“I understand,” I said. “I knew someone who had a gambling problem. It almost cost him his life.”
“It’s a pernicious evil,” she said, slowly shaking her head.
“Is that when he took his life?”
“No. He called me every day for the next month, begging for a second chance. Chris missed him. The truth is, I missed him. I finally told him that if he’d promise to never gamble again and get professional help, I’d take him back. He agreed. He started attending a Gamblers Anonymous group in the area.
“Things started to get back on track. Rex started to bring home more money and we started saving a little again. After six months he was even leading one of the GA groups in the area.
“We had our life back. At least for a while. Then one day I got a visit from the Vegas police. Rex had jumped from the seventh floor of a casino parking garage.”
“I’m sorry.”
She let out a long sigh. “After I identified the body, I came back and started checking our accounts. In all, Rex had maxed out fourteen credit cards, taken a second mortgage on our home and maxed out his expense account at work. I figured he’d lost more than four hundred thousand dollars. A few weeks later I found out that he hadn’t paid our taxes in two years.
“The IRS came after me of course. I was bankrupt. Chris and I lost our home and our car. I sold what I could, found an apartment and got a job.” She looked at me with pained eyes. “You think these things only happen to people on television, but they happen to real people. And they happen all the time. You just don’t hear about it. My husband was the fourth person to jump from that parking garage that month.”
“How old was Chris when this happened?”
“He was four.”
“No wonder he’s having problems.”
“Yeah, it’s no surprise.” After a moment she said, “You know, I didn’t really hate you. I wanted to get to know you better. But the frightened half of me just kept shutting me down. I just didn’t want to trust again.”
“I can understand why you wouldn’t trust.”
“Trust,” she said again, like the word was sour on her tongue. She stirred her drink. “You know what I hated most of all about it? Even more than all the money he lost? Maybe even more than his suicide? It was his dishonesty. He hid everything from me. And I was stupid enough to trust him.”
“Trust isn’t stupid.”
“Sometimes it is.” She took a slow sip from her coffee, set down her cup and wiped her eyes. “So a very long answer to a short question.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’ve never told anyone at work,” she said. “I just don’t think they need to know.”
“They don’t,” I said.
She took another sip of her drink, then asked, “Have you ever been married?”
“No. Almost.” I looked into her eyes. “There’s something you don’t know about me. I used to have a lot of money. But I lost it all.”
“How did you lose it?”
“You name it. Taxes, the stock market,” I said. “Mostly bad judgment. I was here, in Vegas, with the girl I thought I was going to marry, when I found out I was bankrupt. When she found out I was broke, she left.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachael said.
“Me too,” I said. “In retrospect, I suppose it’s for the better. I never would have known who she really was if I hadn’t lost everything.”
“It still hurts to lose someone,” Rachael said. “I still miss Rex. I wish we had just remained poor. We were happy then. Our happiest time was when we were struggling together, trying to make ends meet.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s exactly why Candace left me.”
“Her name is Candace?”
I nodded.
“That’s a pretty name.”
“She’s a pretty girl. But she didn’t want to go through those times. She said it would ruin us.”
“Not if you love each other,” Rachael said.
“That’s a good answer,” I replied. I looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments then asked, “Are you lonely?”
She smiled sadly, then replied, “Chris keeps me so busy, and with work …”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
She smiled a little. “In the worst way.”
“Me too. So, what are you doing for Christmas?”
CHAPTER
Forty
I dreamt last night that I had gone home to my father’s house for
Christmas. But even though the lights were on, the doors were locked.
I rang the doorbell and knocked, but no one answered. I looked
through the front window. The house was crowded with people
and presents. There was music and laughter. In the center of it all,
I could see my father. He turned and looked at me, then turned away.
No matter how many times I knocked, he wouldn’t open the door.
He wouldn’t let me in.
Luke Crisp’s Diary
Rachael and I decided to spend Christmas together. As we talked that night, I learned that she hadn’t bought much for Chris for Christmas. She couldn’t afford to.
“I think we should go out Christmas shopping,” I said.
“I really can’t afford to buy anything more.”
“I know, but I can. I got this big bonus at my other job.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Rachael said, “but you really don’t need to do that.”
“I have no one to give anything to. What kind of Christmas is that? You’ll be doing me a favor.”
A smile crossed her lips. “Okay. But only a few things.”
I picked Rachael up early the morning of Christmas Eve and we went to the mall. Shopping on Christmas Eve is never safe, but when it falls on a Saturday, it’s practically hand-to-hand combat. In spite of the insanity, we managed to get everything Chris had asked for and then some. Afterward we stopped for lunch.
“The malls were crazy,” Rachael said. “People are so dumb to leave their shopping to the last minute.”
“By ‘people,’” I said, “you’re including us, right?”
She laughed. “I guess so.”
“So, dummy, what do you want to do tonight?”
“I was planning on baking Christmas cookies and taking them to neighbors.”
“Sounds fun. What about Christmas dinner tomorrow? What should we make?”
“We?” Rachael asked. “Can you cook?”
“I’m a terrific cook,” I said. “I make a mean three-cheese lasagna. I don’t even need the recipe. I’ve got it up here.” I pointed to my head.
“I love lasagna,” Rachael said. “So does Christopher.”
“I’ve got an idea. How about we have an Italian Christmas dinner? Lasagna, bruschetta, cantaloupe with prosciutto. I’ll cook.”
She looked at me in amazement. “Really? You’ll make Christmas dinner?”
“The whole thing. You don’t even have to help.”
“May I help if I want to?”
“If you’re dying to.”
“I might be,” she said. “It sounds fun.”
“Great. Italian it is. This will be a Christmas to remember.”
After lunch we drove to the supermarket, which was nearly as crowded as the mall. It was the same market where I’d invited Rachael and Chris to pizza and incurred Rachael’s wrath. We bought premade butter-cream frosting and sprinkles for the cookies, lasagna noodles, hamburger and ricotta, cheddar and parmesan cheese, a bottle of wine, a loaf of Italian bread, garlic, cantaloupe and prosciutto crudo, sun-dried tomatoes, goat cheese and crostini.
“What is this?” Rachael asked, looking at the prosciutto.
“Prosciutto crudo. It’s Italian ham.”
“It doesn’t look like ham.”
“That’s because it’s raw. It’s crudo.”
“How do you cook it?”
I smiled. “You don’t. You eat it like that.”
> “Raw?”
“Think of it as pig sushi.”
She stared at me as if trying to determine if I was teasing her or not. “You’re making this up.”
“No, I’m not. It’s good. Sixty million Italians can’t be wrong. Unless you’re talking about politics. Or plumbing. Anyway, it’s really good with cantaloupe. Trust me. You’ll like it.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll trust you.”
We drove back to Rachael’s apartment, put away the groceries and hid the presents we’d bought in the hall closet, then picked up Chris from the neighbors a couple doors down the hallway. Chris ran and jumped on me when he saw me.
“He’s starved for male attention,” Rachael said, and then added, “I guess that makes two of us.”
Chris and I played on his Playstation while Rachael made the cookie dough. She rolled out the dough on her counter, then we cut out the cookies with cookie cutters shaped like candy canes and holly leaves and laid them out on baking sheets. After they were baked, we let them cool, then frosted them with the white butter-cream frosting, and Chris decorated the cookies with red and green sprinkles. We put most of the cookies on plates (after eating at least a dozen of them ourselves) and delivered them to Rachael’s neighbors in the apartment complex. Then we drove over to Carlos and Carmen’s house.
Carlos answered the door. I introduced him to Rachael and Chris, then he invited us inside. Carmen was in the kitchen cooking. Two of their grandchildren were at her feet. “Look, kids,” Carlos said, “Mr. Crisp brought some Christmas cookies.”
The children jumped up in excitement, screaming in unison, “I want one! I want one!”
Chris held out the plate for them.
“Just one for now,” Carmen warned.
“Are these Duane’s kids?” I asked.
Carlos nodded. “Yes, he’s not feeling well tonight. Tasha’s at home taking care of him.” I saw sadness come into his eyes. I didn’t ask anything more about Duane.
CHAPTER
Forty-One
Oftentimes, the greatest peace comes of surrender.
Luke Crisp’s Diary
Carlos and Carmen asked us to stay and visit, and it was after eleven when we finally got back to Rachael’s. Chris fell asleep on the ride back and I carried him up to the apartment. Rachael had me put him in her bed. “He needs his pills,” she said. She left the room, returning with two pills and a cup of water.
“He takes them at night?”
“Two at night,” she said. “Three in the morning.” She lifted him up. “Come on, son,” she said. “Take your pills.” He woke enough to swallow the tablets, then she helped him into his pajamas, kissed him and tucked him in bed. He immediately fell back asleep.
Rachael shut the bedroom door, and we took the presents out of the hall closet and wrapped them in the front room. Then we laid them under the Christmas tree—a small Douglas fir strung with silver garlands and small, blinking, multicolored lights. The presents filled the entire corner of the room. We sat on the couch and looked at the tree.
“You said you were only going to buy a few things,” she said.
“I lied.”
“You certainly did,” she said. “You’re on Santa’s bad list.”
“That’s certain,” I said. I looked at the tree and sighed. “There are few things as peaceful as a Christmas tree.” I leaned back into the sofa. “The Christmas before my mother died, I asked her if I could sleep on the couch in front of the tree.”
“What did she say?”
“She said yes.” Rachael smiled. I looked at her. “It’s nice to see you smile.”
Her smile grew a little more. “It’s nice to want to smile.” She looked into my eyes. “This has been a good day.”
“Me too.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “I’m tired.”
She sighed happily and looked at the tree. “Look at all those presents. He’s going to be so excited.” Her smile softened. “It’s been a long time since he’s had a good Christmas.” She turned to me. “The Christmas after Rex died, I asked Chris what he wanted for Christmas. He told me that Santa was bringing his daddy back. I told him that that wasn’t possible. But he had seen some movie at school where a little girl had asked Santa for her daddy back and he miraculously came back. He said to me, ‘You just have to believe, Mommy.’“
“Oh no,” I said.
“He was only five years old. It broke my heart.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said.
“I’m all he has.” After a few minutes she asked, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. I’m an only child.”
“Me too,” Rachael said. “Is your father still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you spending Christmas with him?”
“He …” I wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s not talking to me anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too. He was my best friend.”
We sat a little while longer in silence, the tree lights illuminating the room. I’m not sure of the hour, it was late and I was exhausted, but it felt so good to be with her I didn’t want to leave even though I kept dozing off. At one point I woke myself snoring. Rachael laughed. “You’re tired.”
“Two jobs is killing me,” I said. “I better get home while I can still drive.”
Rachael frowned. “Okay,” she said. She stood and took my hand to pull me up from the couch. Instead, I pulled her back and she fell on top of me, laughing. Then she stopped, our faces inches apart, our eyes locked on each other. “Will you kiss me?” she asked quietly.
I pulled her into me and we softly kissed. Her lips were warm and moist and tasted of candy cane lip gloss. After a minute she pulled away, her eyes still closed, as if she was still savoring what we’d just shared. When she opened her eyes, she said nothing, but stood, looking at me with a kind of sweet reverence. She took my hand again, and this time I stood and we walked to the door still holding hands.
At the door she leaned into me and we kissed again, this time much longer. When we finally separated, Rachael put her cheek against my shoulder and I pulled her into me. Her body felt so warm and soft against mine. After a few minutes she stepped back from me and looked into my eyes. In spite of the hour, her eyes were bright. “Merry Christmas, Luke.”
“Merry Christmas,” I said.
“What time are you coming over tomorrow?”
“Whenever you want. Do you want me to come over early?”
She nodded happily. “It would be fun to have you here when Chris opens his presents.”
“What time will Chris be up?”
She grinned. “Three,” she said. “But I make him wait until the sun’s up.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be over by sunrise.”
She put her head back against my shoulder. “May I ask you something?” she said.
“Sure.”
“Am I really as mean as a wild boar?”
I laughed. “No. You’re more like a piglet.”
She playfully hit me. “Thanks.” She leaned back and quickly kissed me again, then stepped back. “Good night.”
“Good night, Rachael. Have pleasant dreams.”
A warm smile blanketed her face. “I will.”
I stepped out into the hallway, looked back at her once more. She smiled and waved and shut the door. I walked out to my car with a big smile on my face.
CHAPTER
Forty-Two
I feel as excited as a child on Christmas morning—
and probably for many of the same reasons.
Luke Crisp’s Diary
Morning came early. I was probably just as excited to wake as Chris was. I was excited to see Rachael again. In the haze of my waking I began to believe that I had dreamt the last moments of our night together, until I fully woke. No, we had actually kissed. I could still taste her lip gloss on m
y lips. I quickly showered and dressed and drove over to Rachael’s apartment as the first streaks of dawn lit the morning sky.
Rachael answered the door in her robe. While I was still in the hallway, she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Chris hadn’t come into the front room, then we kissed again.
“Do you know how good that feels?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She took my hand and led me to her bedroom, dropping my hand at the door. Chris was awake, sitting upright on the bed.
“Hi, Luke!” Chris said.
“Hi, buddy,” I said. “Ready to see if Santa came?”
“Not so fast,” Rachael said. “We have a tradition. We read from the Bible before we go out and see what Santa has brought.”
“Your name is Luke,” Chris said. “Just like in the Bible.”
“Just like it,” I said.
We took turns reading from the second chapter of Luke from verses 1 to 14. The millisecond I finished reading the last verse, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men,” Chris shouted, “Let’s go!”
Rachael said, “Wait, let me get my camera.”
“Hurry, Mom,” Chris said. “It’s torture.”
Rachael went into the front room and stood there, ready to snap Chris’s picture as he walked in. “All right,” she said. “Come on.”
Chris ran down the short hall. He stopped at the edge of the front room, staring at all the presents. “No way,” he said.
Rachael and I sat on the couch watching Chris open his presents. Each opening elicited an excited response, followed by “Mom! Luke! Look at this!”
When he’d finished opening all his presents, he collected them all in a big pile, then sat down and began playing with a box of LEGOs.
“I’m going to make breakfast,” Rachael said. “Do you like blueberry muffins?”