by Leah Atwood
I breathed out a sigh. “Thanks. You look great, too, Ryan.” Tired, but handsome as ever. “Your hair’s getting a little long for the Army, isn’t it?” My teasing often disguises my true emotions, and Ryan understands that about me. Although longer than the regulation buzz cut, his hair is still short by civilian standards.
“Yes, but there’s no one around to cut it on a special mission.” He laughed under his breath. “I don’t trust the other guys to do it if I don’t want a whack job.”
His smile sobered. Ryan’s admiring gaze swept over my face. My future husband loved me with his eyes, making me feel heated even though he’s a world away.
“I’ve missed you a lot, Sass. Knowing I’d be talking to you tonight has been the most exciting thing in the last two weeks.” I don’t remember when or why Ryan started calling me Sass. He’s the only one who’s ever used that nickname, and I like it.
I knew Ryan wasn’t allowed to reveal anything about his missions, so I’d given up asking him a long time ago. I also knew enough to read between-the-lines. He was telling me his last mission had been uneventful. He appeared healthy, so that’s all I needed to know. Ryan’s always been more of a service-oriented man than a battle-focused soldier. Whatever he’s doing in Afghanistan must be to help others in some capacity.
“You say the sweetest things.” I twirled a lock of my hair around my index finger. “If your two weeks haven’t been exciting, that’s actually a good thing, considering where you are. Right?”
“You got it.” He watched me for a moment. “You’ve done that twisty thing with your hair since you were a toddler.” His voice held an edge of huskiness.
“I’ve only had hair long enough to twist since I was five. You know I was bald until I was almost three.” My mouth was dry, and I took a quick swig from my water bottle.
Ryan’s grin emerged, twisting my insides in a marvelous way. “I remember, but I thought that was the kind of thing I’m not supposed to remember.” As a kid, his laughter was infectious and fun. Now it’s deep and sexy, especially from my rugged soldier. There really is something about a military man, especially a man in uniform whom I happen to love madly.
“So, I’m making headway at The Beckett Agency,” I said. Beckett Larsen, the owner of the agency and my boss, is 70 years old and possesses one of the sharpest minds of anyone I’ve ever known. He consistently creates and executes highly successful advertising and marketing campaigns for clients all around the globe. A man who could sell the citizens of Cade’s Corner on a Vietnamese restaurant in the middle of the town square? Brilliant!
“That’s great to hear.” Ryan didn’t sound surprised. “Tell me more.” After twisting the cap off his water bottle, he took a long drink.
“You know how I told you he always thinks old school? That strategy works extremely well for him, but I think Beckett is catching on that I might actually have some valid ideas, even though I’m only a part-timer and a young pup.”
“And you thought you’d be fired before your second week. You’ve been there what—nine months? You’re obviously doing something right.”
“Almost ten months, actually. I make Beckett’s coffee the way he likes, so that’s in my favor. And he likes my shoes. Not in a perverted way, but he said his late wife, Babs, always loved her bright-colored high heels, too. So, knowing I have something in common with a dead woman is weirdly comforting in terms of job security.”
“You’re right, but I can see how it might be a positive career move.” Ryan raised his water bottle in a salute. “To Beckett and his beloved Babs. Great names, by the way.”
“Aren’t they? Maybe someday we’ll have little Sullivans running around with those names.”
“Beckett’s kind of cool and might grow on me, but I’m not sure about Babs.”
“Stands for Barbara. And until I’m chasing kiddos around all over the place, I love my heels. You know that.”
“I do. Just be careful in this cold weather.”
I smirked. “Don’t remind me. I’ve accepted my snow boots as a fact of life, and I’m being smart. No way am I hobbling down the aisle of the church on crutches to marry you.” I considered raising my foot to show him my heels but then decided against it.
After taking another drink from his water bottle, Ryan grinned. “I remember a pair of particularly memorable turquoise shoes you wore the night of Marnie Wilson’s wedding.”
Oh, yes. Those raw silk shoes, dyed to match my bridesmaid’s gown, had rubbed painful blisters on both my heels. The only reason I’d kept them on for the whole shindig was because Ryan said he loved them. That observation guaranteed I’d suffer to please my guy.
By the end of the evening, the burning on my heels was so painful, I could barely walk. Ryan swept me into his strong arms like a romance novel hero and carried me back to his truck, giving me a mini-lecture the entire way. Didn’t he understand I’d left on The Shoes of Torture for him? Men could be so clueless.
“That was the first foot massage you ever gave me.” Hmm. Maybe Ryan wasn’t so clueless after all, and I shouldn’t be quick to judge. Leaning my elbow on the desk, I rested my head on my propped fist. “I miss them.” Being on the receiving end of one of Ryan’s foot rubs ranked high on my list of favorite things in life.
“No more than I do,” Ryan said. “Soon. Not much longer.”
“I know. Can’t wait. You’ve always been very good at distracting me, be it foot massages or other things.”
Warmth rose in my cheeks as I pushed myself farther up in the chair. “You know, Ryan, Susie Martin was telling me about what she and Peter do when they Skype since he travels a lot for his job. What they…talk about.” I traced my finger in circles on the desk while I waited for him to respond.
In the middle of taking another long drink, Ryan grunted and twisted the cap back on his water bottle. “I can imagine. I hear it all the time around here.”
“It’s harmless, don’t you think? Susie didn’t give me any specifics, of course. I’m not talking about anything that crosses the line.”
Ryan leaned closer to the screen and beckoned with one finger. “Come here, baby. Closer to the screen.”
I did as he asked. “I’m listening.”
“Repeat after me. I will make the commitment. Say it, please,” he insisted when I said nothing.
“I will make the commitment.” I shook my head and sat back in the chair. “Shouldn’t I know what I’m committing to before I say those words?”
“I want us to pledge to one another that we won’t do—or say—anything that doesn’t glorify the Lord. First of all, Susie and Peter are married. That’s my point. Once we’re married, there will be plenty of time for that kind of talk. And other things.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Ryan’s shoulders lifted with his sigh. “It’s almost impossible for a guy to stop the thought process once he allows his mind to start down that path, Sass. Let’s not or we’ll both end up going crazy by the end of this conversation.” His tone had grown quiet with his last words.
How I admired the firm conviction in this man.
“You are such a good man, Ryan Joseph. Better a man than I am a woman.” I laughed when he winked. “You know what I mean.”
“I do. You’re a gorgeous woman, Eleanor Rose, and there’s nothing I want more than to marry you. But, like I said, until we’re married, I can’t go there and keep my sanity. It’s hard enough not being able to see you in person, not being able to touch you, and hold you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” His words thrilled me, but now I regretted bringing up the subject. My cheeks warmed and I squirmed on the chair, wondering if I should button my blouse to my neck. Good thing I hadn’t shown him my shoes.
“You haven’t upset me.” Ryan stared directly into the camera, his blue eyes luminous. “If anything, it makes me love you more. Now, I don’t think you finished what you wanted to tell me about your work at the ad agency. That seems like a safe topi
c. How about we go with that?”
I sat up straighter. “I proposed an idea for a new advertising campaign, and I think he liked it.”
“How could he not?” Ryan’s smile illuminated his entire face. It’s not just sweat or the heat in Afghanistan, either, but happiness and pride. In me. What have I done to deserve this man’s love?
After I told him about the campaign, Ryan proclaimed I was the most brilliant advertising whiz he knew. Then I brought the conversation around to the dinner on Friday night.
“I told Maura to bring Nick.”
As I knew it would, that comment got Ryan’s full attention. “Really? Good for you. Sounds like a plan. I’ve been suggesting the same thing to Nick for a few months now. Let me know how that goes. I’ll be curious to hear.”
“Of course. I hope you don’t mind that I’m not waiting until you come home. The holidays seemed the right time. You know how busy Nick and Maura are at the law office.”
“I don’t mind. You’re right. The holiday season puts people in a more festive frame of mind,” Ryan said. “Seize the moment.” He raised his water bottle again. “Carpe diem.”
“I’m doing my best.” Then I told Ryan about some of the happenings around town. Normal everyday stuff. The kinds of mundane things he told me he needed to hear because they helped establish his connection with home away from the harsh reality of war. Even though he hasn’t been involved in active combat from what I know—I shivered at the thought of it—Ryan has known a couple of guys killed in Afghanistan.
Next, I filled him in on the status of Perchance to Dream and told him about the last-minute wishes this year. We always end our Skype sessions by talking about our project. A bittersweet feeling overtakes me, knowing our conversation will soon end.
“I wish I could be there with you, Sass. To help with Perchance to Dream and everything else.” The regret in Ryan’s tone made my heart ache. But I also knew this: given a choice, Ryan would choose a hundred times over to be exactly where he was at that moment.
As we always do, we bowed our heads.
When Ryan closed our time of prayer a short time later, tears filled my eyes. “You’re exactly where you need to be right now, Ryan. Where you’re meant to be, serving God and others. You’re always with me. Right here.” I rested my hand over my heart.
“As you’re in mine, Ellie. Always.” Ryan’s smile fills me with longing.
“There will be many more years ahead for us to fulfill those children’s wishes together,” I said. “You know what my wish right now is, don’t you?”
“An Easy Bake Oven?”
Oh, yes. Ryan can always make me laugh.
Chapter 4
~~♥~~
Thursday, December 14
After leaving The Beckett Agency for the day, I greeted the staff at the only nursing home in Cade’s Corner. Some in town insisted on calling it a senior living center, a term I consider a misnomer. The woman I’d come to see—Cora Brown, my 93-year-old former neighbor (who lived on the street behind our house)—certainly isn’t enjoying much quality of life.
Cora suffered a stroke last year, and she’s been in a semi-conscious state ever since. The staff does the best they can for someone in her condition. Since Ryan’s deployment, I’ve visited Cora twice a week, if not more often. Usually, I stop by after work, but this afternoon and evening, I need to go on a shopping expedition in Cleveland to find the remaining toys and other items. I have my detailed list, along with store circulars, tucked inside my oversized tote bag.
“Hi, Ellie. Not long now until the wedding!” one of the ladies called from the hallway of Cora’s wing as I swung around the corner. “Have you talked with Ryan lately?”
“Last night as a matter of fact.” Stopping at the staff station, I placed a festive holiday tin on the counter. “We had a Skype session.”
“The technology you kids use these days boggles my old brain.” Trudy the Dietician’s brown eyes grew wide as she spied the tin. “What’s this?” A handful of other staffers gathered around her.
“Some cookies and fudge I made last night. To say thank you for all you do for Cora and the other residents here.” I enjoyed their enthusiasm as Trudy peeled away the wax paper separating the layers of sweets and sighed with appreciation. I always need to come down from the “high” of my Skype sessions with Ryan, and my restlessness often leads me into the kitchen to make something sweet.
“Ellie, you’re an angel of mercy,” one of the newer, younger workers said. “Just this morning, I was saying how I’d kill for some homemade frosted Christmas cookies.” Selecting a snowflake sugar cookie with light blue frosting and sprinkles, she bit into it and gave me a thumbs-up.
“And we told Carole that’s not the most advisable thing to say considering her line of work, not to mention where she works.” Trudy winked at the girl.
I smiled. “I’m sure you get a lot of holiday goodies at this time of year.”
“Not as many as you might think. These aren’t slice and bake cookies, either, but the real thing. I didn’t realize some of you young gals still bake from scratch.” That comment came from Patsy, one of the aides who regularly attended to Cora, as she reached into the tin. “Oh, ladies, she made both chocolate and peanut butter fudge. Thanks so much, Ellie.”
“You’re welcome, ladies. Enjoy in good health!” With a small wave, I headed down the immaculately clean, highly polished hallway to Room 365.
As I walked into Cora’s room, I lamented that my sweet, elderly friend couldn’t enjoy a piece of peanut butter fudge. That’s always been her favorite. My mom used to send me around the neighborhood with similar tins of holiday treats.
Cora is now fed through tubes. To my knowledge, she hasn’t left her bed since the stroke. Sometimes her eyes are open, but more often than not, they’re closed. On occasion, Cora will turn her head slightly or move her hand during my visits. In those moments, I’m almost convinced she hears me speaking to her.
“How are you today, Miss Cora?” I go through the same routine each time. After slipping my coat from my shoulders, I draped it over a chair and then pulled the other chair close to the bed.
“You’ve got a bit more color in your cheeks today.” That wasn’t exactly true, but on the off-chance she could hear me, I wanted to pay Cora a compliment. I figured God would forgive me for a white lie.
“Ryan’s coming home soon. Have I ever told you my Amelia Earhart story? No? Then I think that’ll be my story for today.”
No answer except for the hum of the machines. The sun peeked through filtered blinds, and I could hear the sounds of instrumental Christmas songs from the room across the hall. One of the staff members had strung up a strand of colorful twinkling lights on the side wall. A wedding photo of Cora and her husband, Ronnie, sat on top of a small bureau. A second photo showed Cora holding their only child, a daughter named Beatrice. A daughter who lived in another state—Minnesota, I think—and only sent the occasional card.
Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone deserves to be valued.
Even if Beatrice never contacted her mother, I would be here for Cora.
And with that thought, I began today’s story.
~~♥~~
Not long after I turned twelve, Ryan rode his bike past my house one day in mid-June. I sat on the front step, reading. Because of all the time spent inside during the cold months, I’d developed a love of reading that carried over into the warmer months. I had my nose stuck in a book more often than not and enjoyed the different worlds it opened to me.
Ryan raised his hand as he sped past my house. That boy always rode too fast. At the end of the street, he did a one-eighty and speed-pedaled back to our front yard. Jumping off his bike, he lowered it to the ground with care.
“Hey.” He plopped down on the step beside me. “What are you reading?”
“Hey, yourself. A biography of Amelia Earhart. She’s a personal heroine of mine.”
“Yeah. Sad what happened to her,
though.” He shrugged. “Adds to the mystery, I guess.”
“Like your fascination with the Titanic.” Setting my book aside, I propped my knees on the front step and wrapped my arms around them. “Think of all Amelia accomplished, Ryan. She had such a sense of adventure and was a pioneer in aviation. Ahead of her time, they say. She wrote books and was independent and super intelligent. Not that I ever hope to be famous, but I want to do something—even if it’s just one little thing—to impact someone else’s life for good. Make a difference, you know?”
Ryan stretched out his legs. “I’m sure you will, Sass.”
“Thanks.” I felt warmth rise in my cheeks at his unexpected compliment. “Do you think it’s something about the tragic nature of Amelia’s story that makes it so appealing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You mean like the element of the unknown, something like that?”
“Right. Sad stories get people’s attention, I know that much.”
“It’s like that wreck over on Main Street last year,” Ryan said. “Remember how everybody came running outside to see what happened? It was exciting in a weird way since things are always so quiet here.”
Cade’s Corner rarely had anything more than a fender bender, but that accident had been pretty serious. No one died, thankfully, but the townspeople blamed it on the folks from out-of-town speeding through the center of town. They’d narrowly avoided hitting Manfred Jones, one of the town’s citizens and one-time mayor, as he’d crossed the street against the light, as usual. Everyone in town knew of Manfred’s penchant for jaywalking, but the ones passing through swerved to avoid him and crashed into a lamppost, bringing it crashing down on their car, shattering their windshield. People still claimed they found tiny shards of glass on the street.
I shot Ryan a sharp glance. “Are you saying Cade’s Corner is boring?”
“No. I don’t think it is, but you know what I mean. It gives them something to talk about.”
“I suppose so.” I blew out a sigh. “When bad things happen to people, I’d like to rewrite their stories. Give them their happy ending.”