projects to complete while Logan was still in town. Beyond that, they bullshitted into the wee hours and finished all the coffee. Despite the caffeine, John yawned like a lion.
“I’m bushed. G’night.”
“Night.”
Logan took the guest room, ironically his own bedroom when he was a kid. Elizabeth used it as a sewing room for a while. Her craft items were still neatly stacked in boxes in the closet. An unfinished quilt still hung on a rack by the window.
He watched the shadows from oncoming cars’ headlights dart across the walls, over and over. It was more effective than counting sheep. Within a half hour, he was asleep.
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