Mikalo's Grace (18 page)

"Oh yeah," I said. "Three, four times a week.
I'd love to Skype, but he gets flustered and says he doesn't have
time for it."

"Has he mentioned anything about his family?"
Bill then asked.

"We don't discuss it. I mean, he doesn't
bring it up, so I don't ask."

"His brother closed one of the factories. A
large one that makes, oh, I don't know, concrete or metal or phones
or something.

"Anyway, it made the news over there that he
was trying to sell it off, so that's why he closed it and booted
everyone out. And we're talking maybe two, three thousand
workers.

"And your Mikalo stepped in, shamed him
publicly -- even on the nightly news, I think --, and went to court
to stop the closure, halt the sale, and then gave everyone their
jobs back at higher salaries."

I paused, quietly proud.

"Then it was definitely good for him to be
there. I made the right decision.

"Have you thought of going to visit him?" he
asked before taking a sip of water.

"Who has the time?"

"Yes, of course," he quickly said, putting
the glass down. "There's just way too much work to do."

He leaned forward, his elbows on the
table.

"Now listen, okay? You are going home. To
rest, to eat, to shop for Christmas presents, or just sit on your
ass and watch bad TV.

"But you are going home if that's the last
thing I do.

"And," he continued, "you may even take a
three day weekend."

He motioned for the check while fishing out
his wallet.

"Now go and get some sleep."

I stood and lifted my purse, slipping it over
my shoulder.

"Thank you, Bill."

"You need the rest, Ronan."

"No, no, no," I said. "Not for that. For
everything. Thank you for everything."

He shrugged.

"What are friends for, right?"

Chapter
Forty-Six

There was a package waiting on the stoop when
I came home.

Nothing fancy. A small box wrapped in brown
paper and tied with crude twine. No return address, my name written
in black marker on the top.

I didn't give it much thought as I unlocked
the door, closing it behind me, grateful for the warmth of home
after battling my way up Central Park West through the biting
wind.

I shrugged off my coat and then unwound the
scarf from my neck, tossing both on the nearby bench. I considered
kicking off my shoes, but, intrigued, I waited, curiosity getting
the better of me.

Holding the box, I opened the drawer of the
desk near the door and, scissors in hand, quickly cut the string,
ripping away the paper and popping off the top.

I reached inside and discovered a small jar
of soft, white sand.

"It is beautiful, no?"

The voice behind me was soft and deep, the
familiar tone kind and loving.

I froze, my heart in my throat.

Rein it in, Ronan. Keep your cool.

And do not cry, whatever you do.

"Yes," I responded, calm and cool, my eyes
still on the jar in my hand. "It is."

"And the sky, it is still blue, even with
these grey clouds, yes?"

God, I missed that voice, our phone calls
really not doing it justice.

"Oh absolutely," I said. "I promise the sky
will be a beautiful, clear, gorgeous blue in a few months."

I could feel him draw near, the scent of him
filling my nose as I breathed deep, the growing fear I was dreaming
distracting me from this miracle.

Finally, I turned.

I had to.

Had to make sure it was really happening.

It was.

Mikalo. Tanned. Gorgeous. Happy.

And here.

With me.

"What about your sun, Mikalo?" I asked, only
half teasing. "Won't you miss your sun?"

He now stood in front of me.

Wrapping his arms around me, he drew me
close, his face close to mine.

He kissed me. A quick, playful kiss followed
by a grin.

I smiled, relieved it was real and not some
delusion driven by overwork and loneliness, my doubt erased as I
finally allowed the happiness of having him here enter my
heart.

"Ah, there," he said, seeing my smile. "There
is my sun, my Grace."

He kissed me again.

"I am home."

###

Coming Soon

MIKALO'S FLAME