"This isn't exactly going to help, you know."
A frustrated sigh preceded the reply. "I didn't plan for this to happen. I was gonna start on the decorations first thing in the morning."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to go cut a tree down by yourself. Besides, I told you we didn't need a tree."
"I wanted a tree," Mark McCormick said, a disappointed near-whine evident. He reached his left hand up to feel the bandage.
"Don't. The doc doesn't want you fiddling with it," Judge Milton C. Hardcastle said as he grabbed the hand and prevented his forlorn friend from checking the damage.
"I can't believe this. How did this happen?"
"You tell me. I wasn't there, remember?" Hardcastle was having a hard time finding the right sympathetic tone. "Damn it, McCormick, I told you we didn't need a tree!" he yelled instead.
"How can you celebrate Christmas without a tree?" Mark countered, his voice rising in challenge.
"We're not gonna be here for most of the holiday!" Hardcastle found it a little disconcerting yelling at someone who couldn't see him. It seemed an unfair advantage, and that seemed to make him even angrier. "Now we will, you're not going to be able to travel until those patches come off. And you need special treatment for your eyes. Why didn't you close your eyes? Or duck? Or something?"
"I told you, or rather, the tree farm guy told you. It was a freak accident." This time, McCormick put his hand to his head instead of trying to touch his well-covered eyes.
"I still can't believe it," the judge said, shaking his own head, an action that was completely wasted on anyone other than the head shaker at that particular moment.
"Neither can I," McCormick replied morosely.
"Tell me again how it happened," Hardcastle insisted.
"Judge," Mark complained, no doubt about the whine this time.
"Don't give me that. I need to understand. I deserve at least that, with my vacation ruined."
"Your vacation's not ruined. You should go ahead. Have fun. Enjoy the sun, the sand," Mark said, describing unenthusiastically the things he had been wildly excited about just the previous day. "The beautiful women in their tiny bikinis."
"Nah. I can't go and leave you here all alone."
"I'm okay. I can get Frank to come help me."
"No you can't," Milt reminded his forgetful friend. "He and Claudia are heading to Rome again this Christmas."
"Oh," McCormick said, frowning. "How'd I forget that?" he asked as he put his hand to his forehead once more.
"Concussion, maybe?" Hardcastle asked sarcastically. More sympathetically he asked, "Got a headache, Kiddo?"
"I guess."
"I'm not surprised. You got whacked hard. You were out for a few minutes."
McCormick sighed again. "I don't want you to miss this trip to Hawaii. You were more excited about it than I was, I think." He rubbed his forehead one more time, and then just pressed the side of his head into his hand.
"Okay, that's it. I'm getting a nurse to get you something for that headache. I'll be right back."
"Thanks," Mark replied, sinking farther into the pillow, a feat that Hardcastle wouldn't have thought possible. The ex-con already seemed like he was trying to lose himself in the hospital bed. McCormick was the epitome of depressed dejection. It was no way to feel at the holidays, a state of mind that Hardcastle knew McCormick had every hand in making the judge finally realize these last couple of years. He hated to see the kid looking this way when he knew that Christmas was one of Mark's favorite times of the year. The retired jurist shook his head as he left the room and turned right toward the nurse's station.
It really had been impossible, a once in a lifetime event, what had happened. Mark had been walking around the trees, looking at ones to be cut, ones that had already been cut, and others that were balled and meant to be planted in the ground after their seasonal use to hang lights and garland and ornaments. He'd been kneeling down, checking how straight the trunk was at the bottom of a particular tree, when some kids – teenagers – came running through, hauling their newly cut tree like a battering ram. They were running at high speed, ignoring the pleas of their parents and the owners of the tree farm. Mark had been concentrating on his own job – getting the most perfect tree he could find with which to surprise the judge, as Hardcastle had heard from the tree farm owner – when he turned and was hit, full force, in the face, his face acting as the medieval fortress to the tree's battering ram. He hadn't had time to close his eyes, which, combined with the concussion from hitting the back of his head on the hard ground, was the reason he was in the hospital bed: observation for the concussion, and keeping him still from the scratches his eyes had taken. The doctor said that the bandages should stay on for several days, eye solution should be applied twice a day, in low light, and that he should rest his eyes as much as possible for the next two weeks; the second week of that two week period was supposed to be their week in Hawaii. The doctors only wanted McCormick in the hospital for this one night, and then he would need to be somewhere that someone could watch him and take care of him. That was Hardcastle's job, and he was happy to do it. The kid from Jersey City meant the world to him; he certainly meant more to the judge than any week in paradise.
"Stupid profession," Hardcastle blustered when he stormed back into the room.
"No pain medication because of the concussion?" McCormick asked softly. Knowingly.
"Yeah. . .sorry."
"'s okay." McCormick's eyelids seemed heavy, like he would fall asleep if Hardcastle weren't there.
"Look, Sport, I'm gonna head home, let you get some rest."
"Good idea," Mark said, his eyes remaining shut.
"Be back to pick you up in the morning," the judge said quietly as he watched his young friend head into slumber, a sleep that Hardcastle knew would be interrupted for neurological checks every couple of hours this night. He'd be coming back in the morning to a depressed, dejected and tired Tonto. He got no reply from McCormick. Happy holidays, he thought cynically.
"So, when do you need to take those eye drops?" Hardcastle asked as he drove along the Pacific Coast Highway. They were now just minutes from home, so the judge figured it wouldn't hurt to wake McCormick from his light doze.
"Oh, um. . ." Mark started. "They put some in just before you showed up," he said. Mark yawned and then added, "Just need some more around suppertime."
"They give you anything for that headache?" the retired jurist asked. It was obvious, even though Milt couldn't see Mark's eyes, that he was suffering from the effects of the concussion.
"Yeah. I can take some more when we get home."
"You should take a nap. I'm sure you didn't get very good sleep last night," the judge said as he pulled into Gulls Way.
"I think I will. You know how they are with waking you when you have a concussion," Mark noted tiredly as Milt parked the truck near the front door of the main house.
"Sit tight. I'll come over and give ya a hand," Hardcastle suggested as he hurried out of the driver's side door. McCormick sat and waited. The judge didn't like how quiet Mark seemed. He understood that the young man was upset with what had happened. All he'd done was try to go out and do something nice, and this was his reward. Hardcastle hoped that what he had planned for later would help cheer McCormick up. He helped the temporarily sightless McCormick into the main house. "I've got Sarah's old room ready for you. Figured that would be easiest until you get those bandages off."
"Thanks, Judge. Sorry about all of this," Mark said, his head hanging, his chin nearly touching his chest.
"Don't do that, Kiddo. You didn't mean for this to happen. It was just dumb luck."
"It's one of those things I'm good at, dumb luck."
"Ah," Hardcastle said, waving his hand in dismissal. He patted McCormick on the back and said, "Things'll look better. . ."
"When I can actually look?" Mark interrupted.
"Maybe I could have phrased it better, but yeah." The judge led Mark into Sarah's room. "There's a pair of sweats here," Hardcastle said as he handed the clothes to his ailing friend.
"Thanks."
The judge didn't think anything he could say right now would make Mark feel any better, so he just said, "I'll come wake you when supper's ready." He poured a glass of water from the pitcher he'd left on the nightstand earlier that morning. "Here's some water. Take your pain medication. Go to sleep."
"'kay."
"This was good, Judge. Thanks."
"Hey, it was just meatloaf, green beans and mashed potatoes. Nothin' fancy."
"It was. . ." Mark paused, not sure what he wanted to say besides what he'd already said.
"Comfort food?" Milt asked.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"How 'bout we have dessert in the den?"
"We have dessert?" Mark asked, his interest piqued.
"We do tonight. Chocolate-peanut butter ice cream."
"Sounds good," Mark said. He stood up and then added, "Let me help clear the dishes."
"No, no. I'll do 'em, later. Let's get you in the den and put that stuff in your eyes."
"Okay. The doc said we had to have the lights dimmed."
"Already done," the judge told his friend as they walked around the corner and then the room in question.
"Thanks."
"Sit." Mark sat where the judge had positioned him. "I'm gonna take the bandages off. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."
Mark breathed in nervously. "Okay."
"Hey, there's nothing to worry about. The doctor said your eyesight will be blurry for a while, but that you'll be able to see. The blurriness will go away in around two weeks."
"I know. It's still. . ."
"I know, Kid. Don't worry." The judge gently removed the bandages. He had new to put on; the doctor had made sure that Milt knew how to change the bandages and that they were changed each time the drops were used. "Okay, sit back and relax. I'll be right back. Go ahead and open your eyes." Hardcastle left and McCormick opened his eyes.
Everything was blurry, but it was so, so beautiful. A Christmas tree stood before him, small multi-colored lights twinkled; they weren't moving, not really true twinkle lights, except for what his blurry eyesight caused. It was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. It made him want to cry. He might already be doing that, he couldn't tell. He put his hand up towards his face.
"Cut that out," Milt yelled as he re-entered the room. Mark moved his hand back down to his lap.
"You got a tree," McCormick said, his voice rougher than expected. His emotions were well on their way to getting away from him.
"I did. We're here and we might as well do it right. Right?"
"Right." Mark kept staring at the tree. He knew he should not strain his eyes. The tree was across the room, and it was the only light in the den. He had to force himself not to try too hard to get the tree in better focus. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah, it's a nice tree."
"Frank help?" Mark asked.
"Yep."
"He heading to Italy now."
"Not yet," Mark heard from the doorway. He looked that way and could see the image of a man and a woman. He knew who they were, but he'd never be able to pick either one of them out of a lineup.
"Frank? Claudia?"
"Hey, Mark, how are you feeling?" Claudia Harper asked as she sat next to him, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Better than yesterday," he said.
"Hey, Kid," Lieutenant Frank Harper said as he leaned over the back of the sofa and massaged Mark's shoulders. Mark tapped Frank's hand affectionately.
"Hi, Frank. Thanks for the tree."
"That was all Milt's idea," Claudia said. "Frank and I were just Santa's helpers on this one.
"Well, I appreciate it." Mark paused, sniffed the air and said, "Lasagna?"
"See what they say when one sense is hampered, others become more acute," Frank commented as he took a seat in a nearby armchair.
"Smells great."
"Thank you, Mark. I know that you've already had dinner, but I figured I'd help out for the week."
"That's great, Claudia. Thanks. When do you leave for your trip?"
"We've got to leave here in five minutes to get to the airport on time," Frank said.
"Oh."
"We're only going for ten days this time. We'll be back before you know it, just a couple of days after Christmas. I'll come over and make all of my favorite men a nice meal. How's that sound?"
"Anytime McCormick or I don't have to cook is a good thing," the judge said.
"Then it's a date," Claudia countered. "Hon, I think we have to get going," she said to Frank. She leaned in next to Mark once more and said quietly, but still loud enough for all to hear, "Please behave yourself, for Milt's sake. Rest." She whispered the next part just for Mark's ears. "He was very worried about you. He cares for you very much."
Now McCormick knew there were tears, tears that he couldn't brush away without drawing attention to himself; he knew Milt was watching the encounter, like a hawk, but mostly with curiosity. "I know," Mark whispered back. Louder, he added, "Have a great trip." Claudia kissed him on the cheek again, felt the tears and gave him an extra-long hug, and then Frank helped her up. Harper took Mark's right hand and shook it.
"Merry Christmas, Mark."
"Merry Christmas to you, too. And thanks."
"You're welcome, Kid."
"Frank, Claudia, let me walk you out," Milt offered. To McCormick he said, "Stay put. I'll be back in a minute."
"I'm not going anywhere," Mark said contentedly.
Moments later, Hardcastle returned to the room. "I guess it's time for your eye drops, and to put the patches back on." Mark continued to stare at the tree. "It'll be there the next time we have to do this," he added; Milt's voice rang out with caring for his friend.
"I know." Mark held his gaze on the tree, which was still a colorful, joyful blur, and then turned to his partner, his mentor, his friend. "Thank you."
Hardcastle knew that his young friend couldn't see him very well; the doctor said his vision would be frustratingly unclear for some time. It was just as well, as Milt found tears, similar to the ones Mark had just shed, moistening his own cheeks. He was so fortunate to have such a fine person in his life, to hold this special person so close to his heart. McCormick would likely make light of the whole thing if he spoke these thoughts out loud. But Milt would do it, one day. The kid deserved to know. Maybe that day would be sooner than they both thought, during this season that could have such a dangerous, scary, ridiculous thing happen to one of them, but somehow still find comfort and joy in this seemingly complex but in reality quite simple friendship. Love. Comfort. Joy. And the miracle of friendship. To Milt Hardcastle, it seemed like the makings of a holiday season with the bases loaded.
The End.