Christmas Owls in July (Ornamental Match Maker Series Book 19)

by Marlene Bierworth

  A tap sounded on the door and she called out, “Come in.”

  Trevor opened the door but did not close it behind him. He walked toward her, his glance taking in the stocking sitting unopened on her desk. She sighed.

  “Please, sit down, Mr. Dristoll.”

  He obliged, and their conversation took on the atmosphere of a business transaction. It was colder than most, for she’d always valued her ability to make potential clients feel that the Inn held the intimacy of a home-away-from-home, and the staff a gracious bunch full of a servant’s heart. But she feared crossing that line again with Trevor. She feared not being able to find her way back to sanity.

  They’d wrapped up the details when a voice sounded from the hallway. “You-hoo? Anyone here?” At the doorway, a woman stopped. “Ah, hah, the office.”

  The half closed door swung open at her knock and a middle-aged lady, dressed in a beige pantsuit with a blue striped blouse under her the jacket stood in the entranceway. Her face lit up, creating fine laughter lines that Angie instinctively knew was characteristic of this visitor. The woman immediately squealed at the sight of them and charged in, grabbing Trevor into a bear hug. Angie watched the tears pool in her eyes when Trevor responded with equal enthusiasm. He pushed her to arm’s length.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I was looking on the map, you know the one that hangs in your father’s study, and noticed that Pineville was a mere one hour flight from home. How could I resist the chance to see my boy?”

  Trevor cleared his throat and turned to me. “Angie, this is my mother, Sandra Dristoll. It appears she’s flown in for a family reunion, of sorts.”

  Sandra focused on Angie. “You would think a mother should not have to race across the miles for a visit with her son, now wouldn’t you? In my day… but you young ones don’t want to hear about my day.” She reached a hand of greeting to Angie. “So nice to meet you. My son has told me so much about you and the Inn. And he was perfectly right on both accounts. The owner is beautiful and charming, and Heritage Inn is a step back in time. I love it!”

  Angie took her hand and shook it. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Dristoll. Your son mentions you often.” When his mother looked questionably toward Trevor, Angie further explained. “Always respectful and full of love. I can tell you two are close.” Angie turned toward Trevor. “Why don’t you show her around after supper? I love visitors who appreciate the history of the place.”

  “I will, thank you. We’ve finished up our business then?”

  “Yes, I look forward to your return visit in September. At least you won’t have to deal with Christmas. We will start our fall emphasis.”

  “Oh, my, I love all the Christmas touches. It is my family’s favorite season – the birth of our Savior, the opportunities to share joy to the homeless community in our city, not to mention all the fun, magical stuff. Have you been enjoying a touch of Christmas in July, Son?” She asked with that mischievous twinkle in her eye as if she already knew the answer. It was a good thing because Trevor offered no response.

  “Your son struggles with the theme. He told me of your loss, Mrs. Dristoll. My condolences.” Angie felt she needed to address the issue to the dear woman but hoped the subject would drop there. Trevor saw to that.

  “Let’s be off. You can unpack and change for dinner,” said Trevor.

  Angie called out. “Mrs. Dristoll, I’ll have someone bring an extra bed to Trevor’s room. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a suite of your own but there is no more room at the Inn.”

  “No problem. This way, he won’t be able to run away from me.” Sandra laughed heartily and cast a backward glance in Angie’s direction. “And don’t worry about no room at the Inn. We all know how that story turned out so very long ago in Bethlehem. The miracle-maker is on the look-out.”

  Trevor took his mother’s arm in his and the two disappeared out the door. This time he closed it with a gentle click.

  Angie sat back down. Sandra added an interesting ingredient to the mix – lovable, but oozing with secretive twists of wisdom that left Angie uncomfortable. After Trevor told his mother of their discussions, would they put two and two together and demand answers from Angie that she didn’t want to give?

  The trip to Hawaii had been Jerrod’s last chance to come clean. The next step was a rehab center, with hopes that it might finally bring him over the hump. But that was history. Young Jerrod Parkinson had lost his chance at rehabilitation, and in a drunken stupor had taken his parents down with him. Now, the Dristoll family were added to her nightmare of faces. Would the past never give her rest?

  A tap sounded at the door and Charles peeked his head in. “Sorry, I was away from the desk for a moment. Is she a new guest or visiting Mr. Dristoll?”

  “It’s his mother,” said Angie.

  “What a pleasant surprise for all,” said Charles with a wink.

  “Sandra Dristoll will be rooming with her son. Have Sammy bring a cot to his suite.”

  Angie had unloaded on Charles yesterday, and to her surprise got no sympathy but a face-the-music kind of speech. In his opinion, they should make the connection and let the good Lord take it from there. Angie shut him down, believing she could sweep the mess under the rug, say her goodbyes at the end of the week, and never have to deal with being the source of further suffering in Trevor’s life.

  THE SECRET IS OUT

  The following day at lunch, Sandra stood in the dining room chatting up a storm with the guests who gathered. Close by, Trevor accepted humbly all the praise his mother spouted while attempting to quiet her zeal. When he caught Angie’s eye, his expression froze and if hate had a name at that moment, it would be Angie. Even though she’d skipped breakfast, suddenly her appetite left her and she yearned for nothing more than to high-tail-it-and-run from his glare. Sandra followed Trevor’s gaze and rushed over, every emotion, except hatred, spilling from her.

  “Dear, so nice to see you out from under your pile of work. I love Heritage Inn! So much to do and see here. I’m in awe of the old architecture. It’s everywhere, inside and out. Must admit the entire historical thing is a passion of mine. It must be grand living with the ghosts of the past.” While her face showed nothing derogatory, Trevor’s spit fire.

  “My family has owned this establishment for generations, so yes, Mrs. Dristoll, there are friendly ghosts reminding me of my heritage at every turn here in Heritage Inn.”

  Trevor spoke up. “We visited the north wing where you display your family tree, Miss Parkinson. Encouraging people to call you Angie is a tad self-serving, don’t you think? Sidesteps a multitude of questions I’m sure you’d rather not discuss.”

  Angie pictured the room, the generations of Parkinson’s, her immediate family included. Horror filled her. She hated that Trevor found out this way. She should have listened to Charles and came clean with the sordid tragedy. Probably, they’d recognized her brother, Jerrod, from photos released after the incident. The story made the front page in all the Hawaiian newspapers. Or perhaps his name alone triggered the connection. When she’d gone to the island to identify her family, Angie had steered clear of the other victims in the multi-car crash, their grief too heavy to shoulder alone. For even now, her heart longed to comfort the pain etched in Trevor’s face, but the horrid weight of it fed her impulsion to flee. No. This time she would not let fear override faith.

  When someone stole his mother’s attention, Angie sucked up all the bravery within, and whispered, “Trevor, we need to talk.”

  “You didn’t feel the need before, so why now?”

  “I need to tell my side of the story,” Angie said.

  “I’m not interested.” He’d barely uttered the words when Mrs. Dristoll was back in their conversation.

  “Of course, you are, dear.” She patted Angie’s arm. “My son is head-strong, like his father.”

  “Mother, mind your own business.”

  “You are all the business I have left, so ge
t used to it.” She glanced around the crowded room and leaned in closer. “Is there a quieter place where we can speak, Angie?”

  “I can have plates delivered to the west terrace.”

  “Perfect. You see to it then, and we’ll meet you there.” She hooked her arm firmly through her son’s, and added, “Both of us.”

  Angie went to the kitchen and asked a waitress to set up a secluded table for three on the terrace. She ambled toward the French doors, her feet dragging and her heart sagging with doubts that anything she said would change his heart. She dreaded the unavoidable confrontation and stood off to the side watching mother and son in deep dialogue. They leaned against the glass banister, gazing off toward the turbulent lake. She hoped the woman knew the magical formula to reach Trevor’s stubborn heart.

  Two people from the kitchen passed her on the way to the table at the far end. “Be just a minute, Angie. Dinner is on the way.” I felt bad about pulling the help from the busy kitchen while the majority of the guests gathered in the dining room for their meal. I inhaled a deep breath and headed for railing.

  “They are setting us up over there,” Angie said when she approached Trevor and his mother.

  “I’m not hungry,” said Trevor.

  “I’m famished and will eat your share. Come and sit like the gentleman you are.”

  Three wooden bowls of Cesar salad arrived, along with dinner plates of thick homemade lasagne with stringed green beans on the side, and garlic toast. The servers left, and they were alone.

  Sandra Dristoll took the lead. “Shall we say the blessing?” She nodded to Trevor, and he thanked God for the food, the hands that prepared it, and that the conversation around the table be God-honoring. Angie appreciated that last petition and clung to the hope that healing was in the wind for them all. Her hopes dashed with Trevor’s first comment.

  “So, Miss Parkinson, let’s get this charade over with. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Son, you promised.” The woman’s voice was sweet but held a strength I knew her son lacked at this moment.

  “For your mother’s benefit, I will start from the beginning. The entire reason my parents took my brother, Jerrod to Hawaii was a last ditch effort to reach an addict and turn him around. They figured a week of vacation to bond would help Jerrod see the importance of family, a unit so strong that no high from alcohol or drug compared – surely that would be enough. They were wrong. It fell on deaf ears. Jerrod ‘s addiction controlled him, so, from Hawaii my parents booked him in rehab for the first of the New Year.”

  Angie paused and looked at the faces around the table. Mrs. Dristoll’s smile was kind but Angie could see the pain behind it. Seven months was not a long time and no doubt she still grieved the loss of her husband. Trevor was staring at the scenery beyond her, avoiding eye contact. But she noted less strain in his face, like he was trying to understand.

  “Continue, dear, we’re listening,” said Sandra.

  “The plane was due to leave that evening, and my parents knew their mission in Hawaii had failed miserably. My dad went to Jerrod’s room to get his suitcase to pack in the rented car, and that’s when he discovered him gone. At the same time, police banged on the door, claiming someone identified Jerrod in a car-heist and witnessed him racing from the scene. When the officer left, my parents couldn’t stay put and wait. Knowing the make of the car he was driving, they joined the search. And after visiting a couple of so-called friends, they called me in despair. I tried to reassure them but they were so upset and I was so far away.”

  A sob choked off the words and Angie reached for her water glass. “That’s the last I talked to them.” Angie fell silent.

  A hand covered hers, and Angie glanced up behind teary eyes to meet the kindest blue eyes God had ever created. “My dear. Your grief is tripled. I have no idea how you keep your head above the water.”

  Angie gathered her strength and answered. “Mrs. Dristoll – my grief is not only tripled, but I pray constantly for the families that my brother’s irresponsible actions affected on that horrific day. Sometimes I feel like the waves will pull me under and not release me to breathe air. But that does not make my grief any more difficult than the ones who only lost one life. Tell me about your husband.” Angie dared to glance at Trevor and found him staring at her, unreadable but focused.

  Once Mrs. Dristoll started, there was no stopping her. From a quickie marriage to the success of Trevor’s birth after three miscarriages; From jobs, to family traditions; To the multiple homes they’d built together, and so much more in between. By the time she’d finished rambling, Angie and Trevor’s appetite had returned, and they’d wiped their plates clean. Sandra Dristoll had somehow replaced the gloom with an atmosphere of thanksgiving, and Angie suspected Trevor’s accusation of her dabbling in magic might be true.

  “Oh, I’ve talked so much my food has gone cold.”

  “Is that anything new, Mother?” Trevor glanced in Angie’s direction. “She is a chatterbox with a lot to say. But, today, I appreciated the rambling. It felt good to remember.”

  “I agree, Son.” Mrs. Dristoll slapped at his hand repeatedly. “Do you have anything to say to our hostess?”

  “I suppose I should apologize for assuming I had the corner on grief. We all suffered at the hands of a troubled boy, as you so kindly put it.”

  “You suppose! What kind of comment is that?” his mother yelled.

  Angie interrupted. “Perhaps it’s the best he can do at the moment, and I appreciate it, truly I do. You see Mrs. Dristoll, Trevor and I were on the verge of bringing our relationship one step closer when all this news cut through it like a knife through cold butter. So, for me, resolving this conflict is all about healing so we can both move forward as God leads. If not together, at least we’ll be ready when the next love-interest shows up, daring to invade our loneliness.”

  Trevor stood to his feet. “It goes without saying, Miss Parkinson, it will not be us. Thank you for dinner and the talk. I’ll be pulling my group out in two days. I’d like to spend some time with my mother before I leave.”

  “Certainly.” Angie watched Trevor walk away and her heart followed like a lost puppy. She’d dared to hope for so much more. But she was a survivor, and would undoubtedly bounce back.

  A soft hand rested on mine and squeezed my fingers. “You care for my son, don’t you?”

  Angie’s smile was weak. “I suppose I do. But the obstacles were set in cement long before he arrived at Heritage Inn.”

  The woman appeared to ponder something then threw all doubts to the wind. “Did my son tell you of the surprise gift he received from the North Pole?”

  “The North Pole?”

  “Yes. It was the strangest thing. A manila envelope with a Christmas ornament tucked inside. A cute little verse accompanied it but I can’t quite recall it to memory. Something about his counterpart waiting his arrival. Sounded wonderfully romantic to me, but Trevor laughed it off. He wasn’t even going to pack it, but I sneaked it into his luggage before he left. Just in case some Claus magic crossed his path.” A playful smile touched her lips.

  “And you consider our Christmas in July a possible match?”

  “Much more than that. Don’t you see? Both of you are wallowing in grief and blame you’ve no business entertaining. What better match than to heal the hurt before the magic of happy-ever-after kicks in?”

  Angie laughed. “You heard your son. There is no happy-ever-after at Heritage Inn.”

  “But he tells me he is returning – in September. Almost two months for two lost souls to experience the pain of separation. I believe you shall find that much more difficult to bear than hanging onto the misery of the past.”

  Angie remained quiet as the woman stood to her feet. “Thank you for dinner, dear. It was good – even cold – and the table-talk was an answer to a wife and mother’s prayer.”

  THE OWLS

  The next morning, while walking the beach, Angie heard gasping fr
om behind and turned to find Sandra Dristoll panting to catch up. Angie stopped and waited.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “I did. Trevor gave me the cozy queen bed and slept on the cot you sent up. He’s still snoozing. But I don’t think his restless night had anything to do with the state of his new mattress.”

  “Don’t rush him, Mrs. Dristoll. There is a time and season for everything, and God has a plan for his life.”

  “No doubt. But it’s a mother’s job to intervene.”

  “He is a grown man and will set his own timetable.”

  “Oh, you are far too sensible to be so young.” Sandra laughed. “I love it here. Do you have room for me to stay on for a few days after the bus pulls out? I’ve come all this way and find the air here refreshing. I suppose I needed a vacation as desperately as my son. And I love Christmas – despite the fact that my husband went home to heaven on the Eve of the best day of the year.”

  “I feel the same way. I wanted to wallow in misery and abandon the hope of the Good News that Jesus brought to mankind but discovered the line impossible to cross. Instead, I cling to it, as a vital link, knowing my parents would at least be pleased to see me overcome that stumbling block.”

  “About now, I’d like to knock my son up the side of his head. I’ve known you one day and I love you already.”

  Angie hugged the woman. “I will enjoy having you stay on for as long as you like. The next group will not fill the entire Inn, so you can stay in Trevor’s room.”

  “Splendid. Shall I leave you to walk alone? I don’t want to intrude,” Sandra asked.

  “Not at all. You must visit our town today. The shops are unique, and this entire month Christmas is in full swing.”

  “Don’t entice me. A month-long celebration is too much for an old woman to endure.”

  “You are far from an old woman.”

  “In age, yes. But I like to appear needy at times to keep Trevor on his toes.” After a moment of musing she spoke again. “The write-up in your brochure about the owls is interesting reading.”