Page 23 of Forever Christmas
“We thought we’d take your car to the hospital,” Corabelle says.
“Of course,” Mrs. Rotheford says. She glances at her husband.“We were thinking of coming along too.”
“As long as that’s okay with Gavin,” Mr. Rotheford says. “Tough time for your family.”
“Sure,” I say. I’m fine with a crowd. If I’m alone with my father, no telling what would go down.
“We have to get going,” Corabelle says. “We’re so late.”
“You sure you don’t want to stop and eat something first?” her mom asks. “You look a little peaked.” Her gazeslides down Corabelle, and I wonder if she suspects.
Corabelle waves her off. “We had something on the way. Let’s go!”
We haul the suitcase inside the house and leave it by the door. Mrs. Rotheford grabs her purse, and I stand there just long enough to get a good strong whiff of their house.
It’s amazing how a smell can take you back. For Corabelle’s, it’s lemon cleaner and a hint of coffee,as her mother drinks it throughout the day. It makes my heart long for simpler times. Before bills, jobs, juggling your hours, and certainly before heartache, worries, and loss.
“Off we go!” Mrs. Rotheford says as she leads us back out on the porch.
We load into the SUV, Corabelle and I sitting close together in the back. It’s a different car than I’ve ever known them to have, but just beingthere with Corabelle, her parents in the front, gives me that I’m-a-kid-again feel. Someone else is in charge. I relax.
Corabelle leans her head on my shoulder and I kiss her hair. I catch her father watching us in the rearview mirror. He nods a little as he looks away. He’s coming around. I don’t blame him a bit for any reservations he has about me.
The sun still blazes on the road as we headto Las Cruces. It’s a familiar stretch, since as teens, most of us left town every Saturday to find real nightlife. Corabelle remarks on all the changes. Big-box stores. New strip malls. An oversized gas station.
As we approach the hospital, I get more and more leery of what is to come. I have a bonus audience now. I’m not sure if everyone is going to push me forward and expect some heartwarmingreunion of father and son.
Because that ain’t gonna happen.
Best-case scenario: We all stomp in and my father fails to insult us so badly that I don’t walk right back out. We wave. I say, “Good luck,” and we go on our way.
That’s about as good as I can picture it.
