Thomas Thornton woke up alone Christmas morning.
After a year and a half, that was still his first conscious thought every morning, the cavernous emptiness on the other side of the bed. His second thought this morning was of Greg, also fairly standard lately, but today there was an added flavor of anticipation. Would he give the girls their gifts? And would he call today?
Thomas had Greg's cell phone number now, mined like gold from caller ID on that first call, but he had never initiated a call to his son. He wasn't about to start today, either. He knew he was already pushing it by sending gifts to the girls. It was time to wait and let Greg take the next step in their dance. But if Greg passed them along, if the girls opened them and he saw their (presumed) reactions, would he call? Thomas double checked his cell phone even before getting out of bed, making sure it was fully charged. He would keep it right with him all day, just in case.
Getting up, he fixed breakfast for himself, another reminder that only half the food and one plate was needed, and then he headed out for his standard morning walk. His routine lap covered 4 1/2 miles. Every morning for decades had started like this up until Emily hadn't been up to it physically, but he was back to the pattern now. Aside from those few years of pure stress and getting progressively run down caring for her, Thomas was careful to keep himself in good shape, and he was much fitter than the average 75-year-old, though the years had taken some away from the former Marine. But in general, time's hand rested lightly on him, and he wanted to keep it that way, especially now. He had new purpose these days. Inch by inch, he was carefully working his way closer to Greg. The process should have started about 50 years ago, and not inch by inch but forcefully, rescuing his son from his childhood, but late was far better than never.
Greg himself was running late in life, though, just now having toddlers. Both of them were behind ideal schedule, but Thomas knew better than most that there was actually no schedule. His father had only been 35, his mother a year older. Tim and his wife also had been in their 30s. Thomas didn't know how much time he and Greg had left, but he was resolved not to waste another moment of it. He couldn't change what he'd done (or hadn't done) in the past, but he could make a difference now, as far as he was allowed to. And he did think there was progress, even though it was a little like trying to hug a porcupine at times. Slowly, gently, he was getting closer.
The suburb was alive with the sights and sounds of Christmas morning. Cars pulled into driveways and spilled out racing, shouting children and more sedate adults. Family members emerged from houses, unable to wait for the relatives to reach the door, and greeted each other right out there in the front yard. A Christmas tree lit every front window. Even the one new jogger he usually met the last few weeks, a middle-aged and overweight woman who puffed her way dutifully past him like a steam engine every morning, determination in every line, had tied jingle bells to her tennis shoes today and cheerfully jangled by. He smiled at her, and she returned it, calling, "Merry Christmas!"
All of these families knew him. They saw him every morning and, if they had lived here long enough, had seen him almost every morning for over 30 years. Most of them had known Emily, too. Residents smiled and waved as he passed. Even the dogs didn't bark at him any longer, other than one Scottie who was on a mission to protect his yard at all costs against all invaders. That one had barked at everything from behind his fence for years, a determined if small sentinel, always looking satisfied with himself when the intruder passed on by. He had once again successfully repelled the enemy.
Thomas walked on, keeping up a brisk pace, but he was eying the familiar houses and streets with a different thought since returning from his trip through Europe after Emily's death. Did he want to stay here? They had moved here back in the 1970s when he retired from the Marines. Tim had been a teenager, and the town had specifically been picked to be kid friendly, one of the more pleasant suburbs of St. Louis. Their house, too, had been picked deliberately to have what Emily proudly called "always room to spare." Indeed, an extra boy or two often somehow found his way home with Tim, and they had become courtesy relatives to a large extended family.
But Tim was gone and Emily was gone, and the large, rambling, friendly house the three of them had picked together now seemed hollow. It was simply too big for one man living alone. His footsteps seemed to echo there. Even before the morning he picked up a paper and read the article on Patrick Chandler that had sent him rushing to Princeton for more information, Thomas had been considering selling the place. He never acted impulsively, and this was no different as he made mental lists of pros and cons. He had good friends here - but he also had friends elsewhere. True friends are not limited by location. The memories were here, but he would be taking them with him, too, as each person carries their own lifebook along with them.
If he left, where would he go? That was the issue that held off the decision. He was waiting for more information, more feedback from Greg. In his fondest dreams, he now saw himself moving to Princeton, yet he knew that he could not unless invited. On the other hand, while the house seemed horribly lonely with only himself, he didn't want to move somewhere else besides Princeton, because that would seem like giving up, accepting that he could never be as close as he wanted to his son and his granddaughters. This morning, watching all the other celebrations and trying to mentally time the one at Greg's house, he came to a decision. One more year. He would give it another year, and by then, if he wasn't making steady progress with Princeton looking good as an ultimate possibility, he would pick another town and move to a small house or apartment which was more friendly and embracing than the large house which resonated with ghosts. They were good ghosts, but they remained ghosts, and they had too many rooms to rattle around here.
He arrived at the end of his round and studied his house as he approached it. Two stories, four bedrooms, several other rooms on the first floor, and indeed always "room to spare." This house needed a family, not just a solitary and aging man. It needed children and laughter between these walls. He loved it, was grateful to it, and it no longer suited him.
Going inside, he got a glass of water, polishing it off quickly, then checked email. Nothing from Greg. What was happening in Princeton? Probably their present opening would be early. He couldn't imagine Rachel waiting patiently with the enticing pile under the tree. He smiled, looking at the recent picture he had of Greg and wondering what his granddaughters looked like. He knew Abby had his father's eyes, but the rest of the physical details had not been filled in. He had drawn a mental picture of them, of course, giving Abby his father's face and hair as well as eyes, making Rachel a little more dark and fiery and not as thoughtful looking. He imagined them with the toys he had carefully picked.
Finally getting tired of simply waiting for the phone to ring, he stood back up and went to one of the ample spare rooms in the house. Here the model trains were set out, and he switched one on and watched it circle the track. The trains had been something he and Tim had loved together, and going to a show or shopping for a new engine or car had occupied many happy hours. He wondered whom Greg might take with him to the expo in Philadelphia in January. He couldn't imagine Lisa enjoying that.
His cell phone rang, and Thomas pulled it out quickly. It was Greg. "Hello. How's your Christmas so far, Greg?"
"Just go ahead and ask what you want to," his son challenged. Thomas wondered if he would ever get past those initial few seconds of defensiveness. Greg was starting to soften to him, but it still took them a while to settle into conversation.
"I did ask what I wanted to," he replied steadily. "I care about yours as much as the girls."
A moment's hesitation. "It's . . . not bad." Greg almost sounded surprised at himself there, as if not bad was a rousing improvement over most Christmases past. That was something else Thomas wondered about yet hadn't explored. John had screwed up his son's childhood royally, but there were thirty-odd years since then. As bad as those first years had been, Thomas sensed that adult life even without John had too often held broken trust and betrayal. At least his son was happy now with his late-blooming family. Thomas only had to look at the recent picture to see that. Music could be a soul-healing distraction, a respite in troubles, but Greg hadn't been distracting himself in that shot. The present held no regrets. He had simply been enjoying the music.
"Good." Thomas didn't wait to be asked how his holiday was going. He knew he'd be waiting quite a while.
"You know, there's a problem with that mug, though." Greg's voice both sharpened focus and relaxed a little. "It's not accurate. Technically, it was Ebenezer Scrooge who said Bah, Humbug, not the Grinch."
"That doesn't invalidate the mug. All it proves is that the Grinch, in addition to all his other faults, practiced plagiarism in this case," Thomas countered. "Dickens predates Dr. Seuss, after all. The Grinch could have read him."
He could hear the startled smile in the voice on the other end, brief though it might be. "Like that would have happened. Yeah, I can really see the Grinch down at the local library, reading the classics."
"You have to educate yourself on something in order to make fun of it properly," Thomas pointed out. "Probably not at the library, though. The Grinch would have taken books home. Read them privately one at a time, mocked as required, then used them for the fire once he was finished. Books are good for many things, after all."
Greg changed the subject, but he sounded a little more relaxed. Thomas pictured a porcupine with the quills at half mast instead of bristled on edge. "I gave the girls the presents."
Thomas felt a knot inside him unclench. "Thank you, Greg."
His son, of course, immediately had to back track. "They were from Santa Claus, though. The girls don't even know you."
"That's all right. Santa Claus has had many names over the years. I just wanted them to have them, even anonymously." There was a moment's silence, as if Greg had expected to run into challenge or annoyance on that. Thomas truly didn't care, at least not this Christmas. Getting the gifts to the girls at all had been a step forward. "How do they like them?" he asked.
"Oh, they like them fine. I still think we might shoot that horse before the New Year, though." Thomas smiled, picturing Rachel galloping around with it at full speed, leaving a wake of whinnies behind her. "Still got the talking horse?" It was something his son asked almost every time.
"Definitely. I was going to go take her out a little later."
"Not something as trite as a one-horse open sleigh, I hope."
"Can't have a one-horse open sleigh, Greg. St. Louis doesn't really get enough snow to make it work. She is trained to drive, but it's been a while." He felt the friendly ghosts crowd in and pushed them aside. Now wasn't the time to get lost in thought.
"So Tim went through a drum phase." Greg was quite interested in family history, though he pretended not to be. "What was he into, since he failed at music?"
"He didn't fail at it; he just didn't have any talent there. He did track in high school and college; he was a very good miler. When we got the horses, he really took off with that. He wanted jumping lessons, so I got those for both of us, and he was quite good at it. He went to horse shows regularly."
"He was quite good at it? So you sucked yourself then?"
Thomas grinned. "I was okay, but he was much better than okay. I just did it for fun, although I learned enough to be safe with it. I was never into seeing how high I could go or showing, although I went along with him to shows a lot, just helping out with his horse. It's a lot easier with a groom along. I enjoyed watching him, too."
"You still doing stuff like that at your age? You're getting up there, you know."
Thomas' grin faded, though not at the reminder of his age. "I haven't jumped since Emily got sick. Too much else going on. I just hadn't felt like it."
Silence again, and then his son abruptly changed the subject. "The wife wants to talk to you. Hang on a minute, and I'll put you on hold and call her." He meant literally call her, using his cell phone, and during the gap of the held call, Thomas wondered where Greg was calling from. He pictured his son in a back room, holding this conversation without wanting the girls or anyone else in the house to know. He didn't want to open the presumably closed door and simply yell for her and announce the call that way, either. After a moment, Greg returned. "Okay, she's coming down the hall." A suppressed grunt, a shift, and then creak of a mattress. Then a door opened, and the phone was passed off. "Here you go, Lisa, but . . ."
"Daddy!" Thomas heard running footsteps and then a whinny as his granddaughter skidded to a stop. "Come watch!"
"Rachel, I'm busy right now. In a minute, okay? I'm on the phone."
"Mama has the phone," Rachel corrected. Thomas heard Lisa laugh.
"Who is holding it is just a technicality. It's a shared call."
Rachel obviously missed the finer points of that explanation. "Come watch!" she insisted.
Greg sighed. "All right. What is it?" The horse whinnied again and then clip-clopped away. Thomas closed his eyes, trying to memorize her voice. He could picture the moment perfectly, could almost pretend he was there sharing it. Rachel. His granddaughter. That brief segment of conversation had been a surprise Christmas present for him.
He heard a door shut, and then Lisa spoke softly. "Thomas?"
"I'm here." He was still smiling. "So that's Rachel."
"Yes. She's so absolutely alive like that, every minute. She adores that horse, and Abby loves her music computer, too. Thank you."
"My pleasure." He only wished he could have seen them opening them.
"And thank you so much for that picture. I'll treasure it." Her voice became even softer, and he could hear the recognition of this private conversation. They never had had a chance to talk without Greg monitoring it before. "I don't need to talk very long," she said quickly, "but I just want you to know, you are winning. I know it's slow going, but this is working. You are making progress."
"Thank you." Confirmation from so close to his son was another bonus Christmas present for him.
"Just, please, be careful with him, okay? I know you are. You're so patient. But there's a lot to deal with."
"I know. Actually, I'm not that patient unless it's the best way there. I'd pick the faster route any day, but that would never work here. Not that I blame him."
"How's your Christmas going?"
"Pretty good so far. The phone call improved it."
"You're not spending Christmas alone, are you?" He heard the quick concern in her voice.
"No," he assured her. "I'm going to go over for dinner with some friends tonight. I spent last Christmas alone, and I realized that was a mistake." He didn't mention the Christmas before that one, his last with Emily with both of them fully aware of that fact, or the one before that, when he was still obsessed with trying to beat the disease. This one was definitely the leader out of the last four, even if he was limited to a brief phone conversation.
"Good. I'd better get going. I don't want Greg to wonder, and besides, Sandra and Blythe might need some help finishing up lunch."
The name startled him, like a sudden knife jab, the impact of the blade coming slightly ahead of the pain. "Blythe is there for Christmas?" He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. That wasn't fair, his mind protested. Her sin was at the minimum equal to his, and he was on the outside getting one phone call while she was apparently right there. She had seen the girls opening presents, even opening his presents. She would eat with them. She was a welcomed member of the family.
Lisa sounded guilty. "Yes, she's here, but I didn't . . . look, I can't tell you everything, okay? But it's not as simple as her coming for Christmas. You are making progress, and this is actually part of it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just blurted her name out like that."
"It's okay." His mind was already taking off trying to dissect out the hidden explanation, creating alternatives.
"No, it's not okay, but things are getting better. I shouldn't have said that. Maybe next year, Thomas, you can come visit us for Christmas. It's up to Greg, of course, but I think the odds are pretty good by then."
That prospect blew the thought of Blythe out of the water. "I'd like that."
"You're winning, like I said. Hang on a little longer, okay? I've got to get going."
"Merry Christmas, Lisa."
"Merry Christmas, Thomas." The line clicked off. He stood there watching the train circle the same track and return to its starting point. He at least wasn't stuck on a continuous loop, and there was progress. Next year. He recited it like a mantra. Maybe he could be there next year.
After a few minutes lost in thought, he looked at his watch, then switched the train off. He had time for an extra-long ride before cleaning up and getting ready for Christmas dinner. He left the room, then paused and changed course, heading into another one. This room was just used as storage. The harness was here, the leather a little dry and needing oiling. He hadn't touched it in a few years and scolded himself mentally for neglecting it. Not using it was one thing, but neglecting the leather was another. He detached the string of rich sleigh bells and shook them, remembering. Finally, taking the bells with him, he left the room.
The boarding stable seemed almost abandoned today, only the warm nickers of the horses to greet him. Everybody was off with their families. A barn cat came up to comb through his ankles, and he obligingly gave her a scratch, then headed on for his mare's stall. She had heard his footsteps, of course, and had her head over the door watching his approach. He picked up the halter from its hook by the door, then opened the stall, and she bent her head into it. "Merry Christmas, Ember." Thomas gave her a firm tap in a specific spot halfway up her right neck as he spoke, and she whinnied in reply. A small piece of carrot from his pocket was her reward, and then he led her down to the cross ties. He held out the harness bells, letting her inspect them and then making them ring. She hadn't seen them in quite a while either. She snorted a little, then bumped them with her nose, and the bells merrily jingled. Thomas tied the strap on them to his arm, where he would be ringing constantly as he groomed her, letting her get used to the sound again. Then he picked up the currycomb and brush and began.
Ember was a quite tall horse, larger than average. Thomas himself was 6' 3" and needed her size to avoid looking out of proportion in the saddle. She was a rich red, a true blood bay, with black mane and tail. He had had the mare for eight years, the latest in a line of horses, and she was the most intelligent of them, he thought. Training her had always been easy. Thomas kept up a steady stream of conversation as he worked (and jingled) around her, even getting into subjects he usually saved for the open trail. As always, she was a marvelous listener, attentive and sympathetic even if silent. Today, he didn't have to worry about prying human ears. The barn manager would have been by earlier to feed and do chores and would again tonight, but meanwhile, this world was all his.
After brushing Ember and cleaning her hooves out, he went to the tack room for his saddle and bridle and dutifully wrote a note on the blackboard there as required, giving the time and which trail he was taking. The policy was a precaution the barn manager had when people rode alone. Ember had long since stopped pricking her ears at the bells by the time she was fully tacked up, and he fastened the string to his saddle, then watched her reactions carefully as he led her down the aisle. She was fine with it. He led her outside, shut the barn door, and then mounted.
The bells jingled merrily as they went down the trail, Ember arching her neck, enjoying them. Thomas listened to the ringing and remembered.
"I found them in an antique shop last week," Thomas said. "It's not quite the same with a buggy as it would be with a sleigh, but you still get some of the effect." Ember was trotting down the path, the bells spilling into the air. "We'll make this a new tradition and do it every Christmas day from now on, okay?"
Emily was next to him on the seat, bundled up warmly, somewhat thin and pale but still with smiling eyes. "I love them," she said. "Ember seems to enjoy it, too."
"Just think of next Christmas. It will really be a celebration then. You'll be well."
She sighed. He hated the resignation - or was it merely recognition? - behind her eyes. "Thomas, I want you to promise me something."
He signaled Ember for a little faster trot, increasing the ringing. He didn't want to promise her something. That sounded far too final, and they weren't down to that yet. She was under treatment, she was going to get well, and they had many years left together. Emily was silent, watching his determined face, waiting. Finally, he had to ask, just to break the stalemate. "What?"
"If I don't get well -"
He immediately cut her off. "You are going to get well. We can beat this. Remember all those studies people have done on the power of positive thinking? With optimism plus the treatments, you'll be fine by next year."
She squeezed his hand on the reins, but she pushed on, quietly stubborn. "If - and I am saying if - I don't get well, once I'm gone, find something to hold your interest. You need a focus, Thomas. You're too intense not to have a project to engage with. I don't want you to go all the way down with me and not be able to find your way back. If we lose on this, don't just stay mentally at the funeral. Find something else to throw yourself into. Okay?"
"I'm not going all the way down with you, because you aren't going all the way down. If these treatments don't work, we'll get a referral to another specialist. Somewhere, there's the answer." He shifted the reins to one hand, tightening up on her fiercely with the other as if in a tug of war with cancer. He had lost every other person he'd loved in life, except for Greg, who had never really been his anyway. Even before Greg was born, Thomas had made the firm decision from Blythe and John's happiness to back off and never raise the possibility. This would be their son. But everyone who had been openly claimed as his family had died other than her.
He refused to lose Emily. That was too much. He wasn't going to lose her; whatever doctors or treatments it took, they would beat this. They would die together in their sleep on the same night at age 90.
Her fingers tightened on his hand in answering pressure, and he tried not to notice that she was weaker than before. "Promise me, Thomas."
Another mile of silence. The bells rang merrily. Finally, he gave in, just to reassure her, even if he still had no intention of having to put it into practice. "I promise."
Ember jumped suddenly beneath him, and Thomas snapped back to the present. His balance shifted for a moment, then held, and he tightened up the loose reins and straightened in the saddle, letting her feel his reassuring presence again. "Easy, girl. What is it?" Her ears were pricked sharply, and now he, too, heard the rustling in the woods. A deer emerged. Ember relaxed; just a deer. The whitetail looked at them, then bounded away, soaring over a nearby fence in an elevator jump.
Thomas patted the mare. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He scolded himself mentally for totally zoning out. That violated one of the main safety rules around these majestic but large and powerful creatures; always pay attention. Even the best-trained horse remained a prey animal genetically hard-wired to wonder at first if a sudden sound or movement might be a hungry cougar or wolf, and it only took a second to get hurt. He had probably even contributed to the mare's spook. She would have sensed he had mentally abandoned her, and any horse feels less safe alone.
"Come on," Thomas said. "It was just a deer." He put her back into a trot, and the bells rang out again. This time, he kept talking to her, not letting himself drift off into memories again. He usually talked to her anyway. "What would you think about living somewhere else, Ember? Maybe up north a little. It would be colder, but we'd have people there, too. Whatever we wind up doing, if we move, you'll come along with me." Her ears were radar, tuned back toward him. A rabbit bounced out ahead of them, but she didn't even twitch this time. "Next year, Ember. One more year. By next Christmas, I'll know if there's any chance at Princeton or not."
The trail left the woods, entering a large field with several cross-country jumps in it. Thomas eyed them in sudden temptation. As he had told Greg, he hadn't jumped since Emily got sick. Jumping gave an incredible feeling of freedom, not of feeling weightless but of being weighted and yet airborne, temporarily breaking the hold of earth, like a plane leaping for the sky at the end of the runway. He hadn't felt free for the last few years with the losing battle against the cancer. But today, thinking of the next year, knowing he was making progress, he was suddenly tempted to take a jump, just one, as a Christmas celebration. "What do you think, Ember?" he asked her. "Do we want to try it? I'm sure you haven't forgotten."
He put the mare into a canter, circling the field, carefully making sure he had her balanced. The jump he picked out was a low pile of logs with a long approach, deliberately selected for that approach, giving the mare time to firmly register his intentions. He watched Ember's ears. She knew they were going to jump it, and she did remember; he could feel her controlled eagerness. Straight approach, balance, and then liftoff, and they were airborne. The bells gave an especially vigorous ring at the thrust of her takeoff, and they pealed again as the two returned to earth on the other side. Thomas laughed, and Ember arched her neck. He gave her a pat just in front of the saddle, then brought the canter down to a trot, taking the trail back toward the stables. "Next year, Ember," he promised her. "Things are happening."
He trotted on, talking to his horse and enjoying the cheerful sound of the bells, unaware of the approaching storm that in the next week would change everything forever for all of them.