"Little Boxes"

The Uber fishtailed a little in the snowy intersection of the quiet residential community. Three brown paper-wrapped packages rested on the back seat, held close to the passenger’s side so they wouldn’t duplicate the car’s slide.

The compact car slid to a stop in front of a postcard landscape: an upscale Georgian-style home covered in Christmas decorations, cascades of faux icicles, strings of lights dripping from the eaves and trees, all highlighted by a train of plastic reindeer pulling a Santa wearing sunglasses and a red Hawaiian shirt.

The driver hauled his passenger’s two small travel bags to the shoveled brick sidewalk. As the passenger scooped the three packages under one arm, a massive St. Bernard charged him from around a corner of the house, spraying snow in every direction. But the dog’s arrival wasn’t threatening: he rolled onto his back, tree trunk-sized legs in the air, begging to be scratched and petted.

“Hello, old timer,” the passenger said, rubbing the beast’s belly. “Long time, no see.”

The dog’s barking and whining raised a response from inside the house, as the wreath-festooned front door opened. A young teenage girl with a wisp of short blue hair spotted the passenger and ran out to great him with as much enthusiasm as the St. Bernard.

“Daddy!” she yelled, forgetting her shoes, and leaving the front door wide open.

In a few moments, they had embraced, her father had chided her for not wearing shoes out on the cold stones, she had informed him that the side of the school pool where she practiced for their swim meets was at least twice as cold, and she had grabbed his two bags while still trying to hug him as he walked towards the front door.

“You didn’t pack much,” she said, hefting the compact bags.

“Less to carry,” he replied. “And I’m only staying for a day.”

“But Dad! You just got here!”

“I’m sorry, Laney,” he replied, “but I have to be in Minneapolis Monday morning.”

In the open doorway stood his son Caleb, nineteen and now taller than his dad, and his elder daughter Jenna, more reserved than her siblings but still overjoyed to see their father. As the father struggled into the house, greetings between the four became a jumble of “I missed you so much!” and “Wait ‘till you hear!” and “I’ve got to show you!” conversations.

Out of the kitchen wafted the smell of roasted turkey and baked ham, the clatter of plates and silverware, and the low conversation of a huddle of adults. A striking middle-aged woman with tightly coiffed hair exited the kitchen and approached the man, not meeting his eyes. She shoved a bundle of mail past her children.

“These are yours,” she said without emotion, then turned around and headed back to the kitchen.

“Thanks—" he replied, then halted, not knowing what to call his ex-wife these days.

He scanned the mail, a mix of hospital bills, doctors’ updates, and enrollment programs for experimental procedures, and saw nothing that would perk up his spirits as much as reconnecting with his children. He slid the envelopes into a coat pocket.

The kids all wanted to know what their father had brought in the mysterious nondescript packages, but he refused to provide any hints, nor would he even let them handle them, until after dinner and the tradition of opening a single present on Christmas Eve was observed. Because of that delay, dinner seemed to drag on for an eternity.

When the last slice of turkey was devoured, the last piece of pie refused, and the dishes stuffed into the dishwasher or piled high nearby, the extended family gathered by the decorated Douglas Fir in the main room.

His ex-wife stood by the tree as her much-younger boyfriend presented her with a foot-long jewelry box, to which she feigned surprise.

“Which one is he?” the father whispered.

“That’s Pierre,” Caleb replied. “Her Pilates instructor, I think.”

“No, that was Doug,” Jenna corrected him. “Pierre is her yoga teacher.”

“You’re both wrong,” Laney whispered. “Pierre is from her wine-tasting group.”

The father shook his head. “She sure has been busy.”

Laney leaned in to whisper to Jenna, “At least she’s not with that idiot Anton.”

His ex-wife removed a gaudy bracelet for the room to see. His ex-sister-in-law Gayle slid up next to him. “Wow, that’s stunning! Look how happy Cynthia is!” She shot a glance at her ex-brother-in-law. “Maybe you should have bought her more presents like that.”

“Gayle!” the father said, smiling. “So that’s why the hair was standing up on the back of my neck.”

With a huff, she left his side and joined her sister oohing over the latest addition to her collection. Caleb chuckled. “Someone had to put her in her place. Glad you saved me the trouble.”

“Now, Daddy!” Laney begged. “Can we open our presents now?”

The father finally acquiesced, and handed each of them one of the small, brown-paper-wrapped packages, tied with simple white yarn. The three eagerly undid the string while Cynthia tried to get their attention with larger packages under the tree.

Jenna, ever the fastest, opened hers first. Under the brown paper was a delicate wooden box, handmade and dovetailed at the edges. She opened that and—

“Hey!” Jenna remarked. “It’s empty!”

“Mine too!” echoed Laney.

Caleb shook his upside down as if an invisible present might emerge.

Cynthia came over and scoffed. “Well, that was a lousy trick to pull on Christmas Eve, Daniel! If you were too cheap to buy them presents, why didn’t you just stay away?”

Daniel maintained his smile right through the brutal accusation. “Oh, those aren’t presents for the kids,” he said, looking each of his children in the eye. “Those are for me.”

He put his left hand on Laney’s shoulder, his right on Caleb’s. “I want you to fill them up with things you want to share with me, to remind me of you. They’re not very big boxes, so you’ll have to be a little selective in what you put in there.”

“But why do you want our stuff, Dad?” asked Jenna.

Daniel bit his lower lip. “Because I want to take them with me,” he said, pausing, taking a deep swallow. “To remind me of you…when I go.”

The room was quiet, as if the adults detected an unspoken message that they couldn’t react to with the children present.

But the kids were smarter than the adults gave them credit for. They rushed to hug their father, tears in their eyes, then rushed just as fast to the carpeted stairs, hurrying to their rooms to begin their own personal treasure hunt.

Daniel spent the rest of the evening upstairs, reminiscing first with one child, then the other. Jenna showed him her folded-up scores from her solo contest at school, a page cut from “Shadow and Bone,” a few of her recent watercolors, and a handful of crystal dice. “My luckiest ones.”

Caleb shared an old Cubs cap, a dented Matchbox car, his latest pay stub, and a trio of patches he’d won at a recent paintball event. He asked his dad, “Remember that one we did up near Chicago, the one where you snuck through their lines and blasted a bunch of them in the back, including their C.O.?” Caleb laughed. “That was awesome!”

Laney’s box was the heaviest. She’d included some of her favorite rocks, part of her costume from “Shrek the Musical,” a small trophy from her last swim meet, and her charm bracelet.

“Oh, no, honey,” Daniel implored, “I can’t take your charm bracelet! You should keep that with you.”

“Dad,” she replied, “we got these together, so they belong to both of us.” She pointed out each one in turn. “The chef’s hat for the cooking show you took me to? The bunny for winning that Easter basket at the bank? The ice skate—oh, can we go ice skating tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, honey,” Daniel said, giving her a hug. “We’ll go tomorrow, just the four of us.”

“Uh, no you won’t,” Cynthia replied coldly from the bottom of the stairs. “Pierre is taking us downtown to see the store displays.”

Daniel stood up with his hands in his pockets. “Well, Cynthia,” he said, using her name for the first time in over a year, “sometimes, plans change.”

Sunday went by in a blur.

Daniel and the kids rose early, ate hurriedly, and were in Caleb’s car and on the way to the nearest frozen pond in record time. Still, they found a huge line of people waiting to rent skates, and by the time they were on the modest-sized pond, it was as crowded as downtown rush hour. Laney almost got bowled over by a trio of goofy high schoolers who weren’t watching.

“Dad, there’s not enough room!” Jenna called out, herself almost a hit-and-run victim.

Daniel smiled. “No problem. I got this.”

He slid away from his kids and grabbed his stomach with both hands. “Oh, God, how old was that bacon at your mom’s place?” His head lurched forward, and he held back something in his mouth. “Did any of you guys have the—urp! Oh, Lord!” He put three fingers up to his closed lips, and his cheeks expanded. He looked like he was going to hurl right there on the ice. Everyone within range cleared out, fast, heading for the shore.

For the next ten minutes, surrounded by onlookers with stony glares, the four of them had a wonderful time wheeling around the ice, completely unchallenged. When anyone came up to ask Daniel if he was feeling better, he began the “About to hurl” routine again, and they backed off.

In the middle of the night, Cynthia tiptoed down the stairs to where Daniel was sleeping on a couch, with the three kids on the floor around him on sleeping bags and rolled-up quilts. The dog snored the loudest. She touched Daniel’s shoulder, and he lurched awake.

“Are you coming to Laney’s play next month?” she whispered.

Daniel blinked, swallowed hard, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

Cynthia looked confused. “What about Caleb’s birthday in February?”

Daniel looked around at his sleeping children, and shook his head again, slower.

“Oh,” Cynthia replied. Then, as the meaning of this began to sink in, she repeated the same word, but with a much deeper understanding. “Oh…”

Monday morning, with Caleb carrying his two bags and Daniel clutching the three filled wooden boxes, they made their way to the waiting Uber, with Jenna and Laney pleading with their father to stay.

“God, I wish I could, girls,” he said, trying his hardest to remain strong, “but I have a big appointment in Minneapolis this morning.”

The three kids hugged their father as tight as they could, until the driver reminded them that they needed to get going. Daniel held up the three boxes, stacked like a small pyramid, and smiled at his kids. “These really mean a lot to me. Beside you three, they’re the most precious things in the entire world.”

There were more tears, more pleading, more apologies. When Daniel finally got into the car, even Cynthia, watching from behind the curtains of an upstairs window, had a lump in her throat.

The driver pulled the Uber away from the curb, and the kids waved as they held each other for comfort. Over his shoulder, Daniel watched them turn and head slowly back to the house.

At the stop sign at the end of the block, Daniel asked, “Do we have time to go around the block one last time?”

The driver looked in the rear view mirror and saw the tears streaming down Daniel’s face. “Sure, pal,” he replied. And rather than heading right towards the main road, he turned left instead.