Anna Schmidt - Mistletoe Reunion

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.