some scraggly mutt off the beach.”
“We’re having puppies?” Allison squealed.
“Next time around,” I answered, lowering my voice. “And hold it down. I haven’t cleared it with your mom yet.”
“Rest easy, Pop,” said Allison. “Mum’s the word. Don’t open presents till I get back.”
“No problem. Besides, like I said, I don’t think you have any presents to worry about.”
“I know you, Dad,” Allison chuckled as she and Callie headed for the stairs. “No gifts on Christmas? That’ll be the day.”
Although Catheryn’s tutoring and more recently her salary from the Philharmonic had always supplemented our family income, I had occasionally experienced the financial difficulties inherent in raising a large family on policeman’s wages. Nonetheless, although Catheryn and I usually bought modest holiday gifts for each other, we considered Christmas a time for splurging on the children, and this year was no exception. In Catheryn’s absence I had scoured the stores, coming up with a wide assortment of presents for Nate, Travis, and Allison. In addition to these, Catheryn had brought home gifts for everyone from Europe-a blouse from Paris and a string of intricately crafted Venetian beads for Allison, a handmade puzzle and three prints of European castles for Nate, an antique German beer stein and reproductions of several original musical manuscripts for Travis. She had also brought home something for me.
Nate, who as usual assumed the job of gift distribution, found it toward the end of the present opening, tucked far back under the tree. By then the base of the brightly decorated fir that Catheryn and the children had erected stood littered with crumpled wrapping paper, discarded ribbon, and empty boxes. Dressed in an ill matched wardrobe of slippers, two cardigan sweaters, a bathrobe, and three new ties-gifts from the children I had immediately donned upon receiving-I slowly untied the ribbon on Catheryn’s gift to me. I glanced at her as I pulled off the paper, noting that she was wearing an antique emerald ring I had given her to commemorate Allison’s birth. Catheryn looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.
The box contained a pair of exquisite, cut-crystal champagne glasses. They were tall and slender, with a narrow gold band circling each rim. “They’re from Venice,” Catheryn said as I lifted one and held it to the light. “When I bought them I thought you’d be joining me,” she went on quietly, despite the children’s presence unable to keep a vestige of disappointment from her voice. “I had visions of our toasting each other in a gondola on the Grand Canal, or watching a sunset from one of the restaurants overlooking the city. Something silly like that.”
“I know,” I said, turning the delicate flute in my fingers. “I swear I wanted to be there, Kate.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Catheryn.
“Hey, Mom, here’s one to you from Dad,” said Nate, still rummaging beneath the tree. He handed a small box to Catheryn. Encouraged by his success, he continued to search for other missed items. “All right!” he exclaimed seconds later. “There’s another from Dad for each of us, too!”
Instead of opening her package, Catheryn placed it in her lap, watching as Nate distributed my final gifts to the children, each flat, identical package tightly encased in layers of my characteristically clumsy wrapping.
“They’re something I had made up,” I said. “This may not be the best time to open them.”
“You want us to wait? Are you nuts?” laughed Nate, ripping the paper from his present. “Hey, it’s a picture.”
“So’s mine,” said Travis, unwrapping an eleven-by-fourteen oak frame.
“Mine, too,” said Allison, inspecting an image of herself that I had captured several summers back. It showed her stepping from the ocean, a pair of swim fins in one hand, a gigantic wave rising behind her in the background. The shot had been taken during a storm-surf day when even most of the strongest swimmers had remained on the sand. Overcoming her fears, Allison had accompanied Tommy and me into the churning swells. For over an hour she’d taken off on waves few others had dared.
I’d exited the water minutes earlier and had knelt to take the photo of her from a low angle, lending the shot an air of heroic proportion. My lens had caught her unaware as she waded ashore, glancing up as she stood in the swirling backwash. She had a light in her eyes that I knew she hadn’t seen in the mirror for quite some time. She looked… strong.
“Hey, I remember this,” said Travis, grinning at his photo. It had been taken during a period years back when my two older sons and I had been spending every free weekend rock climbing in the Sierras, Joshua Tree National Monument, and the San Jacinto Mountains near Idyllwild. The picture depicted a younger Travis perched beneath a granite overhang-climbing rope trailing from his harness, his eyes searching the face above. “Tahquitz. Right, Dad? You, me, and Tommy on ‘The Innominate.’ I didn’t know you brought the camera that day.”
“’Course I brought the camera. That was your first big lead.”
Neither Travis nor I had climbed since Tommy’s accident. Even the topic had seemed off limits, and my unexpected gift clearly caught Travis off guard. “Man, was I scared,” he said quietly.
“That climb definitely had a high sphincter-factor,” I agreed. “But you did it, and made a damn fine job of it, too. Hell, I’d never made it past that overhang.”
“Are we talking about the same route? You said The Innominate was a piece of cake.”
“I never said it was my piece of cake. Anyhow, you found a way. That was one heck of a lead, Trav.”
“Yes, sir. It was.”
“Maybe we ought to break out the climbing gear next summer, knock off a few routes,” I suggested, carefully watching his reaction.
Travis didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to gaze at his photo. “I think I’d like that,” he said at last.
“What’s your picture, honey?” asked Catheryn, pulling Nate up beside her on the couch.
“It’s me and Callie when she was a puppy,” Nate answered, holding the oak frame in his lap. “Look how small she was.”
I looked over Catheryn’s shoulder as she examined Nate’s present. In the photo, Nate and Callie were sitting on the downstairs swing. Laughing, eyes squeezed shut in boyish delight, Nate was holding the exuberant three- month-old Labrador in his arms, vainly trying to keep her from licking his face. “Kindred spirits,” Catheryn said.
“What’s that mean, Mom?” asked Nate.
“It means you’re alike.”
“Me and Callie?” Nate studied the picture. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”
Catheryn smiled. “No, Nate, it’s not. It’s a good thing. I love you for it.”
Nate slid closer to his mother, still staring pensively at his photograph. Across the room, Allison and Travis were each also contemplating my gift.
Finally Allison turned to me. “This is the way you see us, isn’t it?”
“It’s the way you are,” I answered. “All three of you.”
Abruptly, Travis realized the intent of my gift. I could see it in his eyes. All at once Nate did, too. Lost in thought, all three children again lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the images I had given them.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?” asked Catheryn.
No one answered.
Finally I spoke, but not to Catheryn. “Ali, you and Nate haven’t told her yet, have you?”
Not looking up, Allison shook her head.
“Why not? We had a deal.”
Allison glanced at Nate. “We wanted to wait till after Christmas.”
“Tell me what?” asked Catheryn.
Again, no one answered.
More curious than ever, Catheryn turned to me. Before she could speak, the telephone rang in the next room. Shaking her head, she left to answer it, returning a moment later. She handed me the phone. “It’s for you,” she said, her voice flat.
I raised the receiver. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
I strode from the room. “Damn, Van Owen,” I hissed once I’d reached the kitchen. “Why are you calling?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but something important has come up. I know it’s Christmas, but I need to talk with you right away. Can you come over?”
