Alive Day Read online

  Praise for Tom Sullivan

  “This touching story (coauthored by former Golden Girls star White) is filled with scenes that will tug at the reader’s heartstrings. The descriptions are vivid, and the details about guide-dog training programs are fascinating.”

  —Romantic Times, regarding Together

  “Sullivan . . . knows how to spin a captivating yarn, and his can-do enthusiasm leaps off the page as he writes of ‘the unlimited capacity of the human imagination.’”

  —Publishers Weekly, regarding Adventures in Darkness

  “Coming-of-age tales like this one don’t come along every day . . . Don’t miss this one.”

  —The Saturday Evening Post, regarding Adventures in Darkness

  aliveday

  Other Books by Tom Sullivan

  FICTION

  Together (with Betty White)

  NONFICTION

  If You Could See What I Hear

  You Are Special

  The Leading Lady (with Betty White)

  Special Parent, Special Child

  Seeing Lessons, 14 Lessons I’ve Learned Along the Way

  Adventures in Darkness

  CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  Common Sense

  That Nelson

  Adventures in Darkness, children’s version

  © 2009 by Tom Sullivan

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, e-mail [email protected].

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sullivan, Tom, 1947–

  Alive day / Tom Sullivan.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59554-457-5 (softcover)

  1. Blind—Fiction. 2. Disabled veterans—Fiction. 3. People with disabilities—Fiction. 4. Labrador retriever—Fiction. 5. Human-animal relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3569.U35925A79 2009

  813'.54—dc22

  2009014656

  Printed in the United States of America

  09 10 11 12 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1

  CONTENTS

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  epilogue

  To the men and women of our armed forces who

  guarantee our freedom with their blood, sweat, tears,

  and if necessary, with their lives. Thank you.

  prologue

  The Marine sergeant stared straight ahead, his body ramrod straight as he marched down the white hospital corridor. His distinctive uniform of dress blues signaled a ceremonial occasion, as if he were on a parade ground under review by the adjutant general of the Marine Corps. The scarlet stripe, a reminder of the sacrifices made by his comrades, seemed to punctuate the soldier’s mission, one that was far more important than parade ceremony. Cradled in his arms was a box containing something sacred to the morale of the Corps.

  Arriving at the patient’s door, he waited until the nurse signaled him in. Then he entered the hospital room and, after carefully shifting the package to his left hand, came to attention and saluted the man in the bed.

  “Sergeant Johnson reporting by order of the commander, sir.” The Marine’s staccato voice echoed in the small room.

  The patient attempted a smile through swollen lips. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said.

  The sergeant placed the box on the bedside table. Sensing the man’s hesitation, the sergeant asked, “Permission to open it for you, sir?”

  The patient nodded slightly, and the sergeant opened the package.

  Inside was a small cake with one candle.

  “May I light it, sir?” the sergeant asked.

  The patient looked at the cake for several long seconds. Then he leaned his head back and mumbled, “Go ahead, Sarge.”

  The Marine produced a lighter. When the candle was lit, he announced, “Happy Alive Day, sir.”

  The patient in the bed painfully raised his right arm and saluted.

  chapter one

  The dog stilled in his morning walk, watching as a seagull soared overhead. His eyes followed as the bird moved almost imperceptibly, maintaining a position in the wind two hundred feet above the glassy waters of Puget Sound. The panorama of beautiful Bainbridge Island, ten miles long and five miles wide, stretched out before him. The sun was gradually overcoming the thick fog. As the light touched the seagull, the gray wings and white body took on a hue of sunrise pink.

  As Brenden McCarthy stretched his muscles, he heard the seagull’s cry as it streaked through the sky. The dog looked on as Brenden reached skyward, reminded of another bird’s cry up in the Rocky Mountains eight years ago. A sound that had caused him to break his concentration while climbing, slip on loose scree, and begin the steep fall that had resulted in his becoming blind.

  But on this remarkable morning in this beautiful place, he realized that the memory was no longer painful. He was a clinical psychiatrist, and his medical training suggested to him that he was now a well-adjusted human being. Then he smiled as he considered that well-adjusted was not exactly the right term to describe him. What he was, at long last, was happy and content.

  His wife, Kat—or Kathleen when she signed their checks—was his best friend, lover, and confidante. And their two children—Wow, he thought—they were gifts from God. Brian was now six, a strapping boy with unlimited curiosity and energy. And then there was his Mora, age four—a daddy’s girl all the way. Just hearing her say “Daddy” melted his heart and made him a sucker for anything she wanted. He knew he was turning her into a princess, but so what? Wasn’t that the right of all fathers of little girls?

  Like the twenty-three hundred other residents of Bainbridge Island, Dr. Brenden McCarthy and his family had moved here for the outdoor lifestyle and easy commute by ferryboat to Seattle, Poulsbo, and Bremerton. Just east of the Kitsap Peninsula and west of the city of Seattle, the island was largely protected by Puget Sound and Port Orchard Bay.

  Brenden completed his morning push-ups—one hundred without stopping—and wasn’t even breathing hard. It’s great to be alive, he thought. He had walked the hilly section of the island this morning, strengthening his quads for the upcoming Chilly Hilly bike race he and his wife would compete in on their specially built tandem.

  As Brenden stretched, his big black dog, Nelson, stood on his hind legs and surprised his master with a kiss right on the mouth, causing Brenden to laugh out loud. He reached out, found the animal’s jo
wls with his hands, and stretched his fingers to give the dog a friendly behind-the-ears scratching. From the sound of his thumping tail, Brenden knew Nelson appreciated the gesture.

  Nelson had completely changed Brenden’s life, allowing him to be reborn, in a sense—to create a new life for himself after the accident that stole his sight. Their interdependence fulfilled both man and dog and made them an excellent team.

  Brenden knelt down and took the time to study his friend with his hands, patting him all over. He loved the grainy texture of Nelson’s fur. Stroking him from head to tail, his sensitive hands glided softly over the animal’s body, revealing each contour. But when he reversed the process, rubbing against the grain of the short, wiry fur, Brenden was reminded of when he used to play golf with his father and how a green could be very different when you putted, based on the contour of the grass.

  Now his fingers perused the animal. His friend’s large head and powerful neck gave the man a sense of the dog’s strength and energy. Unlike many Labs, Nelson was in great shape and hadn’t developed the boxy, squat body that characterized the typical Labrador retriever in middle age. In fact, Nelson had entered the age of retirement for most guide dogs, but his good health, infinite energy, and exceptional skills kept him working. And Brenden hoped he and Nelson would be a team for more years to come.

  Leaning a little closer to Nelson, Brenden took in the dog’s smell, which he had come to love, though it was a somewhat sour and salty aroma. Since his sight had been taken away, Brenden had gained an ability to distinguish the slight nuances of various smells. Nelson’s scent might be considered foul to some people, but to Brenden the smell related specifically to Nelson and was an element that enhanced their bond.

  Even though he knew his sense of smell was heightened, he considered how much better Nelson’s olfactory acuity must be. His canine friend could always find him, no matter where he was, just by using his nose. If the animal had been outside playing with the children, when he came indoors he didn’t have to go from room to room looking for his master. Instead, he just sniffed the air and went right to the spot where Brenden was—working or resting or watching TV.

  Again he hugged his friend, eliciting a big doggy sigh of contentment and pleasure. What a good team we are, Brenden thought. “You’ve got a few more minutes, pal,” he told the animal. “I need to do a little more stretching before we head home. You go run on the trails a bit, okay?”

  He heard the dog’s chain rattle as he shook himself and then took off, but not so far that Brenden lost the sound of his jingling collar. A vigorous morning workout had been part of their daily routine together after getting out of guide dog school, and probably because this morning activity gave Nelson an outlet for his energy, he never broke the rules, even off the leash.

  A minute or so later, the dog tensed, drawn to a rustling in the bushes. The black Lab searched the bushes eagerly as if saying, Ah, someone to play with! Nelson bounded toward the creature, hoping it would run and giving off a high-pitched bark of pleasure, ready to play a game.

  Too bad that wasn’t what the skunk was thinking. Assuming his position, with tail facing the charging dog, the skunk let go, hitting Nelson with the pungent spray and eliciting a howl of shock and awe. How could he be so poorly treated by another animal? The big dog ran to his master. Brenden groaned at the smell and feverishly tried to avoid contact.

  “Now you’ve really done it,” Brenden said, laughing. “And I still have to walk home with you, you smelly beast. This is a real test of bonding.”

  Brenden held his breath as he put on the dog’s harness and leash, nearly choking as he got up close and personal with the “eau de skunk.” It was so bad that he could hear Nelson snorting, as if he was trying to avoid smelling himself.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Brenden said. “Let’s see if we have some tomato juice or vinegar at home. If not, you may be living outside for a while, pal.”

  Even though neither man nor dog could stand the odor, it didn’t change the fact that Nelson was extremely careful—flawless in his work—as he began to lead his master toward home, watching the ground to avoid tree roots or other obstacles that might trip up Brenden.

  It took them about fifteen minutes to get back to the house. During their trek home, Brenden tried to put his thoughts on anything other than the asphyxiating odor emanating from the black Lab. He considered that in a few hours, as on all workdays, he would be seeing psychiatric patients with problems that, for the most part, were manageable or routine. Sometimes he wondered if he really was making a difference in what some would describe as his “cushy” medical practice. Prescribing routine medications to remedy sleep disorders or to break a guy’s smoking habit didn’t require a lot of brainpower. True, there were patients who required all his skill as a psychiatrist as they battled the emotional and physical complexities of a more serious problem, such as bipolar disorder or anorexia. Yet he had a nagging sense that something was missing in his work as a psychiatrist. What was it?

  His thoughts wandered as the big dog moved him expertly toward home. I chose to be a psychiatrist, he reminded himself, drifting into ruminations he had gone through many times before. Before his blindness, Brendan had completed medical school and was just beginning a residency as an orthopedic surgeon, but after losing his sight, he gave up that career—and almost gave up on everything else. But because of the lifesaving counseling he had received, Brenden decided to become a counselor himself. I chose this profession because I wanted to make a difference in the lives of my patients. But maybe somewhere inside—somewhere deep down in my own psyche—I believe my work should be focused on a specific mission.

  Brenden realized with a shake of his head that though his own experience lent itself to helping people with physical disabilities, he was not prepared to take that on. He hated himself for thinking it, but he just didn’t want to be involved with the handicapped. He still did not see himself as one of them. He wasn’t like them—those people. He simply wasn’t one of them.

  And yet, as he felt Nelson pull on the harness, he knew he was lying to himself. He was blind, wasn’t he? Of course he was one of them. So maybe his current medical practice was not the best use of his talent because it lacked mission. Did his focus on patients with relatively easy-to-cure problems, instead of the messier, more complex psychological issues of patients with physical disabilities, make him a fake psychiatrist? Or even more disconcerting, a phony person?

  His reverie was interrupted as he became aware that Nelson was pulling aggressively on his arm, indicating some particularly bad road surface in their path. Circumventing the problem, the big dog skillfully moved his master back to the right and continued their walk without even the slightest misstep.

  “Good boy,” Brenden said. “You may stink, but you’re still the best, Nelson.” Brenden smiled as he remembered that Nelson’s trainer, Smitty, had described the Lab as “the best dog” he ever taught. In thirty years, Smitty had never seen a dog absorb concepts as quickly as Nelson. The lovable Lab had showed exceptional intelligence and focus when applying himself to his work, but—as Brenden found out soon enough—he also displayed a hyperprecociousness when not on duty. The first night that Nelson stayed with Brenden, the dog had chewed up his shoes, socks, and shirt. Brenden, still new to his blindness and unconvinced of his need for a guide dog, had been furious—but it was anger over his personal loss, misdirected toward Nelson.

  He later learned from Smitty that Nelson’s sensitivity could turn to anxiety if he was in an uncomfortable environment. Though he was perfect when doing his job in harness, Nelson had displayed destructive habits with his prior two masters, neither of whom gave Nelson adequate ways to release his energy or anxiety when he was off duty. Neither of whom had been able to bond with Nelson the way Brenden had.

  As they walked, Brenden said a prayer of thanks for his furry friend. He was also grateful for all the smells and textures that permeated the air. Thankfully the
island still possessed some beautiful cedar, even though much of it had been cut down in the early days to supply masts for seagoing ships. The sensory blend of sea life coupled with cedar and pine, along with breakfast being cooked by early-morning risers, made for a welcome interruption from the skunk’s assault.

  Passing Battle Point Park, Brenden decided to forgo his sit-ups, knowing that if he lay on the grass, Nelson would stand over him like he always did, licking his face. The idea of being so close to the dog’s pungent odor was too much to stomach.

  The dog’s tail was rhythmically banging his master’s leg as they passed along the edge of the park.

  “I know what you’re saying, boy. You want to go swimming, and maybe that would be the ticket to getting rid of the smell. The ocean heals everything, you know, but it is still much too cold for me. You might be able to handle it with your fur coat, but it’s too cold for your master, so let’s just go home, okay, pal?”

  Brenden felt the animal’s head turn for one more longing look out at the bay, but Nelson did not break his gait as they continued toward home and family. Then the dog picked up his pace as they crested a rise and started downhill to the McCarthy condo.

  Brenden and Kat had purchased a unit on the top floor of a beautiful complex directly across from Eagle Bay. Every day Brenden and Nelson commuted on the Washington Ferry to his clinical practice in Seattle. They both loved the peaceful experience of the crossing, and also appreciated that with no traffic on the Sound, the ferry was always on time.

  Nelson pressed his nose on the button for the elevator, and in seconds they were turning left with the big dog’s tail once again banging Brenden’s leg in anticipation of seeing his family.

  When he thought about it, Brenden was amazed at Nelson’s capacity to compartmentalize his life and his responsibilities. On the one hand, when he was working, his focus could not be broken. Kat said you could see it in his expression. She often joked that she wished human beings could focus in the way Nelson did. He missed nothing with any of his senses, and his keen awareness gave Brenden the confidence to believe that their team would always be able to work out any problem presented. On the other hand, when Nelson was with the children, he became the ultimate family pet. Brenden had come to understand what differentiated the two Nelsons: it was the harness. When the harness was on, Nelson was on duty, working and serious; but when it was off, the big black Lab loved just being a dog.