Mistletoe Reunion

“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?”