7:32 p.m.
Phillip Jameson took a long drink and finished the bottle of beer, while staring at the business card in his hand. Setting the empty bottle on the kitchen table, he never took his eyes away from the card, flicking it between his fingers. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in the numbers from the card. For several seconds, his thumb hovered above the ‘send’ button before tapping the ‘end’ button. He stood and went to the refrigerator to get another beer. Closing the refrigerator door, he heard the chime of the doorbell.
Clasping the neck of the bottle in his hand, he went to the living room after taking a quick look out the window. Not recognizing the vehicle in his driveway, he touched the butt of his weapon, while he went to the door and peeked through the peephole. He saw the back of a woman standing on the porch, her head moving in all directions. She appeared to be searching for something. He opened the door and the woman turned toward him. His beer bottle almost slipped from his grasp. His heart beat faster and his pulse quickened. Though he had not seen this woman in many years, she had not changed a bit. In fact, time had been good to her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Standing in the doorway, he stared at her. His heart had gotten the better of his reason and he could not think clearly enough to say hello or ask if she wanted to come into the house. Breaking the silence, the woman lifted a large white bag toward Jameson and spoke.
“I seem to have bought way too much Chinese food,” said Dahlia. She gestured with her chin at the beer bottle. “Do you have another one of those?”
After leaving Cruz’s house, she had picked up Chinese food and driven around for nearly forty-five minutes. Hardy’s words, ‘As your friends, we’re asking you to keep the door open when it comes to your father. Don’t shut him out forever,’ had been playing in her mind on a continuous loop. Not realizing it, she had driven to within a mile of her father’s house, the same house in which she was raised. Not being the superstitious type, she had to admit that maybe fate had had a hand in this. On a whim, she decided to stop in and see him. To say she was feeling anxious was an understatement. Her father’s silence increased her anxiety. Maybe I made a mistake in coming here.
Jameson attempted to speak, but the proverbial lump in his throat was preventing speech. Not having seen his daughter in nearly seven years, the two were like strangers, meeting for the first time. Gawking at her, he had flashbacks to her as a little girl, wearing her hair in a ponytail and walking around the house in a dress and her mother’s high heels. Inwardly, he chuckled and the laughter helped to loosen his tongue. Jameson stepped back and swung his arm toward the interior of the house. “Of course, I’ll get you one,” he said. He watched her walk past him, taking in her every detail before scurrying to the kitchen.
When Jameson returned with her beer, Dahlia had taken off her coat and was standing in front of the Christmas tree, her eyes scanning the names on the tags of gifts. He stood alongside her and held out the bottle.
“Thank you.” She tipped back the bottle and took a sip before using it to point at the gifts. “That’s a lot of Christmas presents for someone who lives alone.” The tree must have had at least fifty wrapped items of varying shapes and sizes. “I see you still buy gifts for Mom.”
“Not just your mother. Your name’s on half of them.”
Dahlia was in the process of taking another sip, when she stopped and shifted her eyes toward him. Setting the bottle on a nearby coffee table, she lifted and moved presents to view the names on the tags. Sure enough, once she got past the items at the front of the mountain, her name was on most of the remaining ones within her reach. Turning toward him, she opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was shake her head and stare at him. She glanced at the pile. “I don’t get it. You didn’t know I was coming here tonight. How could you have bought all these for me?”
Jameson took a swig of his beer and set it on the fireplace mantel. “I’ve been buying you presents, since that first Christmas after the incident at the FBI…Christmas…birthdays…sometimes I just saw something I thought you might like and grabbed it.” He regarded the multi-colored wrapping paper and his mind drifted off to happier days with Dahlia and her mother. “After your mother passed, I started getting stuff for her, too.” A barely perceptible half-smile came across his face. “I don’t know. Maybe, I’m nuts. Every year, I take everything out and set it up, adding a few more to the stack. When the holiday’s over, I put them away.” He paused to reflect on what he had said. “I guess…I was just hoping that you’d come home some year and…” His voiced cracked and he caught himself before the tears could flow. He grabbed his beer and took a long swallow.
Dahlia’s lower lip quivered. Growing up, she had been so close to this man. He had been an integral part of her transformation into the woman she was today. Her integrity, her character, her drive for excellence, she had received them all from him. His final gift had been to hone her skills to become one of the best FBI agents ever to pass through the agency. She swiped her fingers across her cheek. If only I’d made one phone call. She had picked up the phone and dialed his number several times. That had been the easy part. Pressing the ‘send’ button had been the greatest hurdle.
Stepping away from the tree, she took a couple steps toward him. She wanted to run, but she refrained.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her draw closer to him.
She lifted her arms a fraction of an inch before retracting them.
Jameson caught sight of the gesture and took a chance. He placed his beer on the mantle and opened his arms to her.
Dahlia closed the distance between them, literally and figuratively, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing the right side of her face against his chest. She hugged her father tighter than she had ever hugged anyone.
Jameson put one hand on her back and the other under her ponytail before kissing the top of her head.
When her arms grew weak and she could squeeze no longer, she released her father and stepped back, drying her moist cheeks. She sniffed and headed for the kitchen, picking up the bag of Chinese food on her way. “I’m going to warm this up, since I’ve got a lot of unwrapping to do.”
Jameson smiled and laughed.
“I feel bad.” Her voice rose, when she entered the kitchen. “I didn’t bring you anything.”
He heard the microwave door opening and closing. “Sweetheart, you brought me the best present a father could ask for,” he said, so only he could hear it.
Five minutes later, Dahlia returned with several boxes in her hands. Jameson met her halfway and took a few of them from her. She went to work tearing into the first present she saw.
Jameson watched her. It was Christmas all over again. She always destroyed the wrapping paper. Every Christmas, the living room resembled the aftermath of a Macy’s ticker tape parade. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said. “And, believe me, I’m not complaining at all. But, what happened to make you want to see me? I haven’t exactly made the best of attempts to contact you.”
Dahlia stopped shredding paper and thought for a moment. “Hardy happened,” she said. She rotated her head toward her father. “He made me promise to keep the door open when it came to you.”
A puzzled stare washed over Jameson’s face and he let a puff of air slip past his lips. Fishing out the business card from his pocket, he leaned forward from his seat on the couch and handed it to Dahlia. “Hardy gave me that on the way back from LA…along with some advice.”
Dahlia recognized the numbers written on the card; it was her phone number. Realizing what Hardy had been up to, a wide smile formed on her face.
“Hardy may be a lot of things, but…” Jameson stuck the chopsticks into the box in his hand, pinching the noodles inside. “I never would have pegged him for a matchmaker.”