Page 8 of The Christmas Box

What now? I stop, look to my right. Through a doorway I see another man in another robe in another bed. But then I tilt my head as recognition comes. “Mr. West?”

“One and the same,” he says.

Mr. West was my shop teacher in high school, the only teacher who ever made me feel like I mattered. Maybe the fact that it was the only class in which I applied myself was a factor there, but I was in full punk mode by then, so I have to credit him with looking beyond what I was putting out in the world at that time. Other than graying hair and a few more creases in his face, he hasn’t changed much.

As I step into his room, he says, “Sorry about your father.”

“Sorry to seeyouin here,” I tell him with unguarded honesty.

“Oh, I’ll be sprung soon enough,” he informs me. “Just some rehab after knee surgery. Another week and I’ll be home in my own bed.”

“I’m sure that’s a relief,” I say before thinking it through. Then I shake my head and say, “I just mean…”

He nods, absolving me. “It’s a tough place,” he acknowledges. “Lot of people in bad situations.”

You can say that again.

“You still teaching?” I ask.

“No, retired last year and living the good life,” he tells me. “Well, once I get back mobile again, that is. The wife and I bought an RV and we’re gonna travel the country. What about you? Doing well? Think I heard you were in Chicago.”

I nod. “I’ve been working for a custom home builder the last ten years. I’ve made a good career out of woodworking and construction,” I tell him. “In no small thanks to you.”

Mr. West just shrugs and gives a low chuckle. “You already knew what you were doing by the time you landed in my class. Your dad had already taught you more than I ever could.”

I take that in, letting it remind me of something Lexi Hargrove said this morning. I guess Ididspend a lot of time out in Dad’s workshop with him as a kid. Not so much later, when the drinking started, and certainly not after Mom left—but even if I don’t like to admit it, I suppose the guy did give me some skills.

“So, got a girlfriend?” Mr. West asks. “Married? Kids?”

I just laugh. “None of the above.”

“Well, maybe soon then,” he suggests.

But I feel the urge to be honest, something I was always able to do with him. “Not likely,” I say. “I mean, girlfriends, yeah. But not sure I’m cut out for anything permanent. Lack of role models, ya know?”

His nod tells me he remembers. Sometimes I stayed late after class, the last period of the day, and we’d talk. “Are things better between you and your dad now?”

But I barely know how to answer. “Truth is, until a few days ago, I hadn’t seen him since high school.”

My old confidante’s eyes bolt open wide.

“I left for Chicago right after graduation and never looked back. For the first few years he would call me up from time to time—on my birthday or Christmas. But it was awkward and he eventually stopped. I kept in slightly closer touch with my Uncle Wally, so Dad and I each knew the other wasn’t dead or anything—but that was it until Wally insisted I take a leave of absence from my job and come home.”

Compassion fills my old teacher’s gaze. “How has it been since you got here?”

I shrug. “Weird. I don’t even recognize him. Apparently brain cancer has made him a much friendlier guy than the one I grew up living with. But…fine, I guess. And I’ll stay until he goes. Just a matter of waiting, and then I can get back to my real life.”

At this, Mr. West tilts his head. “Don’t you want to talk things through with him while you still can?”

I take a moment, turning the idea over in my brain, and finally tell him, “Even if I did, I’m not sure he’d be able to. He just told me my mother was making meatloaf for dinner.”

Mr. West gives a solemn nod of understanding—yet then he adds, “It’s none of my business, Travis, but be that as it may…just think about clearing the air. If not for him, then for you. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets about that after it’s too late.”

“I’ll think about it,” I answer. But I’m lying. Just to be respectful to someone who’s earned that from me. If anybody should have cleared the air, it’s my old man, and it should have happened long before now.

December 1

Lexi

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