A Hearts Dilemma

REYNOLDS MACPHERSON

For the second time since he stepped out of the car onto the pile of snow and the tiny flakes slowly amassing on everything he could set eyes on, Reynolds adjusted his frock coat and tugged at his head warmer. Perhaps, to see if they were still in place. He was cold. Very cold. He had stayed in Cairo for the past two years and had not been braced for the cold which he had to face back in New York. The sun had cracked the sky open and had peeked out lazily but did not give warmth.

"Like the English sun during winter, this sun shines but never gives warmth."

He muttered under his breath as he reached for the door of the car. He had asked his chauffeur, Louis to never open the car for him, not when he was bubbling with energy and could do it himself and so Louis always did well, to let him open doors by himself.

"What did you say, sir?"

Louis asked as he turned to the driver's seat.

"I was commenting on the weather, Louis. It is nothing to concern yourself with."

He replied dismissively. Louis knew better than to press the question or even make another comment. He started the car and drove out of the Airport.

Reynolds tried severally to convince himself that this was the same New York he had lived with his father as a boy before moving to san Francisco for high school and eventually to France where he attended high school and then proceed to spend a few years in Cairo. He had liked the sun and the heat and the dryness of Africa and he had become tanned. He had tanned so much that one could easily take him to be an Egyptian or one who has resided in Egypt for a very long time. He liked it. His friends, Abu and Vladimir had been the fun-loving tourists who constantly took him into the most rural parts of Egypt for endless tours and camps. He had spent a good two years of his life not doing business _for the first time in ten years_ and he had had fun. As the driver peeled through the busy streets and headed for his home, he found himself looking out of the window intently. He had been away from New York for twelve years and for all the years he had been away, he had only seen his father three times when he had come for meetings in France. They had met and he had felt too grown up to get too close to his father so he had extended a hand for an handshake which his father disregarded and instead locked him in a tight and embarrassing embrace.

He sighed. He had missed his father and now, he would wake up everyday with the man under the same roof. He could not be any closer.

"A lot has changed about New York, Louis. I have not stepped into this town for the past twelve years and here, there has been so many changes I can not even keep up with the pace. I can't even spot my favorite waffle houses and Kebab spots."

He said. Louis nodded.

" So it is, sir. A lot has changed indeed".

He agreed. They rode in silence until they arrived home. The house did not seem like anything he remembered. The house had been remodeled and it now wore a new and different look from what he had imagined he was coming back to. He was pleased.

He took the few stairs into the terrace and the butler opened the door even before he could touch the doorbell. Louis had his bag behind him and he smiled at every chance he got. Apparently, everyone was glad to have him. Reynolds was surprised to find that his father had retained the same domestic staff over the years. Most of them had become too integrated into his home that he could not have the mind to replace them and none of them, from what Reynolds saw, seemed to want to retire yet. Right from when Louis had appeared at the airport with a sprinkling of white hair and a face that had grown a bit saggy and lips that had thinned from age, he had suspected that his father would never let his domestic staff retire. Not when he saw them as family.

The cook, Imelda Clinton remained as ebullient and happy as ever as she appeared with her apron to say hello to Reynolds. She did not seem to have aged. She had the same color of apron that Reynolds remembered seeing every time as a child. Imelda had a habit of always being in her apron and no matter what was said to her, she would always appear with her apron. They were happy. At last, Reynolds knew he would have good homemade food from Imelda whose meals did a good job of tickling his taste buds.

No sooner had he settled in his room than his father called. The man had been in a business meeting in South Carolina and had cursed and swore over not having anyone good enough to represent him in every single meeting. Reynolds listened to him only long enough for him to vent.

When the old man returned, Reynolds was tensed. He did not know what one said to a father one har not seen in four years. The old man did not make it any difficult for him as he locked him in an embrace and shed a few tears.

"I am glad you are back son. You mongrel, why stay away from home so long?"