THIRTY-NINE

On Christmas Eve, he awoke on his couch from a long nap. He had intended to sleep for about twenty minutes or so, but it had stretched into two and half hours. His arm over his eyes to ward off light. Sounds coming in and out and then he opened his eyes completely and looked over at his daughter. She was sitting in the recliner, her legs draped over the arm. She was eating some sort of yogurt granola mix from a bowl. The sort of thing Hastings didn’t even like to look at.

Amy said, “Did the television wake you?”

“No,” Hastings said. He looked at his watch. “Hmmm,” he said, acknowledging the passage of time.

Amy said, “I can turn it off if you like. I mean, if you want to go back to sleep.”

“No, that’s all right.” He sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. Came out of the hands and looked at the television screen. Cary Grant and Loretta Young skating around on an outdoor ice rink. A seasonal film, Cary Grant playing an angel who falls in love with David Niven’s wife, yet somehow also teaches Niven the true meaning of Christmas.

Hastings said, “Haven’t you seen this before?”

“Yeah.” Amy shrugged. “I like it. Do you want to watch football instead?”

“Not really.” He stood up and went to the kitchen. Thought, Beer or coffee? Then decided on coffee. A couple of minutes later, it was brewing and he went back to the living room and stood behind Amy’s chair.

“Amy.”

“Yes.” Her attention still on the movie.

“I know it’s short notice, but Joe asked if we’d like to come to his house for Christmas.”

Amy turned to look at him.

“We’d have dinner with him and his family,” Hastings said. “You like them, don’t you?”

“They’re okay.”

“So what do you think?”

A pause. Then she said, “Would we have to do it every year?”

Hastings smiled. She was trying to be funny. And in being funny, being brave. He said, “Well, we’ll see how it goes.”

Amy was a twelve-year-old kid, but aware in her way. She had watched the news for the past couple of days and had seen footage of the poor girl who had been kidnapped and she had some knowledge of her father’s role in it, but only some. Too much for a kid to process, but she knew he was tired and would probably need more rest. More important, she knew he was trying.

“I think that sounds fine,” Amy said and gave him a smile.

“Good.”

Hastings came back to the living room with his coffee and sat on the couch. He picked up the newspaper and began reading the sports page. Amy sat in her chair and returned her attention to the The Bishop’s Wife. The cab driver had joined Cary and Loretta on the rink.