The Greatest Gift (29 page)

Michael stared out the window, watching the snowflakes coat the front lawn. He sipped hot chocolate and marveled at the feistiness of a bird, sitting alone atop the big, green pine tree that partially covered his big window.

He tapped the glass with his knuckles. “Hey, I thought you guys are supposed to fly south for the winter?”

Michael took another sip, relishing the sweet taste of a melted marshmallow. He breathed in deep, letting the aroma fill his lungs. The bird wiggled its head sideways and around and flew off.

“Well, well, look who is up early on Christmas Day,” Elizabeth said as she came down the stairs. “Did you open my gift yet?”

Michael turned around. “Absolutely not.”

“Did you peek?”

“Perhaps.”

Elizabeth let out a short laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

“Maybe I did.”

She hugged him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you.”

She pulled away and smiled. “Are we keeping the tradition alive this year?”

Michael put up his hand. “Look at the weather. It’s awful out there. The wind is really coming off the Sound.” He went to the window and cleared away some condensation with the sleeve of his robe. “Look, Elizabeth. It’s terrible out there.”

“Dad, come on. You know we only have a little time together before I go back to school.”

Michael nodded. “Dress warm.”

“Should I wake her up or will you?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’m not sure she will be up to making the trip. She’s been feeling sick a lot.”

“I know. I heard her last night in the bathroom. I wish I could do something to help.”

“I’ll see how she feels.”

“It would be fun to have her along. Maybe the cold air will help.” Elizabeth ran up the stairs.

Michael placed his cup in the sink and took a quick glance at the tree. “Wonderful,” he said. “Everyone understands.” There were only three presents underneath the understated, decorated tree.
Perfect.

He went upstairs and lay down on the bed, lifting the covers up. “Peek a boo, guess who?” Michael laughed. “Hey, beautiful, how are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine, better than last night,” Susan said.

She sat up and Michael placed his head on her belly. “I can hear the heart beat,” he said.

“He’s been kicking up a storm over the last couple of nights.”

“Are you up for our little tradition?”

Susan took a deep breath and touched her stomach. “Sounds like this one will be a drummer.”

“You don’t have to go,” Michael said. “Elizabeth will understand.”

“Yes. I’ll go. I’m fine. Give me a few minutes to get myself together.”

“I was thinking about names,” he said.

“Oh. What are your suggestions?” she asked.

“Paul. I love the name Paul. It says courage to me. What do you think?”

“I like it. Let’s discuss it more later. Let me get changed.”

Michael gave his wife a kiss. “Let me know if you need any help.” He dressed and took a gold wedding ring out of the drawer. “Fits perfectly,” he said, looking at it in the mirror.

“All right, Elizabeth, where are you?” he asked, walking down the stairs.

“Right here,” she replied, popping out in front of him in the hallway.

“Wow. This is a change,” he said. “Usually it’s me waiting for you women to get ready.”

“Don’t say that in front of Susan,” Elizabeth said.

Michael laughed. “Oh, yeah. This I know.”

Susan joined them moments later, and they made their way into the car. As they approached Main Street, Michael glanced into his rearview mirror.

“Are you okay?” Susan asked, placing her hand on his.

“It’s the weather. I hate it. So cold and windy. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” squealed Elizabeth, sitting in the back.

Michael stopped his old Toyota by the park. He helped Susan out of the front passenger side and watched the boats shake from the dock as the wind zipped from the bay and into their faces. “Yikes,” Michael said. He jumped up and down.

“It’s not that bad,” Susan said.

“You must be hot-blooded,” Michael said.

“Is Aunt Con coming?” Elizabeth asked as she did a pirouette in the snow.

“I left her a message,” he said. “Is that boy coming?”

“You mean Matthew?”

“Yes. Who else would it be?”

“Yes, he’s coming. You did say you liked him.”

Susan held Elizabeth. “You did,” she said. “You told me several times.”

“Ah, I see why Elizabeth wanted us to be together, Susan. She needed an ally.”

“Women stick together,” Elizabeth said with a grin.

“You betcha,” Susan added.

A horn beeped, and Connie got out of a van. She was holding a little girl’s hand.

“I never thought my sister would ever want to be a mother,” Michael said.

Susan walked over to him and placed her head on his shoulder. “It’s wonderful they were able to adopt. All children deserve to be loved.”

He nodded. “I need to make another stop later.”

“The fish.”

“Yes. Mrs. Farmer looks forward to my visit.”

Susan smiled. “So do you.”

“I do.”

He watched Elizabeth run to Connie. She dropped to her knees and embraced the girl. “Hi, Sophia. You look so pretty today.”

“Thank you, cousin Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “Oh, I love the sound of that.”

Hewitt and Michael shook hands.

“So, this is a tradition,” he said to him.

“Yes. We needed one to remember why this is such a great day.”

“Yeah, the presents and drinks and parties and relatives,” Hewitt said.

“No. Just being able to have the gift of breathing this air right now at this time,” Michael replied.

Hewitt nodded and Michael looked up, watching a stray flurry hit the ground. He felt Connie give him a playful shove. “Hey, bro, are you going to take a ride with me like we did as kids?”

“With you? I should know better.”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

Michael raced ahead of her to the slide. He stumbled as he began to climb up the metal ladder. Michael heard a pinging sound as something dropped out of his pocket, hitting a rung as it fell.

“What’s wrong, old man?” Connie asked, pushing him in the back. “A few steps up and you’re winded?”

Michael got to the top, still looking at the snow-coated ground. As he struggled to dig into his pockets, he felt his feet slip out from under him. Connie pushed him down the slide, and he could hear Elizabeth and Sophia laugh as they watched.

Thump.
He landed face-first into the snow. He sat up as Connie barreled into him.

“Nice,” Connie said. “A real soft landing courtesy of my bro.”

“Yeah, now I can’t get up,” said Michael, wincing. He rubbed the lower part of his back.

“Are you hurt?” asked Susan as she came over.

“Oh, my back. I can’t get up,” Michael faked.

Susan bent over. “Here, let me help you.”

He pulled her down and kissed her lips. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. What are best friends for? Why would I miss this?”

“Because we’re crazy,” said Elizabeth.

“Who says we’re crazy?” Michael asked.

“Oh, only everyone here in Northport,” Elizabeth replied.

“What does crazy mean?” asked Sophia.

“It means we’re cool,” Connie said. “Yeah, cool.”

Michael lay in the snow, and Susan did the same. He began to move his arms up and down, forming a snow angel. “This is for you, Vicki. This is for you, Dad. This is for you, Dennis.”

“This is for you, Mom,” Susan said.

“What are they doing?” Sophia asked.

“Why, they’re sending messages to all the people they love who are now in heaven,” Elizabeth said.

Sophia grabbed her hand and said, “Help me, cousin.” They lay down in the snow and held hands, moving them up and down.

“For you, Leah.”

Spring had brushed in some warm temperatures on a late March afternoon in Northport. It was a perfect opportunity for Marc Smith to take his children out and give his wife a break from the parenting responsibilities. Many in the town had the same idea to seek outdoor activities.

“Let’s go down the slide,” screamed a little girl with ponytails.

“Don’t go too far, Jessica,” said Marc, looking at his cell phone.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He looked up and put his cell phone away. “Where’s your brother?”

Jessica inched her way down the slide and pointed. “Over there, reading on the bench.”

“Bobby, over here, I can’t watch you and your sister in different places.”

He closed up his book and joined his father at the bench, facing the bay.

“What are you reading, son?”

“A really cool story about this man and daughter living here,” he said, holding up the book.

“Interesting. I believe this was in the papers a couple of years ago. Fiction.”

“Fiction?”

“Yes. There are all kinds like that out there.”

“The author says it happened.”

“Can he prove it?”

“How would he prove he was able to time travel back to First-Century Jerusalem?” Bobby asked.

Marc waved his hands in the air. “Evidence. Some sort of physical evidence.”

Bobby joined Jessica at the slide and took a few turns. As he went to climb up for another try, he glanced down and saw something shiny.

“What do you see there?” his father asked.

“Looks like money.”

“Finders, keepers.” Marc stood and watched Bobby dig into the ground with his hands.

“What is this?” he asked, holding it up.

Marc pulled a tissue out of his pocket and cleaned the object off. “Never saw anything like this,” he said.

He walked back to the bench while Bobby took another turn down the slide. Pulling out his cell phone, he searched the Internet for a description of the shape.

“Hey, Bobby, come here,” he said.

“What’s up, Dad? Did you find out what it is?”

“I’m not sure. But I remember reading a bit of the book you have. I need you to refresh me on the ending. What happens?”

“The family ends up in the park, one like this. They have this unusual family tradition.”

“Thanks. Go ahead and play. I need some time alone to think.”

“Are you going to write about them in the paper?” Bobby asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, pressing the screen with his fingers.

He stood and went back to the spot where Bobby found the metal rod. Kicking around some dirt, he bent over and smoothed it out. He looked up and saw Jessica climbing.

“Are you watching me, Daddy?”

“I am. I am.”

He heard her squeals as he got off his knees. Wiping some dirt off his jeans, he grabbed Jessica’s hand. “Time to go.”

“Why? We just got here.”

“Daddy needs to do one thing, and then we can come back. Bobby. Come with us.”

He made sure his kids were buckled up and stopped in front of the Lady by the Bay Church. “I’ll be back in one minute,” he told Jessica and Bobby. He locked the doors and went inside the church.

“Hello,” he said, walking up the aisle. “I’m looking for the pastor of this church.”

“That’s me. I’m Pastor Timothy. How can I help you?”

“I’m Marc. I’m trying to get in touch with a Michael Stewart.”

“Why is that?”

“I work for the local newspaper, and I wanted to do an interview.”

Pastor Timothy turned and whispered something to a woman. He turned back to Marc. “He’s a private person. I’m not sure he would do any interviews now. I don’t think he’s done any since, well, you know that Christmas day.”

“Why won’t he do any interviews?”

“There are many reasons. The first one is he wants to get back to living a normal life.”

“How can one live a normal life if what he says is true happened?” Marc asked.

“Many do not believe what he said,” Pastor Timothy replied.

“Do you?”

Pastor Timothy shook his head. “It’s not up to me to believe or not to believe. Every man has his own way of dealing with his faith. If it helps him draw closer to God, then it is a good way as long as no one is being hurt.”

Marc pulled out the metal rod and held it in the air. “Look at this,” he said. “I’ve Googled it. I’ve looked at several pictures online. There is only one conclusion. This is a genuine writing tool from the days of the Roman Empire.”

Pastor Timothy examined it. He gave it back to him. “Give me one minute,” he said. Pastor Timothy returned moments later with a metal rod in his hand. He held it up and compared it to the one Marc was holding.

“They match,” Pastor Timothy said. “They match.”

He sat down in the front pew and rubbed the metal rod with two fingers. “So it was so.”

Marc sat down next to him. “You believe this is a writing tool?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get yours?”

“Does it matter?”

“Perhaps.” Marc stood and put the writing tool back in his pocket. “Michael Stewart has to know if people read about this they will believe him. I’ll write an article about it. Please help me find him.”

Pastor Timothy left the pew and took a few steps to the pulpit. “He lives near the beach. It’s an old house up on a hill, off of Bayside Avenue. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, Pastor.”

Marc dashed down the steps and into the car.

“Are we going back to the park, Daddy?” Jessica asked.

“No. In a few minutes. I need to run one more errand. Bobby, let me see that book you’re reading.”

Marc paged through the book. “Yes. Yes. This is making sense.” He handed it back to Bobby and pulled away.

It took about ten minutes to get to Michael’s house. An Easter egg flag hung from a stanchion near a big bay window. It flapped in the breeze as the wind off the Sound whistled in his ears. “Come with me, kids,” Marc said while removing their seatbelts.

He rang the doorbell and waited. A man peered through the blinds and closed them.

“Maybe no one is home,” Jessica said. “Let’s go back to the park.”

“Just a few more minutes, honey,” Marc said.

“Is this where the author lives?” asked Bobby.

“Yes.” He rang the bell again.

The door opened. “Yes. Hello. I’m not interested in buying any magazines or touching anyone or healing the sick. I’d suggest a doctor. I don’t have the ability to create miracles either. Of course, I can buy a magazine if I wish, but I’m not any more special than you are. Okay?”

“Mr. Stewart?” Marc asked. “I just need to show you something.”

“Show me what?”

“This,” said Marc, holding up the writing tool.

Michael’s eyes widened, and he took it from Marc. “My goodness. You found it. I’ve been looking all over for it.”

“So, it’s true.”

“What’s true?” Michael asked.

“Your trip. Meeting Paul. Helping him write some of his journeys.”

“Where did you find this?”

“In the park,” Marc said.

Michael smiled. “Right. I lost it on Christmas day. May I have this back?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Michael began to close the door.

“I can help you,” Marc said. “I’m a reporter for the local newspaper. I can prove what you said is true. People won’t think you’re crazy anymore.”

Michael pushed the door open and smiled. “It’s not important what others think. I’m happy now with my wife and children. I’ve spent too many years worrying about what others were thinking about me. I don’t need a newspaper reporter to defend me. I do appreciate the thought, but I know what I saw and experienced.”

“You’re more courageous than me,” Marc said.

“Courageous?” Michael shook his head. “No, Paul was courageous. To write and preach what he did during that time. To do it with the threat of death in his face every time he spoke to the crowds. That’s courageous.”

“What about proof? We can show you were there. Isn’t it better to have someone on your side? I think the article would convince others.”

Michael stepped out and sat down on the stoop. “You have beautiful children. Treat them well, but give them room to grow. It’s something I had an awfully difficult time doing when my Elizabeth was younger.”

Marc nodded. “What about showing the proof?”

“Proof? I don’t need to show it to anyone. It’s all in here.” He pointed to his heart and then his head. The trees nearby shook hard, and the rustle of the branches distracted Marc for a brief moment.

Marc persisted. “If you can just give me a little bit of your time,” he said to Michael. “I think the article will quell the doubters and the people that mock you. Don’t you want that for yourself? For your family?”

Michael stood up and went back inside. “I’m fine. My family is fine. And this day is far too beautiful for us to spend time worrying about who mocks and who doubts me. Besides, I don’t have much time these days.”

“Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking? Are you spending a lot of time speaking about your experience?”

“No. I’m not a big speaker. I prefer to let my actions do my speaking. Besides, I like to do some traveling at this time of the year.” He winked.

Marc pulled his kids close to him as Michael closed the door.