Lost December (31 page)

“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?”

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.

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.