A Christmas Promise Page 4

  “You met Mom, didn’t you?”

  Dad nodded. “She was so quiet. A shy little mouse of a girl, in my Economics class.”

  Micah snickered. “Mom—quiet?”

  Dad laughed softly. “Yeah, I know. She changed a lot over the years. For the better, I think. But you should’ve seen my parents’ faces, the night I brought her home to meet them.”

  “Did… did you ever tell Mom about… Hayden?”

  Dad sighed. “You know what? I think I’ve talked enough for one night. I’m gonna go up to bed, and so should you.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Micah didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to hear more.

  “But I promise, this conversation isn’t over. We will talk about this again, okay? Just… not in the middle of the night. And not when your sister is around. This is between you and me, all right?”

  “All right.” Micah got up from the couch. “There is one thing, though…”

  Dad stood up too. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Paying Greg’s hospital bills. Inviting him to stay here. Why?”

  Dad picked up the letter and photos, gazing at them. “Good question. I’m not really sure of the answer. I suppose… I’m doing it for Hayden.” He raised his head and smiled. “That will have to do for the moment.”

  “Fair enough.” Micah walked slowly toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours. I’m coming with you to the hospital to see Greg.”

  Dad joined him. “I never expected anything less. Now get some sleep.” Dad surprised him by leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Love you, son.”

  Micah’s chest tightened. “I love you too.” He opened the door, and climbed the stairs to his room, the warm drink forgotten. He had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming.

  Chapter Four

  Greg could still hear them, their mocking laughter as their boots connected with his flesh, the pain that had flared and spread throughout his body. He could still feel their spittle running down his face. He could still see their faces as they leaned over him, jeering and whooping with triumph. Then blissfully, his world had turned black.

  He shivered, and reached for his glass of water, as if drinking its coolness would somehow banish those thoughts that tormented him. His leg, swathed in bandages, was a visible reminder. Greg’s chest tightened at the memory of his interview with the detectives. He knew deep down he should have told them everything, but he just… couldn’t. He’d given them as many details as he could recall about his attackers’ appearance, but they didn’t seem to hold out much hope that the two men would ever be found. The fact that they’d found his backpack had been nothing short of a miracle. Greg had never expected to see it again, and to find his precious box wasn’t lost forever had been…

  Wonderful.

  Not that he could open it just yet. That would be like finally admitting that Dad was gone. Never coming back.

  Greg wanted to hold on a little longer before he caved to his curiosity.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Visiting hours would be over by eight, and that left him with a little more than two hours remaining. Micah and his father had apparently stayed with him all night, and although they’d promised to return, Greg would understand if they changed their mind. After all, they didn’t know him.

  What are the odds on Micah being the one to find me? That he’d spotted Greg at all had been further proof of miracles. When they’d tossed Greg out of the car, he’d been dimly aware of the emptiness and desolation of his surroundings. The night was already falling, and no headlights pierced the darkness in which he lay. He could recall trying to crawl toward the road, inching painfully through the snow, until his freezing fingers met the road’s surface. Then he’d passed out. But for Micah to not only see him, stop, and bring him to the hospital, but also to be the son of the very man Greg was seeking?

  This had to be more than mere coincidence. It was almost—but not quite—enough to make Greg believe that Someone was watching out for him.

  Except where was He before that? Greg shivered.

  The arrival of the detectives had filled him with dread. They’d wanted to know why Greg had ended up in such a state, and he did not want to share that information. At least if his attackers were never caught, his shame would die along with the unsolved case. No one would ever know.

  Which was just how Greg wanted it.

  When he caught the sound of familiar voices coming from the hallway, Greg was surprised by his body’s own reaction. His spirits lifted, and he was suddenly more awake.

  They did come back after all. It looked like Micah and his dad were good people.

  Micah had to admit, Greg looked brighter than the last time they’d seen him. His face lit up when Dad handed over four or five paperbacks.

  “Aw, thanks. Oh wow. You’ve picked some of my favorites too.”

  Dad perched on the edge of his bed, carefully avoiding getting near Greg’s bandaged leg. “Really? Which ones?” Greg held up Murder On The Orient Express and Sleeping Murder, and Dad grinned. “Oh, now you know I have to ask this. Who is the better detective—Poirot or Miss Marple?”

  Greg groaned. “No, you really didn’t need to ask that.”

  Micah laughed. “Welcome to my world. Dad had me reading these as soon as I was old enough. And this is a heated topic of debate in our house, trust me.”

  Greg smiled at Dad. “You remind me of my dad. He loves—loved—Agatha Christie too. I spent a lot of time reading to him these past few months.”

  Dad’s smile faltered. “Oh wow. Nice to know some things didn’t change.” When Greg regarded him inquiringly, Dad sighed. “Who do you think got me into reading them? I was fourteen at the time, and Hayden lent me a copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.”

  Greg’s eyes widened. “You… you knew my dad when you were fourteen?”

  Dad nodded. “We sat next to each other in Kindergarten. We played together with our toy cars. We even pretended to be Jedi knights: we both badgered our parents for light sabers for Christmas one year.”

  Micah gaped. “You… played at being a Jedi?”

  “They did toy light sabers back then?” Greg appeared equally incredulous.

  “Hey!” Dad said indignantly. “When do you think they first came out? We had to have been… I don’t know, maybe six, seven at the time? And it was a yellow inflatable blade, attached to a flashlight. The only problem was, we got a little… vigorous in our playing.”

  “What happened?” Micah thought he knew his Dad: this was nothing short of astounding.

  Dad gave them a sheepish smile. “They sprung a leak and deflated.” Both Micah and Greg laughed at that. “Fortunately, the manufacturers included a patch kit for repairing them.”

  Greg shook his head. “I’m still trying to get my head around you and my dad, playing Star Wars.” His eyes twinkled. “Which one of you was Darth Vader?”

  Dad scowled. “Me, just because I was taller. The number of times I begged him to switch, so I could get to be Obi Wan Kenobi, but no.” Then his face took on a faraway expression. “Happy times.”

  Except now Micah knew the extent of their relationship, he had an idea of how bittersweet those happy memories had to be.

  Dad straightened. “So, have the doctors seen you today?”

  Greg nodded. “They told me it could have been much worse.” He gestured toward his face. “I know this is a mess—I had the nurse bring me a mirror—but apparently I was lucky not to have internal bleeding and injuries. I’ve got a lump on the back of my head. My belly is quite spectacular, now all the bruising is coming out there too. As for my leg, the doc said it’s a stable fracture of the femur shaft. They’ve put a pin in it, and there’s a plate attached to the bone.”

  “How long before you’ll be up and about?” Micah asked.

  “I could be mobile—with crutches—in about three weeks, if I rest up and let it heal. In the meantime, I’ll have a cast to keep me from moving my knee. I guess they just want to keep m
e from putting pressure on the bone. But I won’t be driving this side of Christmas.”

  “The doc said something about physical therapy?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re going to teach me some exercises to do.” Greg bit his lip. “Were… were you serious about me staying with you when they discharge me?”

  Dad arched his eyebrows. “Of course I was serious. You think we’re gonna let you head back to—where is it you live, anyhow?”

  Greg’s face took on a guarded look. “My mom and stepdad live in San Diego.”

  Micah didn’t miss the wording of Greg’s response. “Don’t you live with them?” Judging from Greg’s careful expression, he guessed it was a question Greg wasn’t all that keen to answer.

  Dad dove right in. “That settles it. I’m not letting you go all the way to southern California, not with a busted leg. Besides, we’re almost at Thanksgiving. Granted, it might not be the kind of Thanksgiving you’re used to at home—you’ll get several feet of snow, for one thing, and it can get as low as maybe minus ten degrees, as opposed to a whole lotta sunshine and a tad warmer in San Diego.” Then he smiled. “The plus side is that you won’t have to lift a finger. You will be sitting in a comfy chair, with that leg up, snuggled under a warm blanket, while we run around like headless chickens.” He glanced at Micah. “We haven’t exactly gotten the hang of cooking Thanksgiving dinner yet, have we, son?”

  Greg seemed perplexed by this. “I… don’t understand.”

  Micah came around to the other side of his bed and pulled up the chair. He removed his jacket and scarf, before sitting down. “My mom was the one who was always in charge, but… we lost her a couple of years ago.” If he closed his eyes right then, he could still see her in the kitchen, stuffing the turkey and watching him and Naomi as they prepared the vegetables, Dad safely out of the way where she couldn’t give him something to do. More importantly, where he couldn’t get into trouble: Dad was a menace in the kitchen.

  I guess he’s had to learn a lot these past two years. Micah’s sense of loss hadn’t diminished all that much: it still felt like a knife in his gut.

  Greg’s breathing hitched. “I’m so sorry. Then is it just you and your dad?”

  “There’s my sister, Naomi. She’s nineteen, pre-med.” Micah attempted a half-smile. “And a major pain in the ass.”

  Greg laughed quietly. “Isn’t that a prerequisite of little sisters?” Both Micah and his dad joined him in his laughter.

  When Dad stopped laughing, he looked Greg up and down. “The police have taken your statement then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what happened? Do you know who did this?” Micah couldn’t believe there had only been one attacker: Greg might be on the skinny side, but surely he’d have made an effort to fight off one guy. There was too much damage for that.

  Greg’s face kind of… closed in. “I’d never seen them before.” He cleared his throat. “What is Wright like? I got the impression it’s a little on the small side.”

  Micah got the message, loud and clear. Greg did not want to talk about what had happened to him, which only made Micah more curious. There had to be more to this incident than a random robbery. Dad was right—the extent of Greg’s injuries spoke of malice.

  Dad snickered. “Small? I guess that’s a fair assessment. Mind, we have everything you could possibly want. Hell, we even have our own Subway now!” He cackled. “There’s a supermarket that sells just about anything, a library, a fire station, not to mention two gas stations.” He counted off on his fingers. “Then there’s the hotel, the steakhouse, and of course, happy hour food at Hanks.”

  Greg smiled. “What more could you ask for?”

  “Course, we also have three churches. Yep, all denominations are catered for, including the Mormons. Hell, you can even have a manicure at the Rusty Nail.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” Greg’s face clouded over. “Not sure I’ll be paying any of the churches a visit, however.”

  “Son, you can do whatever you want, all right?” Dad coughed. “And once you’re hobbling around, maybe Micah will take you out for a spin around Wright.”

  Micah snorted. “Sure. That’ll take all of five minutes.” He grinned at Greg. “What my dad doesn’t tell you, is that for everything Wright doesn’t have? There’s Gillette, about forty-five minutes north of there. That would make for a more interesting trip.”

  Greg smiled. “Then I guess I’d better get healed up pretty quickly.” His eyes widened. “Oh. The doctor said there’s an information sheet I’m going to need, all about what to do once I’m discharged. Maybe you need a copy, if I’m going to be staying with you.”

  To Micah’s surprise, Dad grasped Greg’s hand in his. “Not if—when. And you can stay as long as you’ve a mind to. I’m not about to show you the door, once you’re up on crutches. Unless there’s something in California that you urgently need to get back to?”

  Greg swallowed. “No, sir. Nothing urgent.”

  Dad nodded and released his hand. “Then we’re gonna leave you to your reading. Not to mention some sleeping. Sleep’s good for you.”

  Micah took the hint. He stood, wrapped his thick scarf around his neck and pulled on his jacket. “I’ll come by tomorrow, see how you’re doing.”

  Greg frowned. “Really, you mustn’t put yourself out. I’m sure you must have much more important things to do than visit me.”

  Micah smiled. “It’s not an imposition, honest.” If it were him in that hospital bed, he’d be climbing the walls within a day or so. He walked around the bed to join Dad. “Happy reading.”

  “Wait.” Greg stretched out a hand toward him. Micah stared at it for a moment, then clasped it. Greg took a breath. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  Micah smiled. “You already thanked me this morning, remember?”

  “I know, but that was before I realized just how close I came to…” Greg took another shaky breath and addressed Dad. “Do you think we could talk sometime, about… my dad? Once I’m out of here?”

  Dad’s face lit up. “Sure. I’d like that.” He coughed. “Come on, son. Naomi will be foaming at the mouth if we get home and dinner is ruined.”

  Micah rolled his eyes. “Then we’ll go out to eat.” He winked at Greg. “It’ll taste better than her cooking anyhow.” He gave Greg a final nod, then followed his dad out of the room.

  “He looks brighter,” Dad commented as they walked along the hallway. “But we’d better give some thought to where he’s gonna sleep. Can’t have him going up and down stairs all the time, not on that leg. And he’ll need a bed that’s not too high, one he can easily get in and out of.”

  “There’s the sofa bed in my room. It’s nice and low. And if he feels awkward about being in my room, we can move it someplace else. Let’s face it, we got plenty of room.” Dad had built onto the original house, but now that it was just the three of them, sometimes they rattled around in there like bbs in a bucket.

  “True, but I’m thinking the guest bedroom might be a better fit, instead of your room. Can’t see him coping well with the stairs.” Dad stopped at the elevator. “Ya know, the more time we spend with him, the more I can see the resemblance. Especially around the eyes.” He sighed. “Hayden had the most amazing eyes.” The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside.

  Micah studied his dad in silence. He had so many questions, but the timing didn’t feel right.

  Maybe once Greg is staying with us, Dad will open up a little.

  He wanted to know more about his dad’s first love. More importantly, Micah wanted to know if his mom had known about it.

  Chapter Five

  “You look happy,” Micah commented as he entered the hospital room.

  Greg raised his eyes heavenward. “You have no idea. They let me take a shower this morning.”

  He laughed. “Wow. How… exciting.”

  Greg speared him with a look. “You try having a nurse give you sponge baths for almost a week, an
d see how you like it.”

  Micah chuckled. “How did you manage with that?” He pointed to the leg cast that encased most of Greg’s left leg, stiff and black, with Velcro fastenings.

  “They covered it with plastic. I still had to sit on a stool in the shower, but oh my God, the sheer joy of being able to wash myself—alone.”

  “You can use my bathroom while you’re staying with us.” Micah smiled. “It’s a walk-in shower. No bath to climb in and out of. Plus, there’s another on the first floor.”

  “Oh, that sounds great.” Greg grinned. “And now for the good news. They’re discharging me today.”

  Micah beamed. The doctors had mentioned this the previous day, but everything had depended on Greg’s latest examination. “Excellent. I’ll call Dad and let him know we’re good to go.”

  Greg pointed to the chair next to the window, where two shiny crutches leaned against it. “Look what I got.” His eyes widened. “Oh. I forgot. The physical therapist came by earlier. She said someone’s going to come out to your house to work with me. I don’t have to travel anyplace.”

  “That’s great!”

  Greg nodded, smiling widely. “Apparently, they’ll contact you, to make arrangements and put together a schedule. And she says I need to spend as much time as I can, getting around on the crutches. She said immobility is not healthy. She also said not to overdo it.” He snickered. “What she actually said was, not to be signing up to run in any 400-yard sprints just yet.”

  Micah laughed. “Yeah, well, we’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”

  “How’s the painting been this week?” Greg fixed him with a hard stare. “You have been painting, right? I mean, you’ve not been spending all your time getting things ready for when I arrive, right?”

  Micah was starting to regret telling Greg about his work. “You’re worse than my dad, do you know that?” Not that he really minded. Greg had appeared genuinely interested in Micah’s paintings, and when Micah had brought along photos of some of his completed work, Greg had been speechless with admiration. What amazed him was how quickly a rapport had been established between them.