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Mistletoe Reunion
Anna Schmidt


His former wife is on his flight home for the holidays? Divorced dad Tom Wallace knows their young daughter is behind this "coincidence." He also knows Norah Wallace still makes his heart skip a beat. When a snowstorm strands the trio in the airport for the weekend, Tom rediscovers how truly blessed he used to be.Once they're finally in Wisconsin for Christmas, two sets of grandparents are suddenly generous with the mistletoe. One kiss leads to another. And soon the entire family has the same sweet Christmas wish.









Five years.

Suddenly it seemed like forever.


It had been so long since he had seen her, and yet he would have recognized that graceful walk anywhere. The smile given so freely to strangers. It suddenly struck him how much he missed that smile. It had been hard to come by as their marriage had crumbled.

And now here she was not ten feet away.

“Any updates?” she asked as she moved Isabella’s backpack to the floor and started to sit. She glanced at him for the first time and was clearly prepared to nod pleasantly when her eyes went wide and her body froze.

Tom gave her an uncertain smile as he basked in the sheer pleasure of being near enough to touch her after all this time.

“Surprise,” he said quietly as he closed the cover of his computer.




ANNA SCHMIDT


Anna Schmidt is a two-time finalist for the coveted RITA


Award from the Romance Writers of America, as well as twice a finalist for the Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewer’s Choice Award. The most recent was for her 2006 novel, Matchmaker, Matchmaker…. The sequel, Lasso Her Heart, has inspired readers to write to Anna via her Web site (www.booksbyanna.com) and declare that its theme of recovery from tragedy brought them comfort in their own lives. Her novel The Doctor’s Miracle was the 2002 Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewer’s Choice Inspirational category winner. A transplant from Virginia, she now calls Wisconsin home—escaping the tough winters in Florida.




Mistletoe Reunion

Anna Schmidt








Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.

—Psalms 127:1


To everyone who knows the true power that

growing up in a small town can have no matter

how large the place you end up calling home.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




Chapter One


“It’s snowing!” Isabella crowed as the flight from Phoenix landed in Denver. “Look at the roof of the terminal. It’s like snow-capped mountains. How totally cool!”

Norah Wallace could not help smiling. Was it just a mere forty-eight hours earlier that her thirteen-year-old daughter was fighting the very idea of a trip to Wisconsin to visit her grandparents for Thanksgiving? Obviously she’d changed her mind, but Norah was quickly learning not to spend too much time questioning the logic of teenagers.

While Isabella reveled in the sight of the unique fabric tension roof of the terminal, Norah noticed snow falling in huge flakes that covered everything—including the runway—in a duvet of white. “Hopefully it won’t delay our connection to Chicago,” Norah said.

“Oh, Mom, you worry about the weirdest things. What could be so bad about getting stuck in Colorado? We could go skiing.”

“No one is going skiing—at least not in Colorado,” Norah said. “And I don’t worry about everything. I just want things to go smoothly.” She felt the familiar twinge of guilt that came with her impatience and covered it by rummaging through her carry-on. Did her daughter think she wanted to be the one always throwing cold water on Izzy’s flights of fancy? No. But she was raising Izzy on her own—well, not on her own. Her father—Norah’s ex—was still very involved. But Izzy lived with her in Arizona, not with Tom in California.

She checked their schedule. “We have an hour lay-over here and it looks like our connecting flight is in the same concourse, so we should have time for something to eat.” It was an attempt at conciliation, but Izzy was slumped down in the seat, staring out the window.

“Whatever,” she muttered.

The minute the flight attendant announced permission to use cell phones, Isabella went to work. Norah marveled at the way her daughter’s thumbs danced on the keypad as the plane taxied to a gate. Everyone scrambled to gather belongings as if life itself depended on their quick exit from the plane. She stood in the aisle and watched Izzy transcribe messages to all her friends. Norah could barely manage e-mail. How did these kids learn these technically complicated things so quickly?

When their turn came to exit, Izzy dropped her phone in her pocket and hefted her backpack over one shoulder as they entered the concourse and joined throngs of other travelers making their way to and from restrooms, shops and gates. Norah couldn’t help noticing that Izzy seemed to be looking for something and took some comfort in the fact that her daughter’s annoyance was short-lived. But then as usual Izzy threw her a curve-ball she wasn’t prepared for.

“Are you ever sorry you divorced Dad?” Isabella asked as they wove their way through crowds of passengers and dodged electric carts.

“First of all, the decision was mutual,” Norah replied, fighting her natural instinct to remind Izzy an airport was neither the time nor place for this discussion.

“And second of all?” Isabella asked.

“Oh honey, you know the story. We each wanted different things.” Quell the impatience, she reminded herself. She draped her free arm over Izzy’s bony shoulders. “Well, actually we wanted the same thing—to make sure you had the best possible life.”

“So how come the two of you couldn’t figure it out together?”

“Timing—meant to be.” Norah tossed off clichés as she searched for an answer that would end the conversation. The older Isabella got, the harder that challenge became.

“Yeah, so Dad took off for San Francisco like opening a branch law office there was a good idea or something,” Isabella said wearily, “and you stayed in the desert because working on the reservation was somehow so important.” She frowned. “So will one of you please explain how doing what you wanted was best for me?”

“Trust me. It was. We’ve remained friends—your father and I—not like some couples.”

“Friends see each other now and then. When’s the last time you actually saw Daddy? Not talked on the phone, but were face-to-face?”

“It just hasn’t—that is—” Norah stumbled for words. Five years ago. She considered whether or not to tell Izzy that she remembered the exact moment she’d last seen Tom. He’d been walking away from her to get in a cab and head for California.

“Ooh—soft pretzels.” And Izzy was off. Obviously the moment had passed.

“For lunch?” Norah shifted her bag and hurried after her daughter.

“Mother! We’re on holiday. Live a little,” Isabella said hooking her arm through Norah’s and steering her toward the pretzel stand.



As soon as his plane touched down in Denver, Tom called Isabella’s cell phone. He wanted to be sure she’d let Norah know he was going to Normal for the holiday. Voice mail. Knowing his daughter, she had forgotten so just to be sure Norah got the message, Tom decided to call the house in Arizona.

He waited for the beep of the old-fashioned answering machine Norah still used even though Isabella had tried to persuade her that voice mail was ever so much more efficient. “But we have the machine and it’s paid for,” Norah had explained according to Izzy, “so why would I incur a monthly expense to switch to voice mail?”

Tom smiled as he recalled Bella’s growl of frustration at her mother’s well-known practicality and maddening logic. For his part he had always admired Norah’s determination not to jump on the technology bandwagon, although he couldn’t help believing that as time went by and technology continued to advance, it was at least partly her stubbornness that had made her avoid such conveniences. Norah could be very stubborn.

“Norah?” he said when he realized the beep had sounded. “Tom here.” Like she wouldn’t recognize your voice? “In case Bella forgot to pass the message, just letting you know—well, Clare called and you know my sister. She had this brainstorm for us to celebrate Mom and Dad’s fiftieth this weekend instead of for their actual anniversary in January, so I’ll be in Wisconsin if you need to reach me. I’ll be back late Sunday night. Bella was a little vague on your plans for the holiday, but I hope it’s a good one.” As always when he left messages for her, he paused. It seemed as if he wanted to say something more, but in five years he had not been able to figure out what. “Bye,” he added quickly and hung up.

He picked up messages his assistant had left him as he walked to his connecting gate, then called back to answer her questions. The plane from California had spent several precious minutes circling the airport and now he just hoped he wouldn’t miss the flight to Chicago.

As he hung up, the gate was in sight and packed with people waiting. He scanned the rows of chairs for a place to drop his luggage and spotted an empty one right next to a girl waving wildly at him.

Bella? Here? In Denver?

“Dad!” Isabella stood on the chair. “Dad! Over here.”

Tom eased his way through the disorganized parade of people, his smile meeting Isabella’s while his eyes searched for Norah.

“Dad,” Isabella cried for the third time as she catapulted her way into his arms. “Surprise! How cool is this?”

Tom laughed and eased his daughter back to a standing position. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around again. “Where’s your mother?”

“Bathroom. She is going to seriously freak,” Isabella predicted.

“Where are you two headed?” Tom was pretty sure he knew. Norah rarely took time off and when she did, it was to go to Wisconsin to see her parents.

“To see the grands.” The response was muffled and Isabella was looking somewhere over his left shoulder.

“Bella, you didn’t tell your mom that I was also going to Normal?”

Isabella had the good sense to look slightly abashed. “I kind of forgot.”

Tom raised his eyebrows.

“Look at it this way—now we can all celebrate Thanksgiving and the anniversary together. How cool is that?”

“What do you think your mom will have to say about this?”

Isabella’s expression tightened and she sighed dramatically. “Did it ever occur to you guys that the longer you keep up this thing of never seeing each other like up close and personal, the harder it’s going to be when it actually happens?”

Tom considered the best response to that, but Isabella was on a roll.

“I mean the very fact that neither one of you has found someone new should prove something,” she added. “Like maybe splitting up was a mistake of astronomical proportions?”

“I thought you said your mom was dating.”

“Well, she didn’t join a convent after you two split, Dad.” Isabella rolled her eyes at him. “And you haven’t exactly been without your share of female companionship. What was the last one’s name? Tabitha?” she added.

“Tamara,” he corrected, “and she was—is a business associate.”

“Whatever. She’s a lot younger than you. What was that about?”

“We work together on various projects. Her age has nothing to do with it.”

Isabella’s smirk said she was not convinced. “You want to know what I think?”

“Why do I feel you’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not?”

“I think that you and mom both miss each other, but you’re both too stubborn to admit it and try again. That’s why you’ve spent the last five years finding ways not to see each other.”

“Bella, it’s been a long time,” Tom explained, hating the fact that he was throwing cold water on her hope for a reconciliation. “We’re different people now.”

“Ya think?” she said with a dramatic sigh as if grown-ups were just dumber than dirt. “Okay. I didn’t forget,” she admitted, casting her eyes heavenward. “Forgive me,” she whispered, then turned her attention back to her father.

On the occasion of her twelfth birthday Isabella had joined the church and her passion for her faith had blossomed from there. She sang in the youth choir, provided child care for toddlers for church events and was very active in the social action committee of her youth group.

“I’m surprised at you, Isabella,” Tom said now. “I thought it was important to you to abide by the rules of your faith.”

“Our faith, Dad. You used to belong to the same church and Mom still does.”

“You know what I’m saying. How could you lie to your mother?”

“I didn’t,” she protested. “Not really.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” Tom reminded her.

Bella sighed and slumped back in her chair. “But where’s the harm? I mean, how cool is it going to be to surprise Mom with the fact that we’re all going to Normal together? Even I never imagined we’d actually be able to hook up here—though I have to admit I hoped we might.”

“As I recall, your mom is not overly fond of surprises,” Tom reminded her as he set his carry-on and computer bag on the small table next to her chair and tried to figure out the next steps in the farce his only child had created.

Isabella blinked. “Yeah, well…Too late now—she’ll be back any minute.” She eyed Tom warily. “Are you going to like disappear?”

“No, I’m here. You’re here. Let’s see how it goes.”

Isabella grinned and stood up to clear a chair for him. “Okay, so come over here and sit down,” she instructed. “Have you got something to read? No, better yet, open your computer—that’s good.” Isabella danced around him choreographing the surprise for Norah. “Here she comes,” she whispered and giggled as she buried her face in a fashion magazine.

Norah was still several yards away, but he instantly picked her out of the masses and time reversed as he recalled the moment he’d realized he was in love with her. She had been a high school junior and he was a senior. She had lived just down the block from him her entire life. They had waited together at the same bus stop, attended the same church, seen each other countless times in all seasons because their parents were the best of friends. And yet, had he ever really looked at her until that winter’s day when he stood shivering next to his broken-down car waiting for his dad to come and rescue him?

She’d been with a gang of her girlfriends, laughing and gabbing the way teenaged girls did, when one of them had spotted him. That girl had nudged Norah and nodded in his direction. Norah had peeled away from the others and headed his way.

“Problem?” The way she said it he thought she was getting a kick out his misery.

“Not if you’ve got a set of jumper cables in your backpack,” he fired back.

Her eyes had widened in surprise. “You don’t have jumper cables?”

Tom had seen no reason to respond to the obvious. Instead of moving on, she had leaned against the car with him. “Want me to call my dad?”

“No.”

“Well, no need to be rude,” she’d muttered, then, “Oh, you called your dad.”

His father had pulled up then and produced the necessary cables to jump-start Tom’s car. “You okay from here?” he asked when the car fired and continued to idle. “I have to get back to work.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Pop.”

Norah had still been standing there after his dad drove away. “You need a ride or something?”

“Are you going home?”

Tom had sighed. “No, I thought as long as I got the thing running I’d take a drive to California. Yes, I’m going home. Get in.”

She had and then just after he’d pulled into traffic, she started laughing. This girl was laughing at Tom Wallace—student council president, varsity quarterback, on his way to university. “What?” he’d barked.

“Your ears are like Rudolph’s nose,” she’d managed. “I mean they are seriously red. They have these things now called hats, you know.”

He’d glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. She had a point. He found himself grinning and then they were both laughing.

“Here,” she said and pulled off her own knit stocking cap and pulled it over his hair and ears. Her warmth was still there in the yarn.

He’d dropped her off at her house, handed her back her hat and asked if she had a date for the winter dance. And she had answered by asking a question of her own. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then ask,” she’d said.

That was Norah—straightforward, self-confident, and sometimes too sure that she was in the right. Like when she refused to even consider the move to San Francisco.

“She’s coming,” Bella hissed. “Look busy.”

Over the open cover of his computer, Tom watched Norah approach. Five years. Suddenly it seemed like forever. What would he say to her after so much time? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spoken. The one thing they had both agreed upon was that Izzy’s welfare and happiness came before any conflict or battle scars they might have with each other. But what to say face-to-face?

It had been so long since he had seen her and yet he would have recognized that graceful walk anywhere. The smile given so freely to total strangers. It suddenly struck him how much he had missed that smile. It had been hard to come by as their marriage had crumbled. Not that he had been giving her his best either. He’d been angry and hurt and looking hard for somewhere to lay the blame and guilt he felt creeping over him. He felt a little of it now, but maturity made him recognize it for what it was. Trying to make the fact they hadn’t seen each other for five long years her fault.

And now here she was not ten feet away, stopping to retrieve a child’s toy and return it with a goofy face that made the kid laugh. He had less than a minute to figure out some snappy line. His hands were shaking slightly. She looked great. She was one of those fortunate women who would age beautifully. He saw a couple of male passengers in the waiting area glance her way and felt a prick of the jealousy mixed with pride he’d always felt whenever they went somewhere together.

“Any updates?” she asked as she moved Isabella’s backpack to the floor and started to sit. He could smell the familiar perfume of her hair, her skin. He could see the little scar that ran just in front of her left ear. She glanced at him and was prepared to nod pleasantly when her eyes went wide and her body froze.

Tom gave her an uncertain smile as he basked in the sheer pleasure of being near enough to touch her after all this time. Same dark hair—different style. Sort of a tousled cap of curls. Skin—unblemished except for the two spots of high color that currently dotted her cheeks. Eyes? Ah, those eyes. The blue-green color of a clear water lake—deep enough to swim in, get lost in.

“Surprise,” he said quietly as he closed the cover of his computer.




Chapter Two


Norah could not have been more surprised if the president himself had been sitting next to her. Her lips twitched, but her voice seemed frozen as a number of catchy comebacks rocketed through her brain.

Gee, obviously the last five years have been great to you—you look…

Well, imagine this—

Tom Wallace, how long has it been? Let’s see, must be five years, three months and twelve days or something like that.

Izzy bounced to her knees on the chair to Norah’s left and rescued her. “Do you believe this? I mean what are the odds that we’d all end up in the same airport at the same time and waiting on the same plane?”

“Pretty good given the fact you knew I was coming this way, young lady,” Tom said, but his eyes never left Norah’s face.

Her gaze shifted to Isabella. “You knew?”

“Sorta, kinda,” Izzy said and looked down.

Norah blinked, her thick black lashes feathering her cheeks. “Isabella Wallace, I am surprised at you.” She realized she could not avoid acknowledging Tom’s presence forever, so she took a deep breath and plastered on her biggest smile. “How are you, Tom?” she asked as if they were former classmates who had run into each other unexpectedly.

“Good. Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “You?”

“Fine,” she said.

Isabella made a face and they both heard her sigh of frustration. The sigh brought Norah’s attention back to her daughter. “You should go to the restroom,” she said.

“Mom,” Izzy moaned. “Stop treating me like I’m eight. I know when I do and don’t have to go, okay?”

Isabella had been just about to celebrate her eighth birthday when the divorce papers arrived. Norah had had the phone in hand ready to call and put Izzy on the line so she could tell her father all about the party that Norah had arranged. In those early weeks and months she had remained in shock. It seemed impossible that she and Tom—of all people—had gone their separate ways.

The airport public address system crackled to life. “They’re calling first class,” Norah translated the garbled message and nodded toward the open door leading to the jetway.

He smiled. “I’m in coach. Busiest travel day of the year—you know how it goes.”

“You can sit with us,” Isabella said.

Simultaneously Norah and Tom opened their mouths to object to that idea.

“The plane is packed, honey,” Norah said.

“We’re running late, Bella. Let’s not complicate things,” Tom said.

Norah glanced his way, acknowledging with a slight nod of her head that he had backed her up. But then they had always been a team when it came to their daughter. The one thing they had both held sacred was that whatever differences they had, those would not affect Isabella any more than they had already.

She’s still so young and lots of her classmates have divorced parents, they had both rationalized. In time, surely….

“Why did you decide to travel under such circumstances?” she asked. “No one’s ill, are they?” she asked alarmed and saw that familiar flicker of irritation because he took her comment wrong. No doubt he thought that she was implying that the only thing that could drag Tom away from his work on a moment’s notice had to be something to do with his parents. Most of their arguments in those last months together had been about his devotion, or as she saw it obsession, with his career.

“Clare and Liz got this idea that we should all surprise Mom and Dad over Thanksgiving for their fiftieth,” he replied. “You know Clare. Once she gets an idea it’s easier to let her have her way than try to debate the timing of the idea.”

“Aunt Liz is coming, too? And the cousins?” Isabella clapped her hands in delight. “I mean is this the best Thanksgiving or what?”

The gate agent called Norah and Isabella’s row. Norah busied herself gathering her things and organizing Izzy’s belongings in her backpack.

“We could share a car when we get to Chicago,” Tom said.

“I’ve already reserved one,” she replied and then immediately added. “Of course, I could cancel it. Yes, sharing a car would be nice. Thanks.”

“Okay, so see you in Chicago,” he said as he hugged Izzy.

“You and your father can talk more there,” Norah promised Izzy as she hurried her toward the gate.

You and your father…meaning what? She didn’t intend to say anything?

She glanced back wanting to apologize for what he might have thought she was implying, but Tom was packing his computer, his back to her.



“I have to go to the bathroom,” Isabella announced as soon as they had located their seats and she had stowed her backpack under the seat nearest the window leaving Norah with the middle.

“I warned you,” Norah said, but stood aside, blocking boarding passengers so Isabella could make her way to the rear of the plane. She sat down again and bent to rearrange their belongings so that she would have some legroom. When she looked up Tom was standing in the aisle waiting for other passengers ahead of him to get settled.

“I’m in the back,” he said, making a face.

Norah shook her head sympathetically. “I’m in the middle,” she replied, indicating the obvious. It was the kind of banter they’d always been good at and a little of the initial tension between them eased. During their marriage they’d had a long-running debate about which was worse—back of the plane with its noise and turbulence or crushed between two passengers who seemed to think they had claim to all armrests.

“Trade you?”

Norah smiled. “Not a chance.”

Tom moved on just as the crew chief announced another slight delay to allow passengers on a late-arriving plane to make their connection.

A large man carrying a briefcase, carry-on luggage and an overcoat opened and slammed several filled overhead compartments. Norah pulled the airline magazine from the seatback pocket and flipped through it hoping he had the vacant seat across the aisle.

No such luck. He forced the luggage into an overhead bin two rows ahead of them, then threw his coat onto the seat and sat down heavily, his bulk and the coat spilling over into Norah’s space as he jammed the briefcase under the seat in front of him.

Norah nodded at him as she gently pushed his coat off the armrest they shared. The man ignored her.

“Hey, Mom,” Isabella said. “Guess what?” Izzy was accompanied by a young woman with a toddler in tow and what looked like a newborn cradled in her arms.

“This is Emma and she’s got the two seats next to Dad and she’d be willing to switch, so I said that would be great—I’ll even take the middle.”

Norah tried not to take perverse pleasure in the look of pleading horror the businessman gave her. “You’ll take the middle?”

“Yeah, come on.”

“Excuse me,” Norah said sweetly as she recovered her purse and Isabella’s backpack and stood.

“But,” the man protested as Norah slid past him.

“Everything all right here?” the male flight attendant asked.

“Perfect,” Isabella exclaimed. “My dad’s back there and this nice lady traded so that now we get to sit together and—”

“Okay, I just need everyone to get settled as soon as possible. We’re about to close the cabin door.”

Tom was standing in the aisle waiting for them. Norah tried not to stare at the way his hair—brown streaked with copper—was still thick and silky. She did not meet his chocolate-brown eyes, fixed on her as she slid next to the window and Isabella took the middle without protest.

“You put her up to that—switching,” Norah said.

“What?” Tom’s eyes were wide with innocence.

“It was my idea, Mom,” Isabella said. “Honestly.”

Norah had her doubts.

“How are your folks?” Tom asked politely once they were buckled in.

“Fine,” Norah answered equally as polite. This was going to be interminable. Suddenly she was glad to be in the back where the engine noise would surely make conversation impossible.

“This is going to be so great,” Isabella exclaimed, ignoring the tension between her parents. “I mean, just wait until we all show up together. They are going to seriously freak.”

“How’s work?” Tom asked Norah.

“Fine,” she said and looked out the window as the plane slowly taxied toward the runway. She wondered if she could be capable of more than that one-word response to anything Tom might ask.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the short delay, but we should be airborne in about twenty minutes.”

There was a ripple of muttered comments. “It’s sleeting,” Norah said.

Tom leaned across Isabella’s lap to look out. Norah could not help but be aware of the scent of his aftershave—familiar and at the same time exotic. “From the looks of that sky we just need to get going,” he said as the plane inched forward in line. “You okay?” He glanced up at Norah and she knew that he was remembering how nervous she got when flying. She couldn’t help being touched that he had remembered.

“Fine,” she replied and then grimaced. “I seem to have the same answer for everything, don’t I?”

“Well, yeah,” Isabella said before Tom could answer. “You’re acting like you’re on a first date or something, Mom.”

Tom leaned back in his seat. “And just what would you know about first dates, young lady?”

Isabella blushed and giggled. “Oh, Dad.”

Norah reached for her purse and pulled out a Sudoku puzzle book.

“Mom!” Isabella protested, casting a sidelong look from the book to Tom.

“Are you any good at those puzzles?” Tom asked, ignoring Isabella.

Norah shrugged. “Not really, but I can usually manage the simple ones.”

“Can I try?” Tom asked, holding out his hand for the book.

Norah passed him the soft-covered book and held out her pencil.

Tom pulled a pen from his pocket and grinned. “No guts, no glory,” he said and settled in to work the puzzle with Isabella’s help.

Norah watched as he clicked the pen on and off—his hand tan against the pale cream starched cuff of his shirt. He wore dark brown casual slacks and a pullover sweater in a sort of copper shade that accented his tan and highlighted the gold flecks in his eyes. She heard his deep voice consulting with Isabella on an entry, his laughter when Isabella stopped him from making a mistake. He bent forward and ran his free hand through his hair. When a lock fell over his forehead, she literally had to tighten her grip on the armrest to resist the urge to smooth it back into place as she would have before.

Before. When they were married. When they were—

“Mom!”

Norah blinked. “Sorry,” she said softly, still caught up in the fantasy of who she and Tom had once been to each other.

“I said, can you see what’s happening? Why aren’t we moving?”

Norah turned her attention to the window. It was coated with sleet. “I can’t see,” she said and just then the plane made a slow turn to the right. “I think we might be—”

“Ladies and gentlemen, weather conditions have changed. We need to de-ice the wings before we can take off. Please feel free to move about the cabin for the time being. We’ll be on our way as soon as possible.”

This time a chorus of groans rolled through the cabin as passengers crowded the aisle, rearranging the contents of overhead bins, stretching as they commiserated about the inconveniences of modern travel. Tom took advantage of the extra space afforded by being in the last row across from the galley. “Come on, Bella, stretch your legs.”

Isabella followed her father’s lead in a series of calf stretches and knee bends. The crew toured the cabin offering packages of pretzels and promising full beverage service once they were airborne.

“Your turn,” Tom said and held out his hand to Norah. Norah slid across the row and stood in the aisle without taking his hand. “Feels good,” she said as she stretched her arms high over her head, her fingertips grazing the ceiling.

Isabella lifted the armrests on their row and stretched out across all three seats, her MP3 player earphones in place. She closed her eyes and bounced her head and shoulders to the music they couldn’t hear.

“I’m going for a little walk,” Norah said, suddenly uncomfortable to find herself standing next to Tom—far too near to Tom for comfort.

He grinned. “Just stay inside the plane,” he called as she edged forward.

The truth was she needed some time to think about the impact of spending Thanksgiving three blocks away from Tom and his family. In fact, there was no doubt that they would be thrown together often once they were back in Normal. His parents and hers belonged to the same church and were still close friends. Isabella would move easily between the two houses. Izzy’s aunts and cousins would surely want to include Isabella in whatever extravaganza they were concocting for the anniversary. They would certainly include Norah’s parents—and Norah—in the invitation as well.

The aisle was crowded with other passengers and the plane was not nearly long enough for Norah to stay away indefinitely. She glanced back and saw Tom talking to another passenger. Ahead stood the businessman glaring at her as the young mother tried in vain to soothe the newborn and the toddler, both of whom were crying now. The scene gave new meaning to “between a rock and a hard place” but by far the lesser of the two evils was to return to her seat.

Isabella had dozed off, so Norah perched on the aisle armrest. Tom finished his exchange with the passenger waiting to use the restroom and turned. He was standing toe to toe with her, his forearm resting against the overhead bin. He’d removed his sweater and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt.

“How was your walk?” he asked.

“Fine,” she replied and then blushed. “Uneventful,” she added with a slight smile.

Tom did not return her smile. Instead he studied her closely. “You look great, Norah,” he said.

Norah ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. “I’ve been up since four and my—”

“Why do you do that?” he asked. “You never used to do that.”

Norah fought a twinge of irritation. I never used to doubt that a marriage I thought was forever could fall apart in a matter of months. What did he know about her these days? “Do what?” she asked.

“Put yourself down. Someone pays you a compliment and you—”

“You know, Tom, it has been a number of years. I might have changed in that time.”

“I expect we both have, but—”

“Izzy tells me you’re seeing someone new,” she interrupted, determined to turn the focus from herself to him.

“Izzy doesn’t approve of my choice in female companionship,” he said with a glance at their sleeping daughter.

Norah shrugged. “She just needs time.”

“Speaking of time,” Tom said clearing his throat. “Five years and not once seeing each other, Norah—it’s a long time. How did that happen?” He leaned in to allow another passenger to pass. His face was closer to hers now. His eyes locked on hers and she saw that he looked tired.

“It’s not like we weren’t in touch,” she countered. “I mean we were always on the phone or leaving messages about Izzy. I think we’ve done well by her, don’t you?”

“Stop changing the subject. You didn’t want to see me. Why?”

Norah shifted uncomfortably. “That was just at first. I mean it was all so fresh and we were both so vulnerable and I thought that maybe—”

“But to let not one, but five years pass?”

“It just happened, Tom. I didn’t plan it and you could have just as easily—” She was whispering, keenly aware of others around them but equally aware that she could have been shouting and few other passengers would have cared. They were all that wrapped up in their own problems.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

This time the general chorus of commentary was filled with relief and even laughter as passengers returned to their seats and buckled up.

Norah tapped Isabella’s leg. “Turn that off and fasten your seat belt,” she instructed.

Isabella swung her legs around and did as she was told, only she took the obvious seat—the one by the window.

“I’ll take the middle,” Tom offered.

“No, I’ve got it,” Norah said as she sat down, lowered both armrests and fastened her seat belt. She picked up the puzzlebook Tom had left on his seat, waited for him to sit down and then handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He took out his pen and concentrated on the puzzle as Isabella stared out the window.

After several moments she reported their progress. “I think we’re going back to the terminal.”

“That’s impossible,” Norah said, leaning across her to look out the window. But her daughter was right. “Now what?” Norah muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are returning to the gate area. We regret that the airport is being closed for the time being. A major winter storm is passing through the area and we had hoped to get away in front of it, but it’s coming too fast. Once we are at the gate you may deplane and there will be airline personnel inside the terminal with more information. Please feel free to make use of your cell phones to notify those who may be meeting you in Chicago of this unexpected situation—and thank you once again for choosing—”




Chapter Three


Even before the announcement ended, Tom had his cell phone out dialing his office. When he got voice mail, he glanced at his watch and realized that everyone had already left for the holiday.

“I was hoping to get my assistant to work on finding us an alternate flight,” he explained, noting Norah’s raised eyebrows.

“I didn’t ask,” she said.

But you questioned, he thought. You always used to think I was putting work ahead of you and Bella. He covered his irritation by pulling his sweater back on as they waited their turn to leave the plane.

If the country’s fifth busiest airport had seemed crowded before, it was in total chaos when they emerged from the jetway. Harried airport personnel tried in vain to reassure passengers. Most passengers were accepting their fate, while a few like the businessman who’d shared a row with the screaming babies were demanding to speak with higher authorities. “You have to do something,” he shouted, his mouth inches from the face of the gate agent. “From the looks of things we could be here for hours.”

“Sir,” the gate agent explained, “look at that weather.” She pointed to the large windows where visibility was near zero. “Unfortunately none of us is going anywhere until this storm passes and we can get the runways cleared.”

“And how long will that take?” the man demanded.

“I don’t know, sir. Only God knows the answer to that one.”

“She’s right,” Isabella said as she and her parents edged past the angry man. “This is God’s work. He’s got something in mind here and I think I know what it is.” She looked up at her parents, then linked arms with them to either side of her. “Now let’s get some food. I am so starving.”

“You and your mother take care of getting us something to eat,” Tom said handing Isabella money. “I’m going to see about getting us a hotel room—rooms—” he clarified when Norah’s head shot up and her wide eyes met his. “There is no way we’re going to get out of here tonight.”

“We’ll meet back here then?” Norah asked and realized she was glad that Tom was there. Tom had always been able to make things happen without berating people to get what he wanted.

“Give me half an hour,” he said and strode away.

“What should I get for Dad?” Izzy asked when they were finally close to ordering.

“Turkey wrap with brown mustard, no mayo, tomato, lettuce, no sprouts,” Norah said as she gathered bottled drinks from the cooler. “Pasta salad if they have it. No chips unless they’re baked.” She glanced up to find Izzy grinning at her, her eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“How do you know that? I mean the details?”

Norah shrugged. “Lucky guess,” she murmured.

“Right,” Isabella said softly and smiled as she repeated the order verbatim and multiplied it by three.

The cashier rang up the sale and Isabella peeled off two twenties from the bills Tom had given her, then waited for change.

Tom was waiting for them at the assigned spot. “Well, here’s the deal,” he reported. “The airport is bringing in buses to take people to hotels. I was able to book us one room—two queen beds,” he assured Norah.

“But what about the party in Normal? The grands?” Isabella protested.

“Honey, be thankful your father was able to get us a room.” One room—with two beds, but still one room.

“We do have another option—staying here,” Tom said as if he’d read her mind. “It might be something we want to consider.”

“All night?” Isabella exclaimed. “Now let’s see—on the one hand we have a reserved hotel room with TV, room service and our own bathroom and on the other we could bunk down here. Gee, tough one, Dad.”

“Staying here means we are here when they get a runway cleared. The hotel room I got is at least twenty-five miles away and in this weather getting here from there—”

“—could take hours,” Norah finished his thought, then focused her attention on Isabella when she caught the look in Tom’s eyes. When they’d been together they had laughed about the way they used to finish each other’s sentences on a regular basis. Is the next step that we start to look alike? Tom had teased. Norah focused on Izzy. “Staying here gives us the best possible chance for getting to the grands,” she explained.

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Bella, attitude,” Tom warned. “Hey, it’ll be an adventure—like camping.”

Isabella gave him the wide-eyed grin of a six-year-old. “Oh goody, can we build a campfire and tell ghost stories and make s’mores?”

Tom laughed and wrapped his arm around her. “Come on. Let’s see if we can snag a couple of those cots.” He nodded to the area where people had lined up as skycaps wheeled in carts with folding cots loaded on top.

“Maybe Izzy should wait here with me,” Norah said, eyeing the desperation of the stranded mob.

“You don’t think I’m going into that, do you?” Tom said, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

“Well, how else—”

“Come on, Bella.”

Norah watched as Tom steered Izzy to a corner on the outskirts of the crowd. She saw him approach a man and his wife—each with a cot in tow. A conversation ensued and next thing Norah knew Tom and Izzy were coming her way each hauling a cot.

“But, how—” Norah stuttered.

“We made a trade,” Izzy told her. “Dad gave them the hotel room. They handed over the cots. No problem.” She looked adoringly at Tom as if the man had suddenly sprouted a cape and tights.

As Norah followed them down the concourse, she saw Tom nod pleasantly to gate agents and other passengers as if spending the night at the Denver airport was no big deal. At the airline’s private lounge he punched in a code and opened the door, holding it for Izzy to wrangle her cot inside and then waiting for Norah. “Over here,” he added, spotting a pair of chairs in the corner.

“Do you think they’ll unload the luggage?” Norah asked as Tom and Izzy set up the cots and she distributed the lunch.

“Not likely,” Tom replied, following her glance toward an older woman at the desk who was explaining that her husband’s medications were packed in their checked luggage.

Norah watched the woman leave the desk as she bit into her sandwich.

“Hey,” Tom said softly, “leave the social working to the airport staff, okay?”

You can’t save the world, Norah, he had once shouted at her when they were arguing. But he wasn’t shouting now. His tone was gentle and sympathetic and his eyes told her that he understood that she really wanted to help.

“This looks great,” Tom said, turning his attention to the sandwich. “And you remembered the mustard,” he said.

“Mom remembered,” Isabella replied before Norah could.

“Did you remember your father’s change?” Norah asked.

Isabella dug one hand into the pocket of her jeans. “Oh yeah. Here.” She handed him a wad of crushed bills and some coins. “That’s it,” she said when Tom stared at the money. “Airport food equals inflated prices.”

“I wasn’t counting,” her dad said with a chuckle. “I was just wondering how this fist-sized wad fit into the pocket of those jeans. What did you do? Have Mom sew them on you this morning?”

“Dad! They aren’t that tight.”

“They’re pretty tight,” Norah agreed. “You might wish you’d worn something more comfortable before this journey ends.” She pulled at the leg of her own stretchy trousers to illustrate her point.

“Mom dresses like an old lady these days,” Izzy explained to Tom as if Norah had suddenly disappeared.

Now it was Norah’s turn to protest. “Isabella Wallace!”

“Well, it’s true. I’ve been thinking of nominating you for that show where they make you throw out your entire wardrobe and go shopping for a new one.”

“My clothes are fine—serviceable. Comfortable.”

Izzy took another bite of her sandwich and continued to study her mother. “On that show they completely change your hair and makeup too. They can make the person look ten years younger.”

Norah saw Tom mask a smile by taking a swallow of his bottled water.

“Do something. She’s your daughter too.”

Tom cleared his throat and spoke to Izzy while looking at Norah. “I think your mother looks—fine, Bella. Especially the way she’s wearing her hair now—and the color—”

Norah’s hand flew to her hair. “What about the color? This is my normal color. I do not—”

Tom and Isabella both burst out laughing and Norah smothered a grin. “So this is the way it’s to be,” she said sternly. “The two of you ganging up on poor defenseless me?”

Tom gave a hoot of laughter. “Defenseless? That’ll be the day.” He turned to Isabella. “One time there was this neighborhood bully. Your mother was—what, Norah? Nine—ten?”

“I was Izzy’s age,” Norah replied.

“But smaller than you. The bully must have easily outweighed her by fifty pounds or more. What was that kid’s name, Norah?”

“Oscar,” Norah said.

“So Oscar starts picking on this new kid and your mom had had it. She marched up to him, stood toe to toe between him and the new kid and told Oscar that—you finish it,” Tom said, looking at Norah.

“You’re telling it.”

“Said what?” Isabella demanded.

Her mother sighed. “I simply informed the young man that if his name was a problem for him he should change it.”

“Or words to that effect,” Tom said.

“And what did Oscar do?”

“He asked me how he could change it when it was the one he was born with.”

Tom took up the story. “She asked him what name he would choose for himself.”

“And?” Izzy asked, glancing from one to the other. “What name?”

“Bruno!” Tom and Norah said in unison then chuckled.

Izzy took obvious delight in seeing them sharing a memory, looking at each other with no reservation, then Norah looked down and away. “And that’s when you fell in love with Mom, right?”

Her father began clearing the trash from their lunch. “Uh—”

“I thought you said those paperbacks you’ve been reading were stories of inspiration and faith,” Norah said, turning the focus on Izzy and away from her and Tom.

“Well, even God loves a good romance, Mom,” Izzy replied as she took the trash from Tom and stuffed it into the paper bag that had held the sandwiches.

“We should see if there’s been any change in what’s happening,” Norah said and Izzy watched as her mom relieved her of the trash and they headed off in opposite directions—her to deposit their trash and him to check in with the woman at the desk. When they returned Izzy had pulled her novel out of her backpack and settled into one of the chairs.



By late afternoon Norah had called her parents and Tom had spoken to his sisters. They whiled away the endless waiting by reading, working, or—in Isabella’s case—listening to music. Around five, Tom shut his laptop, stood and stretched. “Come on, girls, let’s go for a walk and see about getting something hot for supper.”

It had been several hours since the announcement had come through that the airport would close. Airport personnel had put the contingency plan for such situations into operation. But as night came on and the storm gathered force, it became clear that no one was going anywhere at least until morning and maybe not then.

The first thing to hit Norah as they entered the concourse was the sheer level of the noise—people shouting at each other, babies crying, toddlers and their siblings fighting in loud shrieks over some toy or snack, bleary-eyed parents slumped on the floor or on chairs ignoring their children’s pleas for mediation. In spite of the fact that shopkeepers and other airport employees were as stranded as the passengers, several restaurants and shops had shut their doors. The desks at every gate stood empty of airport personnel and the arrival and departure boards had simply been turned off.

“Dad?” Isabella edged closer to Tom’s side and put her hand in his. “Everybody’s so mad.”

Norah put her arm around Isabella’s shoulder as she looked up at Tom. “This place is turning into a powder keg.”

“It’ll be fine. The governor has declared a state of emergency and the National Guard is handling things along with airport security.”

“Still, maybe we could organize some child care. These parents need a break.”

“A camp,” Izzy suggested. “Camp Stuck-in-the-Snow.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Norah told Tom. “We could take over the play areas along the concourse—there are slides and blocks and all sorts of activities.”

“And don’t they have coloring books and stuff on the planes to keep the kids entertained?” Izzy asked, scooting closer to her parents so that the three of them formed a tight ring.

“We could have the kids bring their blankets and pillows for nap time,” Norah said, her voice growing with enthusiasm for the idea.

Tom looked from his wife to his daughter and back to Norah. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

“I could sleep,” she admitted.

“But, Dad,” Izzy said, “this is Mom’s thing. I mean she is practically an expert when it comes to setting up stuff for helping others. Right, Mom?”

“Right.” Norah raised her eyes to Tom’s. “A regular wizard.”

“Well, I guess it beats wearing the turkey costume I’m sure my sisters have waiting for me back home at Mom’s,” he said.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Norah told him with a shy grin. “I’ve been known to come up with a turkey costume myself.”

Izzy threw her arms around Tom’s neck and squealed, “This is such a cool adventure we’re on.”

Norah saw Tom glance at her over the top of their daughter’s head as he said, “Yeah. Pretty cool.”



On Thanksgiving morning Norah opened her eyes and blinked several times as she tried to get her bearings. Airport. Denver. Vintage military cot where she had spent a good part of the night trying to remember this wasn’t even half the width of her bed at home. She grimaced as she stretched her back and legs.

“Coffee?”

Tom was standing beside her looking as if he’d just stepped out of a shower even though he was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before.

“Intravenously, if possible,” she muttered as she struggled to a sitting position with her back against the wall. “Where’s Izzy?”

“Out recruiting.” At Norah’s blank stare he added, “Counselors? For Camp Stuck-in-the-Snow?” Then he grinned and sat on Izzy’s abandoned cot. “You never were much of a morning person, were you?”

Norah chose to ignore that as she sipped her coffee. “So what are the chances we’re going to get out of here today?”

“Slim and none—take your pick. It snowed all night and hasn’t let up—twenty inches and counting. Last I heard this is just the front side of an entire line of storms.”

Norah groaned. “I need a shower and a toothbrush.”

“Can’t help with either of those. How about an after-dinner mint?” He produced a cellophane-wrapped red-and-white candy from his pocket.

“Thank you,” Norah said. As she sucked on the mint she studied him. “How come you look as if you just stepped out of GQ magazine or something?”

He ran one hand through his hair self-consciously. “I washed up a little.”

“Tom!” A woman at the door of the club waved to him. “We’re all set,” she said, rushing forward and handing him a yellow legal pad with a list of names and numbers. “Every gate area has a representative.”

Norah gave Tom a questioning look.

“I met with the airport manager,” he said. “They thought it might be helpful to see if we could have a volunteer communicator for each gate area. Kind of cuts down on everyone trying to gain information. Also cuts down on rumors that can cause panic.”

The woman had reached them now and Tom beamed at her as he took the notebook and scanned the list. “That’s great work, Patty. Oh, Patty Martin, this is my—this is Norah.”

Patty shook Norah’s hand. She was close to forty, but with a face and body and manner of moving that made her look at least a decade younger. Norah felt old and dowdy as she accepted the woman’s handshake.

“Now don’t forget you promised me a ride in that sports car of yours when we get back to the world,” she said turning her attention back to Tom.

The woman is flirting with my husband, Norah thought. She glanced at Tom and saw him watch the slim, fashionably dressed, perfectly made-up Patty stride back toward the door in her three-inch heels. And he’s enjoying it.

Not your husband, she reminded herself.

“You okay?”

Tom was looking at her curiously.

“Fine,” she replied tightly.

Tom sighed. “We have got to work on your vocabulary for social conversation, woman.”

Woman—“my woman” he’d called her back when they were first married. “I love you, woman”—he used to say.

“I have to—” She struggled awkwardly to her feet, untangling herself from the twisted airline blanket and ignoring Tom’s offered hand. She grabbed her purse and Izzy’s backpack, certain that Tom would never think to keep an eye on it. He was far too busy running things, not that he’d exactly leaped on board when she’d suggested they get organized. But now that perky Patty had appeared, well—Norah headed for the women’s restroom without finishing her thought.

“Hurry back,” Tom called. “The gate reps can help you organize the camp.”

Like I need help—is that what he thinks?



She was a mess. Her rumpled clothes screamed “slept in them” while her face was a road map of every one of her thirty-eight years. She was probably the same age as the ever-so-effervescent Patty—maybe even younger. She dug through her purse and found her hairbrush and attacked her hair with it. Then she paused and took a deep breath as she met her image in the mirror eye to eye.

Honestly, Norah Wallace, what kind of example is this to set for your daughter? There’s her father out there saving the world and looking great doing it. Pull yourself together, girl. If you think he’s falling into memory land with every word out of your mouth, think again. It’s been five years—he’s moved on and until you saw him yesterday—so had you.

Spotting Izzy’s backpack, Norah rummaged through the contents, selecting items from her daughter’s portable cosmetics counter and laying them out on the counter next to the sink. She opened the small tube of toothpaste that nestled with equally small bottles of lotion and foundation in the required plastic sandwich bag to get them past security. She squirted toothpaste onto her index finger and scrubbed her teeth. Next she smeared lotion on her face and wiped it clean with a tissue from the pack in her own purse.

Better already, she thought as she leaned toward the mirror.

This wasn’t about impressing Tom or anyone else, she told herself. This was about taking pride in her appearance and setting an example for her daughter. It was about Izzy. Ever since the divorce her entire focus had been Izzy’s upbringing and well-being. And just because Tom Wallace had suddenly reappeared in the flesh—in all his gorgeous, charming, glory-oozing memories she thought she had long ago laid to rest—there was no reason to start acting like a teenager with a crush.




Chapter Four


Tom did a double take when he saw Norah emerge from the restroom. Patty was introducing him to the gate reps, but Tom could not take his eyes off Norah. The cap of black curls framed her subtly made-up face. She had tucked the rumpled green T-shirt firmly into the waistband of her black slacks—slacks now belted with the long, slim scarf he’d seen Izzy stuff inside her backpack as they boarded the plane the day before. Over her shoulders Norah had tied the shapeless black sweatshirt he thought he might recognize from when they were married. Only now the contrast between the black sleeves and the green shirt highlighted her blue-green eyes, making them seem luminous. The finished look was both casual and sophisticated.

“Excuse me,” Tom said to Patty and the others. “Wow, you clean up nice,” he said, moving close enough not to be heard by the others.

Norah smiled. “You know, Tom, we are really going to have to work on your compliment-giving skills,” she said as she walked past him toward the group. “Hello, I’m Norah Wallace and it would be great if some of you had the time to help me organize a day camp to keep the little ones entertained until we can all get out of here.”

Five or six of the reps raised their hands to volunteer.

“Excellent,” Norah said. “Let’s get started. Ideas?”

And with that she exited the room with her band of volunteers trailing after her. The rest of the gate reps turned their attention back to Tom and Patty.

“Okay, where were we?” Patty said. “Ah, yes, Thanksgiving dinner.”

The group had finally settled into serious planning for the holiday meal when Izzy burst into the room followed by seven tall, gangly male teenagers. “Where’s Mom?” she asked as soon as she spotted Tom.

“Out there organizing the day camp. I thought you were helping her.”

“Oh, right,” Isabella said, looking slightly abashed. “I kind of got caught up in something else.”

Tom turned his attention to the young people with Bella. “Hi, I’m Bella’s father, Tom Wallace.”

“Oh, sorry,” Isabella said as she quickly introduced the teens. “And that’s Mike. They’re with the basketball team I told you about?”

“Sorry about the tournament, guys,” Tom said. “So what’s going on?” he asked, turning his attention back to his daughter, who looked diminutive in the circle of giants.

“Well, we were talking about the day camp and you know how on the last night at summer camp we always do this talent show?” Mike explained.

Tom nodded but couldn’t ignore the fact that Bella was staring at Patty. He’d seen Isabella watching him the evening before after Norah had fallen asleep, and he—restless as always these days—had taken a chair some distance from Isabella and Norah where Patty was also fighting insomnia. He and Patty had connected immediately, exchanging war stories about their high-powered careers well into the night.

New girlfriend? Isabella’s look seemed to ask as she shifted her gaze to him, and for the first time since meeting Patty, Tom realized that she was a clone of every woman he’d dated and introduced Bella to over the years.

“This is Patty Martin,” he said including the basketball players in his introduction. “She’s the public relations director for Teen Town.” That got Bella’s attention. Teen Town was a popular media conglomerate with a glossy fashion magazine, a popular Web site and its own show on cable television.

“Cool,” one of the giants said and the others mumbled their support.

“Bella, why don’t you and your—committee—sit down with Patty here and map out a plan,” Tom suggested.

Isabella frowned. “I should go help Mom.”

“I’ll go help your mom. This is a great idea and you and your friends are the very ones to pull it off.”

As always Isabella blossomed under his praise, and he felt the familiar kick of guilt that he wasn’t around to boost her confidence on a regular basis. “Okay,” she said. “You’re sure you’ll help Mom.”

Tom gave the scout’s honor signal. “Promise,” he said.

“Were you ever really a scout?” she asked, her eyes darting to Patty who had the entire basketball team laughing and eyeing her slim figure.

“I was not,” Tom replied. He took a step closer and placed his hands on Bella’s shoulders. “What I am and always will be is your father and if I make you a promise, you can count on it, okay?”

He saw from the look she gave him that they both knew he couldn’t always guarantee that, but she grinned and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “She’s not your type,” she whispered just before she turned and hurried back to where the boys and Patty were waiting.

Tom didn’t have to look far to find Norah. The woman had always been a bit of a Pied Piper when it came to getting kids to follow her lead. Her eyes sparkled as she listened to the children shout out ideas for how this day camp thing might work. An admiring group of teenaged girls and boys all dressed in matching polo shirts with the logo of their church embroidered over the one breast pocket had gathered behind Norah, no doubt awaiting their assignments. Tom took advantage of the fact that Norah had her back to him and joined the circle of teens.

“Well now, Robbie, snowball forts are a wonderful idea, but we’ll have to ask the people here at the airport if that’s okay.”

“They’ve got security issues,” a worldly girl of ten informed everyone.

“Exactly,” Norah replied. “Now these young men and women are members of a very special choir,” Norah explained, turning to indicate the teens. She spotted Tom among them and faltered.

“Is that man their leader?” a child called out.

“No,” Tom replied stepping forward. “I’m Mrs. Wallace’s assistant.”

The children looked mystified.

“I asked them to call me by my first name,” Norah explained softly. “Where’s Izzy?”

“Putting together a talent show,” he replied, then turned his attention back to the children. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, kids. Who wants to help work on the set for tonight’s performance?” Tom asked.

Several of the children waved their hands and Tom selected half a dozen. “Oh, and we’re going to need a stage manager,” Tom said.

“Me!” The girl who had spoken earlier about airport security waggled her hand furiously at Tom.

Tom had his doubts about others being willing to follow this girl’s lead. She was something of a know-it-all and in his limited experience that trait did not inspire leadership. He glanced past her hoping for more hands.

“Excellent,” Norah said as she put her arm around the little girl and ushered her over to Tom. “This is Elizabeth.”

“Well, Lizzie, let’s—”

“It’s Elizabeth,” the girl informed him. “That is my name.”

Tom met her look. “Elizabeth,” he said solemnly. “Would you be so kind as to join the others over there?” When the girl marched off, he rolled his eyes at Norah who covered a smile as she went back to the choir practice.



The morning flew by and the children were barely aware of the continuing storm. Furthermore, with the children occupied, the adults seemed to have calmed down considerably. Norah, on the other hand, was far too focused on Tom. By the time the children’s parents had come to bring lunch and help settle the younger children for their afternoon nap, it had been over an hour since she had seen Tom and his crew.

Hurrying along the concourse, she could not help but notice more changes from the previous day. One man had apparently taken it as his responsibility to walk the length of the concourse, calling out the latest weather conditions at each gate like a town crier. “Snow has stopped for now, but warming trend means sleet and icing.” He just shrugged when his news was met with good-natured boos. “Don’t shoot the messenger, folks.”

As Norah neared the dead end of the concourse, she blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing there. The semicircular backdrop behind the desks that served the last three gates had been covered with flattened cardboard boxes cut and colored to resemble a holiday village.

Norah walked past a group of children and adults seated cross-legged on the floor, then stopped. There in the middle of them was Tom, his fingers jammed into the child-sized handle of a pair of scissors, his tongue locked between his teeth as he concentrated on cutting a piece of folded white paper. The memory of their first Christmas in Arizona hit her like a snowball to the back of the head. Suddenly she was back in that apartment where she and Tom had first learned that she was pregnant and where her doctor had dictated no travel for her.

On Christmas Eve, devastated that they would not be in Normal for a traditional Christmas, Norah had curled up on the bed and cried herself to sleep. And when she had awakened just before midnight, Tom had been sitting on the rocking chair he’d bought her when they’d gotten the news they were pregnant. He’d been wearing one of those Santa hats available at any drugstore at that time of year, and he’d handed her a headband of reindeer antlers.

“Time to make the rounds, Rudolph,” he’d said, tweaking her nose, red from crying.

She hadn’t felt much like playing, but while she’d slept she’d felt worse about the fact that she wasn’t the only one missing Christmas at home. How selfish was she to think only of herself when Tom was missing out as well? She’d put on the antlers and followed him into the tiny living room. At the doorway, she’d stopped and gasped for the room was lit by dozens of votive candles and a snowstorm of crudely made paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling. In the background, the radio was tuned to an all-Christmas-music station.

“Come on,” Tom had said, leading her to the loveseat he’d turned into a sleigh using the colorful fleece coverlet his mother had sent them.

“Aren’t I supposed to pull the sleigh,” she’d asked, indicating her antlers and red nose.

He’d grinned. “I put it on autopilot for tonight.”

Together they had settled into the sleigh and sung along with the carols. Between songs, Tom had produced milk and cookies. “Perks of the job,” he’d assured her, “unless you’d prefer reindeer food?”

“What’s reindeer food?”

“Carrots, lettuce—healthy stuff.”

Norah had curled her nose in disgust and Tom had laughed and pulled her into his arms and sung “Blue Christmas” along with Elvis as he fed her cookies.

At dawn they had exchanged gifts, but she no longer remembered what. The best gift had been Tom’s recreation of a Normal holiday. The following year, Tom had placed several sheets of white paper and a pair of scissors in front of her.

“Teach me to make a proper snowflake?” he’d asked.

And through the years of their marriage the tradition had continued—even after they’d moved into their first house and then on to the grand house that Tom had insisted on buying. And even when their arguments or stony silences had become almost an everyday occurrence—some time in December they called a truce and the tradition continued.

“Hey, Norah? Check this out.”

Norah blinked, aware once again of her surroundings. Tom was holding up one perfect paper snowflake and grinning triumphantly.



By the time the sky darkened into night, pretty much everyone still confined to the concourse agreed that everything they could reasonably expect was being done to make them as comfortable as possible.

“But we can hardly be expected to ignore the future,” Dave Walker, the airport director of operations, said to Tom. “The airport will reopen—possibly as early as tomorrow. My people are exhausted, too. They’ve been here—away from their families, I might add—for the same number of hours as everyone else. Some of them longer. Some were at the end of their shifts when this thing hit.”

“We appreciate that,” Tom assured him. “It’s Thanksgiving and we’re just trying to make it special—for everyone.”

“Still, you can’t expect our vendors or the airlines to keep shelling out—”

“How about this?” Norah said. “How about if we take an offering for the meal and then divide it between the vendors according to their contribution. It might not completely pay the bill but—”

“I’ll cover the difference,” Tom said quietly.

Dave scratched his head and frowned. “Are you still going to want my staff to serve as waiters and—”

“No one is asking that,” Norah told him. “We have volunteers ready to set up the buffet and others willing to clear away any leftovers afterward. The employees here at the airport should feel that they are as much a guest at this table as anyone else.”

“Sort of like the first Thanksgiving,” Tom said with a grin. “Come on, Dave, help us out here.”

Dave glanced over to where the food vendors and airline managers stood. They were lined up in a show of solidarity, their arms folded across their chests. Earlier they had marched down the concourse with Dave to where Norah and Tom were setting up for the evening’s meal and performance and made it clear—via Dave—that they had had it. “I’ll talk to them,” Dave said. “You’ll pay the difference?”

Tom nodded. “I’ll need receipts and invoices, but yes, tell them if they will give us access to whatever food supplies they may have on hand, they will be fully reimbursed.”

Norah watched Dave approach the others. “Tom, this could be a lot of money.”

Tom shrugged. “Look at these people, Norah,” he said turning her away from Dave and his group to where groups of passengers were busy moving waiting-area benches into impromptu auditorium-style seating in front of the stage the children had created. “Look at their faces,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders. “Close your eyes and listen.”

Norah did as he asked and she heard laughter and snatches of the kind of conversation that takes place when strangers are getting to know one another. From a distant corner she heard the soft strum of a guitar and from somewhere behind her she heard the younger children busy at play in the children’s area now dubbed Camp Stuck-in-the-Snow.

And through it all she was most aware of Tom’s familiar strong hands resting on her shoulders, his deep quiet voice reverberating in her ear, and the rhythm of his steady breathing as predictable as her own. “We always were a good team, woman.”

“Okay, you’ve got a deal,” Dave said having returned from his huddle with the others. “Get your people organized and follow me.”

Half an hour later the food started coming—an unorthodox cornucopia of hot and cold sandwiches, pizzas, oversized pretzels, prepackaged salads, single-serving containers of yogurt, fresh apples, oranges and bananas, bags of chips, pretzels and nachos, and bottled water, soda and juices. The “guests” lined up on either side of the buffet and without anyone so much as suggesting they be mindful of the numbers of people to be fed, limited their selections so there would be plenty for everyone.

“Mom, over here!”

Norah saw Isabella waving to her from the position she’d staked out near the stage. Tom was sitting on the floor next to her.

A family Thanksgiving, she thought as she made her way to them.

“Pull up a piece of floor and join us,” Tom said with a grin. He started to bite into his sandwich when Isabella stopped him.

“We haven’t said grace,” she reminded him.

Norah could see by Tom’s expression that saying grace was not exactly a regular thing for him. The truth was that if it weren’t for Isabella’s devout faith, saying grace probably wouldn’t be a regular thing for Norah either.

“You say it, honey,” she suggested.

Isabella held out one hand to either parent and then indicated with a nod that they needed to complete this little circle by taking hands with each other. When they hesitated, Isabella sighed impatiently. “We’re giving thanks,” she said, “not making a lifetime commitment.”

Tom laughed and grabbed Norah’s hand. “Good point, Bella.”

Isabella closed her eyes and bowed her head and her parents did the same. Norah could not help noticing that nearby, other small groups of passengers had observed them and paused to put down their food and join hands as well.

“Thank you, God, for this food we are so blessed to receive. Millions of people are starving tonight and we ask for your help in showing us the way to relieve such suffering even as we celebrate this day of giving thanks. Amen.”

“Amen,” Tom and Norah murmured together.

“That was lovely, Bella,” Tom said as he released Norah’s hand and leaned over to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“You can eat now,” Bella instructed, every bit as shy about receiving a compliment as Norah had ever been.

“Kid gets more like you all the time,” Tom whispered as he reached past Norah for a packet of ketchup.

“So how did we spend our first Thanksgiving together?” Isabella asked when conversation among them faltered.

“You didn’t eat much—you were still a little peanut inside Mom’s tummy.” Tom tweaked Isabella’s nose.

“We were still in that tiny little studio apartment,” Norah added and saw Tom frown.

“It wasn’t that tiny.” Tom had always been especially sensitive about the material environment he had provided for Norah and Isabella. Even though when they split they were living in a McMansion in a gated community with hired help to tend the grounds, the pool and clean the house, Tom had wanted more.

“Cozy,” Norah amended, not wanting to open the door to old wounds and arguments. “It was our first home together.”

Appeased, Tom laughed as he continued the story. “Your Mom had bought this turkey—what was it, forty pounds or something?”

Norah blushed. “Twenty,” she murmured.

“Frozen,” Tom added as they both started to laugh.

“And it wouldn’t fit in the oven,” Norah said, snorting with giggles and the memory.

“Your mom had invited the immediate world to come for dinner.”

“Just a few neighbors and people from work who had nowhere else to go that day,” Norah protested.

“Twenty people in all,” Tom reminded her.

“Where were you going to put them all if the apartment was so small?” Izzy asked.




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