Doc & Oscar Find Family

Doc Weaver was not a doctor; he was a self-proclaimed librarian. He was 82 years old, relieved to have just passed the line drawn by his other family members at 81. He lived in his bookstore: above, behind…in his bookstore. And today, he was searching for something he knew was there, but could not find!

Blowing out a gust of frustration, Doc stood with his back to the front doors and stared the length of his domain. Up front here, it was more organized to attract unknowing pedestrians from the heat or from the rain. The windows were dusted and a colorful display of the newest books, or most interesting in his own opinion, were laid out as bait - “Come in, come in from the harsh world outside.”

Doc stood at the beginning of a section that grew dimmer as it distanced from the glass front, and the congestion of wall shelves and racks of books began to feel claustrophobic to some visitors. It was here the books that actually sell most often were neatly displayed. School reading materials, cookbooks, how-to books, travel books, fiction, non-fiction, self-help. Some customers went no further back than the Religion/Spiritual section on the left, the Infant/Toddler collection on the right.

Just past that row was a seating area, one aged by the countless “seats” that had creased the upholstery during book tours, poetry readings, read to children Saturdays, book club meetings and so many folks looking for a moment’s peace and quiet. Doc loved those seats himself, having picked them out years ago, and has made himself comfortable in all of them at one time or another over the years as he cleaned, stocked… enjoyed his ‘home.’

Almost no one went past the seating area because it didn’t look open for browsing. It looked like the Smithsonian of books, where all books come to lay around until someone remembers they are there, takes an interest, dusts it off and opens it to reveal its pages, its secrets. Some books in this 10 x 10 area hadn’t been touched in years yet each one, in Doc’s opinion, could spark someone’s imagination - he loved them all. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his brow and blew another snort of frustration. ‘But, did there have to be so many of them?’ he complained, ‘Damn!’

This morning Doc’s best friend, Oscar, had been MIA. Oscar is a mouse, usually an enemy to places like Doc’s, but Oscar wasn’t any mouse. He didn’t nibble the book covers. He didn’t crap all over the shelves or make nests of the paper universe around him. Oscar was respectful and Doc had rewarded that respect with friendship. They hung out together sometimes, Oscar liked getting scratched and when reading in his easy chair Doc had restless hands - a match made in Heaven! Doc couldn’t always finish his meal, so Oscar’s belly was full and he’d learned to trust this particular human. 

Doc knew Oscar wouldn’t be hiding, it wasn’t his nature. Doc also knew Oscar lived outside the backdoor. He didn’t use the door to come and go, of course, unless by coincidence Doc happened to be there at the perfect moment. Oscar used the miniscule gap in the door’s frame, a result of wood rot or termites; Doc had never looked into it. How many people wanted to break into a dusty old bookstore, really? Doc imagined Oscar hurt and suffering from a fall somewhere in this monstrosity of paper, squished in the alleyway or consumed by one of the stray cats who daily visited the restaurant a few doors down. Oscar never missed breakfast!

Realizing he wasn’t accomplishing anything standing here staring, Doc took a few steps toward the rear of the space, toward what he called his office. He laughed at that idea…Office, sure. Before he got more than a few feet, the door chime sounded as someone entered. Doc turned, a big welcoming smile on his face, putting his concern aside for the moment.

“Good morning!” he greeted the woman, as he approached, “Welcome. If I can help in any way, let me know. Thank you for coming in.” Doc didn’t like to push but he loved people and enjoyed a chat now and then. No rain, Doc laughed to himself, and not too hot, I wonder what brought her in today.

“Hi,” she answered with a warm smile of her own. “I’ve been wanting to come in here for the longest time. I see your place every time I come and go but something always seems to come up.” She laughed. “Not today!” She held out her hand. “I’m Susan Neal. Very nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Doc smiled, shaking her warm hand. Good grip, he thought, for such a little thing. “I’m glad you worked up the courage,” he laughed. “It takes some folks years to come in here, and some I can’t get rid of, so it’s nice to welcome a new face. Gives me a chance to see which one you are.” Doc’s laughter was hearty and contagious.

Susan’s eyes sparkled with humor. “If courage is required, I may rethink this,” she giggled. “I’ll take my chances.” She took a quick glance around. “I don’t mean to hold you up from anything you need to do. If it’s OK, I’ll just wander.” She met Doc's eyes with a questioning smile.

“Of course, please do,” Doc waved a hand at the racks and shelves. “I’ll go back to my search for the thing that’s here but can’t be found,” he grinned. “Holler if you need anything, my name is Doc,” he offered as he headed toward the rear of the space.

Entering the office area, Doc immediately saw Oscar sitting “pretty as you please” on the plate where Doc had his toast earlier. Oscar looked up munching, whiskers twitching as Doc knew meant he was excited and happy. “Oh, there you are,” Doc said, reaching out to pat the small brown head. “You missed the jelly, the best part; where were you?” Like he’s going to answer me, Doc thought. Oscar eagerly cleared the plate of every crumb and scampered up Doc’s sleeve as he picked the plate up to wash up. Oscar liked Doc’s shoulder in warmer weather, and his front pocket in the winter time. 

Doc glanced into the shop, happy to see Susan still browsing. Sometimes people snuck out when he left the room. That behavior puzzled Doc: did they feel guilty for not buying, for leaving without saying goodbye, to escape interaction with the old man who lived here. Who knew?

“Find anything interesting?” he asked, approaching slowly with an armful of books to place. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” He stocked the shelves quickly, easily and ensured the lines were straight and the titles upright. There was always straightening to do when people came and went; few people put things back the way they found them, Doc recognized. Not from any sense of rudeness but because they don’t pay attention to which way the books face or whether they are right side up as they walk away uninterested. It just was a fact of life in the bookstore.

Susan smiled. “I love your store. I love the selections you chose to stock, I love the way they are displayed and organized. I think I’ve found my new favorite place.” She laughed.

Doc smiled. “Finally!” he loudly professed, fist to the air, “Someone noticed my style, my organizational gift, my superior discernment. Thank you, Susan. You honor me,” Doc bowed, laughing. “You may return whenever you wish!”

Susan giggled, “Wow, you’re easy to please.” She put the book she held back in place - rightside up AND facing the right direction, Doc noted. “Actually, I came here to meet you, not to find a book.” She looked into Doc’s eyes now with an intensity he didn’t expect.

“Really?” he asked, doubtfully. “There’s nothing about me worth seeking out. I’m a creature of habit, rarely leaving this place,” he waved his arms to include the area around them. “But I’m happy to help however I can,” he concluded.

Susan looked at her feet, noticing her shoes weren’t dusty despite the atmosphere. She looked at her hands, wringing a bit nervously near her waist. Susan let off an electric current Doc could sense and he waited patiently. Her eyes rose to the shelves around her and finally came to meet Doc’s eyes once more…intense, searching, hopeful. Doc waited, but reached out to touch her elbow gently, in encouragement.

“Earlier you were speaking of finding something you knew was here, but couldn’t be found,” Susan began softly. “My life has been a good deal of that.” She paused, glancing away, gathering herself, then continued as she brought her focused gaze back to Doc, “I was adopted. You are my grandfather.” She exhaled, and stood there waiting, watching Doc’s face.

Doc squeezed the elbow he still touched. “Well!” Doc puffed in surprise. “I don’t know that I have a granddaughter, Susan,” he replied softly. “My son was killed many years ago in an accident and, at the time, he lived across the country. I don’t know much about his life then.”

Susan took Doc’s hand and led him a few rows to the seating area. Motioning Doc into a seat, Susan sat next to him, still holding his hand. She looked at him in earnest. “I know this is a shock, Doc,” she began. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I’ve done a lot of homework on this and I’m certain. Your son, Paul, was my father. My mother was LeAnn Arthur, his girlfriend at Berkeley. I was a surprise they weren’t prepared to deal with, and I was raised by wonderful adoptive parents.”  

Doc felt emotions he couldn’t recognize - other than shock. Initially, he felt anger pass through him with the thoughts: “How dare you speak of my dead son?” and “How could my son do this to me?” That balloon of emotion deflated instantly because Paul easily could have fathered a daughter without Doc’s knowledge. Then he felt guilty for not knowing whether his son had a daughter. What kind of father was he? Then he felt joy, he had family! His son had gifted him with a granddaughter, stolen her from him for all those missing years - yet here she is, my granddaughter.

Doc’s thoughts and emotions were a rolling sea. Susan held his hand warmly, softly, steadily and she watched the play of emotions run across his aged face. “He didn’t tell anyone,” Susan offered quietly. “He and my mother went away until I was born, gave me up then came back like they had been on a sabbatical. No one knew.”

“You seem so adjusted to this,” Doc marveled. “While I feel like the earth is shaking.” He took back his hand and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow, habit more than necessity.

“I understand,” Susan comforted. “As I said, I’ve had a long journey to get here so I’ve made peace with it all, except you.” She smiled and patted Doc’s knee. “Paul and LeAnn did the best they could for me, bringing me into the world healthy and giving me to parents who could love and raise me. I’m grateful,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek.

Doc sat in silence. He was 82 years old, for Pete’s sake. How much time did he have left? And he was living in a bookstore with a mouse as his best friend? Way to go, Susan! You scored in the family department - Doc felt embarrassed, guilty, ashamed and guarded. “What do you want from me?” Doc asked, unsure.

Susan was silent, staring at the hands folded in her lap. “I want to love you, Doc,” she said simply. “I don’t have my biological mother or father, but I have you for a while. I want to know you. I want to visit with you, learn about my dad and my birth family. Is that OK?” She looked up through blonde bangs, hesitant to ask, or to hope. Doc saw hints of his son’s young face looking back at him.

Doc smiled. “You know, I’ve been without family for a lot of years now.” He paused, feeling his own tears welling. “This place, and this mouse…”he said as Oscar, who rarely left the office area, picked this moment to climb his pant leg and ran to sit on his shoulder, “are all I’ve had to worry about, care about, love. Maybe it’s time something human got my attention.” Doc laughed, and immediately felt a sense of relief flood him. Love! Giving up the difficult emotions was easy, really, what did they serve? Under them all was love…for a son he didn’t know well enough, long enough…for a granddaughter whose life evolved to this point without him, but no longer!

Susan rose to hug Doc, as he sat in his chair. She wrapped her arms around him and as her lips touched his cheek, she felt the tickle of Oscar’s whiskers. Man and mouse, she laughed to herself, she’d scored two today. “I hope there’s much more of that in my future,” Doc joked. “It took you long enough. What are you, thirty-five?” Susan gasped and sputtered, Doc just laughed, and Oscar, bored now, scampered back toward the food.