Emergency Medical Dad

LXXV: early december, present

JESSIE

Jorgen and I's state of anxious disrepair lasts about three days. We picked Connor up from Bernie's on Saturday morning, he went into work, I watched Connor and the phone. Sunday he had a day off and we spent it playing with Connor in the snow in shifts, going outside, getting cold, coming in, warming up, eating a little bit, going outside again, getting cold. The two of us were jumpy all day with the phone, Bernie called at about noon to say hi and check in and I swear I've never seen Jorgen dive to see the caller ID faster despite the fact that the last phone number my mom would have would be his cell phone.

Monday morning he heads out again, taking off for an away game, leaving me with a secret kiss in the front seat of his truck at the rink where he has to get on the bus, letting me take the truck back with me to his house in order to avoid being stranded. His hand cups my cheek and warms up the side of my face.

A few parting words, an I love you, and my phone ringing on the way back home, hands shaking holding onto the wheel of his truck, it's much bigger than anything I've ever driven and it's been taking some getting used to.

It rings and it rings and it rings and it goes through, falling to voice mail.

"Hi, sweetheart, it's your Mom, just calling to say hi because you didn't say anything in October when our deadline was. I got worried about it and checked in with the school that I assume Connor went to when he wasn't at St. B's and they said, although the lady didn't seem too pleased at my presence, that they'd forwarded his transcripts to Canada. Care to explain that? Why is my dear boy in Canada? You know he doesn't like the cold and you know those Canadians don't understand how to run a government."

She takes a breath in and I get off the highway, eyes stuck to the road, refusing to acknowledge that I'm listening to this.

"I'm mad at you, obviously, for going back on our agreement and being a bad daughter. If you don't respond to this within, oh, a few days? Does three days feel like the right amount? I'll assume that you've run off with my grandson, are putting him in danger, putting him through too much stress in changing countries, and..." she pauses.

You can handle this, you can handle this, you can handle this, you can handle this. My heart thunders in my chest, repeating that to me, I don't need Jorgen to give me a kick stand, not on something like this, not on something that's been tormenting me my entire life. Not when I need to fight this one on my own. He can help, he can be my crutch, my support, my person but he can't fight this battle for me.

I answer the call halfway through the voicemail, "I'm with his father," I blurt into the car's speaker.

"Jessie?"

"I'm in Canada with his father," I answer. "He has a house, a stable job, a good income, a good school system and a big support network out here. I'm with his father in Canada."

She's quiet for a long few seconds, just breathing, "I didn't know Evan moved to Canada."

"He didn't," I spit. "Jorgen did. Jorgen Hadley moved to Canada. Evan is some college dropout schmuck working hours at a gas station just outside of Chicago city limits. Evan could never support a family on those wages and he could never be a father." My chest is heaving, my heart in my throat.

I pull off the road into the parking lot for a lake, looking out over it and it's gravel beach. I can't drive and talk to her, it's too dangerous.

The crops are cut for the season, ice rippling over the water, snow drifting onto it.

"Jorgen Hadley is a delinquent. I thought he went to jail."

I swallow, "Jorgen Hadley is a professionally trained paramedic," I choke out. "He works for the Regina Wolves."