A Winter Dream

by Richard Paul Evans

  Murdock looked pleased. “I like the sound of that. I like the idea. All of it.” He turned to my dad. “Holding out on us, Ace? Or just setting us up with the bad stuff first?”

  “It was all good,” my dad said. “It just wasn’t right for you. But I agree, I like the Pack Your Bags concept.” He looked at me and nodded approvingly.

  “All right,” Murdock said. “What’s next? Where do we start?”

  Rupert clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “If you’re ready to sign on, we’ll sit down with Marcia and Bob and go over your promotional schedule and then we’ll get to work.”

  “Make it so,” Murdock said. He stood, followed by the other two. “Keep me in the loop.” He turned and looked at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Joseph.”

  “Good work, Joseph.” We shook hands. Then he turned to my father. “How’s that pretty little wife of yours?”

  “Rachel’s doing great.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman. For the life of me I don’t know what she sees in a dusty old codger like you.”

  “That makes two of us,” my dad said.

  Murdock smiled. “See you on the course, Ace.”

  On her way out Marcia said to Rupert, “Give me a call this afternoon and we’ll work out our scheduling.”

  “Happy to. Thank you.”

  They walked out of the room, escorted by Simon and Rupert. As I gathered up my things, I looked over at my father. His smile was lit with pride.

  CHAPTER

  Two

  It is the nature of the beast—even the best intentioned surprises sometimes go awry.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  An hour after the pitch meeting my father called me into his office. He was sitting back in a burgundy leather chair behind a massive desk handcrafted from burled walnut. He was still wearing a proud smile.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, taking one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” he said.

  “Too old for what?”

  “The dog and pony show. It used to be you could bring in a new client based on reputation alone. Today we have to create the whole campaign. How many thousands of dollars did we spend on that commercial they never even looked at,” he said, shaking his head. “We would have lost Murdock if it wasn’t for you.”

  “It wasn’t just me. Everyone had a—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t contradict me.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I know Murdock. If he hadn’t been an old golf buddy of mine, he would have hightailed it out of there the second he saw that first slogan. The three of them had mentally exited until they saw your idea. You brought them back to the table.” He stood, walking over to a crystal decanter sitting on a credenza. “Want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He poured himself a scotch, then carried his glass back over to the desk. “You have talent. You’re going to take this company far.”

  “You’ve already taken it far,” I said. “And the brothers have sailed it well.”

  “Yes, they have. I couldn’t be more proud of my sons.” His gaze settled on me. “Especially you.”

  Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites and the wise ones never admit to it, but I never had any doubt that I was my father’s favorite. Unfortunately, he didn’t hide it. And with eleven other brothers, being the favorite wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “Are you bringing Ashley to the celebration tonight?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as Murdock had left our office, my father had announced a special celebratory party at our favorite restaurant, Giuseppe’s.

  He nodded. “Nice girl. Pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  As usual, I wondered what he really thought of her. Throughout my dating years my father had always been closemouthed about my relationships and I honestly had no idea whether or not he approved of Ashley and me. Then again, with his track record, maybe he just thought it best to not offer romantic advice.

  “She is pretty,” I said. “And sharp as a tack.”

  “So, where are you going with that?”

  “I think we’re getting close.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Close?”

  “I’ve been looking at rings.”

  My father showed no emotion, but nodded. “Do you love her?”

  “I wouldn’t be looking at rings if I didn’t.”

  “Does she love you?”

  The question threw me a little. “I think so. She’s told me she loves me.”

  “Does she mean it?”

  I didn’t know how to answer his question. “How do you really know that?”

  He looked me in the eye. “You’ll know when you don’t have to ask.” The gravity in his face dissipated. “But I’m probably not the best one to advise on this subject.”

  “You got it right eventually,” I said.

  A subtle smile crossed his face. “Yes, I did.” He took another drink. “Enough of that. I just wanted to say congratulations and make sure you’re planning on attending the celebration tonight.”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good. Good.” He sat back down. “Because I have a very special surprise for you.” He had a huge smile on his face.

  “A surprise? What is it?”

  “You do understand the concept of a surprise, right?”

  I grinned. “Sorry.”

  He took another drink, his gaze never leaving me. “Get out of here. You’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Okay.” I stopped at the door. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too,” he said. “See you.”

  I walked out of his office wondering what he had in store for my surprise. I hoped it wasn’t anything too demonstrative. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate the gesture; I just didn’t want to deal with the backlash of my brothers’ envy.

  CHAPTER

  Three

  Tonight my father gave me a gift I didn’t deserve. I mean that in the best and worst possible ways.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  Giuseppe’s was our family’s official restaurant of celebration, an upscale Italian restaurant near the corner of 17th Street and Champa, where we held graduation and engagement parties, and our annual company Christmas party, which we’d had six weeks earlier.

  There were thirty-two of us that night, our six nonfamily employees, the brothers and Diane, and our spouses and dates. Only Diane and Benjamin came alone.

  Although my father was in a jovial mood, I was feeling a little tense, still wondering what he had planned.

  Ashley noticed my tenseness and rubbed my neck. “Are you okay?”

  I frowned. “There’s just been a lot of stress at work lately.”

  “But you won the account. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I must have still looked anxious because she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll have our own celebration next week. I’ll make a special dinner for just the two of us.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said, hoping to drop the subject.

  “In the meantime, let’s have fun. There’s good food, good wine . . .”

  “. . . a beautiful girl . . .” I interjected.

  She smiled. “A beautiful girl who loves you. Tonight you’re the conquering hero. This is a good night. Relax and enjoy the moment.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Carpe diem.”

  “Carpe diem,” she echoed.

  As the evening waned and the music and Chianti took effect, the tension eased, giving way to laughter. Even Simon, the toughest on me of all the brothers, looked happy. With the brothers relaxed, I also relaxed.

  After the tiramisu and coffee had been served, my father tapped his wineglass with his spoon. When the room quieted, he stood and raised a glass of red wine. “I’d like to make a toast.” M
y father turned toward me. “A few days ago your brother Joseph shared a dream with me.”

  He couldn’t possibly be considering sharing . . .

  “Joseph dreamt of a tree in a dark forest, covered with colored lights—like a Christmas tree. The tree was surrounded by eleven other trees. Then a storm arose, whitening out all the forest except for the brilliant lights of the Christmas tree. When the storm was over, all the other trees were bowing toward the tree of light.”

  I furtively glanced around the room, seeing the stunned expressions on my brothers’ faces, who clearly understood the symbolism before my father needlessly explained it to them.

  “Maybe what we saw today was exactly what Joseph dreamed.” He turned back to me. “Joseph shined in there. He saved the pitch. I’d like to raise a toast to Joseph. The shining tree in the forest.”

  His request was met with silence. Ashley squeezed my hand. My mother looked at me and smiled. I forced a smile in return, but inside I felt sick. Couldn’t he foresee how they would respond? Couldn’t he see what was going on around us? The brothers were already near breaking beneath the weight of their jealousy, and my father just kept throwing on more tonnage.

  Only the nonfamily employees, and my mother, Ashley, Ben and Diane raised their glasses. The tension was searing. After a moment my mother looked up at my father. My father’s expression hardened. He looked around at his sons, his stern gaze falling last on his firstborn, Rupert. “Is there a problem?”

  Rupert looked around before saying, “No, sir. There’s no problem.” He looked at the other brothers, then raised his glass. “To J.J. For saving the day.”

  The brothers reluctantly raised their glasses. Only Simon didn’t raise his glass. He sat motionless, staring at me. Then, under Rupert’s gaze, he lifted his as well, slowly, like he was raising an anchor.

  “One more thing,” my father said. He set down his glass, then stooped down and took something from a bag behind him and lifted it up. It was a leather coat. He looked at me. “I think this will fit you now.”

  It wasn’t just any coat. It was my father’s Navy flight jacket from Vietnam—decorated with the colorful patches from his deployment, including the infamous Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club patch and the insignias of the fighter squadrons deployed on the aircraft carrier.

  Everyone, including me, just gaped. I remember the first time my father showed it to me as a small boy. Even then I was awestruck, as mesmerized by its colorful patches as its history. It was something the family held in reverence like a holy artifact. I had assumed it would be passed down to the oldest child for generations.

  “Fit me?” I said.

  My father’s eyes were moist. “I want you to have it.”

  The room went completely silent.

  “I can’t think of a better way to show you how proud I am of you.” He carried it over to me. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “Go on,” he said.

  With everyone watching, I hesitantly slid my arms through the sleeves and shrugged it on, the stiff, pungent leather hanging heavily on my shoulders.

  “I don’t deserve this,” I said.

  He stepped back to look at me. “It looks good. You’re the same size I was at your age. I was about your age when I was deployed.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “All right,” my father said. “Back to the celebration.”

  I sat down, still wearing the jacket, trying to ignore my brothers’ gazes. Each of the brothers stared hatefully at me, each feeling his own personal betrayal, his own jealousy and loss. I honestly didn’t blame them. I’m sure I would have felt the same way. I just had no idea how deep their hurt was, or what my father’s gesture would set in motion.

  CHAPTER

  Four

  No matter the roughness of the sea, Ashley is the anchor to which I’ve secured my heart.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  The rest of the evening was about as festive as a train wreck. The brothers and their wives cleared out as quickly as they could without being overly obvious, with the exception of Simon, who grabbed his wife and stormed out just minutes after my father’s presentation. I wanted to leave too, desperately, as did Ashley, but my mother and father kept us there until the last. It was after midnight when I dropped Ashley off at her apartment. It had been a long, silent ride from the party, and Ashley just held my hand, unsure of what to say. I walked her to her doorstep.

  “Do you want to come inside?” she asked softly.

  “No. I’m tired.”

  “I understand.” She leaned forward and kissed me. “I’m sorry about tonight. That was awkward.”

  “You think?”

  She grinned. “Yes, I think.”

  “I just don’t get how my father could do something like that. Telling the dream was painful enough, but the coat . . .”

  “He just wants to show you how proud he is of you.” She leaned in closer. “Like I am.” She kissed my face. “Come inside.”

  I exhaled slowly “Sorry. I’m just . . . miserable.”

  She leaned back, groaning her displeasure. “All right. I understand.”

  “I never should have told my dad about the dream. Maybe I’m to blame. What did I hope to gain from that?”

  “You’re not to blame. How could you have known that he’d share it?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. But it was stupid.”

  “Maybe,” she sighed, “but it’s over. Everything’s going to be okay. They’ll get over it. Even Simon. I bet by Monday everything will be back to normal.”

  “You don’t know my brothers,” I said. “This hurt runs deep.”

  “Then it’s their problem, not yours.”

  “Their problems are my problems.”

  “No, they’re not. Their problems are their problems and your problems are your problems. You’ve got to stop carrying other people’s problems.”

  “It’s just hard. I care about them.”

  “Sometimes I think you care too much.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  “Do I care too much about you?”

  She grinned. “You can’t care too much about me.”

  “I thought so.”

  We kissed again. “You sure you don’t want to come inside? I’ll give you a backrub.”

  “That sounds good. But it’s late. I told my parents I’d drive them to the airport in the morning. They’re leaving at six.”

  She groaned. “Masochist. There you go again, suffering for others.”

  “Okay, I admit it. I’m a pathetic pleaser.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Phoenix. One of their golf trips.”

  “I’m glad someone’s having fun.”

  “He’s earned it,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get back from the airport.”

  “All right,” she said. “And don’t forget about our celebration next week.”

  “What day?”

  “Any day’s good. You decide.”

  “How’s Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday’s good. We’ll celebrate then.”

  “That is if my brothers don’t kill me on Monday.”

  “They’ll be over it. And you’ll be in a better mood for our celebration.”

  “As long as it’s just the two of us.”

  “You can count on that.” She leaned forward and this time we kissed at length. When we parted, I said, “I love you.”

  “I know. Ciao, sweetheart. Don’t forget dinner at my parents’ on Sunday.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “Grazie.”

  I opened her door and she went inside. As I walked to my car, I thought, no matter how bad things were, at least I had Ashley. And nothing could come in the way of us.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  There
can be no betrayal without trust. So should we not trust? No, to do so is a betrayal in itself.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  Not even five hours after laying my head on my pillow, I was up again, dressed and ready to drive my parents to the airport. I don’t know why Ben didn’t drive them, or why my parents hadn’t asked him to. He did, after all, still live at home. He would have driven, of course, if my dad made him, but the truth is, I think they just wanted to see me.

  The Denver International Airport is an amazing edifice but so far from civilization it should have its own area code. Or language. Even without traffic it took us forty-five minutes to reach the airport.

  The greatest controversy in Denver involves neither sports nor politics. It’s the giant blue horse statue at the Denver airport. Blue Mustang, by artist Luis Jiménez, is 32 feet tall and weighs more than 9,000 pounds. It has frightening, glowing, red electric-bulb eyes and is anatomically correct, which is also frightening. The statue is guaranteed to strike terror in the hearts of all travelers, which, considering how many people fear flying, makes me wonder what committee approved the beast’s creation.

  The horse not only looks like one of the cursed four stallions of the Apocalypse, it has lived up to its frightening image by killing its own maker. Shortly before its completion, Jiménez was killed by the statue when its head broke off and fell on the sculptor.

  Since its erection in 2008, the horse has been given many names, including: Demon Mustang, Denver’s Blue Curse, Old Blue, Zombie Horse, Blucifer, the Pale Horse of Death, and Apocalyptic Steed, to name a few.

  From the beginning, the Colorado community has protested the horse, though state law requires that it remain for a minimum of five years. Still, a Facebook page was created to hurry its demise. There was even a haiku competition. The winning entry and my personal favorite was:

  Enormous eyesore

  Gives a silent horse laugh to

  My fear of flying.

  In the early morning’s dim light the horse’s eyes glowed eerily red. Looking back, perhaps I should have considered it an omen.