Two Christmases

My parents and sister were shocked and outraged. Mom and Dad found out about her treachery on Christmas Day when they called. They'd moved to Southern California a year earlier to be closer to my younger sister. When they'd moved, I was of the mind that, as I'd suspected, they favored my sister over me. But that was proven wrong when Mom and Dad left for LAX immediately after Christmas dinner and flew up to help me with Claire.

Looking back over the years, I was quite sure Claire wouldn't have survived had it not been for my mother. Even with the scribbled notes left for me by the slut, I had zero idea how to be a caregiver to Claire. Mom has told me many times, that I don't give myself enough credit and that people - moms and dads - over millennia had to 'wing it.'

Dad provided moral support and we spent more than a few late nights commiserating over Ivy's actions. He took care of me, while Mom took care of Claire. Dad had me take Ivy's note to an attorney the day after I received it and start the process of gaining legal custody of my daughter and laying the groundwork for desertion and abandonment.

Oddly, I never heard a peep from Ivy's parents. They never seemed too keen on me, although it wasn't outward. I felt it more than saw or heard it. They probably thought Ivy had traded up.

One year and one month later, I met Carrissa at a specialized daycare for single parents of children under age three. She had dual degrees in child psychology and child nutrition. We hit it off right away but I was still a very damaged soul. I didn't trust people, and my faith in humanity had taken a huge hit. I wondered constantly why a woman like Carrissa would fall for someone like me. What was she after? Was the question I inevitably asked myself. My future wife figured out my dilemma but didn't challenge me with it. She kept it to herself and was both patient and nurturing with my heart and mind, until I finally came out of my funk, and fell totally in love.

My love for her and her untimely death weighed heavily on me that day, as I thought about her and Claire going behind my back with Ivy. I felt a... betrayal of sorts. I wondered how many other things my loving wife kept from me.

Strangely though, Some of my feelings about Ivy had softened by that evening. Totally? Not. In some ways, reopening the wound brought back feelings of angst, but as I thought about it, much of what I went through twenty years past felt so much less important in the grand scheme of life. Plus, she was dying. I was ashamed of myself in a way, for not being sadder about that. The truth was, she could no longer hurt Claire or me.

It took all of a day and a half when I called Claire the next morning and told her that I wasn't committing to anything but, was willing to meet Ivy and her in a neutral place and at least have a conversation. I'd decided to do it for my daughter since it seemed she needed it.

I felt immediately conflicted as Claire walked up to the table at Outback Steakhouse, her mother behind her. I'd chosen the place because no one we ever knew went there. Ivy stepped forward and I did all I could to force a smile. Her skin tone was sickly, and she was beyond feeble.

I hadn't been there for my mother when she got cancer, not like she'd been there for me my entire life. There was considerable guilt that I'd stuffed away surrounding that. Ivy was the first person I'd studied up close who was that sick. I was often distracted throughout the meal. Claire and Ivy felt it too. We sat there lost in our embarrassment as the conversation dragged.

Ivy was led by Claire in small talk for a good portion of the meal. No talk of the past, and much to my chagrin, no apology either. For me, the air became thick with tension the longer we played the 'reacquainted' game.

Ivy was on a very specific diet but ordered a flourless cake for dessert. That was when I couldn't take it anymore. "So, Ivy," I said clearing my throat. "What specifically do you want from me?"

Ivy's smile disappeared, as she looked from me to Claire. "Dad!" Claire admonished, several decibels too high.

Ivy looked sad, not angry. She gently touched Claire's arm and softly said. "Claire, it alright. I told you this might not go the way you thought. It's Okay."

That pissed me off, her taking some sort of moral high ground, maybe attempting to turn Claire against me.

"NO Ivy!" I gritted to keep my volume down. "It isn't 'all right.' I'm here, against my better judgment, asking a legitimate question. Let's all be clear, sick or not, I have absolutely zero trust where you're concerned. And still, here I sit. So, let's quit talking in platitudes and get down to business."

Ivy looked even sadder. Claire looked shocked enough to faint. In her whole life, she'd never seen her father act that way, not even with a punk kid in high school who tried to molest her at the homecoming dance.

My ex-wife was no spring chicken though. She recovered quickly and looked me dead in the eye.

"Okay, Mark," her voice measured. "A simple answer to a simple question. I require a companion for a few weeks. I have things I want to do before I die, and I'm afraid to do or try to do almost all of them alone. I'm too sick to do some, and I don't want to die trying to complete my bucket list."

She paused to let her words sink in. "At the same time, Claire's father is alone, still fighting a terrible loss. In between the bucket list activities, I need to unburden myself of my greatest sins, and since you're the person I committed most of them against, you also need to hear what I have to say. That's what I've been talking to our daughter about. I'm also quite sure your wife knew about it and would approve."

How dare the evil bitch invoke Carrissa's name! My blood pressure went into overdrive. "Don't you dare claim to know anything about Carrissa!" I spat. "Don't you ever mention her name to me!"

Claire reached across the table and took my hand, her eyes pleading with me to calm down. While that happened, Ivy looked over her shoulder and motioned for our server to bring the check.

"It's okay, Claire," she soothed. "I've caused a lot of trouble for your father tonight and ripped some scabs off of some old wounds. His reaction is perfectly normal."

Ivy looked at me then, staring right through me. "Mark," she stated. "I'm only asking you to think about it. Yes, I suppose you'd end up doing something nice for a person who so callously gouged out your heart. I have no imaginary notion that I can fix or make up for what I've done. That couldn't happen even if I lived to be one hundred. But I never possessed the courage to tell you 'why,' and that much I can settle. On top of that, I'm paying for everything so listening to a dying evil witch won't cost you a cent. That's the truth and if you can't bring yourself to believe it, then simply call me and say 'no.'"

I was pissed all night at home. Claire had hardly said two words to me after Ivy paid the check and we all left. How dare that fucking slut interfere in our family, causing problems just because she was about to check out. She was as selfish as she'd ever been. Well, I wasn't about to play her game. She'd be gone soon, and I could purge myself of her once and for all.

The next morning wasn't any better. I tried to call Claire twice and she let it go to voicemail, which she rarely did. Just before noon, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize but I knew who it was.

"Mark Sullivan," I answered professionally just in case.

"Hello, Mark," she replied. "Do you have a minute?"

"This isn't a good time, Ivy," I sputtered. "Plus, I'm not sure we have much to say to each other."

"Nonsense," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry about last night. Claire being there had the opposite effect for both of us. I should have known better. What I'm asking for was always about us, and only us. I'm sure by now any thoughts you've had of honoring my request are out the window. Here's my final attempt to change your mind."

I really was working on another deadline, so I didn't have time for her excuses. "I can't," I told her. "At least not right now. You have my cell number, obviously, so if you want to talk to me, call me tonight at seven. I'll be ready to talk then."

I had gone over several compromises the previous night. Maybe, she'd end up with one of them.

She called right on time. We exchanged pleasantries, and then she got right to it. "Again, I'm sorry about last night. Clearly, I bring out the worst in you, and rightfully so. Claire looked like she didn't know you. That was my fault too."

"Ivy," I cut in, "just stop. I know what you're doing, it's too damned obvious. It's been twenty-some-odd years. You made your bed. I was forced to rebound, and I did. I had the best life I could imagine until some bastard drunk took it all away from me. So, what could you possibly do to help me? What could ever cleanse your soul?"

There was a dreadful silence. I almost asked if she was still there. "I'll answer those in order if you don't mind," she responded in a small voice. "First, I can't help it if you won't accept my apology or if it makes you uncomfortable when I give one. You deserve them, many times over. I won't stop providing them.

Second," she paused a moment. "The... person who loved you most... She told Claire that her father had overcome every obstacle in his life and that she was very proud of him. If any one thing remained unresolved it was what happened between you and me. I have no idea what specifically that or those things are, but I have a good idea, and if I can help make you whole then it's the very least I can do before I die."

I didn't say anything, so she finished. "And lastly, I doubt anything will cleanse my soul. But it is on my bucket list to gain my own sort of redemption. That's me being selfish again. Bare minimum, to explain myself to the person I most wronged and maybe give him something he needs for closure."

I thought about what she'd said. I told her I had my own business and couldn't just take a month off to whimsically jaunt around with her, even if I wanted to. I told her that any time we spent together would be mostly for Claire's benefit. I told her that no matter what she said, not to expect any forgiveness. Then I laid out the parameters.

Ivy told me she'd think about my proposal, but that she was ninety-nine percent sure she would take me up on my offer.

Later that night Claire called me and started with a sincere apology. "Dad, I love you," she told me. "While I'm very happy that you're going to give this a chance, I also never knew exactly how much anger you had toward her."

"Don't get your hopes up, sweetie," I said. "There's a lot of baggage and none of us can predict the exact outcome. I may even end up even angrier at Ivy than I've ever been."

The next day, Ivy texted me and agreed to my terms. It was the oddest contract I'd ever been involved in. I'd given Ivy two - only two - items from her bucket list to choose from. I had no intention of spending the entire month with her. She asked for one additional thing.

"Will you allow me to spend at least a little of Christmas Day with you and Claire?" There it was. I was either crazy or suddenly generous and told her she could. She'd picked one simple request which was me accompanying her to the top of the Space Needle at sunset. That one seemed suspect to me. She could easily take a flight to Seattle - we only lived three hours away by car. Ivy could have taken a cab or Uber to the park and got on an elevator.

On the Tuesday before Christmas, Ivy and I drove to the airport and boarded a plane. The drive was dreadfully awkward. I figured Ivy must be having second thoughts about her plan. She had a bit more pep in her step than the night at the restaurant, but her skin tone was awful. I couldn't help but feel for her. Waiting to board our flight, Ivy broached the subject of Claire's childhood.

"Was she a happy child?" she trod carefully. "Did she need any special... did she need counseling?"

"No," I answered evenly. "She was only two years old when Carrissa came into her... our lives. She was too young to remember or to understand. I was a different story."

I had no idea why I'd said that. I'd promised myself time and again that I'd say as little as possible about my feelings in those dark days.

"Oh," she left it there and seemed to contemplate. It felt like things were going badly but I bit my tongue. It was her show and maybe, just maybe she'd call off the whole damned thing.

On the plane, Ivy dozed off almost immediately. I wondered how much of her fatigue was the disease and how much was the meds. Her face, relaxed in sleep, seemed younger. It was more familiar to me, like the times before she left. Then I thought about her and Frye and had the urge to strangle her quietly in flight. She'd meet a much more painful fate, I decided.

Ivy took a long time to get moving once the plane landed. That too, could have been the meds wearing off, or more likely her muscles betraying her. Betraying her... I thought.

I helped her to a seat at our gate, and she fished a pill box out of her purse. She seemed to double-check the plethora of pills before gulping them down.

"Sorry," she said. "I want to enjoy this." What Ivy didn't know was that I'd made a reservation at the very busy fine dining restaurant at the needle. If she wanted to unburden herself, she might as well get started that night.

On the cab ride from SeaTac, she had plenty of opportunities to talk, but she couldn't seem to find her voice. By the time we arrived, the sun was low in the winter sky. Ivy seemed fascinated with the structure. She touched the beams at the base. While those inside busied themselves in the gift shop, Ivy looked up and down and every which way. She amused me. I knew it was her first time there, but it was almost like she'd never been anywhere tall or marveled.

On the elevator ride, she held my arm tight and leaned into me for support. It wasn't endearment. I escorted her to the west-facing side of the building and we had to wait for a large group of tourists to take their photos.

"Are you alright?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"There's a lot of... pain today," she grunted her response. "I'll be okay."

Finally seeing an opening at the rail, I directed her there, letting her use the barrier to hang onto. I expected her to want some pictures, maybe even one posing with me. I'd prepared for that but to my surprise, she just stood next to me and watched the sun go down.

"It's beautiful," she said in barely a whisper. She wasn't talking to me. She wasn't talking to herself or anyone. As I considered this first of her 'lasts,' emotion overtook me. I'd hated her for so long, I almost felt ashamed to have any compassion for her, whatsoever. There was guilt too. That was for the fleeting thought of how unfair it was that she'd survived my wonderful wife. Neither thing had anything to do with the other. Ivy took her right hand off the rail and put it on my forearm. Then she leaned her head into my shoulder, as the sun disappeared behind Puget Sound.

I finally understood at least one thing: Knowing her own fate, Ivy had no intention of asking permission - or worrying how something appeared. She waited a good five minutes after, taking in the colors and overtaking darkness of the December dusk.

Ivy turned slightly toward me and kissed that same shoulder she'd been leaning on. "Thank you for this." She told me. I waited until she turned away, before wiping a few tears from my eyes.

"Hey," I said as I once again let her grip my arm. "I've got a little surprise." Her face looked apprehensive at first. Then her eyes flew open wide, as I told her about dinner.

After making sure she was up to it, we made our way to the restaurant, and as I'd previously worked out, the host led us directly to the table. Ivy asked me for the time, and when I told her, she pulled her pill box out again and began the regimen.

The conversation was livelier but still forced. She wanted to know how my business had been built so well while taking care of Claire. I told her about my parents coming that first Christmas. She seemed to keep forgetting that Carrissa was in my life shortly after she'd left me.

"How long did you know?" it came out of the blue. I caught her eye immediately. "How long did you know about me and him, before I left?"

"I suspected," I took a deep breath and went on. "You weren't exactly hiding it - more like rubbing my face in it. I tried to... pretend it wasn't real."

Ivy nodded slowly, considering her next words. "That was guilt more than anything." She said it so nonchalantly I was taken aback.

"Not likely," was all I mustered.

"Yes," she said very quietly, probably not wanting to overexcite me in a crowded place. "I was very mixed up - maybe, no, probably - a very mixed-up monster. But I still knew right from wrong. You were my husband and I was supposed to be in love with you. We'd just had our first child together. Every time I tried to rationalize to myself, how fuc.. how screwed up I was, my thoughts just kept going back to him."

"Come on," I said with an edge. "We're here, on a bucket list expedition. You can at least humor me with a little honesty. In fact, I can't think of a single reason for you to lie or fib or bullshit me or yourself anymore. There's no point."

She knew I was referring to her impending demise. Her considerate face suddenly twisted up like she'd done a pickle shot. After a long moment, she surprised me.

"Yes," she said, "you're right. Some habits are hard to break, especially why the lie you keep telling is to yourself." She must have seen the change in my gaze. "Mark, please do me a favor. For whatever time we have together, please, when you see bullshit, call me on it. I should have talked to you... back then."

"Okay," I answered. "When did you decide to leave with him?"

That one surprised her. I wasn't going to be the only one.

"Frye found out about the tour four days before Christmas Eve. He asked me to come with him. He told me he loved me and we'd never be able to sort out our true feelings when I was spending an hour or two with him and then going home to my family. I decided the night before Christmas Eve. I was scared to death, but I had to know."

Of everything she'd said or admitted, the thing that struck me was her using his last name. It was out of place.

"Maybe it's time to call BS again," I said. "You were in love with him, long before you met me."

"No, Mark," she replied. "I was infatuated. He also scared me. There was an unspoken danger in him. I mistook that feeling for love."

"Fine," I was getting pissed. "You never came back. Would you care to explain that?"

"I will," she told me. "But not tonight."

We finished our meal in near silence. Ivy admitted that she used a private investigator to find Claire several years ago and would sometimes follow her just to watch her. I didn't know what to say to that either. The admission was borderline creepy.

Again, the car ride was stiff and light on conversation. She slept on the plane, and so did I. It had been an exhausting day for me.

Claire grilled me about our day and I found myself holding her at bay. I needed to process a lot of what I'd seen. Claire kept pushing. I did something I never thought I'd do.

"Claire, dammit," I lashed out. "Will you just let it go? I don't want to talk about it. I told you before, it might not go the way you thought. For fuck's sake, it's not your business anyway."

My daughter ended the call abruptly, but not before I heard her stifling a sob. Never once had I treated her in that manner. I apologized over and over, by text. She wouldn't take my call.

Honestly, I didn't know what to expect when I woke up on Christmas morning. I was certainly feeling sorry for myself and had no idea if I'd see my daughter and her husband. If not, it would be the first Christmas we were ever apart. I blamed Ivy for that too.