A Winter Dream: A Novel Page 15

  Both brothers sat silently.

  “Is this something that your father was involved with?”

  “No, sir,” Rupert blurted out.

  “Then your father, CEO, was unaware of what was going on at his own firm.”

  Rupert looked down for a moment, then back to me. “Mr. Joseph, I know this looks bad. But it’s not my father’s fault. This whole thing was a fiasco, but it was a fluke—a one-time event. Please keep this in the context of decades of company success.”

  “Noted,” I said. I sat back and looked at them for a moment. I honestly felt bad for them. For their desperation. “I noticed a strange coincidence here. The time of this ‘loan’ coincides with your brother Joseph’s departure from the firm. Was he somehow involved in this matter?”

  “Yes,” Simon said.

  His answer surprised me. “He was?”

  “It’s just that I used that incident to coerce him to leave the firm.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “He wanted to just pay the money back for his brother. But I told him that if he didn’t leave the state I would file legal action against Ben. Ben is his full brother.”

  “F-o-o-l or f-u-l-l brother?” I asked.

  “The latter,” Rupert said.

  “So, this Joseph is guilty of attempting to conceal what may be considered a fraudulent act. And he is currently working at our agency. Unfortunately, I’ll have to respond to that.”

  Both brothers blanched.

  “Mr. Joseph,” Rupert said, “the only thing my brother Joseph is guilty of is mercy. He had nothing to do with any of this. We put him in a horrible position. If anyone should be fired, it’s me. This is my failure. I never should have involved him in this affair.” He paused with emotion. “Let him keep his job. Please don’t punish him for my actions.”

  “Unfortunately, that is the way the world works,” I said. “Right or wrong, others are always affected by our actions.”

  “Then I ask you to let me pay for my mistake.”

  Simon looked up. “Make that two of us. The entire thing was my idea.”

  I gazed at them for a long time, realizing that, in a way, their course had been worse than mine. I wondered how much guilt they had carried for the last three years.

  “Does your father know the truth about why his son left?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “He was so upset,” Rupert said. “We were afraid he would just dissolve the agency and throw us out of his life. We deserved that, but he didn’t deserve that.”

  I thought over his words. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you’re both willing to sacrifice your jobs for this brother Joseph?”

  They were both quiet, then Rupert said, “If it comes to that. Yes, I am.”

  “And you?” I asked Simon.

  He nodded sadly. “Yes, sir.”

  Their answers filled me with emotion. “So tell me,” I said softly. “If your brother Joseph was right here in this room, right now, what would you say to him?”

  Simon’s voice broke with emotion. “I would ask his forgiveness.”

  “And you?” I asked Rupert.

  He nodded, too emotional to speak. “The same.”

  “Do you think he should grant you forgiveness?”

  Simon looked down, then said, “No. He shouldn’t. But I would hope he would at least know how sorry we are.”

  I was having trouble hiding my own emotion. I let the moment linger a bit longer, then I said, “Everyone makes mistakes. The real question is, what have we learned from them.” I pushed back from the desk. “The thing about buying an agency is that we’re not buying bricks and mortar. We’re buying an organization. A past and, hopefully, a future. Jacobson has been a winning team for nearly thirty years. And you two men may share in the blame of this unfortunate incident, but you also share the credit for a lot of good work. Most of all, you have learned a valuable lesson.”

  I turned away and lifted my glasses to wipe my eyes. Then I turned back to them.

  “The thing about life that is most interesting to me, is how often good comes from evil. If you hadn’t banished your brother, you probably would still be resenting him . . . and he wouldn’t be here today to save you and the agency.”

  Both brothers looked at me quizzically.

  “I don’t understand,” Rupert said.

  I took off my sunglasses. “Rupert. Simon. It’s me.”

  They still didn’t recognize me.

  “. . . Your brother Joseph.”

  I saw the light of recognition come to Rupert’s eyes. “Joseph?”

  “You don’t know your own brother?”

  Rupert began to cry. “J.J.”

  Simon sat there, staring in disbelief.

  I walked to the front of my desk. Rupert also stood and we embraced. Then I turned to Simon. He was afraid to look at me. Ashamed.

  “This was all my fault,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Then I have you to thank as well,” I replied.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are. You just proved it.”

  He stood and we embraced. Then he began to cry. Actually, he began to sob, perhaps the release of years of guilt and remorse. “How can you forgive us after what we did to you?”

  “That’s what family does, brother. Forgive. Besides, you did me a favor. My life never would have been this full if it wasn’t for you.” I stepped back from Simon and smiled at them both as tears welled up in my eyes. “It’s so good to see you again. Now come on. I’ll show you the town. We’ve got a few years to catch up on.”

  CHAPTER

  Thirty

  Life relishes irony. Only in losing my home have I truly gained it.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  That evening I took my brothers to one of my favorite restaurants in the city, Keens Steakhouse. I shared with them all that had happened after I left Denver. Not surprisingly, they wanted to meet Leonard and beat up Potts.

  My biggest surprise of the evening was learning that just five months after I left Colorado, Ashley had married Chuck Teran, the fifty-two-year-old owner of UpHill Down. In fact, she had convinced him to drop our agency—just before moving with him to Palm Springs. I was truly in my brothers’ debt.

  Rupert and Simon flew home the next morning. I made them promise not to tell my father about me. We would tell him together when I came out to close on the purchasing of the agency. I thought it would be best that way.

  Ten days later, only a week before Christmas, I flew home to Denver. Seeing the snow-capped Rockies out my airplane window sent a rush through my body. I can’t describe the happiness I felt to be home. Even the Blue Mustang didn’t look quite so demonic.

  An hour after my return, I met up with the rest of the brothers. Rupert and Simon had already told them about our reunion, but I sensed they didn’t really believe them until they saw me with their own eyes. I hugged each of them. It really was good to be home again.

  Rupert and Judd brought my father down to the agency under the auspices of meeting “Mr. Joseph.” My hair was still long and I was wearing my New York wardrobe, but my father recognized me immediately.

  “Joseph,” he shouted. He rushed forward and threw his arms around me and kissed my face. “You’ve come home,” he said. “My boy has come home.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I said, tears running down my cheeks. “Every day I worried about you.”

  “Every minute I worried about you,” he said. “Every single minute.”

  The brothers stood watching the reunion—silent, astonished and ashamed. When the climax of our reunion had died down some, Rupert and Simon stepped forward. I had never seen either of them so anxious. Rupert said, “Dad, it’s time you finally knew the truth about what happened.”

  My father turned and looked at him. “I already know, son. I’ve known the whole time.”

  “You knew we sent him away?” Rupert asked.

  My fa
ther nodded. “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Simon said. “Then why didn’t you send us away?”

  My father grew emotional. His eyes welled up with tears and he struggled to speak. “Because I was also to blame for what happened. I was careless with your feelings, and that too is a sin. I had already lost one of my sons. I didn’t want to lose any more of you.”

  Ben looked at him sorrowfully. “You knew what I did?”

  My father turned to him. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you punish me?”

  “You needed to learn that others will be hurt by your actions. You haven’t gambled since Joseph left, have you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You owe your brother a huge debt of gratitude.”

  “I know,” Ben said. His eyes filled with tears. He threw his arms around me. “I won’t let you down again. Ever.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ve missed you.”

  Ben put his head on my shoulder and wept. After a few moments we parted. I said to my father, “Do you think I could have my jacket back?”

  My father smiled. “I’ve been saving it for this day. It’s at home. But I think you’d better see your mother first.”

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-one

  This month I’ve seen the fulfillment of two dreams.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  My reunion with my mother was beautiful. She had never believed the story she had been told about my disappearance. She knew something bad had happened to me—she just didn’t know what. And she never stopped praying that I would return home. “This is the greatest day of my life,” she said, kissing my face. “The absolute greatest.”

  I made her promise that she would not hold what had happened to me against my brothers. She promised, but begrudgingly. “That doesn’t mean I trust them,” she said. “That, they’ll have to earn back.”

  I spent Christmas in Denver. As joyful as I was to be home, my heart was still hurting. Being so close to Utah was difficult. I fantasized about flying to southern Utah and looking for April. But that’s all it was—fantasy. As creative as I was, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the ethics of the situation, let alone the practical problems. How do you find someone in a polygamist colony?

  I told my mother about April.

  “Time will heal,” she said. “Time will heal.”

  My last night in Denver we had a family dinner at Mataam Fez, an authentic Moroccan restaurant on Colfax where you sit on the floor and eat with your fingers. (After I left Colorado, my father had dropped Giuseppe’s from his favorites list.)

  On December 30, I flew from Denver to Chicago and stayed in the Monaco Hotel just a block from the Leo Burnett Building until I could find an apartment. Mr. Ferrell arrived that evening, and on New Year’s Eve we began the first of our meetings with the CEO of Leo Burnett Chicago, Mr. Edward Grant.

  Mr. Grant was, of course, aware of the work we had done in New York and was eager to get the Chicago team plugged into our program. Being New Year’s, the agency closed at noon, so after just two hours, we began winding down so we could introduce Mr. Ferrell to the creative teams. As we were getting ready to leave Mr. Grant’s office, he asked why I had left Chicago. I told him the truth. When I finished, Mr. Grant paged his assistant. “Get me Holly in H.R.”

  Shortly after our meeting I went down to visit the creative directors on their individual floors, leaving Mr. Ferrell and Mr. Grant behind. I stopped in the energy room for some popcorn, then went to see Kim in front of Potts’s office. She was working intently on her computer and didn’t notice me standing at her desk.

  “I thought they would have let you out on good behavior by now,” I said.

  Kim’s face was animated with excitement. “J.J.!” She jumped up and came around her desk to hug me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just visiting the old neighborhood.”

  “It’s so good to see you. How is New York?”

  “New York was . . .” I paused to find the right word. “Interesting. But I’ve been transferred again. I’m back in Chicago.”

  Kim was so excited she hugged me again. “I’m so happy for you. This is so exciting.”

  “What’s so exciting?” Potts asked, walking from his office. I turned to face him.

  “I think she means I am, Peter.”

  He froze at the sight of me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m coming back.”

  “Not on my watch you’re not. I don’t know how you got here, but I guarantee you won’t last here more than a week.”

  He didn’t see Mr. Grant and Mr. Ferrell walk up to us. “Never guarantee what you can’t deliver, Peter,” Mr. Grant said, his voice angry but controlled.

  “Mr. Grant . . .” Potts said. Then he turned to Mr. Ferrell, genuflecting. “Mr. Ferrell, it is such an honor to meet you. Your work, the Florence Initiative, is sheer genius.”

  “You should tell that to the man who made it happen,” he said, turning to me. “I believe you’ve met Mr. Jacobson, our new Global Chief Creative Officer for Leo Burnett Worldwide.”

  Potts looked like a man who had just been convicted of double homicide.

  “Unfortunately,” Mr. Ferrell said, “from what I just heard, it sounds like you have a problem working with him.”

  Potts flushed. “No. Not at all. Things are good,” he said, turning to me. “Everything’s good, right?”

  “Not everything,” Mr. Grant said. “As you know, Peter, Leo Burnett is proud of the work we’ve done in creating an egalitarian work environment. We’ve worked hard to abolish the traditional models of corporate hierarchy and elitism and replaced it with cooperation and teamwork.

  “I just spoke with H.R. It would seem that our way of doing business is very much at odds with your practice of what I’ll call for lack of a better term, personnel exiling. For that reason we’ll be making some changes. Timothy Ishmael will be your replacement as senior creative director.”

  Peter looked panicked. “Please don’t fire me.”

  “We’re not firing you,” Mr. Grant said. “We have a wonderful opportunity for you in New York. In fact, it’s the very same opportunity you gave Mr. Jacobson, and look how that worked out for him.” He winked at me. “And I’m told that you’ve already met your new manager, Leonard Sykes.”

  I finally understood the dream I’d had in New York. And Leonard’s broken pots.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-two

  I have decided to journey the dark path to my past—to find the light of hope or to permanently extinguish it.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  At noon the agency closed. I took my things to the hotel, then caught the Blue Line at Clark and Lake. I was going to the diner. A small, hopelessly optimistic part of my psyche hoped that April might have called and left some contact information with Ewa or one of the waitresses. But the realist in me knew that wasn’t likely. I was going to the diner to formalize my loss and put the past to rest—like going to a funeral to see the deceased.

  I had intended to go straight to Mr. G’s, but when the train stopped at Irving Park, my breath caught a little. How many times had my heart ached as she stepped off the train here to go home? Then I thought of something. Perhaps April’s roommate, Ruth, would know how to find her. I jumped off the train just before the doors closed.

  In spite of the patches of ice, I practically ran the distance to her apartment. The main-level door was locked, so I buzzed the apartment, twice, but there was no answer. I waited there a few minutes until a tenant walked up to the door and opened it. I slipped in after her and went up the stairs to April’s apartment. There was a FOR RENT sign on the door. I don’t know why I was so surprised. April had been gone for nearly two years. I never should have gotten my hopes up.

  I walked back to the platform, taking the next train just two stops west to the Jefferson Park station. It took me fifteen minutes to walk from the station to my old apartment.

  It
was a little past three in the afternoon. The traffic along Lawrence was light, the street dusted in white, its curbs concealed beneath tall banks of dirty snow. Even though it was freezing cold, across the street from my old apartment a woman in a parka was sitting on the steps of her house blowing soap bubbles for her dog.

  I couldn’t believe that I’d ever lived in that place. Already it seemed like a lifetime ago. I wondered if this was how soldiers felt returning to a battlefield in peacetime.

  I remembered. That first sleepless night walking down Lawrence Avenue, first to the Polish market, then, later that same night, to the diner. The night I met her.

  Oftentimes it’s the smallest, seemingly inconsequential acts that make the biggest differences in our lives. What if April had remembered to lock the door at closing time? How different my life would be. How different I would feel at this moment. It was so easy falling in love with her. Why couldn’t letting her go be just as easy?

  I took a picture of the ugly apartment building with my phone, then headed further down Lawrence toward the diner.

  At the sight of Mr. G’s the memories flooded back, carrying such joy and pain with them I didn’t know if I could hold them all. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, I thought. No, it wasn’t an easy thing to do, but it was the right thing to do. There was no sense prolonging the agony. It was time to face the corpse of my failure, shut the lid on it and move on.

  Even though they were open for New Year’s Eve, the diner was nearly empty. It was that slow hour—too late for lunch, too early for dinner. Everything looked the same as before. I sat down at a booth and picked up a menu, even though I already knew everything on it. Nothing had changed. Not even the daily special.

  No, everything had changed.

  “May I help you?” I looked up to see Ewa standing above me. “Hey, long time no see,” she said awkwardly as if she’d just learned the phrase.