by Glenn Beck
“I don’t get it,” I whispered.
“It’s the remaining balance of my suit account. The check came in last week. You deserve every penny of it, Rachel. You’ve earned it.”
Although I thought my tears had run dry, I found myself clinging to Max as I sobbed. At some point he held out an arm for Lily, and she snuggled right in between us, completing a trio that vacillated between laughter and tears. Eventually, Max gave me a fortifying squeeze and stepped back.
“My sister lives in Flagstaff, you know.” He nodded at the envelope and the unexpected address of the bank. “She’s expecting you. You don’t have to stay—in fact, you don’t have to go at all if you don’t want to. The money can be transferred easily enough. But if you’d like, Meredith lives on a ranch just outside the city. It’s beautiful there. Warm. She’d love the company until you’ve got your feet underneath you.”
I was past the point of trying to assign words to everything I was thinking and feeling, so I caught Lily by the hand and shrugged one shoulder as if to say, “What do you think?”
“I’ve never been to Arizona,” she said seriously. “But Katie’s grandma lives there and she told me once that it smells like oranges. Does it smell like oranges?”
“The whole state,” Max assured her. “And Meredith has her own tree. A pair of them, actually. And a couple of lemon trees, too.”
Lily seemed to consider the possibility for a moment. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded quickly, accepting our adventure with a courage that I couldn’t help but admire.
“Okay,” I said, laughter bubbling up inside me. “I guess we’re on our way to Arizona.”
“Perfect.” Max reached a hand toward Lily and rested his palm against her cheek. “You won’t have to wait until summer to wear your dress.”
“But we never even started it.” Lily shook her head.
“I think you and your mom will have plenty of time to sew something beautiful. You’ll have to send me pictures.”
We loaded the backseat and the storage compartment of the SUV from the floor to the roof with Max’s carefully packed boxes. Only minutes before I had felt like I was leaving everything I knew and loved behind, but Max’s indescribable gift had turned what felt like an exile into a grand adventure. We were taking a life with us. A wonderful life filled with meaning and possibility. Filled with hope.
But none of that negated the fact that it was hard to go, and after countless hugs and well wishes, Max had to shoo me and Lily out of his shop. I climbed reluctantly into the SUV and rolled down my window so that Max could lean in and give me last-minute instructions and directions. I thought we were finally ready to pull away when Max dug around in his pocket and produced a scrap of paper.
“There’s just one more thing,” he said, handing it to me.
And though I couldn’t imagine that there was more, as I unfolded the little square of paper I knew that he had saved the best gift for last.
“I never wanted to take the place of your father, Rachel.” Max gave my arm one last squeeze. “In fact, I always hoped that God would use me to lead you back to him.
I blinked at the address of a facility in a town less than an hour’s drive from Everton. The Heritage Home.
“After all this time …” I breathed.
My daddy was just down the road.
It was a pretty establishment. Crisp white with neat, black trim and a sweeping front porch that gave it the look of a plantation. I drove through the roundabout and parked in one of the empty spaces as close to the entrance as I could get. The snow seemed to be getting deeper by the minute, and I was starting to worry that we would get snowed in. This would have to be a short visit. Short and sweet. And yet, even as I resigned myself to a quick good-bye, a part of me trembled at the thought of being close enough to touch him. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let go.
“I don’t know what to expect,” I said, turning the SUV off and twisting in my seat to regard Lily. “I haven’t seen my father in over a decade. He could be sick or confused. He …” I trailed off, trying to imagine my father as the aged, decrepit man that I had just described. The image wouldn’t come into focus. I lifted a shoulder as if I could shrug off the sad likeness. “Maybe you should wait by the front desk.”
Lily’s eyes sparked at the suggestion. “Are you kidding me? This is what I wanted, remember? I’m going to meet my grandfather.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so excited to meet him,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not like you grew up with wonderful stories of him or anything.”
The look on Lily’s face pulled me up short. She seemed genuinely confused. “All of your stories of him are wonderful, Mom. Don’t you see? He tried so hard. When he sewed your dress, when he bought you those cookies, when he played with you in the snow …” She laughed a little. “He didn’t necessarily get it right, but he must have cared about you a lot to try.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had never really considered the fact that my dad did provide for me. He tried to be a dad—to show me that he loved me. There was the time he bought a book on hair braiding and attempted to learn how to French braid my hair. He was all thumbs and ended up creating a tangled mess that required half a bottle of detangler to undo. And the time I asked him to pick up a tube of eyeliner for me. He came back from the pharmacy with five different packages—each one a different brand and hue because he wanted to get it just right. Once Dad brought me a kitten because he thought I would like the company, and when the sweet fuzzball ran away he spent hours wandering around outside with a flashlight whispering, “Here kitty, kitty,” into the dark. All at once a host of memories crowded and clamored for attention, and I put my hands to my head to press them back.
I had told Lily all about the quiet nights and the missed conversations, but the flip side of that particular coin was that my father worked very hard to give me a good life. When his body was weary and his spirit broken, he picked himself up every single day and gave himself over to a job that offered little more than a humble wage and the guarantee that he would be old before his time. I often thought my childhood was hard, but the truth was, I had wanted for nothing. My dad made sure of that.
Had I misunderstood everything? Or was Lily’s youth and optimism painting my past with broad, rosy strokes? I wanted to ask my daughter more, to pick apart the grain of truth that she had offered up, but we simply didn’t have time. The snow was accumulating on the windshield in swaths of winter white. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Let me go in first. I need a little time alone with him before I introduce you.”
“Fine.” Lily nodded once. She stuck out her hand and we shook to seal the deal.
It was only seven o’ clock in the evening, but The Heritage Home was enjoying a very silent night. A sacred hush seemed to have fallen over the place, almost as if the residents were all small children who were holding their breath in anticipation of Christmas morning. Our footsteps echoed on the tile floor of the entryway, disrupting the unearthly calm.
“Merry Christmas! Welcome to The Heritage Home.” A perky young woman stood from her perch behind a large reception desk as we approached. “You don’t look familiar to me—are you here to visit one of our guests?”
“Mitch—” I had to stop and clear my throat. “Mitchell Clark.” His name felt peculiar on my tongue, foreign and familiar all at once, and I had to repress the urge to run. Did I want to run away? Or did I want to run down the hallways, calling for him until my father stepped from one of the rooms? I couldn’t tell.
But before I could explore the snarl of my conflicting emotions, I realized that something in the woman’s countenance had shifted at the sound of his name. She smiled at me a little sadly and said, “I should have seen it. You look just like him, you know.”
“No, I don’t.” I didn’t mean to be defensive, and I hurried to explain. “Everyone used to tell me I looked like my mother.”
She lifted a hand in apology. “Well, you de
finitely have your father’s eyes.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to.
“Anyway,” she knitted her fingers together and took a deep breath. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“What?” The word fell off my tongue and I reached for Lily’s hand. Held it tight. “What do you mean?”
The woman flapped her hands weakly. “I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I? Don’t let me scare you away! It’s just … Oh, I don’t know how to explain. Let me call him.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and grabbed the handset of a telephone, tapping in a few numbers.
“My dad?” I asked. “Are you calling him?”
She shook her head and gave me and Lily her back.
I glanced at my daughter, more than a little unnerved by our bizarre reception, but Lily wasn’t watching the drama unfold. As I followed her gaze, I realized her attention was completely absorbed by a massive Christmas tree that stood in the lobby. It towered over us, and if the scent in the air could be believed, it was real.
“May I?” Lily asked, looking up at me with wonder in her eyes.
I smiled faintly and let her go, thankful that for the moment at least she was distracted from the strange scene that was taking place behind the reception desk. The woman was gesturing wildly, nodding her head, and talking excitedly into the phone. After a couple of minutes she hung up and spun to give me a crooked grin.
“He’ll be here in a jiffy.”
“He?”
But instead of answering, she pretended not to hear me and began to stack and restack papers that she tipped out of a plastic filing box.
I heaved a sigh and joined Lily at the tree, making a show of studying the hodgepodge of mismatched ornaments so that I wouldn’t seem so nervous. The truth was, my heart was struggling in my chest, flopping around like a fish out of water. I felt wholly out of my element, panicky and downright terrified of what awaited me in the depths of this alien land.
I wasn’t accustomed to nursing homes. My nose wrinkled against the scent of disinfectant and age, the way that the stringent hospital air mingled with the fragrance of the Christmas tree. And the silence made me antsy—it was an awkward stillness, punctuated by eerie sounds I couldn’t place but that I was sure heralded a life about to end without fanfare. Maybe even my father’s life.
Was he confined to a wheelchair? Hooked up to machines? Would he curse at me for never once coming to see him even though I knew he was hurting? There were too many questions and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know the answers. Suddenly, I was overcome by an urge to leave. To grab Lily by the hand and bolt for the door before I made an even bigger mess of a messed-up life.
But it was too late for that now. My skin prickled as someone laid a hand on my shoulder.
“Rachel?”
I stiffened. That wasn’t my dad’s voice … “Uncle Cooper?” I whispered, turning around.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Two words and I was undone. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was in his arms, hanging on for dear life. How many years had it been since I had seen Cooper? Surely, I was a little girl the last time we met. He was so much older than I remembered him, wrinkled and white, but his back was straight and I knew by the way he smiled at me that his mind was perfectly sound. My dad’s older brother was still a man of great integrity and poise.
“Uncle Cooper, what are you doing here?” I asked, backing away so I could drink him in with my eyes. “I thought you were living in New York.”
He tipped his head as if to tell me New York was a lifetime ago. “After I retired from the firm I found that the city didn’t much suit me anymore. Then your dad had his stroke, and it just made sense that these two bachelor brothers should spend their final years together.”
I narrowed my eyes, looking for any physical sign that my uncle needed to be in a care facility. He was eight years older than my dad, but as far as I could tell, Cooper looked fit and healthy for his age. “Why here?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being too forward in spite of all the years between us.
“We’re just down the road from the best cancer hospital in the Midwest.”
“Cancer?”
“Leukemia. They gave me six months to live.”
“Oh, Cooper …”
“Honey, that was four years ago.” Cooper winked.
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have loved to know that you had left New York … that you were battling cancer …” I faltered, knowing that the wall between us was one that I had built. And yet …
“When I moved back, your dad made it very clear that you wanted your space. He said, ‘If we love her, we have to respect her wishes. We have to let her go.’ It might have been faulty logic—and believe me, it nearly killed your father to abide by his own edict—but he believed that one day you’d come around. And, well,” he shrugged almost sheepishly, “you’re here now.”
It was exactly what Max had said: You’re here now. One season of my life had rolled into the next and I finally found myself back where I began. Back where I belonged.
I put a hand to my forehead and tried to make sense of all the information that was coming at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”
“Me, too.” Cooper smiled and looked past me, his expression softening as he regarded the child behind me.
Throwing up my arms, I blew a breath through my lips. “Oh, Uncle Cooper. What am I thinking? This is my daughter, Lily.”
Lily was half hidden behind me, but when I introduced her to Cooper she shot him a disarming smirk. “I didn’t know I had an uncle,” she said.
“Great-uncle.” Cooper threw back his shoulders as if to emphasize that he fit the description. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Lily.”
“Very nice to meet you,” she said, offering him her hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips. Lily’s cheeks shone pink, but it was a delighted blush.
I glanced between them in a bit of a daze. In a very short time my world had tilted on its axis, and I would have loved nothing more than to cuddle down in one of the plush couches and talk with Uncle Cooper for hours. Even though I hadn’t seen him much as a kid, my legendary big city uncle was a bright spot in my life. He was a wonderful listener, full of wisdom, and I could really use his sage counsel. But seeing him stirred up something else in me: an understanding that I had to see my dad. Now.
“He’s here,” Cooper said as if he could read my mind. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“What?”
Cooper shook his head. “You’ll see. It’s too hard to explain. But I think this will help.”
I hadn’t realized that Cooper was carrying anything until he handed me a fat manila envelope with a sense of ceremony. It was labeled with my name and the address of Cyrus’s house in Everton, but I couldn’t tell what was inside. Another envelope? I thought. My night seemed full of hidden magic.
“It’s letters,” Cooper explained so I didn’t have to undo the clasp. “Dozens of them. Your dad started writing them shortly after the stroke, and he hasn’t stopped for years. The first ones he was able to write, but as things got worse he dictated and I wrote. There’s a notebook that I think he means for you to have, but these are the letters that I’ve written for him. I put each one in a separate envelope and dated it so you have some sort of pattern to follow, but I’m sure they’re very repetitive. He’s been pretty confused of late.”
“Dad’s been writing me letters?” I clutched the oversized envelope to my chest, uncertain how to respond. “Why didn’t you send them?”
“I didn’t know if you would read them. I wanted to wait until you were ready. Are you ready, Rachel?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a second, then gave him an earnest nod.
“He’s sick, Rachel,” Cooper began to explain. “It started pretty much right after the stroke. He doesn’t remember everything—”
“I’m ready,” I interrupted. I d
idn’t know if I could handle all the nuts and bolts, the long list of ailments that I was suddenly sure afflicted the father I remembered as strong and whole. The last time I saw my dad we were barely on speaking terms, but he was healthy. And now, poised on the brink of finally seeing him again, I wasn’t sure that I could reconcile the man in my mind with the person Cooper was trying to prepare me to meet. It was too much. There was only one thing that mattered: “I want to see my dad.”
“Of course, honey. He wants to see you, too.”
CHAPTER 18
MITCH
Christmas Eve, 7:30 P.M.
Mitch is startled by a knock at the door, and his heart stumbles over a bubble of sudden anticipation. He’s waiting for something, for someone, and though his mind can’t remember, his heart does. Mitch turns from the window and smooths a hand over his tuft of downy hair, hoping. But the woman who peeks inside his room is unfamiliar. He can’t help but deflate.
She’s lovely, to be sure. Hair the color of burnt chestnuts and eyes that gleam like troubled water even from all the way across the room. But there is a weight on her shoulders that makes her bend beneath an unwieldy burden, and the expression on her face is indecipherable. Hesitation? Fear? Hope? Mitch isn’t accustomed to such complexity in his nurses. Nor is he used to seeing the aides out of uniform. The tailored wool coat the woman is wearing is hardly standard issue.
“May I come in?” she asks. The request is so quiet it is almost a whisper. Mitch fights a wave of irritation.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he tells her.
She straightens up a little and closes the door behind her with a soft click. “You are?”
Mitch merely nods, and returns his attention to the window where the snow still falls in lazy clumps. The dim room has turned the glass into a mirror, and in the gray reflection he can see the woman behind him pick at the buttons on her coat. She seems upset, but Mitch doesn’t know how he can do anything about that. Besides, can’t she see he’s busy?
