A Perfect Day (26 page)

Allyson said, “Carson, you sit between us and we’ll keep you warm.”

There was a thick blanket on the opposite seat. I lifted the blanket over all three of us. Evening fell as steadily as the snow while our horse clopped slowly through the twilit streets. We rode up South Temple then north into Memory Grove. The streets were still busy and decked in their holiday attire. We returned and circled Temple Square. The lights in the square were spectacular as usual, and the sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir could be heard even outside the tall granite walls. I put my arm around Allyson and she didn’t seem to mind.

The horse stopped at the curb, and the driver pulled the brake and walked around to us. He placed a step on the ground then took Allyson’s hand and helped her down. I was the last one out of the carriage. As I paid the driver, he said to me, “I’m giving my wife a copy of your book for Christmas. I wish I had it here. Would you mind signing the back of my business card?”

“Not at all,” I said. I signed it and we walked away. It still surprised me that people recognized me.

We walked through Temple Square and looked at the lights. The falling snow created a dreamlike solitude around us, the colored lights of the square reflecting off our faces. We both held Carson’s hands as we walked. The snow continued to fall harder, and after forty minutes Carson said she was cold, so we made our way back to the parking terrace. We stopped on the way home for a doughnut and hot chocolate.

It was late when we got home—a couple hours past Carson’s usual bedtime. I helped Carson with her coat then turned to help Allyson, but she had already removed it.

“It’s time for bed, girlie,” Allyson said. “Give us a kiss.”

She kissed both of us then ran down the hall to her room.

“I’ll put her to bed,” I said.

When I walked into her room, Carson had already undressed to her underwear and was lost in the nightgown she was trying to pull over her head. I pulled it down over her head. “There you are. I lost you for a minute.”

“I was right here.”

“So you were.” I peeled back the covers on her bed. “Hop in, pumpkin.”

“Can’t.”

“And why not?”

“We didn’t pray.”

“I’m sorry.” We knelt down by the side of the bed. Carson said, “I’ll say it,” and immediately started into it. “Dear Heavenly Father. Thank you for bringing Daddy home and for all the fun things we got to do today. Please tell Santa to drive safe and don’t be hit by an airplane when he is in the sky. Bless Daddy won’t have to go to work again and Mommy won’t cry anymore. Amen.”

“Amen.”

She looked in my face. “How come you’re crying?”

“I’m not really crying,” I said. “Sometimes my eyes just leak.” She looked at me, her face showing her bewilderment. “I really hate it,” I said, rubbing my hand over them. “I’ll have to get them fixed.”

She crawled into bed and I pulled the covers up to her chin. She stared intently into my eyes.

“I’m glad you’re home, Daddy.”

“Me too, pumpkin. Now, you go to bed so Santa can come.”

“Don’t forget to leave a carrot for Rudolph.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Daddy, will the other reindeers be sad that I like Rudolph the most?”

“Only if they find out.” I switched off the lamp next to her bed. “I’ll put out a whole bunch of carrots. They’ll never know.” I kissed her forehead. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Daddy, today was a perfect day.”

The words pierced me. “Yeah, it was. Good night, sweetheart.”

Her eyes shut and she nestled into her pillow. I quietly walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I realized that I had not even considered how my death would affect Carson. How could I have been so selfish? Suddenly it occurred to me that it had been wrong for me to come back. That this time together would only make their loss more difficult. In spite of what I might have told myself, the truth was I had come back for me, not them. The thought of it exasperated me. Even when I was trying to do the right thing, I failed miserably. A wave of intense sadness swept through me. I needed to leave. For their sake I needed to leave.

Just then Allyson stepped out of the kitchen, silently waving me toward her. I walked to her.

“Is she asleep?”

“I think. She was pretty tired.”

“It’s been a busy day,” she said, her voice pleasant and soft in remembrance. “Do you want to help me put out her presents?”

“Sure.”

Together we descended the stairs to the storage room, where a locked armoire was filled with toys. Inside was an American Girls doll with an old-fashioned desk; three doll outfits; a CD of children’s music and a nail painting kit.

Allyson brought out the gifts. “Would you mind getting the wrapping paper?”

“Where is it?”

“In the storage room. On the top shelf by the door. Santa uses the red paper. We use the green paper.”

“She notices?”

“Remember last year when she asked why Santa had the same wrapping paper as us?”

I nodded in remembrance. “I forgot. She doesn’t miss a thing, does she?”

“Just you.” She looked up at me. “I’m sorry. It just kind of came out.”

“I’ll get the paper,” I said.

“There should be some scissors and Scotch tape next to it.”

I fetched the paper. We finished wrapping the gifts then laid them beneath the tree. Then Allyson turned off the lights, and we sat back on the couch in front of the tree, the room illuminated only by its lights, flashing in colorful, syncopated strands. There was gentleness to the night. A calm, alluring peace.

“Want some eggnog?” Allyson asked.

“You have eggnog?”

“I do.”

I looked at her suspiciously. “You hate eggnog.”

“I know, but you like it.”

I smiled. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll drink eggnog.”

“Tomorrow,
you’ll
drink eggnog.”

“I’ll drink eggnog,” I said.

Suddenly she leaned into me. I put my arm around her, and again all was quiet except the sound of the fireplace. Earlier in the day I had imagined that this might be the right time to tell her everything. But I now realized that there would never be a right time.

“Remember our first Christmas after we were married?” she asked.

“I got you that silk shirt.”

“Which you washed two weeks later. It shrunk to the size of a Barbie outfit.”

I chuckled. “I was just trying to be helpful. And you got me that leather bomber jacket. I couldn’t believe you had saved that much money.”

“I saved all year for it. That was a lot of money back then.”

“Those days weren’t easy.”

“No. But they were simple. We didn’t have much, but we had all we needed.” She looked at me. “I have nothing but fond memories of our Christmases together.”

I let her words fade into silence. Finally I looked to the window then said, “It’s still snowing. What time do you think it is?”

She leaned back, looking for the clock on the microwave oven. “Oh, my. It’s past midnight.”

I sighed. “I better go. She’ll be up around six, won’t she?”

“If we’re lucky. Last year she got up at five.” Then Allyson said, “Why don’t you just sleep here tonight?”

I must have looked surprised, because she quickly added, “In the guest room.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you.”

Then, without thought, I leaned forward and kissed her. At first Allyson started to recoil, but she stopped and instead let me cover her lips with mine. It was a long, deep kiss. We parted and we looked into each other’s eyes. She looked beautiful and vulnerable. She took a deep breath, her lips still slightly parted. “Good night, Allyson.”

“Good night.”

I stood, stifling a yawn. “Is the video camera charged?”

She laughed slightly. “Yes. You know, that’s the first time you’ve remembered that on your own?”

“Old dogs can learn. Some of us are just slower than others.” I smiled. “Be sure to wake me up when she wakes.”

Allyson turned off the lights then went to her bedroom alone. I walked downstairs to the guest room. I folded my trousers and shirt across the foot of the bed. I turned off the lights then slid under the covers. My mind reeled with my dilemma. Things had become more difficult not easier. When would I tell her? Or should I? I remembered the letter I’d written. I’d let the letter do it. I closed my eyes and fell off into sleep.

 

Somewhere in the night I jolted awake from a sound sleep. I sensed the presence of someone in the room. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see a form standing at the foot of my bed. It filled me with terror. I pushed myself up on my elbows, waiting for the form to do something. It just stood there. “It’s not my time,” I said. “Not yet.”

“No, it’s not,” Allyson replied.

I exhaled in relief. I rubbed my hand across my eyes. “Sorry, you startled me. What time is it?”

“It’s only three.” She stood, almost motionless, as if afraid to step forward.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A few minutes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.” She walked to the side of my bed and sat down. I rolled over to my side, trying to read her face through the shadow.

She sniffed. “I am so tired of sleeping alone every night, wishing that you were next to me. I know this is really stupid and I’m going to hate myself in the morning, but would you hold me tonight?”

“Yes.”

I peeled back the comforter and she slid under the covers. Then I put my arms around her and pulled her into my chest. The smell and feel of her filled me as her body pressed against mine. For the first time since our trip to New York I felt whole.

CHRISTMAS DAY. SEVEN DAYS UNTIL NEW YEAR’S.

C
arson first ran to our bedroom then, finding it vacant, ran downstairs to the guest room, leaving the lights on behind her. “He came!” she shouted. “Santa came!”

Allyson raised herself from my chest. “So early?”

I yawned then looked at my watch. “It’s almost seven.”

“He really did,” Carson said. “I saw some toys!”

“Okay, hold on,” I said. “Let me get the camera. Al, will you hand me my pants?”

She reached over and handed me my trousers. I slid them on under the covers then climbed out from the sheets. Allyson said, “Wait, the Bible.”

It was our tradition. Every Christmas, before we went to the tree, we always read the Christmas story in second Luke. It was our way of keeping the season in perspective. She left, returning a few minutes later cradling the family Bible in her arm.

“Do you want to read?” she asked.

“Sure.” I took the book. Even though we had done this every year of our marriage, I don’t think the words have ever quite looked the same. Facing one’s own mortality brings life to such script. As I read of the angels, I thought of Michael. It had never occurred to me that these beings had names. Or frequented Starbucks.

When we finished, I took Carson’s hand and the three of us ascended the stairway. Carson darted off toward the tree and homed in on the most visible of her presents with the intensity of a heat-seeking missile. “Look, Daddy! An American Girl doll!”

“You must have been a very good girl,” I said.

Carson hunted down her presents until they were gathered in one big pile; then she sat cross-legged on the floor and unwrapped them. There were still a few packages under the tree. I assumed that they were for Nancy.

“What about yours?” Allyson asked.

“You have a present for me?”

“Of course.”

She got up and walked over to a large, flat package and brought it back to me. I slowly tore back the paper. It was a framed family picture that we had taken last spring up in the canyons. I looked at it silently.

“It was actually a family present,” Allyson said. “I had it made before . . .” She didn’t finish.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

Nancy arrived at the house around noon. As usual she just walked in, and we all knew the moment she did. Nancy makes the noisiest entrances of anyone I know. “Merry Christmas, merry Christmas, all,” she shouted and jumped up and down, ringing the Christmas bell that hung around her neck.

At the sound of Nancy’s entrance, Carson bolted from the floor. “Nancy, Santa came.”

Nancy’s arms were full of packages, and Carson was hugging her waist as she came into the kitchen. I was sitting cross-legged on the family room floor dressing a doll I think was named Molly. “Merry Christmas, Nance,” I said.

“Nice doll,” she said. “Hey, I caught you on
Good Morning America
. Not bad for a radio salesman.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s Al?”

“She’s in the shower.”

She set down her packages. “Do you mind bringing in some things from my car?”