Christmas Apart
Chapter 1
Hank Booth sat on the side of his bed and rubbed his achy knees. Sliding his feet into comfortably-worn moccasin slippers, he stood up, belted his robe, and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. His coffee maker lacked an automatic timer coffee maker; he'd never even considered a Mr. Coffee drip brewer until Margaret's favorite old percolator finally gave out. The Depression-era mantra of his youth still guided his daily life: use what you've got until you can't make it work anymore. Seeley and Parker had given him this most recent ground floor model for his last birthday. All Booth men consumed a lot of coffee. Well, he thought, except for Joe, who should have stuck with the brew that bore his name, rather than the stronger ones.
He glanced at the free liturgical art calendar given out at church each year by the oldest insurance agency in town, and marked off another day. December 24th. Seeley was in Iraq, and Jared was at Naval OCS, so it would be a solitary Christmas this year. He hadn't gone to much effort decorating; hung Margaret's wreath on the front door, and unboxed a miniature tree Seeley had brought by last year.
His grandson was proving to be a dedicated father, as much as his limited visitations allowed. Shrimp had bought the 3-foot Charlie Brown tree, and made a big production out of hanging a small box of pint sized ornaments while guiding Parker's chubby hand. The pair had showed up on Hank's doorstep one Saturday morning midway through December, he recalled with a grin.
This year, Pops had received a card from little Parker, which Rebecca had no doubt helped him sign. He hadn't cared much for Seeley's girlfriend when she chose law school over marriage, but he had to admit she was a dutiful mom to his great-grandson. Maybe she was right to limit Seeley's involvement, considering his risky MOS. The Army kept sending him on frequent assignments, which, though brief, couldn't be discussed. From his time as an MP, Hank Booth knew that silence meant covert meant dangerous.
Ever since Shrimp had deployed to the Middle East, Rebecca had kept in touch and even brought Parker by to visit his great-grandfather on her way up to her parents' home in Connecticut last spring. The boy was growing like a weed, and strongly resembled his dad, despite a head of tousled blond curls.
After fixing himself some pancakes, doused in syrup, Hank poured himself another cup of coffee and headed to the living room. He settled in his recliner and flipped the morning news channels. "Think I'll go to 5:30 Mass tonight. Don't feel like staying up til midnight, and it'll be colder out. That way I can sleep in a bit tomorrow. Sure do miss you, Margaret, and those pies of yours! You did have a way with pie crust and fruit! Apple, cherry, sour cream raisin, strawberry-rhubarb. . . Sweetheart, if I had to pick a favorite, I couldn't," he muttered to himself.
"Okay, yea, yea, I forgot, I'll plug in the lights," Hank answered her voice in his head. He stood up again, plugged in the small Christmas tree, and strode to the front door. "Might as well get the paper while I'm up." It was a clear cold morning, and snow on the front porch crunched under his feet as he bent to retrieve the newspaper. He greeted two neighbors, then stepped back inside and regained his chair. Hearing the phone ring, he leaned over, grabbed the whole unit to put it in his lap and lifted the receiver. "Booth home," he said from habit.
"Merry Christmas, Pops!"
"Shrimp! Merry Christmas back at ya, boy; you got to the front of the phone line pretty quick this morning!" Hank responded happily. "You musta sharpened your elbows like your Grams' friends at the bargain basement sale in Filenes; shoved all your buddies outta the way, hope you didn't leave your whole unit sittin' in sick bay with bruises," he joked.
"No, Pops, my unit's being sent out tomorrow, so they're giving us Christmas today; ham and turkey dinner, lotsa pies, the works. Not as good as Grams' but plenty to eat; and phone time for calling back home today," Booth told him.
Hank sobered a bit. "You take good care of each other out there, you hear me? But let's not dwell on that! Gotta tell you the goings-on here! Rebecca brought Parker by to see me on her way up to her folks for Thanksgiving!"
"She did?! I didn't expect that," Booth said in surprise.
"Yup, they stayed about an hour, had some brownies I made. That boy of yours is shootin' up like a sapling. Drank two glasses of chocolate milk. He's got Rebecca's hair, but those brown peepers, those are Booth eyes, all the way! He's gonna be a good looking guy when he gets big, just like his dad."
"Wow, I can't believe Becs did that; really nice of her, huh?"
"She's a good mom to him, Shrimp. I wish she'd let you see him more, but she takes good care of him; he's growing up real well," Hank replied.
"Yeah, he's growing up, and I'm over here, when I should be there," Booth sighed.
"Your deployment'll be over soon, Son. You just keep your head down, watch yourself, and get back here safely!"
"I miss you, Pops, and Christmas there. Grams always made the house smell so good with all her baking," Booth said quietly.
"Miss you too, Bub, I'm prayin' hard for you, you just focus and take care of business, and you'll be home faster than you think," his grandfather reassured him.
"Well, I gotta go, there's other guys waiting to use the phone, Pops, I love ya. Drink a Yuengling for me on New Year's Eve, okay?"
"Sure thing, shall do, Shrimp. Love you too, and Merry Christmas tomorrow. G'bye," Pops answered, and heard a click as the call disconnected.
His shoulder slumped for a moment and he wiped his eyes with his fists.
"God, watch over my grandson for me," Hank whispered.
Then he took a deep breath, snapped the paper open, executed a long-perfected subway fold, adjusted his glasses and scanned the sports page.