Reed woke early and made his way down the staircase to the kitchen, following the aroma of fresh brewed coffee. He stopped to look out at the morning landscape. The drizzle of Saturday had given way to a glorious winter Sunday morning. He entered the kitchen and saw a cup had already been poured. He stirred in some cream and went searching for the early riser. On a couch, looking out at the back lawn, he found Merideth curled up under her favorite lap blanket. She had both hands wrapped around a large green coffee mug.
“Good morning, Mer.”
“Good morning. You’re up early too. I heard you stirring so I set out a cup for you.”
Reed lifted his cup. “Got it, thanks. Trouble sleeping?”
“Yes, a little.”
He took a seat next to her.
She gave a wry grin. “It’s not the excitement over the money, if that is what you’re thinking.”
“Wow, where did that come from?” He wouldn’t tell her, but the thought of the inheritance had kept him awake.
She looked down and sighed. “I’m sorry. That sounded nasty. I’m just having a hard time with a lot of this.”
They sipped coffee and stared out the window. It was nice to be together like this. He couldn’t remember the last time they had been.
Merideth looked around the room. “You know, I loved this old house. I guess I never let Mom and Dad know that, but I did. I used to sneak down here on Sunday mornings and curl up right here. I could hear Dad upstairs getting ready for church. He was always singing some old hymn. Mom would be in the kitchen making cinnamon rolls.” She paused then put her hand on his arm. “You know, Reed, the smell of her baking and Dad’s quiet singing was one of my favorite moments of the week. It made me feel so…secure, so warm and settled.” She took her hand back and rubbed her neck. “And now I am back here, sitting in the same place, but there’s no one singing upstairs, and the kitchen is so quiet…”
Merideth closed her eyes and bit her lip. Reed put his arm around her, holding her close.
“I know. You can’t look at a chair, hear a door creak, or smell a familiar scent in here without a memory right behind it. And too many were filled with my own brand of rebellion.” He glanced at the picture of Sam holding a stringer of fish, alone. “Dad wanted to teach me to fish. He tried everything to get me to like it.” Reed walked to the picture and examined it. “You know, Mer, I think he just wanted to be with me, but somehow I always pushed him away.”
Something caught his eye. “Oh, my gosh.” Reed laid the picture down and walked across the room. Resting in the corner was an old cane-shafted seven-iron. Reed picked it up with care, even reverence. He placed his hands on the grip and eased it back and forth.
“Dad’s seven-iron. It’s the first club he taught me to swing. We’d practice in the yard, digging up big chunks of grass. Mom got so mad at us.” Reed laughed and kept moving the club back and forth.
Dad, I wish you were here. How I’d love to have you teach me that swing again.
Merideth watched him. “This house…it’s so full of things that brought Mom and Dad such happiness.”
Reed held the club up in front of him. “Too bad we weren’t more a part of that, huh?”
“C’mon, Reed. We were who we were. We are who we are. I don’t think they wanted us to apologize for being true to ourselves. Do you?”
He continued chipping imaginary golf balls. “No, I guess not. But, Mer…” He stopped and looked at her. “Do you ever wish you had made different choices? I mean, what if their life—you know, simplicity, generosity, service—what if they were right? What if that’s really where you find happiness? Is that so strange?”
Merideth stood and walked over to the book that lay closed on the table. She rubbed her hand on the cover. “Strange? No. But it’s totally foreign to my way of thinking. Still, being here, listening to Dad’s story, wrestling with Cassandra and her ramp building… it’s unsettling.” She pulled back and walked over to Reed. “Maybe there’s a compromise. Maybe we can pull back a little, slow down, and broaden our definition of success. I don’t know. Like I said, I’m having trouble with all of this.”
“There you are! I thought I might find you here.” Alex came in, speaking to Merideth. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed Reed where he stood across the room.
Merideth looked up at Alex. “Why did you expect to find me here?”
“It’s Sunday morning. This was your favorite place to be, wasn’t it?”
Merideth grinned. “Now how did you know that? I always thought that I snuck down here with nobody noticing it.”
Alex chuckled. “Merideth, not much happened here that escaped Mom and Dad’s notice. On Sundays Mom always left the lap blanket right there for you, and Dad always sang a hymn he knew you liked. They told me once that even though you were in a different room, they looked forward to this Sunday morning ritual all week.”
Reed studied Merideth’s face from across the room. Her eyes grew wide and soft.
“I…I can’t believe it. I thought I was so clever.”
“Nope.” Alex came to her and took her arm. “And, Mer, when they sensed you were drifting away from them, they told me it made them feel close to you—Dad singing hymns for you and Mom working in the kitchen, knowing you were sitting in the next room enjoying being there.”
Merideth sat back in her chair and pulled the comforter over her. She put her fingers to her lips and tears flowed. Reed started toward her, and Alex finally noticed him.
“So you found Dad’s seven-iron?”
“You mean my seven-iron.”
Alex recoiled. “Yours? What do you mean?”
Reed shook his head.
This will be painful, but it’s a day for that.
“I guess you don’t remember, or maybe you never knew.”
Merideth collected herself. “Knew what, Reed?”
“In my senior year of high school, Dad took me out to the driving range one day. We hit a bucket of balls. I used this seven-iron and hit some great shots. When we were done, Dad handed it to me and said it was mine. I couldn’t believe it. It was Dad’s prized club, and he just handed it to me.”
“So why is it still here?” Merideth asked.
Reed tried to respond, but his voice broke. He set the club back in its place in the corner of the room. He drew a deep breath and looked at them. “When I went away to college, I wanted to leave all of this behind. So I left the club on the back lawn. Dad found it there after I left.”
Reed plopped down on the sofa, shaking his head. “It probably broke his heart.”
Anna entered the room, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She took one look at them and frowned. “Why is everyone so glum? Hey, Reed, are you okay?”
No…no, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t say anything. He got up and walked past her, squeezing her shoulder as he left the room.
Alex came to give Anna a hug. “Don’t mind Reed, sis. It seems this house is filled with reminders of what we’ve lost.”
Anna kept watching where Reed left the room. “Yeah, I feel that too.” Then she turned back and saw her sister. “At least Merideth found her Sunday morning chair.”
Merideth threw her hands into the air. “Did everyone know about this?”
Anna laughed. “No, just Mom and Dad and Alex and me. I used to sneak into the kitchen and join Mom as she baked. We would use potholders to push the scent of the cinnamon rolls toward the door to make sure you got a good smell. Sometimes we started laughing and had to hold dishtowels over our mouths to keep you from hearing. It was my little part of the Sunday morning ritual.”
Merideth gave her a warm smile. “You little sneak.”
“There’s more.” Anna put one hand in the air and turned away. “But perhaps I shouldn’t say anything.”
Merideth stood and came to her. “No, please, Anna, I want to know.”
Anna paused for a moment, then she sat down on the couch and motioned for Merideth to join her. “After Mom died, I used to come over on Sunday mornings and fix Dad breakfast, and we would just sit and talk. The house was so quiet. One Sunday I came in and looked all over the place for him. I finally found Dad sitting there in your Sunday place, under that quilt, staring out the window. I asked him what he was doing, and he said… he said…” She looked at Merideth through tears streaming down her face. “He just wanted to feel close to you again…and, and he was afraid that this was as close as he might ever get.”
Anna tried to continue. “He loved you so much, Mer.”
“Oh, Anna.” Merideth hugged her.
Alex wiped his eyes. He had no idea this weekend would unfold like this.
Learn Dad’s secret and be back to Seattle by Saturday evening. I wasn’t ready for this. I’m still not. Too many pages left. Too many emotions to deal with. I can’t hide anymore. None of us can. Where will this all end up? And Reed…?
Alex left his sisters to themselves and went to find Reed. He found him staring out the front windows onto the snow-covered lawn that led to the street. Alex put his hand on Reed’s shoulder. “We all have painful memories of things we said and did here. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Reed was quiet for a moment. “Alex, why did we all give so little back to Mom and Dad when they gave us so much? Why did we act that way? We missed so much, and we can’t go back. I can’t sit with Dad in his study and talk baseball. I can’t help Mom plant her petunias in the front bed and laugh at the memories of me picking and eating them when I was two. Those were such important moments.” He turned and stared at his brother, his eyes filled with grief. “But they’re so few, so distant. I’d give anything to go back, but that chance is gone.” He walked over to a family picture hung just off-center on the wall. “And so are they.”
Alex joined him at the picture. “I don’t know, brother. Maybe we never understood Dad’s commitment to the poor or Mom’s love of simple things. I used to get angry when they wouldn’t buy something I knew they could afford and would enjoy. I remember I even yelled at them once, ‘If you want it, buy it!’ Mom just smiled and said, ‘But I don’t need it, and others can use the money more than we can.’”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” Alex grimaced. “Ouch indeed. But even then I didn’t understand. I mean, they sacrificed everything to send me to seminary, and when I dropped out Dad should have disowned me. He was hugely disappointed, but he still would write and encourage me in my business ventures. Sometimes I just wanted him to scream at me and throw something at me.”
“Well, actually, Alex, he did.”
Alex looked at his brother. “Did what? What are you talking about?”
“Dad. He did scream and throw something.”
Dad threw something, in anger?
“What? When?”
“C’mere.” Reed led them into their dad’s study. He leaned against the mantel of the fireplace and continued. “The day he read your letter, when you told him you were dropping out, I was upstairs and heard yelling. I looked down from the top of the stairs and heard Dad and Walter talking. Walter was trying to calm Dad down, but Dad was like I’d never seen him before. He was pacing and yelling, and just as I got to a place where I could see them both, Dad picked up his Redeemer Theological Seminary paperweight and threw it across the room. It hit the corner of the fireplace mantel. He just stood there looking at the chipped mantel and the cracked paperweight. He seemed so lost. He and Walter sat and talked for hours that night.”
“So that’s what happened.”
Reed stood straight. “You knew?”
Alex frowned. “Huh? Oh, no, not about that. But I was sitting at Dad’s desk after Mom’s funeral and I picked up the paperweight. I noticed it was cracked so I asked Dad what happened. He said it got knocked off his desk.”
Reed ran his hand over a chip in the end brick of the mantel. “Nope. Here is the culprit.”
Alex couldn’t believe it—and then again he could. His dad was human. And knowing that helped. He went and rubbed his hand over the chip. “This may sound strange, but somehow that makes me feel a little better. I don’t know why, but I guess knowing that Dad was really angry and got it out gives me some closure. Pretty stupid?”
“Yes, but I think I understand,” Reed responded with a smile.
Walter came up the front walkway and knocked on the door. Before anyone could answer, he let himself in. He placed his coat on a rack hook and made his way to Sam’s study.
Reed and Alex were there.
“Good morning, you two.” Alex turned, Sam’s cracked paperweight in his hand. Reed stood by the fireplace mantel.
Ah.
Walter grinned. “So you’ve discovered your father’s angry side? I’m just glad I wasn’t in the way of that thing or it would have been my funeral that we were attending.”
The three laughed, and Walter set his briefcase down and joined Reed at the fireplace. He examined the chip and chuckled to himself.
Alex rubbed the paperweight in his hands. “Walter, what did you and Dad talk about that night?”
Walter sat in Sam’s chair. “Oh, lots of things. We talked about your mom, we talked about each of you kids, we talked about legacy, and we talked about mistakes we had made and regrets that we had.”
Reed sat on the hearth and leaned against the fireplace’s smooth rock face. “Regrets? Like what?”
“Your dad had a lot of regrets about how he was as a father.”
Alex set the paperweight back on the desk. “Dad? I find that hard to believe. What regrets could he possibly have?”
Walter leaned forward. “Your dad felt he failed as a father, especially with you two boys.”
Reed looked at Alex. “I don’t understand.”
“In some ways, it’s what all fathers do. We blame ourselves for the errors we see lived out in our children. But more specifically for Sam, he felt he pushed too hard and expected too much from you two.” Walter leaned back in the desk chair as he continued. “He blamed himself for the distance that developed between him and the two of you. And, Alex, he hurled that paperweight not because he was angry at you, but at himself.”
Reed opened his hands and lifted them in the air. “Dad had nothing to regret.”
Alex shook his head. “Yes, but it’s too late to tell him that now.”
“Well, not really,” Walter said. “You can’t tell him face-to-face, but you can reflect on your mom and dad and all they taught you in the decisions you make in your life from today on. If you want to right the regrets you have from your past, then live your life in a way that demonstrates what you’ve learned in this house. That’s the greatest gift you could give them now.”
Anna and Merideth came in the room just in time to hear Walter’s last remarks.
“That’s a good word, Walter. Thanks.” Anna’s appreciation seasoned her tone.
Merideth walked over to the main wooden post that ran from the staircase railing to the high ceiling just outside Sam’s office. The oak column bore the notches of twenty years of the Roberts children’s growth.
“Look here, Merideth, 8th birthday, 4 feet 4 inches.”
The others joined her and began retelling stories memorialized by the dozens of notches and inscriptions. The Roberts family history could be read off that post.
Walter sat back and drank it in. Oh, Sam and Lori, if only you could be here to see this.