Home For Christmas. Catherine LaniganЧитать онлайн книгу.

      AFTER DINNER, ADAM helped Titus make pinecone turkeys, which he wanted to gift to all his friends. After gluing and glittering feathers to the pinecones, Adam watched as Titus nearly fell asleep at the kitchen table.

      “C’mon, sport. Let’s brush your teeth and wash up for bed.”

      Titus yawned. “Okay. But I want the Star Wars pj’s tonight.”

      “I would never have guessed,” Adam said as they walked down the hall, Angel at their heels. Adam went into the bedroom, with its slate-gray walls and white trim and Star Wars, Star Trek and Avengers posters covering every inch of the space. From the dresser, Adam pulled out the desired pair of pajamas as he heard Titus in the bathroom using his spin brush.

      Adam sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the stainless-steel reading lamp and the overflowing bedside bookshelf. Titus had been only four when he joined a reading group at the library. The kids declared how many books they would read over summer vacation. Titus always set high goals, so when he announced he’d read one hundred books, Adam hadn’t doubted him. Most kids’ books were only twenty pages long, after all. But Titus sailed through the picture books meant for early readers. Titus liked to read chapter books. He didn’t reach one hundred, but he did read over twenty chapter books. His kindergarten teacher told Adam that Titus had the reading comprehension of a sixth grader.

      “Yeah. Sixth grade going on high school,” he muttered to himself. “Mozart was six when he started composing. Young prodigies aren’t unheard of.”

      “What’s unheard of?” Titus asked, coming into the room, yanking his shirt over his head.

      “Genius showing itself at a young age,” Adam said proudly, holding out the pajama top. Titus pulled it on.

      “Were you a genius?”

      “Hardly. Some thought I was a failure. I couldn’t make things work.”

      “You do now,” Titus said as he put on the pajama bottoms and climbed into bed. “You just needed education.”

      “I did. How did you know?”

      “Mrs. Cook tells us that all the time.”

      “Ah! Wise woman.” Adam chuckled. “So, what do you want me to read tonight? War and Peace?” Titus screwed up his face. “Sorry. Just a joke.”

      “I’m too tired. Tomorrow. Okay?”

      “Sure.” Adam leaned down to kiss Titus on the forehead. Titus lifted his arms and hugged him.

      “I love you, Dad.”

      “I love you, Titus. You sleep with the angels.”

      Angel jumped up on the bed. Titus hugged her neck. “I always sleep with my Angel.” Titus smiled. “So, Dad, when Angel has her pups, can I help?”

      “I’m hoping the vet will take care of that.”

      Titus propped himself up on his elbow. “You think we’ll have warning?”

      “I hope so. Usually, dogs try to make a nest and find a warm place.”

      “Like her doggy bed?”

      “Not necessarily. She might like it in front of the fireplace on her rug.”

      “Yeah. I could see that,” Titus agreed and lay back down. “It’s gonna be a great Christmas present to have puppies.”

      “Remember what I told you. Puppies are a lot of work in the beginning. I have to get a pen ready for them in the basement.”

      “And buy more space heaters and blankets and collect newspapers for their pee.”

      Adam laughed. “We need to do all that.”

      “Okay,” Titus said as he lowered his sleepy eyes. “I’ll help.”

      “Night, son.”

      “Night, Dad.”

      Adam walked to the door, turned off the light, and the glow-in-the-dark planets and constellations on the ceiling shone.

      He walked down the hall and past the living room of his 1920s refurbished bungalow. Five years ago, the house had been a steal. He’d put a lot of work and money into it, and the results were worth it. The living room was furnished in comfortable charcoal-gray twill sofas that faced each other on either side of the fireplace. A maple-and-stainless-steel coffee table was heaped with books and magazines, most of them Titus’s. Under the large picture window was a long desk with two laptops, a desk chair and a small file cabinet. On top of the file cabinet were a half-dozen framed photos of Adam, Amie and baby Titus. A large TV hung over the fireplace. The dining room table was midcentury modern, made of bird’s-eye maple, and the chairs were covered in a deep blue twill.

      He walked out to the front porch to check the mail he’d forgotten earlier. He shuffled through the utility bills, then pulled out an envelope with a familiar return address. It was the company that bought his wind turbine invention. His smile was broad. “Thank goodness for royalty checks.”

      Back inside, he went to his computer and pulled up his email.

      Adam worked freelance for Jacobson Corporation out of Indianapolis. The pay was satisfactory, but it was his private, solely-owned creative patents that he hoped would one day boost his income. The best part was that he only had bimonthly trips to Indianapolis, and his weekly meetings with think-tank managers and engineering interns were via Skype and phone conferences. Adam had made it clear that Titus was his priority. Adam was an asset to any firm and Jacobson knew it. Adam worked at night on the computer and held conferences in the early morning with his team.

      Scanning the emails, he replied to his team and then saw the one he’d been waiting for. “Halstead.”

      Halstead Industries had finally replied to the proposal and project renderings he’d presented to them in California in October. Adam’s engineering genius had flourished at Purdue. He’d made good money over the years, and his works-in-progress would bring even more. His future was financially stable. Titus’s college fund was solid. Sometimes, it seemed as if his high school days had happened to someone else.

      “In more ways than one…”

      He didn’t share his successes with others. He didn’t like to brag, and creative ideas were easily stolen. Not until his patents were secure, the contracts signed and executed, would Adam talk even to Frank or Mrs. Beabots about his work.

      It’s better that way, he thought. Keeping distance was his operative.

      He opened the email as he heard Angel walking down the hall—his sign that Titus was sound asleep. Next to his desk was a new red-and-black-plaid doggy bed, which she curled up on.

      “Look at that, Angel. I finally sold my wind turbine. Wait till my patent comes through on the geothermal unit. Not to mention a few other propulsion irons I have in the fire.” The latter ideas for antigravity drapes and futuristic propulsion had been pipe dreams decades ago, but now he was being taken seriously.

      Angel yawned.

      “You’ll see. It’ll be thrilling.”

      Angel closed her eyes.

      “Okay. Not so thrilling for you. But for a guy who never had much, this is a victory. I should celebrate.”

      Angel didn’t stir as Adam went to the kitchen and took out a bottle of beer from the Sub-Zero.

      “Now, where did I put that opener?” He opened the utility drawer where he kept spatulas and spoons, then went back to the desk in the living room. He dug around a few drawers, moving papers and old birthday cards. “Where is it?”

      In frustration, he started