The Promise (25 page)

 47 

J
im sat forward in his chair. He'd been rehearsing how to get into all this with Tom but hadn't been able to settle on anything specific. Maybe God didn't want him to work so hard. Just before he'd left River Oaks to come here, Marilyn had said, “Just be yourself. Your new self. Talk from your heart, not your head.” And then she'd added, “Think of this as just the first of a bunch of conversations you and Tom are going to start having.”

But Jim really wanted to get this one right.

“You want a refill on the water?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Jim was about to stand.

“I'll get it.” Tom reached for his glass and walked to the kitchen. “I can hear from out here if you want to start explaining what Uncle Henry said.”

Jim took a deep breath. The thing was, he wanted Tom to see his face when they talked, see his eyes. “Are you in any kind of hurry?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then I'll just wait till you get back.”

It didn't take long. Once they were in place again, Jim decided to just step out of the boat. He'd either walk on the water or sink like a stone. “Tom . . . I wasn't a good father to you.”

“What? No, Dad. Yes, you were.”

“No, I mean it. I did the best I could with what I knew, what I believed. But you . . . you didn't experience anything close to the fatherhood of God. That's what you needed, what God wanted you, your sister, and your brother to experience.”

“What, is that what Uncle Henry told you? That's the big revelation? That you were a lousy father? I'm not buying it, Dad. You didn't make me decide to lie the last five months. You aren't responsible for the mess I've made of everything. You've been a great example to me, for the most part. Hard-working, faithful, diligent. You're honest, you've got integrity. You've been a great steward, following all those principles all those years. So don't do this, okay? You're not to blame for this, and I'm not a victim.”

This was going to be harder than Jim thought. It wasn't coming out right. “Okay, I need to back up a little. I'm not trying to say you aren't responsible for your choices.”

“Good, because it kind of sounded like you were.”

“But . . . if you agree with that, then you've got to allow that it works both ways.”

“I don't follow.”

“That I'm also responsible for my choices . . . as a father. And I made some bad ones. A long time ago. And I kept making them for a long time. Pretty much until . . . now.”

“What are you saying, Dad?”

“I'm saying the way I raised you, the things I emphasized and modeled . . . all those years. I . . . I majored on minors. Not the things that mattered most to God. I focused on the things that mattered most to me.”

“But they were biblical things. Right? So they couldn't be all wrong. I don't know why you're trashing everything you've ever done now. The whole way you raised us. It's not right. It still feels like you're blaming yourself because I screwed up.”

Jim sat back, said a quick prayer.
God, give me wisdom here. I want to reach his heart.
A picture flashed into his mind. “Tom, how many of your matches did I see?”

“What?”

“Growing up, your karate matches?”

Tom's expression suddenly changed. He looked down at the rug. “I didn't take karate, Dad.”

“See, that's even worse,” Jim said. “Okay, mixed martial arts. How many did I see?”

Tom looked up, and his eyes filled with tears. “None. You didn't see any of them. Mom went to most of them, but you were always . . .”

“Too busy. Say it. I was always too busy.”

But Tom didn't say it. He wiped his eyes with a tissue. Jim took a deep breath. It was going to be hard keeping it together for the next few minutes. “Here's another question. Think about this one, Tom. Might take a minute. How many times do you recall hearing these words from me: ‘I'm proud of you, Son.' How many times? Do you remember?”

Tears rolled down Tom's cheeks.

Now they filled Jim's eyes. He tried blinking them back but couldn't. He had to keep going. “How many times after you did some chore or some job for me did I say, ‘Great job, Son'? That's it, just . . . ‘You did a great job' without pointing out some little thing you missed, some little item you forgot?”

Tom reached for more tissues.

“See,” Jim said, “here's the thing.” His voice was breaking up. “I can't remember ever saying those words to you, Son.
Ever!
” He yelled that last word. It startled Tom. But Jim felt so angry at himself. “That . . . that's what I'm talking about. See . . . your heavenly Father was at every one of those matches. He saw you get every ribbon and every trophy. And he wanted me there too. He wanted you to be able to look up in the stands and see me
smiling and waving at you. Whatever else I was doing? Didn't matter. Not compared to being there with you.

“And you know something else?” Tom was actually sobbing now. Jim was barely able to keep talking. “God was proud of you at least a thousand times while you were growing up, and he wanted me to be the one to tell you. But I missed out on all those holy moments, because I had a different idea of what being a father was supposed to be. I see that now. I did what my father did, and what his father did, and who knows how long this sick thing has been going on.”

Jim stopped. He had to catch his breath. “But it stops here today! With you. And with me. Uncle Henry says it's never too late to start obeying God. And God's love is powerful enough to cover a multitude of sins. Yours and mine. So you and I are going to begin a new Anderson legacy today, one where fathers treat their sons right, the way God wants them to be treated.”

Tom stood up, still sobbing, and walked over to his father. He bent down and sat on the floor beside him. Jim reached down and gently put his hand on Tom's shoulder. “I am proud of the man you've become.”

“You can't mean that,” Tom said, and buried his face in his arms.

“I do mean it,” Jim said. “God's forgiven you, and so have I. For all of it. You don't need to feel ashamed anymore.” Tom continued to cry, making Jim feel so helpless. “We'll figure this thing out . . . together. I wasn't there for your matches, Tom, but I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere.” Jim massaged his shoulder gently. “You might feel like you're losing this match. Like it's totally hopeless. But it's not. And if I were in the stands right now, I'd be your biggest fan. No matter what happens.”

They sat there in silence for several minutes, both sobbing.

After they got their tears under control, they cleaned up as best they could. Tom stood and held out his hand to his dad.
They threw their arms around each other, neither wanting to let go. Finally, Tom moved back into his chair and whispered, “I appreciate everything you said, Dad. More than I can say. But I still don't get how you can say you're proud of the man I've become. Not after all this, the way I handled this situation.”

“I'm not condoning the lies and deception, Tom. And you know God doesn't, either. I guess what I'm trying to say is, if I had raised you all along with the right kind of encouragement and support, if I'd been there for you and really took the time to listen to you when you struggled, we probably wouldn't be in this situation right now, and you wouldn't be facing all these financial challenges alone. Instead you had to spend all that time and energy trying to impress me and win my approval. You should have known all along that you already had it, and you had nothing to prove.”

Jim got up, brought his glass to the counter. “After all this crying, guess I need another refill of this ice water.”

“Here, I'll get it,” Tom said. He brought both glasses to the refrigerator.

Jim sat at a bar stool by the counter. He glanced over and noticed an old broken picture frame lying on its side. Something about it looked very familiar. He reached over and picked it up. “My gosh,” he said. “Would you look at that?”

Tom turned to see what he was talking about. “Oh, that,” he said. “Tommy accidentally knocked it off the wall in the hallway a little while ago. I just haven't had time to put it back up yet. When it fell, it yanked the anchor right out of the wall.”

“I haven't seen this thing since . . . since just after your grandpa died.” Jim looked at his father's scowling face. He had been mad about something that day. What was it? He looked at himself, standing behind his father in the photo. He wasn't smiling either. In fact, Tom was the only one smiling. “You were, what, four years old when this was taken?”

“That's what Mom said. The same age as little Tommy now. I'll get that put up again real soon.”

“Don't hurry on my account,” Jim said. “Are you going to fix this broken glass? And this frame looks pretty crooked.”

“I wasn't planning on it,” Tom said. “That's exactly the condition it was in when you gave it to me, right after Grandpa died. I didn't want to change anything about it. It's the only picture of the three of us together. The only one.”

The way Tom talked, you'd think it was some kind of family heirloom. “You know the story behind this portrait, don't you?”

“No, I don't think I do.”

“Well, pull up a stool here, and I'll tell you.”

 48 

T
om joined Jim on a bar stool by the kitchen counter. Jim handed him the broken portrait. It was an unsightly thing; he was surprised Jean would even allow something this banged up to hang on her wall. He watched the care Tom used as he held it, realizing this meant a great deal more to him than it probably did anyone else in the family. “Do you remember the day we took this picture?” Jim asked.

“Vaguely,” Tom said. “In fact, it's so vague I'm not even sure it's a real memory.”

“That's probably not a bad thing,” Jim said. “My memory is pretty clear.”

“Not a good day, huh?”

“Not really. Your grandfather, as always, was way too busy to sit still for something like this. I had been after him for weeks to meet with us at the photography studio. He kept saying yes, but then he wouldn't show up. He did it again that day. I had to get on the phone from the studio and basically get in his face about it. I mean, really get angry. That's not something I ever did with my dad, so he knew I was pretty serious. But he also didn't appreciate me talking to him that way, so he let me have it with both barrels as soon as he arrived for the shoot.”

“I guess that explains the serious looks on both your faces.”

“I think so,” Jim said.

“Jean thought maybe you guys were doing something like those old pictures from the 1800s. You know, the ones where nobody smiles.”

“Might just as well have been. Didn't do a lot of smiling when your grandfather was around. But hey, you were smiling.”

“I was, wasn't I?”

“Of course,” Jim said, “I had to bribe you to get that smile.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had to promise to stop by McDonald's after we were done and get you a Happy Meal toy.”

Tom leaned back on his stool. “I remember now. It was Rufio, from the Peter Pan movie. He was the only one I didn't have in the Peter Pan collection.”

“We bought you a ton of those things over the years.”

“I still have them all. In a box under my bed.”

“You're kidding.”

“Every single one. Now that we're talking about it, I think I'll dig out a few for Tommy. He's certainly old enough to enjoy them now.”

“I'll bet some of them are worth some money,” Jim said. “Might want to look into that.”

“Could be. Wouldn't that be great if they were hot right now? Maybe they can get me out of debt.”

Both men smiled at that. Felt good to be smiling again. Jim reached for the broken portrait; Tom handed it to him. Jim asked, “Do you remember much about your grandfather?”

“Not really,” Tom said. “Didn't he die a little while after this picture was taken?”

“It was a few years after,” Jim said. “The reason you don't remember him much is he moved up north shortly after this photo. Your grandmother had already died by then. He remarried a lady
who had a full family, and she persuaded him to pretty much focus on them instead of us. I hate to burst your bubble, Tom, but the truth is, I sent this portrait to him that first Christmas he moved away. Know where I found it?”

“You mean after he died?”

Jim nodded. “It wasn't on the mantel of the fireplace or on the edge of his big mahogany desk. I found it at the bottom of a box in his garage. That's why the glass is broken and the frame is bent. I was so discouraged, I was gonna throw it out. But then I thought about you, saw your little smiling face here in this picture. Thought you might like it someday.”

Tom shook his head. “And all this time, I've been treating it like some family heirloom. Jean and I have actually had arguments about it.”

Jim laughed. “About this?”

Tom nodded. “I was such an idiot. I wouldn't even let her fix the broken glass or buy a new frame.”

Jim set the broken portrait back on its side, slid it toward the wall, away from the edge of the counter. “I tell you what . . . since you're so broke, you tell Jean I'll put up the money for both the glass and the new frame.”

“She'll like that. Of course, after hearing that sad story, she might not even want to put it back up on the wall.”

Hearing that gave Jim an idea. A really good one. An excellent one even.

“What are you smiling about?” Tom asked.

“Just something.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I will, but I want to talk it over with your mother first.”

Tom released a pent-up sigh. “I wonder how the other talk is going right now.”

“You mean with your mom and Jean and Michele?” Tom nodded. “I'm sure it's going well,” Jim said. “I think this whole
thing is being orchestrated by God to help you guys get back on track. When are you and Jean going to talk?”

“I was hoping we could do that this evening, if she's not too exhausted. I'd sure like to move back in here tonight.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if things worked out that way.”

Tom stood up. “I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little hungry. Don't know what kind of plans we'll be making for dinner, but I could use a little snack. Want to munch on some pretzels? Got some nice sourdough ones around here somewhere.”

“I'd love some,” Jim said.

Tom opened the cupboard door next to the refrigerator. Then he peeked his head out and looked back at his father. “Since we're sharing secrets this afternoon, I got one of my own.”

“You mean besides the one about pretending to have a job for five months?” Jim smiled.

“Yeah, besides that one.” He pulled the box of pretzels out and closed the cupboard door. “Do you remember that coffee shop robbery that happened around here just over a week ago?”

“I heard about it. In fact, Doug showed me this YouTube video about it last night. All his friends are trying to guess who this mystery guy is, the one who broke up the robbery. He said there's a growing list of theories.”

“What does Doug think?”

“He says it's gotta be some covert ops guy or maybe an FBI agent working undercover, with the kind of moves he used to take the robber down. Why else wouldn't he want his face on camera?”

“What do you think?”

“Me? I don't know. Your mom and I were in Italy when it happened. Why?”

Tom got this look on his face, followed by the biggest smile.

“No . . .” Jim said. “No . . . that's not you. Is it?”

Tom nodded. “It is.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You're not kidding?”

“I'm not kidding.”

“You stopped an armed robber in broad daylight?”

“Knocked him to the floor, got the gun out of his hand, sent him running for the door.”

Now Jim was smiling. “I can't believe it. But why did you take off? Everybody's trying to figure that out. I saw the video. You got your hand up blocking your face like you're some mafia don and you're almost running out the door.”

“Dad, think about it. What would've happened if I stayed around and talked to the police and the news media?”

Now Jim understood. “Does Jean know?”

“No. Think I should tell her?”

“Well, I wouldn't lead off with that part of the story, but that's one of the big lessons, one of the big changes you want to start making with her.”

“Tell her everything?” Tom said.

“Yep, everything. You may need to use some wisdom and timing, but the days of keeping things from her have to be over and done.”

“Agreed,” Tom said. “So . . . what do you think? About what I did?”

Jim got off the stool, walked over to Tom, and slapped him on the back. “That's my boy! Now pass the pretzels.”