“I think it’s great that he thought he could call you,” Morgan said. “He needs to be able to talk to somebody.”
“I suppose.” I sat at the table, slouched, and stared up at the ceiling. “I guess this is okay. Sure, it will be fine. I should give Howard a call, though, let him know where his kid is going to be. That sound right?”
“Yes,” Morgan said.
The first thing Howard said when he was apprised of the situation was, “Why did he call you and not me?”
“You two have had your problems,” I said.
“But I’m his father.”
“That’s true and maybe that’s what makes it so hard. I don’t know. I just thought I’d let you know he’s going to be here.”
“What exactly happened?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “He said he needed to take some time off from school and said he wanted to work here on the ranch for a while.”
“He didn’t say why?”
I couldn’t bring myself to lie again or didn’t believe I would do it effectively, so I said, “He’s arriving later this week.”
“You think I’ve pushed him away by disapproving of his lifestyle?” he said.
I didn’t lie this time. “That’s probably true.”
Howard was silent for a few seconds. “Thanks for calling to let me know. You’re a good friend, John.”
“Sure thing.”
Dinner was wonderful, even without the glazed carrots. The moose steaks were sweet and tender, Gus’s dressing was moist and peppery, and the sweet potatoes were covered with little melted marshmallows. Then there were the Brussels sprouts. Gus made up small plates of moose meat for Zoe and the puppy. The dogs finished their treat in a matter of seconds and looked up for more.
“If the horses can have their Christmas meal, then so can the dogs,” he said. Then he sat down and lowered his head.
Morgan glanced to me. It looked like Gus was praying before his meal, but he never did that.
“Gus?” I asked.
He raised his head and looked at us.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked.
“A little dizzy, queasy all of a sudden,” he said.
“Have some water.” I handed him his water glass.
“Maybe it’s the wine I drank earlier,” he said. “I shouldn’t have had any, but I sneaked a sip.”
“Still dizzy?”
“A little.”
“That’s it, we’re going to the hospital,” I said, pulling my napkin from my lap and putting it on the table.
“No, it’s going away,” he said.
I looked across the table at Morgan. She was terrified.
“Gus,” I started.
But he cut me off. “I’m going to stretch out on the sofa. If I don’t feel better in a few minutes, then you can take me in.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
I helped him up and he walked fairly steadily into the den and to the sofa. I stood there staring down at him, feeling useless.
“You go finish dinner,” he said. “I didn’t toil over that damn stove all day so no one would enjoy it.”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
In the kitchen, Morgan was pacing. I knew that she was reliving that last day with her mother. “We have to take him in,” she said.
“Let’s give him the couple of minutes he asked for,” I said. I wasn’t certain it was the wisest course, but I didn’t want to upset him. “Just a couple minutes.”
We sat down, but we didn’t eat.
Gus came into the room. “I said for you two to eat.” He walked, fairly steadily on his own, to the sink where he poured himself a glass of water. “I’m an old man. These spells happen. I feel better now.”
“You’re sure?” Morgan said.
Gus nodded. “You eat. I’m going to go upstairs and rest.”
“Need help?” I asked.
“Eat!”
“Okay, but tomorrow, we’re going to see the doctor,” I said.
“All right.”
All Gus told me after his visit to the doctor was that there had to be an adjustment in his blood-pressure medication and that he’d have to go down to Laramie for tests in a couple weeks. He’d also been prescribed a few other things, but as usual his dealings with his physician were kept close to him. While we waited at the pharmacy for the drugs, the sheriff walked in.
“Bucky,” I said. I didn’t rise from the green vinyl seat.
“Hey, John. Merry Christmas. How you doing, Gus?”
Gus nodded. The old man had always been cool when it came to the sheriff. I thought at times that it was simply the badge, at others that there was in fact something about Bucky that put him off.
“Did Daniel White Buffalo give you a call?” I asked.
“He did. And I drove out there and I saw it and I don’t know what the hell to do. That’s the skinny.”
“What do you think?”
“What is there to think? I hope they’re passing through. I hope lightning strikes them.” He looked over at the sound of the bell on the door. “All I know is this is going to be my last term.”
“Daniel’s pretty upset,” I said.
“I don’t blame him,” Bucky said. “What about you?”
“What about me?’
“Are you upset?”
“Yeah, I’m upset,” I said. “Don’t you think I should be upset?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
The pharmacist came over, and Gus got up to talk to him.
“How’s Morgan?” Bucky asked.
“She’s okay,” I said. “She’s at her place trying to close it up. We moved her animals to my place a couple weeks ago. I have to tell you, this stuff scares her.”
Bucky nodded. “I’ll have Hanks swing by your place periodically. I’ve got someone doing the same thing at White Buffalo’s.”
“That’s good,” I said.
As we walked back to the truck, I asked Gus why he didn’t like Bucky.
“He gives me the willies,” he said. “Can’t say why. It’s in my gut. I don’t like him.”
“Fair enough.”
Once in the truck and rolling out of town, I asked, “Won’t you tell me what the doctor told you?”
“Same stuff.”
“That might mean something to me if I heard the first stuff,” I said. “What kind of tests are you going to have?”
“The usual crap. A tube here, a tube there. He wants to check out my colon again. He seems to like that.”
“But they did that at the hospital here last time,” I said.
“I think it’s a scheduling thing, I don’t know.”
I didn’t press. Gus was going to the doctor, taking care of things. My knowing wasn’t going to change what he would or wouldn’t do. It was his business and I would let him see to it.
“Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m here,” I said.
“I know, John.”
NINE
THE BIG SILVER GREYHOUND from Laramie was on time in spite of the foul weather, mainly because the trip did not involve the interstate freeway. When the highway was being planned in the sixties, the ranchers told the highway folks that the chosen route was a bad one. The ranchers suggested the old road. The completed freeway came to be called the Snow Chi Minh Trail and was closed quite a bit during the winter. The old road became the alternate and always-open route. Twenty minutes after greeting David, I was saying good-bye to Gus as he boarded another bus for Casper. The old man would arrive that evening, check into the Motel 6 next door to the hospital, not eat or drink anything after six, and be ready for his exams the next morning. Gus had refused my driving him, saying one, “I ain’t no baby and I can take care of myself,” and two, “Besides, you’ve got a guest coming into town.” So, David and I waved good-bye to the bus. Gus didn’t really notice and seemed older to me.