A Winter Dream

Chapter


Three


Tonight my father gave me a gift I didn’t deserve. I mean that in the best and worst possible ways.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary





Giuseppe’s was our family’s official restaurant of celebration, an upscale Italian restaurant near the corner of 17th Street and Champa, where we held graduation and engagement parties, and our annual company Christmas party, which we’d had six weeks earlier.

There were thirty-two of us that night, our six nonfamily employees, the brothers and Diane, and our spouses and dates. Only Diane and Benjamin came alone.

Although my father was in a jovial mood, I was feeling a little tense, still wondering what he had planned.

Ashley noticed my tenseness and rubbed my neck. “Are you okay?”

I frowned. “There’s just been a lot of stress at work lately.”

“But you won the account. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I must have still looked anxious because she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll have our own celebration next week. I’ll make a special dinner for just the two of us.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, hoping to drop the subject.

“In the meantime, let’s have fun. There’s good food, good wine . . .”

“. . . a beautiful girl . . .” I interjected.

She smiled. “A beautiful girl who loves you. Tonight you’re the conquering hero. This is a good night. Relax and enjoy the moment.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Carpe diem.”

“Carpe diem,” she echoed.

As the evening waned and the music and Chianti took effect, the tension eased, giving way to laughter. Even Simon, the toughest on me of all the brothers, looked happy. With the brothers relaxed, I also relaxed.

After the tiramisu and coffee had been served, my father tapped his wineglass with his spoon. When the room quieted, he stood and raised a glass of red wine. “I’d like to make a toast.” My father turned toward me. “A few days ago your brother Joseph shared a dream with me.”

He couldn’t possibly be considering sharing . . .

“Joseph dreamt of a tree in a dark forest, covered with colored lights—like a Christmas tree. The tree was surrounded by eleven other trees. Then a storm arose, whitening out all the forest except for the brilliant lights of the Christmas tree. When the storm was over, all the other trees were bowing toward the tree of light.”

I furtively glanced around the room, seeing the stunned expressions on my brothers’ faces, who clearly understood the symbolism before my father needlessly explained it to them.

“Maybe what we saw today was exactly what Joseph dreamed.” He turned back to me. “Joseph shined in there. He saved the pitch. I’d like to raise a toast to Joseph. The shining tree in the forest.”

His request was met with silence. Ashley squeezed my hand. My mother looked at me and smiled. I forced a smile in return, but inside I felt sick. Couldn’t he foresee how they would respond? Couldn’t he see what was going on around us? The brothers were already near breaking beneath the weight of their jealousy, and my father just kept throwing on more tonnage.

Only the nonfamily employees, and my mother, Ashley, Ben and Diane raised their glasses. The tension was searing. After a moment my mother looked up at my father. My father’s expression hardened. He looked around at his sons, his stern gaze falling last on his firstborn, Rupert. “Is there a problem?”

Rupert looked around before saying, “No, sir. There’s no problem.” He looked at the other brothers, then raised his glass. “To J.J. For saving the day.”

The brothers reluctantly raised their glasses. Only Simon didn’t raise his glass. He sat motionless, staring at me. Then, under Rupert’s gaze, he lifted his as well, slowly, like he was raising an anchor.

“One more thing,” my father said. He set down his glass, then stooped down and took something from a bag behind him and lifted it up. It was a leather coat. He looked at me. “I think this will fit you now.”

It wasn’t just any coat. It was my father’s Navy flight jacket from Vietnam—decorated with the colorful patches from his deployment, including the infamous Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club patch and the insignias of the fighter squadrons deployed on the aircraft carrier.

Everyone, including me, just gaped. I remember the first time my father showed it to me as a small boy. Even then I was awestruck, as mesmerized by its colorful patches as its history. It was something the family held in reverence like a holy artifact. I had assumed it would be passed down to the oldest child for generations.

“Fit me?” I said.

My father’s eyes were moist. “I want you to have it.”

The room went completely silent.

“I can’t think of a better way to show you how proud I am of you.” He carried it over to me. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

“Dad . . .”

“Go on,” he said.

With everyone watching, I hesitantly slid my arms through the sleeves and shrugged it on, the stiff, pungent leather hanging heavily on my shoulders.

“I don’t deserve this,” I said.

He stepped back to look at me. “It looks good. You’re the same size I was at your age. I was about your age when I was deployed.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“All right,” my father said. “Back to the celebration.”

I sat down, still wearing the jacket, trying to ignore my brothers’ gazes. Each of the brothers stared hatefully at me, each feeling his own personal betrayal, his own jealousy and loss. I honestly didn’t blame them. I’m sure I would have felt the same way. I just had no idea how deep their hurt was, or what my father’s gesture would set in motion.