The Mistletoe Inn (25 page)

Rachelle looked so incredulous I thought she was going to burst out laughing. “You dated H. T. Cowell?” she said.

“Yes, I dated H. T. Cowell. Why is that so hard to believe?”

The two women just grinned like they were sharing an inside joke.

“I don't know,” Rachelle said. “Why wouldn't we believe that you're secretly dating one of the most famous writers in the world?”

Both women continued to gape at me. After a moment I said, “You're right. I wouldn't believe it either. Why would he date someone like me?”

I took my drink back to my office, shut my door, and cried.

My father called that night on the way home from work. “You didn't call.”

“Sorry. I wasn't feeling well last night. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” he said dismissively. “How was the rest of the retreat?”

“It was fine.”

“For as much as it cost, I expected more than
fine
.”

“Sorry, it was great. It was much better than the San Francisco one.”

“How was Cowell? Was he worth the money?”

I hesitated. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

“So the conference was good, but Cowell was a disappointment.”

“I didn't say that. It's just . . .” There was a long pause. “It's just complicated.”

I'm sure my father knew that there was more; he could read me like a Times Square billboard, but he also knew when not to press. “You're still coming out for Christmas, aren't you?”

“Yes. I'll be there Sunday night if that's okay.”

“Of course.”

“I'd come sooner if I could, but work's crazy and I was gone all last week.”

“I understand.”

I sighed. “I've got to get out of here.”

“Maybe it's time you moved back, girl.”

For the first time ever I didn't launch into a defense. After a moment I said, “Maybe it is.”

To my surprise my father didn't jump on my concession. Either he was too surprised or he heard the defeat in my voice. Probably the latter. He finally said, “I'm just glad you're coming when you can. You're Christmas to me.”

“Thank you, Dad. I'll see you Sunday night.”

As I hung up the phone I pushed out the thought that this might be the last Christmas we'd ever have together.

The Las Vegas casinos do a large advertising push outside the United States during the holidays, so the airport is always crowded around Christmas with international tourists. My plane landed at nine-thirty, and after fighting the crowds for almost an hour, I retrieved my bag and met my father at the curb.

As usual he got out of his car to greet me. I was stunned when I saw him. As thin as he already was at Thanksgiving, he'd probably lost another ten or more pounds. Also, his eyes looked hollow and ringed as if he hadn't slept well for a while. It took effort not to show my concern. In spite of his condition his face beamed with joy. “How was your flight, sweetie?”

“You know, the usual holiday insanity.”

As he put his arms around me I could feel how different his body was. The cancer was taking its toll. I still couldn't believe that they were making him wait until February to operate. It was obvious to me that at the rate he was deteriorating, February might be too late.

“It's so good to see you,” he said, kissing my cheek. He opened my door and took my bag and set it in the backseat.
I sadly noticed that he had a little trouble lifting my bag. He'd lost muscle as well.

As we were driving away from the airport he turned off the radio, then said to me, “I have some good news.”

I looked over at him. “You're getting married.”

“I said
good
news.”

“Tell me.”

“I have a new oncologist.”

“At the VA?”

He smiled, excited to answer. “No, at the Henderson Clinic. And they're going to operate this coming Friday.”

My heart leapt. “What?”

“It gets better. The doctor's name is Lance Bangerter. He's ranked as one of the top-five colon cancer experts in the country.”

Even though my father was merging onto the freeway I leaned over and hugged him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” My eyes welled up. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I think I do,” he replied. “And thank God. He's the one who arranged it.”

“I thought your insurance didn't cover the institute.”

“It doesn't,” he said.

“I don't care,” I said. “Whatever it takes. I'll give you every penny I have.”

He looked at me lovingly. “I know you would, sweetheart. But you don't have to. Things have worked out. Fate has smiled on me.”

“It couldn't smile on a more deserving man.”

“I don't know about that,” he said. “But the longer I live the more certain I am that God is in the details.”

We pulled into the driveway. My father wouldn't let me carry in my bag, and even though it pained me to see him struggle with my suitcase, I knew it would be demoralizing to him if I didn't let him take it. As we walked into the house I noticed the fish tank was gone.

“Where are your fish?”

“They died,” he said, shaking his head. “So I sold everything. I guess I chose the wrong hobby.”

I looked around the house. As usual, my father had put up his Christmas tree in the front room to the side of the television. It was one of those expensive fake PVC ones that looked real. It had red and silver baubles and strings of flashing colored lights and a lit star on top. There were presents under the tree, which I knew were for me. I was dismayed that in addition to the conference he'd bought me more gifts.

“Those had better not be for me,” I said.

“Who else would they be for?” he said.

“You already gave me the writers' retreat.”

“Let an old man have his fun.”

“You're not old,” I said. Then I smiled. “But you are fun.”

After we were in my room, my father said, “I guess I'll turn in. I'm sure you're exhausted; it's almost midnight in Denver.”

I knew that he was much more tired than I was, but I said, “Good night, Dad. I'll see you in the morning.”

As he started out of my room I said, “Dad.”

He turned back.

“Thank you for changing your mind about that clinic.”

He smiled. “Remember, sweetheart. Our best years are still to come.”

After he left I undressed, turned out the light, and climbed under the covers. As I lay in bed I actually smiled. Things hadn't been going my way lately, but now the most important thing had. My father was getting the care he needed. I didn't know how we'd pay for the treatment, but at the moment, I didn't care. All that mattered was that he had a chance. I knew that in spite of all my pain I was still a very lucky woman. It made me sad that I wanted to call Zeke and tell him.

I got up early Christmas Eve morning, put on my sweats, and went for a walk. The temperature was in the high sixties, again a veritable heat wave compared to Denver.
Why do I live in Denver?

There was already heavy traffic on the main roads, and I guessed that the procrastinators were out in force frantically pursuing those last-minute Christmas purchases.

Looking out over the horizon I breathed in the luxurious dry desert air. It was time for a change in my life. A new year was coming. A new year, a new life. Denver is a nice city but Las Vegas was home. I was finally ready to come home. I needed to be home. My father would need help through his recovery. I owed him that. More than that, I wanted to help him. He was the one person who had never let me down. It was about time I returned the favor.

The more I thought about moving back the more it made sense. There were dozens of car dealerships in Las Vegas and at least three Lexus dealerships. With my experience and references I wouldn't have trouble finding a job. I would miss Steve. But not anyone else. Not Rachelle. Definitely not Rachelle.

The idea of moving home filled me with joy. I wasn't scheduled to be back at work until January 2. That gave me the entire week after Christmas to find employment and get things in order. I just needed to make it through Christmas.