Chapter 37: "Thank you"
Please note: In the Works Cited portion of Chapter 1 there are suggested music pieces to accompany this and other Chapters to enhance your experience of reading. I hope you enjoy them...
Safe-house, Manhattan, late December, 2016
Before they'd re-convened at the table, everyone policed his or her own brunch dishes, filling the dishwasher with a full load of dishes. Someone filled the dispenser with a bit of soap and set it to run silently in the background while they worked at the other end of the kitchen. A few had had their fill of caffeine by then, and switched to something else, but some returned to the urn to fill up again, ready for part two of data-gathering. They had no sooner sat down and opened their laptops or tablets when Finch received some signal on his computer screen that seemed to catch his attention. He stared at it for a moment and then looked up at the rest of the Team.
"I'll need a minute," he said, and lifted his laptop in one hand. He walked away from the table and limped quickly down the hall toward his room. A light was blinking on his screen. The Machine was signaling that there was a message he needed to see. The way things were going today, this could be more unpleasant news. He steeled himself for the possibility.
When he'd placed the laptop on his desk in his room, and pulled the leather chair in a little closer, he sat back an arm's length away from the screen. Then, he clicked on the icon and a new screen popped open with a video message embedded in it. There was a title in a fancy swirled font underneath it that read "Special Delivery" and as soon as he saw it, his heart jumped. He leaned in closer to watch.
This time, there was no dog-faced soldier in fatigues staring into the camera. It was just a street scene – so familiar to him by now, of the street that ran past her school. The building sat on the far side of the street from this vantage point, with the courtyard behind the school – empty now at night, the streetlights spreading faded light across the sidewalk. Soft yellow light shown through the high windows on the side of the school where Grace and the children lived.
Harold smiled softly at the screen. He could almost imagine being there in the cantina, across the street from her school at that window, the one he'd watched her from, when he was there two years back. It looked so quiet, so peaceful there at night. He wondered what she was doing tonight. Was she getting the little ones off to bed? Reading to them and tucking them in, wishing them a goodnight before she turned the lights down low?
The scene changed, and Harold squinted in the sudden bright light. Once he could see, he realized this was an afternoon scene looking out on the same site, from the same vantage point, just earlier in the day. The street was quiet, save for an occasional car passing by. There were a few boys in the courtyard behind the school, practicing soccer moves with a ball that looked like it had seen better days.
On the street next to the courtyard, a van pulled up at the curb, partly blocking the view of the children. A few moments later, another, and then a third. The drivers hopped out and two stood together while the third went around the front of the first van, headed for the school. Harold watched, a slow smile beginning to spread across his face. His gift had arrived. He wasn't going to be there, in Italy, to see it in person this time. And he certainly hadn't expected this. A view of the gift arriving at the school after all.
Down the hall, Reese rinsed his razor under the running water at the sink and shook it a few times. Then he leaned down and cupped the warm water in his hands, splashing it on his face. The little islands of foam slid off and down into the sink, then disappeared. He splashed another handful of the warm water on him, and then slid his hands down his skin to pick up any excess. When his face was smooth, he blotted the skin with his towel and then wrapped it behind his neck, with the ends hanging down on his chest. It was good to get the past three days' growth off him. It made him think more clearly when he shaved close like this. Soldier close. Clean. Clear. Uncluttered.
He cleaned up the sink and counter after himself, then headed out to his room to get his shirt and maybe one of his vests, the soft cashmere one he'd had for years. It was so lightweight, but it kept his body warm in cold weather. When he wasn't sleeping enough it always made him feel colder.
Harold sat in his leather chair, close to the screen, watching the three vans unloading their bounty. The children had emptied out of the school in seconds, once they knew what was happening. They were dancing around, with the gifts in their hands, and such glee, such astonishment in their eyes. Harold felt his heart swell, watching them. Such a simple thing. Such a small gesture. And yet something that could change a life, give hope, bring joy where none had been for a long, long time. This was his gift to Grace's children. Something he'd started doing a few years back each Christmas.
Christmas – her favorite time of year. So many memories of the two of them at Christmas. Visiting the storefront windows dressed in their holiday finery and those wondrous scenes created for everyone to see. The two of them liked to venture out late at night when the crowds had thinned. But still, there were always hardy souls who braved the cold, and sometimes the snow and wind funneled down between the skyscrapers in mid-town. He'd watch her – delighting in the explosion of color and whimsy behind the glass as they toured the shops, arm-in-arm. She'd point and make him look at each scene, each cleverly-wrought figure, in motion, drawing excited oohs and ahhs from the onlookers.
Harold smiled, remembering.
Then, on the screen, he saw the driver of the first van removing a special gift from the front seat, wrapped in white paper with gold swirls that reflected the light. There was a giant gold bow on the top and a gold-colored envelope attached to one side. The driver took it and disappeared around the other side of the vans, where Harold couldn't see. He craned his neck to get a glimpse, but of course, no. She was out of his view. He sat back in his chair, sighing out loud. A few moments later, the driver hustled around the back of the van into view, signaling to the others. They hopped back into their seats, signaled to each other, and drove off in a tiny caravan.
Harold could see the scene again.
The children were bringing armloads of toys, books, balls, art supplies, dolls, games, every kind of gift that Harold could think of, anything that he could supply to make their lives a little brighter, a little happier, a little more nurtured.
Like he felt right now.
The swelling feeling in his heart spread, expanded, and his breath caught. His eyes filled nearly to overflowing watching them. And then he found her, standing off to one side there on the sidewalk, looking up. It was as if she could see him. She was facing his way, her eyes lifted as if to catch his.
She reached out with a hand, gesturing toward the children gathered in the courtyard, busy with carrying their gifts inside. Then she brought her hand back and raised the white box with the gold bow up in front of her with both hands, toward him, as though she could see him and wanted him to know. Grace lowered the box down slowly in front of her, and raised her head up toward him again. The camera zoomed in.
Harold could see her face then, the smile, the glistening eyes – just like his – and then the words on her lips. As if she were saying them to him:
"Thank you...thank you...thank you." Slowly. Over and over.
Tears welled in his eyes.
A sound from the hallway made him look up from the screen. Mr. Reese was there, pulling on a vest over his shirt. He stopped when he saw the look in Harold's eyes. The two kept their eyes on each other for another moment, and then Reese was going to back away – to give Harold some privacy. He'd obviously interrupted something.
Harold spoke up:
"Mr. Reese," he said, and their eyes met again. Harold was hesitating, trying to gather himself. Then:
"Thank you," Harold said softly, his face showing the struggle.
"For what?" Reese said, in his whisper-voice.
"For giving me – this – gift," he said, gesturing to the video on the screen.
Without saying a word, Reese stood there a little longer, with his eyes steady on Harold's.
Something passed between them in that moment.
Reese tipped his head in a small nod toward Harold, and backed away, turning, walking back down the hall to the rest of his Team gathered in the kitchen.