Daddy's Coming Home For Christmas

Daddy's Chasing his Valentine:2 - Frozen Wasteland

Robert

Hell is a twenty hour flight with a five year old boy who is allergic to sitting still.

I still couldn’t believe his latest nanny had waited until five hours before we were set to leave for the airport to tell me she quit. She had a boyfriend, and she couldn’t bear to leave him.

Not even when I offered to double her salary. He must be a very lucky guy.

The flight attendants had tried their best to keep him entertained. They brought him puzzle books and puppets and tried to interest him in any of the movies offered on the inflight service. They tolerated his many unnecessary trips to the lavatory. But in the end the only peace I got were the few scant hours he’d fallen asleep mid flight.

When I had told my boss and my friend that I thought I needed a change of scenery, I didn’t think he’d reassign me to some frozen wasteland in the middle of nowhere. But as my private chartered flight touched down on a single runway at Rutberg airport, I felt like I’d been dropped in Antarctica. Everything was white and frozen. The single terminal didn’t even have a coffee shop. I had to load my luggage onto the only cart they had and roll it out to the parking lot myself. Raphael had assured me he had a vehicle large enough to accommodate me, my son, and our six bags. I expected a flashy SUV, maybe a big ass truck with a double cab.

Instead a handicapped accessible van pulled up to the curb. I thought for sure it must be for someone else. Until a familiar tall figure slid out of the driver's seat and came to greet me with a friendly hug.

That was weird. I didn’t remember Raphael Segretto being a hugger.

“What happened to your car and driver?” I asked as I held tight to Trevor’s hand to keep him from running off. I’d almost lost him twice at JFK when I’d stopped to look at the gate listings.

“This is my home town, there’s no need,” he said with a grin. He pulled open a side door. There was a lift built into the van for a wheelchair, but he didn’t activate it. “What’s your boy’s name? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten.”

“Trevor.”

“Oh right, sorry. Trevor, why don’t you hop in first, and then we will put in the luggage, okay? My daughter’s booster seat is already fixed there.”

My son was pale, there were deep circles under his eyes, and he was getting very, very whiny. However, he took one look at the formidable Mr. Segretto, and obediently climbed into the van. Rafe helped me cram our six bags and carry-ons into the remaining space, and then I jumped into the passenger side.

“The van is for my mother,” he explained without being asked. “She had a stroke last year.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said, and leaned my head back against the seat.

“I know you must be exhausted. I’d like to have you over to the house for dinner some time soon to meet my daughter and my fiancée, but I’ll let you rest up a couple days first. You’ll have a private chalet as your personal residence at the resort, but renovations are a bit behind schedule, so for now I’ve put you in a couple of the new rooms in the lodge…”

“I’m going to need a nanny,” I interrupted him. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I knew there was no way I could focus on my job until Trevor had a full-time caregiver.

“I don’t know anyone locally,” Raphael said apologetically, “but I’ll have my assistant call around for you in the morning. I can ask Beth if she knows of anyone also. There must be some kind of agency around, right?”

I dragged a hand over my face. “Right.” At least I would have access to a fresh pool of nannies there in the United States. Trevor had exhausted the options in Sydney.

Raphael drove us up a long, winding road, through leafless trees and dirty snowbanks as darkness was falling quickly. Everything looked grey and barren, and I couldn’t help but wonder who in their right mind would want to come to this place for a family vacation. What kind of resort had Raphael Segretto sent me to manage?

When we arrived it was fully night. The lodge was nothing but a dark hulking shape against a cold, starry sky. Trevor had fallen asleep, hunched over in a pink booster seat. Only the seatbelt kept him from tumbling out onto the floor of the van.

“Let’s take him in first, and then I’ll get someone to bring your bags in,” Raphael suggested.

I shouldered my laptop and then lifted my limp boy onto my shoulder. It was hard to believe just a few hours ago he had been running up and down the aisles of an airplane like some kind of wild animal.

Rafe showed us down a long corridor that still had some construction ongoing. On the right side of the hallway he opened two doors. “I thought you would have… someone else with you. Maybe you should just share one room tonight?” Raphael suggested helpfully.

“Yeah, for now,” I grunted. I walked in the room and set my son in the center of the bed. He mumbled and rolled over, sticking his butt in the air as he folded his knees under his body.

Raphael stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I think the kitchen staff has gone home for the night, but we can go raid the fridge and see what they have to eat down there.”

“Nah. We are fine until morning.”

A pimply faced kid came in, pushing my bags on a cart. He seemed exceptionally nervous, maybe because he knew his new manager and the big boss were both in the room. “Just leave it, I’ll take it from here.” I said impatiently.

The kid nodded and scurried out of the room like a scared dog.

“Anything else you need?” Raphael asked.

I could tell he was chomping at the bit to go home to his own family. “Just sleep,” I said, shrugging out of the leather jacket that offered little insulation against the bitter Vermont winter.

“Yeah, sure. Take the weekend to get some rest. We will get down to business on Monday. My assistant is right next door if you need anything. Have a good night. Welcome back to the United States.”

He shut the door quietly behind him, leaving me alone in the room with my sleeping son.

I looked at Trevor and felt a familiar wave of inadequacy wash over me.

You’re not fit to be a father. The ghost of my ex-wife echoed in my head.

And I could only agree. I leaned over and pulled off Trevor’s little shoes and then extricated him from his coat. His hair was already damp with sweat from falling asleep in the warm, heavy jacket. I rearranged him so that he was lying on a pillow and pulled the blankets up over him.

I probably should have woken him up to pee before I let him sleep for the night. I said a silent prayer to whatever gods that were listening that he wouldn’t wet the bed.

I kicked off my shoes and stretched out beside him. After traveling, flying, going through customs and immigration, transferring, and flying again for more than twenty-four hours, it was a relief to be horizontal.

Doubt swirled in my mind. Did I do the right thing to uproot Trevor and bring him to America? I thought a fresh start would be good for us, but now I wasn’t so sure.

When it came to my son, I always seemed to do the wrong thing.