“He hasn’t been here long, Mr. Fagerty. I’ll be taking all the guests out soon – definitely before the bus pulls out.”
Mr. Fagerty appeared obsessed with Trevor. He moved in close and stared into his eyes. Angie was about to interfere when he spoke. “Don’t you be leaving until you find your destiny. Magic or miracles don’t come your way every day.”
Angie watched Trevor squirm and break eye contact with the man. He hurried toward her grabbing something off the table. “I found something to buy. We best get back to the Inn. It’s almost lunch.”
They brought a basket of treasures from Mr. Fagerty, but although Angie paid for her other purchases, the owner refused to take a penny for the owl picture. Instead, he passed it to Trevor. “Be a gentleman and hang it up for the lady, okay?”
Trevor smiled awkwardly. “Sure, I can do that, sir.”
“Good.” He started to shuffle with his cane toward his lawn chair but twisted round and with a wide grin winked. “Goodbye you two. Happy Christmas in July. Hope you find the love sent from the Spirit of the Season.”
“He’s an odd duck, isn’t he?” Trevor said when they were out of earshot.
“He is a gem; an old family friend and I love him to bits.”
“Okay, can’t account for your taste, but I’ll go with the flow.”
“I know he’s eccentric. He and his wife were pillars of the community for many years. Age has a way of making one appear mystical, when in fact, it’s simply sharing wisdom and experience to an unenlightened audience.”
“Nice take on old age.”
“You have a bone to pick with senior citizens?”
Trevor’s sigh was deep and agonizing. “No, not at all. You must think me horrible. Guess I’m just grieving for those who never made it that far.”
“We all have an appointed day. Some earlier than others. That’s why I try to live each day as if it were my last. Does that make any sense at all?”
“More than you think.”
No one spoke the rest of the trip to the resort. As they strolled up the cobblestone walkway, Trevor broke the silence.
“It’s a grand spectacle, you know? You could sell tickets just to tour this place.”
“It’s not a museum, it’s my home. And a place for guests to gather and enjoy a well-deserved vacation. So don’t give my staff any of your ideas. They can dream up enough to keep me hopping.”
“Deal.” Trevor opened the door and beckoned for Angie to enter first. “Back safe and sound and not a minute to spare. Isn’t that the lunch bell I hear?”
“It is. Let me dump this stuff in my office and we’ll get in there.”
“So, the craft session starts at two-o’clock, right?” Trevor asked as soon as they sat down.
“Are you good at creating pieces of art?” Angie asked.
“Not sure. Haven’t tried it since I was in elementary school.”
“If you need any tips, ask the social director. He’s a whiz.”
“Does that mean you’re skipping class?”
“I have mountains of work in my office and meetings with department heads. I don’t want to miss decorating the tree this evening.”
They had only a few moments of peace. When the bell summoned a second time, people appeared from all directions, chatting and making their way into the dining room. During the rest of the meal, the buzz around the table revolved around the plan of attack for the upcoming craft session. All remained very secretive about the morning shopping excursion, the gift, and the recipient. Excitement was in the air, as only the joy of Christmas can bring.
On her way past the craft room, Angie smiled at the enthusiasm of the adult guests. She noticed Trevor sitting off to the side staring at the construction paper in front of him. While she watched, he stood and surveyed the string of homemade stockings that were close-pinned to a line. He stopped at one and examined it. Then he folded the paper in his hand and tucked it deep inside the stocking. He scanned the room with a strange expression before he took something from his pocket and pushed it into the bottom of the red felt stocking. Trevor hurried from the room via another door.
He was a complex man who had the ability to leave Angie baffled on more than one occasion. Despite her best effort to avoid listening to her heart, she kept an eye out for him the remainder of the afternoon. He’d been far too down-in-the-mouth when he left the craft room. Angie hoped she had read him wrong.
“Charles, have you seen Mrs. Dristoll this afternoon?”
“Saw him heading toward the beach a while ago. Suppose he thought he’d own the sand with all the guests doing crafts.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Are the Christmas trees up yet?” asked Angie.
“Yes, and all the decorations are out of storage. Tonight, we will transform the Inn.”
“Good. One can never get enough good cheer.”
“As your father would say, Angie, the spirit of Christmas is with us all year long. We just need to remember to call upon him.”
“Thank you, Charles. You have been a true friend to this family.”
“And plan to continue with you. You will grow Heritage Inn into the future, and I could not be more proud to tag along for the ride.”
”Do you miss, Jerrod?” Angie asked. She never spoke of her brother to anyone except Charles. He’d always cared deeply for the lost boy he saw struggling under all the pain.
“I do. He missed his calling.”
Angie nodded. At thirteen he’d started to hang out with the wrong crowd, the only bunch of thugs this laid-back piece of America housed. And our Jerrod had found them. His life spiraled out of control. The booze, the drugs, the addictions
