The Heritage Paper (45 page)

Ned almost tripped over himself to greet me with a friendly handshake, trying too hard as usual. I should probably despise the man who moved in on my ex-wife like she was a luxury condo overlooking Central Park, before the ink was even dry on our divorce agreement. But Ned is generally harmless—he reminded me of one of those polished politicians with the perfectly coiffed hair and sparkly white teeth, who would intently look you in the eye when they speak to you and overuse your first name like they’d learned it in a seminar. And the fact remained, when Libby gets remarried, and she will some day, probably in this very room, it likely won’t be to Ned Blaine. But he does have a better shot than Kris Collins. That vision had sailed, and all the Christmas magic in the world couldn’t overturn the verdict.

Ned and I have also been collaborating on a secret project that he calls “Operation Farmer on the Roof.” Having not learned my lesson, I was still keeping secrets from Libby in my post prison life, but “Roof” was not one of them—not only was she in the loop, but she was the driving force, which surprised me.

After rescuing my hand from Ned’s grip, and agreeing that I’d keep him in mind when I finally decide to buy, to use his words, “a happening bachelor pad in the city”—he too must have thought I knew where the money was hidden—he stepped away so Libby and I could talk about whatever Libby needed to talk to me about. Ned always understood the dynamics of closing a deal, and he knew he wasn’t going to close one with Libby unless she was comfortable with his relationship with her children. And unfortunately for Ned, her children came furnished with a father that she was determined to keep relevant in their lives.

After exchanging the cold cheek-kiss of divorced parents, she said, “So you were going to skip out of here without saying hello?”

“I wasn’t skipping out on anything,” I replied a little too defensively. “The only reason I came was to see the Amigos one last time before they were thrown out on the street. I was going to leave straight from the Lake House, but Taylor dragged me inside to surprise the twins.”

She looked at me with skepticism. “They were hardly thrown out on the street … and you also came because you knew it would irritate my parents.”

“I must say, one of the hardest things during my time away was not getting to piss them off every year,” I replied with a smile.

“Now that sounds like the old Kris Collins. And in that suit, you are starting to look like him again.”

“By old, are you referring to the gray beard?”

“I meant, as in the past. You would wear a suit to the beach if we’d let you.”

Libby was the most literal person I’d ever met. She understood the language of sarcasm better than when we first started dating—back then, I might as well have been speaking Swahili—but it was still a second language to her.

“My daughter said I used to be ‘all Don Draper.’”

Libby never watched TV, so the remark would’ve had the same effect if I’d referenced Homer Simpson. But she wasn’t listening to me, anyway. Her mind was where it always was these days when it came to me—focused on my relationship with our children.

She gazed across the room at Taylor. “I can’t believe how grown up our daughter has become.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, or even when you’re not. She’s turned into a beautiful young woman … just like her mother.”

“It’s hard to believe that she’s not much younger than we were when we met.”

I nodded, enjoying the impromptu trip down memory lane, and let her continue.

“On the subject of college, will you be joining us for her visits this spring?”

“If my boss will give me some time off—she’s a real slave driver.”

A smile escaped her lips—it was nice to know I still had the touch. “I think it can be arranged.”

“Taylor told me that she’s leaning toward Clemson.”

She rolled her eyes. “Last week it was Virginia, next week it will be UCLA.”

A brief quiet came over us—the thought of our little girl living in California was a little overwhelming. But from a safety factor, I’d still prefer her near the San Andreas Fault than Alexander’s winter residence in Hilton Head.

“Have you completed your Christmas shopping?” Libby asked.

“Well, I know I’m sending Taylor to lacrosse camp in Florida. Rumor is,
she also
knows this.”

“I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped. The camp called to confirm and she answered. It was an honest mistake—I guess I’m not very good at keeping secrets.”

For what it’s worth, she’d always been much better than me at it, but that would be stating the obvious. She moved on, “What about the others?”

“I still have a couple of days … I do my best work under deadline pressure.”

“You only do your work under deadline pressure. So you really can’t say for sure if it’s your most effective way to work.”

“I was thinking about wrapping up Zee with a bow for Alex.”

“That’s not really funny,” Libby said. “I love Zee like family, but I’m hoping that Alex discovers a new male role model over the next couple of years.”

By the uncomfortable stare she sent in my direction, I got the feeling that she was referring to me.

All first born male Wainwrights are named Alexander, so there are a lot of Cousin Zander and Uncle Al’s at this party. Unlike his older sister, Alex never came to see me once during my time away, and rarely talks to me. But being sort of an Alex expert, in that she’s one of the few in the human species that he communicates with, Taylor has assured me that his silence has nothing to do with my time in prison, or “the thing with Mom,” as she calls it. So we are on good terms, and Taylor has promised to keep me informed if the status of our relationship has changed.

This all went back to when he first began to talk … or not talk. We had him tested for everything from autism to social anxiety disorder over the years, but the diagnosis always came back that he was a well-adjusted, smart kid, who just didn’t really care to communicate with people. Sometimes I can’t blame him.

One person he was very fond of was Zee, who has been like a father figure to him. I never took no offense to this, but sometimes worried about Alex following a similar path. Especially since Alex reminded me so much of Zee, beyond their shared social awkwardness. I’ve had a recurring dream for years about being ambushed on one of those daytime talk shows where the true paternity of the child is revealed. Although, it would better explain things.

The mention of Zee reminded me of our meeting tonight, and I attempted to hurry things along, “So what am I getting Alex for Christmas?”

“I’m glad you asked. You and your son will be doing a tour of spring training baseball in Florida this February. You know what a baseball fanatic he is. And I’m hoping that you can use some of your connections with professional athletes so that Alex could meet some of the Yankees players, which is his favorite team.”

She pulled the itinerary from her purse and handed it to me. The trip had been meticulously mapped out to the hour. “I’m guessing that it’s not a coincidence that Taylor will be in Florida at the same time for her camp.”

“The three of you will drive home together. I think it will be a good chance for you to bond with them.”

I remained impressed by her effort to make me important in our kids’ lives, and trying to make up for some of the time lost. And that was her gift to me, even if she would never think of it as a gift.

“It might be a quiet ride with Alex along,” I said.

“He’ll talk when he’s around Taylor. Frankly, I think he’s a little afraid of her.”

“She is pretty scary when she starts swinging that lacrosse stick.” Two down, two to go. “What will Franny and Zooey be receiving from Daddy?”

“They will be getting ponies. I think it will be a good chance for them to learn some responsibility, and I think there’s no better way to do that than taking care of another living creature.”

Goldfish would have sufficed, but when it comes to Wainwright gifts this was downright frugal. Libby and her brothers were all bought a thoroughbred racehorse as children, costing well into the six figures each. So as long as it won’t require Daddy to be scooping up pony poop on the weekend, I was on board with it … not that I had much of a choice. And Libby and the kids had plenty of space at the house in Pound Ridge to keep them, including a barn. We bought the place right before the twins were born. But I spent most of my time those last few years in Manhattan, schmoozing my celeb clients and writing a cautionary tale.

As if they had an internal alarm clock that beeped every time we discussed their Christmas gifts—for all I know, there probably is an Apple app to do that these days—all four of our kids suddenly joined us. Alex gave me a head nod, which I took as a sign of progress.

Getting everyone in the same place had never been an easy task with the Collins clan, much less the same room. It was a nice moment … until Franny exclaimed, “Look, Daddy—I got a candy cane.” She proudly held up her striped sugar stick up for me to see, as did Zooey.

Just as she said it, as if orchestrated, Celine-Lite began singing with gusto, “O Come, all ye Faithful.”

A few of the guests actually had the nerve to send a dirty look in my direction. In this room, I was squarely in the top percentile of faithfulness, having had just one affair, albeit, a very public one.

“I’m sorry about that,” I whispered to Libby.

“It was bound to come up. Especially this time of year.”

I meant I was sorry about everything, but now was hardly the time for such mea culpas, especially ones that were already understood, and frankly, were too late.

When my public beating concluded, the kids dispersed to prepare for the Nativity play—a requirement for all Wainwright children each year. I jokingly gave Taylor the “Get out of Jail Free” Monopoly card that she’d given me during one of her prison visits, and that I’d carried in my wallet since being released. She’d always hated performing in these plays.

But she surprised me with her enthusiasm. “I’m playing the lead this year—the Virgin Mary—it can’t go on without me!” she exclaimed, before heading off to Wardrobe.

I’d given up on trying to figure out teenagers, so I didn’t give the change of heart much thought, and my mind wandered to my return trip to the city. Libby caught me glancing at my watch. “Not going to stick around for the play?”

“I’d like to—I hear it’s up for a Tony. But I have a train to catch.”

“Say hello to Zee for me,” she said, showing off her prognostication skills.

“I will.”

Before I left, she reached into her purse one more time and took out a folder. “Can you give this to Alyson when you go home tonight? It’s for the Morzetti case. We have a meeting next week, and she’s off tomorrow, so she wanted to do some prep work.”

I looked at the folder, but didn’t say anything.

“You are going home tonight, aren’t you?” she asked with a suspicious look.

She always knew when I was up to something. And I was. But that wasn’t the reason for my silence. It was the realization that while I might be living with Alyson, home was a place that I’d probably never have again. So, no, I wouldn’t be going
home
tonight.