-Bruce

Bruce glanced at the clock in the office of his spacious home on the outskirts of Lincoln.  His best friend and business partner was late.   He hadn’t heard from dad yet, and was growing increasingly concerned.  He had expected a call over an hour ago.

He and dad had met as residents together at Denver General Hospital, and had quickly come to realize that they had many of the same ambitions.  They were both gifted orthopedic surgeons, and during the last term of the residency had arranged to join a private practice in Lincoln. 

Together, they brought their families across the plains and set themselves up in the little capital city of Lincoln, Nebraska.  They joined the Lincoln Orthopedic and Rehabilitation Center with four other doctors in town.  It was tough at first.  It was so busy that they were immediately inundated with cases.  Many of the doctors working there took a much need vacation when dad and Bruce had arrived, leaving them to either sink or swim.

They swam.  Between their practice and their respective stints at the local hospitals, they quickly integrated themselves into the medical establishment of Lincoln, and then the rest of the Midwest. 

In the winter they’d ski together in Aspen, Breckenridge and Winter Park.  The rest of the year they traveled together all over the country, both for business and pleasure.  His wife, Diane, and mom had become very close in the pastoral setting of rural Nebraska.  Our families had purchased adjacent land in the country and built their homes together.  They had had kids around the same time together.  My sister Kim and his daughter Cindy were both born in Lincoln. 

Bruce was my godfather, and dad was the godfather of his kids.  His son Greg was the best friend of my childhood, and even now he feels like my brother.  Our lives feel awkwardly parallel in many ways. 

Bruce had always thought dad was cocky, but in a good way and he respected that.  You needed a certain element of that in the surgery gig.  And dad could back it up.  He was as good a surgeon as any out there.  Almost as good as Bruce.

He remembered one winter night early in their careers, they were working together in the ER at Lincoln General Hospital when a big Cadillac driven by a Texas oilman had skidded off of I-80 and hit a pole, crushing the pelvis of the mans 17 year-old son.  Dad consulted with the man about the necessity of the surgery, but at one point the oilman, very much a Texan, began to get agitated and loud about what dad was telling him.

“Boy, don’t you realize I can get the best damn doctor in the country for this?!” he proclaimed in a loud Texas drawl.  “Just one phone call and it’s done!”

Dad was undeterred.  “Call all over if you want,” he shot right back.  “But I’ll save you some time, because the best damn doctor in the country is already on the case!”

The oilman, apparently impressed with dads spunk calmed down, and dad did the surgery and fourteen hours later had completely repaired the boy’s hip.  The father was genuinely happy and by the end of the ordeal had become like a good buddy to all of the staff at the hospital, who received his bear hugs and slaps on the back with nervous chuckles.

The kid recovered.

Bruce had served in the Air Force as a young man, and had always loved to fly.  He had introduced dad to it.  They flew all over the country to all of their various professional functions and on vacations.  He had flown next to dad at the controls over countless hours of flight.  They bought the Baron together and loved it.  They flew it every excuse they could.  He thought dad was a learned and capable pilot.   

That was why Bruce now glanced at the clock and again noted that his friend was overdue. 

The two of them had an airtight agreement that if either of them was flying without the other, they would call the other as soon as they landed, and if they were ever late or grounded they would let the other know their status ASAP.  He thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. 

Nope, dad had never neglected that end of the agreement that he could remember.  And it was something he’d remember.  Like most pilots, neither took anything about flying lightly.

            He walked across the hallway from his office to a window oriented toward our house, a few hundred yards away.  The interior lights all appeared to be out, and the place looked closed tight.  He had a slightly uneasy feeling, but immediately shook it off.  Jim had called him from the airport in Farmington around lunchtime and said they were just getting ready to leave, but that didn’t mean they left right away.  Maybe something got forgotten, or they decided to have a long lunch…any number of things. 

Hell, dad had probably run into the low clouds that had been over the plains all day, and put down in North Platte.  Or turned back to Farmington.  Either way, Bruce was sure it was a long day, with his wife and four kids in tow, and he had simply forgotten to call.

He ignored the elephant that had come into the room as he gazed at the space where our house stood outlined in darkness under the low clouds.

Dad had plenty of IRF experience in case he had run into the clouds and found them to be too low to go under, even though he had never taken the test and wasn’t officially certified.  He knew what he was doing, and there had been no severe weather or turbulence over the state that he had heard about.  And Bruce knew dad would never intentionally fly in IFR conditions unless he absolutely had to.  He was just…delayed somewhere.  Bruce figured dad would wake up around two in the morning realizing he had forgotten to call and wake him up then in a flurry of apologies and a good story or two. 

Oh well.  All he could do was wait anyway.

He considered calling Betty or grandma in California for a moment to see if mom had called them.  He knew she would call them at some point, or at least they’d be expecting a call.  He decided against it.  He didn’t want to cause anyone to worry unnecessarily. 

Outside it was getting cold.  He was suddenly very much aware of the cold, even as he stood in the comfortable warmth of his house.  He turned and left the living room toward the kitchen.  Diane was making Hungarian goulash for dinner and the aroma filled the air of the house with tomato-based spiciness. 

He liked goulash.