Our First Love (12 page)

I yearned for the Christmas of my youth. I wished I could see the world the way I saw it when I was a six-year-old who still believed in Santa Claus. I'd gladly trade a year of my life to see the world for five minutes through the eyes of that six-year-old who didn't consider the irrationality of a three-hundred-pound elderly man crawling up and down the chimney of nearly every house in the world within the span of one night. There was no enchantment in the world after Santa disappeared from Christmas. The Easter Bunny. Witches and goblins. Tooth fairies. The Sandman. Happy-ever-after stories. Wishes coming true. They all became man-made concoctions to help make life more than a coming and going. Magic and miracles ceased to exist. What I really wanted for Christmas was to close my eyes, open them and believe again.

Our holiday season was a prolonged series of dated rituals. For the past few years, I'd basically gone through the motions and let Caleb handle everything. This year, Caleb had been acting like a scrooge, so I had to take the helm. The first day of December was the day we put up the Christmas tree, like Mom did. Normally, on the day after Thanksgiving, Caleb pulled all the Christmas decorations out the closets and tested every string of lights. This year, he sat around like the day after Thanksgiving was like any old day. I asked him if something was wrong and he shrugged his shoulders and said no. I didn't believe him, but I didn't press the
issue. I figured he'd take the decoration and lights out the next day, but he didn't.

The morning of the first, before I went to work and after we ate breakfast, I told Caleb I was going outside to get the newspaper. When he walked in his room and closed the door, I opened the front door and left it open while I hurriedly pulled the storage boxes out the closets.

“Nigel,” Caleb shouted from his room. “What are you doing?”

I didn't answer.

Caleb yelled, “I thought you were going to get the paper!”

I went outside and got the newspaper from the delivery box. I put the newspaper on the sofa, grabbed my briefcase and keys, hurried out the door, and slammed it behind me. I ran to the car because Caleb would be standing at the front window cursing and screaming as soon as he heard the front door close. And he was. I pretended not to hear or see him as I backed out of the driveway.

It was the week before finals, which meant there were no classes, so I left work early and stopped by a tree lot in front of Publix. The lot attendant, a young man with a spiked goatee and a tattooed chain around his neck, told me to browse and let him know when I found a tree I liked. I chose the second tree I saw.

Caleb wasn't standing at the front window when I pulled in the driveway, but I noticed Dad's recliner had been moved to the side window. I untied the tree and took it off the roof of the car. When I opened the front door, I saw strings of lights and other decoration covering the living room floor. When Caleb heard the front door close, he walked out of his bedroom and into the living room. I dropped my briefcase and keys on the floor, putting the tree down by the front window. I turned and smiled at Caleb as he sat in Dad's recliner. “We had a pretty good day today,” I began.

“I'm sure we did,” Caleb responded dryly.

“What's with the attitude?”

Caleb glanced around the living room. “Who are you talking to?”

“Don't worry about it. We can do this later.” I picked up my briefcase and walked toward my bedroom. “Let me know when you're up to it.” I closed the door and spent the rest of the evening in my room working on the semester's final exam. When I emerged from my bedroom after midnight, the tree was decorated and the living room, the den, and hallways were trimmed in pine garland and red, white, and green candles, and frosted pinecones, and an assortment of red bows. A box labeled “Outside Lights” was by the front door.

There were no classes during finals week, so I stayed home from work the next day to put up the outside Christmas lights. I spent the morning and most of the afternoon hanging strings of marble-shaped, clear lights around the windows and borders of the house and placing nets of clear lights over the hedges. That evening, when Caleb plugged the outlet cord into the electric socket, the house and yard lit up. The Christmas season was officially underway.

We died fourteen years ago today.

Since the semester ended and she left, every minute, hour, and day has seemed longer than the one before it. Being home all day with Caleb, especially while he's in a foul mood, wasn't helping much either. It had really put a damper on my spirits, so I'd been counting down the days until Christmas. Three more days until Christmas. And four more days until this holiday season was history.

Her name was Karen Davis. Dr. Karen Davis.

I found out her name the week after the Thanksgiving luncheon. I recalled glancing at the tag on her Pathfinder the day of the
luncheon, so I did a little fact finding the next week when I went back to work. I called one of my former news contacts at the Department of Motor Vehicles and had him run her tag number. That's how I found out her name. I honestly thought that I would be satisfied knowing her name, but I was wrong. Before I realized what I was doing, I was thumbing through the faculty directory. I learned a little bit more about her. She'd been a marketing professor in the School of Business and Industry for six years. She earned her Bachelor's degree, MBA, and Ph.D. from the University of Florida. But that wasn't enough, I needed more. What I really needed was to hear her voice. So I called her office. When she answered, “Hello,” I apologized and said I dialed the wrong number. Hearing her voice wasn't enough either.

I'm not going to say “I told you so,” but I did. Didn't I?

All I'd been able to do was think about her and wonder what she'd been doing since she'd been in Orlando visiting her parents. Every hour of the day had been filled with the same questions. Was she enjoying the holidays? Was she stressed out even though she did most of her holiday shopping before she left? Who was she spending the holidays with? Did she really care about him?

I made up my mind the day she left for Orlando. When the spring semester started in two weeks, I was going to meet and get to know Dr. Davis. I hadn't figured out how I was going to meet her, but we were going to meet.

And you wondered why Caleb had an attitude. You're either out stalking her or you're sitting here daydreaming about her. Snap out of it.

“Merry Christmas,” I said and extended the gift which was wrapped
in green foil and a red bow nearly as big as the box. Caleb pushed the leg rest in and rose to a sitting position.

“Thank you,” he said and took the present out of my hands. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

“I'll wait until in the morning,” he said.

“No. I want you to open it now.”

“Now? Tonight? Why?” Caleb asked. “We always open presents on…”

“Forget that! Just open it.”

Caleb removed the bow. “You're still not getting your gift until tomorrow.”

“I'm okay with that.”

He undid the taped folds on one end and nudged the box from the wrapping. He hesitated before lifting the top off the box.

“A cable box?”

“It's not an ordinary cable box. We upgraded the cable channel at the School of Journalism, and we will start broadcasting some of our classes during the spring semester. This box will let you view our lectures live.”

Caleb's eyes lit up. “So, I'll be in class with you…kinda?”

I nodded yes.

“Thanks.” A smile, brighter than all the lights around him, illuminated his face.

“Merry Christmas, Lil' Daddy.”

Lil' Daddy was a slip of the tongue. I never ever called him that. I hadn't since the accident. Caleb didn't remember our former life, so I never used the nickname Dad and Uncle Walter gave him because people said he was the spitting image of Dad. I swear it was a slip, but slip or not, Caleb heard me. He still emitted a 200-watt smile, but there was an intruding darkness dilating in his eyes.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was seven minutes before midnight. Caleb was sitting in Dad's recliner gazing out the window. I was lying on the sofa pretending to watch
ABC's Rockin' New Year's Eve.
I tried to focus on the countdown, but I couldn't because I was possessed by an unfamiliar and worrisome feeling. Caleb was sitting in the living room with me, but I had never felt so far away from him. There was a distance between us that could not be measured in miles or breadth.

Damn. I missed it. We missed it. It's 12:02.

CHAPTER 13
CALEB

Nigel had another life, a secret life that he assumed I didn't know about.

It was past 6:30 and Nigel still hadn't made it home. I tried to reach him but couldn't. I called his office three times and his cell phone so many times that I lost count. I didn't know where Nigel could be, but when he got home, I figured he would give me some long, drawn-out story about how chaotic our day was. I wasn't wrong.

“We stopped by the library to finish the research we…” he started.

“Fuel my memory.” I cut him off because I really didn't know what he was talking about. “What research?”

“Remember the article Dr. Alexander asked us to write for the department's
Outlook
magazine?”

“Not really,” I responded, which was the truth because Nigel was making this lie up as he went. I didn't know why he even tried to lie because, to him, lying was like a Botox injection.

“When was this?” I asked even though I knew he was incapable of replying because his facial muscles were immobilized. “Was it before the Thanksgiving break?”

His pupils contracted. His lips stiffened. Finally, his stupefied expression earned my pity.

I pretended to recall what he was talking about. “Hold on. Wait. You mean the ethics article?”

“Yes,” he uttered with slight hesitation. After he was sure that I
was part of the story again, Nigel said emphatically, “The one Dr. Alexander asked us to write.”

For the past couple of days, Nigel had been lying about where we've been and what we've been doing. Nigel was honest to a fault, so when he did lie, there's an earnest reason for it. At least that's what I'd made myself believe.

We always put up our Christmas tree on the first day of December. This year was different. As I sat staring at the four boxes of Christmas lights and other decoration in the living room, I debated whether or not I should put them up. The debating started around 9:00 this morning and I still didn't have an answer at 2:00 in the afternoon. Every year I went out of my way to make sure the holidays were a joyful time for Nigel. I'd seen the old photographs in the albums he kept. Christmas was once a spirited time for our family. The holiday traditions we followed were part of the memories captured in those photographs, so the holidays were a nostalgic time for Nigel.

Normally, I pulled all the lights and decorations from the closets the day after Thanksgiving, but this year I said damn it all. That's why Nigel pulled the boxes of lights and decorations out the closet before he left for work this morning. After staring at the boxes all day, I decided that I wasn't going to put up the lights and decorations. Nigel could put them up if he wanted them up.

Nigel brought a Christmas tree home when he got off work or when he finished doing whatever he'd been doing. My plan was to sit and watch him try to painstakingly recreate the Christmas tree of yesteryears, a task I can do with my eyes closed. But then
I decided to go ahead and decorate the tree. After all, I was the one who had to look at it twenty-four-seven.

We composed the final exam the way we did the midterm. But instead of discussing the wording of every question, I wrote all of the multiple-choice questions and Nigel wrote the short-answer questions and the reporter's notes for an article the students were required to write. Afterward, he looked over the questions I'd written and I did the same for him. Neither one of us had any objections. Well, at least we didn't voice them.

I called Nigel's cell phone and he didn't answer, so I left a voice message. I didn't bother to call the office since the semester was over. Although he claimed he goes to our office every day, it was obvious he was lying. An hour later, I called his cell phone again and I still didn't get an answer. So I sent him a text message:
Call me 911.
There wasn't an emergency; I wanted to see how long it would take him to call. He didn't, and he didn't drag his ass home until nearly midnight. He said the car broke down on Capital Circle. A busted radiator, he claimed.

“And we were on Capital Circle because…” I queried.

“We were on our way to the flea market.” Nigel yawned. “I'm exhausted.”

“We went to the flea market to look for? To buy…?”