Winning the Lottery - 18. Chapter 18 Nature abhors a vacuum

The kids were just finishing their senior year of college when tragedy struck. Poor Lucy had reached the end of her life. She was so old and fragile that she no longer had the energy to eat, and being too weak to walk, she began to soil herself. A bereft Cass realized that the only kind course was to euthanize her, and end her suffering. The vet was called, and with the family present Lucy was sent off to doggy heaven. We all cried with unbridled grief, and for a time sadness permeated our household. But gradually, we came to celebrate the many years she’d given us unconditional love and loyalty. We scattered her cremated remains on our beach with a small family ceremony. And we had a small plaque made for our yard commemorating her.

Derrick and I commiserated that our home was going to be awfully empty once Cass left for school on the mainland. We thought we might like to get another dog, but it was just too soon. There was no ‘replacing’ Lucy, and we needed to think over the situation.

The summer passed all too quickly. We spent some good family time up at Orcas but before we knew it was time to get Cass and Khala settled into their new college life in Davis, California. After tearful goodbyes, Derrick and I boarded the jet and headed home.

The house seemed eerily empty and quiet when we entered. Derrick and I sought comfort in each other’s arms but we missed Cass and Khala desperately. Mom and Dad we spending the autumn with Buddhist friends in Japan so the compound seemed full of memories but little else.

But nature abhors a vacuum....

We hadn’t been home more than a couple of weeks when a letter, sent in care of the university, arrived for me. The envelope was addressed by hand and bore the return address: G. Nikolov, Moose Lake, Manitoba, Canada.

The enclosed handwritten letter explained that Gerard Nikolov was my father’s distant cousin, from a branch of the family that hadn’t anglicized their Russian name. He went on to say that he’d heard I’d ‘landed in clover,’ and would I be so kind as to help him and his wife.

Shit. That was just the kind of ‘ask’ that wealthy people have to deal with all too often. Distant ‘relations’ coming out of the woodwork asking for a handout. The Deacon’s dealt, fairly and compassionately, with the situation all the time. In my mind I was already dismissing the letter as a scam and planning to pass it along to the Dea-Con office to deal with.

But as I continued to read the letter it became clear that Gerard Nikolov wasn’t asking for money. He and his wife were octogenarians who, due to a series of family misfortunes, had recently undertaken the custody of their six year old great-grandson. They loved little Dane—although he was a handful—but were just too old, and had few resources, to give the boy a good, stable home. Could I help?

Call me a sucker, but something about that letter hooked me. Could Gerard’s seemingly heartfelt plea for help have merit?

I could have turned the letter over to the Dea-Con security office and had them look into the situation, but I thought a better avenue might be to contact Sam Kositzky and have his computer guy (Bugs?) check into the situation. If Gerard Nikolov was indeed a distant relation Sam’s people could chart the family tree in short order.

Without consulting Derrick, I phoned Sam, explained the situation, and at his request texted a photo of the letter to him.

When Derrick got home I had to come clean of course. Trouble was, Derrick can read me like a book. He hugged me tight and said, “Gabe, don’t get your hopes up, okay? Yes, our nest is empty, and wouldn’t it be nice to fill it up again, but the Deacon’s get this kind of request ten times a day. Promise me you won’t be disappointed if the letter is a scam.”

“We really do need to get another dog,” I said, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes.

It only took Sam’s people twenty-four hours to come back with the information I’d requested. Gerard Nikolov was, indeed, my grandfather’s cousin. His only son, Samuel, had married a First Nations woman, and they had one son, Richard. Richard and his wife had one son, Dane. Unfortunately Dane’s parents were in jail convicted of drug trafficking. Dane had no uncles, aunts or cousins. His only living relatives (besides his jailed parents) were his great-grandparents Gerard and Delilah Nikolov, and his grandmother Mary Nikolov.

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police Corporal in Moose Lake confirmed that the senior Nikolovs were looking after the little fellow but their living conditions were sub-optimal for a young boy. They were elderly and frail. In addition, the grandmother, Mary was unwell. None of them were capable of caring for a young boy. Dane’s parents had been in trouble several times for child neglect. If his mother had relatives, they couldn’t be found.

One way or another we had to help that little boy.

And damned if I was going to let Derrick trivialize my compassion—this urge to help out. When he got home that night I was going to tell him what was what!

Wordlessly, I handed him Sam’s report. He read it, and a frown formed on his face. Not a good sign....

I stiffened and prepared myself for battle, but what Derrick said took the wind right out of my sails.

“We’ll leave tomorrow and fly the jet directly to Moose Lake.”

“Are you saying...?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“But...”

“Gabe,” he said gently, wrapping me in a hug. “No need to analyze it to death. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

The flight took just under eight hours and I used most of that time communicating with the Dea-Con legal office. We had no idea what to expect when we got to Moose Lake, but the lawyers and I worked out a few contingency plans. Ideally, of course, Derrick and I hoped to adopt Dane and bring him home with us. But we had no idea of the Nikolov’s true wishes, nor did we have any idea what Dane’s First Nations grandmother wanted. Perhaps we’d just end up helping her or the Nikolov’s financially: an upgraded house, a monthly allowance.

The September the weather in northern Canada can be cold, and we were met by an icy wind when the plane door opened. We picked up a rental car at the Moose Lake Airport, and for good measure also rented a child’s car seat. Following directions, made our way to the Nikolov’s house.

To describe where the Nikolovs lived as a house would be generous. It was a ramshackle trailer set in a weed filled lot at the edge of town. Blue wood smoke curled from a stovepipe coming through the wall. We weren’t the only visitors; there was an RCMP SUV parked in the driveway. We parked and approached the front door which was opened to reveal a no-nonsense, First Nations female RCMP officer. From the stripes on her uniform shoulder I assumed she was Corporal Eagle, the officer who’d supplied information about Dane’s living conditions.

I held out my hand, “Corporal Eagle? I’m Gabe Nichol. This is my husband, Derrick Deacon.”

She shook my hand, then Derrick’s, eyeing us both warily. “Come in. The Nikolov’s are inside. And by the way, Dane doesn’t know about any of this....”

We followed her into the small living room. Sure enough, a woodstove in the corner was radiating a welcoming heat. The older Nikolovs were sitting side by side on an afghan covered couch looking elderly and frail. In a chair sat an older, clearly ill, First Nations woman. The elder Nikolov’s rose slowly on creaky bones to greet us while introductions were made. The woman in the chair, was indeed Dane’s grandmother—the Nikolov’s daughter-in-law, Mary, but she didn’t rise to meet us. Her gray pallor, emaciated body and nasal (oxygen) cannula suggested some late stage disease—heart failure, lung cancer... I looked around for Dane who wasn’t to be seen. Mr. Nikolov inclined his head toward a hallway and said, “Boy’s in his bedroom. Let’s talk then you can meet him. Don’t care what happens, but if you hurt that boy, I’ll..,” leaving his implied threat unspoken.

“I understand,” I said. I turned to Corporal Eagle, “Thank you for being here...for helping.”

“Just doing my job...making sure everything is above board. Wouldn’t want little Dane to fall into the wrong hands.” The way she looked us up and down with a scowl...the tone of her voice...had my hackles rising.

I wasn’t going to put up with that attitude, so I said sternly, “If you’re implying....”

“Course not!” said Mrs. Nicholov. Mr. Nikolov had the good grace to look sheepish. Corporal Eagle gave us both the cop stink eye. Cops get paid to be suspicious. Just as long as she stayed out of our way and didn’t try to thwart our plans there was no need to go through Deacon channels. However, if she ran too much interference she’d get a call from somebody a lot higher on the food chain than her.

Mrs. Nikolov had a pot of coffee brewing and busied herself getting us all a cup. We sat on chairs pulled out from their small chrome dining table.

The Nikolov’s looked at us expectantly, glancing from me to Derrick then back to me.

I began. “Exactly what do you all expect from Derrick and me?”

“Um...well, we need some help with Dane. Dee and me...we’re just too old to take on a six year old. And you can see, Mary, well, she ain’t doin’ too good herself...”

“What Gerry is trying to say,” began Mrs. Nikolov senior, “Is that you boys might like to...uh...raise him...up.”

My hopes soared. “Are you saying you’d like us to...um...foster...him? Mary, what are your wishes?

Mary just looked at Mr. Nikolov, clearly expecting him to answer for her. “Well, me and Dee and Mary, we was thinking you could adopt the little guy...well, we knew that’s a far-fetched idea,” he said. “But we heard you was rich...and we thought...since we were related and all...that you fellas might...”

“How did you know that I was a distant relation, and that we were rich?” I interjected.

“Oh...well...the Russian community, you know, the Orthodox Church in Canada... Well, I guess we heard it from somebody who heard it from the Orlovs...them that live down Winnipeg way. Said you was in medical school in Hawaii and you was flauntin’ your money around.”

I felt a blush suffuse my cheeks remembering how I had, indeed, flaunted my wealth to the Orlovs. Well, I’d take my lumps from Mr. Nikolov, but I was glad my bragging had gotten us to this little town, to a little boy who needed help. “Small world,” I said.

“Lotta Russian immigrants came out to Manitoba after the revolution. Tried farming. Tough life. Folks had to stick together to get by. Folks still talk to one another.”

“Well, however you heard, I’m glad you were able to reach me. Fostering Dane is certainly one option...”

“What about boarding school?” interjected Derrick. (I knew he wasn’t serious about that suggestion; that he was just playing devil’s advocate for effect.)

Mrs. Nikolov senior looked shocked. She blanched and she clutched her chest. In fact, I was concerned for a moment that she was having a heart attack. Damn, I’d left my medical bag in the plane. Mary wasn’t doing much better, her pinched expression spoke volumes about what she thought of that idea.

“Boarding school?” uttered Mr. Nikolov. “Like one of them residential schools?” (He was referring to Canada’s former policy of taking indigenous children forcibly from their families and culture and putting them in large parochial residential schools. Today, most Canadians are deeply ashamed of that chapter in our history.)

“Uh...no...not at all...”

I glanced at Corporal Eagle who’s frown confirmed she didn’t think much of that idea either.

I cut to the chase. “That pretty much leaves us with the fostering idea... but you do understand that would mean we’d take him to our home in Hawaii?”

“Well, if you was willing... We’d sure miss Dane,” said Mr. Nikolov, “But you bein’ a doctor...well, you can see that Dee and me...and Mary...we ain’t got long left on this earth. Then what’d happen to Dane? Who’d take care of him then?”

“Let’s consider fostering Dane is one possibility, a strong possibility,” chimed in Derrick.

“Canadian courts don’t take kindly to fostering or adopting First Nations kids in non-First Nations’ homes,” interjected Corporal Eagle.

“Derrick and I understand that very well,” I said. “In fact, if we foster Dane we’ll make every effort to ensure that he doesn’t forget his heritage; that he has every opportunity to learn about, to participate in, and be proud of, his culture.”

Eagle didn’t look convinced. As a First Nations person herself, I could see why she was concerned. But the Nikolovs, including Mary, had reacted positively to my statement by nodding their heads and smiling.

Derrick said, “But let’s meet him first. He must be wondering what we’re all doing out here...kids are...uh...intuitive about stuff like this. Let’s not worry him any longer.”

“DANE!” bellowed Mr. Nikolov. “C’mon out here!”

And there he was, a look of trepidation on his face (Who are these strangers?) inching his way up the hallway and into the living room.

The doctor in me did a quick, logical assessment. Normal height for a six year old. Posture good. Eyes clear. A little underweight, but not dangerously so. His light brown skin, dark eyes, and black hair spoke of his First Nations heritage.

But logic be damned. This kid was adorable and he needed help. My paternal instincts kicked in big time. I looked at Derrick and saw he was having the same emotional reaction as me.

Mrs. Nikolov senior held out her arms and Dane went and stood beside her as she reached up and hugged his little waist. “Dane,” she said. “That man there is Mr. Nichol. He’s a cousin of yours. Come all the way from Hawaii to see you. And that other man over there is his...uh...friend. He flew all the way here on his very own jet plane. Can you believe that?”

Dane didn’t look convinced. He looked at us with big, unblinking, brown eyes like we were aliens.

I hoped my voice would work properly as I knelt down so I could be at his level. “That’s right, Dane,” I managed. “I’m a cousin...well, sort of...my name is Gabe. This guy over here is Derrick... And we did come all the way here, in Derrick’s plane, to meet you...”

I could see Dane mulling all this over for a few seconds. The entire room was holding its collective breath. Talk about a ‘pregnant’ moment.

Then Dane said to Derrick, “Do you really have your own jet plane?” And the whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Yes,” responded Derrick. “It’s at the airport. Would you like to see it?”

Dane nodded solemnly.

“Why don’t we all go?” said Eagle. Dane and the Nikolovs can ride with me.”

Mary declined the invitation, but the elder Nikolov’s accepted. It took a while to get them ready to go, but eventually our little convoy was headed to the airport.

“Dane looks physically healthy,” I said to Derrick.

“Yeah, but what about the psychological stuff?”

Neither of us had an answer to that. Yet.

The plane was sitting closed up on the tarmac. The crew had gone to the motel we’d arranged for the night.

Derrick approached the plane and keyed his remote. The stairs appeared like magic and descended. It was quite a spectacle and we all watched transfixed. Once the stairs were down Derrick climbed up and opened the door. Derrick looked down and called to Dane. “C’mon up Dane. Come have a look!”

Dane bounded up the steps and disappeared into the plane with Derrick. I took Mrs. Nikolov’s arm and helped her up the steps. She was clearly short of breath at the top; she stopped to use her inhaler. Either she had asthma or, most likely, early stage congestive heart failure.

Eagle helped Mr. Nikolov up the steps. His problem seemed to be more structural than cardio-pulmonary. Most likely arthritis....

Dane was clearly in awe of the plane. “Look!” he called. “It has a bed! And a bathroom! And a kitchen!” I noticed he was holding Derrick’s hand. They were bonding, thank God.

“Gabe, why don’t you give these folks a tour. Dane and I are going to check out the cockpit.” Addressing Dane, he added, “That’s where the pilot flies the plane.”

I gave the rest of them a brief tour. Everything in the plane was so luxurious, so sumptuous, that I was sure I’d be reported to the Russian community for ‘putting on airs’ again.

“Gerry, I never...” said Mrs. Nikolov. “Well, it’s fancier than most folks’ houses!”

“Fancier than any house I ever seen!” said Mr. Nikolov.

Eagle looked like she’d sucked a lemon. What was that woman’s problem?

I led them toward the cockpit, and when Dane saw us he started his own tour. “This is how the pilot steers the plane! And there’s ‘puters everywhere. They know the weather, and...well, they know everything!”

Once we were back out on the tarmac, and the plane’s door was closed, and the steps retracted, Derrick turned to Corporal Eagle and, in full Deacon authority mode, said, “Thank you Corporal Eagle. Gabe and I will take the Nikolovs home. I can assure you we will follow all due legal process.”

She opened her mouth as if to retort, but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded curtly and climbed into her cruiser.

We got Dane and the Nikolovs belted into the back seat of our rental. Dane objected strenuously to being buckled into the child car seat. It was our first inkling that Dane might have behavioral issues. Once Dane was subdued, Derrick got in behind the wheel and suggested we all stop at a restaurant for a bite to eat, and we’d pick up something to take home for Mary.

We knew there was a restaurant attached to the motel where we’d booked rooms, so Derrick suggested that. After some polite protests, the Nikolov’s agreed that a meal would be in order.

A waitress seated us at a booth and Dane insisted he sit between Derrick and me. Not so much to be beside me, but beside his new best friend, and hero, Derrick.

Conversation didn’t exactly ‘flow,’ it more ‘jerked’ along. But bit by bit we filled each other in on our lives. The Nikolovs had lived in Moose Lake pretty much most of their life. Mr. Nikolov had owned a service station, but the business had folded some years ago. I wasn’t quite sure where their money to live came from; I assumed they were getting some sort of government pension. Whatever the source, it obviously wasn’t much. Their only son, Dane’s grandfather, had died a few years ago. “Drank himself to death,” said Mr. Nikolov sadly.

Obviously, Dane’s parents had fallen on hard times as well, but the Nikolov’s weren’t forthcoming with that story in front of Dane. (From our research, of course, we knew they were both in jail serving sentences for drug trafficking.)

Unfortunately, Dane misbehaved throughout dinner. You’ve all seen one of those annoying, obnoxious children in a restaurant...well, that was Dane. Derrick and I definitely had our work cut out for us!

Once dinner was finished and Dane was sated and mercifully sleepy, Mr. Nikolov suggested we go back to their house. “We’ll get young Dane into bed, then we can talk...” he said.

Dane begged Derrick to read him a story, but soon conked out to sleep. Derrick joined us in the living room.

Mr. Nikolov got straight to the point. “What do you fellows think?”

“Well...” I began while looking at Derrick, waiting for his signal. It was a subtle nod, but I got the meaning. “We’re more than willing to take Dane...to adopt him...to do the best we can for him. But how do you think the poor little guy is going to react to being taken by strangers?”

“He only arrived here three weeks ago. He didn’t even know Mary or us. Some social worker found us and just dumped him here,” said Mr. Nikolov. “He’d never laid eyes on us before, but he adapted pretty well, but as you can see, he’s a handful, and we can’t keep him. You’re his only hope...don’t you see? Otherwise he’s just gonna end up in some foster home or group home somewhere....”

“What about his parents?” I asked. “Won’t they want him back?”

“Hah! They’re dope fiends!” said Mr. Nikolov angrily. “Got the’selves thrown into jail. That’s how the social worker came lookin’ for us. Goin’ back to his parents would be the worst thing for him. Worst than one of them residential schools! ‘Sides, they’re gonna be in jail for at least a few more years. But what are we supposed to do?”

Derrick interjected, “Mr. and Mrs. Nikolov, Mrs. Nikolov, understand this. Gabe and I are part of a very wealthy, very powerful family. Once we put our lawyers on the case Dane will—and there’s no maybes about this—end up our legal son. There will be no going back. Do you understand that?”

“Well, we heard you was rich and all... Though maybe you’d help out...”

“One last chance to change your mind,” said Derrick as he held up his cell phone. “Once I make a call, the wheels will be in motion. There’s no going back...”

Al three Nikolovs exchanged meaningful looks. “Yes, young man,” said Mr. Nikolov. “You just go ahead and make that call.”

“Derrick pressed a key on his phone. Once the call was answered on the other end, he said simply, “It’s a go. You’ve got forty eight hours before wheels up.”

That meant multiple Dea-Con legal staff were scrambling. Goodness only knows, but Uncle Darius was probably already on the phone to the Canadian prime minister pulling strings. The next morning lawyers would be at the prisons housing the parents getting signatures on relinquishing documents. Money would change hands. Judges would be asked to hold emergency custody hearings. Well, you know how the Deacons work...

As we were leaving to head to our motel for the night, I suggested that Derrick and I should spend time with Dane the next day, and that perhaps we could take him shopping for some new clothes...

Mrs. Nikolov senior said our only option was to drive three hours to Flin Flon where, she said, there was a Canadian Tire and a Walmart.

We agreed to pick up Dane in the morning and do just that. We had the whole day to kill, and the drive sounded interesting from a sight seeing perspective.

Derrick and I were just too tired, and too stressed, for serious lovemaking, but we had a good make-out session nonetheless, which left us both feeling good. After that, we talked for at least an hour brainstorming options for Dane’s care. Finding a child psychologist/nanny, like Cass’s Gisellle, was no problem, but how were we to keep our promise to provide a First Nations cultural experience?