“Continue, dear, we’re listening,” said Sandra.
“The plane was due to leave that evening, and my parents knew their mission in Hawaii had failed miserably. My dad went to Jerrod’s room to get his suitcase to pack in the rented car, and that’s when he discovered him gone. At the same time, police banged on the door, claiming someone identified Jerrod in a car-heist and witnessed him racing from the scene. When the officer left, my parents couldn’t stay put and wait. Knowing the make of the car he was driving, they joined the search. And after visiting a couple of so-called friends, they called me in despair. I tried to reassure them but they were so upset and I was so far away.”
A sob choked off the words and Angie reached for her water glass. “That’s the last I talked to them.” Angie fell silent.
A hand covered hers, and Angie glanced up behind teary eyes to meet the kindest blue eyes God had ever created. “My dear. Your grief is tripled. I have no idea how you keep your head above the water.”
Angie gathered her strength and answered. “Mrs. Dristoll – my grief is not only tripled, but I pray constantly for the families that my brother’s irresponsible actions affected on that horrific day. Sometimes I feel like the waves will pull me under and not release me to breathe air. But that does not make my grief any more difficult than the ones who only lost one life. Tell me about your husband.” Angie dared to glance at Trevor and found him staring at her, unreadable but focused.
Once Mrs. Dristoll started, there was no stopping her. From a quickie marriage to the success of Trevor’s birth after three miscarriages; From jobs, to family traditions; To the multiple homes they’d built together, and so much more in between. By the time she’d finished rambling, Angie and Trevor’s appetite had returned, and they’d wiped their plates clean. Sandra Dristoll had somehow replaced the gloom with an atmosphere of thanksgiving, and Angie suspected Trevor’s accusation of her dabbling in magic might be true.
“Oh, I’ve talked so much my food has gone cold.”
“Is that anything new, Mother?” Trevor glanced in Angie’s direction. “She is a chatterbox with a lot to say. But, today, I appreciated the rambling. It felt good to remember.”
“I agree, Son.” Mrs. Dristoll slapped at his hand repeatedly. “Do you have anything to say to our hostess?”
“I suppose I should apologize for assuming I had the corner on grief. We all suffered at the hands of a troubled boy, as you so kindly put it.”
“You suppose! What kind of comment is that?” his mother yelled.
Angie interrupted. “Perhaps it’s the best he can do at the moment, and I appreciate it, truly I do. You see Mrs. Dristoll, Trevor and I were on the verge of bringing our relationship one step closer when all this news cut through it like a knife through cold butter. So, for me, resolving this conflict is all about healing so we can both move forward as God leads. If not together, at least we’ll be ready when the next love-interest shows up, daring to invade our loneliness.”
Trevor stood to his feet. “It goes without saying, Miss Parkinson, it will not be us. Thank you for dinner and the talk. I’ll be pulling my group out in two days. I’d like to spend some time with my mother before I leave.”
“Certainly.” Angie watched Trevor walk away and her heart followed like a lost puppy. She’d dared to hope for so much more. But she was a survivor, and would undoubtedly bounce back.
A soft hand rested on mine and squeezed my fingers. “You care for my son, don’t you?”
Angie’s smile was weak. “I suppose I do. But the obstacles were set in cement long before he arrived at Heritage Inn.”
The woman appeared to ponder something then threw all doubts to the wind. “Did my son tell you of the surprise gift he received from the North Pole?”
“The North Pole?”
“Yes. It was the strangest thing. A manila envelope with a Christmas ornament tucked inside. A cute little verse accompanied it but I can’t quite recall it to memory. Something about his counterpart waiting his arrival. Sounded wonderfully romantic to me, but Trevor laughed it off. He wasn’t even going to pack it, but I sneaked it into his luggage before he left. Just in case some Claus magic crossed his path.” A playful smile touched her lips.
“And you consider our Christmas in July a possible match?”
“Much more than that. Don’t you see? Both of you are wallowing in grief and blame you’ve no business entertaining. What better match than to heal the hurt before the magic of happy-ever-after kicks in?”
Angie laughed. “You heard your son. There is no happy-ever-after at Heritage Inn.”
“But he tells me he is returning – in September. Almost two months for two lost souls to experience the pain of separation. I believe you shall find that much more difficult to bear than hanging onto the misery of the past.”
Angie remained quiet as the woman stood to her feet. “Thank you for dinner, dear. It was good – even cold – and the table-talk was an answer to a wife and mother’s prayer.”
THE OWLS
The next morning, while walking the beach, Angie heard gasping from behind and turned to find Sandra Dristoll panting to catch up. Angie stopped and waited.
“Good morning. Did
