The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,40
single dad. Would you hold the tree while I clamp it in?”
“Of course.”
I held the tree steady while Dylan got down under the boughs and screwed the stand’s bolts into the trunk.
“That should do,” he said, getting up off his knees. “Now the lights.”
I helped him string up the lights, which were LED but retro in design, brightly colored and round as ping-pong balls.
“Alex,” he called. “I need your help.”
Alex walked into the room. “What, Daddy?”
“You know your job.”
“Okay.” She looked at me. “I always plug it in. I’m good at it.”
“I can’t wait to see,” I said.
Dylan handed Alex the end of the cord. She got down on her knees and plugged it into the socket. The tree glowed. Alex clapped, and Dylan and I quickly joined in.
“Well done,” he said. “No one can plug a tree in like Alex.”
Alex smiled. “No one, Daddy.”
“What comes next in your system?” I asked.
“Hanging the tinsel,” he said. “Then the ornaments.”
“I can do that.” Then, looking at Alexis, I added, “I mean, we can do that.”
“Would you like some hot cocoa?”
“I would love some.”
“I don’t need to ask you, beautiful girl,” he said to Alexis. “Extra mallows.”
“Extra mallows,” she said.
Alex and I began draping the tinsel on the tree while Dylan disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later he came out with three mugs on a tray with peppermint sticks and steam rising above their tops. He set the tray down on the coffee table then handed me one of the mugs. There was writing on it.
Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand.
Kurt Vonnegut
“Nice mug,” I said. “You know, my father was a huge Vonnegut fan.”
“I might have bought that mug at your bookstore.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” I took a sip of cocoa.
“You sell coffee mugs but not coffee,” he said. “Go figure.”
“The book world defies explanation.”
CHAPTER twenty–eight
As a writer you should not judge. You should understand.
—Ernest Hemingway
Alexis and I finished hanging the ornaments, and then she went up to her room while Dylan and I sat in front of the tree sipping our cocoa.
“May I ask a personal question?”
Dylan shrugged. “You can ask.”
I looked up to make sure Alex wasn’t listening, then asked softly, “Why didn’t Susan end up with Alex? I mean, it’s usually the way it goes.”
Dylan frowned and set down his cup. “She didn’t want her. Susan got in with a group of friends who convinced her that family and home took away her freedom. She saw the house, Alex, and me as chains. Or at least anchors.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s true. At least in part. I agree with her premise, but not her conclusion. Home is an anchor. But that’s not a bad thing. Anchors are valuable. The sea is turbulent; it’s a gift to hold ground. People talk about ‘freedom’ as if life were measured by mileage. It’s not.”
“What is life measured by?”
“Matters of consequence, like being a good human.”
“For a mathematician you’re surprisingly poetic.”
“Math is poetry,” he replied.
“I think I agree with you.” I took another drink of cocoa, then leaned back into the soft couch. “It really is a pretty tree.”
“Thank you.”
“Where do you get your ornaments?”
“The blue and red ones from Target. The unique ones from all over. It’s Alex’s and my tradition. We buy a new ornament every year. We still haven’t gotten this year’s yet.”
“How long have you had this tradition?”
“Four years. We started the year Susie left. Alex and I were at the mall shopping, and she kept crying for her mommy. I was looking for something to cheer her up. An ornament did it.” He grinned. “And ice cream.”
“Ice cream is powerful,” I said.
“Very powerful. And now I’m getting hungry.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s almost time for dinner.”
“What time are we supposed to be at your parents’ place?”
“In fifteen minutes. We should leave.” He stood and shouted to Alexis. “Alex. Time to go to Meemaw’s.”
“I’m coming.”
I also stood. “I still feel bad not helping your mother cook.”
“Guilt without cause. She would throw you out of her kitchen like spoiled milk. Or, she’d let you help but then never invite you back.”
“Really?”
“I’ve seen it happen. It’s her domain. Dad and I grew up with ‘Get out of my kitchen.’ ” Dylan turned toward the stairs. “Alexis. It’s time to go. Now.”
“I’m coming!” A minute later she came down the stairs.
“Where were you?” Dylan asked.
Alexis was obviously embarrassed and whispered to Dylan forcefully, “I was in the bathroom.”