Chapter 62
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24. EIGHT DAYS UNTIL NEW YEAR’S.
The 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.
Allyson said, “Carson, you sit between us and we’ll keep you warm.”
There was a thick blanket on the opposite seat. I lifted the blanket over all three of us. Evening fell as steadily as the snow while our horse clopped slowly through the twilit streets. We rode up South Temple then north into Memory Grove. The streets were still busy and decked in their holiday attire. We returned and circled Temple Square. The lights in the square were spectacular as usual, and the sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir could be heard even outside the tall granite walls. I put my arm around Allyson and she didn’t seem to mind.
The horse stopped at the curb, and the driver pulled the brake and walked around to us. He placed a step on the ground then took Allyson’s hand and helped
her down. I was the last one out of the carriage. As I paid the driver, he said to me, “I’m giving my wife a copy of your book for Christmas. I wish I had it here. Would you mind signing the back of my business card?”
“Not at all,” I said. I signed it and we walked away. It still surprised me that people recognized me.
We walked through Temple Square and looked at the lights. The falling snow created a dreamlike solitude around us, the colored lights of the square reflecting off our faces. We both held Carson’s hands as we walked. The snow continued to fall harder, and after forty minutes Carson said she was cold, so we made our way back to the parking terrace. We stopped on the way home for a doughnut and hot chocolate.
It was late when we got home—a couple hours past Carson’s usual bedtime. I helped Carson with her coat then turned to help Allyson, but she had already removed it.
“It’s time for bed, girlie,” Allyson said. “Give us a kiss.”
She kissed both of us then ran down the hall to her room.
“I’ll put her to bed,” I said.
When I walked into her room, Carson had already undressed to her underwear and was lost in the nightgown she was trying to pull over her head. I pulled it down over her head. “There you are. I lost you for a minute.”
“I was right here.”
“So you were.” I peeled back the covers on her bed. “Hop in, pumpkin.”
“Can’t.”
“And why not?”
“We didn’t pray.”
“I’m sorry.” We knelt down by the side of the bed. Carson said, “I’ll say it,” and immediately started into it. “Dear Heavenly Father. Thank you for bringing Daddy home and for all the fun things we got to do today. Please tell Santa to drive safe and don’t be hit by an airplane when he is in the sky. Bless Daddy won’t have to go to work again and Mommy won’t cry anymore. Amen.”
“Amen.”
She looked in my face. “How come you’re crying?”
“I’m not really crying,” I said. “Sometimes my eyes just leak.” She looked at me, her face showing her bewilderment. “I really hate it,” I said, rubbing my hand over them. “I’ll have to get them fixed.”
She crawled into bed and I pulled the covers up to her chin. She stared intently into my eyes.
“I’m glad you’re home, Daddy.”
“Me too, pumpkin. Now, you go to bed so Santa can come.”
“Don’t forget to leave a carrot for Rudolph.”
“I won’t forget.”
“Daddy, will the other reindeers be sad that I like Rudolph the most?”
“Only if they find out.” I switched off the lamp next to her bed. “I’ll put out a whole bunch of carrots. They’ll never know.” I kissed her forehead. “Now, go to sleep.”
“Daddy, today was a perfect day.”
The words pierced me. “Yeah, it was. Good night, sweetheart.”
Her eyes shut and she nestled into her pillow. I quietly walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I realized that I had not even considered how my death would affect Carson. How could I have been so selfish? Suddenly it occurred to me that it had been wrong for me to come back. That this time together would only make their loss more difficult. In spite of what I might have told myself, the truth was I had come back for me, not them. The thought of it exasperated me. Even when I was trying to do the right thing, I failed miserably. A wave of intense sadness swept through me. I needed to leave. For their sake I needed to leave.
Just then Allyson stepped out of the kitchen, silently waving me toward her. I walked to her.
“Is she asleep?”
“I think. She was pretty tired.”
“It’s been a busy day,” she said, her voice pleasant and soft in remembrance. “Do you want to help me put out her presents?”
“Sure.”
Together we descended the stairs to the storage room, where a locked armoire was filled with toys. Inside was an American Girls doll with an old-fashioned desk; three doll outfits; a CD of children’s music and a nail painting kit.
Allyson brought out the gifts. “Would you mind getting the wrapping paper?”
“Where is it?”
“In the storage room. On the top shelf by the door. Santa uses the red paper. We use the green paper.”
“She notices?”
“Remember last year when she asked why Santa had the same wrapping paper as us?”
I nodded in remembrance. “I forgot. She doesn’t miss a thing, does she?”
“Just you.” She looked up at me. “I’m sorry. It just kind of came out.”
“I’ll get the paper,” I said.
“There should be some scissors and Scotch tape next to it.”
I fetched the paper. We finished wrapping the gifts then laid them beneath the tree. Then Allyson turned off the lights, and we sat back on the couch in front of the tree, the room illuminated only by its lights, flashing in colorful, syncopated strands. There was gentleness to the night. A calm, alluring peace.
“Want some eggnog?” Allyson asked.
“You have eggnog?”
“I do.”
I looked at her suspiciously. “You hate eggnog.”
“I know, but you like it.”
I smiled. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll drink eggnog.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll drink eggnog.”
“I’ll drink eggnog,” I said.
Suddenly she leaned into me. I put my arm around her, and again all was quiet except the sound of the fireplace. Earlier in the day I had imagined that this might be the right time to tell her everything. But I now realized that there would never be a right time.
“Remember our first Christmas after we were married?” she asked.
“I got you that silk shirt.”
“Which you washed two weeks later. It shrunk to the size of a Barbie outfit.”
I chuckled. “I was just trying to be helpful. And you got me that leather bomber jacket. I couldn’t believe you had saved that much money.”
“I saved all year for it. That was a lot of money back then.”
“Those days weren’t easy.”
“No. But they were simple. We didn’t have much, but we had all we needed.” She looked at me. “I have nothing but fond memories of our Christmases together.”
I let her words fade into silence. Finally I looked to the window then said, “It’s still snowing. What time do you think it is?”
She leaned back, looking for the clock on the microwave oven. “Oh, my. It’s past midnight.”
I sighed. “I better go. She’ll be up around six, won’t she?”
“If we’re lucky. Last year she got up at five.” Then Allyson said, “Why don’t you just sleep here tonight?”
I must have looked surprised, because she quickly added, “In the guest room.”
“Of course,” I said. “Thank you.”
Then, without thought, I leaned forward and kissed her. At first Allyson started to recoil, but she stopped and instead let me cover her lips with mine. It was a long, deep kiss. We parted and we looked into each other’s eyes. She looked beautiful and vulnerable. She took a deep breath, her lips still slightly parted. “Good night, Allyson.”
“Good night.”
I stood, stifling a yawn. “Is the video camera charged?”
She laughed slightly. “Yes. You know, that’s the first time you’ve remembered that on your own?”
“Old dogs can learn. Some of us are just slower than others.” I smiled. “Be sure to wake me up when she wakes.”
Allyson turned off the lights then went to her bedroom alone. I walked downstairs to the guest room. I folded my trousers and shirt across the foot of the bed. I turned off the lights then slid under the covers. My mind reeled with my dilemma. Things had become more difficult not easier. When would I tell her? Or should I? I remembered the letter I’d written. I’d let the letter do it. I closed my eyes and fell off into sleep.
Somewhere in t
he night I jolted awake from a sound sleep. I sensed the presence of someone in the room. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see a form standing at the foot of my bed. It filled me with terror. I pushed myself up on my elbows, waiting for the form to do something. It just stood there. “It’s not my time,” I said. “Not yet.”
“No, it’s not,” Allyson replied.
I exhaled in relief. I rubbed my hand across my eyes. “Sorry, you startled me. What time is it?”
“It’s only three.” She stood, almost motionless, as if afraid to step forward.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A few minutes.”
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.” She walked to the side of my bed and sat down. I rolled over to my side, trying to read her face through the shadow.
She sniffed. “I am so tired of sleeping alone every night, wishing that you were next to me. I know this is really stupid and I’m going to hate myself in the morning, but would you hold me tonight?”
“Yes.”
I peeled back the comforter and she slid under the covers. Then I put my arms around her and pulled her into my chest. The smell and feel of her filled me as her body pressed against mine. For the first time since our trip to New York I felt whole.
Chapter 63
CHRISTMAS DAY. SEVEN DAYS UNTIL NEW YEAR’S.
Carson first ran to our bedroom then, finding it vacant, ran downstairs to the guest room, leaving the lights on behind her. “He came!” she shouted. “Santa came!”
Allyson raised herself from my chest. “So early?”
I yawned then looked at my watch. “It’s almost seven.”
“He really did,” Carson said. “I saw some toys!”
“Okay, hold on,” I said. “Let me get the camera. Al, will you hand me my pants?”
She reached over and handed me my trousers. I slid them on under the covers then climbed out from the sheets. Allyson said, “Wait, the Bible.”
It was our tradition. Every Christmas, before we went to the tree, we always read the Christmas story in second Luke. It was our way of keeping the season in perspective. She left, returning a few minutes later cradling the family Bible in her arm.