by Cheree Alsop
Clara leaned against Chase and rested her head on his shoulder. She had tried two or three times to read the magazines on the table in an effort to keep her mind occupied, then finally gave it up as fruitless. She now toyed with the zipper on Chase’s borrowed coat.
“Do you think a loan would be the best way to go?” Chase overhead Sam ask Grandpa from their seat by the small television. Neither watched the football game replay of two defensive linemen sacking a quarterback.
“Not a loan,” Grandpa replied. “It’s the interest that kills you if you go that way. We’ll just have to set up a payment plan.”
Sam sighed worriedly. “Surgeries like that are going to be expensive, and who knows what else they’ll need to do once they get in there.”
Grandpa nodded. “They’ll do whatever is needed as long as Matthew gets out alright. That’s all that matters.” At Sam’s nod, he lowered his voice. “Let’s not mention bills to Penny. She’s got enough on her plate right now.” Sam nodded again in and their voices grew quieter.
Chase sat for a few minutes outwardly calm, but inside his thoughts flew. He eventually made up his mind and, apologizing to Clara, stood up. He walked over to Mrs. Clark. “I’ve got to excuse myself for a short while,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t think him rude. He could feel the others watching him.
“Go right ahead, my dear,” Mrs. Clark replied. “And take good care of yourself.” She motioned for a hug and when he leaned down, careful not to disturb Matty, she gave him a tight embrace.
He met Clara’s eyes and held them for a moment. “I’ll be back,” he told her. She nodded and gave him a valiant smile.
Grandpa Clark rose and walked him to the door. “We’ll see you soon,” he replied, giving Chase a firm handshake.
Chase turned and left through the door, but as he went down the hall, he overheard Daniel say, “He won’t be back. Just you watch. He has no reason to stick around, anyway.”
Clara replied, but her words were too soft for Chase to hear. He forced himself to keep walking and not go back.
***
The mansion felt familiar yet strangely hollow when he was ushered in by the doorman. Chase took a steeling breath, then walked along echoing hallways toward his father’s office, hallways that had never before felt so vacant. He stopped outside the open door, though he knew the gate guard and the steward would both have alerted his father to his arrival.
“Enter,” came the not-so-friendly command.
Chase’s jaw clenched, but he did as he was bidden. Never before had the cherry wood desk, marble inlaid floor, arching windows, and adjoining library appeared so gaudy and pointless. The portrait of Chester Andrew Brockson, Senior, Chase’s grandfather for whom he was named, now loomed boastful and pathetic instead of haughty and proud as Chase used to see him. He, too, had lost his family, but not to a tragic accident. They had left him when it became apparent that money was worth more to him than they were.
Chase’s father was the only one who had a knack for business, and so had inherited the company when Mr. Brockson, Sr., had passed away. He then not only made it profit, he turned it from a million-dollar business into a multi-billion dollar one his first year running it. Until the death of his family, though, he had always been able to keep business separate from family, and less important. He truly had been a good father until that day changed their world entirely.
“Sir,” Chase said quietly. He ignored the urge to straighten his shirt and wished he wore a tie.
Mr. Brockson turned from his studious overview of the snow-covered gardens and lawn below his window. “Well, if it isn’t Chester A. Brockson, the Third,” his father said with a slight incline of his head.
“Chase,” Chase corrected him for the millionth time. After the death of his family, he had wanted more than anything to be nothing like his namesake, so he changed his name despite his father’s stern disapproval, which made it all the more satisfying.
“Chester, it is good to see you home safe and sound,” Mr. Brockson continued, ignoring him. His tone had a bite to it as though it really wasn’t good to see his son again.
“No thanks to you, Sir,” Chase replied. He could feel his chest tightened the way it always did when he argued with his father, which was every time they spoke.
Mr. Brockson gave an unconcerned shrug. “You got yourself into that mess; you can get yourself out of it.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you’ve come asking for money.”
Bile rose in the back of Chase’s throat. He forced his words past it. “For me, never. There is no way I would ask you for money to save my own life, which it almost amounted to this time.”
Was that a flicker of emotion in his father’s eyes when he took in the fading bruises and obvious limp of his son? Chase shook it off as a figment of his imagination and pressed on. “I was at the end of my rope and a family took me in. They tended my wounds, fed me, clothed me, and one of the sons even gave me his own bed to sleep in. I owe them my life, and now there’s a chance I can pay them back.”
“You mean I can pay them back,” his father cut in haughtily, turning back to his windows.
Chase gave a curt nod and continued, “Mr. Clark, the father, is undergoing emergency heart surgery as we speak. They don’t have the money to pay for it, but they don’t have a choice. He’s an exceptional person and the head of an extraordinary family. He needs help and you can give it to him.”
Mr. Brockson stared out the windows for so long Chase thought he wasn’t going to reply. Chase turned to leave.
“Wait.”
It was another command, but Chase’s heart lifted as he turned back. At the look on his father’s face, though, he knew there was no hope.
“You come crawling back looking for money,” Mr. Brockson began, his voice deep and final. “When your mother died, she took all that was worth anything with her and left me the garbage.
Chase’s blood ran cold.
“You never could do anything worthwhile with your life,” his father continued. “Why do you think you and I didn’t die with the rest of them? We weren’t good enough.” His voice cracked, but he said louder, “We weren’t good enough to even die with them.”
Chase’s heart started to pound. “You’re wrong,” he shouted. He clenched and unclenched his fists.
“She’s dead, the kids are dead, and I’m alone because I wasn’t worth taking,” Mr. Brockson concluded hotly.
“You’re wrong,” Chase repeated. He forced himself to calm down, for his thoughts to clear. For the first time in his life, he saw the way things really were. “Father, it was an accident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and nobody chose for it to happen that way. We didn’t die because we weren’t in the car. That’s all. Mom and the others leaving was the worst thing that could have happened, but we chose to let it destroy us.”
Chase’s brow furrowed. “I was ten, Dad. I needed a father, and you needed a son, but you sent me away because I reminded you of her.” Another flicker passed through his father’s eyes, more definite this time. “You destroyed us, not her leaving. We could have leaned on each other, but you chose to push me away.” His voice lowered. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Father. I’ve learned how to lean on myself. I don’t need you anymore.”
He turned and walked to the door. When he paused and looked back, Mr. Brockson had returned to the window. “If you can’t see a worthy cause when it’s presented to you, then I want nothing more to do with you or your money.” Chase left the room without another glance.
***
The Clark family welcomed Chase warmly when he arrived back at the waiting room. He realized by Mrs. Clark’s expression and Matty, Ilene, and Martin’s hugs that they truly hadn’t expected him to return. Grandpa and Grandma Clark beamed with smiles, and Sam gave him a handshake and a slap on the back. Daniel, on the other hand, sat aloof in a corner and acted as if he didn’t noticed Chase’s return at all. Chase knew to give the boy his space.
When Clara gave hi
m a tight hug, he whispered in her ear, “I need someone to talk to.”
“I’m a good listener,” she replied quietly with a small smile; but the expression in his eyes drew the smile into a worried frown. “What happened?”
Chase shook his head. “Not here.” He led her into the hallway. “Care for a chat on the roof?” At Clara’s nod, they walked to the stairs.
***
Chase paced the roof for a moment trying to decide where to start. He could feel Clara watching him and wondered what she thought, and if she had also doubted he would return. He shook his head and took a steeling breath. “You remember when your dad asked me if I was related to the Mr. Brockson, business tycoon Chester A. Brockson, II?” he asked, turning to face her.
Clara nodded.
“Well, he’s my father.” Surprise showed on her face followed by questions. He held up a hand to stop them before they started. “Please wait until I finish,” he urged gently. “Then I’ll answer any questions you have, I promise.” At her second nod, he told her about his visit home. He forced himself to repeat his dad’s cutting words; they tasted bitter in his mouth. He fought past the emotions and told her how he left and promised never to return.
Clara was quiet when he finished. His heart pounded again at the remembered hostility in his father’s voice. The words seemed to cut doubly deep the second time, wounding him where the walls used to protect him. Clara was staring unseeing off the roof, her expression troubled. She looked horrified at his father’s words, almost on the verge of tears. Now, she seemed to be searching for the right thing to say.
She turned back to Chase and took one of his bare hands in her mittened ones. “I need you to hear me out before you say anything,” she said, her green eyes pleading with him.
He nodded. “I will.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching the fog that briefly clouded the air before it disappeared. “I think you need to go back there.”
Surprised, Chase tried to protest, but she held up a gloved hand and stopped him. She shook her head. “The money doesn’t matter. My family will make due. We always have. We’ll get through this alright. It’s you I worry about.”
“Me?” Chase’s eyebrows rose. He brushed his hair back from his eyes. They were in turmoil, a deep ocean blue clouded in the cold day.
“Yes,” Clara confirmed. “You. You’ve been through so much and your father, too.” She held up a hand against the way his expression darkened when she mentioned his dad. “Hear me out,” she urged. “It’s Christmas, the hardest time of the year for both of you. It’s normal for tempers to rise and words to be said that hurt. You’re both trying to shield yourselves from more pain. You figure that if you push away that final person linked to your family’s tragedy, you’ll be protecting yourself. But what you don’t see is how much you need each other; now more than ever.”
At her pause, Chase forced a small smile. “And why is that?” he asked quietly.
“Because it’s Christmas,” she replied gently. He lowered his eyes and she reached up to brush the hair back from them, her mitten soft against his cold skin. “He needs you now more than ever.”
“Why me?” Chase asked softly, the bitterness gone from his voice and replaced by defeat. “What he said today proves that he doesn’t care.”
Clara shook her head. “No, it proves that he does care, very much. He said those things to push you away so that he doesn’t lose you when he least expects it, like he did with the rest of your family. By pushing you away himself, at least he can feel like he’s in control of that loss.”
Chase studied her, surprise in his eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes,” she replied. “That’s why he was so cruel. He cares about you and knows how he raised you was wrong. He knows he’s going to lose you, but needs you. You’ve got to go back there. I almost lost my father today; don’t risk losing yours.”
Chase nodded, surprised at the way her words warmed him, soothing a balm over the raw edges of his heart. “Friday is Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go tomorrow, Christmas Eve. That’ll give me some time to think about what to say.”
Without warning, Clara wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.
Chase held her and ran a hand through her hair. “What’s this for?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Because I love you,” Clara replied.
Chase paused, staring down at the top of her head. His heart pounded louder, but for a different reason this time. It almost hurt, but not quite. He finally whispered into her hair, “I love you, too.”
Chapter 9
When the doctor announced that Mr. Clark had pulled through the surgery and was doing well, the tension in the room released like a needle popping a balloon. Matty, Isabelle, and Kavin began to make a tower out of the blocks in one corner, while Chase, Grandpa, Sam, and Ilene turned their attention to the rerun of the football game.
Ilene kept calling to Clara to point out the cute football players whenever they showed the sidelines, then slapped Sam on the shoulder when he whistled at a particularly cute cheerleader in white and blue. Grandma crocheted a yellow and pink blanket for Paige, while Clara rolled her yarn into convenient balls. Mrs. Clark sat back and watched it all, relief plain on her face.
As night drew closer and the doctor announced that Mr. Clark was resting now and probably wouldn’t be receiving visitors for a while, Chase and Clara took Daniel, Martin, Matty, Isabelle, and Kavin back to the house. The kids were thrilled at the prospect of a sleepover. Martin and Daniel, both now in good spirits, made them popcorn and microwaved s’mores while Clara and Chase set up a blanket fort in Matty’s bedroom. The kids then settled down to watch Ninja Turtles in their hideout.
“Kids,” Daniel said with a dramatic sigh. He flopped into a chair next to Clara by the fire.
Chase and Clara both laughed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve built a fort,” Chase said, stretching his knee slowly toward the fire.
Martin grinned at him. “You’re not that old,” he said.
Chase smiled. “I guess I feel old.”
“Age is relative,” Daniel replied.
Chase nodded. “I agree.” He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. “But I still feel old.”
Daniel laughed, surprising them. “I remember sitting by this fireplace waiting for Santa to come. I kept telling Mom he wouldn’t be able to slide down the chimney with the fire going.”
Chase chuckled. “What did she tell you?”
“That his clothes were fireproof,” Martin replied, remembering. “Then we put more logs on the fire to give him a challenge.”
“Speaking of fire,” Daniel said. He jumped up and ran to the kitchen.
In a few seconds, Daniel returned with the bag of marshmallows, a pack of graham crackers, several chocolate bars, and various pointed metal utensils to use as roasting sticks.
“Awesome,” Martin said, taking a meat skewer and poking it through four marshmallows.
Clara selected a barbecue prong, while Chase accepted the fondue fork. Daniel, thrilled with the chance to try something daring, proceeded to skewer six marshmallows along the tongs of a metal spaghetti spoon. He held it over the flames with a reckless grin.
“This,” Chase said, indicating the roasting marshmallows with a tip of his head, “Is something I’ve never done.”
“We used to do it a lot,” Martin said. “The best was when Dad used to bring out nuts, and bananas, and coconut, and stuff so we could experiment.”
Clara nodded. “My favorite was chocolate, peanut butter, and marshmallows.”
“I liked strawberries, bananas, chocolate, and marshmallows,” Daniel said, turning his spaghetti spoon so the six marshmallows toasted evenly.
“Remember when Mom and Dad would try to see who could toast their marshmallows the best?” Clara asked. They all laughed.
“Mom can get competitive when it comes to marshmallow roasting,” Martin told
Chase.
Chase tried to picture Mrs. Clark competitive. Clara glanced at him as if suddenly remembering where he was from. She mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Chase shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “I like hearing your memories. It’s nice to imagine.”
She nodded. “It was good to be there. Mom and Dad are wonderful parents.”
Bailey trotted into the room and plopped down on the rug between them. The ever-present slimy tennis ball rolled from his mouth to rest on his front paws. He settled his chin on it contentedly.
“Do you ever get it away from him?” Chase asked curiously.
“Only when Mom buys a new one, which she does whenever Bailey’s current one turns black and gross. She’s afraid he’ll catch some strange, rare disease from the build-up of slobber, dirt, and who knows what,” Daniel replied. He tried to swipe the ball from under Bailey’s chin, but the dog was faster and danced away with it in his mouth. He then pranced back and dropped it in front of Daniel so he could throw it.
“Now look what you’ve started,” Martin said.
Daniel pretended to throw the ball, then hid it behind his back and grinned when Bailey went looking for it. “That’ll give us a break. Hey!” He tried to blow on his burning marshmallows, but they were a charcoaled lost cause.
***
Chase went to bed that night with a renewed conviction to see his dad and try to resolve at least a few things. He already knew what they had missed out on as he grew up watching his few friends with their own fathers, but now he realized how much more there was left to do. There was still time to fix it, to repair some of what was lost, if only a small part.
When he awoke, the fact that it was Christmas Eve filled him with trepidation as it did every year. He took a fortifying breath before climbing out of bed, reminding himself that this Christmas Eve would be very different than any of the others. He rose, showered, and made his way down the hall. He paused at the clamor in the living room.
