A Carol for Christmas (6 page)

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Where’d you learn to drive?”

Through clenched jaws, Jonathan answered, “Driver’s ed, West Junior High, summer of 1964. Perfect score on the exam.”

His dad said nothing for a few moments, then laughed.

The rare sound caught Jonathan by surprise.

He remembered when his dad opened the new store in Pocatello. “Expansion,” Arlen called it, and his excitement had been palpable, even to a little kid. Jonathan had loved riding with his dad over to Eastern Idaho. He loved tag- ging along as his dad walked through the store with the manager, going over details, making suggestions for display changes, coordinating upcoming sales.

When did Dad stop laughing? When did he stop hav-

ing fun?

Jonathan cast a quick sideways glance to his right. His dad stared straight ahead, the smile already gone, leaving his profile as cold as the snowy countryside they passed through.

“Your father’s a good man, Jonathan,” his mother often said. “Don’t judge him too harshly. He has a God-sized hole in his heart, and he’s tried to fill it with work, with his achievements, and with money. He hasn’t learned yet that only Jesus can fill that hole. We must keep praying for him to find his way to the Savior.”

It was hard to believe
that
would ever happen.

If there was one thing Jonathan wished he could change about his life, it was his relationship with his father. He loved his dad and wanted to please him, but he never felt like he measured up to the old man’s expectations.

The lengthening silence in the automobile allowed his thoughts to drift, and he recalled Thanksgiving last year. He’d gone with Carol to Ohio to meet her family. How different they were from his own.

Carol’s dad owned a dairy farm, and her mom and two younger brothers worked right alongside him. They didn’t have a lot, materially speaking, but their home was full of love, laughter, and faith. The whole family liked to play practical jokes, and Jonathan had learned over that long weekend to keep an eye out for mischief of one kind or another.

He felt a sudden longing for his wife. He wanted to tell Carol how much he loved her. He wanted to thank her for being patient with him. He wanted to promise her that he wouldn’t let Burke Department Stores run his life.

Q

Carol stood beside Ruth and watched as Travis Thomp- son — wearing a leather jacket and a black cowboy hat and carrying a guitar case slung over his shoulder — appeared out of the Jetway. In her mind, Carol heard Barbara Mat- thews squealing,
“Travis Thompson is sooo cute!”
Truer words were never spoken.

“Mr. Thompson?” Ruth raised a hand and waved. “Mr.

Thompson, over here.”

Tall, lean, rugged, the singer grinned as he strode toward them.

“Mr. Thompson, I’m Mrs. Burke. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you.” He tugged the brim of his hat.

Ruth put an arm around Carol’s shoulders. “This is my daughter-in-law, Carol Burke.”

“How do?” He repeated the hat tug toward Carol. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thompson.” She had

to swallow to keep from blurting something stupid like,
I’m

such a fan . . . I always wanted to be a singer too . . . I own all your records.

“The luggage claim is this way.” Ruth motioned with her left hand, then started walking. “My daughter-in-law will be one of your backup singers. She’s enormously gifted. You’ll see for yourself. Last week she held auditions for the others who will perform with you. Everyone is ready to begin rehearsals when you are.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Mrs. Burke.” It took Carol a moment to understand he meant her and not Ruth. Color flushed her cheeks. “I’m the one looking forward to it, Mr. Thompson. And please, call me Carol.” “Be glad to, as long as you both call me Travis. I’m not partial to too much formality. ’Specially not when I’m back

home in Idaho among my own folks.”

Travis had such a friendly, unassuming air about him that Carol could almost believe she walked beside just another Idaho cowboy — if not for the way people stared at them as they followed the concourse toward baggage claim.

The stares made her feel a little famous herself. She liked the feeling.

Q

He’s home!

Carol spun away from the window and raced to the apartment door, flinging it open before Jonathan reached the bottom of the steps. “I’m glad you’re back.” She hugged him, unmindful of the briefcase he held in one hand and the suitcase in the other.

Jonathan brushed his lips against hers. “Me too. Amaz- ing how much longer that drive takes when the roads are slick.”

“Brrr.” She pulled him inside and closed the door. “It’s freezing out there.”

“Yeah.” He dropped his bags on the floor, removed his gloves, and unbuttoned his coat. “It was even worse in Pocatello and Idaho Falls. They’ve got close to a foot of snow on the ground.”

Carol had so much to tell Jonathan, but looking at his face and listening to his voice dampened her excitement. He was exhausted. But when wasn’t he exhausted these days?

He hung his coat in the closet, then turned and drew her into his embrace. He leaned closer as if to kiss her, but then he stopped, his gaze moving beyond her right shoul- der. “What’s that?”

She turned to see what he meant. The borrowed guitar.

Ruth had given it to her this afternoon. “Carol, you didn’t buy a guitar, did you?” “No, I — ”

“Because I told you we need to wait.” Irritation sharp- ened his voice. “We can’t afford it. Not yet.”

She took a step back. “I didn’t buy it, Johnny. Your—” “Then where did it come from?”

From the guitar fairy. Where do you think?

He crossed the room and picked up the instrument. “This looks new.” He glanced at her again. “Carol, we can’t afford this.”

Anger flared in her chest, and she imagined herself tak- ing that guitar and smashing it over his head. If the guitar were hers, she might have done just that.

“I’m too tired for this,” he said softly, more to himself than to her.

“You’re too tired. Too tired to listen? Too tired to believe me?” She stepped forward and grabbed the guitar from his hands. “I didn’t
buy
this. It’s a loan from a friend of your mother’s.”

He had the decency to look ashamed, but it didn’t cool her temper. She was just getting started.

“If you were home once in a while, you’d know these things. You’d know someone was loaning me a guitar.”

“Carol, I — ”

“And I wouldn’t need to borrow one from a total stranger if you hadn’t been so careless with mine.”

Surprise widened his eyes, followed immediately by a kind of kicked-dog expression that almost broke her heart. Almost, but not quite. She was too angry to let herself feel anything close to sorrow or regret or sympathy.

“Johnny, all you think about is yourself, your dad, and that stupid store.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” She set the guitar on the sofa. “You don’t know how awful it is for me, being alone, waiting for you all the time.” She marched into the kitchen and pulled the lid off the frying pan where she’d kept his supper warm. “You’re not the only one who knows about managing money. I’m not an imbecile who doesn’t know better than to spend money we don’t have.”

“Carol, please.”

She whirled to face him. “You know, Johnny, you got the future you were working toward. You went to college so you’d be ready to manage Burke Department Stores. Yeah, by marrying me, maybe you’re having to do it a different way, but you’re still going to have it.” She patted her breast- bone. “What about me? What about my music? There were things I wanted too. And I don’t even have my own guitar because you were reckless with it. You just don’t care about what I want.”

In your anger do not sin
, a voice whispered in her heart.

She turned to the stove, tears streaking her cheeks. It wasn’t fair, what she’d said. It wasn’t true. She knew Jona- than cared.

“I’m sorry, Carol.” His hands rested on her shoulders. “I’m really sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Not with your guitar. Not by working all the time.”

As suddenly as it had come, her anger dissipated.

He turned her around, and she pressed her cheek against his chest. “I love you, babe.” He kissed the top of her head as he drew her tighter to him. “This won’t last forever. Hon- est.” With an index finger beneath her chin, he lifted her

face toward him. “Honest. It won’t last forever.” He kissed her, long and slow and loving.

In his arms, with his mouth against hers, Carol forgot not only her anger, but all the news she’d meant to share with him.

This page is intentionally left blank

A

bove the down comforter, the bedroom was cold, but beneath it, spooning with her hus-

band in those few minutes before complete consciousness took over, Carol was warm and content, the worries, frus- tration, and anger of the previous day forgotten.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked at the clock radio. It was after seven.

“Don’t get up,” Jonathan whispered near her ear. “I’ll call in sick.”

“Your father would never believe you.” “I don’t care.”

She rolled over to face him, although he was little more than a shadow in the darkness of the room. “That’s not true. You care what he thinks. You care a lot. You want him to be proud of you. And you like the idea of building on what your grandfather and father started.”

He groaned. “I’m not so sure. Maybe I should’ve been a banker or a schoolteacher or — ”

“It won’t last forever,” she quoted him. “Proving your- self to your dad won’t last forever.”

He released a wry laugh. “Seems like it will.” He pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. “This isn’t how I imagined things would be when we got married.”

Me either.

He kissed her forehead, then rolled onto his back, star- ing at the ceiling in the dim light of the basement bedroom. “He isn’t a bad guy, you know. My dad.”

“I know.”

“He’s just kind of” — he turned his head on the pillow, looking toward her — “absent from the lives of those who love him.”

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she reached out and touched his cheek with her fingertips.

“I’m not going to do that to you, Carol. I’m not going to be emotionally absent from you. So help me, I won’t.”

“I know,” she said again, hoping it was true.

“I’ve gotta get through this holiday shopping season. It wouldn’t be right for me to do anything else now. But come January, Dad’s going to have to make changes in my schedule or I’ll leave Burke’s. I’ll find another job.”

Carol loved him so much in that moment, she thought her heart might burst.

“Will you hang in there with me until then?”

“I’ll hang in there with you forever, Johnny Burke. I’m sticking to you like glue.”

Q

Jonathan stood on the loading dock, staring into the back of the truck. “These items were supposed to be delivered to our Pocatello store. We’re already overstocked here.”

“Look, kid.” The truck driver, a man in his late forties with two day’s growth of beard and greasy-looking hair,

wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. “I drive where I’m told, and the orders said to bring this truck to Boise. I’m unloading this stuff, whether you like it or not.”

“No, sir, you’re
not
unloading here. The bill of lading clearly states — ”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Arlen Burke strode toward them.

Jonathan hoped his dad hadn’t heard the driver calling him a kid. He hated looking ineffective in the old man’s eyes.

“Well?”

The driver’s entire countenance changed. He became subservient in Arlen’s presence. “Seems we’ve got a mix-up in the orders, Mr. Burke.”

“Jonathan,” his dad said. “You’re wanted on the tele- phone. I’ll take care of this situation. You go and take the call.”

He didn’t want to let his dad handle it. He wanted to do it. He wanted to make the surly driver think twice before calling him a kid. Okay, so he was half the age of most of the guys on the dock, but he was still a manager.

Yeah, a manager with only one-and-a-half years of col- lege and no degree. The boss’s son, who had inherited his position rather than earning it. No wonder nobody took him seriously.

He turned on his heel and walked to the back entrance of the department store, frustrated beyond words. The day had started out so good too.

In his office, he punched the blinking line button and picked up the handset. “This is Jonathan Burke.”

“Hi, honey. It’s me.” “Carol?”

“I’m sorry to bother you at work. I know you’re busy.” “It’s okay,” he said, even as he thought how much his dad hated employees taking personal calls during business

hours.

“Your mother is hosting a get-together tomorrow night to welcome Travis Thompson. She thought it would be nice if he could meet all of the volunteers and the board of direc- tors for the girls’ home. Anyway, I want you to be there with me. Do you think you can get away from the store earlier than usual? It starts at seven. I know Ruth will want your father to be there too.”