II
Monday, December 21
The weekend had been somber; Carol said little and drank too much. For their Sunday drive, Carol and Therese went to New Jersey to visit Abby, who was not at home. They stopped at a diner in Elizabeth and had tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches. The coffee was very good, and Carol was less melancholic only because she talked about work. Before they left, however, the mood suddenly sank when an old man came into the diner with his little granddaughter. She was blonde like Rindy.
Carol never recovered from seeing the little girl at the diner, and Monday was perhaps the worst day. Therese got up for work and found Carol sleeping in the chair by the balcony doors. Therese tried to be very quiet, but clumsily dropped the frying pan. She felt as though she had stabbed Carol's dead body. She prayed that Carol had somehow slept through the clamor, but soon Carol appeared in the kitchen.
"Oh, Carol," Therese said. "I'm so sorry. You were sleeping, and I'm a clumsy oaf."
"I have to go to work, anyway," Carol replied. "With your soft heart, you would have let me sleep all day."
Therese stood silently.
"Sure, now you're quiet," Carol said with gallows humor.
Therese did not find it funny.
Carol sat down at the small kitchen table. "You'll be late if you keep staring at me."
Therese resumed making her breakfast.
"Shall I make you some?" she asked Carol, knowing the answer.
"I won't eat it."
Therese felt guilty for having an appetite. As she scrambled two eggs, she heard Carol sigh.
"I don't know if I can go on."
Therese was frightened. Never, she thought would she have heard those words coming from Carol's mouth. She had barley enough sense to turn the flame off, before turning around to face Carol. She had no words. For what seemed an hour, Therese contemplated Carol mutely, until suddenly a flood of tears welled up in her eyes and Carol vanished from her sight.
"Oh, my angel," Carol said, jumping out of her chair and folding the weeping Therese in her arms. "Oh, my angel. How I make you suffer! I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
That morning, Therese made a vow to herself to go and see Harge. She was afraid, not of Harge, but afraid for Carol. She felt that she had to do something. She resorted to a tactic that would not be questioned: she told her boss that she had to see her gynecologist. Her boss gave her no trouble.
On the train to Newark, Therese rehearsed her speech in her head, over and over. The speech that would melt Scrooge's heart and change Harge's mind. In the cab going to Harge's office, Therese realized that she did not even know if Harge was in town; he might have left for the holidays. That is like him, she thought, to take Rindy far away from her mother at Christmas. Thinking of Carol, Therese pressed on. She heard Yuletide music playing in the lobby of the building as she searched the directory for Harge's firm: it occupied the entire sixth floor.
There he was. Harge. Talking to the receptionist as Therese got off the elevator. She saw a surprised look cross his face, and this gave her courage.
"What are you doing here?"
"You know why," Therese replied.
Harge frowned. "You have two minutes," he said, "before security comes." Then he turned to the secretary and told her: "Called Roger, Mary."
"Yes, Mr Aird."
Therese followed Harge into his office. They sat down when he gestured.
"Mr Aird," Therese began. "Harge..."
He waited.
"You're wasting time," he said.
"I've come for Carol. On her behalf, she doesn't know. I wish to ask you to allow her to visit her daughter."
"My daughter is none of your business," he said coldly.
"Yes, but Carol is."
Harge turned his chair toward the window.
"It's Christmas," Therese continued. "A family should be together, even for a little while. You loved Carol once. Think of Christmases past. You must have some warm memories - they don't have to be just memories, you can have th - "
A knock came on the door.
"Yes?" Harge said.
The door opened. It was the security guard.
"False alarm, Roger. You may go." He turned to the window again.
"As you wish, sir." The security guard closed the door.
"I love Carol," Therese said. "I know that once you loved her, I know that she once loved you. She told me so."
Harge turned to face Therese. He looked surprised by her last words.
"It can't be the same," Therese continued, "but the Christmases yet to come, don't have to be filled with bitterness, resentment, and petty jealousy. I have no right to appeal on behalf of Rindy, but I have the right to appeal for Carol. Please, Harge. It would make her so happy to see Rindy. It's the right thing to do. Please, Harge. Remember the true meaning of the season: remember what He said, "'...Love one another, as I have loved you.'"
"We're going out of town," he said softly.
"Just for a while," Therese said. "Please..."
Harge swallowed.
"I'll see what I can do," he said. "I can't promise you anything of course; there are my parents and..." He trailed off. "So, don't say anything."
Therese nodded.
[continued]
