Page 99 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
“It’s the best book I ever read,” Austin said. “Right, Dad?”
“Look at the cover again,” Kerry urged. Austin turned the book over and grinned.
“It’s by me! Austin McCaleb, with illustrations by Heinz… I can’t say that last name, and Kerry Tolliver. I wrote a whole book. I bet nobody else in my class has ever wrote a whole book.”
“Written. And you did have some help,” Patrick reminded him. “But yes, it’s quite an accomplishment. I’m proud of you. And Kerry and Mr. Heinz, too.”
“This was an awesome Christmas Eve,” Austin said. “Can we have more dessert now? Like Miss Claudia’s pie? Please?”
“Wait a minute. I think I see one more gift under that tree,” Patrick said. “It’s actuallyinthe tree.”
Austin walked completely around the tree until he saw a bright red envelope tucked among the fir’s branches. He plucked it out and handed it to Kerry. “This one says it’s for you.” Kerry was taken aback. It was the first time she’d seen the envelope. She slit the flap with her fingernail and slid out a sheet of paper that held an out-of-focus photograph of a vintage camper.
“Is this Spammy?” She looked around the room, her eyes finally lighting on Patrick, who was trying hard not to grin. “What’s this supposed to mean?”
Austin was hanging over her shoulder examining the photo. “Yeah, Dad. What’s it mean?”
“When Murphy told me he was selling Spammy for scrap, I had a crazy idea. I decided to buy it and have it restored. We’re going to fix up the camper as good as new—better than new, with a real working bathroom and heat.”
“Yayyyy!” Austin was jumping up and down with excitement.
“But why?” Kerry asked.
“Austin has always wanted to go camping in the woods, and well, I was thinking, maybe in the spring, when Spammy is all fixed up, we’ll trailer down to North Carolina to visit you. And Queenie. If that’s okay.”
“In the spring? Sorry, but I won’t be there then. I’ll be here in the city,” she said casually.
“What?” Murphy and Patrick asked at the same time.
“But, I thought…” Patrick started. “You said…”
Kerry’s eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. “A very good friend has offered me an opportunity that’s too good to pass up. A job and a reasonably priced lease on an apartment right in this neighborhood.”
Claudia rolled her eyes. “Reasonable? In this neighborhood? Did you find yourself a sugar daddy?”
“What’s a sugar daddy?” Austin asked.
“Never mind,” Patrick said. “Are you serious, Kerry? You’re going to stay in the city? I mean, it’s great, but just last night you said it was impossible. What’s changed?”
Kerry and Heinz exchanged a knowing glance.
“Heinz gave me a stern talking-to,” Kerry admitted. “Basically, he told me to get over myself. He pointed out that I’ll never know if I can make it as an artist unless I try. He made me understand that I was being paralyzed, creatively, by my fear of failure.”
“In turn, Kerry opened my eyes too.” Heinz gestured around the room. “Thirty years ago, I left this place. I locked myself into, as my young friend here says, a dungeon. The past was too painful, so I let myself become a prisoner to my grief.”
He clasped his hands around the mug of tea. “But then something mystical happened, right out there, in that park. A dog wagged her tail when she saw me, and a boy convinced me to draw him a picture. When I got sick, Kerry insisted on rescuing me. So annoying, this girl!”
That got a laugh from all of them.
“Kerry and Patrick and Austin dragged me back here, to this place of sadness, and forced medicine down my throat. I got better, and I looked around and suddenly, I realized, the present isn’t such a bad place to be. George is gone, yes, but he left me with all this… beauty, and memories. Nothing can take that from me. I sat in my studio yesterday, and I picked up a paintbrush, and I felt… joy. I saw the future, and possibilities. And Kerry, and all of you, my friends, made that happen.”
Kerry’s throat tightened with emotion at the old man’s unexpected declaration of cheer. “You made the impossible, possible,” she told him.
“Heinz has asked me to work on organizing and cataloging his paintings,” Kerry explained. “When that’s done, we’ll plan an exhibit and sale. But we’re not sure how long that will take, because there are a couple hundred pieces here in the apartment and studio.”
“And I lose track of how many more paintings I have in storage,” Heinz said. “The job could take months. Years, possibly. I need an assistant I can trust, someone with youth and taste and energy. And selfishly, I need that assistant to live close by. As it happens, there is a long-vacant unit here in the building.”
“Where?” Claudia asked, obviously dubious. “I know all the tenants here. There hasn’t been a vacancy in years.”
