Lost December (27 page)

The advertisement I designed for the Golden Age ran that Sunday in the
Las Vegas Sun
. By the time I finished my first day at Crisp’s and returned to the care center, Carlos had already had twenty-eight phone calls. He was as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. He hugged me as I walked in, which was unfortunate because my ribs were still sore.

“You rock, bro,” he said, “You did it. You sold the place out.”

“Does that mean I’m losing my room?” I asked.

“Yes and no. I talked to the center’s owner, Mr. Shantz. He’s agreed to put you up in the Desert Spring Apartments a block from here if you’ll agree to keep helping us with marketing.”

I nodded. “No problem,” I said. “But I need to talk to you about my employment. I just took another job.”

His expression fell. “You’re already leaving us?”

“No. I mean, I hope not. I just need to adjust my schedule a little. I got a job at Crisp’s. I work there until four, so I could still get back and help Sylvia with dinner—and any marketing you needed.”

He looked somewhat relieved. “That will still work. What time do you start work in the morning?”

“Eight.”

“What is that, fourteen, fifteen hours a day?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“That’s a rough schedule, amigo. You sure you can handle that?”

“I’ve worked that schedule most of my life.”

“When do you find time to live?”

I turned to leave. “Don’t worry about me, my friend. I’ve done enough living for a lifetime.”

From a young age my father taught me the value of hard work. Two full-time jobs wasn’t cake, but it wasn’t going to break me either. In fact, it was a little refreshing to rediscover the person I used to be. The work also kept my mind off my pain. And I had a lot of pain. I had a lot to mourn. I mourned the loss of my previous life, the opportunities I took so much for granted. I mourned Candace and wondered if I’d ever find love again.

But what I mourned the most was the loss of my father. How could I have hurt him the way I had? I missed him. I missed working and planning together. I missed the way we used to communicate without talking. I worried that he might have more problems with his heart. He could die and I wouldn’t know. The knowledge that I had brought him so
much pain wracked my soul. It’s one thing to be careless with money; it’s much worse to be careless with someone’s heart—especially a heart that has loved you.

As much as I wanted to, I knew that I could never go back to my father. It wasn’t because of pride—I had little enough of that left. I could never go back because after all he had done for me, I had betrayed him. I had betrayed his trust. And I’d deserted him when he needed me the most. I couldn’t go back because I didn’t deserve his love.

Everyone carries secret burdens.
Everyone. Some people are just
better at hiding them than others
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

I worked to rebuild my life. I got a new cell phone, a new driver’s license and I opened a savings account at a bank a block south of the copy center. I couldn’t say I had my life back—what I had had was gone forever—but my life was definitely on the upswing.

It felt good to have some extra money. It felt safe. I was frugal again—as my father was and as I had once been. I ate most of my meals at the Golden Age. I’d even take dinner leftovers from the center to Crisp’s to save money on lunch the next day. With no rent, and barely any food expenses, I was able to put away most of my paycheck.

I also got the bonus from Carlos that I’d been promised. My ad had brought in thirteen new residents, so I received a bonus check for $6,500. I bought a car—an old Honda Civic that had belonged to Sylvia’s sister. “Looks like junk, runs like a kitten,” Sylvia said. It had a thousand scratches and a dent in the passenger-side door, but for just $700 I couldn’t go wrong.

As I began reassembling my financial world, I had a thought—I knew there was no way to recover my money
from Sean, but I had once read that some gambling losses are tax-deductible. I wondered if I could get a refund on some of the money I’d paid in taxes from my trust. Or, at the least, deduct it from the taxes I would be paying now. I texted Mike Semken and asked him to look into it for me, though I wasn’t sure he’d do it since I wasn’t really a client of his anymore. I was willing to try anything.

Carlos and Carmen invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. Their home was a stucco, adobe-style house in the Silverado Ranch area—humble and outdated, full of pictures of their family, avocado green shag carpet and a lot of love. Carlos and Carmen had four children; Duane, Felicia, Barnard and Miguel, in that order. The eldest three were married, providing Carlos and Carmen with five grandchildren.

His oldest son, Duane, looked frail and smaller than his two male siblings, even though he was the oldest and Miguel was still only in high school. Carlos told me that two years earlier Duane had been diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, a condition that would eventually require open heart surgery to prolong his life. Duane owned a landscaping business and had no health insurance when he was diagnosed. As a preexisting condition, no insurance company would cover him and at a cost of more than a quarter million dollars, his chances for treatment seemed unlikely at best. He had applied for Medicaid, but the bureaucratic wheels turned
slowly. Duane had a wife, Tasha, and two boys. Carlos was afraid that his son would die before he got treatment.

After dinner I was helping Carmen with the dishes when I asked her about Duane’s situation. Her eyes welled up with tears. “We have faith that God will provide,” she said, wiping her eyes with a dishcloth. “We hold to that.”

One of my associates at Crisp’s is named Rachael.
She is quiet, sad and beautiful.
I’m not sure why, but I’d like to get to know her better

Luke Crisp’s Diary