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“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?”
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.
Honestly, Norah Wallace, what kind of example is this to set for your daughter? There’s her father out there saving the world and looking great doing it. Pull yourself together, girl. If you think he’s falling into memory land with every word out of your mouth, think again. It’s been five years—he’s moved on and until you saw him yesterday—so had you.
Spotting Izzy’s backpack, Norah rummaged through the contents, selecting items from her daughter’s portable cosmetics counter and laying them out on the counter next to the sink. She opened the small tube of toothpaste that nestled with equally small bottles of lotion and foundation in the required plastic sandwich bag to get them past security. She squirted toothpaste onto her index finger and scrubbed her teeth. Next she smeared lotion on her face and wiped it clean with a tissue from the pack in her own purse.
Better already, she thought as she leaned toward the mirror.
This wasn’t about impressing Tom or anyone else, she told herself. This was about taking pride in her appearance and setting an example for her daughter. It was about Izzy. Ever since the divorce her entire focus had been Izzy’s upbringing and well-being. And just because Tom Wallace had suddenly reappeared in the flesh—in all his gorgeous, charming, glory-oozing memories she thought she had long ago laid to rest—there was no reason to start acting like a teenager with a crush.
Chapter Four
Tom did a double take when he saw Norah emerge from the restroom. Patty was introducing him to the gate reps, but Tom could not take his eyes off Norah. The cap of black curls framed her subtly made-up face. She had tucked the rumpled green T-shirt firmly into the waistband of her black slacks—slacks now belted with the long, slim scarf he’d seen Izzy stuff inside her backpack as they boarded the plane the day before. Over her shoulders Norah had tied the shapeless black sweatshirt he thought he might recognize from when they were married. Only now the contrast between the black sleeves and the green shirt highlighted her blue-green eyes, making them seem luminous. The finished look was both casual and sophisticated.
“Excuse me,” Tom said to Patty and the others. “Wow, you clean up nice,” he said, moving close enough not to be heard by the others.
Norah smiled. “You know, Tom, we are really going to have to work on your compliment-giving skills,” she said as she walked past him toward the group. “Hello, I’m Norah Wallace and it would be great if some of you had the time to help me organize a day camp to keep the little ones entertained until we can all get out of here.”
Five or six of the reps raised their hands to volunteer.
“Excellent,” Norah said. “Let’s get started. Ideas?”
And with that she exited the room with her band of volunteers trailing after her. The rest of the gate reps turned their attention back to Tom and Patty.
“Okay, where were we?” Patty said. “Ah, yes, Thanksgiving dinner.”
The group had finally settled into serious planning for the holiday meal when Izzy burst into the room followed by seven tall, gangly male teenagers. “Where’s Mom?” she asked as soon as she spotted Tom.
“Out there organizing the day camp. I thought you were helping her.”
“Oh, right,” Isabella said, looking slightly abashed. “I kind of got caught up in something else.”
Tom turned his attention to the young people with Bella. “Hi, I’m Bella’s father, Tom Wallace.”
“Oh, sorry,” Isabella said as she quickly introduced the teens. “And that’s Mike. They’re with the basketball team I told you about?”
“Sorry about the tournament, guys,” Tom said. “So what’s going on?” he asked, turning his attention back to his daughter, who looked diminutive in the circle of giants.
“Well, we were talking about the day camp and you know how on the last night at summer camp we always do this talent show?” Mike explained.
Tom nodded but couldn’t ignore the fact that Bella was staring at Patty. He’d seen Isabella watching him the evening before after Norah had fallen asleep, and he—restless as always these days—had taken a chair some distance from Isabella and Norah where Patty was also fighting insomnia. He and Patty had connected immediately, exchanging war stories about their high-powered careers well into the night.
New girlfriend? Isabella’s look seemed to ask as she shifted her gaze to him, and for the first time since meeting Patty, Tom realized that she was a clone of every woman he’d dated and introduced Bella to over the years.
“This is Patty Martin,” he said including the basketball players in his introduction. “She’s the public relations director for Teen Town.” That got Bella’s attention. Teen Town was a popular media conglomerate with a glossy fashion magazine, a popular Web site and its own show on cable television.
“Cool,” one of the giants said and the others mumbled their support.
“Bella, why don’t you and your—committee—sit down with Patty here and map out a plan,” Tom suggested.
