Lost December

  “Of course.”

  As we stepped into the home’s living room, Carmen walked into the room. “Luke!” she said. She hugged me, then turned to my father. “Are you Luke’s father?”

  “Yes, I’m Carl,” he said. “May I have a seat?”

  “Of course,” Carlos said, motioning to a faded, green velvet-upholstered armchair near the center of the room. “Please, sit.”

  My father sat down on the edge of the chair, while Carlos and Carmen sat next to each other on a sofa just a few yards in front of him. I sat on a smaller upholstered chair to the side.

  My father looked down for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then up at Carlos. “I came to thank you for saving my boy.”

  “I didn’t really. He …”

  My father stopped him. “Luke’s told me everything. You were there when my son needed you. I’d like to repay the favor. I understand your oldest son is ill. Tell me about it.”

  Carlos glanced over at Carmen, then back at my father. “He has cardiomyopathy,” he said. “It’s a disease of the heart.”

  “A very serious disease,” my father said. He turned to Carmen. “How is he doing?”

  “He’s still with us,” Carmen said.

  My father looked at them for a moment. “I’d like to keep it that way. A golf buddy of mine, Dr. Marion Nelson, is the head of cardiology at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Phoenix. I’ve told him about your son’s condition and he’s prepared to admit him at any time.”

  Carlos and Carmen looked a little uneasy. “Thank you, sir,” Carlos said, “but my son doesn’t have insurance.”

  “Everything’s taken care of,” my father said. “It’s on my tab.”

  The two of them stared at my father in disbelief. I knew that my father wanted to personally thank them, but I had known nothing about the extent of his plan. I looked at my father and smiled. Then my father stood. He took two business cards from inside his coat pocket and handed them to Carlos. “That’s the doctor’s card and mine. He’s expecting your call. All your son needs to do is make an appointment and show up.”

  Carmen burst out in tears. “Bless you!”

  Carlos also began to cry. He and Carmen hugged, then Carlos said to my father, “Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Crisp. Thank you.”

  “Carl,” my father said, smiling. “The gratitude is mine. If Dr. Nelson says your son can fly, just call my assistant and I’ll have her book your flight and arrange a car to take you to the medical center.” He looked over at me and smiled. My eyes were now also filled with tears and I nodded my approval.

  “Shall we go, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carlos and Carmen walked us out to the front walk. Carlos kept looking down at the cards and Carmen kept hugging me. “Someone pinch me,” Carmen said. “God bless you, Carl. God bless you.”

  “He has,” my father said.

  Once we were in the car, I said to my father, “You didn’t tell me that you were going to do that.”

  A broad, almost childish grin crossed his face. “Fun, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Yes it was.”

  The driver looked back at us. “The airport, sir?”

  “No,” my father said. “There’s one more thing I need to see.”

  CHAPTER

  Fifty

  The changing seasons of circumstance

  can melt away stretches of our lives

  like frost in the warmth of spring.

  This was my lost December.

  Luke Crisp’s Diary

  My father and I stood above the concrete embankment looking down into the mouth of the flood tunnel.

  “You lived in there?” he asked softly.

  “Home sweet home,” I said. “About a hundred yards in from the entrance, I made myself a cozy little cardboard nest.”

  My father was quiet as he looked down at the tunnel, and I wondered what was going through his mind. Then, after a minute or so, he asked, “What did you learn, son?”

  I looked down into the gulley for a moment, then back at him. “I learned to be grateful.”

  He nodded and I could tell that my answer pleased him. “Anything else?”

  A large smile crossed my face. “I learned that my father’s love was unfaltering.”

  His eyes welled up. “Unfaltering, unconditional, unceasing.” He turned and looked at me, his eyes focused on mine. “Never, ever, ever forget that.” He put his arm around me. “Are you ready to go home?”

  “Almost,” I said. “Almost.”

  CHAPTER

  Fifty-One

  I don’t know what’s behind the curtain,

  only that I need to find out.

  Luke Crisp’s Diary

  My father turned to me as I got out of the car in front of Crisp’s. “I haven’t been to 317 for nearly twenty years.”

  “It’s a good center,” I said. “Wayne’s done a good job.”

  “Wayne’s done an exceptional job. His store is ranked second in volume in Nevada and twelfth in the western region.”

  “How do you keep all these figures in your head?” I asked.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” he replied.

  I opened the door for my father, then followed him in. Colby greeted us as we walked inside. “Luke!”

  Colby reminded me of a puppy. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. “Colby!”

  “I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

  “You think I’d leave without saying goodbye?”

  “Nah.”

  I looked around. “Is Rachael here?”

  He shook his head. “No. She hasn’t come back yet. Wayne can’t get a hold of her.” He suddenly looked at my father with a peculiar expression, and I suspected that he was wondering if my father really was who he thought he was. He turned back to me. “Hey, did Wayne know that you were coming?”

  “No,” I said, as my father and I walked around the counter. “We thought we’d surprise him.” We walked back to Wayne’s office. His door was shut and I knocked on it.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I opened the door. “Anybody home?” I said. Wayne was eating lunch at his desk. His face lit up when he saw me. “Luke!”

  I opened the door the rest of the way. “Hey, buddy.”

  He stood up and walked to me, extending his hand. “It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe you did it. How did you get Price to change his mind?”

  “I didn’t,” I said.

  He looked at me quizzically. “Huh?”

  Just then my father walked into the doorway. Wayne immediately stiffened, like an enlisted man standing at attention for an officer. My father smiled at his reaction. “At ease, soldier,” he said. My father put out his hand. “How are you, Wayne?”

  “Mr. Crisp. I’m terrific, thank you.” They shook.

  “It’s been how many years since we had our talk here?”

  “Twenty-three and a half. Give or take a few months.”

  “You were a good investment. You’ve done a great job with this store. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. And especially for taking such good care of my son. He speaks highly of you.”

  “He’s a good man. You should be proud of him,” Wayne said. “A chip off the old block.”

  “I am proud of him,” he said looking at me. “Always have been.”

  “Wayne,” I said, “do you know where Rachael is?”

  “No. I haven’t been able to reach her. She’s not answering her phone. I planned to drive by her place this afternoon to see if I could catch her.”

  “So she still doesn’t know she has her job back.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “We’ll visit her,” my father said. “I’ll let her know.”

  Wayne smiled. “I’m sure she won’t be expecting that.”

  My father and Wayne visited a little while longer and then we went back to the car. On the way over to Rachael’s apartment my f
ather asked, “So, Luke. What’s your plan?”

  “My plan?”

  “Your plan to win back the girl.”

  “Honesty,” I said.

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  “Beg.”

  He laughed. “How much do you care about this woman?”

  “I’m not sure how to quantify that.”

  He smiled. “Have you stopped thinking about her since you last saw her?”

  “No.”

  “Is she the one?”

  “I’m not sure.” Then I added, “But I’d really like the chance to find out.”

  He sat back in the leather seat and looked forward again. “That’s what I wanted to know. You better let me handle this.”

  Rachael’s car was parked in her reserved space at the apartment building. The driver parked below the apartment’s west entrance, and my father and I went inside the building and up to the second floor.

  “It’s 207,” I said.

  My father walked up to the door while I stood down the hall where she couldn’t see me. My father knocked on her door. A moment later I heard the locks slide, then the door open.

  “May I help you?” Rachael asked. Hearing her voice made me both happy and nervous.

  “You’re Rachael Simmons?” my father asked.

  “Yes,” she said. Long pause. “You look like …”

  My father reached out his hand. “I’m Carl Crisp. I’m the founder of Crisp’s Copy Centers. I’m here because I was mortified by some of the actions that were taken in my absence—actions that included the termination of some valued employees, you being one of them. I came on behalf of myself and Crisp’s Copy Centers, to extend an apology and offer you back your job.”

  She was temporarily speechless. “Are you doing this with everyone?”

  My father laughed. “No.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice piqued with emotion. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “I might.” His gaze intensified. “Rachael, do you like my company?”

  “A lot more today,” she said.

  My father laughed.

  “I think it’s a great company,” she said. “You’ve always taken good care of your employees.”

  “I’m glad you said that, because I think we can do an even better job of taking care of you. I’d like to make you an offer. We have a position available in our corporate office. You would keep all your benefits but your salary would be substantially more. You would also be able to work from home in the afternoons so you could be there when your son gets home from school.”

  I desperately wanted to see her face.

  “There are, however, a couple catches.”

  “Like what?”

  “The first is that you would, of course, have to move to Phoenix.”

  “I have no problem with that,” she said quickly.

  “The second is not as pleasant. You would have to answer directly to Crisp’s new CEO.”

  “Why would I have a problem with that?” she asked.

  “Well, I think you better find out who he is first.” My father turned and gestured me forward. I walked up to the door. Rachael froze when she saw me. She still didn’t know that he was my father, and she looked back and forth between us, trying to understand the connection.

  “This is my son, Luke. He is likely to be Crisp’s new CEO.”

  Rachael just stared at me.

  My father said, “I would consider it a personal favor if you would at least listen to what he has to say.” He looked at me, then back at Rachael. “I’ll give you some time alone. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Rachael.” He turned to me. “The floor is yours, son.”

  He walked back down the hall and disappeared down the stairwell. Rachael stood there staring at me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  She threw her arms around me. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  I put my arms around her and pulled her close.

  “I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you explain,” she said. “I was so afraid. And I wanted you to be good. I wanted it so bad.”

  “I don’t gamble,” I said.

  “I know. I called your accountant.”

  “Mike told you?”

  “I told him it was a matter of life or death,” she said.

  I held her for several minutes. When she finally leaned back, she said to me with a grin, “So you’ve met Mr. Crisp, have you?”

  “I’m sorry. That I was hiding from you.”

  “I’ll forgive you,” she said, falling back into me.

  “So what’s the verdict?” I asked. “Will you come to Phoenix?”

  She smiled. “What do you think?”

  EPILOGUE

  My father once said, “The warrior who goes off lo battle

  should not boast as the one who returns from it.”

  I realize now that I have only to boast of good people

  who held my shield when my arms were too weak,

  and lifted me up when I was too tired to stand on my own.

  Luke Crisp’s Diary

  My father and I are back to golfing every Saturday. I’d golf more if I could, but I’m a bit tied down to my new responsibilities: the board voted unanimously to install me as the new CEO of Crisp’s Copy Centers International. The truth is, my father has enough voting shares that he could have done it without their approval, but that’s not his style. Never has been. I’m now working on expanding Crisp’s into Europe, so my travels through France and Italy weren’t a complete waste. The last time I went to Paris, I took Rachael with me. We had a really good time.

  In response to my father’s question, it turns out that Rachael was the one after all. We were married on December 22nd, a year from the night we talked in the coffee shop. Of course the wedding dinner was held at DiSera’s and we were serenaded by Larry, who announced to all that he’d never seen such a beautiful bride. I agreed. Sure, it could just be the rose-tinted lenses of love, but I think not. I think happiness makes everyone more beautiful.

  My father was overjoyed to become an instant grandfather and, in his usual way of approaching life, jumped headfirst into the role. He’s now teaching Chris to golf and spends every Sunday afternoon with his grandson. Seeing my father with Chris reminds me of when I was a boy. Chris isn’t going to counseling anymore. In fact, he’s doing great. Of course he is. He’s got my dad.

  Henry Price left Phoenix to start his own chain of copy centers. He opened his first store in the St. Paul area and never grew past that. I learned from our Twin City associates that Henry’s copy center just limped along for a few years until his capital ran out and the investors pulled the plug. I guess he learned that my father really did know something about business after all.

  Duane had his heart surgery. Tasha and Carmen stayed at my father’s house as Duane recovered. The operation was successful and Tasha’s now pregnant with their third child. Carmen can’t look at my father without bursting into tears. She calls him St. Carl and I think she means it. Of course I feel the same way about her Carlos. Carlos is still managing the Golden Age and calls occasionally for marketing advice. I’m always glad to hear from him.

  The Wharton 7 was scattered to the wind. I haven’t seen Sean since that day at the Rehab, and I’m fine with that. My attorneys filed suit against both him and Marshall and I received a judgment against both. Marshall paid what he owed me—but Sean still hasn’t. I’m not holding my breath.

  I don’t know what’s become of Suzie, but I talked to Lucy a few years ago. She had her baby—a little boy, Brandon—who was now walking. She met an older man in her aunt’s church. They got married and settled down in Thornton, Colorado, a suburb of Denver.

  Before she hung up, she told me that she had heard from Candace. Candace had married a Boston neurosurgeon and now lives in Duxbury. Lucy said she had asked about me. Honestly, I have no hard feelings toward her. If she hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have my Rachael. Thank God for unanswered prayer
s.

  That’s about the whole of it—at least from my side of the story. The pages continue to turn, and every day I’m a little older, hopefully a little wiser and a lot more grateful. Do I have regrets? I have a few—but not as many as you might think. If it hadn’t been for the darkness, I never would have known the light. In life we all take different paths, some more difficult than others, but in the end, all that matters is whether or not they lead us home.

  At the beginning of this story I wrote that people oftentimes misunderstand the word “prodigal”—thinking it means “lost” or “wayward,” when it really means wastefully extravagant.

  But there is another meaning to the word—one rarely used—but correct all the same. Prodigal also means “to give abundantly.” And in this sense, even more than me, my father was the truest of prodigals. He still is. He is my hero, my champion, and my savior. My greatest wish is to be like him. My greatest hope is to be worthy to be called his son. I don’t think I could aspire to anything greater than that.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Richard Paul Evans is the #1 bestselling author of The Christmas Box and Michael Vey. His eighteen novels have each appeared on the New York Times best-seller list; there are more than 14 million copies of his books in print. His books have been translated into more than twenty-two languages and several have been international best-sellers. He is the winner of the 1998 American Mothers Book Award, two first-place Storytelling World Awards for his children’s books, the 2005 Romantic Times Best Women’s Novel of the Year Award, the 2010 Leserpreis-Gold Award for Romance and the 2011 Wilbur Award for fiction. Evans received the Washington Times Humanitarian of the Century Award and the Volunteers of America National Empathy Award for his work helping abused children. Evans lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with his wife, Keri, and their five children.

  We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster eBook.

  Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Simon & Schuster.