Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) (25 page)

“Don’t let the death of your family rob you of what God has or will do in your life,” she said.

It’s
like
she
is
reading
my
thoughts
.
Who
is
this
woman
?

She looked up into the sky, the brim of her hat flapping in the wind. “Trust me, there will be many more dark clouds ahead. But God will give you the grace you need to make it through each day, just as He has shown you mercy in regard to your past mistakes.”

A strong gust of wind caused the woman to grab her hat, stopping it from blowing off her head.

She continued, “Just as there are dark clouds above us now doesn’t mean the bright blue sky is forever gone. This too shall pass. You must keep looking up…beyond this world. If you do, you will find a new strength, a fresh peace, and a lasting hope.”

Her words lifted his spirit. Knowing Keri and the children were at peace was satisfying, but for the moment, his grief was the anchor that kept him harbored and unwilling to face seas of uncertainty.

“Grieve as long as you need, but remember…don’t grieve for them; they are at peace.”

How
does
she
do
that
?
Every
time
I
think
something
,
she
acts
like
she
hears
it
.

Lightning flashed.

One
…
two
.

A crash of thunder followed quickly.

“Wow! We’d better take cover before we get drenched,” she said, holding tight to her hat.

Lightning flashed again, followed quickly by a crack and the rumble of thunder. The storm began not with a sprinkle or drizzle but with a sudden downpour. Torrents of rain fell as though a dam had been breached in the sky.

“I enjoyed talking with you,” he said, as he turned and hurried down the brick pathway to his car.

“Me, too,” the woman said, moving quickly in the opposite direction holding tight to her hat.

Ryan stopped, forgetting the rain, and called out to the woman, “You never told me your name!”

She called back, “My name is Peggy, but my people call me Hope!”

My
people
?

By the time he made it to his car, he was soaked down to his socks. He sat in the car sopping wet, while hard-driving rain clattered against the windshield and streamed down the glass. Looking through the distorted lens of water, he searched for Peggy, but she had vanished in the maze of tombstones and mausoleums.

Am
I
dreaming
?

His wet body was all the proof he needed to dispel the thought of being trapped in a dream.

It
was
like
she
could
read
my
thoughts
…
and
those
eyes
…
that
feeling
I
had
when
I
looked
into
her
eyes
was
unreal
.

Suddenly, something she had said popped into his head, as if she had sent a follow-up subliminal text message to his brain: “Because of mercy, the errors of your past have been erased, as though they never happened.”

Did
she
mean
God’s
mercy
,
or
was
she
talking
about
“
Mercy
”…
John’s
wife
?
The
woman
he
now
believed
to
be
his
Angel
from
Starbucks
?

He started the car and looked out toward Keri’s gravesite. He remembered the last line in the note Keri had written him and slipped into his shirt pocket the night she broke up with him on their last date, years ago—the night before he left for the Academy:

Promise
me
that
you
will
never
lose
hope
in
tomorrow
.

Hope surged into his spirit with a force more powerful than the deluge that poured over the cemetery. He smiled.

“Keri, hang on…I’m coming.”

CHAPTER 36

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
morning
—
June
14
,
2003

Ryan waited in the lobby for John. At exactly 11:00 a.m. his black Lexus pulled under the awning at the DoubleTree.

“How was your flight to Dothan,” Ryan said.

“I thought about you after we took off.”

“Are you talking about the storm?”

“Yes, what a monster! The line extended as far south as Montgomery. Did you make it to the cemetery before the bottom dropped out?”

“Yeah…barely. I had about thirty minutes before I got drenched.”

As they talked, Ryan noticed John had turned from Peachtree onto West Paces Ferry headed in the direction of one of the city’s most prestigious residential areas. With impressive mansions—including the Governor of Georgia—and gently curving streets lined with giant, oak trees, the area boasts picturesque Southern charm and a quiet elegance that stood apart from the bustling Uptown neighborhoods only minutes away.

“Do you live down here?” Ryan said.

“It’s not too far. We should be home in less than ten minutes. Like I told you, I drive right by the DoubleTree on my way from the airport.”

Ryan knew the area well. If John lived “not too far” from where they were, he, no doubt, lived in a mansion. All the homes on West Paces Ferry started at over a million and went as high as twenty million, and those on the side streets were just as pricy. Keri grew up a few blocks from their location on Habersham Road. Pace Academy, where she and Ryan had first met and where all the elite send their children, was only minutes away.

How
can
he
afford
to
live
in
this
neighborhood
?

Sitting quietly, he waited to see if John would turn into a gated driveway of one of the mega-homes on Paces Ferry or head down one of the side streets. Just as Ryan spotted the street sign for Habersham, John slowed and turned.

“Do you live on Habersham?”

“Ryan, do you remember where Mr. Hart lived?”

“Of course I do. It’s right there….”

John slowed and turned into the driveway of Keri’s old family home. Ryan looked over at John. “Don’t tell me…”

“Yep…welcome home.”

“How is this possible?”

“All a part of Mr. Hart’s plan. Mercy Flight, Inc. owns the house, and we live here rent free.”

“Unbelievable. I can’t wait to hear this story.”

John rolled through the open, iron gate and up the long drive that cut across a perfectly manicured lawn beneath towering oaks and magnolias. He maneuvered the Lexus around the circular drive and parked in front of the house. “I’ll explain more later, but first, let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to the family.”

Exiting the car, Ryan noticed a large, four-door Mercedes sedan parked in the garage. It was presumably the same car he had passed on his way to the Mercy Flight hangar, and more-than-likely, the same Mercedes he had seen Angel driving at Starbucks—something he would know for certain in a matter of minutes.

Ryan followed John into the massive foyer. “Honey, we’re home!” John called out. “I want you to come meet Ryan.”

He heard footsteps on the hardwood floor leading from the kitchen just before John’s wife, Mercy, appeared.

John said, “Honey, I want you to meet Ryan Mitchell.”

CHAPTER 37

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
morning
—
June
14
,
2003

Ryan’s heart skipped and sputtered then jolted into overdrive, pumping blood through his veins like a race horse in the final stretch at Churchill Downs.

It’s
her
!
It’s
my
Angel
!

His ears grew hot. His throat tightened; the part of his brain responsible for speech froze.

What
do
I
say
?
Do
I
tell
her
how
excited
I
am
to
finally
find
her
?
Do
I
hug
her
,
thank
her
,
and
tell
her
how
desperately
I
need
her
to
send
me
back
in
time
so
I
can
change
things
—
make
everything
right
?

As she approached, her eyes offered the welcomed look of a close friend he’d not seen for some time. She extended her hand and said, “Ryan…yes! I remember you from Starbucks. You’re the one who asked me about my perfume.”

“Oh…yeah…that’s right, now I remember,” he said, trying to contain any embarrassing outburst of exuberance. He took her extended hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, holding back his many questions…like caged animals in his mind, clawing at his emotions to be unleashed.

He stepped close and instinctively inhaled deeply, searching for the sweet fragrance of the familiar
Angel
perfume.

Nothing.

“What a coincidence,” John said. “How nice you two have already met.”

“Yes, and I’ll never forget how Ryan was the perfect gentleman,” she said. “When he first saw me with my tray of coffees, he literally rushed to open the door for me.”

John said, “We all look forward to our weekend coffee, don’t we, dear? It’s something we do when the family is together…sort of a tradition.”

‘
When
the
family
is
together
.
’
Now
it
all
makes
sense
!
When
I
first
met
her
,
she
said
her
relatives
were
visiting
from
Alabama
.

At that moment, the rest of the family entered the foyer. “Ryan, you know Michael,” John said. “And this is my daughter, Susan, and her husband, Ronald.”

“Yes, I know Michael.” He shook Michael’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Susan…and Ronald.” He shook their hands.

“Ryan,” Mercy said, “we are happy you joined us for Father’s Day.” Empathy formed on her face. “We are also very sorry for your loss and want you to know how much we love you. You are like family to us.”

“Thank you, Mercy…”

“Call me Angel.”

“Certainly…Angel.”

Angel said, “Consider our home your home, and don’t hesitate to ask for anything…and I mean
anything
.”

“We’ve already covered that rule,” John said. “I think Ryan understands.”

“Yes, John has made certain I understand the meaning of ‘anything’.”

As the shock of meeting Angel began to subside, memories flooded into his thoughts—memories of when he and Keri stood in the exact same spot where he stood. He glanced at the stairway. He imagined her coming down the stairs, wearing something cute, her hair rolled, and a smile stretching from ear to ear. He was always a little nervous at the first sight of her, cherishing every minute they had together, and never wanting their dates to end.

The master bedroom where Ronald and Barbara slept was on the first floor. Keri had the entire upstairs to herself—more than three thousand square feet.

“Michael, come help me grab the bags from the car,” John said.

Ryan moved toward the door.

“No, you stay here,” John said. “Angel, take Ryan to the kitchen and see if you can find him something cold to drink. I’m sure he is parched.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” she said. Angel took Ryan by the hand. “Come with me.”

The large kitchen had been remodeled since he had last seen it—many years ago, but it still had a certain familiarity that brought back more memories.

“Would like some green tea lemonade?” she said. “I have a special recipe we all love.”

“Sounds good.”

Angel filled a red kettle with water and put it on the stove. “I think you’ll like it. Have a seat. It’ll only take a minute to make.”

He watched her move about the kitchen with grace and ease. She took a box of tea bags and a jar of honey from the pantry, pulled two glasses and a small pitcher from the cabinet, and four lemons from the refrigerator. When the kettle whistled, she flipped off the eye on the stove. She then filled the pitcher with hot water, hung four tea bags on the rim, squeezed the juice from four lemons in the water—adding the lemon slices—then stirred honey into the mixture. While the tea steeped, she added ice cubes to the glasses. She then filled the glasses with tea.

“There you go,” she said, handing him a chilled glass of tea.

He took a sip. “Very good…not too sweet. I like it.”

“I thought you would.” She joined him at the kitchen table.

Since he had last seen Angel, he had grown to know her in ways she was not aware—in ways that could only be the work of a masterful dream maker. Although she had never spoken with him outside of their two casual encounters at Starbucks, she had been very outspoken in his dream at Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta where he first saw the grave markers of Keri, David, and Martha.

As he stood in shock, staring at the markers of his beloved family, she had said, “There can be no growth in your life without change. And there is no change without loss. There is no loss without pain.”

Ever since, it puzzled him how such words originated from his thoughts, as all thoughts do within dreams.

Sitting across from him at the table, she smiled and said, “It looks like you are deep in thought.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Fire away…we’re family,” she said, taking a sip of tea.

“When you think of your past, do you ever wish you could go back and change anything?”