The Ghost of Christmas Present Read Online Free Page A

you?”
    â€œMy name is Rebecca Brody,” she said as she pulled out what looked like an official notice of some kind.
    â€œMs. Brody, if you’re from Con Ed, I’m on the verge of paying that bill in two days’ time.”
    Rebecca’s face showed the first sign of any kind of true emotion, and it was ripe curiosity. “I’m not from Con Ed. Why would I be from Con Ed?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m guessing you’re not from the phone company or building management, either.”
    â€œNo, Mr. Guthrie,” Rebecca said. “You are Patrick Guthrie, the father of Braden?”
    Patrick could only nod as Rebecca fixed her eyes on his face, which was paling with an inner dread rising up through his frame. She put the notice in his hands. “I am from Children’s Protective Services.”

Chapter 4

    A SACRED REALITY
    â€œA re these all you?” Rebecca asked as she studied the wall of Patrick’s apartment covered with photographs of himself in different roles, not only in Shakespearean plays, but musical theater and Off-Broadway shoestring productions; there was even a photograph of a TV screen where he played the role of a Mafia courier in a reenactment scenario for a network gossip show.
    â€œThey’re all me. The roles of a lifetime,” Patrick said, and waited for her to get to the reason for her being there.
    â€œI would think your role of a lifetime would be that of a father.”
    It was the warning shot he’d be waiting for, the one that told him he was in for some kind of fight, but who or what could have sent her to his door? “I don’t consider that a role. My being a father is a sacred reality.”
    Rebecca pointed to the lone photograph not on the wall, but sitting on a side table next to the couch, framed in a frieze of gold. “Is this your wife?”
    Patrick looked at his beautiful Linda. There she was, smiling at the camera from under a wide-brimmed hat she was pulling down over her forehead in the clownish way she used to get past her discomfort with being photographed. “That’s my wife.”
    â€œWho’s been deceased now for three years?”
    â€œClearly you’re not asking these questions, Ms. Brody, but letting me know you already know all there is to know about me.”
    Rebecca sat down, opened her briefcase, and then remembered herself. “Do you mind if I sit?”
    â€œNot at all. Now will you tell me what this is all about?”
    â€œI’ll get straight to the point.”
    Patrick sat too, several coins spilling out of his apron and rolling across the floor. Rebecca watched them hit the wall and then spin down to rest in the corner. “As I was about to say, this is about money.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œYou haven’t got any.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Who are you and what do you want?”
    â€œI told you, I’m Rebecca Brody.”
    â€œWho sent you? Why are you here?”
    Rebecca laid out several papers before Patrick’s eyes, which couldn’t focus on the sheets but only the young woman’s still inscrutable face.
    â€œSeveral days ago, you were fired from your teaching position.”
    â€œI was laid off.”
    â€œLet’s agree to say you were let go. Let’s also agree that you’re two months behind on your rent and you’ve been served a shutoff notice for heat and electricity, though yesterday you did make a payment in person at the phone company, paying in singles and coins.”
    â€œAre you following me?”
    â€œI am not following anyone, Mr. Guthrie.”
    Patrick angrily bolted up from his seat. “Well, someone is following me. So who is it?” More coins spilled out of his apron and scattered across the floor.
    â€œYour partial payment for your heat bill is lying at your feet.”
    â€œListen, I wait tables. I get paid in small bills and coins. That’s no