A Winter Dream(5)

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.”