21. Holidaze

“This one is from Santa,” I said, passing the gift to Berlin.

She rolled her eyes at me and took the gift. It was big and boxy. The size of a small microwave. She ripped at the wrapping paper—reindeers chasing Santa—tearing at a big section. She pulled off the red bow and stuck it to Zoe’s forehead, who was now tipping the scales at forty five pounds. Zoe’s eyes crossed and she began thrashing her giant head, her tongue dangling out the side of her mouth like eight inches of melting taffy. Zoe had already opened and eaten her Christmas presents, even the ones that weren’t edible. The bow fell off and was quickly added to the pile of five pounds of wrapping paper, half a stocking, a giant bag of turkey jerky, the lower third of a Christmas spruce, five tennis balls, three ornaments, and a pair of lamb slippers that I’d enjoyed for three minutes before they were attacked as if by live squirrels.

Berlin peeled the last of the paper and looked up. “What’s a Simple-Bake Oven?”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” I exclaimed. “I had one when I was kid.” Sadly, this was true.

“Bake up sweet and tasty treats with the SIMPLE-BAKE Ultimate Oven,” she read off the side. “No more light bulbs needed! Use the included mixes, pans and other goodies to whip up cake and cookie batter. Follow the directions to bake them inside the oven.”

“Doesn’t that sound great?”

She glared at me. “There is a real oven thirty feet from here. It uses natural gas. And it isn’t pink.”

“Just open it.”

She pulled off the tape and ripped it open. Fifty packing peanuts flew into the air and scattered under the tree as she stuck her hand into the white abyss and pulled out a rock.

“Really, Maddy? A rock?”

I smiled. I’d given the oven to the parents of a little girl three doors down. The girl was a year younger than Berlin, and the text message I received an hour earlier had detailed that it was her favorite gift that Santa had brought her.

“It’s a paperweight.”

Berlin gazed at me suspiciously and continued digging into the box, my smile growing exponentially with each peanut that hit the floor.

“There’s nothing in here.”

I shrugged.

Finally, she turned the box over and dumped the remaining contents onto the ground. She started combing through them. She wouldn’t find anything.

Zoe came over and helped her sift through the sea of white. She sniffed at the packing peanuts curiously and then backed away, her tail between her legs.

“There’s nothing in here,” Berlin repeated, an octave louder than the previous time.

I threw up my hands as if to say, “If you say so.”

She cocked her head at me. Trying to read my thoughts. I could almost feel her fishing around in my brain, an invisible lure bobbing up and down in my lake of neurons.

She grabbed the box.

Looked inside.

Pulled something out.

I couldn’t stop grinning.

She stared at the small rectangular envelope I’d taped to the inside of the box.

Opened it.

Her eyebrows leapt ten inches off her head.

“Wisneyland?”

I nodded.

“We’re going to Wisneyland?” She jumped up, ran to Zoe, and tackled her. “Wisneyland, Zoe! Wisneyland!”

Zoe howled with joy. I joined my two girls and began tickling them. We wrestled for a good couple of minutes until Berlin and I were sucked dry of giggles and Zoe was covered in saliva.

“Thanks, Maddy,” Berlin said, her head resting on my chest. Then she shot to her feet. “What ride do you want to go on first? Space Canyon? Pirates of the Galápagos? Wisconsin Jones Adventure? Tarzan’s Lakehouse?” She listed off ten more as if she had memorized Wisneyland’s Encycliwiki page.

I laughed. “Whatever you want.”

“When are we going?”

“Well, I have a big trial that starts the first week of January. I was thinking the week after that.”

“So, in like three weeks?”

I nodded.

“Yay! Wisneyland!”

 

⥯

 

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

It was JP.

I hadn’t seen a whole lot of him in the past month. He stopped into the office a couple times a week, but he mostly oversaw his underlings—six of us, six individual franchises under the JP umbrella—via phone. He would check for updates, ask pointed questions, and offer advice from his twenty years of experience in the courtroom. I talked with him every couple of days, but the last time I’d seen him was two weeks earlier when he’d stopped by to pick up Berlin and take her to a Denver Chill game.

It was far from a white Christmas with Colorado in the midst of record December highs, and JP was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and a Santa hat.

“Merry Christmas!” he shouted, his arms wide, pulling me in for a hug.

“JP,” Berlin screeched, then ran forward and nestled her way into his embrace.

He picked her up, then carried her and a large bag of presents into the living room and plopped them both onto the couch.

After two more trips to his car to retrieve more presents, he had a giant snifter of scotch on the table next to him—he brought his own scotch, snifter, and coaster—and he was handing out presents as if they were bananas that would go brown and mushy if not enjoyed immediately.

This one is for you, Berlin.

Here you go, Maddy. Hope that’s the right size.

This one is for Zoe. Here you go, girl.

Oh, here’s a big one. Wonder who that is for?

I thought you could use a good set of cufflinks.

Now, promise me you’ll wear a helmet when you ride that?

I wonder who this big bone could be for? Are there any doggies around? Are there?

Oh, you’re gonna love this one, Berlin.

We hadn’t finished opening gifts for thirty seconds when Berlin strapped on her bright green helmet, leashed Zoe up, and hefted the motorized scooter into her arms.

“Stay on the sidewalk,” I said.

“I will.”

She darted out the door and into the sunshine. JP and I watched through the window as she zoomed away, the big dog galloping alongside her.

“How fast does that thing go?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five miles per hour?”

“What’d you want me to do, get her one that goes eight miles per hour? She’ll be fine.”

I just stared at him. I wanted to tell him that she wasn’t his child. She was mine. That he should have consulted me before buying her a scooter that goes as fast as the cars on my neighborhood street. But this would devastate him. And to be honest, I knew Berlin would be fine. She wasn’t one of those kids that felt an urgency to show off. I, on the other hand, would have broken either the scooter or my arm in the first hour. But not Berlin. She would never put herself in any danger. If she wanted to go really fast, she’d scout out a good, hazard-free spot. She’d tell all the neighbors that she was going to be on their sidewalk at exactly this time, this day. She’d put up cones. No, she was zooming along at a steady thirteen miles per hour, her hands snug around the scooter’s handle equivalent of ten and two, her eyes locked on the sidewalk in front of her.

I smiled and nodded. You’re right.

“What is Jeremy doing today?” I asked, the question out before I realized that I’d never said the word “Jeremy” in his presence.

“Doing his thing.”

“Do you see him often?”

“No.”

I waited for him to expound, to tell me what happened, to tell me about the falling out they’d had years earlier. That they both were too stubborn to bury the hatchet. But he offered only a swig of his scotch.

“You know that I’m up against him in the Isaac trial?”

He nodded.

“Any tips?”

He ignored me, then asked, “Has Isaac told you anything yet?”

He’d told me plenty. Just not a whole lot about the triple homicide he was accused of. I thought back to when he told me about the two men, the Erasers. “Not a thing. I don’t even know why he has a lawyer. Don’t know why he didn’t just plead guilty.”

“They have a lot on him?”

“Rock solid.”

“You think he did it?”

“I think so.”

He shrugged. “Well, do your best.”

He didn’t expect me to win the case. Whether it was because the evidence was so heavily stacked against me, I was pitted against his son, or I had just passed the Colorado State Bar (well, kinda) and had no real experience whatsoever, he didn’t specify. I’m guessing it was a combination of all these factors.

We spent the next hour watching the basketball game on TV. JP drank another scotch. Berlin came back unharmed with Zoe panting heavily. She was on cloud nine. If the scooter didn’t beat a trip to Wisneyland outright, it had given it a run for its money. Even if the scooter did outshine my present, I didn’t mind being upstaged by JP. No matter his vices, his somewhat erratic temper, and his feelings about his only son, he was a good man. A good, good man.

Berlin sat between the two of us. She yelled at the TV, sometimes louder and fiercer than JP. She still loved Garrett, but she didn’t let him get away with anything. If he played lousy defense, she called him out on it. But when he dunked, she screamed and hysterically ran around the living room.

At halftime, JP drained his scotch and made his way to the door. We traded hugs. Promises were made for another basketball game early next week.

Berlin was elated.

He patted me on the arm and said, “Jeremy doesn’t like when you call him Junior.”

And then he left.

 

⥯

 

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang again.

I was expecting Darrel. He said he might stop by if he got the chance.

It was Dr. Raleigh. He was holding a big tray covered with saran wrap. “My wife made these for you.”

I hadn’t seen Dr. Raleigh since Thanksgiving. I ushered him in, unable to banish the last words he’d said to me from my mind.

It’s time to pick a side.

I was immediately tempted to ask him about the Erasers. Is that what the Historians called them too? Did Dr. Raleigh even know about this third group? Were they part of the same war?

Zoe smelled the cookies and bounded toward him. He looked at me and I nodded. Why not? She’d eaten just about everything else in this house—including my new cufflinks. Why would a couple of cookies matter?

She scarfed three powdered sugar cookies, the residue caking her face in white.

The toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened.

Dr. Raleigh’s eyes widened.

“Oh, hi, Dr. Raleigh,” Berlin said with a big smile.

“I,” he looked at me, “had no idea.”

On our Integration bus trip, I’d asked Dr. Raleigh if Berlin could live with me and he’d absolutely forbidden it. I don’t know why I hadn’t told him that I’d officially adopted Berlin. In fact, Dr. Raleigh had asked on two separate occasions if I’d heard from her, how she was doing. But for some reason, both times I’d simply shaken my head.

I spent the next couple minutes recounting how I’d become Berlin’s legal guardian. I made it sound as though it just happened, a fresh development, that this wasn’t our third major holiday together.

“Well,” he said, “I’m glad it worked out.”

He rubbed Berlin’s head and said, “If I’d known, I would have brought you a little something.”

Berlin grabbed a handful of cookies and plopped back on the couch to watch another basketball game. Chicago Bulls versus the Seattle Whales.

“That your backyard?” asked Dr. Raleigh

I took the hint and we walked to the sliding glass door. It wasn’t even halfway open when Zoe smashed through the narrow opening, sending shockwaves through the glass. Dr. Raleigh and I found seats on two chairs. I asked him if he wanted a drink and he said that he didn’t have time. He still had five more deliveries to make.

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

The gift was small and slender. I shook it. “A bracelet? Why, you shouldn’t have.”

“Come on, open it.”

I ripped off the wrapping paper, then opened the ivory box. It was a pen.

“Nice.” And it was. Gold and silver. Sleek.

He picked it up and turned it around. There was a small button on the side. He pressed it. “It’s also a laser pointer.”

It was the way he looked at me when he said it.

It wasn’t a laser pointer.

It was a memory scanner.

 

⥯

 

They had extended visiting hours on New Year’s Eve.

I wasn’t sure if Isaac would show.

He did.

We made idle chitchat about the end of the year. I wanted to hear more about the Erasers, but I knew he was done talking. I could see it in his eyes. He’d given me everything he was going to give me.

“Are you ready for Monday?” I asked.

“I imagine so.”

“It should only take a couple hours to select the jury, then we’ll probably do opening statements.”

I fingered the memory scanner in my left pocket.

According to Dr. Raleigh, I had to point the memory scanner at the soft tissue where his head met his neck and hold the button down for three seconds. It had to be at least three seconds or the memories wouldn’t be loaded onto the device. The small drive held in the pen could hold twenty gigabytes, equal to six months of an average person’s memories.

I stood up.

“Have you thought about what you’re gonna wear?”

He shook his head.

I made my way around the table and asked, “Do you know what size you are? For a suit?”

“Never worn one.”

I was behind him now. The scanner pointed at the soft ‘v’ at the nape of the neck. My heart was racing. Was I really doing this?

“I’m guessing you’re probably a forty-two long.” I pressed the button. “Maybe a nice charcoal, pinstripe number?”

One.

“Sounds great.”

Two.

“And we might want to get you a haircut.”

Three.

He whipped around. “What are you doing?”

He stared at the pen in my hand. I turned around the small yellow legal tablet I was holding. Scribbled on it was: Get Isaac a suit, Get haircut. I’d written them down on the tablet last night when I was devising my plan.

He squinted at the pad, then took a deep breath.

I walked back to my seat and picked up my briefcase.

“I’ll pick out a suit for you and I’ll see if I can get someone in here to clean up that mess of hair sometime before Monday.”

He nodded.

I yelled, “Guard!”

The guard opened the door.

Isaac was still staring at me when I left.

 

⥯

 

“Ten...nine...eight...seven...six . . .”

I held up my champagne flute.

Darrel held his up next to me.

Berlin’s was filled with apple cider.

“Five...four...three...two...one . . .”

The three of us yelled in unison, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

We clinked glasses.

“Shit, man. Let’s hope that 2010 is better than 2009,” Darrel said with a shake of his head. “Here’s to not dying in 2010.”

The three of us clinked glasses again.

I smiled.

But it was fake.

All I could think about was my time with Isaac. Had I done the right thing? Had I chosen the right side?

Berlin and I had been at Darrel’s for the last couple hours. We’d played a mini dominoes tournament, which to no one’s surprise, was dominated by Berlin. She never even hesitated for a second to decide her play. The domino went down the instant it was her turn.

We ordered a big pizza and then watched the ball drop.

Berlin had asked me several times that night what was wrong.

“Nothing,” I’d told her. “Just thinking back on the year I guess.” And I was. I’d died on September 10^th. Then Orientation. Integration. Perry. Berlin. The Bar. JP. My job. Isaac. The Borns. The Historians. The Erasers. Time to pick a side.

Then I’d picked.

I let out a long exhale.

Berlin was back to her video game.

Darrel said, “So we haven’t really talked about the trial.”

“No, we haven’t.” Neither of us wanted it to come between us. And no matter how badly we didn’t want it to, it inevitably did. Isaac was the beautiful girl that we both wanted and were madly in love with.

“I catch the bad guys, you try to free them.”

It wasn’t that simple, I wanted to tell him. Not in this case. But to Darrel, that’s what it came down to. Black and white. But it wasn’t. It was gray. Like Isaac’s eyes.

“But I don’t care about him; I care about you.”

He shook me, but it wasn’t his hands that shook me from my reverie. It was his words.

“And if you get that motherfucker off, sure I’ll be pissed, but I’ll be proud of you too. I love you, man.”

It was the greatest thing anyone had ever said to me.

And I realized then and there, that no matter what happened to Isaac and which side I was on, there were two people who were always on my side. Unequivocally, unconditionally. And that even though the last three and a half months had been crazy, even if it were thousands of years in the future, I was happier in this life than I had been in my past life.

“No matter what happens, I love you too, man.”

We hugged.

A nice long man hug.

 

⥯

 

Can you come over?

I read the text again.

Then I turned the phone to Darrel. Berlin was asleep on the couch, and Darrel and I were playing another round of dominoes. It was past 2:00 in the morning.

“Is that from Erin?”

That’s who I’d thought it was from initially. It was a number I’d deleted from my phone. But it wasn’t Erin.

“No, Abby.”

His eyes shot open. “Like Abby, Abby? The one you obsess over?”

I smiled.

“What are you waiting for? Get your ass over there.”

 

⥯

 

She opened the door. It was clear that she’d been crying. She was still dressed in her New Year’s Eve attire. A stunning black dress. I guessed she’d been at some swanky party with Jeremy when the fight had started. Her makeup had run, her normally rich amber eyes rimmed in blue-black.

“I—”

She took two steps forward and buried her head in my chest. Then she gazed up at me. Her soft lips touched mine.