Authors: Richard Paul Evans
“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?”
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 prayers.
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.
R
ichard 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.
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