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Burlington, October 24
8:05 p.m.
The girls don’t know what to make of them.
“They’re moccasins,” I say. “Made by natives out west.”
Jade scrunches up her face. “Mock...a...zins?”
Her effort to pronounce the word melts my heart, lifts a big smile on my face. I feel so proud of her. She still trips over longer-syllable words, but she’s only five. Every once in a while, I catch her saying liver room for living room, or sketty for spaghetti.
“I like them, Daddy,” she says, giving me a hug.
I look at Jaleesa. Clearly, she doesn’t like them. She stands there, her mouth hanging open and staring at the moccasins in her hands.
“What do you think, honey?” I ask.
She turns to me, and I see daggers in her eyes. “Why’d you get these?”
“I thought you girls had enough toys.”
“They’re ugly—”
“Jaleesa.” Heidi appears in the kitchen doorway. “Have some respect. Your father is right, you girls do have enough toys. Besides, Christmas isn’t too far away. Santa will bring you more then.”
“Santa isn’t real, Mommy.”
I swear you can hear that proverbial record scratch, and the kitchen drops into silence. Heidi and I turn our heads to Jade at the same time. With an incredulous stare, Jade looks at Jaleesa, then at me, and finally at Heidi.
“Santa isn’t real?” she says.
Her chins quivers. I can tell the waterworks are close.
“No, he’s not,” Jaleesa tells her. “It’s all a lie.”
“Jaleesa”—Heidi raises her voice—“go to your room. Now.”
Jaleesa throws the moccasins on the floor and leaves in a huff. She stomps down the hallway to her room. Heidi follows her.
Eyes moist, Jade turns to me. “Is Santa real, Daddy?”
“Do you think he’s real?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think he’s real too.”
That puts a hopeful smile on her face. She gives me another hug. Then she runs off with the moccasins.
Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes for a second. I never wanted to push the Santa Claus myth on the girls. Heidi allowed that lie into our home when the girls were very young. She’d bake cookies for them to leave out on Christmas Eve. She’d even take a bite out of the cookie and write a thank-you note from Santa.
Kids of Jade’s age marvel at the world and create their own fantasies regardless of what we do. Why set them up for such a letdown? It’s like the Easter Bunny story. Or the Tooth Fairy.
Soon enough, our kids will realize it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, that they can’t always get what they want, that their friends will cut their throats, that they’ll struggle through tremendous odds, that their family members will die off around them, and then their own health will break down and they’ll die, too. With any luck, they’ll have some heirs to carry on their memories. Otherwise, they’ll be forgotten like an old song.
Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, I twist off the cap and down a mouthful. A compulsion burns inside me to walk right back out the door, jump in my car, and drive off somewhere. I don’t know where, just far away from here. Ten minutes home, and I have one daughter throwing a hissy fit and Heidi not speaking a word to me. Jade is the only bright spot.
Heidi marches Jaleesa back into the kitchen. My daughter’s face is red, and her arms are tucked tight into her sides.
“What do you tell your father?” Heidi says to her.
Jaleesa lowers her head, unable to meet my eyes. “Sorry.”
I look at Heidi. “Why shame her into apologizing?”
She glowers at me. “It’s about respect and gratitude.”
I stare at her, realizing our time apart hasn’t improved her mood. I take another drink of beer as Jaleesa picks the moccasins off the floor and carries them to her room.
I call after her, “I’ll try to get you something better next time. Okay, honey?”
“Okay,” she answers.
Heidi turns to leave.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks back over her shoulder.
I try to break the ice between us. “The girls told me last night they liked the Treats In Our Streets.”
She turns fully around, crosses her arms. “Yeah, they had fun. We all did.”
“Good, good. I forgot to ask them what they went as.”
“Jaleesa dressed up as a princess. Jade went as a ladybug.”
“A ladybug.” I smile. “Like her backpack. Cute.”
“Yes. Jaleesa was cute too.”
“How’re things with you?” I ask. “You were in quite a mood when I left Thursday.”
“A mood?” She raises an eyebrow, fixing me with a glassy stare. “Interesting way of putting it.”
I gaze at her, remembering how that mountain biker’s face morphed into hers. I realize it was probably a mind trick. Sometimes my mind does seem to have a mind of its own. It likes to torment me, to take me down the dead-end streets and dark alleys of my past. It tricks me into seeing things, even believing things that aren’t real.
Heidi’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “At least you came home with no cuts and scratches this time.”
“Jesus,” I say. “You’re still on that?”
She continues to stare at me with a look that a lizard would give a cricket or a mealworm.
“I took your advice,” I say, smiling.
She tilts her head. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“I used the electric razor you gave me.”
My joke doesn’t change her expression.
Jade comes back into the room wearing the moccasins. She boasts an ear-to-ear grin and a sparkle in her eye.
“Mommy,” she says. “Look.”
Heidi smiles down at her. “Wow, aren’t those lovely?”
“Yes.” Jade comes over to me. “Look, Daddy.”
“I’m glad you like them, honey.”
“I love them.”
I kneel down and kiss her on the forehead.
“You’re special to me,” I say. “You know that?”
She gives me an earnest expression only a child can. “Yes.”
“I want to make you happy.”
“Jaleesa too?”
I nod. “Jaleesa too.”
“And Mommy?”
I glance across the kitchen to see Heidi has left, and I feel a shadow creep over me.
Jade notices it, because she asks, “Daddy? What’s wrong?”
I flash her a smile. “Nothing, honey. Daddy’s just tired from his flight.”
“And Mommy?” she repeats.
“Of course,” I say. “Mommy too.”
