Chapter 7

It was Christmas Eve and I sat listening to the Christmas services. My sister Taylor sat on my left and Amelia on the right, each holding one of my hands. I could feel Becky's eyes on me. Somehow I was again aware of her, almost like I was five and a half years ago. It seemed like the moment she surprised me with a hug in the foyer of the church that feeling of connection started to come back.

I didn't want it to be back.

I didn't want to feel connected to any woman besides Abigail, and that connection was gone, except for her ghost that haunted my dreams, and the thoughts of her that dominated my waking hours. Evan Smith said that someday I would have to move on with my life ... for my sake and Amelia's. I didn't want to move on with my life damn it ... I just wanted things the way they were ... Abigail, Amelia, and our place, raising cattle and kids, and Abigail and I making love in our big bed. I was glad the lights were dim and most of the illumination in the church was by candlelight so nobody could see the raw emotions that swept across my face.

I was unsettled here in Douglas. Yes, that was the best description of my frame of mind. I was surrounded by people who loved me, but I longed for Montana where I was the master of my own house. Here I was constantly reminded of the past ... a past that seemed to have very little to do with my present.

My mother had flown out the door and down the walk as we drove up. She hugged me fiercely and tears flowed, but she smiled the whole time, hugging Amelia, chattering nonstop about how happy she was to see us and to finally meet Amelia. She looked very much the same as when I left, perhaps a little thinner, but at forty-five she was still a beauty, her dark hair cut short and her trim figure displayed in gray sweater and dark wool slacks.

Amelia allowed herself to be picked up, and to my mother's delight she put her arms around her neck and said,

"I love you grandma."

This caused many more tears, and we moved to the house arms around each other and with mother still carrying Amelia.

Jack ran around the front yard looking for the right dog spot. I winced as he watered my mother's prize rose bushes. She ignored his affront to her plants.

My father waited on the porch. I didn't know what to expect. Mother and Amelia disappeared into the house, without an attempt to introduce Amelia. She said something about "dinner soon".

No hugs from dad. He stuck out his hand and said,

"Welcome home son."

He did look older than his fifty years. He had put on a few pounds but was still fit and relatively trim. Obviously he hadn't given up his weekly eighteen holes, but something about him just didn't look right, maybe it was the drink in his hand.

We stood awkwardly for a few moments, sizing each other up. Did I detect disappointment in his eyes as he looked at me in boots and jeans, instead of a football jersey that said "Atlanta Falcons" on it? And driving a beat up old diesel F250 instead of a Ferrari?

Maybe it was just my own feelings of insecurity being around my father again, a man who had dominated my life for so long.

Those were his dreams and he needed to get over it.

Finally, he said,

"Well ... we should go in ... your mother's been cooking all day." I wondered how much he'd had to drink.

As we walked to the door I glanced at the porch swing. It looked just the same, perhaps a bit more faded. I wondered how much use it got these days.

Everything in the house also looked just the same and it smelled wonderful as usual. It was decorated with my mother's usual Christmas excess. I followed the smells into the kitchen but mother shooed me into the dining room, but kept Amelia with her as her "helper".

"Bret, it's a special occasion ... so tonight we'll have dinner in the dining room. But don't get used to it!" She smiled without tears for the first time and the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

The dining room was only used for special occasions and she even had the good china and silverware out.

My father took his place at the head of the table and gestured to the chair at the other end. He didn't offer to get me a drink.

Shortly mother came through the swinging door carrying a china tureen that I remembered had belonged to my great grandmother. She was an old lady and she said that the tureen was the only thing her grandmother had saved when those "damned Yankees" had burned their house. She always called the Civil War, "the war of Northern Aggression".

Mother was followed by Amelia who was carrying a large bowl that had green beans in it. They set the bowls on the table and mother pulled the lid off the tureen.

"I made chicken and dumplings ... your favorite!"

Suddenly she looked uncertain.

"You still like chicken and dumplings don't you?"

I smiled at her.

"I guess so ... haven't had any in a long time ... but I seem to remember liking them ... guess I could try just a little." I teased.

She smiled at me, eyes glistening. I'm sure remembering how I used to tease her and that we had a caring and warm relationship.

She turned quickly, not wanting me to see more tears.

"Come on Amelia ... lets get the rest."

Amelia smiled at me as she disappeared through the door to the kitchen.

The meal was delicious as always, and for a change I had an appetite, despite my father's best efforts to be a wet blanket. He disappeared twice during the meal to refill his drink.

Mother bombarded us with questions about life in Montana. Amelia held up her end of the conversation telling Caroline about her horse and living on a ranch and the mountains.

During one of my father's absences Amelia asked from her chair next to her,

"Grandma, when will you come visit us?"

Mother looked startled and then looked at me. The uncertainty was back.

"We would love to have you."

I thought about if for a moment and discovered I had meant it. Mother would be more than welcome at the ranch. She would love the place.

"Amelia ... well ... I would love to come and visit ... maybe in the summer..."

I noticed mother didn't say "we".

Sounding very grown up, Amelia said,

"We're very busy in the summer ... can you ride a horse?"

My mother smiled at her.

"Yes ... I can ride ... when I was a girl I had a horse too."

I had forgotten that.

"You should come in the summer ... now that mommy's in heaven you could help us with the cattle."

Amelia said it so matter of factly that it took a moment for it to sink in.

"Yes ... sweetheart ... I'll come out in the summer." She said, brushing tears.

"Promise?"

"Yes ... I promise."

So all of a sudden my daughter had recruited my mother to help us next summer, and we hadn't even been in the house an hour.

Actually it was a great idea. I remembered seeing pictures of mother on a horse as a teen. She looked very happy. I didn't remember why she had given up riding; probably put it aside when she became a wife and mother. I didn't expect that my father would accompany her. Maybe someday I would be comfortable around him again. Actually, I tried to remember if I had ever been comfortable around him.

Dad didn't even wait for dessert.

"Well ... got work to do." He disappeared toward his study.

Mother frowned.

"So when will we see Taylor?"

Watching my father's retreat she got a very neutral look on her face. I recognized it. Whenever she was trying to avoid an unpleasant topic or perhaps shade the truth she got that look. I'm sure she never realized that I had been on to her since I was about thirteen.

"Bret ... you know she's so busy with school plus she's got that intern job at the Center for Disease Control ... I really have no idea when she'll arrive ... but I know she'll be home for Christmas."

Something wasn't right.

Taylor was a student at Emory University in Atlanta. It was hard to believe my sister was a junior in college and had an internship at such a prestigious place as CDC. It was also hard for me to believe she wouldn't try to be home sooner, especially since she knew we would be here.

Taylor and I had been close. Why had it taken me until that moment to realize how badly I hurt her? Was this her way of saying she no longer cared about me? Damn! My selfish actions had affected a lot more people than I had thought about back then. In the interim I had conveniently ignored the fact that there were others who cared deeply about me and I had abandoned them. I had been a stupid, uncaring teenaged boy who thought only about himself.

There was no going back, but I was a man now and a father, and I needed to make amends to all.

"Bret?"

My mother looked at me. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Oh sorry ... must be tired. What did you say?"

She smiled and simply patted my hand.

"Doesn't matter ... how about warm apple crisp with ice cream?"

Over dessert mother chattered away about all manner of stuff, nothing very important.

I knew the elephant in the room was my lack of contact for five years, and the worry I caused. I needed a quiet time to talk to her.

Soon Amelia was yawning. I was surprised when she allowed mother to take her upstairs for her bath. I insisted on cleaning up the kitchen while they were gone.

In about thirty minutes they found me finishing up in the kitchen. Amelia had her pink footie pajamas on and her ever-present yellow blanket. Mother beamed as Amelia held her hand.

After a brief call to check in with Ellen and Dan and Sarah, Amelia kissed me goodnight and they went up to my room. Jack gave me one more begging look, but when I shook my head denying another dog treat, he followed. But not before giving me his best hang-dog "poor me" look. I smiled as he left. Had to hand it to him ... always trying, and more often than not he was successful.

At Dan and Ellen's Amelia slept in Sarah's room but here she would sleep in the big bed with me, at least for now. I hoped by the time we got home she'd be sleeping on her own again.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and took it into the living room and walked around admiring the beautiful tree and all the decorations around the room. It reminded me of all the happy Christmas I had in this house growing up. There was already a large pile of presents surrounding the tree. I smiled. Mother was going all out this Christmas. The prodigal son had returned.

On the mantel was our wedding photo. I examined it in its silver frame. Abigail was breathtakingly beautiful, and on that day she glowed with happiness. I turned away. It was too hard to look at it.

There were also several photos of Amelia. Obviously Ellen had kept my parents up to date. I was glad, but what must it have been like to know you have a son two thousand miles away who was married and had a daughter, but was too stupid, or stubborn to contact you? I was glad Ellen sent the pictures, but did that just make the separation worse for them?

I settled on the couch in front of the fire. The room was dark except for the fire and the colorful lights on the tree. The house was quiet. Most evenings after Amelia went to bed Abigail and I would sit quietly on the big sofa and just be together. Wordlessly we would enjoy the closeness. Would I ever be happy again? How could I without Abigail?

"You didn't have to clean up, Bret ... but it was sweet of you."

She had come up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. I stared into the fire and reached back and took her hands...

"I'm sorry."

I felt her hands tense.

She bent over the back of the couch and hugged me from behind, her head resting on my shoulder. She sobbed. I held her hands, her tears soaking my shirt.

I managed to get her to come around and sit next to me curled in my arm, head against my chest.

I rarely saw my mother cry and it made me feel awful that my selfishness had caused her such sorrow.

She looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said,

"It's alright Bret ... you're here now ... I just wish ... wish ... I could have met ... Abigail."

"I wish you could have too ... at ... the end ... she made me promise to come back..."

"I'm glad she did ... she was a smart lady."

"Yes she was ... and I was the luckiest man in the world to have her." She hugged me seeing the pain.

After some minutes of silence, I looked at her.

I tried again to tell her.

"I'm glad we're here. But I need to tell you something."

The uncertainty was back in her eyes.

"I promise we'll be part of your lives from now on."

She sighed and said,

"Bret, you just can't know how happy it makes me to have you here with Amelia. I missed you so much. I've wanted our family back together ... for a long time."

She reached for more tissue from the dispenser on the coffee table in front of us.

"Do you really want me to visit in the summer?" she said as she wiped her eyes

"Yes I do ... we do." I smiled at her.

"And Amelia would be quite disappointed ... You did promise."

"I did ... so you can count on it."

We sat there quietly watching the fire.

"Taylor's upset with me."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes ... she loves you so much and she was so hurt ... now we see her so seldom..."

She didn't say anything more. She didn't have to.

Finally she looked up at me.

"God, I 'm so glad your home Bret. When I thought I'd lost you..."

She couldn't finish. She cried quietly as I held her.

Once her tears ran out we just sat enjoying being together again.

Finally she said,

"I'd stay here all night ... but I know you must be tired from the long drive ... let's get you to bed."

I knew she was a night owl and would be puttering around the kitchen for a bit, plus she always read for awhile before going to bed. It was after eleven as I headed up the stairs. I was tired but not from the driving.

I noticed that my father did not say goodnight. When had this distance between my parents come about? Was it just a reaction to my visit? I thought not. It seemed to be a pattern. Had it been this way before I left? I couldn't remember. I was so involved with Becky and high school I knew there was little chance I would have noticed this tension between them. The fact that she had jumped at the chance to come to Montana, apparently without dad, told me a lot about the status of their relationship.

In the time leading up to Christmas, my father and I tiptoed around each other. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to apologize to him. His coldness to me and mother, and his drinking didn't make it any easier. Even the ever polite Amelia gave him a wide berth. Mother, wisely didn't try to push us together. Dad didn't budge from his schedule; weekdays at the bank, and weekends at the golf club. He was often late for dinner and there were times when mother seemed frustrated in her vain attempts to get hold of him. Most days she actually seemed very happy when he wasn't around, and when he came home they tended to avoid each other. It was obvious they were shutting each other out emotionally.

Mother was a bright vivacious woman and respected in the community. She sat on volunteer boards, was chair of the Garden Club, and tutored grade school children in reading. She also chaired the hospital guild.

I wondered if somehow my father felt threatened by her exposure and success in their community, or had he found someone else? If so, she would know about it. Douglas was a small town after all.

When mother was off at her various meetings, especially numerous this time of year, Amelia, Jack and I would wander the town and Christmas shop. For the most part the weather was dry and seasonal and we were welcomed everywhere. We certainly didn't need our Montana clothes. After those winters in Montana, the mild holiday season in Georgia seemed unnatural. Amelia and I watched the Weather Channel each morning to see about the weather back home. She knew exactly where Three Stars was located on the weather map. Sometimes she would stand in front of the big flat panel and pretend to be one of the pretty meteorologists who told us about the weather across the country.

I missed home and I was sure Amelia did too, but we made the best of it. There were lots of diversions and it was Christmas.

I think we made the rounds to most of the town the first week we were in Douglas. Half-seriously I expected the newspaper to call for an interview since everyone wanted to talk to me. Thankfully no reporter came to call. Actually, it might have been easier than to have to retell my story to everyone we met.