Chapter thirteen: Christmas Carol
(December 24th)
"I just wish we could figure out what's making him so moody," Mark said as he walked down the hall of Community General with Jesse at his side.
It was eight in the morning on Christmas Eve Day, and he was there to take Steve home for good. About a week after the outburst that had precipitated the fruitless MRI ordeal, his speaking and writing improvements had leveled off. He had been struggling to read and write cursive for a couple of weeks, and eventually something just clicked. His handwriting was still shaky, but it would improve with time and practice. When he spoke or wrote, he now used complete sentences most of the time, with all of the necessary pronouns and prepositions and though he still had some trouble with certain consonants and blends, his words were plain and clear enough for anyone to understand. His biggest problem was that he often got stuck for words, and that frustrated him no end. He no longer used gibberish when he was upset, but he would lapse into long, furious silences as he struggled to find the right word. As often as not, when that happened, he would eventually dismiss his conversation partner with a wave of his hand and go off somewhere and sulk.
Jesse had a pretty good idea why Steve was 'so moody,' but he had promised not to tell Mark about the violin. Once Steve had started speaking plainly and clearly, Jesse had tried to convince him to talk to his dad about what had happened, but Steve had insisted that he needed more time.
"I c-can't explainnnnnn . . . w-when half the worrrrrrrds . . . when I can't remememember . . . I g-get s-stuck," Steve had said, and having just been presented with the proof of that argument, Jesse found he couldn't offer any rebuttal. Still, he was determined that after the holidays either he or Steve would have to tell Mark about the violin.
Steve sat quietly in his room, dreading his father's arrival with every fiber of his being. He wanted desperately to go home, but then he knew, he'd have to actually talk to his dad, and sooner or later, he'd have to talk about the violin. He couldn't get away with rolling over and pulling up the covers anymore, and he'd have to face up to what he'd done.
He tried to look cheerful when his father and Jesse showed up with Marcus and Elena in tow, but it was too much for him to convincingly carry off. Smiling woodenly, he gave Elena the Christmas tree necklace he had bought for her on that arduous first shopping trip. When she opened it, she thanked him with a hug and a kiss and asked him to put it on her. Everyone waited patiently for several minutes while he fumbled with the clasp, but he finally had to admit that his right hand didn't have the same dexterity it used to, and he asked Jesse to do it for him.
After everyone had a chance to admire Elena's necklace, Steve surprised Marcus by handing him a small package. Its contents, a palm pilot, had been the subject of much debate between Steve and his father for three reasons. First, Mark thought it was a rather extravagant gift for someone Steve had only known a few weeks, but Steve insisted it was only a small token of appreciation for all that Marcus had helped him get back. Mark had then argued that it was Marcus' job to teach Steve to speak again and that it was inappropriate to give him such an expensive gift under the circumstances. Steve agreed it was his job to help him talk, but he was not required to put up with all the temper tantrums and sulks that came with having him for a patient. Finally, Mark was concerned that Steve was suffering some undetected brain damage that had affected his understanding of numbers and money. Steve had spent the next hour breaking down his income and expenditures to convince Mark that he still knew the value of a dollar and he knew how much the palm pilot had cost, not only in dollars and cents, but in hours worked, hours of paperwork, time at Bob's, rent from his house, and returns on his other investments. By the time he had finished, Mark knew more about his son's finances than he had since Steve had earned his first paycheck.
"Damn, Steve," Marcus said. "Now you've really embarrassed me. I got you a gift, too, but it's really just a gag gift."
"That's ok, Marcus. . . I . . . dis isn't for Chrisssstmas. . . dis is . . .tank . . ." Steve focused hard and tried again. "This isss . . . a thank you g-gift . . . I could . . . nnnever r-repay you . . . for what you hhhave heped me . . . g-get back."
"Hey, man, that's my job."
"Y-you w-went abovvve and b-beyonnnd th-the c-call."
Marcus smiled and nodded. Opening the bedside cupboard, he took out a rather large package he had concealed there while Steve was in the shower.
"Remember, this is a gag gift. Please don't be disappointed."
"I w-won't. It's the . . . th-thought . . . that c-counnnnts."
Steve opened the box to find the beat up bedpan he had thrown so many times, now with a broad-leafed houseplant growing in it.
"The plant is called a dieffenbachia, or dumb-cane, because if the sap gets in your mouth it can cause temporary loss of speech. I figure the bedpan makes a great planter, and the dumb-cane is right where it belongs."
Marcus looked at him very seriously, then, and extended his hand to shake. "Steve, your progress has been incredible. If you keep working and keep trying, you'll be ok."
Steve took the offered hand, and used it to pull Marcus into a bear hug. For a long moment the two men, initially adversaries and now friends, embraced.
"I will w-work, Marcus . . . and I l-l-like what you s-said . . . about th-the plant. Th-thank you."
Steve hugged Marcus and Elena once more each and then, to Mark and Jesse's great surprise, sat in the waiting wheelchair without a word of complaint. All he had to carry home was Marcus' gift, and a small valise containing his pajamas, his Discman and CD's, and one change of clothes. Everything else he had accumulated had been sent home with his father in bits and pieces in the few days prior to his discharge.
"L-l-let's go hommme, Dad." He did not see the look of concern that flew between Mark and Jesse over his head.
After Carol's death, Mark had found himself wanting to go back to the way things were when his children were small. More than ever before, he seized every opportunity to draw his friends and family near him, and Christmas was a perfect time for reviving old traditions. When Steve and Carol were children, each member of the Sloan family had chosen a favorite holiday story to read during the day, and then, after dinner the whole family would gather and he would read each of their stories aloud. They would sit and play board games and talk until midnight when they would open the gifts they had got each other. The children would be allowed to play with their new toys for a while, and then Mark and Catherine would take them up to bed and he would sing them off to sleep. Even when he was twelve years old, on Christmas Eve, Steve would let his father sing him lullabies.
This year, Mark had planned something similar well ahead of time, and after the accident, as soon as he had started talking again, Steve had insisted that the celebration go on as scheduled. Instead of reading stories, though, Mark had succumbed to the digital age and encouraged his guests to bring videos and DVD's as well as books. Amanda and Ron, CJ and Dion, and Alex and Jesse were all going to spend Christmas Eve Day with the Sloans. The celebration was set to begin at ten in the morning, and Mark planned to spend the entire day and night watching movies and enjoying time with his son and their friends. Amanda was already at his house setting out the food and drinks, and Ron would arrive later with the boys. Jesse would be following him and Steve from the hospital, and Alex, who was scheduled to work until five would arrive just in time for dinner.
As he placed Steve's valise and plant in the car, he just prayed that his son would not lose his temper with one of their guests and ruin the celebration for everyone. Mark knew he could deal with Steve's sullen silence by pretending not to notice. Sooner or later, he always managed to draw him out that way, but if Steve went in to a full-blown rage, it could be disastrous. Though he loved his son with all his heart, he didn't want the angry, shouting Steve to show up at his Christmas party. The past year had been too hard on all of them, and he simply couldn't deal with a temper tantrum today.
Feeling suddenly guilty that he could no longer accept his beloved son just the way he was, Mark decided he would simply have to minimize the chances of Steve blowing up. He got behind the wheel thinking that would be so much easier if he just knew what set Steve off. He would have to make sure everyone remembered to be patient when talking with Steve, and he would have to remind CJ and Dion, and especially Ron, who hadn't seen Steve since last summer, to give him plenty of time to speak and to make sure he was finished before they replied. Then of course, there was the matter of background noise. He couldn't just eliminate the videos, but he could make sure the dining room was a quiet place where Steve could go to talk with his friends by setting up the snacks in the kitchen or on the card table in the living room.
Mark wondered if he could convince Steve to take CJ down to his apartment for a nap after dinner. For the child, it would be easy enough to convince him to rest so that he would be able to stay awake later in the evening and open his presents at midnight. But how would he talk Steve into catching a little sleep himself? He was just trying to decide whether he needed to argue forcefully or give a gentle, concerned suggestion when Steve's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Whyyy so q-quiet, Dad?"
"Oh, I was just thinking," Mark said.
"Ab-bout w-what?"
"Today is a big day for you. Just going home is enough of a change. I was wondering if you might be having second thoughts about the party."
"No, Dad . . . I'll b-be f-finnne."
"Are you sure? I don't mind cutting it back, maybe sending everyone home after dinner, or even canceling altogether."
"I s-said no, D-dad . . . I h-have been l-lookinnng f-f-forward . . . to th-this . . . for w-weeks."
"Ok, Son. If you change your mind anytime today, just let me know."
"Ok. I will . . . but I wonnn't."
By the time the party started, Mark found they had amassed quite an eclectic collection of movies. Interestingly enough, Steve had chosen It's a Wonderful Life when he went to the rental shop with Sara and MinJe the day before, and Mark had to wonder if it was a heartfelt sentiment, or if it was just easier than reading all the titles and choosing one he really wanted to see. He knew Steve was disappointed that his new friends had declined his invitation to the party, but Steve had understood that they both had their own families to celebrate with. For MinJe, it was a long-standing tradition to throw a party for his employees at the clothing shop and then to have his extended family spend the night. For Sara, it was the first time she could remember having a tree and presents.
No one was surprised when Jesse's video was Die Hard, though Amanda had tried to argue that it wasn't really a Christmas movie.
"What do you mean? It is so a Christmas movie," Jesse told her as he helped cut up the carrots for the vegetable tray.
"John McClane is a cop who wants to get reunited with his wife Holly on Christmas Eve. She works at a huge business building, and just as he arrives at the Christmas party and meets up with her, the bad guys come in, take hostages, and kill the CEO. He spends the rest of the movie chasing them down and running from them, shooting them and getting shot, and in the end, he winds up in his loving wife's arms. What could be more Christmassy than that?"
"Oh, I don't know," Amanda said as she stirred the dip ingredients together, "a root canal?"
"Yeah, well, that Nutcracker thing isn't even a movie," Jesse argued as he carried the last tray out to the snack table Mark had set up in the living room. "It's just a bunch of really skinny women in really short tutus being carried around by guys in really tight pants. Just the name of it is enough to make a guy nervous."
Steve was sitting there, flipping idly from station to station, watching coverage of the various Christmas parades when he heard Jesse's comment and laughed. "Good onnne, Jess."
"Oh," Amanda said brusquely, "You think that's funny, do you?" Steve was about to reply, but with her back to him, she couldn't tell he was trying to work out his words, and so continued right along with her little lecture. "I'll have you know The Nutcracker is one of the best loved Christmas programs around. It's a classic, and it won't hurt either of you to get a little high culture one day a year."
Steve sighed, his opportunity for comment gone. When she was finished, he just said, "Ok. Sorry Amannnda. We w-will w-watch it with y-you."
By the time he had finished speaking, she was already back in the kitchen helping Mark get drinks for everyone, but she called out, "Thank you, Steve, but you and Jesse don't have to."
"It's ok. W-we w-will."
"Speak for yourself, buddy," Jesse told him.
Steve shot him a wicked grin and said, "I do."
Ron arrived just after ten with CJ and Dion in tow. He had agreed to mind the boys for Amanda while she helped Mark prepare for the party, and to his own surprise, he had a great time, but there was no denying where their real affections lay when they entered the Sloans' living room. Both boys took one look at Steve, and flew into his arms, yelling "Uncle Steeeeve!" and fought to sit beside him on the couch.
Ron was surprised how easily he greeted CJ and Dion. He had the impression that Steve could still barely speak, but he chatted so comfortably with the boys, that if he didn't know Steve before the accident he might have just thought him a slow talker.
"Hi, g-guys. H-How are you?"
"Really good, Uncle Steve. Ron gave us our presents early," CJ said.
"Oh? . . . What did he g-get you?"
Dion spoke for them this time. "I got a new game for my PlayStation, and he gave CJ a real keyboard."
Ron saw Steve's confusion and was glad to know he wasn't the only one who had thought the child wanted a computer keyboard for Christmas. But Steve had the advantage, now that CJ had received the present. He covered his puzzlement nicely as he looked to CJ and said, "Wow! You got a k-keyboard?"
CJ nodded then and told him all he needed to know, "Uh-huh. It has seventy-two keys, just like a piano, and Mom's going to get me lessons for Christmas."
"Ohhhh, I d-didn't know you w-werrre innnterested in music."
"I didn't either, until they let us play with the instruments at school. I really like the piano because it can make more than one sound at a time."
"I s-see. M-maybe you c-cannn play s-sommmething for Uncle Mark and m-me sommmetime. H-he has a k-keyboard, too."
"I know, and I'll do that, but I haven't learned any songs yet. My lessons don't start until January."
"Ohhhh, welll, I'll be l-looking forrrward t-to it."
Steve got up then and crossed the room to where Ron was standing.
"I-it's g-good to ssssee y-you. Th-thanks for c-commming."
"It's good to see you, too, and I'm flattered to be invited, Steve," Ron held out his hand to shake, but to his surprise, Steve drew him in for a hug. For a moment, he stiffened, but then he relaxed when he realized his friend and sometimes colleague was genuinely glad to see him.
Stepping back from the hug, he looked at Steve and said, "You look good. How do you feel?"
"I'm ok," Steve said, "I-I just talk s-slow. It's g-gettinnng b-better, though."
"You thought it was for a computer, too, right?" Ron asked, anxious to be sure he wasn't the only one who didn't get it.
Steve thought a moment, then said, "Yes. W-why?"
"Because Amanda laughed at me when I asked her about it."
Steve laughed too, and said, "Sheee's a w-woman. Y-y-you're j-just supposssed to know th-these th-thinnnngs."
Ron grinned, and was about to reply, when Steve looked down to find CJ tugging his sleeve.
"Uncle Steve?" CJ asked.
"Yesss?"
"When are you gonna start talking right? You sound like a kid I go to school with, and some of the other kids make fun of him. Do people make fun of you?"
"CJ!" Amanda, Ron, and Dion all gasped as Jesse and Mark just looked on in horror.
Steve smiled down at the confused child and said, "I d-don't knowww w-whenn I w-will t-talk rrright againnn, CJ . . . b-but sommmeday, I w-will. S-sommme people d-do . . . mmake f-fun of mme, b-but I d-don't nnneed them . . . f-for friennnds annnywayyy . . . D-do y-you mmmake f-funnn . . . of th-the b-boy at ssschooool?"
CJ looked at Steve and said quite honestly, "I used to in kindergarten, Uncle Steve, but one time I made him cry and I felt so bad I apologized. He stopped crying, and Matt and I have been friends ever since. That's two whole years!"
"Wowww. G-good f-for y-you."
"And I don't pick on anybody anymore either!" the child added for good measure.
"That's a lie," Dion said.
"Well, you're my brother," CJ shot back. "You don't count."
The adults all laughed at the good-natured banter between the siblings, and CJ just went back to watching his movie on television. He had brought three of them, and right now, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas was on. As Steve carried Ron and the boys' coats to the spare room, Mark followed him in.
When Steve turned around to go rejoin the party, he was surprised to find his dad standing between him and the door, beaming.
"Dad?"
"Son, I just had to tell you how proud I am of you right now."
"Ok, whyyy?"
"That little talk you just had with CJ is the longest speech you have made since the accident, and you did it beautifully."
Steve just shrugged. "CJ's eeeasy. H-He's honnest. W-whennn he asks, he really . . . w-w-wants to knowww."
When Mark remained silent, Steve looked at him shrewdly and realized there was more to his father's pride than met the eye. Finally, he realized that his father, besides seeming genuinely proud, looked utterly relieved as well.
"Donnn't worrrry, Dad . . . I w-wonnn't ssspoil y-your parrrty."
"Steve, Son . . ."
"No, D-dad, it's ok. I know I h-havven't b-beennn eeeasy t-to g-get alonnnng with. . . . I d-don't b-blame you f-for worryinng. If I g-get m-m-mad orrr up . . . set I willl g-go downnnstairrrs . . . and y-you c-can sennd Jessseeee to check onn meee."
"All right, Son, I'll do that, but I also want you to remember that if you want everybody to go home, you just have to say so and I will ask them to leave, ok?"
"Ok. But I w-wonn't d-do th-that. Th-this parrrtyy is as immmporrrtant to me as it is to y-you."
"And I really am proud of you, Son." Mark's arms were aching to hug his beloved child. For weeks he had watched as Steve had struggled to say first words, then phrases, and now, he was finally able to speak sentences. Mark could only hope and pray that the coming weeks and months would bring more progress. Suddenly, he knew he could not get through the day, without hugging Steve and decided it would be better done here in the privacy of the guestroom than out among their guests where it would likely embarrass him.
Mark was surprised when, as he opened his arms and stepped toward his son, Steve stepped willingly into his embrace and returned the hug.
"I l-lovvve you, D-Dad."
"I love you, too, Son."
When father and son returned to the living room, their guests were watching The Santa Clause starring Tim Allen. Steve laughed harder at finding out that it was Ron's movie of choice than he did at any of the jokes in the movie itself.
"Why do you think that's funny?" Ron asked in his characteristic monotone.
"Becaussse you n-n-nevver smmmile."
"That doesn't mean I haven't got a sense of humor."
"C-could h-have fooled meee," Steve replied and then laughed.
Ron waited patiently, sensing that Steve had more to say, and when Steve spoke again, he almost wished he'd interrupted.
"Sommetimess y-you are ssso ssstiff . . . I'mmm not surrre you havvve a pulse."
"Oh, trust me," Amanda said, "the man has a pulse."
Steve closed his eyes and shuddered. "T-t-too mmmuch innnf-formmation, Amannnda."
"Anyway," Ron said, trying to change the subject quickly, "I like Tim Allen's movies. He's . . . What do the kids say now? 'Pretty fly, for a white guy.'"
Steve laughed at him again. "K-kidss d-donn't sayy that mmuch annymore. Y-you're b-behind."
They watched all of Ron's movie and two others and though Steve watched him closely, Ron never cracked a smile, except when he was looking at Amanda and the boys. He sincerely hoped some day things would work out so that the FBI agent and Amanda could be more than friends.
After dinner, Amanda, with some prompting from Mark, suggested that Steve take CJ downstairs for a nap. As he had suspected earlier, CJ, being a cooperative child, was quite willing to have a little sleep after the meal so long as someone promised to wake him in time to open presents. Steve, being somewhat more recalcitrant, only complied with his father's wishes when the little boy begged him to read him a story.
For some reason none of them could fathom, Steve could now read aloud perfectly. Marcus' theory was that since the words were right in front of him, he didn't have to figure out what he wanted to say and could just go on quite naturally. Since it was something he knew he could always be successful with, Steve was quite eager to read aloud any chance he got. So, it was with a big grin and a willing heart that Steve went downstairs to his apartment with CJ and a couple of books to tuck the child in for a nap and read him off to sleep.
Half an hour later, Mark went down to check on them, and as he was hoping, Steve, stretched out on top of the covers, had dozed right off along side of CJ. The only problem was, CJ was still awake and quietly looking through one of his books. When he looked up and saw Mark, he smiled, put a finger to his lips, and whispered, "Shhh! Uncle Steve was real tired and he fell asleep before he finished my story."
Mark hid a chuckle at the child's serious tone and asked, "What was he reading to you?"
"This," CJ said softly, and held up a copy of ''Twas the Night Before Christmas.' "He didn't like 'The Snowman' because he had to make up his own words." Opening the book, he added, "He stopped here. Will you finish for me?"
Mark had to stifle another laugh when he realized Steve hadn't even gotten to the naming of the reindeer. "Well, if you get under the covers and lay real still, I'll start from the beginning for you, ok?"
CJ nodded and eagerly crawled under the blanket.
"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house . . . "
By the time Mark finished with, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night," CJ had curled back into the warmth of Steve's body and was snoring softly. Mark bent over, and kissed the little boy on the head, then, unable to resist, he did the same to his grown up son.
Mark was extremely dismayed when, two hours later, Steve and CJ came up the stairs, and while CJ was refreshed and lively, Steve was grim and brooding.
"Son, are you ok?"
"Fine, Dad."
"You sure?"
"Yes, Dad."
The fact was, Steve was dreading the coming gift exchange. He hadn't been able to think of anything but the violin since the accident, and he had been unable to find any other gift that would be adequate for his father. Now he had nothing to give Mark, and while his dad would play it down and say he was just glad to have his son home, Steve knew his father would be worried, if not hurt, by his seeming thoughtlessness. Midnight was still three hours away, and Steve knew, if the tension in his gut did not ease soon, he would be quite ill by then.
And he would still have to explain about the violin.
At ten o'clock, Aunt Dora called, and though Mark explained that talking on the telephone was very difficult for Steve, she insisted on wishing him a Merry Christmas personally.
"H-hi, Aunt Dorrra,"
"My goodness," she said, "you do have trouble talking. I thought your father was exaggerating, but you sound like you've been drinking. Well, I just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas, Steve."
Steve was about to tell her he was sober as a judge and wish her a Happy Holiday, too, when she said, "Ok, you can put your father back on now."
When Steve handed the phone back to him, Mark could see that his usually bright blue eyes were now the gray of a stormy sea.
"Dora, what on earth did you say?"
After lecturing his sister on manners, courtesy, and sensitivity, Mark hung up the phone and went to his son.
"Your Aunt offers her apologies, Steve."
"It's ok, th-that'sss jussst Aunt Dorrra." Steve turned back to the TV, and Mark knew that matter was closed for discussion.
"So, it's almost midnight, Son," Mark persisted, "Aren't you going to give me any hints about my surprise?"
Without a word, Steve got up and walked away to get himself a drink. Then he headed out onto the deck. Mark was about to follow him when, the phone rang again, and a woman's voice, not entirely unfamiliar to Mark, said, "Could I please speak to Jesse Travis?"
Puzzled, Mark handed over the phone to his young friend. Jesse took the phone out to the quiet of the kitchen, and as Mark watched him, his curiosity grew. An enormous grin suddenly lit up Jesse's face and he began bouncing on the balls of his feet. He spoke animatedly for a while, and then finished with, "Oh, that is so awesome! I'll take care of it."
"Good news?" Mark asked as Jesse returned to the living room and hung up the phone.
"Just the hospital" Jesse said, savagely crushing a smile. "A question about one of my patients."
Mark looked at Jesse, "You're lying."
Jesse grinned at him then, "Yep."
When Steve came back into the room, Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey was rescuing Clarence the angel from the river in It's a Wonderful Life. Mark noticed that his eyes and nose were red now, and though it might well have been from the cold, for some reason Mark thought it was from tears. Steve seemed to be moving in a bubble of sadness and foul humor, and while Mark wanted badly to punch through that barrier to comfort his son, he knew this was neither the time nor the place. Silently, he prayed that they would all make it through the evening without a major blowup and turned his attention to Steve's movie.
Every so often, Steve could feel his dad watching him. Part of him just wanted to turn and scream at Mark, part of him wanted to break down and cry and confess the loss of the violin. He knew the way he was feeling, he should just excuse himself and go downstairs before he ruined the evening for everyone, but the terrible secret he was hiding had him feeling so sad and alone as it was, he couldn't bear to go off on his own now.
As Mark watched his son watching the movie, he could see a flurry of emotions run through him. Desperate to help, but not knowing what to do or say, Mark finally settled for resting a hand on Steve's arm to let him know he was not alone. For a moment, Steve tensed, and then, as he had done many times when he was a little boy, he turned his wrist, slid his arm through his father's grasp, and squeezed Mark's hand.
Steve looked at his father, eyes brimming with tears, and said, "D-dad, I . . ."
Before he could make his confession, the doorbell rang and the moment was shattered.
"I've got it," Jesse said as if he'd been waiting for it, and he was out of his chair like a shot. A moment later, he was back in the living room, "Steve it's for you."
"Well, t-tell th-themmm to c-commme inn," Steve said.
"They don't want to," Jesse said grabbing Steve by the wrist and hauling him most unceremoniously out of his chair. "They want to talk to you outside first."
"W-what onnn earth?"
Jesse dragged Steve to the door and pushed him out on the step. As he shivered in the cold, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, and then he saw Cheryl, Rachel, Sara, and MinJe looking at him expectantly. Rachel lifted up an instrument case.
"G-guyyyss, I ap-ap-apree . . .Th-thannk you forr tryyying, but . . ."
Without a word, Rachel opened the case.
Steve gasped, and stood gaping for a long moment, then, plain and clear, he said, "Oh, m-my God, y-you found it."
Tears slipped down his face as he gently touched the beautiful reddish wood on the front of the instrument and smiled.
Turning to his partner, he asked, "Cheryl, h-how? W-where?"
She grinned. "An almost honest pawn broker. When Bry and Reggie hocked it, he gave them three hundred dollars for it. They were happy to get it, and he knew they had no idea what it was worth, so he figured it wasn't theirs. He thought about selling it at a profit for a while, but then he found the pictures and Ms. Wood's card in the lid. He contacted her, and she contacted us.
"Bry and Reggie took the money from Bob's and went to Las Vegas. While they were there, they got into some serious trouble. They're facing twenty-five to life, and Nevada will never extradite them to face our charges. Las Vegas PD promises me their case will stick. As long as you decide not to press charges, the DA says you can have the violin now."
"Now? Y-yes. Oh, God, yes. G-go innside, all of you. Tell Dad I'll b-be there in a minnnute."
When Jesse came back into the room followed by Cheryl, Sara, MinJe, and a familiar-looking woman introduced to him as Rachel Wood, Mark got so caught up in the greetings and taking coats that he failed to notice Steve had not returned until they had all found seats in the living room.
While his friends went inside to join the party, Steve headed downstairs to check over the violin. Amazingly, it was undamaged. He tightened the bow, tuned the strings, and got ready for his first public performance.
"Where's Steve," Mark asked a few moments after everyone had settled.
"He said he'd be in soon," Jesse said.
Suddenly worried for his son who had seemed so glum for so long, Mark decided to go look for him. Because the living room was so crowded, he decided to go out through the deck doors and come into Steve's apartment from the beach entrance. That way, if Steve was out on the beach, he would see him.
"Mark," Jesse came after him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, "he'll be here in a minute."
"I need to see him now," Mark insisted. "Jesse, what if something's wrong? He's been so . . . "
Then he heard it, a sound so sweet and pure it made his heart weep, a sound he hadn't heard in over forty years. Mark shuffled to the living room and stopped.
"Jesse, do you hear that?" he whispered.
"Yes. It's 'Silent Night,' isn't it?"
Mark nodded. "Catherine played it for Steve on his first Christmas. Who? Where? Where's it coming from?"
Steve stepped into the living room then, and continued to play over the Ooh's and Ahh's of surprise.
Mark watched as Steve played the violin. He played it just like his mother had, held it like her, for she had been left handed, too, and had to pull her chair slightly ahead to avoid poking the person beside her when she played with the Phil. Steve stood just as his mother had, head slightly down, eyes closed, a look of rapturous contentment on his face.
The sweet simple melody floated through the room settling gently on everyone present, seeping into them, filling them with joy and peace, conjuring images of a young mother, her husband, and their holy, perfect infant, a small family, all safe together in God's keeping.
Steve played the song twice for good measure, then he stopped. He stood there for a moment, his bow poised above the strings as if still hearing the music in his head, smiling joyfully, his face shining with pleasure. Finally, he opened his eyes, and looked across the room to his dad.
In that moment, no one else existed for father and son. It was just the two of them, sharing a precious, secret memory.
Then Steve said, "Merry Christmas, Dad. I love you."
The words came out smoothly, effortlessly, and Mark knew his son was whole again.
THE END