Chuck just stared at me, anemic and tight-lipped.
“I know it wasn’t easy for you. I just wanted to say thanks for doing what you had to.” I stepped forward and offered him my book. “Here, I brought this for you. I wrote a book.”
He didn’t reach out to take it from me, so I set it on the coffee table in front of him. “Merry Christmas.” Then I started walking to the door.
“Robby.”
I turned around. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ve already read it.”
I just looked at him.
He nodded. “I read your book. And I know why you wrote it. I wished that I could have been that kind of father you wrote about. But I wasn’t.”
I glanced down, and when I looked back up, my father’s eyes were wet. It was the first time in my life I had seen my father ’s eyes wet.
“You did well, son.”
My eyes moistened. “Thank you, sir.”
“And at least you figured out what was important before you were an old broken-down jalopy like me. That family of yours is lucky to have you.”
Somehow he looked different to me. Frailer perhaps. Vulnerable. More human. Like when the curtain was pulled back on the Wizard of Oz. I looked at him for a moment then said, “Do you want to come for Christmas breakfast with us?”
To my surprise he considered the invitation. “No. Better stay here.”
After another moment I said, “Well, I’ll be going then. Good night, Dad.”
“Good night, son.”
I stepped out into the cold winter air and made my way back to my car.
Chapter 61
I
had one more stop for the evening. I drove through the wet, slushy streets up the east bench of Salt Lake. As I climbed the foothills, the homes grew in size and opulence. I had been to this house every Christmas season for the last seven years. Every Christmas, Sterling Call opened his home to the advertisers of KBOX. In times past it had been an extravagant, black-tie affair and was the one time of the year that Allyson could dress up in an evening gown.
The party had started two hours earlier, and there were cars parked in the driveway and lining the street in front of the house. I recognized most of them as belonging to my former colleagues at the station. I parked my car then took a box filled with my books from my trunk and carried it up the sloped drive to the doorway. I set the box on its side then pounded the door’s large brass knocker. Music streamed from the house as Sterling’s butler opened the door.
“Merry Christmas, Eric,” I said.
“Merry Christmas. Please come in, Mr. Harlan.”
I reached down and lifted the box then stepped inside the spacious, marble-floored foyer.
“Everyone is gathered in the living room. You know the way.”
“Do you mind if I leave this box here? It’s for later.”
“Not at all, sir.”
As I stepped into the sunken living room, almost everyone turned to look. Sterling set down his drink. Stuart was standing on the other side of the room and looked over, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Mr. Harlan, we’re pleased to see you,” Sterling said above the music. “We weren’t expecting you.”
I looked at Stuart. “I think Stuart wanted to surprise everyone. I told him that I’d move heaven and earth to be here.”
Stuart crossed the room. “That’s not what Stuart told me,” Sterling said.
“Well, I was supposed to be in New York. But you know how Stuart is,” I said. “He’s a hard man to turn down. Anyway, Stu, I brought the books. I can sit here and sign them for everyone or set up a table somewhere. However you want to do this.”
Stuart tried not to appear too surprised. “We’ll get a table.”
Sterling smiled. “Now, I know that he didn’t tell us that he arranged to have a private signing. You’ve gone above and beyond, Stuart. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“Stu, the books are in the foyer. And I have another box in my car.” I fished the keys from my pocket. “You know my car.”
“You bet.”
Just then Mark Platt appeared in the room. He was holding his wife Becca’s hand. His face lit when he saw me. “Rob-man, the Rob-meister, the dream catcher. I can’t believe you came.”
We hugged. “Of course I did. It’s tradition, man.”
“You remember Becca?”
“Of course I remember Becca.” I hugged her. “You look beautiful as always. Much too beautiful for this bum.”
She smiled. “I keep telling him that.”
Mark said, “Man, do I have someone who wants to meet you. Just a minute.” He stepped across the room to a rotund, moonfaced woman. “Mrs. Gifford, your favorite author has come.”
Her jaw literally dropped when she saw me. She crossed the room. “It really is you. I am so excited to meet you. Your book has made my entire Christmas season. I wish I had it with me so you could sign it.”
“I brought one for you.”
She clapped. “How exciting.”
Stuart set up a table, and I signed a copy of my book for each of the advertisers and KBOX employees. Sterling lorded over my signing, basking in his apparent clout. I hung around with the salespeople for the next few hours sharing old KBOX war stories. I stayed for more than two and a half hours. I hadn’t expected to stay that long, but I was having a good time. It was good seeing everyone again. Only Stacey, who I learned had been relieved of the sales management position, seemed uncomfortable around me. But it wasn’t mutual. I felt remarkably liberated from the past. Forgiveness has that effect.
It was around nine when I thanked Sterling for the invitation and took my leave. Stuart and Mark walked me to the door. Mark put his arm across my shoulder. “Hey, it’s good seeing you, man.”
“It was good seeing you again. Let’s catch a flick sometime.”
“Love to. My number’s the same.” We hugged; then Mark went back to his clients, leaving Stuart and me alone on the porch.
“Were there any books left?” Stuart asked.
“No. I think Sterling snatched up the last of them.”
“Thanks for bringing them. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. It’s my gift.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Rob. You really made Sterling’s night. You know how he loves brushing shoulders with celebrity.”
I nodded. “He’s always been that way. It’s a sickness.”
“I haven’t seen him that happy for years.” His countenance suddenly turned serious. “So why’d you do it, Rob? I betrayed you.”
I just looked at him, my heart full of sympathy. “I understand how that can happen, Stu. Better than you know. I hope tonight helped.”
“More than you’ll ever know. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah. You too.”
We embraced. I returned to the hotel a new man. I turned on my computer and wrote in my diary. Then I wrote a letter. A long letter to Allyson. There was one more thing I had to do. Tomorrow wouldn’t be easy.
Chapter 62
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24. EIGHT DAYS UNTIL NEW YEAR’S.
T
he snow started falling about the time I got up. I quickly dressed and drove home to my family. I had the letter I had written the night before in my coat pocket. I had decided that I needed to tell Allyson the truth. I wondered when the opportunity would present itself. I wondered how she would take it, or even if she’d believe me. It’s not like the pronouncement had come from a doctor.
I arrived at the house with my arms full of packages. With some effort I rang the doorbell then let myself in. The home was a flood to the senses. The healing sound of the old Christmas music echoed down the hallway from the kitchen stereo. The smell of the home was just as powerful, the sweet fragrance of cinnamon-scented candles and cookies baking.
Carson came running to the door, shouting, “I’ll get it!” When she saw me, she shouted, “Daddy!”
“Hi, sister.”
“Guess what? Mommy’s making sugar cookies.” She looked at the packages in my arms. “Are those for me?”
“Some of them.”
Her grin widened still more. Allyson walked into the room. She smiled at me and it was pleasant. It was the first time since I had come back that she had greeted me with a smile. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back,” I said.
“You brought gifts?”
“A few.” I looked back down at Carson. “And one for Carson to open now.”
She turned back to look at Allyson. “Can I?”
“If Daddy says that you can.”
“Come on, sister, we need to open this at the kitchen table,” I said. “Do we have time, Al?”
“All the time you want,” she replied. Then, in a softer voice, she added, “She’s been under my feet all morning.” As we walked back, Allyson asked, “How was your trip?”
“Busy.”
“We liked your television interview.”
“You watched that?”
“We all watched. So what’s in the package?”
I smiled at her. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
I set all the packages under the tree except one. Allyson went back to making cookies. She was making three different kinds—sugar, oatmeal and pepperkaker—and the sound of the mixer competed with Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas.” Somehow it seemed to fit. When Carson and I were at the table, I set down a large paper bag. “This one’s for you.”
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
She reached in and took from the bag a package of markers, a roll of tape and a bottle of glue.
Allyson glanced over but said nothing. Then I helped Carson remove the wrapped package still inside. She immediately tore the paper from it. Her eyes widened at the sight of the large, leather notebook. “Wow.”
“This is a very special book I bought just for you.”
She turned back the cover, and her face fell with disappointment. “There’s nothing inside.”
“Nothing inside
yet
. That’s because we’re making this book ourselves. This is a life book just like Mommy’s.”
Carson smiled. “Wow.”
I did not look over at Allyson, but out of the corner of my eye I could tell that her gaze was fixed on us.
“This book is all about you,” I said, touching her nose. I turned to Allyson. “Are the photographs still in the hall closet?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
I went to the closet and brought down two photo albums and four shoe boxes filled with photographs. The first box held pictures of Allyson and me before Carson was born. I smiled at the sight of myself; my hair was long and I looked remarkably thin. We selected a photograph of Allyson eight months pregnant—a side view, Allyson posing to show the full extent of her stomach—and pasted it to a page then drew a large arrow pointing to her stomach with the words
Carson on board
in alternating pink and blue marker.
On another page we pasted her birth announcement and an invitation to a baby shower. As happy as the project left Carson, I hadn’t fully counted on the impact that it would have on me. It was like seeing my life flash before my eyes one page at a time. I guess it was a preview.
Allyson brought some cookies over and watched us for a minute, but she mostly kept her distance, busying herself in her cooking and cleaning. After she pulled the last sheet of cookies from the oven, she asked if I would mind if she went to the grocery store to pick up a few things she’d forgotten. I didn’t mind, of course, though I doubted her motives. I think she wanted Carson to have this time with me alone. She instinctively knew that something profound was happening.
The irony of the experience was not lost on me. Allyson received her life book on the day she learned her life would change—that a big part of her life would soon be gone. The thought that the greater part of Carson’s book would be finished in my absence moistened my eyes several times, though I always chased the thought from my mind. It wouldn’t do to have me start blubbering.
Carson and I went as far as we could on her life book, or at least as far as we had the energy for, and after a few hours we put the markers away and I held her while we watched a videotape of her favorite animated Christmas special, a stop-motion feature with Rudolph and an abominable snow beast. When Allyson pulled into the garage, Carson jumped from my arms, excited to show Allyson her life book. It was nearly quarter of one.
I got up from the couch as Allyson entered. “Ready for phase two?” I said.
Allyson laughed. “You make it sound like Operation Christmas Eve,” she said. “Is phase two a surprise?”
I shook my head. “Only in that I haven’t told you yet. First, I thought that we’d go get some lunch at Gardner Village.”
Allyson smiled. It was her favorite little restaurant, a quaint eatery and furniture and knickknack shop built around a turn-of-the-century grain mill.
“You’re sure they’re open?”
“I made reservations.”
She was clearly pleased. “. . . And maybe a little shopping while we’re there?” she asked.
“Of course. It would be like waving a cookie under Carson’s nose and telling her that she can’t have it.”
“Yes, it would be cruel,” Allyson agreed.
“Then we’re going downtown for a horse-drawn carriage ride to see the lights at Temple Square.”
Allyson clapped. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Then we better get going. We’re burning daylight.”
“Carson, get your big coat and mittens, girlie.”
Lunch was fabulous. Allyson and I ordered the same thing, turkey potpies with thick white gravy and large chunks of white meat. Carson just ate fries, which was pretty much all she ever ate when we went out. Afterward Allyson walked around the shop but purchased nothing.
It was snowing hard by the time we reached downtown. On our way we drove past Hotel Monaco. Carson recognized it. “That’s where Daddy lives for book tour,” she said.
We parked in Crossroads Mall and walked across South Temple to where the horses were queued. A man wearing a knee-length Western coat and cowboy hat greeted us. He tipped his hat so the snow fell off; then he helped us inside the carriage.