On Christmas day the retirement home always had a special holiday luncheon for the residents. The secured area, where Jan’s father resided, contained a separate small, rather plain-looking dining room, decorated for the occasion with green and red banners and a small artificial Christmas tree. A buffet table was set up on one side of the room; caregivers and relatives were filling plates of food for the residents, who sat waiting at the tables.

Jan went through the buffet line and filled two plates for her father and herself. She was dressed in a beige two-piece tweed suit, heels and silk stockings.

At a table in one corner of the room her father sat waiting, his gray head bowed, his glazed eyes looking vacantly at the white tablecloth. Jan gave him an encouraging smile as she put the plate of food in front of him and sat down. A gift-wrapped present lay waiting on the table.

“This looks awful good Dad. A real Christmas treat. Roast beef, sweet potatoes, broccoli…you always liked broccoli.”

Her father looked across the table at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “I used to call her Ladybug.”

Jan immediately switched subjects. “I have a surprise for you. You want to open your Christmas present before we have lunch?”

He reached across the table and unwrapped the present, his aged hands shaking a bit as he unfolded a long-sleeve red flannel shirt.

“Remember those flannel shirts, Dad? You used to wear them to your office.”

He perused the shirt, feeling the material, as if it held some deeper meaning for him.

That afternoon Jan drove her father into town and through a series of quiet residential streets where the houses glowed from Christmas lights that were strung like colored pearls across lawns, over rooftops, through trees, wrapped around lamp posts and suspended from house to house. The holiday spirit had infused the neighborhoods, and Jan felt her heart lift as she glanced over at her father and saw the whisper of a smile. He must be glad, she thought, to be away from that depressing ‘home’ for a while.

Before long they drove past the residential area and into the city itself, where the streets were almost deserted. They rode along Capital Avenue for a while, then Jan turned onto a side street and parked the car. She went around the other side and helped her father out of the car. He leaned on his cane and Jan held onto his arm.

“Look up there Dad,” she said, pointing at a modern-looking high-rise building. “You designed that building. You were the chief architect.”

He looked at the building, made from a combination of red brick, glass and stucco.

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“That’s where I work,” said Jan.

He looked at her. “You work there?”

“Yes.”

Her father stood still, leaning on his cane, and did not speak. When he turned away he began to sob. His entire body shook as he continued to sob uncontrollably. Jan wrapped her arms around him and put her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right Dad…it’s all right.”

That afternoon, after Jan brought her father back to the retirement home, she drove over to 8th and L downtown, expecting to see Carter at his usual corner playing his clarinet. When she didn’t see him she thought he’d be at the hotel. She parked the car and phoned the hotel. “Have you seen Louis Carter today? This morning? But he hasn’t returned?”

Jan disconnected and quickly phoned Wes. “Hey, sorry to bother you on Christmas.”

“No problem,” replied Wes, who was seated on the floor in his mother’s apartment, surrounded by open boxes of Christmas presents, while Amanda put on a new pair of shoes. “We’ve been opening presents most of the day. What’s going on?”

“Carter isn’t on the street, or in his hotel. Have you talked to him?”

“I saw him last night.” Wes told her what happened.

“Oh God,” replied Jan. “That cop is the worst. But what can we do?”

“I’ll have to dig deeper,” said Wes. “But there isn’t much we can do. We have a difficult case to prove. Try to find Carter.”

They hung up. Jan got out of her car and walked along the deserted street. She saw a sign that said Gin & Tonic; a local bar that appeared to be open. She walked in and saw a handful of lonely looking men seated at the bar. There were some tables, a juke box, and a pool table in a small dimly lit room adjacent to the darkened bar area. At one of the tables in the corner Carter sat alone, drinking a large mug of beer. His clarinet case was lying on the table. Jan walked past the bar as two of the men leaned backward to check her out as she went by. When Carter saw her coming he lowered his beer mug.

“Well, if it isn‘t my guardian angel,” he said, sounding half-drunk.

Jan stood over him, her purse slung over her shoulder, her long dark hair brushed away from her face. She stood erect, looking down at Carter as if she were about to scold him. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, I’m terrific. Thanks to you I may be going to jail, or I may be a fugitive soon.”

Jan frowned and sat down opposite him. “You’re blaming me for this mess?”

“Why shouldn’t I? If you hadn’t stumbled into that alley I would have been okay, mindin’ my own business, goin’ to that night club, looking for a decent job. But you had to come along and screw it up for me.”

“You’re drunk Carter.”

“Yes ma’am, I’m good and drunk. But I wish I’d kept on goin’ that night, mindin’ my own business. But what did I do? I helped a lady in distress. And what did I get for it? Arrested. You should’ve left me in the jail cell lady. I won’t go back.”

“We still have a few days until the arraignment,” she replied. “Don’t give up.”

“Did that lawyer tell you what I told him yesterday?”

“He did, and I’m sorry. We have another good reason to put that cop behind bars.”

“For using the n-word? No law against that.”

“I realize that, but it should make you more determined to see this thing through. Go home Carter, home to your hotel room. Sleep it off.”

Carter took a long look at Jan, then he reached across the table and held her hand. Jan didn’t move. “You can come home with me,” he said, his voice lowered almost to a whisper. “I haven’t been with a woman in a long time.”

Jan put her other hand on top of his. “I’m not here for that Carter.” She squeezed his hand to reassure him, then let go his hand and stood up. “Merry Christmas Carter.”

He nodded, and shouted after her as she left the bar, “It better be a happy new year!”