Lost December (36 page)

The next morning, Henry’s secretary looked at me narrowly, clearly annoyed to see me back in her office so soon. “May I help you?” she asked in a tone that left no doubt that she had no intention of doing so.

“Yes, you may. Please tell Henry that I’m here to see him.”

“Mr. Price is busy,” she snapped.

“He’s not too busy to see me,” I replied. “Call him.”

She didn’t move.

“Please call him,” I repeated.

She glared at me as she lifted her phone and spoke into it. Then she returned the phone to its cradle. “Like I said, he’s busy. And you’re not welcome here.”

My father stepped up to the desk. “That’s okay, miss. I’ll clear his schedule.” He started past her desk.

“You can’t go back there. I’ll call security.”

My father stopped and turned back, looking at her with a bemused smile. “My dear, security is already on its way.”

Almost as if on cue, three uniformed security men walked into the room. They crossed the room to my father. The first one said, “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Crisp.”

“You too, Michael,” my father said. My father turned back to the woman, “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

She looked at my father, speechless.

“You don’t, do you?”

She swallowed, then shook her head.

“I thought as much,” he said. “I’ll tell you who I’m not. I’m no longer your employer.” He turned to one of the guards. “Michael, will one of your men please escort this young lady from my building.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, nodding to the man next to him.

My father continued on to Henry’s office. I stopped at the woman’s desk. “Word of advice,” I said. “If you intend to keep a job in the future, you should really get to know who you work for.”

My dad tried Henry’s door but it was locked, no doubt due to my last intrusion. He knocked on the door.

“I don’t have time for you, Luke,” Henry shouted.

“Would you have time for me, Henry?” my father asked.

Silence. Suddenly the door opened. “Carl. My apologies, I thought that …”

“I was my son?” My father walked into the office. “Take a seat, Henry.”

“Yes, sir.” Henry scurried back to his desk.

My father looked around at his old office. “What have you been doing with my office, Henry?”

Henry swallowed. “A few changes here and there. Just making it mine.”

“Clearly,” my father said. He turned back to Henry. “What have you been doing with my company, Henry?”

Henry forced a nervous smile. “I’ve been streamlining it, sir.”

“Streamlining?”

“Yes, sir. Throwing out the waste.”

“Good,” my father said, “I hate waste.” He walked over to the wall and looked at a picture of Henry standing on stage with a rap star. “What is this?”

“We brought a rapper in to our last conference. I thought it would build morale.”

“Did you now?” My father took the picture off the wall. “Like I said, I hate waste.” He dropped the picture in the garbage can near the desk. “I’m going to help you, Henry. We’re going to streamline things a little more.” My father turned back. “As of this moment, you’re relieved of your duties.”

Henry looked at my father in shock. “But, Carl. Please. I was just taking care of the shareholders.”

“Have you forgotten that I am the majority shareholder?”

“No, sir.”

“I think you have.” He leaned forward, his powerful eyes blazing. For a moment I thought he might throttle Henry, who looked absolutely terrified. “You’ve forgotten the principles of this company, Henry—that I can forgive you for. You’ve betrayed the people who built this company—that I can almost forgive you for. But you disrespected my son, Henry. That I will not forgive you for.” He turned back to the two remaining security guards who stood in the hallway. “Michael, see Mr. Price from my building. He is no longer welcome here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Henry,” my father said.

Henry looked at him pensively.

“You can’t fight karma.” My father turned back to me and winked. “Let’s go, son. We’ve got work to do.”

My father has asked to meet those who helped me in my hard times.
Returning to Las Vegas has filled me with peculiar emotions.
I feel like the actor who returns to the stage
of an empty theater when the show is through,
or the soldier who visits the battlefield years after the war has ended
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

JANUARY 3, LAS VEGAS

The black Lincoln looked out of place in front of the adobe ranch house. The driver put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

“This is the place,” I said.

“Then let’s go,” my father said. As usual, he stepped out of the car before the driver could open his door. I climbed out after him and we walked together to the front door of the Sanchez home. Carlos had seen the car pull up outside and opened the door before we got to it. He looked back and forth between my father and me.

“Hi, Carlos. This is my father,” I said, even though I thought he’d probably already figured that out.

“It’s an honor, sir.”

“It’s mine,” my father said. “May we come in for a moment?”

“Of course.”

As we stepped into the home’s living room, Carmen walked into the room. “Luke!” she said. She hugged me, then turned to my father. “Are you Luke’s father?”

“Yes, I’m Carl,” he said. “May I have a seat?”

“Of course,” Carlos said, motioning to a faded, green velvet-upholstered armchair near the center of the room. “Please, sit.”

My father sat down on the edge of the chair, while Carlos and Carmen sat next to each other on a sofa just a few yards in front of him. I sat on a smaller upholstered chair to the side.

My father looked down for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then up at Carlos. “I came to thank you for saving my boy.”

“I didn’t really. He …”

My father stopped him. “Luke’s told me everything. You were there when my son needed you. I’d like to repay the favor. I understand your oldest son is ill. Tell me about it.”

Carlos glanced over at Carmen, then back at my father. “He has cardiomyopathy,” he said. “It’s a disease of the heart.”

“A very serious disease,” my father said. He turned to Carmen. “How is he doing?”

“He’s still with us,” Carmen said.

My father looked at them for a moment. “I’d like to keep it that way. A golf buddy of mine, Dr. Marion Nelson, is the head of cardiology at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Phoenix. I’ve told him about your son’s condition and he’s prepared to admit him at any time.”

Carlos and Carmen looked a little uneasy. “Thank you, sir,” Carlos said, “but my son doesn’t have insurance.”

“Everything’s taken care of,” my father said. “It’s on my tab.”

The two of them stared at my father in disbelief. I knew that my father wanted to personally thank them, but I had known nothing about the extent of his plan. I looked at my father and smiled. Then my father stood. He took two business cards from inside his coat pocket and handed them to Carlos. “That’s the doctor’s card and mine. He’s expecting your call. All your son needs to do is make an appointment and show up.”

Carmen burst out in tears. “Bless you!”

Carlos also began to cry. He and Carmen hugged, then Carlos said to my father, “Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Crisp. Thank you.”

“Carl,” my father said, smiling. “The gratitude is mine. If Dr. Nelson says your son can fly, just call my assistant and I’ll have her book your flight and arrange a car to take you to the medical center.” He looked over at me and smiled. My eyes were now also filled with tears and I nodded my approval.

“Shall we go, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Carlos and Carmen walked us out to the front walk. Carlos kept looking down at the cards and Carmen kept hugging me. “Someone pinch me,” Carmen said. “God bless you, Carl. God bless you.”

“He has,” my father said.

Once we were in the car, I said to my father, “You didn’t tell me that you were going to do that.”

A broad, almost childish grin crossed his face. “Fun, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes it was.”

The driver looked back at us. “The airport, sir?”

“No,” my father said. “There’s one more thing I need to see.”

The changing seasons of circumstance
can melt away stretches of our lives
like frost in the warmth of spring.
This was my lost December
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary