Bright Lights, Big Christmas(76)

“I am … overwhelmed,” he admitted.

“I know, I know. Too much rich food. My mom always did the same thing. Blame it on me coming from a restaurant family,” Claudia said. “But you hardly ate anything, Heinz.”

“This is the most food I’ve eaten in a very long time, and what I did eat was delicious,” he said. “No, what I meant was, I’m overwhelmed, at all of you—for your kindness, for caring for me.” He tossed Kerry a knowing look. “For rescuing me despite myself.”

“You were really, really sick,” Austin said, scraping the last bit of whipped cream from his dish. “But you look a lot better now.”

“I feel better,” Heinz admitted.

Austin looked around at the apartment. “Are you mad at us?”

“Me? No, why would I be mad at you?”

“Because Kerry and my dad made you move out of that dungeon. How come you wanted to live down there instead of up here?” Austin asked. “That place was dark and creepy and cold, but this place is nice and warm and it has big windows and a sofa and room for your friends.”

“Austin!” Patrick’s voice held a sharp note.

Heinz took a sip of water. “That’s a very good question, my young friend. And the answer is that a long time ago, when I was living here, I lost someone I loved.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Where did your friend go? How did he get lost?”

“He died,” Heinz said, choosing his words carefully. “This person was my whole world. And after he died, I couldn’t bear to live here, with all the happy memories this place held for us. Everything here reminded me of him, and it made me very, very sad. So I decided I would live someplace else, where I wouldn’t always be thinking about him.”

“Oh.” Austin seemed to be turning Heinz’s rationale over and over in his mind as the adults exchanged anxious glances.

“Okay,” Patrick said, a little too heartily. “Who’s ready to open some Christmas gifts and drink some hot chocolate?”

“Me!” Austin said.

“But first some wine,” Claudia said, jumping to her feet.



* * *



“Do you like the tree, Mr. Heinz?” Austin asked. “It was all my idea. And me and my dad bought the lights.”

“It’s beautiful,” Heinz said. He was sitting in an armchair beside the tree, with a mug of tea clasped between his hands. “How did you know this is always where we used to have our tree when George was alive?”

“Who was George?” Austin asked. “Why did he die?”

“Austin…” Patrick started.

“It’s all right,” Heinz said. He pointed to the portrait above the fireplace. “That was George. He died very suddenly. It was a huge shock.”

“He looks nice. Did you paint that picture?”

“George was very nice. Much nicer than me, and yes, I did paint that picture.”

Austin stood up to examine the portrait closer, then pointed to the rest of the paintings in the room. “Did you paint all of these pictures?”

“Most of them,” Heinz said. “Some were done by other artist friends.”

“Did they all die too?”

An awkward silence fell over the room.

“I think some Christmas music would be great right now,” Claudia said. She pointed at the sleek modernist stereo console under one of the windows. “Heinz, does the stereo still work?”

“I suppose so,” Heinz said. “George was the music lover. I think there are some Christmas albums in the cabinet there.”

“I’ll help you look,” Murphy volunteered. The two of them rifled through the stacks of albums on the console’s shelves.

“Wow, talk about a blast from the past,” Murphy said, holding up a pair of albums. “Look at all this cool old vinyl. Perry Como! And Frank Sinatra. Look how swinging Frank looks in this fedora on the cover.”

“The Beach Boys did a Christmas album?” Claudia asked. She dusted the album cover with the sleeve of her sweater, held it up, and read the liner notes. “In 1964! Wow. And here’s Elvis’s Christmas Album from 1957. George had great taste.”

Murphy picked up another album. “Oh man, A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector. From 1963. I think my dad had the eight-track tape of this.”

Claudia held up an album with Bing Crosby sporting a fur-trimmed Santa hat on the cover. “Okay, this is the one. White Christmas. We used to listen to this at my nonna’s house every Christmas Eve. And it even has the Andrews Sisters. Okay if we play this one, Heinz?”

“You can try,” Heinz said. He seemed amused by her enthusiasm for the vintage albums.

Claudia lifted the lid of the console and turned a dial. “It lights up,” she reported. She slid the record from the album and dropped it onto the turntable.

Austin peered down into the cabinet. “How does it work?”

“Kids!” Claudia said with a snort. She picked up the tone arm and dropped it onto the vinyl. “See, Austin. There’s a needle at the end of this arm, and it slips into a groove on the record, and then the music comes out of the speakers.”

A second later the mellow sounds of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” came floating through the speakers.