Chapter 25

“It’s your father,” I said to Lizzie as I peered out the front window.

Lizzie, dressed in pink silk pajamas, fuzzy slippers and a fleecy red Santa Clause robe, rose up on her tiptoes to look over my shoulder. “Do you think he’s angry? Maybe he didn’t want a Christmas tree this year.”

“I don’t know but I think we should answer it.”

She agreed and followed me down the stairs.

We opened the door to find Dr. Reynolds standing stiffly in a tailored black overcoat and blood-red scarf.

“Hi, Dad,” Lizzie said hesitantly.

“Hello,” he replied, his breath visible on the chilly winter air. “I know it’s late, but I noticed your lights were on.”

I cleared my throat and opened the door wider. “It’s no problem. We were up. Would you like to come in?”

Looking distinctly ill at ease, he nodded, stepped inside and followed us up the stairs.

“Can I get you anything, Dr. Reynolds?” I asked. “Coffee? A soda? Scotch?”

He didn’t look at me. “A Scotch please, Nick. Thank you.”

So far, it was the most civil conversation I’d ever had with the man in my whole life.

“As long as you don’t mind the cheap stuff.” I went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle from the cupboard over the stove, while Lizzie took her father’s coat and scarf and invited him into the living room to sit on the sofa.

I poured Scotch on the rocks for all three of us and carried them in.

“Thanks,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“You must have worked late tonight?” Lizzie asked, glancing curiously at the Christmas box he’d set on the coffee table.

“Yes.” He took a deep swig of the Scotch. “I came home and saw the cookies, the decorations, the Christmas tree. That was very kind of you two.”

I suspected it took a lot for him to cough up those words.

Lizzie tucked her legs up under her. “I hope you didn’t mind. I still had a key so I let myself in. Then we thought the house seemed too quiet. It needed a little Christmas spirit.”

“It did,” he replied, never quite meeting her gaze.

I found myself letting out a slow breath as I leaned back in the leather chair.

“It has definitely been very quiet at the house,” he explained, taking another gulp of Scotch and finally setting the glass down on the table. “I still can’t believe your mother’s gone. Sometimes I come home from the hospital and I imagine that she had come back. I can smell her perfume or I think I smell cookies, but she’s never there. It’s um...” He paused. “It’s been unsettling to say the least. Especially now, at Christmas. She always made everything so special.”

I said nothing while Lizzie touched her father’s knee. “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Dad. It’s not what any of us wanted.”

He lifted an eyebrow and looked down at the floor. “Either way, you can’t deny I had this coming.”

“How do you mean?”

Of course Lizzie knew exactly what her father was referring to, but I understood that she wanted to hear it from him.

Dr. Reynolds twisted his wedding ring around on his finger. “You know I wasn’t the easiest father in the world. I demanded a lot. J.J. had it the worst.”

“It was hard sometimes,” she gently said.

He shut his eyes, cupped his forehead in a hand and shook his head. “I know. I’ve been talking to someone,” he admitted. “Your mother was after me to do that for years and ... Well, after she left...”

“Do you mean a therapist?” Lizzie asked.

He nodded. “I’m starting to realize that I’ve needed structure and rules in the house because I want to avoid the sort of conditions I grew up in. It was basically pure chaos.”

Lizzie and I remained quiet and her father continued. “There were days when my father used to come home drunk, take one look around at the mess and the noise with a wife and six kids all living in a rundown shack, and he’d fly into a rage. My poor mother couldn’t keep up with all the housework and we did our best to help out, but it was never enough.”