I
love this view, our broad lawn sweeping down to the river, framed by stately
pines and backed by the high spine of the Elk Creek Mountains, snow-capped much
of the year. Maggie and I bought the
house back in sixty-five, three years after our marriage and a year before
David was born. I moved my practice into
its east wing and we’ve never given a thought to leaving.
Of course, my
parents were very impressed with the place, having come from modest backgrounds
and never aspiring to leave Wichita. He
was a conductor for the Santa Fe Railroad and she stayed home to raise the
kids. I was the second of their four
sons and, in the end, the most successful.
Jack, my older brother, must have changed careers a dozen times, ending
up in the insurance business, last I heard, and Darryl followed in my father’s
footsteps. Thomas, the youngest, was
killed in Vietnam not long after we bought this house. Vietnam nearly killed my mother as well.
Now, looking out at
our idyllic view, I’m not sure why I lost touch with Jack and Darryl. Dad died in seventy-six, three years after
his retirement, and mom followed in eighty-three, having moved in with Maggie
and me after my father passed. I had
admitted her to St. Joe’s a week earlier with pneumonia. She rallied at first but then slipped into
sepsis. Besides my brothers, I’ve
managed to lose contact with old friends as well, even with Jane Byers whom I
nearly married.
I often think of
Jane. We met at Arizona State and lived
together our last year of college but, when I went off to medical school, she
took a job in Boston. I visited a couple
of times, once in the summer and another time over spring break, but our
relationship gradually fizzled. She was
a firecracker though and I’ll never forget some of her antics, especially that
August night we snuck into the campus pool.
Maggie doesn’t know it but I have Jane’s old letters in a box somewhere.
When I finally
retired, the week after 9-11, Maggie and I traveled quite a bit, including
trips to Europe and Australia. In recent
years, though, we’ve become homebodies.
She still gets together with her friends but I’m content to putter
around the house. Maggie hired an aide, Tamara,
to help with the chores and, I suspect, to keep an eye on me when she’s
away. She’s pleasant enough but I’ve
told Maggie I could manage just fine on my own.
To be perfectly
honest, Tamara is forgetful at times.
It’s now getting close to noon and she’s yet to serve my breakfast. Fortunately, I’m not terribly hungry and my
attention has been focused on our fabulous view. In fact, there’s a mountain bluebird hanging
around the deck this morning, the first I ‘ve seen in years.
Focused on the
bluebird, I didn’t hear Maggie enter the room and she sneaks up to give me a
kiss on the cheek. She’s brought a
visitor, she says, and a tall, handsome young man appears to my left. He asks how I’m doing but I’m too interested
in the bluebird to answer right away.
Maggie asks if I know this stranger and I respond that we’ve never met
though, in fact, he does look somewhat familiar. To be honest, with his long nose and sandy
hair he looks a bit like my brother Darryl.
But when I ask if
it’s Darryl, Maggie shakes her head and tears well in her eyes. She says he is our son, David, but I know she
must be kidding. David is much younger than
this gentleman in a pinstripe suite.
Wouldn’t you know, he joins in, insisting that he is David and asking if
I remember his visit last summer. He
says we took a hike down to the river and tried a bit of fly-fishing. I tell him that he must be mistaken and turn
back to my view, just as the bluebird flies from its perch. I comment on the bird’s rare appearance but
Maggie says it’s out there every morning.
She says Tamara calls it Dr. Tom’s bluebird. I scoff at that comment and advise Maggie
that Tamara did not yet bring my breakfast.
She just pats me on the shoulder and asks what I’d like to eat. When I turn back to the window, she and her
friend head for the kitchen where someone begins to sniffle. I look for the bluebird again but it is gone.
