The Heritage Paper

by Derek Ciccone

  “Well, I know I’m sending Taylor to lacrosse camp in Florida. Rumor is, she also knows this.”

  “I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped. The camp called to confirm and she answered. It was an honest mistake—I guess I’m not very good at keeping secrets.”

  For what it’s worth, she’d always been much better than me at it, but that would be stating the obvious. She moved on, “What about the others?”

  “I still have a couple of days … I do my best work under deadline pressure.”

  “You only do your work under deadline pressure. So you really can’t say for sure if it’s your most effective way to work.”

  “I was thinking about wrapping up Zee with a bow for Alex.”

  “That’s not really funny,” Libby said. “I love Zee like family, but I’m hoping that Alex discovers a new male role model over the next couple of years.”

  By the uncomfortable stare she sent in my direction, I got the feeling that she was referring to me.

  All first born male Wainwrights are named Alexander, so there are a lot of Cousin Zander and Uncle Al’s at this party. Unlike his older sister, Alex never came to see me once during my time away, and rarely talks to me. But being sort of an Alex expert, in that she’s one of the few in the human species that he communicates with, Taylor has assured me that his silence has nothing to do with my time in prison, or “the thing with Mom,” as she calls it. So we are on good terms, and Taylor has promised to keep me informed if the status of our relationship has changed.

  This all went back to when he first began to talk … or not talk. We had him tested for everything from autism to social anxiety disorder over the years, but the diagnosis always came back that he was a well-adjusted, smart kid, who just didn’t really care to communicate with people. Sometimes I can’t blame him.

  One person he was very fond of was Zee, who has been like a father figure to him. I never took no offense to this, but sometimes worried about Alex following a similar path. Especially since Alex reminded me so much of Zee, beyond their shared social awkwardness. I’ve had a recurring dream for years about being ambushed on one of those daytime talk shows where the true paternity of the child is revealed. Although, it would better explain things.

  The mention of Zee reminded me of our meeting tonight, and I attempted to hurry things along, “So what am I getting Alex for Christmas?”

  “I’m glad you asked. You and your son will be doing a tour of spring training baseball in Florida this February. You know what a baseball fanatic he is. And I’m hoping that you can use some of your connections with professional athletes so that Alex could meet some of the Yankees players, which is his favorite team.”

  She pulled the itinerary from her purse and handed it to me. The trip had been meticulously mapped out to the hour. “I’m guessing that it’s not a coincidence that Taylor will be in Florida at the same time for her camp.”

  “The three of you will drive home together. I think it will be a good chance for you to bond with them.”

  I remained impressed by her effort to make me important in our kids’ lives, and trying to make up for some of the time lost. And that was her gift to me, even if she would never think of it as a gift.

  “It might be a quiet ride with Alex along,” I said.

  “He’ll talk when he’s around Taylor. Frankly, I think he’s a little afraid of her.”

  “She is pretty scary when she starts swinging that lacrosse stick.” Two down, two to go. “What will Franny and Zooey be receiving from Daddy?”

  “They will be getting ponies. I think it will be a good chance for them to learn some responsibility, and I think there’s no better way to do that than taking care of another living creature.”

  Goldfish would have sufficed, but when it comes to Wainwright gifts this was downright frugal. Libby and her brothers were all bought a thoroughbred racehorse as children, costing well into the six figures each. So as long as it won’t require Daddy to be scooping up pony poop on the weekend, I was on board with it … not that I had much of a choice. And Libby and the kids had plenty of space at the house in Pound Ridge to keep them, including a barn. We bought the place right before the twins were born. But I spent most of my time those last few years in Manhattan, schmoozing my celeb clients and writing a cautionary tale.

  As if they had an internal alarm clock that beeped every time we discussed their Christmas gifts—for all I know, there probably is an Apple app to do that these days—all four of our kids suddenly joined us. Alex gave me a head nod, which I took as a sign of progress.

  Getting everyone in the same place had never been an easy task with the Collins clan, much less the same room. It was a nice moment … until Franny exclaimed, “Look, Daddy—I got a candy cane.” She proudly held up her striped sugar stick up for me to see, as did Zooey.

  Just as she said it, as if orchestrated, Celine-Lite began singing with gusto, “O Come, all ye Faithful.”

  A few of the guests actually had the nerve to send a dirty look in my direction. In this room, I was squarely in the top percentile of faithfulness, having had just one affair, albeit, a very public one.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I whispered to Libby.

  “It was bound to come up. Especially this time of year.”

  I meant I was sorry about everything, but now was hardly the time for such mea culpas, especially ones that were already understood, and frankly, were too late.

  When my public beating concluded, the kids dispersed to prepare for the Nativity play—a requirement for all Wainwright children each year. I jokingly gave Taylor the “Get out of Jail Free” Monopoly card that she’d given me during one of her prison visits, and that I’d carried in my wallet since being released. She’d always hated performing in these plays.

  But she surprised me with her enthusiasm. “I’m playing the lead this year—the Virgin Mary—it can’t go on without me!” she exclaimed, before heading off to Wardrobe.

  I’d given up on trying to figure out teenagers, so I didn’t give the change of heart much thought, and my mind wandered to my return trip to the city. Libby caught me glancing at my watch. “Not going to stick around for the play?”

  “I’d like to—I hear it’s up for a Tony. But I have a train to catch.”

  “Say hello to Zee for me,” she said, showing off her prognostication skills.

  “I will.”

  Before I left, she reached into her purse one more time and took out a folder. “Can you give this to Alyson when you go home tonight? It’s for the Morzetti case. We have a meeting next week, and she’s off tomorrow, so she wanted to do some prep work.”

  I looked at the folder, but didn’t say anything.

  “You are going home tonight, aren’t you?” she asked with a suspicious look.

  She always knew when I was up to something. And I was. But that wasn’t the reason for my silence. It was the realization that while I might be living with Alyson, home was a place that I’d probably never have again. So, no, I wouldn’t be going home tonight.