“Yes, he did. And in a way, I think he found himself. You’ve been his inspiration for quite some time.”
“Then why do we fight like we do? Just this week he sabotaged my story—” She paused. “Well, I thought he did.”
“We suspect he’s been a little overwhelmed by the situation and afraid of this inexplicable pull he has to you. We’re sure he didn’t want to come across as a stalker.”
She let her boots sink further into the sand. “Well, I wish he would’ve had the courage to reveal himself a long time ago. We’ve done a lot of fighting this year.”
Bruce reached for her arm. “Shall we?” He guided her slowly down the boardwalk, but it was no longer the familiar wooden walkway.
They were inside a building. “Looks like you have a visitor over there.” He pointed to a red bench where another old man sat, holding a small Christmas tree. A collie lay at his feet.
“Grandpa Turner!” Amanda ran over to the bench.
“Amanda.” Grandpa Jim Turner stood and embraced her. “You gave Betty, Bruce, and me quite the scare. Come sit with me.” He motioned for her to join him on the bench.
The bench was familiar. “I think I sat on this exact same bench just yesterday. Are we at the hospital?”
Both men nodded.
“I met this man named George. We chatted for a bit.” She glanced up at Bruce. “He told me to tell you that he and Mary said hi.”
“Aw, George. He and Mary do such great work for us down there.”
“Down there?” Amanda asked.
“I’m going to leave you two to catch up,” Bruce said and headed into the fog.
Why did her grandparents keep disappearing like that? They’d have to tell her what was going on eventually, wouldn’t they?
She bent down and petted the tan collie. “Is this Charlie? Grandma Turner told the story yesterday all about how you proposed to her with a Christmas tree. Pretty romantic,” she teased.
“Yes, your grandmother could never turn down a good man with a nice trunk,” he chuckled.
She giggled. Her Grandpa Turner had always been a dirty old man. “So I’m going to assume you know Tate, too?”
“Fine young man. A bit of a putz, though.”
“I know, right?” She nodded. Finally, someone who saw Tate like she did. Leaning back on the bench, she looked around. They were definitely on the first floor of the hospital. “Okay, so if we’re going with the Christmas Carol theme, I’ve seen Tate’s and my past. Will you be showing me our present or future?”
Her grandfather stood and motioned for her to follow him. They walked down a long hallway and turned into a white, sterile room. The fog was even inside the hospital, making it difficult to see where they were going. Her grandpa led them to a room and opened the door.
She froze in horror.
Her family and Tate were huddled around a bed. There was a body hooked up to an IV machine. “Oh my God. Is that me in the bed?”
“Afraid so, pumpkin.” Grandpa Turner walked over and placed his hands on her Grandmother Turner’s shoulders. Her grandmother reached up into the air, touching the exact spot where his hands were. “I’ve been practicing that move with her for years. I think she finally senses that I’m always with her.”
Tate sat hunched over, inches from Amanda’s motionless body. He held her limp hand in his. “Jack, Diane, could I have a moment in private with your daughter?” he asked her parents, not taking his eyes off her lifeless body.
“His beautiful blue eyes, they’re so dark,” Amanda muttered. “What happened to me, Grandpa?” Tears were starting to well in her eyes. “Was there an accident? Why am I here?”
“Well, it seems both Tate and you have a propensity to get hit by cars. This time an SUV skidded on a patch of black ice. It hit you very hard, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes widened. “No! Last night? I don’t remember being in an accident.”
She remembered standing in the middle of the road and screaming at Tate. There were also bright lights. “This has to be a dream.” She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, Tate was the only one left in the room with her body. He hadn’t left her side.
He pulled her hand gently to his lips and kissed it. “Well, Ace. What a year it has been since that bus ride.”
“What is he doing? Grandpa, is he saying goodbye to me?”
Tate continued. “I want to thank you. I was floundering, so afraid to finally meet you—and then when I did, I was too afraid to tell you that I loved you. I never thought I was good enough to be in your life. The way I acted when we first met on that cold Christmas Eve night . . . But you saw past my stupidity. You gave me a reason to . . .”
He stopped. Amanda could tell he was choking back tears. “To become the man you knew I’d grow up to be. You were my first kiss. You. Not Melanie. I love you, Amanda.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lucky charm. Slipping the shiny rock in her palm, he closed her hand and leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “We will have Christmas dinner together one day.”
Amanda looked down. She couldn’t bear to see him in so much pain. The buff tabby had suddenly appeared and was twisting its fury body through her legs. She gently scooped up the kitty. Her Grandma and Grandpa Thompson had joined them in the hospital room.
She knew in her heart exactly where she was. “My sweet, sweet Sydney,” she said, kissing her cat who had passed away ten years ago. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“She’s missed you, too,” her grandmother said.
“That’s not fog out there, is it?” Amanda asked.
“No, it’s not. They’re clouds,” Grandpa Thompson answered. “We’re way above them.”
“Am I dead?”
Her grandmother put her arm around her. “No, dear. You’re in a coma.”
She sighed and glanced over at her body, hanging on to life. “Am I going to make it?”
A few seconds went past. Her grandmother broke the silence. “Your injuries are pretty severe. We were surprised by the news that you would be visiting us. We got our letter last month saying you would be arriving soon.”
“Letter?”
“That’s how the angels share the news about who will be next to join us. It gives families time to accept what is going to happen and prepare for the imminent arrival of their loved one.”
“Really? What did it say?”
She pulled out a velvet white envelope from her apron and handed it to Amanda.
Amanda gingerly opened the envelope, pulling out the matching velvet white paper.
Silver cursive words stated that Amanda Noel Turner would be arriving on December 24 at 11:42 P.M. The outside of the envelope was addressed to Bruce and Betty Thompson and dated November 24.
“We’ve never received a letter. We were quite shocked to learn that it was you who would be the first in your family to join us,” Grandpa Thompson said.
“It broke our hearts to read you would be here for Christmas dinner.” Her grandmother touched her arm.
“Christmas dinner,” she repeated. Her eyes rested on the rock Tate had placed in her dying body’s hand. Tate’s special rock that now read Xmas Dinner.
This connection to him, and his link to her mortality, was just too much for her to take. “I’ve missed all of you so much.” She took a few seconds to look in the eyes of each grandparent. “But I don’t think I can stay for Christmas dinner. Not this year.”
Grandmother Thompson was the first to speak. “We know. We thought your stay would be permanent, but as you can see . . .” She motioned to the bed. “You’re quite the fighter.”
“Fighter? Is this the present or future? How long have I been in a coma?”
“Three weeks.”