The Mistletoe Inn Read Online Free PDF Page A

think he sensed how uncomfortable I was and changed the subject. “Have you ever shown your book to an agent before?”
    â€œNo. I’ve sent it to a few publishers, but they just sent back rejection letters.” I took a drink of wine. “Maybe it’s just not good enough. Maybe I’m not good enough.”
    â€œStop that,” my father said. “All great artists get rejections. It’s part of what defines them. Decca Records turned down the Beatles.”
    â€œI’m not the Beatles,” I said. “And I’m no great artist.”
    â€œWhy? Because you know yourself? A prophet is without honor in his own country, but more so in his own mind.”
    â€œI’m not a prophet either.”
    â€œBut you might be a great writer,” he said. “Or will be.” My dad leaned forward. “Writing and work aside, how are you doing? How are you handling the divorce?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said. “I’m doing really well.”
    For a moment he looked deep into my eyes, then said,“Remember when you were a teenager and you told me that you hadn’t taken my Buick with your friends?”
    I wasn’t sure why he chose this moment to bring up that not-so-pleasant memory. “Yes.”
    â€œWell, you’re no better a liar now than you were then.”
    My eyes filled with tears. Then I bowed my head and began to cry. My father reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m sorry.”
    I wiped my eyes with my napkin, then looked back at him. “Why doesn’t anybody want me? What’s wrong with me?”
    My father looked anguished. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
    I continued wiping my eyes. “You haven’t really liked any of the guys I dated.”
    â€œI liked that Briton guy. The med student.”
    â€œThat lasted only four weeks,” I said. “I saw him on Facebook. He’s married now, has two children and his own practice. He’s doing well.”
    The moment fell into silence. Our waiter, Mario, came over and refilled our water glasses from a carafe. After he left I said, “You didn’t like Marcus.”
    â€œNo,” he said, failing to hide the anger that Marcus’s name still provoked. “He was a five-star loser. I saw that train wreck a mile off.”
    I shook my head slowly. “Why didn’t I?”
    He looked at me for a long time, then said, “Maybe when you figure that out, you won’t be lonely.”
    I frowned. “Maybe.” We both went back to eating. After a few minutes I said, “Well, at least I have you.”
    My father stopped eating, then looked at me thoughtfully. “That brings up something,” he said slowly. His forehead furrowed. “You know when we were on the phone and you said I was going to live forever?” I just looked at him. He looked uncomfortable. “Three weeks ago I had a colonoscopy. They, uh . . .” He hesitated, looking into my fearful eyes. “They found a tumor.”
    I set down my fork. “But it’s benign . . . ?”
    He let out a nearly inaudible groan. “I have colon cancer.”
    I couldn’t speak.
    â€œUnfortunately, we didn’t catch it early, so it’s regionalized. It’s what they call stage 3A.”
    Tears began to well up in my eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
    â€œNow hold on, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I know, stage three sounds like I’ve already got a foot in the grave, but I don’t. There’s an almost seventy percent survival rate. I’ll take those odds any day of the week. Heck, just taking my Harley out on the road I have worse odds.”
    â€œWhere are you getting care?”
    â€œAt the VA.”
    â€œThe veterans hospital? You might as well just hang yourself.”
    â€œYou’re being dramatic. It’s not that way.”
    I broke down