The Red Gloves Collection (34 page)
T
HE IMAGE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE
.
Sarah was sitting straight up in bed, struggling to breathe, when suddenly she saw it as clearly as if it were happening there in the room before her. Only there was a problem. Sarah’s eyes were closed; she couldn’t possibly be seeing people standing before her.
The image was of Beth and a young man and a little girl, locked in an embrace not far from a Christmas tree. They were smiling and the look on their faces said much about the strength of their feelings for each other.
The picture was so strong, she opened her eyes and looked about the room.
God?
She couldn’t voice the words so she said them in her head.
Is it true? Are things okay with Beth? Did the story change her?
The answer resonated deep within her, and she knew what had happened. God had granted her the miracle she’d asked for. He’d allowed her to live long enough to tell her story, to pass on the miracle of “Sarah’s Song.” And in the process, the love between her and Sam would continue even after they were both dead and forgotten.
Sarah saw the image once more, Beth with her family, and she smiled. Then, in a sudden rush, she realized she could no longer draw a single breath. Again she tried, and again, until she realized what was happening. Her life was draining away, but she felt no urgency, no desire to press the panic button.
It was time to go home, and what better day than Christmas Eve.
The night of the greatest miracle of all.
The service was small, attended by Sarah’s children and several grandchildren.
Beth stood at the back next to Bobby, and when it was over, she found her way to Sarah’s daughter and introduced herself. “Here.” She held out the red gloves. “Your mother gave me these because I needed them.”
The woman recognized the gloves immediately, and took them, clearly grateful. “I wondered what happened to them. I found the tree and the ornaments, but not the gloves.”
“Yes.” Beth nodded. “She thought I needed them, and I did.” She glanced back at Bobby and shot him a sad smile over the small crowd. She looked at Sarah’s daughter again and sniffed. “I don’t need them; I understand the message now.” She paused, her throat thick. “I thought you’d want to keep them in the family.”
The woman had Sarah’s clear blue eyes. She hesitated for a moment. “Did she teach you the song?”
“Yes.”
A knowing look dawned in the woman’s expression. “Then … you’re the one.”
Beth lowered her brow, confused, and waited for the woman to explain herself.
“Last year at this time, I spent Christmas with Mother. She told me God was going to give her one more year, one more time to go through the twelve days and remember the story she and Dad had shared.” Sarah’s daughter blinked back tears, her chin quivering. “I asked her why she thought that and she told me someone out there needed a miracle. She was sure that if only that person would listen to the story, the miracle would happen, and a life would be changed forever.”
Beth was too choked up to speak. She hugged Sarah’s daughter and took a final look at the white casket and the spray of roses that covered it. On the way home she stared out the window. How good was God to give Sarah a reason to live an extra year? To let the miracle be hers, a miracle she had needed more than she’d known?
Suddenly an idea hit her.
She turned to Bobby and grinned. “Hey, let’s go home and make something.”
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a welcoming smile. “Make something?”
A giggle slipped from her lips and she gave him a playful shove. “Not that, silly.” She loved this, the way it felt to be with Bobby now. The two of them had found their way back to the beginning. She had shared Sarah’s story with him, and taught him the song. What had happened between them in four short days was beyond explanation, and together they were determined to hold on forever to what they’d found.
Bobby angled his head, his eyes on the road. “Okay, then what should we make?”
“Well… ” Beth bit her lip, and in the corner of her mind she could almost see Sarah smiling from heaven. “How about a dozen ornaments?”
To…
Donald, my Prince Charming
Kelsey, my precious daughter
Tyler, my beautiful song
Sean, my wonder boy
Josh, my tender tough guy
EJ, my chosen one
Austin, my miracle child
And God Almighty, the author of life, who has—for now—blessed me with these.
H
annah Roberts was late for lunch. Again.
Her backpack was on a roller board, and she pulled it as she darted down the hallway of the music wing at TJ Prep, a private school for kids in Washington, D.C.’s politically elite. Hannah had gone here since sixth grade. As a freshman, she knew her way through the halls as well as she knew her own house. She tore into the commons area and bolted by the glass-walled administrative offices, past the storied brick fountain at the front entrance. A bronze plaque read,
“Bethesda, Maryland, Welcomes You to Thomas Jefferson College Preparatory School for the Leaders of Tomorrow.”
No doubt about that. A number of politicians, lawyers, and international ambassadors had made their way through TJ Prep. Hannah didn’t care much about that. Right now all she wanted was lunch. If she hurried, she might still make it.
She burst through the lunchroom doors, her backpack flying along behind her. Several hundred students milled about, eating cheeseburgers and fries or sipping on pop cans while they caught up on the latest gossip. Most of the guys were gathered around a baseball game playing on the eight-foot flat-screen television at the center of the room. There was a line at the automatic teller machine in the corner, same as always, and a few stragglers remained at each of the food court windows.
There was still time.
Hannah tugged on her blue-plaid skirt and adjusted her white blouse as she rushed toward the Salad Sensation line. If she didn’t eat now, she wouldn’t have another chance until late that evening. Cheerleading practice went until five, and after that yearbook had a committee meeting until seven. By the time her driver picked her up, she’d barely have a minute for dinner before her dance instructor came at eight.
On her way to the salad window, two of her cheer-leading friends approached her. “Hannah, you’re so bomb!” Millie tapped her shoulder with her fingertips. “Where did you get that blouse? Bloorningdale’s?”
“Saks.” Hannah kept walking, but she smiled at her friends over her shoulder. “Save me a spot at the table.”
“Save you a spot?” Kathryn put her hands on her hips. “Lunch is over in nine minutes. You’ll never get here on time.”
“I know.” Hannah was next up. “Save me a spot anyway.”
The girls looked put out. They hated when Hannah stayed late in choir and missed most of lunch. But they shrugged off their frustration and returned to their table.
It took Hannah three minutes to get her salad, and then, still rushing, she joined her friends. “Okay,” she was out of breath. “What’s up?”
“You won’t believe it.” Millie leaned low over the table, her voice little more than a whisper. “Brian—you know Brian, the senior in my algebra class—he came by my house the other day.” She squealed. “Hannah, he wants to go out!”
“Really?” Hannah took a huge bite of salad. It didn’t keep her from talking. “I thought you couldn’t date a senior.”
“I can’t.” Millie grinned. “My parents think he’s a junior.”
“Yikes.” Hannah took another bite. “When they find out you’ll be grounded until summer.”
“So?” Millie made a brushing gesture with her hands. “My dad’s gone till then, anyway. He’ll never know.” She raised her shoulders a few times and glanced at the others. “Besides nothing ever happens when I’m grounded. My parents always forget about it.”
Kathryn finished her pop and pushed her can to the middle of the table. “My parents took my cell away, which stinks. Just because I’m getting a D in English.” She exhaled hard, and her frown became the beginning of a grin. “But at least I don’t get grounded.”
“Yeah.” Hannah took another two bites. She lived with her grandmother in The Colony, the enclave for D.C.’s wealthiest families. Whatever she wanted, she got. She could stay out late, date whomever, and she never lost her cell or her privileges. Not that she took advantage of the situation. She was too busy to get in trouble.
“You’re blowing me off tonight.” Kathryn plopped her elbows on the table and stared at Hannah. “You have yearbook.” She made a face. “Frank Givens in Biology told me.”
“Uh-oh.” Hannah downed another bite of salad and grabbed her Palm Pilot from her Coach purse. A few key taps and she had her schedule up. “Yep. Yearbook five to seven.” She would call for a ride after that. Her grandmother had a full-time driver, Buddy Bingo, a retired Navy guy. Buddy was available whenever Hannah needed him. She took another bite of salad and then scrolled down. “You’re right.” She looked up at Kathryn. “We were supposed to study.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Kathryn gave an exaggerated sigh. “We planned it a week ago.”
“I remember.” Hannah raked her hand through her thick, dark hair. “Give me a minute.” A few more taps on her Palm. “Okay, how about six-thirty tomorrow after cheer practice? Dance classes are at eight this week.” She found Kathryn’s eyes again. “That gives us ninety minutes.”
Before Kathryn could answer, two guys—a blond and a freckle-faced brunet—walked up. Both were juniors on the debate team, sons of senators. The blond took a step closer. He wore his usual cocky smile, the one that convinced so many of her friends to fall at his feet. “How’s TJ’s finest freshmen?”
“Well,” Hannah lowered her chin and raised her brow at the boy. She wasn’t interested, so why not have a little fun? “We’re
fantastic.”
She raised her voice above the conversations and clanking lunch trays in the cafeteria. In a school marked by money and madness, Hannah Roberts was one of the wealthiest, most prestigious girls on campus. There was no shortage of interested guys. “The question isn’t how are the finest freshmen, but why the jerky juniors care?”
“Nice.” The blond was unfazed. His grin crept a little higher into his cheeks. “Nothing gets to you, does it, Hannah Roberts?”
“Not much.” She gave a practiced little wave to the guys. “See you around.”
The bell rang before they could answer. The blond cocked his head. “Give me a call when you want a real man, Hannah.”
“Okay.” She took a long sip of water. “If I run across any, you’ll be the first to know.”
They walked away, Freckle Face laughing at Blondie. Hannah chuckled, took the last two bites of her salad, stood, and tossed the plate into the nearest trashcan. Millie and Kathryn took up their places on either side of her.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Millie’s eyes were wide. “That was Jaden Lanning!”
“So?” Hannah picked up her pace. “I can’t stand him.” She rolled her eyes. “He thinks he’s every girl’s gift. Besides, I don’t have time for guys.”
“You don’t have time for us, either.” Kathryn hugged her books to her chest. She was doing her best to keep up as they maneuvered their way through the halls to their next class—a speech course, the only one they all shared. Kathryn blew at a wisp of her bangs. “Ever think about slowing down?”
“Never.” Hannah’s answer was even quicker than her pace. “I like staying busy.”
“All right.” They reached the classroom door and Kathryn lowered her voice to a whisper. “I just wish I knew what you were running from.”
Hannah didn’t answer. Already the conversation was too close for comfort. She gave her friend a smile that said she was finished talking. Then she made her way to her desk.
Her speech today was on the challenges of international politics—a topic normally reserved for juniors and seniors. But Hannah handled it like a master, no trouble. She could’ve given the talk without a bit of research. International politics was her parents’ life.
A
fter school she led the cheerleaders in a new dance routine, one the cheer coach had asked her to create. “You’re a better dancer than me, Hannah. Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” Hannah had told her. Every challenge was a reason to keep going.
By five o’clock the squad had the dance down. Hannah grabbed her duffel bag and her roller backpack and sprinted across campus to the yearbook room. It was seven-thirty before she called Buddy for a ride. She must’ve looked exhausted because when he pulled up he gave her a worried frown.
“Runnin’ on empty again, Miss Hannah?” He caught her look in the rearview mirror.
“A little.” She smiled back.
Some days she spent more time talking to Buddy Bingo than anyone in her family. That wasn’t saying much. Most of the year, the mansion she lived in was empty, home to just her and her grandmother.
Her father was the U.S. ambassador to Sweden, a former senator well known in the highest political circles. Her mother kept his social calendar, but for the past year she’d worked some at the embassy, serving as liaison between Swedish bankers and various politicians on several key projects.
