Mistletoe Reunion

“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.