Page 32 of Paging Dr. Breakup
A master class, Deirdre’s handling of Pop.
“Hmmph.Still.” He rubbed the front of his flannel shirt.
Mom brought over steaming bowls of stew and set them down with a roll of her eyes at Pop. They all ate in contented silence for a minute. The lamp glow and oven-warmed room wrapped around him like a blanket.
Cal set down his spoon. “Mom, your stew is better than I remember. I want this recipe.”
Gesturing at him with a piece of bread, she said, “Yes, but it’s not the same if it’s not made out in the bush in Alaska.”
“You guys aren’t in the bush.” He pointed toward the trees outside the living room windows. “The bush is that way, somewhere between ten miles and five hundred miles away.”
“Well, we’re not in the town. Or a city. So, we’re in the bush,” Pop said. “Anyways, I prefer the old recipe.”
“The old recipe isn’t healthy.” Mom’s grin bordered on a grimace. It was clear this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “You’re welcome that I’m feeding you. Left to your own devices, you’d live on canned franks and beans.”
“Well, some of us like franks and beans.” Nevertheless, Pop shoveled another spoonful of stew.
Cal knew when the argument wasn’t going to go his way. “Hmm.”
Pop took a drink of water. “Deirdre, how’s your brother and your business?”
“Seems to be going great. The lodge has gotten more reservations as a result of Tuli Sampson’s internet posts. Busy is better than the alternative.” She paused. “Or did you mean the hospital business? Because that’s going well, too. Someone’s always getting sick or getting in an accident, it seems.”
Pop grunted. Little did he know how outmatched he was verbally sparring with Deirdre. “Seems like everything’s coming up roses for you. Thought about settling down?”
Cal whipped his head up.
Deirdre choked on her bite of stew and coughed for a full minute, her face beet red.
Wiping her mouth with the napkin, she said, “That’s not… I’m not… I don’t have time for that right now.”
“What’s all this… galivanting with Calvin, then?” Pop pinned her with a steely gaze beneath his bushy brows.
“Galivanting? Pop, come on now,” Cal said.
“Bruce, leave the kids alone,” Mom interjected at the same time.
Kids? Cal was thirty-six, same as Deirdre.
Drumming her fingers on the table, Deirdre said in a measured tone, “Bruce, we’re old friends going out to dinner. Like the most casual of outings.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Pop grunted and dunked his bread into the stew.
Not exactly how Cal saw it, either. On the other hand, they were pretending to date so that they didn’t have to endure lines of questioning. Like this one.
He hated threading the needle of truth, but he didn’t want to get his parents’ hopes up. He’d deal with any confusion later. “What about your text, Mom? It worried me.”
“I know a subject change when I see one,” she said with a wink, then added, “This man drove up, said he was an assessor from Alaska Department of Natural Resources. Claimed he needed to set up a time to do a survey of the property. Something about documenting mineral rights for a possible claim request. Said a portion of what we think is our property might actually be BLM land, which would open an area for prospectors to seek an exploration and mining claim. I don’t understand why they need to resurvey.”
He gripped the soup spoon in a tight fist. “And?”
Pop grumbled, “He was real pushy, trying to pick a date to map the property with survey equipment.” He barked a laugh. “Our land was surveyed years ago. Pins were set at the boundaries when we purchased the property back then. But that guy didn’t want to take no for an answer. Not from your mom or from me.” He paused. “Doofus did not like him. That’s good enough for me.”
A cold chill skittered down his spine. Mom was sweet most of the time, but tough as nails when she needed to be. If she declined their request, that was that. It irritated him that her wishes hadn’t been respected immediately. The timing of the visit wasn’t right, either. “What did the guy look like?”
Pop glanced at the ceiling. “Younger fella, maybe thirty, tall and thin. Wore the olive green DNR gear. Flashed ID at us. Looked official.”
Damn it. Things were getting out of control. “What did you do?”
