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Three days later, it was December 18. Already, it was seven days before Christmas, and the Montgomery family home was vibrant with holiday cheer—constantly simmering with smells of Christmas cookies and the roaring fireplace and whatever clam chowder or meat pie someone had made. Andrew stood before his childhood mirror and adjusted his button-up shirt, which he had chosen to wear for his father’s pick-up. He had decided to greet his father now rather than while he was in the hospital recuperating. He didn’t want to experience another PTSD episode in front of his dad. But now, his mother was exhausted, and the other siblings were occupied, so Andrew had decided to bite the bullet and pick up his father himself. It was the kind of thing a brave man would do, and he wanted to be able to tell himself he was a brave man.
And hadn’t his father always wanted to raise a son who could be brave in the face of difficult things?
Andrew borrowed his mother's car. He waved goodbye to her through the kitchen window as he backed out of the driveway and into the plowed road. He was grateful that his leg remained at a dull ache, rather than a sharp pain, all the way through his drive.
When he reached the hospital, he headed toward the rehabilitation center, where his mother had told him his father would be discharged. Outside the window of the exercise area, Andrew was surprised to find that his father’s rehabilitation nurse was none other than Beth Leopold.
There she stood: a woman he had very much loved as a teenager; a woman who seemed to understand the inner sadness of his soul. She spoke to Trevor Montgomery with a smile as she jotted various items onto her clipboard. His father laughed several times at what she said, as though they’d become fast friends over the course of his inpatient treatment.
Andrew remained in the hallway with his hands tucked into his pants pockets. His legs and his heart had given up on him. In the next minutes, he would say the first words he’d said to his father in years.
Beth stepped around his father’s wheelchair. She turned her head toward the far end of the room, where a young boy appeared in a thick winter coat and an oversized red backpack. The boy was adorable, with a dark bowl-cut and round, curious eyes. Andrew remembered that Beth’s son had autism; perhaps this was why he’d come to work with her that day.
Beth snapped her hand over the automatic door opener. Together, the three of them emerged into the drafty hallway. Andrew’s eyes turned from Beth’s down to his father’s, where the old man looked at him with heavy sadness etched across his face. Within his father’s face, he felt the question: Can we actually fix the past?
Instead, Trevor Montgomery’s first words to his son were, “Andrew, you look just like your grandfather when he was your age. It’s remarkable. You two could have been twins.”
At first, Andrew wasn’t sure what to say. It felt so strange to be compared to the long-gone man now, but it also felt oddly comforting to know that he had a lineage. He’d come from somewhere.
“You’ll have to show me some pictures,” Andrew said. “Shag and all?” He gestured to his beard.
“Shag and all,” his father affirmed. “The man had an incredible beard.”
“Mom asked me to shave it today,” Andrew said with a laugh. “Old habits die hard with mothers.”
“Seems that way,” his father said good-naturedly. “The woman still worries if Steven has a warm coat or if Claire is eating enough. Sometimes it’s torture. Other times, it’s comforting, knowing that the limit to how much she cares for all of us doesn’t exist.”
Andrew nodded. After a pause, he said, “It’s good to see you, Dad.”
“You too, Andy.”
They held one another’s gaze for a long time until little Will stepped up beside his mother, gripped her hand, and said, “Mommy, do you think we could go home soon?” The words broke the spell and both Andrew and Trevor laughed.
“Poor kid, having to deal with us all this time,” Trevor said.
“Take as much time as you need,” Beth said. Her cheeks brightened to crimson. “Baby, we’ll stop at McDonald’s on the way home, okay? You’ve been so patient today.”
“McDonald’s? I’m pretty jealous of that,” Andrew said.
“Me too,” his father affirmed.
They exchanged glances. Suddenly, the idea of being alone together seemed like the most terrifying thing in the world.
“You two can join us if you like,” Beth said softly.
**
IT WAS THE STRANGEST group of four in the world. Andrew pushed his father’s wheelchair out onto the sidewalk that flanked the hospital. The rushing wind brought bright tears from his eyes as they headed toward his mother’s car. There, Beth assisted him in placing his father in the backseat of the vehicle before he folded up the wheelchair and put it in the trunk.
“We’ll see you over there, then,” Beth said as she gripped Will’s hand and gave Andrew a firm nod.
“Yep. See you.”
Andrew got into the driver’s seat and turned to check on his father. He’d managed to buckle himself with his good arm, and he stared straight ahead, his chin lifted.
“You ready to get out of here, Dad?” Andrew asked.
“Never been more ready for anything in my life,” his father returned.
At the McDonald’s, Andrew stood in line for the three of them while his father sat in his wheelchair at a table across from Beth and Will. Will chattered excitedly about the new line of McDonald’s toys, and Andrew’s father asked questions as they went, which seemed to add fuel to Will’s excitement. Andrew turned back to catch Beth’s eye. When he did, he winked at her—something he hadn’t done in years. She blushed all over again.
“New friends?” she mouthed, referring to Trevor and Will.
Andrew shrugged and grinned even wider. “Why not?”
At the counter, Andrew ordered a Happy Meal, two Big Mac meals for himself and his father, and a 10-pack of chicken nuggets for Beth.
When he returned to the table, they received him like he’d been gone for decades. Will jumped with excitement as he tore into the plastic wrapping around his Spiderman toy and began to tap the little figure all over the table, showing off what skills Spiderman had.
When Trevor took the first bite of his burger, he groaned with pleasure and closed his eyes. “I don’t think Kerry’s allowed me to have a Big Mac in over twenty years.”
Beth giggled. “I really shouldn’t allow any of this to happen either. I’m your nurse, for goodness, sakes! But in the spirit of Christmas.”
“That’s right. And in the spirit of reunion,” Trevor said as he turned slowly toward Andrew. “I used to take you here when you were a little boy—this very one. Do you remember? You must have been five or six. I swear you went just as crazy as Will is now over those toys.”
“Every time we went to McDonald’s, I thought I was going to lose my mind,” Andrew said.
Trevor chewed thoughtfully. “Me too, you know. It was crazy to me. I’d raised all these other kids. Steve was about ready to take off for the open world. And you. You were this creative, exciting kid. You wanted to dream up stories of your future. I wasn’t sure we had anything at all in common, but you made me laugh. Jeez, you made me laugh. And I loved you. More than you’ll ever know. ”
When they finished up and drove home, Andrew and his father sat in Kerry’s car in the driveway of the Montgomery household as the snowfall doubled-down around them. Inches of fluffy snowflakes bustled up on either side of the windshield; already, nearly an inch had added itself to the top of the rearview mirrors. Andrew had only just clicked off the radio, and the eerie silence filled their ears. It was essential that one of them say something. But what?
“There she is,” Trevor said as Kerry pulled open the screen door and waved a hand. She called something that neither of them could hear. “I bet she’s just getting her coat on to help us out. Pretty annoying, huh? All this limping around.”
Andrew dropped his chin slightly. Obviously, his father had noticed his injury. “It’s been quite a year.”
“You can say that again.”
Kerry disappeared for a moment into the dark belly of the house. This left the men with limited time together, just the two of them.
“Maybe I’ll regret saying this,” Trevor offered finally. “It’s certainly not something I would have told you a few years ago. I don’t even think I would have had the vocabulary for it seventeen years ago. In any case, every time that phone rang in that big old house, I really did think, ‘Hey. Maybe that’s Andy this time. Maybe he just wants to say hi.’ And you know what? It never was. Not once. But I still hoped and prayed that someday you would call.”
Andrew’s throat swelled with sadness. He swallowed the lump that threatened to choke him.
All Andrew could muster to say in response was, “I’ve been through hell and back, Dad.”
Suddenly, Trevor placed his hand over Andrew’s, there on the ignition. He gripped his hand hard as he closed his eyes. Whatever existed between them, it was the truest thing they could find.
“As a father, all I ever wanted was to keep you safe, Andrew. I failed you. I hope you can find a way to forgive me—to love me again. It’s the only thing I want in the world.”
Andrew turned to his father just then and whispered. “I love you too, Dad.”
Kerry hustled out in her winter clothes. She looked frantic yet overly excited, and she yanked open the passenger side door with more strength than her seventy-one years should have allowed. She beamed down at them as she said, “There they are. Two of my three favorite men in the world.”
It was surprisingly simple to get his father back in the house. Andrew placed the wheelchair tenderly beside the backseat; then, Trevor gripped the handles of the wheelchair as Andrew lifted him into it. It took nearly all his strength for just the slightest moment. Then, his father was settled and his mother’s hands latched over the back of the chair as she pushed him through the snow.
“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” she said. “All things go okay up at the hospital? You’re a bit later than I thought you would be.”
“We had to make a pit stop,” Trevor said. He turned slightly to wink up at Andrew. “With Beth Leopold and her son, Will.”
His mother arched her eyebrow toward him, clearly surprised. “Oh! How funny is it that she’s your father’s nurse, after all these years.”
“And a great one, I might add,” Trevor said as they slipped inside.
Upon entering, Trevor Montgomery gasped. Somehow, in the hours since Andrew’s departure, his mother and his sisters had elevated the Christmas decorations and spirit in the house: more tinsel, more holly, more Christmas cookies, more exciting flavors and beautiful music playing softly in the background.
“It’s like a Christmas wonderland,” Trevor said with a laugh. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Gail and Abby appeared in the hallway with a platter of Christmas cookies. “Grandpa!” they said in unison as they stepped forward and knelt down to show him the selection.
“Girls, you made my favorite!” he said. “What a wonderful surprise. I guess I’ll take a reindeer for now, if you save me a Christmas tree cookie for later.”
“There’s enough to go around for ages,” Kerry said as she slipped out of her winter coat.
“You say that now. It’s still seven days till Christmas. Still plenty of time to eat up all our Christmas cookie reserves and make room in our bellies for more,” Trevor said.
“I guess you’re right. I should never underestimate a hungry Montgomery,” Kerry said.
Andrew wheeled his father into the family room, where Steve, Kelli, Claire, Charlotte, and Rachel awaited. They all stood quickly and greeted their father with warm hugs and kisses. The conversation was chaotic. Everyone had his or her own question about the next steps of the treatment, whether or not they’d fed him well up there, and how it felt to be almost completely immortal.
“Nothing can get you down, Daddy,” Kelli told him as she placed a loving kiss on his cheek.
Everyone settled back in the family room. It was the first time the entire family, all five children and their parents had been in the same room at the same time in seventeen years. A peace came over all of them as they settled deeper into their chairs. Gail got up to change the DVD to something Grandma Kerry had said she’d wanted to watch: A Christmas Carol.
After years of trouble sleeping, Andrew found his eyelids drooping. He was completely calm. That night, after his father and mother had put themselves to bed in the make-shift bedroom downstairs, Andrew collapsed in a heap on his childhood bed and he didn’t dream— not even the nightmares that normally plagued him.