The Ghost of Christmas Present (17 page)

Patrick cleared his throat as they passed nurses, doctors, patients, and families, who all stared at the passing vision of the Ghost of Christmas Present. “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.”

His song carried and echoed down the tiled hallway like a host of deep-voiced elves calling ahead to all who gathered. They came from sick rooms and hallways, staff desks and utility closets, to stand in doorways to watch Patrick and Braden pass by.

“Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day.”

Braden grinned at the people they rolled past. “That's my dad.”

Medical staff, patients, and families all began to clap and join in singing the haunting, familiar old carol. “To save us all from Satan's power when we had gone astray.”

And as the man in the green velvet robe and wreathed head walked on, they sang, “Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,” their voices filling the hospital hallways.

“That's my dad.”

Chapter 24

HOLIDAY HOBGOBLIN

C
hristmas shoppers spilled out of stores and flowed into waterways of pedestrians streaming down the sidewalks of lower Midtown Manhattan. On Lafayette Street, storefront windows displayed small forests of carefully placed poinsettias.

If there were any storybook church bells ringing, you couldn't hear them for the honking of taxi horns and an exchange between two cabbies that didn't quite dovetail with the spirit of the holiday. Epithets were tossed back and forth across the two lanes of traffic, as were several hand gestures that transcend the divides of culture and language.

The Ghost of Christmas Present was not here with Ebenezer Scrooge at his side to sprinkle his magic, glitter dust on the two cabbies, and cause them to merrily shake hands and then go off arm in arm in search of a Christmas goose and plum pudding. The Ghost of Christmas Present was standing in a courthouse hallway nearby, wearing a jacket and tie, having just finished telling Abe McManus the truth.

“Boyo, oh boyo,” Abe said as he took an uneasy seat in a wooden chair along the wall.

“I thought you should know how I've made my money this month.”

“Thank you for telling me. I wished I'd known earlier. You would have saved me a journey into my conscience. That's what I get for looking at myself in a beer mirror.”

“You wouldn't have taken my case.”

“I would have offered pro bono to the other side.”

“I did what I had to do to keep my son.”

“By dressing up as a holiday hobgoblin?” Abe said, his voice carrying through the halls of justice.

“I was the Ghost of Christmas Present, the very first embodiment of Father Christmas—”

“Save it. Just tell me, who else knows about this?”

“She does,” Patrick said, nodding to Rebecca, who entered the courthouse hallway clutching her briefcase and walked past them without a nod.

“The caseworker?” Abe said as he shook his head. “Does she have any film of you? Any eyewitnesses who can identify you as this Ghost of Christmas Present?”

“None that I know of.”

Abe's mood rose. But then Patrick's dipped. “Unless she's talked with any of the staff, patients, or patients' relatives who were in the hallway of St. Genevieve's Hospital yesterday morning.”

“You didn't.”

“My son asked that I walk him to the operating room as the Ghost.”

“You know you've undone yourself?”

Patrick sat with the truth of it. “Maybe I meant to. Who am I to keep my son all to myself in an apartment where I don't know if I'll be able to pay the rent or utilities?”

“You said you had a new job.”

“But how long will that last, the way the world's turning these days? Until Easter? The Fourth of July? Then what do I do? Hit the streets as Peter Rabbit or Uncle Sam? Forget it.”

Patrick rose and straightened out his jacket and tie. “If my boy ends up hating me after what Ted tells him, so be it. I'd rather have Braden turn his heart against me for allowing his mother to die than for his heart to turn against his own body because he wasn't getting the right care. I've been selfish to think otherwise.” Patrick looked down the hallway at an approaching group of people. “He'll be safe with Ted Cake.”

And indeed, it was Ted Cake who approached with Mila and a couple of lawyers in tow. The two met eyes for a second, and then more than a second as neither one would blink and look away from the other.

“Good morrow, good sir,” Patrick said as Ted was just about to pass by. The older man hesitated for a second, looking back at his former son-in-law for a bewildered second, but then briskly walked on into the courtroom followed by Mila and the lawyers.

“What was that?” Abe said.

“Just a greeting from an old friend. If the truth's going to come out, it might as well come out now.”

“Listen to me. Silence your tongue now if you're hoping for any kind of visitation. If they truly can confirm that you've been prancing around the streets in a velvet robe and wreath around your head for money, the only time you'll spend with Braden is once a month under the eyes of a court-ordered supervisor. Do you understand?”

Patrick nodded.

“Now let me do the talking and, for the love of Braden, keep the Ghost of Christmas Present inside the book and outside this court.”

Abe headed into the Family Courtroom followed by his client.

Chapter 25

A NUTCRACKER READY FOR HIS NEXT WALNUT

P
atrick sat in the defendant's chair and fingered his Captain Pluton Band-Aid.

Mila watched him do it.

“All rise. Hear ye, hear ye, the Family Court for the District of Manhattan is now in session. The Honorable Judge Donald Ramirez presiding.”

Patrick rose and looked at Ted, who kept his face fixed straight ahead and his hands folded down like stiff marble limbs that might crack off at any second from strain. Yep, the old man still hated his guts.
No matter
, Patrick thought.
The boy is all
.

“All having business before this honorable court draw near, give attention, and you shall be heard. You may be seated.”

Patrick and all sat back down as Judge Ramirez, middle-aged but with an already full head of white hair, looked over the court papers. “In the case of Theodore Cake, the plaintiff, versus Patrick Guthrie, the defendant, is counsel ready to proceed with opening statements?”

Ted's lawyer rose like a nutcracker ready for his next walnut. “We are, Your Honor. We intend to prove that the defendant, Patrick Guthrie, is unfit to care for his ten-year-old son, Braden, who is, while I speak, recovering from an invasive heart procedure. Mr. Guthrie was terminated from his teaching job the Friday after Thanksgiving, could only obtain temporary employment at a pizza restaurant, and was terminated from that job this past Saturday for continually being late and then finally not showing up for work at all.”

Judge Ramirez glanced at Patrick with a dim face.

“Furthermore, Mr. Guthrie is behind on his rent, light, heat, and phone bills. He is mere weeks from being evicted. This is not only an unfit environment for a child, it is an unthinkable one for a child recovering from heart surgery. We ask that Braden Guthrie be placed in the care of Mr. Cake, the father of the boy's mother who tragically passed away some three years ago. We ask that Mr. Cake be awarded indefinite custody of his grandchild. It may be that Mr. Guthrie could very well obtain employment in the New Year, but his recent work history shows that he is unstable and even incapable of preserving the most modest of jobs. Put frankly, the man can't even show up to cut a pizza, let alone care for another human being.”

The Nutcracker sat down and Ted looked over at Patrick with satisfaction.

“Is opposing counsel ready to make an opening statement?”

Abe wasn't. He just sat there as if he were the cracked nut and the Dance of the Sugar plum Fairy had just scattered the broken bits of his shell all over the courtroom.

“Mr. MacManus?”

Abe looked at Patrick, who whispered, “Just tell the truth.”

“And end up begging out on the streets with you? I'm too old to play Punxsutawney Phil come February . . . or maybe I'm not.” Abe rose and collected himself. “I will tell this court the truth.”

“Seeing as how you're a member of the New York Bar, I hope so,” Ramirez said with a voice as dry as gravel.

“Patrick Guthrie has done everything he can to take care of his son. Throughout this holiday season he has embodied the very spirit of Christmas. Even though he has faced his son's impending operation with a father's natural fears, he has spoken and sung his way through his days and into the hearts of those around him.”

Mila smiled to herself and again looked at Patrick, who still fingered the Band-Aid. Rebecca sat several rows behind, clutching her file.

“He has brought yuletide joy to many who needed it most.” Abe sat down as the bewildered judge looked from Abe to the opposing counsel and then back again.

“Mr. McManus. That's your opening statement?”

Abe put his head in his hands and nodded. Ramirez shrugged and looked back to the plaintiff's table. “Call your first witness.”

R
ebecca stood at the witness box as the bailiff swore her in. “. . . and nothing but the truth, so help you God.”

“I do.” Rebecca sat as Ted's attorney approached.

“Ms. Brody. You have interviewed Mr. Guthrie and observed his living and working situation now for some two weeks. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And have you come to a conclusion as to whether Mr. Guthrie is a fit parent to take care of a young boy who's recovering from very serious heart surgery?”

Rebecca sat silent for a moment, her eyes traveling from Ted to Patrick and then back to Ted, who began to glower. “Mr. Guthrie is the best father to that boy any man could be.”

The attorney traded disappointed glances with Ted. “That's not what I asked, Ms. Brody. Is Mr. Guthrie a fit father to care for a fragile child? Is he financially capable? Are his living situation and home life ones that you would consider acceptable?”

“Mr. Guthrie assures me that he will have gainful employment come the New Year. I believe him. Until that happens, there are financial aid programs to explore, city assistance—”

“Ms. Brody—”

“The boy shouldn't be without his father,” Rebecca said in rush of words.

The attorney again looked to Ted Cake, who gave a knowing nod. “Ms. Brody, isn't it true that in observing and interviewing Mr. Guthrie, you have gone above and beyond what a city social worker would be expected to do?”

“I've done my job.”

“Does your job include staying with Mr. Guthrie and his son for a whole showing of an animated movie at the hospital?”

Rebecca tried to answer, but was cut off.

“Does your job include arriving at the hospital at four in the morning in preparation to see the father and son?”