A Snowy Afternoon

"Is he single?" Mom asked me.

"A widower," I said. "No kids."

I'd come home from work on a snowy afternoon and was sitting at the kitchen table in my house, enjoying a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll with my mom, rolls that she'd just baked.

"You've inquired about him?" she asked.

I hated to admit this. Nearly blushed a little. "A bit. From other neighbors."

Mom said that at the moment Cody was helping the man in question shovel snow. He'd moved into the neighborhood two weeks ago. I'd parked in my garage in the alley and had come in the back door, so I hadn't seen Cody and the new neighbor out front, shoveling."Have you introduced yourself?" Mom asked. "You might like him."

"I've got a great life," I said. "Why should I complicate things?"

"Why have you been asking about him?"

I sighed. "All right, I admit it, I've been curious."

"About time," Mom said. "Cody would love having a dad."

"I know."

Then Mom left, saying she'd see me tomorrow.

Bundled against the cold, I marched outside to see what was up with Cody and our new neighbor. Six inches of fresh snow had fallen today, but the sky was clear now.

What I'd told Mom was true: I had a great life. Though my husband had died in a construction accident three years ago, I was coping. I was on my way to owning my own home, and I had a great job as dental hygienist. Cody was a delightful son, a straight-A student. Again I thought, Why complicate things, Casey? Still, lately...

As I approached, my neighbor muscled a snow blower up and down his drive, and Cody shoveled up the loose snow that fell off the piles. They looked up. "This is my mom," Cody said, beaming.

The man immediately shut down the blower, pulled off his cotton work glove, and extended his hand. I swallowed. He looked my age, thirty-eight. Maybe a little older. He wore no hat. His golden, curly hair fell over his forehead and touched his ears. His smile sparkled like sunlight on fresh snow.

Before I could remove my mitten to shake his hand, our eyes locked. His blue eyes definitely rocked me, and my heart did a crazy flip-flop.

We shook. "Adam Cunningham," he said. But I already knew his name. A neighbor had told me. And that he was an electrical engineer.

"Casey Kingsley," I said. "I hope Cody's not bothering you."

"Not at all. He's a great helper."

Cody piped in: "We're going to finish Mr. Cunningham's drive and sidewalk and then do ours."

"Don't worry," Adam said. "I won't overwork him."

"You come in if you get cold," I told Cody.

Back home, seated at my kitchen table again on this snowy afternoon, I wondered what to think of Adam Cunningham and my reaction to him—my heart flipping-flopping like that.

About a half hour later, Cody stomped into the kitchen through the back door, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. "Mr. Cunningham told me to go in. He'd finish up—I was shivering."

I peered out the front window. Adam had nearly finished my drive.

Cody plucked his stocking cap off his head. "Grandma said when we finished. I should invite Mr. Cunningham in for a cinnamon roll and coffee.  She said, 'Tell him your mom said it was okay.'"

"Grandma said that?" Nice going, Mom!

"I already asked him," Cody said.  Then he added, a little sheepishly: "Um...I told him about Dad."

I nodded silently.

The next time I peered out the window, I saw that my sidewalk and drive were clear of snow, but Adam was nowhere in sight. He'd obviously gone home, ignoring Cody's invitation. My heart sank.

"Call him, Mom."

"He's new in the neighborhood, Cody. His number won't be listed."

And with that I heard a tentative knock at the back door. I opened the door and before me, filling the doorway, smiling handsomely, stood Adam Cunningham.

I swallowed again and invited him in.

"Went home to change clothes," he said. "Everything I had on was full of snow and wet." His chin lifted. He sniffed. "Smells like rolls and coffee."

I asked Adam to sit down, and I told Cody to hang our neighbor's jacket in the closet. The three of us ate, drank, and chatted like old friends. But mainly, Adam rambled on easily about himself: "Got tired of the big city. I like this little town of Walnut Grove. My life has always been—well, complicated..."

My eyebrows lifted. 

I gazed at the handsome man with blue eyes. His life has been complicated, and I've been fearful of complicating mine. Maybe we could work out some kind of an agreement. Meet somewhere in between. Complicated but not so complicated.

I smiled at Cody and asked Adam if he'd like another cup of coffee.

The End
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A Broken Heart Mended

          I saw Kevin again at a New Year's Eve house party.

The man who'd broken my heart.

Out of the corner of my eye, while I was laughing and talking with a group of friends, I spotted him. I didn't think he saw me.

A chill sweeping through me, I excused myself and strolled away from my friends.

I slid the glass door to the balcony open and stepped into the cold winter night. The shrill party noise followed me until I eased the door closed.

I hugged myself, and peered at a sky filled with bright stars and a giant moon. What to do? Face him? Ignore him? I couldn't stay out here in the cold and snow forever.

I needed a second to think.

When we broke up, I thought I'd never love anyone else. To love once, so intensely, I told myself, was to love always. I would never feel like this about anyone else. I wouldn't even try.

I started to shiver.

I decided to face him—I needed closure. But before I could reach for the door, it slid open. Tall and broad-shouldered, Kevin faced me, the party clamor behind him spilling into the night. He pushed the door closed. "Hi," he said, smiling easily. "I saw you escaping a minute ago. I thought I'd join you."

"I needed a break form the music and laughter," I said, totally surprising myself.  I mean, I felt calm. In control.  My heart steady.

"Your boyfriend's probably wondering what happened to you."

"I think Mark's in the rec room playing pool."

For months I tried to tear Kevin from my memory, but despite my efforts, I awoke every morning thinking of him. I saw him on the street and in crowds everywhere—the illusion of him. And for a long while I dreamed of him.  Nightly.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Fine."

His eyes crisscrossed me. "Look, Casey—I want to apologize..."

I waved a hand. "I shouldn't have been fooled so easily. "

"It's cold out here." He rubbed his hands together. Blew into them. "Let's go inside and find a warm corner where we can talk."

"What will Lisa think, her seeing you with me?"

He shrugged a little. "I'm alone tonight. She called at the last minute...the flu, she thinks. And you're going to catch your death out here." He smiled at me and inched forward, as if to circle a warm, protective arm around my shoulder.

I stepped aside. "The very first clue," I said, "should've alerted me: You stopped answering your cell when I called, and you stopped texting me altogether."

"Casey, please..."

"But it wasn't until you suddenly couldn't find time for us that I really became suspicious." I bit my bottom lip. "And when you said we needed to 'take a break,' the truth finally hit me. You'd found someone else. Lisa."

"I know I was acting like a jerk—I just didn't know how to tell you about her."

Letting out a frosty breath, I sidled past him.

I'd lived through this moment—talking to him—a thousand times in my dreams, but none of the horrible emotions I expected to feel surfaced. Not anger—not electric shock—only a tiny bit of sadness.

I reached for the sliding glass door. Before I could pull the handle, the door swished open. Mark stood in front us, smiling. "What are you guys doing out there, it's freezing. Close to zero."

I stepped inside, the party clamor and warmth from the room immediately engulfing me. Kevin followed, closing the door, and the three of us faced each other.

"Mark," I said, "this is Kevin O'Neil. We worked together at Fisher and Atwater for a time before I left the firm." Before the two men reached to shake hands, I added, "Kevin, this is Mark, my fiancé."

Kevin's hand stopped in midair, but Mark grabbed it and gave it a hardy shake.  The two men said, "Glad to meet you." Then Kevin, darting a glance at my engagement ring, gave a sheepish nod and said, "I should call Lisa. See how she's doing."

"She'd like that," I said.

Kevin disappeared.  "That's him?" Mark asked "The guy who broke your heart?"

"I thought it broken beyond repair at the time."

"You look cold," Mark said, and wrapped me in a warm embrace.

"I spotted him. I tried to avoid him. I ducked outside, but he followed."

Among the throng of partygoers milling about, still snuggled in Mark's strong arms, I gazed into his eyes.

I remembered a time when I thought only Kevin's dark eyes could excite me, but blue eyes, I decided, were far more exciting—and tender and loving and caring.

Mark kissed me, and suddenly I felt his warmth and love sweeping through me. "You're not still hurting, are you?" he asked.

"It's a new year," I said, "and I've mended perfectly."

The End
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Merry Christmas

         It had been a cold Friday, snow falling for the last three hours.

I parked in the Dooley Insurance Agency lot at 6:00 p.m. I expected to find all the lights inside the office turned off, but everything looked lit up. When I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, I found Heather Allison, our new office manager, so busy trimming the office Christmas tree she apparently didn't hear me entering.

She'd started work for the Dooley agency a month ago. What a beauty she was—short but curvy with blond hair tumbling across her shoulders. Big blue eyes. Single, too. Like me. I reigned in my hormones.

I closed the door softly, tilted my head, and smiled. I didn't dare speak. She stood on a metal folding chair in her stocking feet, stretching, trying desperately to reach the top of a seven-foot spruce tree to drop a gold star in place. I didn't want to startle her. She might fall off the chair. But if you rush up behind her, I told myself, and yell, "Merry Christmas!" she might fall into your arms.

Bad idea, I decided. So I waited until she heaved a big sigh and jumped off the chair, the star still in her hand. That's when I said, "Hey. What's happening?"

She whirled, her blue eyes popping. "Oh, Lord! You scared me. What are you doing here, Mark?"

I explained I'd made calls all afternoon and I was coming in to finish up paperwork in the office so I wouldn't have to bother on Saturday. "And what are you doing trimming the office tree all by yourself?"

"Everyone else bailed. Because of the snow, I think. But I love rimming a Christmas tree."

"Really?"

"It reminds me of home and of all the happy times our family had over the holidays."

I'd always wished for a happy holiday experience. After my folks died in a car accident when I was six—I had no other living relatives—I grew up in series of foster homes where money and love were sometimes scarce, Christmas trees sometimes nonexistent. "Need help?" I asked.

"What about your paperwork?"

"It can wait. Let's start with the star."

At six-two, I had no trouble stretching and reaching the top of the tree to set the star in place. "What's next?"

Heather looked at me curiously, as if my not knowing the next tree-trimming step was strange, but a warm light sparkled in her eyes; and, I swear, my heart quivered.

We worked on stringing the lights, then started hanging the many colored ornaments. All the while, we swapped details about ourselves. We were both thirty, never married, not even dating. She grew up with three sisters and three brothers and learned the value of hard work and cooperation.

I told her my story about the foster homes. "And after I graduated high school," I said, "and was lucky enough to get grants and a scholarship, I decided I was going to make a good life for myself—a meaningful life with everything I ever wanted."

"Like a family?" she asked.

That question, shot at me point-blank, startled me. Since I'd never been part of a real family and had never known close, loving ties, I tended to shy away from relationships that might lead me in that direction. "Um...I have a new car," I said.  "I'm on my way to owning a great house. I have a boat and motor."

She nodded silently. I'm sure she realized, like I did, that I'd mentioned only material things. But she said simply, "Next comes the tinsel—I'm old fashioned, I love tinsel."

Strand by strand, we meticulously hung tinsel, tinsel, tinsel on every branch. All the while, she softly hummed Christmas carols—"Silent Night," "Jingle Bells," "Little Town of Bethlehem"—and my heart begin filling with a warmth I'd never experienced before.

When we finished with the tinsel, I helped her wrap a cottony skirt that looked like newly fallen snow around the tree stand. Then we sat on the floor in front of the tree, our arms looped around our knees, like kids, and admired our work. The glittering, pine-scented tree, her nearness and warmth—everything thrilled me.

 "Tomorrow morning," she said, "I'm coming in to lay out the manger scene underneath the tree. I just bought it. It's at home."

I didn't think twice. "Need more help?"

She smiled.  "I'd like that."

"Maybe breakfast first? Pancake House?"

"I like that, too." She leaned back on her hands and gazed at the ceiling, her eyes darting around.

"What are you looking for?"

"Where should we hang the mistletoe?" she asked. "Over your desk?"

Both of us smiling now, we playfully bumped shoulders.

"I dare you," I said. Then I laughed and felt, well, merry. Very merry. Like this might be the happiest, merriest Christmas of my life.

The End
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Married in the Spring

           I stood to one side as the hospital attendants quickly removed the unconscious man from the front seat of my car and strapped him to a gurney.

Wind-swept snow nearly blinded me; bitter cold bit my cheeks.

"We'll take him now, Rita," one of the attendants said.

This morning, I'd found the man slumped over the steering wheel in his car at a little roadside park on a county road.

"He'll be all right," the other attendant said, pointing to a bracelet on the man's wrist. "Diabetic. Blood glucose probably too low. Happens sometimes."

I'm a nurse at this hospital.

I knew the attendant's assessment was on target. When I'd discovered the man, he was pale and soaked in sweat, his heart beat rapid—classic signs of hypoglycemia.

As the attendants hurried him away into the hospital, I followed them to the ER. Raising the man's blood glucose with intravenous glucose and plenty of fluids would bring him around nicely. I needed to talk to him. I had his car keys. I'd locked his car before I brought him here, and I was sure he wouldn't remember where he'd left the vehicle.

An hour later, I sat in Thomas O'Malley's hospital room in a chair next to his bed. Hooked up to several IVs, he was sitting up and smiling at me. "I don't know how to thank you," he said. "Rita...Rita Albright, that's your name?"

I nodded. "I'm a nurse," I said. "Helping people is what I do."

"If you hadn’t come along," he said, "I would've...frozen to death."

"That's possible."

Though I hadn't realized it when I rescued him, he was wonderfully handsome—curly black hair, blue eyes, square jaw, and an easy smile that sucked the air right out of my lungs.

"Why did you stop at that tiny roadside park in the first place?" he asked.

"My folks live on a farm. I'd been visiting over the weekend, I was driving home, I'd drunk too much coffee with breakfast—I needed a restroom. Why were you on that off-beaten road?"

"Lost. I own a window and siding business. I'd been at a farmer's house, writing out an estimate. After I left, I felt myself getting weak. I felt confused. Ready to pass out. I had to get off the road."

"You weren't' paying attention to your blood-sugar level, were you, Mr. O'Malley?"

"Tom. Call me Tom. Please." His smile turned sheepish. "I'm careless, I admit. But this has never happened before."

"You didn't have an orange or a candy bar with you? A can of regular soda?"

He offered another sheepish smile. "I was in such a hurry this morning...you know how Mondays are." Then, "How in the world did you get me into your car? I'm six-one, a hundred eighty-five pounds. You're...?"

"Five foot, a little more than a hundred." I preferred not to reveal how many pounds over a hundred. "You weren't quite out of it yet. I managed to get your arm around my shoulder, and somehow we staggered from your car to mine."

"Thank you," he said. "I can't thank you enough."

I told Tom I was sure he'd be released this afternoon. He'd need somebody to take him to his car, about thirty miles away. I could do that—Monday was my day off—the snow had stopped—but if he preferred to have his wife or someone from his office take him, I could write out directions.

"Not married," he said. "You?"

Shaking my head, I dug in my purse for his car keys. "These are yours."

"Thank you," he said, smiling his breathtaking smile. "I'd be delighted to ride with you again."

Despite the cold, the gray skies of this morning had given way to late afternoon sunshine. By the time I drove Tom to his car over the newly plowed county road, I felt as if we'd know each other forever. He was a city boy; I was a country girl. But we discovered with liked the same movies—romantic adventures; the same music—old time rock 'n' roll; and the same sports—he'd played baseball in high school; I'd played softball.

After I parked my car next to his in the snow, he jumped out and started his, letting it warm up. Climbing back into mine to stay warm, he said, "I owe you my life. Let me take you to dinner tonight. Ribeye, thick and juicy. Baked potato, sour cream. Salad, blue cheese..."

I shook my head.

"Please?"

"How about my place?" I said. "I'll fix a meal that's good for you. Something healthy."

He thought about that for a second."It's an offer I can't refuse," he said, his smile melting my heart. This wonderful man with the big smile has been eating healthy ever since. Hopelessly and helplessly in love, we married in the spring.

The End

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Thanksgiving Dinner

       The dreaded announcement crackled over the airport's loudspeaker: "Due to heavy snow," a man's voice droned, "no flights will be arriving or departing until further notice."

I slammed my purse into my lap and slumped back in my seat in the terminal. A plane was visible through the windows of the gate area, wind-swept snow swirling about it. Across from me a woman muttered, "But it's Thanksgiving! Everyone's expecting me home."

I nodded silently. I knew how helpless and disappointed she felt.

Everyone was expecting me, too—Mom, Dad, my sister Angie, her two kids and her husband. I'd been away too long. And now this! A snowstorm paralyzing the airport. How long would I be stuck here, only a 160 miles from home? A few more hours? Overnight?

I glanced at my watch: 10:00 A.M. I was scheduled to arrive home at noon. Mom's to-die-for Thanksgiving dinner would be served promptly at 4:00. I called home on my cell phone. Told her the situation. "Not to worry, Cindy" she said. "Turkey's not in the oven yet. If we have to, we'll have Thanksgiving tomorrow."

"No way!" I said. "Eat on time! All of you.  I'll have leftovers tomorrow—whenever I get there. All right?"

She didn't answer.

"Promise," I said. "I'll call back as soon as I hear more."

"All right."

After I shut my phone down, I realized a handsome man with startling brown eyes was sitting next to me. "I had to do the same thing," he said. "Call home. Tell them I didn't think I'd make it—my mom, dad, and grandma."

"I'm so disappointed I won't be home I could punch a wall," I said.

"Me, too. You headed for Moline International?"

I nodded. The warmth in his brown eyes sent a little tingle rippling through me. "My hometown's Davenport. Yours?" I said.

"Rock Island. Just across the river from you. I'm Brett O'Connor."

Was I simply happy to see someone from close to home among the hundreds of strangers stranded at the airport, or had this man's sudden appearance and good looks rocked me a little?

I smiled. "Cindy Boyd. Why are you traveling on Thanksgiving Day?"

"I work for a marketing research firm. I travel about once a week. I always plan things so I'm home for weekends and holidays, but this time a snowstorm's fouled things up. It happens sometimes." He shot a glimpse at my ringless left hand. "You?"

"I've missed being home for Thanksgiving and Christmas for the last three years," I said. "I decided that had to stop."

"Good for you."

I explained that I worked for a large engineering firm In Chicago, at first an exciting and challenging job, but as I continued to climb the corporate ladder my work schedule had become more and more demanding, sometimes seventy hours a week.  "So I handed in a six-week's notice," I said. "I was going to tell everyone today—I've quite my job. I'm going to move back home. To my roots."

"Oh, wow," he said. "Quitting a good job  takes nerve."

"I've got a little money saved, I've got good contacts around home, I'll find something. Maybe I'll start my own consulting business."

"I admire you," he said. "I really do."

"I have an older sister who married her childhood sweetheart right after high school. They had two children right off—and I thought how foolish. Now I'm thinking how wonderful."

He nodded. "Funny how life changes your mind sometimes, isn't it?"

We both smiled. We laughed a lot as we chatted more about ourselves. We were both the same age. Thirty-five. He was an only child and wished he had a brother and a sister. He'd never been married.

"Me, either," I said.

"Simply haven't found the right person."

"I haven't had time to think about it," I said.

And then that man's voice droned again over the loud speaker telling us the snow was getting worse. No flights would be leaving until tomorrow morning. Every stranded passenger in the airport seemed to heave a giant, exasperated sigh.

"We're stuck," Brett said.

"Looks like it."

We both called home. Tears misted in my eyes when I told Mom I couldn't be there until tomorrow. She assured me there'd be plenty of leftovers. When I put my phone away, Brett's eyes met mine. My heart gave a little jolt. "How about having Thanksgiving dinner with me?" he said.

"In an airport? You're kidding."

He stood up. Held out his hand. "Hamburger? Fries? Milkshake?"

I smiled. I dropped my hand into his. His long fingers closed around mine as he firmly but gently pulled me up to my feet. That tingly feeling rippled through me again, more intense this time. "Sounds like a perfectly lovely Thanksgiving dinner," I said. Suddenly the snow and the delay—none of it mattered quite as much anymore.

The End
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