“In my experience, moving on is part of healing. Think of it like physical therapy during rehabilitation for an injury. You start to use the muscles again while they’re healing, but you have to take it slow and build the strength back before you can make a full recovery. The heart’s a muscle. Did you forget that already?”
I laughed. “Are we talking about matters of the heart in doctor-speak?”
“Why not? This is our shared language. We could use a golfing metaphor if that works better for you.”
I laughed. “That would play more to my strengths.”
He chuckled then leaned in, grasping my arm. “All joking aside, you’re my son and I’m your dad. Every other way in which we’re related is secondary. So think about that when I tell you that you have the potential to be a better surgeon than me. But nothing would make me prouder than if you became a better husband and father.”
I jerked my head back and fought the lump growing in my throat. “You’re a great dad.”
“I put a lot of pressure on you and I regret it.”
“What has gotten into you, Dad?”
He looked up to the ceiling thoughtfully and then smiled. “Perspective. I think you may be getting a taste of it, too. Son, I want to have barbecues and go on trips and watch my grandchildren grow up.”
“You’re skipping ahead pretty fast here.”
“All I’m trying to say is that in the week after you lost the patient, I started to really question my own life. I thought about the good times, and as much as I like being a surgeon, the best memories from my life did not take place in the hospital.”
“I understand what you mean. I’m working on it, Dad.”
“Nate, remember when we used to watch football and yell at the TV? Or when your mom would go on those girl trips and we would spend the whole weekend eating junk food and watching movies?”
“I remember.”
“Aren’t those the best memories?”
“Yeah, Dad, they are.”
“Do you think of your first bypass that way? The first time you held a human heart? Did you feel joy or determination?”
“I think I get what you’re saying, but I’m pretty sure I felt joy when the surgery was a success.”
“See, I think you’re confusing your feelings. What you probably felt was relief; the joy was for the person you saved, not for yourself. Sure, it’s gratifying to know you saved a life, but it’s not nearly as gratifying as knowing you created one. Joy is family, life, all of it—the big stuff and the small stuff. Just holding the woman you love in your arms can make a hard day at work fade away.”
“Whoa, Dad. I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
“I just want you to think about it. That’s all.”
I stood up and hugged him. “Thank you. I’m going to see if Ava will join us for dinner.”
“That’s a great idea. A little physical therapy for the heart—yours and Ava’s.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Dr. Romance.”
“My pleasure.”
Once outside, I noticed right away that Dancer was not in her corral. One of the fillies was also missing. Uncle Dale was packing up the dually for our day out. We were going to check up on other animals at nearby ranches.
“Have you seen Ava?”
“She had some lessons today.”
“One of the fillies is gone. Does she teach lessons on a horse that young?”
“She mentioned something to Trisha about training the black filly. She’s on the R&W ranch today for the kids’ lessons. They have barrels there so maybe she’s going to get a workout in. I was surprised to hear that she’s getting back into it. Did you have something to do with that, Nate?”
“We talked about it.”
“I’m happy she’s doin’ it. It gives her more to focus on. Anyway, when your dad’s ready we’ll head out. Later this afternoon we’ll be going to R&W, so maybe we’ll catch Ava.” He looked up with a knowing smile.
“I’d just like to say goodbye to her before we leave tomorrow,” I said defensively.
I helped Dale carry his bags to the bed of the truck. He looked down at my boots. “Where’d those come from?”
“Ava.”
He chuckled. “Hop in the backseat, kid, and let your dad sit in front.”
I was starting to remember what it was like to be young again and I liked it.
We waited in the truck for twenty minutes until my father came wobbling down the steps from the main house. On his third step down, Dale laid on the horn and yelled out the window, “Hurry up, you old man!”
I could see my dad say, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”
Dale turned in his seat. “He needs to lose some weight.”
“I know.”
My dad walked past the truck into the barn. “What the hell is he doin’?” Dale asked.
“No clue,” I said.
He came back out with a ton of fishing gear in his hands and his fly-fishing vest draped over his shoulder.
Dale rolled down the window. “I don’t know if we’ll have time for that, Jeff.”
“Well, let’s make time. I want to teach my boy to fly-fish and I want you to help me,” he said in his matter-of-fact tone.
“Throw it in the back, then.”
Uncle Dale looked at me in the rearview mirror, and even though I could only see his eyes, I knew he was smiling. When my father finally got in the truck, we made our way down the long dirt driveway onto the main road.