Winter Fun

"She skied right into the tree," one of the little boys standing over me said.

"You think she's dead?" the other little boy asked.

"Don't think so. Her eyelids are wiggly."

As I lay sprawled in the powdery snow, their voices seemed to come from far away, and as my eyes peeped open, the treetops spun beneath the bright sun. A man dressed in a fluorescent orange ski-patrol jacket stepped in font of the boys. "You all right, ma'am?"

I blinked and tried to focus my eyes. "I...I think so. My shoulder..."

"Looked like she was going to hit us," one of the little boys said. "But she ran right into the tree instead."

The ride down the hill on a snowmobile with my rescuer was a blur. Besides feeling humiliated, I ached all over, and I knew I'd totally ruined my weekend of winter fun. At the clinic, X-rays revealed no broken bones—luckily—only a separated shoulder. By mid-afternoon, my left arm in a sling, I sat curled in a big lounge chair in front of a leaping fire in the ski lodge's commons area. Things were quiet. Most people were skiing the slopes, enjoying the sunny winter weather.

I felt alone and a little depressed.

I'd looked forward to the challenge of learning to ski. Occasional skiers, my best friends Kathy and Terri had talked me into spending a weekend at Snowstar with them. We arrived Friday night. They hit the trails first thing this morning while I took lessons on the Bunny Hill before starting out on my own. My avoiding the two little boys and hitting a pine tree was my third time down a hill by myself. So much for winter fun.

I sensed someone had come up beside me. Glancing up, I looked into the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen. A man with a soft, easy smile and a head of curly brown hair offered me a mug of hot chocolate topped with a glob of marshmallow. "For me?"

He nodded and handed me the steaming mug. "I saw you sitting here alone. I'm the Ski Patrol guy who took you down the hill this morning."

"Thanks," I said, smiling. "For the ride and making sure I got to the clinic—and for the hot chocolate."

"All in a day's work." He pointed at my sling.

"Separated shoulder."

"Could've been worse. Painful?"

"Not too bad. I have to ice it when I can and keep it in a sling for a week or so."

While I sipped my chocolate, we chatted. Sam Cooper was his name. I told him mine, Holly Forbes. We discovered we were both twenty-seven, not dating, and we both lived in Harpersville, fifty miles away. He was a PE teacher at the high school. When I told him I was a dental technician, he smiled, his cheeks dimpling, and revealed perfectly white teeth. He said he loved skiing. On busy weekends, he volunteered to work with the ski patrol in the mornings and could ski for free in the afternoons.

Then he said he had to go. He'd promised to meet a few buddies for an afternoon ski. "Will you be around later?" he asked. "Perhaps we could dine together."

My heart suddenly skipped. "That would be nice."

Later in our condo, after I'd iced my shoulder and after Kathy and Terri dragged themselves in from the hills exhausted, I explained my day. They were sad for me—I'd separated my shoulder—and happy for me—I'd met a handsome young man. They said they were staying in tonight. They were exhausted. Their sore muscles screamed for hot showers and soft beds.

Sam and I dined on steak, a baked potato, and a tossed salad—he had to cut my steak for me. All the while, his easy smile warmed my heart, and oh how I wished I could ski with him tomorrow afternoon. You blew it, Holly!

When we finished our meal, Sam wiped his lips with a napkin and said, "I don't want to end this evening so soon."

"Me either," I said. "But I'm not exactly up for skiing in the moonlight."

"Skiing isn't the only winter fun around here."

"I'm not up for tobogganing, either."

"How about a hayrack ride?"

I blinked.

"The resort hosts one every Saturday night," he said.

"You're kidding?"

He smiled; my pulse spiked. "Supposed to be a giant moon out," he said. "You'll have to dress warm."

"I can do that."

At the condo, after Kathy and Terri helped me dress and I said goodbye to them, I stepped out into the cold, cloudless night. The smile on my face felt as big as the moon. A hayrack ride, a handsome young man who lived in my hometown, a separate shoulder—I couldn't imagine more winter fun than this.

The End

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Home for Thanksgiving

He was tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered—a big guy with a gentle smile. He'd called a half-hour ago. Now he stood on my front stoop in the snow.

My heart aching, I opened the door to let him in. I vaguely remembered him from high school. He played on the football team with my husband.

They became best friends in Afghanistan.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and this tall, handsome man—Noah Mitchell—was here to tell me what really happened to my husband eleven months ago on a lonely, sandy road in the moonlight seven thousand miles away.

After I hung up Noah's coat, he unwittingly sat in David's chair and tunneled his hand through is black, curly hair. While I sat across from him on the couch, each of us sipping a cup of coffee, he told me David's story in a steady, quite voice. Noah's eyes glistened with tears—mine, too. And my heart continued to ache. David, David—I miss you so. My tears fell.

 Finally Noah concluded with, "I just want you to know your husband was a good man. The best. A very brave man. He saved my life."

"Thank you." I wiped my eyes with a tissue, squared my shoulders, and tried to smile bravely, just like David would want me to. "But life goes on."

"That's the way I feel. I'm sure Dave would feel that way, too. He was a fun-loving, easy-going guy. He showed me your pictures. I was there once when you two Skyped."

Noah and I talked a bit about the holidays and how difficult it was for a person to get through them after losing a loved one. He said he was going back for a final tour in Afghanistan and was looking forward to being discharged from the Army next year.

 At the door, when he was ready to leave, he stopped, and fiddled with a button on his coat. "Would...would you mind if I wrote. You know...just to stay in touch?"

My heart lifted unexpectedly, and I felt a smile light my face. "Why, yes. Of course. I'd like that."

David and I had decided not to have kids until he was out of the Army. Then he wanted to become a fireman. My work as Web designer paid well enough, and my teaching computer classes three nights a week to the computer-challenged kept me busy.

I'd all but forgotten about Noah's asking if he could write me. But in February I got a letter from him. My heart skipped while I read it. He said he couldn't tell me what was going on in his world. His highlight of the month was showering and shaving last week. I wrote back and told him about my work and the snowy weather. Then a brilliant idea struck me: I sent him homemade cookies, bar soap, tooth paste and a tooth brush, shaving cream and razor blades. His next letter was an explosion of "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

That's when I started writing weekly, though Noah had time to write only every other week or so. I learned that his parents were elderly and though healthy lived in an assisted living facility here in town. He had no one else. His letters also revealed that no one was waiting for him back home. I told him I wasn't dating.

Eventually, I began thinking of him more and more. Guilt struck me. Is this right? Is it okay to have feelings for you deceased husband's wartime buddy?

One night when was I was feeling totally confused, I mentioned the situation to my mom when she called on the phone. You know what she said to me? She said, "You're twenty-eight years old, Allison. Life last only a minute. Live it."

I was delighted when in September David asked if we could Skype. Even across those thousands of miles, when I first saw his face on the screen, my heart lurched, and I pressed my fingers to his face.

In late October we had another chance to Skype. He beamed when he looked into the screen. "I'm being discharged in November."

"Wonderful!"

"Is it possible to miss someone you've only met once?" he asked.

I looked directly into his brown eyes. "Yes. Very possible, I think."

Then he cocked his head and smiled at me sideways. "How about a Thanksgiving day date? I'll be home."

His question totally startled me! I flushed. My pulse spiked. I gulped, and after I caught my breath I said. "I'd—love that."

Today's Thanksgiving Day. Turkey's in the oven at my house. My mom and dad have helped with the preparation. Any second now Noah and his folks will be here, all of us tremendously blessed on this day. Life goes on.

The End
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The Remedy

I felt sure my heart would never heal. But Aunt Phoebe, my mom's older sister, apparently thought she had a magic remedy.

When I stopped by her apartment for Sunday dinner, she said, "Emily, I'd like you to meet my friend and neighbor, Luke McAllister."

A tall, handsome, blonde young man with blue eyes and a surprised smile strolled from Aunt Phoebe's kitchen into the living room, wiping his hands on a towel. "Hi," he said. "Your aunt's drain in the kitchen sink was plugged." He cast a glance at Aunt Phoebe. "It's fine now. Wasn't much of anything."

"Hi," I said, trying to smile back. For Aunt Phoebe's sake. "I'm glad to meet you."
        "Luke's been such big help since he moved in," Aunt Phoebe said. "Carrying in my groceries. Replacing light bulbs in ceiling lights...and I don't know what all."

"Just little things," Luke said, looking sheepish.

"You two chat," Aunt Phoebe said, and scurried off. "I've got things to look after in the kitchen."

Luke's eyes lowered. I realized he probably felt as awkward as I did. "This is a setup," I told him.

He nodded. "Your aunt called about the drain. Then she asked me to stay for dinner. I said I really shouldn't. I didn't know..."

"That her niece would be here."

"Exactly."

I explained my mom and dad always had Aunt Phoebe and me over for Sunday dinner—a tradition for years—but when they went on vacation, like now, Aunt Phoebe did the honors, inviting me to her place.

Luke decided to stay—because of me, I'm not sure. I have to admit a tiny part of me was glad. Besides being quite handsome, Luke seemed down to earth and easy to talk to. We were both the same age, thirty-one. Like me, he'd never married. His job as the new city planner brought him to Longville. I wondered if like me, he suffered from a broken heart.

After we'd eaten and were finally talked out, Luke said he had to leave. He thanked Aunt Phoebe for her hospitality and a tremendous meal. Then he turned to me, smiled a beautiful smile, and said, "Maybe we can see each other again sometime...if that's all right."

His words unnerved me. This was the situation I'd successfully avoided for over a year now. "Um...I'm not dating," I said, my eyes dipping. "I'm sorry..."

He nodded. He seemed to understand. Gentleman that he was, he didn't pressure me. Strangely, I felt an unexpected twinge of sadness. He thanked Aunt Phoebe again, said it was nice to have meet me, and then bid us goodbye.

Aunt Phoebe turned on me immediately. "Emily, you should've said you'd be delighted to see him again. You should've given him your cell phone number."

"Not everyone's destined to find a perfect guy and have a perfect marriage like you had before Uncle Charlie died. Or a perfect marriage like Mom and Dad."

"Nonsense."

"I have a great job"—I'm a legal secretary—"and I'm happy by myself."

"Nonsense," Aunt Phoebe said again. "You think you're the only one who's ever been lied to and jilted."

"Of course not."

"Then listen to me."

Aunt Phoebe told me her high school sweetheart, Arthur, and she talked about marriage endlessly. But Korea happened. He went off to the Marines. She wrote to him every day. He wrote when he could. He came home a decorated hero and promptly married the daughter of the town banker. She'd be writing to him, too.

My mouth dropped open. "I had no idea. You never said anything. Mom didn't..."

"Of course not. Took awhile but I got over it. Like you should get over your disappointment."

"It was more than a disappointment. It was a betrayal."

"Emily dear, I opened my heart again—that's the remedy. Charlie and I found each other. We had fifty wonderful years together. Arthur's betrayal was a gift."

"A gift?"

"A gift. Do you understand that, Emily? A beautiful gift."

A half hour later, my heart hammering, I knocked on the door to Luke's apartment. The door opened; his eyes widened. "Emily—"

I tried to swallow. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Of course not." He stared at the foil-covered platter I cradled in the crook of my right arm.

"Leftovers," I said. "Aunt Phoebe insisted..."

"Come in," he said, beaming.

"Um...I don't mean to intrude."

"I'm watching TV." He took the platter from me.

"You're not intruding at all." His huge smile warmed my heart like it hadn't been warmed in a long while. "Please," he added. "I enjoy your company."

I stepped inside, he closed the door, and I realized Aunt Phoebe's remedy was already working its magic. 

The End 

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