The Ghost of Christmas Present (16 page)

“As of this moment, I'm on the wagon.”

The two shook hands.

B
y the time Abe McManus had left the hospital, Patrick was again by his son's bedside. One spoon was in his hand and the other spoon was in Braden's. “Here's to Mom's favorite yogurt and a merry Christmas.”

They clinked spoons and dug in.

“Something's changed again,” Braden said with a smile before taking a bite.

“Yes,” Patrick replied, matching the boy's smile. “Something's changed again.”

Chapter 22

LOVE DISAPPOINTED

A
hand reached out and gently gripped Rebecca's shoulder. She opened her eyes to see a nurse standing before her.

“You can go up now, miss. Visiting hours began twenty minutes ago.”

Two elevators and five corridors later, Rebecca stood in the doorway of Braden's hospital room, where the boy put a silencing finger to his lips and nodded at Patrick, snoring softly in the corner chair.

“I promise he doesn't usually snore,” Braden whispered.

“Why should I care if he snores?” Rebecca softly asked, thrown by the boy's statement.

“When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Braden turned on the TV with the sound muted so as to not wake Patrick. “They've got all kinds of great channels on this set,” the boy said, “including one that shows the lobby. I like to watch people come and go, sometimes even at four in the morning.”

“All right,” Rebecca conceded in more whispers. “I got here early. I was thinking about you.”

“You're not just some social worker doing a regular checkup on a kid, are you?”

“Well, you're not just a regular kid.”

“Something else is going on,” Braden said, lifting his head.

Rebecca sat down and folded her hands. “Everyone wants what's best for you.”

“What's best for me is snoring over there in that corner.”

“Your father's a good man. He's done the best he can.”

Braden propped up his body on thin arms and looked Rebecca straight in the face with the honesty that can only be offered by the very young. “He's done better than the best he can, because he's done it without telling me everything that's going on.”

Braden pointed to his father.

“This is the person who'd do anything for me, just like he did for Mom. Did you know he dressed up as a blender one Christmas and turned himself into Sir Christmas Mix so he could pay the lighting bill? And he'd do it again to pay for the lights.”

Rebecca's face flooded with a realization. “Or the heating bill or the rent,” she said as she sat back with the truth taking hold of her.

“Of course he would.”

Rebecca looked to the sleeping man.

“He might even wear a green robe and a beard with a wreath around his head and call himself the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

T
he orderlies wheeled Braden down the hallway as Dr. Friedman looked back at Patrick. “We'll be down in Imaging.” Then she looked at Braden on the gurney. “Last MRI, okay, champ?”

“Okay. I don't mind the tight tunnel. No needles there.”

Patrick watched his son being rolled away and then turned back to Rebecca. “What did you want to talk about? I really should be with him.”

“Where were you last night?”

The question took Patrick aback. “Where I am every night, the deep-dish—”

“No. You've been fired. Wally said he couldn't take your being late anymore. I guess you'll find out when you go there tonight.”

Patrick sat down and ran his hand across his face. “I've got money, and I've got another job lined up for the New Year, a copywriter position at an advertising firm.”

“Can anyone there substantiate that?”

“Not until the New Year. Why can't this Family Court hearing wait until then?”

“Because your son's operation happens before then,” Rebecca said, and then she pulled out another official-looking notice. “And the hearing's been moved up yet again. In light of your new unemployed circumstances, the case has been expedited through the court system.”

“You mean Ted Cake's been spying on me, knows I've lost this last job, and is pushing you around like a red wagon.”

“I resent that.”

Patrick stood. “I resent that my son will be placed in the hands of a man who's just dying for a chance to convince him that I'm somehow responsible for the loss of his mother.”

“You don't know that.”

“Don't I? When I called Ted after he didn't come to his own daughter's funeral, he blamed me. He held me accountable for not being able to take care of her.”

“Then call him again. Maybe you can remedy this.”

Patrick paced the hallway tile. “I won't talk to that bitter and deluded old man. I won't make that mistake again.”

“What's without remedy should be without regard.”

Patrick stopped. “What?”

“Isn't that what you said to me out on Broadway that one day?” Rebecca looked him full in the face. “The Ghost of Christmas Present?”

Patrick sat back down in silence.

“Whatever happened between you and your father-in-law has a remedy. All hate has a remedy, because hate is only love disappointed. Call your father-in-law. That's the remedy.”

Patrick looked at her. “How long have you known?”

“Since about a half-hour ago, Sir Christmas Mix.” Rebecca smiled.

Patrick looked down the hall after Braden, who was just being wheeled onto an elevator, then back to Rebecca.

“The hearing is two days from now,” she said as she put the notice in Patrick's hand.

“But Braden's procedure is tomorrow morning.”

“Which is why they're not holding it until the day after tomorrow. Now that you're out of work, Ted Cake's really putting the pressure on.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

Rebecca ran a gentle hand over Patrick's jagged hairline.

“The truth.”

Chapter 23

THE SECOND SUNDAY

I
t was the second Sunday of December, and Patrick was giving thanks.

Tomorrow morning Braden would have his heart operation. His arteries were large enough to sustain the procedure, his last MRI showed all other organs in good working order, and all food had been restricted until Braden woke from the anesthesia and could be thoroughly examined. So here they sat again, father and son, with a lone ginger ale between them on the hospital tray.

“Want some more soda?” Patrick asked.

“You're learning, Pop. Soon you're gonna be a real New Yorker.”

“And soon you're gonna be out of here and back in school.”

“And back home with you, right?”

Patrick looked away out the window and reached for his son's hand. “I wanted to talk about that when you were through with the operation and recovering. There might be a better place for you to go and heal, buddy.”

“It's Mom's dad, isn't it?”

Patrick looked at Braden, who tried to pull himself up.

“I'm going home with you.”

“He's got everything I can't give you, like light and heat.”

“But you've made enough on the streets to cover that.”

“He can arrange a private nurse, take you on vacations, give you—” Patrick stopped mid-sentence and just stared at the boy. “What did you say?”

Braden lay back and smiled. “You've made enough on the streets as the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

“How did you figure that out from a hospital bed?”

“I watched Ms. Brody figure it out. She's the one who's going to decide where I go, right?”

“She's just going to testify. A court's going to decide the day after tomorrow, while you're here recovering.”

“What is she going to tell them?”

“She said the truth.”

“Maybe the judge will be a Dickens fan.”

“That's what I'll do, put on my green velvet robe wearing a beard and wig with a wreath around my head and plead my case.”

“A wreath around your head? You're joking, right? You didn't! Oh, man, I wish I coulda seen that!”

“They loved me, I'm telling you.”

Braden became serious. “Dad. No matter what happens, I know you did everything you could for me.”

Patrick nodded. “I always will.”

“But there's one more thing I want you to do for me.”

T
wo hospital orderlies finished lifting Braden from his bed to the gurney and wrapping him in tight with a blanket. Dr. Friedman looked down at the boy. “Are you ready, champ?”

Braden looked to the far side of the room. “Are you ready, Dad?”

And there Patrick stood in his green velvet robe, beard, and wig, two Christmas ornaments dangling from his ears and a wreath around his head. “As ready as I'll ever be,” he said.

“Nerves? Don't worry. If you can play Broadway and 34th, you can play these hallways.”

Patrick took his place at the head of the gurney and then led it out of the room as the orderlies rolled it into the hallway and down past patients' rooms. They proceeded for a couple of steps until Braden finally nudged his father with his bare foot. “Come on, Dad.”