Two Christmases

I missed the entry deadline for the WINTER HOLIDAY 2023 submission, but I hope you like it anyway. I got a bit busy. It's a tribute of sorts to Dan Fogelberg and one of his legendary songs.

Happy Holidays everyone!

[Copyright, 2023; all rights reserved]

Relax; it's just a story, people.

It was another one of those days. Long hours put in on a project with an unreasonable deadline, then trying to explain the impossible to the client. I'd had many of those days recently, mostly because of my habitual work ethic and inability to say 'no.'

So I found myself that evening at the local grocery store, trying to rummage through whatever was left in the hot case at that late hour, seeking a suitable dinner. A typical December weather day in the Pacific Northwest had ensued. The morning forecast had called for forty degrees as a high and showers on and off most of the day, however, the temperature only ever got to thirty-seven and snow was falling in buckets.

As I made my way to the checkout stand, I happened to notice someone vaguely familiar walking out of the main exit. It couldn't be, I thought. I'd only caught a glimpse of her profile and hair, the rest being well-bundled for the weather. I was so flummoxed that I didn't hear the cashier the first time.

"Forty-two seventy-eight, sir," the cashier repeated.

"Oh, yes... sorry."

I was shaken and deep in thought during my short ride home. That's where it all began so many years ago. Honestly, I didn't think of her or the circumstances hardly at all anymore. I had issues of my own. I'd lost my wonderful wife of twenty-three years only ten months previously in a freak car accident. I suppose that to every survivor who loses a loved one, their accident was freakish. My wife, Carrissa, was leaving a department store, where she'd just purchased my Valentine's Day present, and was hit by a drunk driver who'd avoided all traffic in the busy intersection but had swerved up onto the sidewalk in front of the store, hitting several pedestrians, including Carrissa.

The pain and suffering I endured, were indescribable after her death. The manner and timing of it all contributed, I'm sure. After the funeral, I fell into a deep despair. Our son, Brady, but even more so, our daughter, Claire, helped me get loose from its grip and got me to agree to grief counseling. I learned a lot about myself, surprisingly. I even learned about unexpressed grief over 'losing' my first wife, although she'd not passed away. I left the therapist not a cured man, but a more determined one. That's when I sank deep into my work and that's where I'd been ever since.

I hardly had the lukewarm chicken on a plate and the mashed potatoes doctored enough to be edible when my cell phone rang. It was my daughter, Claire.

"Hi, Girlie! What's up?" I asked jovially. Since our shared tragedy, I always put on a brave face for the kids. Brady was twenty-two now and on a financial corporation's internship in London. Claire was twenty-five and living only thirty minutes away with her husband Richard. They were trying to start a family, which excited me to no end.

"Is everything okay, Daddy?" she prodded, and not in a good way.

"Of course, sweetie," I answered. "Just a long day at the office. "Why, shouldn't I be?"

"No. No, of course not," she stumbled with her words. I became instantly worried, as my daughter was always very articulate.

"What's going on, Claire?" I asked.

"Did... did anything happen when you were at the grocery tonight?" Now I was on high alert.

"Claire? What is going on?" I deadpanned. "Talk to me, young lady."

"Okay, Dad," she tried to start again. "Listen I have to tell you something and it's important. But I don't think you're going to like it. Am I interrupting anything?"

"Just my dinner," I told her. "So as long as you don't mind listening to me chew, give it to me."

"It's about mother," It fell out of her mouth. It was also weird, as she always called Carrissa, 'Mom."

"Okay..." I let it hang. "Go on."

"Not Mom," Claire realized her mistake. "My mother, Ivy."

There it was, and just like that, I was in a panic. Anger, worry, and confusion were all fighting for the predominant emotion of the moment.

"What about her?" my voice steely.

"She's sick, Dad," was her short response. "Very sick."

"And?" I wanted to say 'So what' but I held it in.

"Listen, Dad, there's a lot to this," she sighed. "Maybe I should drive over so we can discuss it."

I didn't want her to see the range of emotions that would most certainly be playing across my face. I ignored her suggestion. Still, this was a bombshell that I needed to hear. As far as I knew, Claire and her biological mother hadn't had any contact since Claire was too young to remember - about age one.

"What do you mean, really sick?"

"Dad," she changed direction. "I'm leaving now. I'll be there in half an hour."

Claire disconnected before I could say a word. My stomach didn't feel like taking in any food then, but I forced myself to eat at least the chicken because I was probably going to need a few stiff drinks before the night was through.

Claire arrived, looking both apologetic and scared. I offered her a beverage and we sat together at the kitchen table.

"All right, Claire," I preempted. "Let's start at the beginning."

My lovely daughter took a deep breath and began. "Okay, first of all," she said, "I never meant to keep this from you. I want you to know that. After I'm finished I think you'll understand."

She paused and tried to shuffle on the chair getting comfortable. "Mom... Ivy contacted me right after my twenty-second birthday. I was shocked, to say the least. Our first conversation was unbearably awkward, but after that, it got easier. I spoke with Mom, I mean Carrissa about her many times, and she was supportive of me having some type of relationship with my birth mother. We talked about how I could do that while ensuring that she'd never be able to hurt me, like when she abandoned us."

My head spun. I'd had no idea they were talking. "So just me," I snorted. "I was the only clueless one?"

"I wanted to tell you right away," she replied. "I just knew how badly she'd hurt you, and I didn't want you to be mad at me, by association. Carrissa told me it wasn't a good idea to keep it from you, especially if I didn't want to cause our relationship potential harm. I was going to tell you last January, but Richard and I went on that ten-day cruise, and then right after we got back the... accident happened. I couldn't tell you after that. You were so depressed - despondent even. You'd seen some Christmas presents under our tree last year, and you asked when everyone was in the room, I couldn't tell you. I knew I'd lied, and it hurt because I'd promised myself never to do that to you."

"Go on," I was furious now, trying to keep it together.

"We talked from time to time," she continued. "We talked about what she did - to us and about why. She'd apologize often and I'd get mad and say it was a little late for that."

She never apologized to me," the anger was making me petty. "That's for sure. It's a good thing too, because I'd never accept it."

"I know, Dad," she said placatingly, "that's part of why I held out on telling you. Carrissa made me see that it wasn't about your anger with Ivy, only about what you and I had together, as Father and daughter.

"Anyway, last summer Ivy called and I knew right away something was wrong. She broke down and told me she'd been diagnosed with stage three Pancreatic cancer. She was scared of course. I went with her to some appointments. I was there for her first round of chemo."

That was news to me. I was suddenly angry at Carrissa for not saying anything. I was pissed at my daughter. "Why did you go? Where's her big-shot husband?" I couldn't help myself.

"He left her years ago, Dad."

"So what does she want from you... or from me?" I asked gruffly. "She made her bed. Sorry, but it's true. This has to do with me seeing her at the grocery tonight, right? Does she need money or something?"

"No Dad," Claire said with a forlorn look. "She wants companionship."

I sneered, then laughed out loud. "The best I can do is money. She's lucky to get that."

"She doesn't need money," Claire corrected. "She's got plenty of that left over from her time with the asshole, Lucas."

That set me up straight in my chair. Just the mention of his name could send me into a blind rage. Lucas fucking Frye, the man who stole my wife, Ivy. It hit me fast and hard that I was still thinking that way. After everything I'd learned in counseling, that was where I went first. No, indeed Ivy hadn't been stolen, kidnapped, or forced in any way. She'd gone willingly. 'The asshole' was a nickname that I'd given to Lucas Frye over the years. There was no negative endearment involved or some means to immortalize him in a demeaning sense. I simply hated the man with my whole being.

Claire saw things weren't going well. She'd stoked the embers of a fire, she thought had long died out. I knew my daughter better than anyone else in my life, including Carrissa. There was a pleading in her eyes, even as she tried to search behind mine for a hint of compassion.

"I don't know why you're asking this..." I pushed that aside and went in a different direction. "Claire, why are you asking something of me, you know I can't do - did she put you up to this?"

Claire remained silent. Her lips pursed. I knew what was happening because I was the one who taught it to her. In her youth, Claire was impetuous, quick to fly off the handle, if you will. I'd spent a fair amount of time teaching her how the most successful people take their time to think before speaking and are purposeful with their words.

"No, Dad," she began. "She hasn't asked me. If anything, she's asked me not to - at least indirectly. I'm asking for me, mostly, I suppose. I also believe I'm asking for you."

"That's preposterous..." was all I could get out.

"No it isn't," she interrupted. "Hear me out, please. You're my Dad and I love you, very much. I loved Carrissa almost as much. Her... passing, almost crushed me. I'm still young, so it was a first for me. A glimpse behind the curtain of the inevitable. Then, I thought about how hard it was on you. Even at your age, and with all of the obstacles in your life, including... Ivy.

"Even though I'm not close with Ivy," she continued. "Not anything like I was with Carrissa or am with you, she's still my birth mother. When she's gone in the next few months, anything I'd ever need in a maternal sense will cease to exist. Carrissa and soon, Ivy, will cease to exist. Sure, I'll have my wonderful father, Richard, and soon a family of my own. The duties and responsibilities of the Matriarch will fall to me. And never again, will I have a mother to counsel me."

She began to sob at the end of that last sentence, and instinctively I rushed to her side. I cradled her head in my chest like I'd done a thousand times and let her cry it out. As she did, I had many thoughts.

What Claire was describing could be likened to what parents go through when their children leave the nest, heading to college or elsewhere. Almost everyone I'd ever talked to about it had at least that one thing in common. They never saw it coming, even though it was right there from the start. The kid is in high school, and deep inside we all know what's next, but we don't or won't think about it. Then one day the kid comes home with a bunch of brochures and it's like waking up to a glass of cold water in the face.

For Carrissa and me, it was the same. Claire was my daughter, and Carrissa's stepdaughter (she'd adopted her so it was more than that). Brady was our biological son, and even knowing that he'd soon leave just like Claire, we weren't emotionally prepared.

For Claire, at such a young age, it was a painful part of life and death that she was experiencing. But I couldn't allow her feelings on the matter to drive mine.

She looked up at me, no more tears to shed, and kissed my cheek. Then she got up to blow her nose and get a glass of water.

"Dad," she started up once more, before sitting down, "I thought hard about this. Other than Richard, you're the most important person in my life. Okay, maybe you two are tied." She giggled.

"Anyway, with all the loss, I'll need you more than ever." She paused to gauge me. "You've made strides, Dad. I've seen it. The counseling helped for sure. But I've also seen you withdraw somewhat. You've thrown yourself into your work, and you're more... guarded somehow. I can't exactly explain but I know one thing. I want my old father back. I want my kids to know the man who raised me, not some other version of that man."

She took a sip of water and continued. "Meeting with her, spending a little time with her - it isn't for her. It's for you. Maybe she earns a little forgiveness or absolution before she dies, but in actuality, you need closure. You never got that, not how she left us. How she left you. I know how much you loved... love Carrissa."

My tears weren't far from falling then. She sat on my lap to comfort me in return. "You've closed that chapter, Dad. You've made peace with the tragedy and the loss of Mom. But I think you badly need to close another chapter before you can find real peace. In a few months, it will be just you and me. Remember that song we'd sing when I was very young? The one we'd sing when we were just hanging out? You and me against the world? It talked about times long past and it talked about the future.

"What was that old phrase you once told me? I think it was Gaelic."

"Auld Lang Syne," I said more to myself than her. "In the literal, 'old long since,' but in English, 'times long past.' The song title was exactly that, "You and me against the world," except I changed the lyrics from 'mommy' to 'daddy.' I can't believe you remembered that!"

She smiled wide and held my cheek in her hand with great affection. "I love you, Daddy."

It was a banner moment for the Sullivans, at least her and I. Then my brain came back to the matter at hand. "Claire," I said softly. "I don't know about this thing you're proposing. I never tried to contact her, because I knew I didn't need an explanation. It would only hurt worse. I had to be... strong, for you. There was no point swimming in a quagmire. The mess she'd made was all on her. She wanted him. She chose him over me... and you. The end."

Claire nodded slightly. "Yeah, I know," she matched my temperament. "But that was times long past, Dad. This is now. She'll be gone soon. It won't matter much, except you could get answers, and close the book on the past, once and for all."

"I have to think about it, honey," I told her.

"I know that too," she kissed my cheek and stood up. "Don't think too long, time isn't on your side."

The restless night of sleep was expected when my head hit the pillow. Ivy crowded my dreams and thoughts. My wife, too, came into the mix as a co-conspirator. In one part of a dream that I remembered the next morning, Carrissa sat on a Victorian bench with me in some sort of garden. She held my hands and explained that Claire needed her help, and she couldn't risk hurting me after all the years.

I found the old Helen Reddy song on YouTube and listened to it while I shaved the next morning. It brought back plenty of memories, both good and bad...

I'd suspected. Ivy didn't try to hide it much, so suspecting was the easy part. Lucas Frye was an up-and-coming singer/ songwriter. His band, Pine Needles, was a stupid play on words, stemming from our geography in the Pacific Northwest.

Frye was also Ivy's high school sweetheart. He'd dumped her more times than I could keep track of, the way she told it, but she kept going back for more.

I'd always considered myself a logical and reasonable man, even back then. We met, dated for a year, and married. It didn't take long for my opinion of myself to be proved wrong. Ivy got pregnant right away. That hadn't been the plan. My condom failed, yet we were happy with the news. At least I was. A few months after Claire was born, Frye had found a way to get ahold of Ivy again, and he sweet-talked her into meeting somehow. I never knew the particulars.

She didn't lie about seeing him. She'd go to his studio, which was just a well-padded garage, and listen to the band. I was livid. She'd tell me to stop being paranoid. She loved me. She was there with the entire band present, and only to help him write songs like they had back in the day. At first, I told her I didn't want her there with him. The temptation was too great, and I pointed out that she'd already admitted the hold he had on her.

When that didn't work, I forbade her to take Claire to the band sessions. In my head, I'd pictured her and Frye fucking, with our not-quite-one-year-old sleeping in her car seat at the foot of the bed.

Frye's band recorded an album and an agent discovered them. Things moved quickly with the record label. Ivy became emotionally uninvested in me and Claire. I feared the worst, but I couldn't get her to talk to me.

I came home from work on Christmas Eve to find some of Ivy's bags packed and sitting in our foyer. She was in the bedroom, gathering the rest of her things. I just stood there looking at her, daring her to say out loud what we both knew it meant.

"I have to go," she tried the delicate approach. "I didn't tell you the whole truth. I couldn't. I have... real feelings for him, and I need to find out once and for all what those feelings mean."

My imperfect little life crashed into pieces at her revelation. I thought right then about all the things I could have done to prevent that moment, including beating one or both of them senseless.

Ivy ignored my pained gaze and posture. "They have a small Midwest tour starting in two days. I'm going with. I'm sorry to spring this on you..."

"You're not sorry, liar!" I spat. "Fucking liar. And what about Claire? She means as little to you as I do?"

Ivy wouldn't answer. She grabbed her last bag and headed for the living room. In a last desperate attempt, I blocked the hallway. "You aren't going anywhere!" I yelled. "Not as long as you're my wife."

She stopped to gauge my anger. At least that's what I thought she did. The details weren't all there after all these years. Ivy slowly set her bag down and looking me in the eye, said, "You can't stop me, Mark. I'll just call him, or the cops."

"Sure," I laughed maniacally. "Call him right now and tell him to come get you. I'm begging you to."

What I got was a strange look from Ivy, like she didn't know me very well. She strode right by me, dragging her case. I wasn't going to stop her, and it sank in at that moment. It also dawned on me that I no longer wanted to.

She lugged the bigger suitcase out the door and somehow loaded it in her back seat. When she came back to get the little one, she stopped and looked at me indifferently.

"The tour runs until January fourteenth. I'll be back on the third or fourth. I'm not going on vacation or some sexy adventure. I need to figure something out, and then I'll be back. We can talk then.

"Mark, look at me," I had zoned out, overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions and she saw it. "There's a detailed list for our daughter's care on the table. I feed her very few bottles now but there are four made up in the fridge, just in case she gets finicky with me gone."

I was still in some sort of shock. She walked right up to me and said "I'm sorry," as she attempted a kiss. Something blasted me out of my reverie, and I quickly stepped back, defensively.

For some reason that elicited a hurt look from Ivy, but she recovered and turned her back on me and headed for her future. I never saw her again.

The note, I couldn't call it a letter, came on January 2. She'd found out right away that she and Lucas were meant to be together. She didn't want to take our little girl away from her father, and because Frye was suddenly rolling in the dough, she wanted nothing - even our house - from me. In return, she simply asked me to treat Claire like the treasure she was and to raise her properly.