Chapter 7 - Christmas Without Assigned Seating
Christmas arrived with cold rain instead of snow.
Madison considered this a personal betrayal.
“If it's going to be this cold, it should at least snow.”
David looked outside.
“File a complaint.”
“With who?”
“Weather department.”
“There isn't a weather department.”
“Then start one.”
Walter arrived at four carrying a pecan pie.
Again.
Caroline opened the door.
“You know other desserts exist.”
“I don't trust them.”
He stepped inside.
This Christmas dinner looked different from Thanksgiving.
No caterers.
No place cards.
No business associates.
David's mother had come from Monroe.
Caroline's sister brought her two teenage sons.
Walter's son Marcus drove from Raleigh.
His daughter joined by video from Seattle later that evening.
The house was louder.
Messier.
Better.
At dinner, David's mother, Helen, sat across from Walter.
She had been told the story.
Still, when David introduced them properly, she stared at Walter for several seconds.
“You brought my boy home.”
Walter looked embarrassed.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Helen reached across the table and took his hand.
“Thank you.”
Walter swallowed.
“He would've found a way.”
“No.”
Her grip tightened.
“You brought him home.”
David looked down.
Walter didn't argue this time.
After dinner, Helen found David alone near the fireplace.
“You never told me.”
“I didn't want you to know how close I came to missing Dad's funeral preparations.”
She touched his arm.
“You were nineteen.”
“I told you I had a ride arranged.”
“You lied.”
“Technically.”
“You always were terrible at lying.”
“Caroline says that too.”
Helen smiled.
Then she looked toward Walter.
He sat on the floor helping Madison assemble a puzzle.
“You know,” Helen said, “your father would've liked him.”
David nodded.
“I think so.”
“He would've been embarrassed you spent twenty-five years looking for someone to thank.”
David laughed.
“Also true.”
Helen's expression became serious.
“Don't turn this into something big.”
“What?”
“You.”
She poked his chest.
“You like fixing things.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Some people don't need fixing.”
David looked at Walter.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His mother waited.
David understood.
Walter didn't need a benefactor.
He needed people.
That was different.
“I know,” David repeated.
Helen smiled.
“Good.”
Later that evening, gifts were opened.
Walter protested when Madison handed him one.
“I didn't bring you anything.”
“Yes, you did.”
“What?”
“Pie.”
“That does not count.”
“It counts to me.”
Inside the box was a framed photograph.
Taken on Thanksgiving.
Someone—probably Caroline—had snapped it near the end of dinner.
Walter sat at the table laughing.
David beside him.
Madison between them.
Behind the photograph, Madison had written in blue marker:
THANK YOU FOR BRINGING MY DAD HOME.
Walter stared at it.
Nobody spoke.
He turned the frame over again.
Read the sentence twice.
Then removed his glasses.
“Kid,” he whispered.
Madison suddenly looked nervous.
“Do you like it?”
Walter pulled her into a hug.
For once, he had no joke.
No clever answer.
He just held her.
Caroline turned away to hide tears.
David didn't bother.
Walter finally released Madison.
“I love it.”
“Good.”
He looked at David.
“I don't deserve all this.”
David shook his head.
“Wrong lesson.”
Walter stared.
David nodded toward Madison.
“She'll explain it to you.”
Madison crossed her arms.
“You don't have to earn being invited.”
Walter laughed through tears.
“Bossy.”
“Yep.”
That night, after everyone had gone upstairs or gone home, David entered the dining room.
Walter stood near the table wearing his coat.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?”
“I said goodbye.”
“To everybody except me.”
Walter smiled.
“I'll see you next week.”
“Still.”
They shook hands.
Then Walter looked around the room.
“No assigned seating.”
David smiled.
“Best decision we ever made.”
Walter walked toward the foyer.
Before he reached it, David said:
“I finally understand.”
Walter turned.
“That night.”
Walter waited.
“For years I thought the important thing was that you drove me home.”
“It was pretty important.”
David smiled.
“It was.”
Then he shook his head.
“But that's not what stayed with me.”
Walter's face softened.
“You saw me.”
Walter said nothing.
“I was a broke kid standing in the rain. Nobody important. Nobody useful to you.”
David's voice tightened.
“And you saw me.”
Walter put on his cap.
“That's what people are supposed to do.”
David nodded.
“Yeah.”
Walter opened the door.
Cold air rushed inside.
“Good night, son.”
David smiled.
“Good night, Walter.”
The door closed.
David stood there alone.
Then he heard Madison from upstairs.
“Dad!”
“What?”
“Did Mr. Brooks take his pie plate?”
David looked toward the kitchen.
The empty dish sat beside the sink.
“No!”
A dramatic groan echoed from upstairs.
“He always forgets it!”
David laughed.
May you like
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe some things were left behind on purpose.
