“Or take fame for instance. For one brief moment a man finds himself on a throne. And for a while he believes himself special—a little bit better than everyone else. But then he discovers that his throne is just another seat in an ongoing game of musical chairs and eventually he’s going to lose his place. Sometimes he spends the rest of his life trying to get back to the chair.
“You know what I’m talking about. Sports stars who retire then find the void too much, so they return, playing way past their prime. The beautiful trying to hold on to the glory of their youth, so they resort to plastic surgery until their faces are tight as snare drums. Rock stars who go on reunion tours, and on it goes.
“But they have it all wrong. The simple truth is that we don’t come to earth to make a name for ourselves just so time can erase it. That’s not what it’s about.”
“Then what is it about?”
Michael smiled. “Finally you’re asking the right question. But you already know the answer. You’ve always known.” He looked into my eyes and his gaze pierced me. “It’s about learning how to love.”
As if to punctuate the revelation, he abruptly stood, dropping a twenty on the table. “Think about it.”
“Wait. How do I get ahold of you?”
He just smiled. “I’m around.”
I sat there with my sandwich and fries and no appetite. I just sucked on my Coke and thought. Michael was long gone when the waitress stopped again at the table. “Your friend left you.”
“He usually does.”
“Is everything okay with your food?”
“It’s great. I guess I’m really not that hungry.”
“I’ll put it in a container for you. Would you mind signing your napkin for me?”
In my state of mind the request seemed ridiculous to me. I wouldn’t have wanted my signature if it were attached to a blank check. “I’d be happy to,” I said. “May I borrow your pen?”
“Of course.” She handed me her pen and I signed the napkin. She folded it in half and tucked it into her apron pocket. “Thank you. May I get you a refill on your chocolate Coke?”
“Sure. You only live once.”
She smiled and walked away with my cup.
Chapter 50
In spite of the hour I wasn’t the least bit tired. Even though I had slept on the plane, I knew my wakefulness was more likely due to my meeting with Michael than any sleep I’d stolen. His words stung me. I felt as if I had come to take an exam, only to find that I had been studying for the wrong test.
I drove past my hotel and took the interstate twenty minutes south to South Jordan, where my home was. It was still lightly snowing, and even though the powder did not stick to the streets, the roads of our little neighborhood were void of traffic. The fog was particularly dense at this end of the valley, and visibility was limited. I drove slowly in front of the house then stopped and turned off the car.
Our home’s lights were off except for those in our bedroom. I wondered what Allyson was doing. Nancy’s car was in the driveway, which was no surprise, as she always spent Thanksgiving with us. To say I felt homesick would be like comparing an aneurism to a sinus headache. As I sat there in silence, my cell phone rang. The prefix was a 310 number—the Beverly Hills area code. I shut off my phone without answering it and stowed it back in my pocket. I just sat there in silence looking at the house. Only twenty yards, yet a world away. What would it take to go back? The sad truth was, more than I had to give. A half hour later I drove back to my hotel alone.
I slept in the next day until noon. I ordered a turkey and mashed potato dinner from room service, which is pretty pathetic when you think about it. I was glad when the day was over.
To my surprise I didn’t hear from Michael the rest of that week or the next, though the countdown on my laptop continued. The week was relatively quiet for media. I averaged three to five call-in radio station interviews a day.
I wished that I were on the road again. Not that I cared anymore about the book, but because anything would beat sitting around in the same hotel room in downtown Salt Lake City. I must have watched every in-room movie there was. Perhaps most telling of my frame of mind was that I didn’t even bother to check on the best-seller lists anymore. Instead I found myself checking my cell phone several times a day hoping that Michael had called, only to see Darren’s messages piling up. On Friday I received a local call from a number I didn’t recognize. I answered, hoping it was Michael.
“This is Robert.”
The voice hesitated. “Rob, it’s Stuart Parks.”
My anger for him was pretty much gone now, though mostly displaced by disinterest. “Hi, Stu. What’s up?”
His voice came tinged with nervousness. “We haven’t heard from your people yet. I was wondering if you had a chance to consider my request to come to the station’s Christmas party. It’s on Monday the twenty-third.”
“I don’t know, Stu. I really don’t know where I’ll be. Probably in New York.”
He exhaled. “I’m desperate, Rob. Sterling has made it clear that if you’re not at the company party, there are going to be changes. You know how compulsive he gets about things. If you could just come for five minutes, stick your head in, shake a few hands, it would mean the world. I’ll even pay you for your time. A thousand dollars for twenty minutes. And I’ll throw in some backstage passes to the Styx reunion concert. I know you’re an old Styx fan. Just tell me how much you want.”
“Don’t grovel, Stu. I don’t need your money.”
“I know that. Just please reconsider. Please, Rob.”
I exhaled. “I’ll let you know, Stu.”
“When should I call back?”
“If I can make it, I’ll call you.” I hung up.
Chapter 51
The next Sunday, December 8, I attended a small nondenominational inner-city church. It was during that meeting that I had an epiphany of sorts. The sermon that day was on Abraham’s sacrifice and the angel that stayed his knife. Of course I was grasping, but it occurred to me that perhaps there was a way out of my predicament that didn’t end with my death. I was a little more than three weeks away from D-day (as I had come to call it), and I desperately needed to talk to Michael. I was suddenly filled with a new fear. What if Michael had no intention of returning? As I left the church, I prayed that he would come back.
The next day my prayer was answered. There was a note left at my hotel saying that he would gladly meet me next Wednesday at six p.m. at Hires.
I arrived at the drive-in a half hour before our meeting. To my surprise I saw him drive up in a Cooper. It had never occurred to me that he drove. I wondered what kind of address he had on his driver ’s license.
He walked in, brushing snow off his shoulders. He smiled when he saw me. He crossed the room and sat down next to me.
“You beat me here,” he said.
“I’m not always late.”
“Not always.” He took off his coat.
“I ordered for you. It came up early; I hope it’s not cold.”
“You got me a Big H?”
“Yeah. And a chocolate Coke.”
“Thanks.” He looked at me intensely. “So, you prayed me here—what do you want?”
He knew about my prayer. I wondered how that worked, if there was a celestial switchboard operator of sorts and someone slipped him a message—Robert Harlan prayed, asked if you could get back to him.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“I’ve had a cold.”
I looked at him. “A cold? You get sick?”
“Everyone gets sick. So how are you feeling?” he asked.
“Okay.”
“Any more chest pains?”
“Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?”
“Sorry. Bad habit. In a former life I taught school.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Just a minute,” he said. He took out a wadded Kleenex and blew his nose. “Sorry. I
know about your question. You want to know if you can get out of this. If maybe this is like a spiritual test or cosmic Candid Camera, however you want to describe it. Something designed to see what you would really do under the circumstance—like Abraham.”
His insight never ceased to amaze me. “That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you.”
“What did you plan to do?”
“To start, I could go back to church or make a big donation to a charity or something. Or what if I just swallow my pride and go back to Allyson?” My own desperation caught up to me. “I want to do those things anyway. It’s like my whole paradigm has changed.”
“Classic,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Classic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re following the rituals of death perfectly. You’re now in the bargaining phase. But the answer to your question is no. In the first place, going to church isn’t doing anyone a favor but yourself. Second, you can’t take anything with you anyway, so you’re not really giving up anything, now are you?”
I lowered my head and rubbed the back of my neck.
Michael continued. “As far as going back to your wife, I’m not so sure she’d take you back. The first rule of a broken heart is to protect it from any more pain. Do you think she’ll take you back?”
I lost my patience. “You tell me. You’re the one who knows everything.”
“No. You have to figure this one out by yourself.”
“So no matter what I do I’m going to die?”
“Everyone dies.” He nodded slowly. “Remember our first meeting? I said that the test is over. Time’s up. It’s just the way it is, Bob. I’m sorry it’s not to your liking.”
“So what’s the point of any of this if it’s already over? Am I supposed to go running back home just so that I can leave them?”
“This life is almost over, but you’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think this life is it?”
When I didn’t answer, he answered for me.
“No, you don’t think that. You just don’t think about it.”
“So you’re saying that there really is a heaven and hell.”
“Yes.”
I raked a hand back through my hair. “. . . With fire and brimstone.”
“Do you have any idea what brimstone is?”
“No.”
“It’s sulfur. The stuff they make matches out of. Puts out a real stench when it burns. But you need to ask yourself what harm is fire or sulfur if you have no body to be burned?”
I mulled it over in my mind. “I’ve never thought of that.”
“It’s a metaphor, Bob. You want to know what hell is? What brimstone and burning really is?”
“Yes.”
“Hell is the perfect recollection of every evil thing you’ve done in your life, every thoughtless word, every cruel, evil thought or action. It’s knowing that you could have helped your brother and didn’t. Hell is clarity, Bob. It’s nothing more than clarity.” He leaned forward as if to confide in me, his gaze intense. “Do you want to know what heaven is?”
I was locked into his gaze. “Yes.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, “It’s the same thing.”
Michael leaned back while I processed the revelation. He spoke softly, as if he were also saddened.
“You know, Bob, the truth is, with the exception of this last run, you’ve lived an admirable life, which is saying something when you consider the start you had. Your mother dying. Your stepmother leaving. A father seemingly incapable of showing love. For over seven years you worked a job you didn’t like because you were committed to taking care of your family. You watched others unfairly promoted around you, and still you held your post. And when you were fired, unfairly, you kept on. You laid sprinklers and dug up septic tanks and came home every day with blistered hands and an ego to match. You thought you were a nobody. But heaven is full of nobodies. Except we call them saints. The sad fact of the matter is that your timing leaves something to be desired. Bad luck, I guess.”
“That’s me, all right, Mr. Lucky.”
“Actually you are lucky, Bob. Most people don’t know when it’s their time. Between the day that I first came to you and January first, more than two million people will exit this rock. More than fifty thousand souls a day. Do you know how many of them never get to say good-bye to a loved one? How many leave unfinished business? How many die with unspoken words on their lips? I know you don’t feel lucky, but you’re one of the privileged.”
“So why me? Why didn’t I just get hit by a semi and save everyone the trouble?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because in your heart you’re still that saint.” He stood to leave. “But your opportunity is nearly gone, Bob. There’s about three weeks left in the year. And you’re still a long way from home.”
Chapter 52
I sat by the phone in my hotel room for nearly a half hour gathering the courage to call Allyson, only to have each attempt met with a busy signal. I felt several chest pangs as I waited, as forceful a prompter about my circumstance as a cattle prod.
In my quest to reach Allyson, I had forgotten that I was supposed to be on a nighttime call-in interview with a Tulsa radio station, and the show’s producer panicked and frantic calls were made to Heather. I didn’t even think about my mistake until Heather caught up to me on my cell phone. She reached me before my fourth try for Allyson, and even though my heart was elsewhere, I called into the radio station for the final twenty minutes of an hour-long interview. As soon as I had finished, I tried Allyson once again. She must not have checked her caller ID because she answered brightly.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Ally.”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Rob.”
She went silent. It had been nearly four weeks since we’d spoken. The silence turned painful.
“How are you doing?” I asked, regretting the question almost immediately.
“How am I doing? I’m fine, Robert. Everything’s great. My husband shares the most intimate experience of my life with the entire world then leaves me because of it. My six-year-old daughter is traumatized and not only spontaneously breaks out in tears, but now she wets the bed every night. But besides that everything’s just great.”
I winced. “Yeah. Dumb question.”
“So what is it, Robert? I’m busy right now. Being a single parent is a little time-consuming.”
“I wanted to see what you and Carson were doing for Christmas.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I took a deep breath. “Listen, Allyson, this isn’t easy for me.”
“Easy? I guess I’m a little hazy on how these things work. I’m supposed to make it easy on the guy who breaks my heart and abandons me and my child?” Her voice cracked. “So if I’m supposed to act happy that you called, frankly, I just don’t feel it.”
I took another deep breath. “You have every right to be angry, Allyson. And I know this is going to sound really stupid, but I just wanted to ask if I could spend Christmas with you.”
I waited for her onslaught. She was silent for a moment then she said calmly, “The other day I asked Carson what she wanted Santa to bring her for Christmas. She said ‘my daddy’.”
She was silent again, effectively letting the weight of Carson’s words sink in.
“Yes, you may come home for Christmas. But you may not stay at the house. Go live in a hotel or in that mansion on the hill. I don’t care where you stay just as long as it’s not here. And just in case you really don’t get it, I am so off limits to you that I might as well be on another planet. There will be no touching—emotionally, spiritually and especially physically. If you so much as brush up against me, you’re gone. Do you understand?”
“I understand. When does Carson get out of school for Christmas break?”
“The twentieth is her last day. It’s only a half day.”
“How about if I pick her up from school?”
“I’ll pick her up.”
“I’ll meet you at home. I was thinking that I’d first take her ice-skating.”
“She’d like that.”
“. . . If you want to come along, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Carson could use a little one-on-one time with her father. I don’t.”
“If it’s okay with you, then I’ll take her to dinner too. Then you can have a free evening. I’m sure you haven’t had enough of those lately.”
My words disarmed her. “That would be nice.”
“Thank you, Allyson. I know I don’t deserve this.”
“This isn’t a favor, Robert. It’s for Carson. Only for Carson. And you’re right, you don’t deserve it. By the way, happy anniversary.”
She dropped the phone in the cradle.
Of all the years to forget my anniversary, I thought. It had been brutal, but at least my foot was in the door. I looked at the calendar in my day planner. Nine days until the twentieth. That would leave me just twelve days until New Year ’s. What could I possibly accomplish in just twelve days? There were entire years of my life that I couldn’t remember. What I wouldn’t give for just an extra week or two.
Chapter 53
Nancy stood at the sink cutting tomatoes for salad while Allyson kneaded bread into hamburger for meat loaf.
“So what do you think it is,” Allyson asked, “guilt?”
“Was he drinking?”
“Rob doesn’t drink like that.”
She gestured with the knife. “You don’t know that. The man’s changed.” She went back to her slicing. “It could be that he’s trying to fatten the goose.”
“What do you mean?”
“My cousin went through this with her divorce. Her husband hired a hotshot divorce lawyer who advised him to turn on all the charm he could muster until the divorce papers were signed. The second the papers were signed, he turned back into Frankenstein. He even told her that that’s what he was doing, ‘fattening the goose to protect the golden egg.’ What a loser. She’s lucky to be free of him.”