Binding Arbitration (44 page)

“Yes, you will.” And I forgot all about the television.

1:30 p.m.

We boarded our private train car on track number five at Union Station on a blustery, snowy early afternoon. While the snow came down outside the terminal in waves, we huddled in our coats and thought of sunny skies and warm breezes of California. The train was a stainless steel streamliner which reflected a bygone heyday of the forties, where uniformed men whispered eternal goodbyes, their declarations filtering through the smoky atmosphere of crowded platforms.

We were traveling along the transcontinental rail route, the same path the pioneers and gold prospectors traveled. The antique bullet train’s historic route would pass through Denver and descend through the Rocky Mountains.

When the chef came in to check on us, he lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m your cook for the duration. I’ll do my best to rustle up vittles you’ll like.” He pulled items out from under his cart and prepared pigs in a blanket for Cass.

Cass belly laughed through his red bandana, which concealed his medical mask, which had been one of Dr. Seuss’ stipulations for our taking the trip.

By early evening, not long after sunset, we crossed the Mississippi River. We had dinner under the stars and they seemed to shine brighter and crisper under the clear cool sky of the western edge of the Midwest, which we admired through the famed glass-top dome of our car. We folded down the bunks, and Cass and I built a tepee in the center of the car and made Libby our serving squaw. She got into character by braiding her hair down the sides and putting on a long nightgown.

After I had helped Cass get a shower in a bathroom so small that only one half of my body could be doused at a time, I read him a story from a Roy Rodgers book I had picked up for the trip. Then I read him a poem that was on the front inside cover:

The Sandman’s coming in his train of cars
With moonbeam windows and with wheels of stars
So hush you little ones and have no fear
The man-in-the-moon he is the engineer

The railroad track ‘tis a moonbeam bright
That leads right up into the starry night

So put on you ‘jamas and say your prayers

Cass was lulled asleep by the rocking sway of the cars before I had reached the conclusion. Which was fine, because then I lured Libby back into the tepee and showed her how a squaw rode bareback. I fell asleep, exhausted. My squaw was proving to be as insatiable as the desert was for rain.

By the next morning, we had arrived in Denver, and then began climbing the front range of the Rocky Mountains. Cass decided he was going to be an Indian today, while I was a cattle wrestler and Libby was a cowgirl. Cass insisted on having his face painted before breakfast and he wore feathers and a rawhide vest with fringe. He’d refused his shirt, instead applying war paint on his chest. The brilliant orange, blood red, and vibrant blue matched the colors that streamed across the landscape as we passed through the stunning vistas of the Rockies. Barren trees stood stark against rugged crags and crannies, tall cactus stood solitary in vast distances, as if guideposts. Hawks circled over the glass ceiling of our railcar swooping down occasionally, as if we were choice morsels they could easily carry away on wingspans exceeding four feet.

In the afternoon, we made a brief stop at historic Glenwood Springs, which was originally called Defiance, Colorado when founded in 1883. It is situated at the convergence of the Colorado and the Roaring Forks Rivers, and its the gateway to Aspen. The town had been established from a camp of tents, saloons and brothels, and had been populated with gamblers, gunslingers and prostitutes providing services for the westward expansion.

We played board games, read books, drew pictures, and sang silly songs, which Cass made up, about the greatest ‘Sous’ Chief who cooked up all sorts of mischief in his spell cauldron for his wandering tribesmen.

The next morning, after we passed through Reno, we climbed through the rugged Sierra Nevada. Then the seven thousand feet traversing Donner’s Pass and going through the heart of the Sierra before descending into the fertile green Sacramento Valley. After lunch, we arrived in Emeryville, the original name for San Francisco. Cass could barely control his enthusiasm because he told us that my parents had promised they would take him to see Santa. Libby and I exchanged a look because Cass had restricted public access, and going to a mall was out of the question.

* * *

My father helped me unload the bags, and when I reached the top of the stairs, I turned toward my room. He nodded in the opposite direction. “Your mother spruced up your old room for Cass, and we finished the screened in porch for you and Libby. Big Al finished the new bathroom yesterday.”

“Dad, you didn’t need to do all that. I told you we could rent out one of the inns in town.”

“The reason we have this house is because we want you to visit and bring our grandchildren. Your mother is willing to add a wing to encourage you to have more.”

“I might have to talk Libby into that.” I chuckled.

“You’ve talked enough, and you’ve been very patient. I think you might have to take that little Filly by the reigns and lead her all the way to the altar, chomping at the bit.”

“Dad.”

“Do what you have to do, have Cass help you, knock her up again. I don’t care what you do, but your mother wants a wedding. And I’m all about giving your mother what she wants.”

“Feel free to be blunt about your expectations.”

“You’re thirty years old and I want you to be settled. I’ve worried about you, I wasn’t the best example of husbandly affection. The love you feel for her seems to pour out of you, and the way you look at each other sometimes… well, it makes me feel like a voyeur.”

I put the suitcases on the bed and started unpacking without saying more. I had every intention of marrying her, but as my father said, getting her to the altar might be harder than lassoing a wild stallion.

Cass barreled into the room and started yanking on my father’s hand. “Grandma Kat said lunch is ready on the back patio.” And he pulled my dad from the room.

“I’m right behind you.” When I reached the patio, Libby was having a glass of Sangria, and the table was laden with salads and sandwiches. I caught my mother’s eye. “Where’s Big Al?”

My mother smiled. “He had to go into town for something, but he’ll be around soon enough.”

She obviously had him working on some sort of a secret project. I pecked Libby on the cheek as I took the seat next to hers and filled my plate. Cass was already eating, but he looked up suddenly at my mother. “You said we’d go see Santa first thing. I just membered, I got my list,” he said pulling a wadded up sheet of paper out of his pocket.

Libby cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, we can’t go to the mall. We’ll have to mail Santa your letter.”

“I told you you’d get to see Santa, and I never welch on a promise.” My mother winked at him and turned to Libby. “And I’ll make sure he isn’t exposed to any unnecessary viruses to do it.”

Cass smiled, “Grandma Kat doesn’t welch, got it.”

Before I could probe what my mother was up too, Avery came around the side of the house and plopped into a patio chair.

“You’re late.” My father ground out.

“You won’t believe this, but I have an excellent excuse.”

“That would be?”

“Some bozo in a Santa suit is driving down the road with reindeer pulling a sleigh. Real reindeer and they happen to be slower than...”

Cass jumped up in his seat and tried to peer around the corner. The long arms of the Spanish Oaks met the sides of the house creating deep shadows and recesses, making it impossible to see the cobbled drive or the front gate from here. “Santa’s coming to see me! Santa’s coming to see me!”

My mother shot Avery a dirty look before saying, “We will have to wait and see, but we should finish our lunch first.”

Avery tried to catch my mother’s eye to apologize, but she was focused on Cass. I patted his knee. “Good job, slick.” I passed him a plate. “Use your mouth to eat, not to speak.”

He narrowed his eyes and then smiled broadly, before turning to Libby. “So, sweet-cheeks, when you going to make an honest man out of my brother?”

“How much community service did Judge Foreman give you for solicitation?” She raised an eyebrow. “And who’s the lucky gal who gets to supervise it?”

Cass looked at my father. “Grandpa, I want to look up sweet-cheeks and solicitation on your computer this afternoon.”

Laughter bubbled past our lips. Avery gave a cocky nod. “If grandpa won’t help you find them, I will, sport.”

My father eyed my mother. “You did get that bag of coal?”

Before my mother could respond, we heard a very loud. “Ho, ho, ho!” From somewhere at the front of the house.

“Santa’s here, Santa’s here!” Cass started off the rustic brick paver patio but turned back for his list on the table.

We all waited for him to go first, then my parents. When Libby and I fell into step behind them, and Avery didn’t move, I turned back and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Go get the camera, and make sure you don’t have any more Santa slip-ups, or you’ll be vacationing with Satan, you little minion.” I pinched his neck enough to prove I wasn’t kidding. He didn’t back-talk, but he did stick out his tongue at me like a six-year-old.

Big Al was masquerading as the best-looking Santa I’d seen. His coat was cut velvet with fur trim. He was in a legitimate sleigh, which had been pulled in the front yard by two enormous reindeer. My father whispered, “She must’ve emptied out my 401K to get those beasts up here.”

Libby and I laughed as he moved away to help my mother get Cass up into the sleigh. “Did you know?” Libby asked.

“We had Santa on Christmas Eve, but he usually showed up in a Volvo station wagon smelling of highly suspicious egg nog.”

Cass was sitting next to Santa and holding the reins, we took some photos, and then Santa took Cass for a ride around the yard several times, before coming to a halt alongside us. “Now, Cass, I heard from my elves you’ve been extra good this year, so anything you want. The sky’s the limit,” Santa said as he winked at me, knowing full well I’d get him whatever he wanted.

“All I want this year is two things.” He held up his fingers for emphasis. “I want a baby brother, and I want my mommy and Mister Pole-ow-ski to get married so we can be a real family.”

Santa was as blindsided as I was, but he covered it with a hearty. “Ho, ho, ho.” Libby hurried into the house without a word. I moved to go after her, but my father rerouted me to the back of the house. “Give her some time to think it through.” When we were almost around the corner, I heard Cass say, “Mommy said I could ask for whatever I wanted.”

“And she meant it, but she probably wanted you to ask for something that was just for you,” my mother replied.

Cass’ voice dropped several notches. “I’ve been working on this deal for six years. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” I could imagine my mother chewing on that. She had already asked me if I noticed the strangely prophetic things that Cass sometimes said.

The next three days were hectic and tense; we took turns staying with Cass while others went shopping. Libby and my mother spent an entire day in San Francisco and didn’t return that night until everyone else was asleep. She’d been doing her best to avoid me and the discussion prompted by Cass’ Christmas wish, but by the night before Christmas Eve, I followed her up to tuck Cass in, and then into our room. “Okay, I think it’s time we clear the air. My parents are expecting a lot of guests tomorrow, and I don’t want them feeling uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine, I just feel bad that Cass put you in such an awkward spot in front of your family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t like being backed into a corner. I told him he can’t say things like that in front of other people.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Because you’ve been acting weird ever since,” Libby said.

“I thought you were freaking out about getting married.”

A look of shock crossed her face. “You think I’m grateful enough to marry you.”

Glare from a fly ball in the sun would have cleared my vision faster. “No, I thought…forget it.”

“Tell me.”

As if she had no idea what was on my mind! As if every time I told her I loved her, and she didn’t respond, it didn’t hurt me! I was a jock with a big ego, but even I couldn’t stand repeated rejection. “I thought you loved me enough to marry me, not for Cass, not for Christmas, and not because it’s what everyone else around us sees.”

“I never told you I loved you.”

“What is this then?” I raised an eyebrow. “Contrary to how you feel about emotions, they aren’t like dental surgery for everyone. I love you, and either you love me and marry me, or you don’t love me and won’t marry me.”

“Everything’s happened so fast. I’m not sure.”

“It’s not me you don’t trust. You don’t know if you should give anyone your love because you’re afraid that they’ll use it and throw it away. But I’m not asking for your heart on loan, I’m asking for forever… maybe that’s what you’ve needed all along.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Let’s just get married.”

She looked over her shoulder at me as she unbuttoned her sweater. “That’s the best you can do? ‘Let’s just get married’?” She plopped down on the bed.

I came around the bed and dropped on my knees in front of her. “In the scenario that played out in my head, you yelled accusations about my mental stability, when I asked you.”

“Now you’ll never know how I would have reacted, if you would have given it you’re all.”

I re-buttoned her sweater. Then I grabbed my cell and dialed. “Yeah, meet me at the entrance in five minutes.”

Before Libby could question me, I silenced her with a kiss and tugged her behind me and out of the house. We headed in the direction of the storage caverns, Big Al was already there, he handed me a candle and we walked behind him, every time I sensed that Libby was going to ask the questions that I could feel bubbling through her, I quieted her by squeezing her hand.

When we arrived at the end of the tunnel, Al and I both blew out our candles. Libby flinched into my arms, which I wrapped around her. Al was known throughout Sonoma Valley for his personal wine tours which ended with him singing Ave Maria acapella. As he sang now, I could feel the gooseflesh rise on Libby’s arms. The stirring performance left my hair standing on end. His deep baritone reverberated off the silent walls making the moment seem sacred. In the black quiet, I heard his footfalls disappear.