by Steve Gannon
As if trapped between warring camps, after my arrival the children gradually staged strategic retreats to various locations in the house-Travis joining his mother in the music room, Allison retiring to her bedroom to work on an essay for school, Nate shadowing me in the kitchen.
Ninety minutes later, to the sound of Catheryn and Travis’s playing drifting up from the music room, I glanced around my kitchen workspace. Having finished my initial preparations, I began mentally ticking off elements of the holiday meal. As usual I was preparing the entire Christmas feast, and despite enthusiastic but dubious aid being offered by Nate, everything was progressing on schedule. The turkey was trussed, mounted, and turning on the Farberware rotisserie. Although the large bird had been cooking only an hour, the skin was already turning a crisp, golden brown. A pot of potatoes sat on the stove-pared, quartered, and ready for boiling. A saucepan containing gravy giblets simmered on a back burner. The yams were baking in the oven. The pies could wait. Time to get the dressing going.
Glancing at my youngest, I discovered that he had already begun, with predictable results. “You done helping yet, squirt?” I asked patiently.
“Sorry, Dad,” said Nate, gathering a scattering of seasoned bread crumbs he’d spilled while ripping open the bag. Brushing his palm across the counter, he swept them into a large metal bowl. “Good as new.”
“Right, if you like dog hair in your stuffing.”
“It’s not stuffing, Dad,” Allison pointed out, joining us in the kitchen. “Stuffing goes inside the bird and gets all mushy. You’re making dressing. ”
“Correct. Nice and gooey too, right?”
“No!” both children cried.
Callie, who had been sleeping in the corner, sat up in her basket. She had recently come into season, and her normal run of the house had been restricted to kitchen privileges only. Already confused by her puzzling confinement, she reacted to Allison’s and Nate’s outburst with cocked ears and a quizzical turn of her head.
“Wet, dry, I don’t see what difference it makes,” I teased. “You two always slop so much gravy on your plates, I may as well make everything soggy to begin with.”
“Gravy-soggy’s not the same as soggy-soggy,” Allison pronounced with a conviction that would bode no argument. Leaning over, she examined the lineup of ingredients I’d arranged on the counter. “What’s going in this year?”
“Same as always. Turkey feathers, the Pope’s nose, maybe a couple of Callie’s fur balls.”
“C’mon, Dad. You’re not putting in oysters this time, are you?”
“No. That was a mistake,” I said somberly, referring to an experiment the previous Christmas that had met with less than categorical approval. “No more oysters. I’m the worst dad on the face of the planet for ever putting them in. Now, quit your yammering and let me get to work.”
“Can I do something else?” asked Nate.
“Besides bugging me, you mean?”
“Besides that,” Nate giggled.
“Okay, dice the onions. And keep your fingers curled like I showed you. Make sure it’s only onions you chop.”
“Jeez, Dad. I know how to do it.”
“Just checking. You want to help, Ali?”
As Allison started to answer, a series of hacking coughs interrupted her reply. “Nope,” she finally managed. “Two maestros in the kitchen are enough.”
“You coming down with something?”
Allison sat on a counter beside the stove. “I’ll live.”
“I hope so. You sound terrible,” I said, turning again to my cooking. Using a large chef’s knife, I cut up several sticks of celery, a half pound of mushrooms, and some giblets I had reserved from the simmering-pot. I sauteed these in butter, adding the onion that by then Nate had reduced to a pile of irregular chunks.
As the smell of butter and onion joined the aroma of roasting turkey, I chopped a red pepper, a handful of parsley, and a large bag of walnuts. These I dumped into the bowl of seasoned bread crumbs, then stirred in the contents of the saute pan. That done, I shook in salt, paprika, nutmeg, thyme, and basil, moistened the contents with chicken broth, and thoroughly mixed everything together. A sprinkling of dry sherry finished it off.
“Is that it for now?” asked Nate, watching as I ladled the dressing into a baking pan and covered it with aluminum foil. “Can we open presents?”
I checked the turkey thermometer, then glanced around the kitchen one last time. “That’s it, at least for a while,” I said, speaking more to myself than the children. “The bird’s doing fine. We’ll get the potatoes going an hour before the turkey’s done and shove the dressing in the oven around the same time, along with the pies. I can do the rest later,” I added, referring to various side dishes that, as at Thanksgiving, always accompanied the Kane Christmas meal.
“So it’s time?”
I smiled. “It’s time. Let’s open gifts.” Turning for the living room, I slapped my palm against my forehead. “Oh, no.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Allison.
“Shoot,” I groaned. “I forgot to get you kids anything.”
“No, you didn’t,” laughed Nate. “I saw you bringing in presents when you got here!”
“Maybe I did get you all a lump or two of coal,” I conceded. “Ali, tell your mom and Travis it’s time to rip open the gifts. And take Callie out for a quick walk before we start, okay? Her eyes are turning yellow.”
“Her eyes are always that color.”
“Just do it, Allison.”
“Sure, Pop. C’mon, Callie.”
“And don’t forget she’s in season. I have a breeding lined up for her next heat with a champion field-trial Lab, but tomorrow she’s going to the vet’s till this heat’s over. In the meantime, I don’t want her hooking up with some scraggly mutt off the beach.”
“We’re having puppies?” Allison squealed.
“Next time around,” I answered, lowering my voice. “And hold it down. I haven’t cleared it with your mom yet.”
“Rest easy, Pop,” said Allison. “Mum’s the word. Don’t open presents till I get back.”
“No problem. Besides, like I said, I don’t think you have any presents to worry about.”
“I know you, Dad,” Allison chuckled as she and Callie headed for the stairs. “No gifts on Christmas? That’ll be the day.”
Although Catheryn’s tutoring and more recently her salary from the Philharmonic had always supplemented our family income, I had occasionally experienced the financial difficulties inherent in raising a large family on policeman’s wages. Nonetheless, although Catheryn and I usually bought modest holiday gifts for each other, we considered Christmas a time for splurging on the children, and this year was no exception. In Catheryn’s absence I had scoured the stores, coming up with a wide assortment of presents for Nate, Travis, and Allison. In addition to these, Catheryn had brought home gifts for everyone from Europe-a blouse from Paris and a string of intricately crafted Venetian beads for Allison, a handmade puzzle and three prints of European castles for Nate, an antique German beer stein and reproductions of several original musical manuscripts for Travis. She had also brought home something for me.
Nate, who as usual assumed the job of gift distribution, found it toward the end of the present opening, tucked far back under the tree. By then the base of the brightly decorated fir that Catheryn and the children had erected stood littered with crumpled wrapping paper, discarded ribbon, and empty boxes. Dressed in an ill matched wardrobe of slippers, two cardigan sweaters, a bathrobe, and three new ties-gifts from the children I had immediately donned upon receiving-I slowly untied the ribbon on Catheryn’s gift to me. I glanced at her as I pulled off the paper, noting that she was wearing an antique emerald ring I had given her to commemorate Allison’s birth. Catheryn looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.
The box contained a pair of exquisite, cut-crystal champagne glasses. They were tall and slender, with a narrow gold band circling each rim. “They�
�re from Venice,” Catheryn said as I lifted one and held it to the light. “When I bought them I thought you’d be joining me,” she went on quietly, despite the children’s presence unable to keep a vestige of disappointment from her voice. “I had visions of our toasting each other in a gondola on the Grand Canal, or watching a sunset from one of the restaurants overlooking the city. Something silly like that.”
“I know,” I said, turning the delicate flute in my fingers. “I swear I wanted to be there, Kate.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Catheryn.
“Hey, Mom, here’s one to you from Dad,” said Nate, still rummaging beneath the tree. He handed a small box to Catheryn. Encouraged by his success, he continued to search for other missed items. “All right!” he exclaimed seconds later. “There’s another from Dad for each of us, too!”
Instead of opening her package, Catheryn placed it in her lap, watching as Nate distributed my final gifts to the children, each flat, identical package tightly encased in layers of my characteristically clumsy wrapping.
“They’re something I had made up,” I said. “This may not be the best time to open them.”
“You want us to wait? Are you nuts?” laughed Nate, ripping the paper from his present. “Hey, it’s a picture.”
“So’s mine,” said Travis, unwrapping an eleven-by-fourteen oak frame.
“Mine, too,” said Allison, inspecting an image of herself that I had captured several summers back. It showed her stepping from the ocean, a pair of swim fins in one hand, a gigantic wave rising behind her in the background. The shot had been taken during a storm-surf day when even most of the strongest swimmers had remained on the sand. Overcoming her fears, Allison had accompanied Tommy and me into the churning swells. For over an hour she’d taken off on waves few others had dared.
I’d exited the water minutes earlier and had knelt to take the photo of her from a low angle, lending the shot an air of heroic proportion. My lens had caught her unaware as she waded ashore, glancing up as she stood in the swirling backwash. She had a light in her eyes that I knew she hadn’t seen in the mirror for quite some time. She looked… strong.
“Hey, I remember this,” said Travis, grinning at his photo. It had been taken during a period years back when my two older sons and I had been spending every free weekend rock climbing in the Sierras, Joshua Tree National Monument, and the San Jacinto Mountains near Idyllwild. The picture depicted a younger Travis perched beneath a granite overhang-climbing rope trailing from his harness, his eyes searching the face above. “Tahquitz. Right, Dad? You, me, and Tommy on ‘The Innominate.’ I didn’t know you brought the camera that day.”
“’Course I brought the camera. That was your first big lead.”
Neither Travis nor I had climbed since Tommy’s accident. Even the topic had seemed off limits, and my unexpected gift clearly caught Travis off guard. “Man, was I scared,” he said quietly.
“That climb definitely had a high sphincter-factor,” I agreed. “But you did it, and made a damn fine job of it, too. Hell, I’d never made it past that overhang.”
“Are we talking about the same route? You said The Innominate was a piece of cake.”
“I never said it was my piece of cake. Anyhow, you found a way. That was one heck of a lead, Trav.”
“Yes, sir. It was.”
“Maybe we ought to break out the climbing gear next summer, knock off a few routes,” I suggested, carefully watching his reaction.
Travis didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to gaze at his photo. “I think I’d like that,” he said at last.
“What’s your picture, honey?” asked Catheryn, pulling Nate up beside her on the couch.
“It’s me and Callie when she was a puppy,” Nate answered, holding the oak frame in his lap. “Look how small she was.”
I looked over Catheryn’s shoulder as she examined Nate’s present. In the photo, Nate and Callie were sitting on the downstairs swing. Laughing, eyes squeezed shut in boyish delight, Nate was holding the exuberant three-month-old Labrador in his arms, vainly trying to keep her from licking his face. “Kindred spirits,” Catheryn said.
“What’s that mean, Mom?” asked Nate.
“It means you’re alike.”
“Me and Callie?” Nate studied the picture. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”
Catheryn smiled. “No, Nate, it’s not. It’s a good thing. I love you for it.”
Nate slid closer to his mother, still staring pensively at his photograph. Across the room, Allison and Travis were each also contemplating my gift.
Finally Allison turned to me. “This is the way you see us, isn’t it?”
“It’s the way you are,” I answered. “All three of you.”
Abruptly, Travis realized the intent of my gift. I could see it in his eyes. All at once Nate did, too. Lost in thought, all three children again lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the images I had given them.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?” asked Catheryn.
No one answered.
Finally I spoke, but not to Catheryn. “Ali, you and Nate haven’t told her yet, have you?”
Not looking up, Allison shook her head.
“Why not? We had a deal.”
Allison glanced at Nate. “We wanted to wait till after Christmas.”
“Tell me what?” asked Catheryn.
Again, no one answered.
More curious than ever, Catheryn turned to me. Before she could speak, the telephone rang in the next room. Shaking her head, she left to answer it, returning a moment later. She handed me the phone. “It’s for you,” she said, her voice flat.
I raised the receiver. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
I strode from the room. “Damn, Van Owen,” I hissed once I’d reached the kitchen. “Why are you calling?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but something important has come up. I know it’s Christmas, but I need to talk with you right away. Can you come over?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Please,” Lauren begged, her voice sounding close to panic.
“What’s wrong?”
“I… I need to talk with you about that publicity idea you came up with. The one your superiors liked so much. You know, having a Channel Two camera team in the task force briefings.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m referring to your idea of embedding our news team in the task force meetings, that’s what,” said Lauren, an undercurrent of panic rising again in her voice. “I just got approval from our bureau chief. But if we’re going to start coverage tomorrow, there’re still a number of things we need to work out,” she rushed on. “Right now, as a matter of fact. I don’t like it any better than you, but that’s the way it is. Do you understand what I’m saying, Kane?”
A chill ran up my spine. “I understand. I’ll be right over.”
I hung up without saying good-bye. Next I dialed the West Los Angeles station and requested that a patrol unit be dispatched to Lauren’s condo, advising that they take extreme caution. I gave Lauren’s address from memory, a detail not lost on Catheryn, who had moved to stand behind me in the kitchen.
As I hung up Catheryn regarded me coldly, still holding the unopened gift I had given her. “Going somewhere?”
Hurriedly, I began pulling off my hodgepodge of sweaters and ties. “I have to.”
“Why not let someone else handle it?”
“I can’t. A woman’s in trouble and it’s probably because of me.”
I went to the bedroom and quickly strapped on my shoulder rig, checking the Beretta’s ammunition clip at the same time. Catheryn was still standing in the kitchen when I returned. “If I’m not back for dinner, eat without me,” I said.
Catheryn followed me out to the street. “Dan, let someone else handle it,” she repeated.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“What are
you talking about?”
“I know who that call was from.”
I turned. “I… I was going to tell you.”
“Do you love her?”
Impatiently, I shook my head. “Can’t we-”
“-talk about it tomorrow? That’s always your answer.”
“Kate…”
Catheryn stepped closer. “All right. As you won’t answer my first question, I’ll ask an easier one. Do you still love me?”
“That sounds odd, coming from you,” I said bitterly. “Love? I’m not sure what that means anymore. When I think of you and Arthur-”
Again Catheryn cut me off. “There’s one thing we’ve always had between us, Dan. We promised we would always be faithful. You remember that promise, don’t you?”
“I…”
“Look at me,” Catheryn commanded.
I found her eyes with mine.
“There’s nothing between Arthur and me,” she said.
“But-”
“There’s never been anyone but you. God help me, I’ve never loved anyone but you.”
I heard her words and knew them for the truth. With a lurch of abysmal, unutterable shame, I lowered my head. “Kate, I have to leave. I think Lauren’s in danger. When I get back I-”
“That’s not good enough this time.” Staring coldly, Catheryn returned my present, thrusting the small package into my hands. “Take your gift. I don’t want anything from you anymore. I never thought I’d say this, but right now I truly despise you.”
“Kate, please-”
“One more thing,” Catheryn continued, her voice turning hard as granite. “When it’s over between you and her, don’t come back.”
