The yellow cab pulled to the curb in front of the dark blue clapboard bungalow, the windshield wipers straining to keep up with the pounding rain. It idled for almost a minute as the passenger paid the fare, then the back door opened and a grey-haired older man wearing a beige raincoat stepped out, glancing up with a scowl towards the grey clouds as the cabbie sprinted from the driver's door to the trunk and removed the black suitcase from the trunk.
Nodding his thanks, the passenger grabbed the handle of the rolling bag and started up the walkway towards the Seward Park address, pulling his raincoat collar up even higher, if that were possible. Despite the weather, he couldn't resist a warm anticipatory smile; it seemed like ages since he'd been here.
He had just stepped onto the landing when the door was thrown open. He stopped abruptly, almost taking a step backwards as the middle-aged woman with the short, stylish grey bob almost jogged the few steps towards him with her arms outstretched.
As she enveloped him in a fond hug, he let go of the suitcase handle and returned the embrace, rocking her back and forth, chuckling. He glanced over her shoulder at the tall dark-haired man who stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, smiling widely at the sight.
The woman pulled back but kept her hands on the newcomer's arms, staring into his green eyes. "Oh, Steve," Jeannie Callison sighed happily, "I am so glad you could come."
Steve Keller looked into her bright eyes. "I'm just glad you called me, Jeannie, I really am. It's been too long."
Shaking her head ruefully, she dropped her hands and took a step back. "You can say that again."
The man in the doorway stepped closer and held out his right hand. "Great to see you, Steve," he offered warmly as they shook hands and he reached for the black suitcase with his free hand.
"You too, John. Hey, I can take that," Steve said quickly, glancing at the suitcase.
"Nonsense, you're our guest now, remember. This is part of the hospitality." With a gentle laugh, John Callison slid the trolley handle back into the suitcase and grabbed the side handle, picking it up and carrying it into the house.
Shaking his head as he watched his host disappear into the house, Steve looked down at the woman by his side. She grinned up at him, slipping her arm through his and leading him from under the canopied landing. "You know, you coulda brought the nice weather with you," she chuckled as they stepped over the threshold. "I hear it's gorgeous in San Francisco right now."
"Well, I'm still living in Berkeley, you know, but close enough. Sorry, but no visit to Seattle would be complete without the full northwest weather experience."
"That's what this is, hunh? An 'experience'?"
"What would you call it?"
She laughed amiably and gripped his arm a little tighter, then she pulled him to a stop and turned to face him, her grin slipping slightly. "Steve, he's so excited that you're here but…." She glanced away and took a deep breath. "I just want to warn you… it's been awhile since you've seen him…" Her eyes were brimming when she looked up at him again. "He's old, Steve… and what he's been going through lately has been really hard on him."
He caught his breath slightly, feeling like a small cold hand had just grabbed his heart. "You said it was his eyes?"
She nodded, and he got the feeling she wanted to explain the situation to him in more detail before she allowed him any further into the house. There was a bench just inside the front door in the foyer and she pulled him down onto it. He could feel his heart start to pound.
"I'll let him explain what he's been going through - I know he wants to do that, but I just want to warn you before you see him. Because he can't see properly his balance is affected. He took a fall the other day and hit his head. He was okay, I took him to his doctor. The bruises are going away but he has some scabs on his scalp; it looks awful, worse than it actually is. But it shook him up quite a bit. He's started to wear his dark glasses all day now, even in the evening, and he's not leaving his room as much. He can't read or really watch TV now, but he keeps the TV on CNN and listens to the news all day." She tried to smile encouragingly as his frown deepened.
"This operation? It's gonna fix all this?" His voice was so quiet she could hardly hear him.
She nodded with a smile. "That's what we've been told and he's counting on it, believe me. But I'll let him tell you all about that too." She stared at him, her eyebrows raised in anticipation; after a couple of silent seconds, she felt him relax and he smiled back at her. "Why don't we get your coat off and you can go in and spend some time with him before dinner?"
Smiling through a heavy swallow, Steve nodded and began to get to his feet. "Yeah…" he answered quietly, "yeah, I'd like that."
# # # # #
He stopped in front of the white bedroom door and closed his eyes. He hadn't been to Seattle to see his former partner and old friend since he and Dan Robbins had flown up to attend the 90th birthday celebration that Jeannie and her family had hosted. They had spoken on the phone from time to time in the almost two years between that joyous occasion and today, trying to keep in touch, their conversations mostly turning to politics and the passing of old friends.
Clearing his throat quietly, he raised his right hand and knocked loudly. There was a brief beat before a strong, familiar voice called out, "Come in!"; he turned the doorknob and opened the door.
The room was brightly lit and the staccato delivery of CNN's Wolf Blitzer could be heard emanating from the TV on the bureau against the wall beside the door. Wearing beige Dockers, a black knit sweater over a yellow shirt and his feet in slippers, Mike Stone reached for the remote lying on the bed beside him and thumbed the mute button.
His eyes hidden behind the very dark black-rimmed glasses, he turned towards the door in obvious anticipation. He sat forward slightly, beginning to grin. "Steve? Is that you?" The hope and joy in his voice cut through Steve's heart as the younger man slowly crossed the room.
He's aged so much, Steve thought as he approached the bed. Even with Jeannie's warning, it was a shock. The red, angry scabs on the top of the older man's head stood out starkly against the pale scalp, wispy strands of now-white hair neatly combed overtop, others curling around his ears.
Mike, straining to hear an answer to his inquiry, began to slide towards the edge of the bed, his right hand out. Now within reach, Steve took the slightly shaking hand with its paper-thin skin in his and sat on the side of the bed, reaching up with his other hand to lay it against the older man's face.
"Yeah, Mike," he said softly, "it's me."