by Richard McCuistian

 The sky was darkening that brisk winter afternoon and everything seemed so gray that Mel wondered if he had driven out of reality and into an old movie.  The only color that broke the monotony of the cold gray twilight came from lonesome strings of Christmas bulbs lining some of the country porches. Interesting little farmhouses with wooden, cone roofed grain silos kept sliding by. Faded old tractors and their odd accouterments were parked next to picturesque, unpainted tin-roofed wooden barns.  Most of the little farms seemed fairly well kept.  Occasionally Mel would see folks moving about their business as he went whipping by, but some of the old homesteads appeared to be deserted, with weeds growing around the porches and sheets of rusty tin curling back, loosened and distorted by some all but forgotten windstorm.  The abandoned farmhouses were in various stages of deterioration. 

Mel had obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere, and now he was driving fast, much faster than he should, hoping to come upon a marked intersection with highway numbers he could recognize, but as far as he could tell, this country byway wasn’t even on his map.  He had considered turning around to retrace his path, but he didn’t want to lose the time it would take to do that, and he was halfway convinced he might miss a turn going the other way and get lost even worse.  His boss would be particularly disgruntled if he didn’t make it to the next factory outlet realignment meeting, and now he was driving like blue blazes on Christmas Eve so he could be sitting a conference table with the local executives on the twenty-sixth.  And in spite of Mel’s desire to drown his Christmas sorrow in his work, the impending Yuletide had launched mental rewind of his life up to this point, which was how he had managed to get so hopelessly lost. 
His daughter Summer would be turning six tomorrow and he hadn’t seen her since she was two.  Summer and Mel’s wife Jesse had disappeared four years earlier, and he couldn’t imagine where they might have gone, let alone where they were now.  The marriage had never been as strong as it should have been, but as many times as he relived those turbulent years, Mel really couldn’t imagine how he could have done anything to change the outcome. 

Jesse would be fine for weeks on end, but every so often she would spiral into a listless, angry period of fierce depression that would last for days.  It was during those awful times that she kept threatening to disappear or to commit suicide, and a gloomy cloud of dread soon replaced the early joy of their new marriage. Jesse was so hostile sometimes that Mel absolutely hated going home. Be that as it may, he had loved his wife and daughter the best way he knew how, and he had remained faithful. 
Mel’s group insurance plan had spent thousands of dollars on one specialist after another. No doctor or psychiatrist had been able to figure out why Jesse kept having those awful bouts with depression and no medication or therapy had done any good. “Neurosis” seemed to Mel an ugly term, a nice way of saying his lovely wife was mentally ill.  Sometimes he wondered if she were demon-possessed, but then, that would only be possible if she weren’t a child of God.  He had read somewhere that Christians can be oppressed by demons without actually being possessed, but no amount of prayer had wrought the much needed change in Jesse’s condition either.  He did what he could to love her and provide a good living, which was one thing Mel had always been able to do.  He seemed to have the Midas touch when it came to business management, and they never had any financial problems at all.

Finally, Jesse shattered Mel’s dreams of future bliss by filing for divorce.  But before the papers could be finalized, Jesse discovered she was pregnant. The unexpected turn of events lifted Jesse’s spirits and gave Mel new hope. Jesse had always wanted a child. They decided to give things one more try, and the divorce papers were filed away unsigned under some old clothes in a dresser drawer. 

Summer had been born on Christmas day, and her first year of life had actually brought Mel and Jesse closer together and closer to God. It had seemed for a while as if their marriage would survive after all.

Little Summer was healthy and strong, with strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and she was absolutely amazing.  She was toddling at seven months, and by the time another three months had passed, she had more manual dexterity and was able to run faster than most two-year-olds. 

By the time Christmas came again, little Summer was speaking with a diction that was surprisingly clear, and at eighteen months she could count to twenty. Every new day brought another astounding discovery, and Mel thanked God on a regular basis for Jesse and the gifted child God had given them.  Jesse hadn’t had a bout of depression since Summer was born, and their home had never been happier.
He should have known it was all too good to be true.  Mel had tried to hug Jesse one morning the way he always did on his way out the door, but she had pulled away, and he could tell by the strange gleam in her eyes that the old demons of depression had returned.  He had come home that awful evening to find the divorce papers they had buried thirty six months earlier lying in the middle of the kitchen table with Jesse’s name scrawled on the bottom line.  There was no note, no opportunity for discussion or appeal, and no chance to hug and kiss his beautiful little Summer goodbye.  Worst of all, there was no clue as to where Jesse  might have gone.  She had emptied her checking account and left for parts unknown, and she had no family anywhere that Mel was aware of. 

Jesse’s mother had died when she was born and her father drank himself to death when she was just a baby.  She had grown up in foster homes and left the last one a few days before she turned eighteen.  She was a vivacious twenty-five-year-old and working as a waitress at a coffee shop when Mel met her.  He remembered what a pretty waitress she had been, bustling around in her striped dress with her apron tied snugly around her tiny waist.  More than a few guys were attracted to her, but Mel seemed to have some mysterious quality she seemed to like.    Jesse never dated anybody, but she agreed to have lunch with Mel after church the following Sunday.  They were married four months later, and she had her first fit of depression on their second anniversary.
Mel’s speeding SUV topped a rise and almost left the surface of the road about the time he saw the curve.  He did a frantic rewind and remembered seeing a diamond-shaped yellow and black curve warning sign, but it hadn’t registered until now.  The Explorer was spinning out of control and he was dimly aware of big snowflakes suddenly beginning to fall and a rapidly approaching embankment when he felt the left side of the SUV crunch solidly into something immoveable, then… nothing.

****************************

Mel woke up looking at a dimly lit white wooden ceiling.  His aching head was resting on what seemed to be a feather pillow.  Carefully attempting to raise his head from the pillow brought sharp, hot muscle pain to the right side of his neck.  A well-read old Bible lay open and illuminated by an oil lamp that sat flickering on a small table by a square window framed with thin yellow curtains.  Outside the moisture-fogged glass panes all was shrouded in darkness, but Mel could see the dim and fuzzy shapes of big snowflakes fluttering past the glass in the yellow light of the lamp.
He was lying on a soft bed in a room with wood-paneled walls, and it felt mildly cool, at least to his face.  He could smell freshly laundered cotton sheets and the faint odor of mothballs emanating from the thick pile of patchwork quilts on the bed.  These were a far cry from the crisply laundered linens on the bed in his apartment, but at the moment they seemed infinitely more comfortable.

Suddenly the memory of his accident came into focus… He had been driving fast, thinking of Jesse and Summer... after that he remembered nothing else.
Attempting to sit up, Mel felt another sharp stab of pain through the muscles in the right side of his neck, to be joined by similar pains in his right shoulder and the right side of his back, and he locked his jaw muscles in a Herculean effort to keep quiet. He had no idea whose house this might be, let alone whether they might be sleeping or not. Slowly turning his head, he noticed his clothes lying neatly folded on the seat of a straw-bottom ladder back chair against the wall on his right, and he realized that he was wearing nothing but his boxers and t-shirt under the covers.

Temporarily relenting in his attempt to sit up, Mel was both irritated and stunned at the sheer weight of the pile of patchwork quilts.  He did manage to push himself a little higher and prop his shoulders against the pillow so he could look around.  In one corner of the room an archaic gas heater burned with a quiet blue and orange flame, its ornate ceramic grid and glowing a dull cherry red.  The only door was on his right, next to the head of the bed, and on his left sat another flickering oil lamp on a doily decorating the bed table and within easy reach.  The table also contained a round-faced alarm clock that showed the time to be just past midnight, a glass of clear water, a piece of peppermint, and a small tin box of aspirin.

 The walls were paneled with tongue-in-groove planks. A single dark bulb hung from a white ceramic fixture mounted in the center of the room by its twisted yellow cloth-insulated electric wire, with a short cotton string dangling from the switch chain. Mel briefly imagined what it would be like to click that light on and watch the shadows sway as the light swung back and forth. It would be a nice diversion to get his mind off the throbbing in his head.

There was a high shelf built in each corner. In the dim light of the lamps he could see country knickknacks such as faded baking powder cans and fruit jars containing colorful buttons and spools of thread cluttering each of the shelves.  Mel flashed back for a brief instant, remembering similarly laden shelves in homey country-style restaurants, and momentarily toying with the idea that he was enjoying an authentic version of the atmosphere they were attempting create. 

Jesse would love this place if she could only be here.  With a poignant jolt Mel realized that Summer’s birthday had come and possibly gone… again.  Was this Christmas day?  Or was it the day after?  Surely he hadn’t slept through Christmas!  He could see his Rolex lying on the ladder back chair with his clothes, but he was trapped in a dreamy malaise of pain and warmth and had no desire to interrupt his bliss or aggravate his pain it by reaching for his timepiece.

 Standing against one wall in the room was a partially completed tightly stretched patchwork quilt and Mel thought he could see some small bits of colored cloth piled next to a low stool by the quilting frame. 

His eyes were still sweeping the country treasures lining the shelves when the bedroom door swung in on faintly creaking hinges and a big woman stepped into the room.  She wasn’t fat, just big, and she looked strong enough to get the best of just about any man in an arm-wrestling match. Her hair had once been light brown, but now it was streaked with gray and drawn up tight in a bun on the back of her head.  She walked around to stand at the foot of the bed so he wouldn’t have to turn his head to look at her.

“Woke up did you?”  She spoke the words gently and her merry brown eyes twinkled. 

“I’m Mamie.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. My name’s Mel. Where am I?”

“Your little truck is stuck in the ditch out by my mailbox.  I heard the noise and went out to see about you. You weren’t bleedin’ and it was comin’ a bark bustin’ cold spell, so I brought you in here.  You’ve been out for about five hours now. How do you feel?  Doc just left a little while ago.  He said you seemed okay as far as he could tell, but he said you’d be sore for a few days.”

“Yes… yes, my neck and all the muscles on my right side feel as if they’ve been stretched to the breaking point.”

“Take some of that ‘scription over there.”

“Prescription?”

“Aspirin.” She waved at the table on the opposite side of the bed.  “Over there. On the table by the alarm clock.”   Mel reached for the aspirin box.  A moment later he had washed two of the chalky pills down with the water that had been sitting on the table.  He cleared his throat.

“Do you have a phone?”

“It and the power have been out since this snow started. I had to drive up the road to borrow the neighbors’ phone so I could call the doctor.”

“I have a cell phone in the Explorer…”

“Those things don’t work in this valley. Doc can’t ever get a signal on his when he’s here.” 

“I really need to make a call as soon as I can.”

“Wife’ll be worried eh?”

“Ahhh…. Well, no, actually I was going to call my boss.”

“It’s Christmas mornin’ just after midnight, Mr. Mel.  He don’t care to hear from you right now.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“I’ll fix you some breakfast and get you to a phone tomorrow. But first you need to get some more sleep and spend Christmas mornin’ with Mamie and Dem.”

“Mamie and them?”

“No, Mamie, that’s me, and DEM, short for Demetrius.  He’s my grandson.”

*********************

Mel would have tossed and turned the rest of the night if he hadn’t been so sore. The aspirin had helped some, but even without the pain, his troubled thoughts would have produced enough insomnia to keep his eyes open until daybreak.  He had a ton of work to do and if his Explorer was trashed he needed to get a ride back to civilization as soon as possible or there would be big trouble up at the head shed. He’d send a wrecker back after the Explorer.  His laptop briefcase, and suitcase would have to be retrieved from the back seat. He rubbed his jaw and felt day-old stubble. Somehow, whiskers seemed more fitting than a smooth face in a place like this.

****************************

 Dozing off in the wee hours, Mel dreamed he was celebrating Christmas with Summer and Jesse.  He could actually smell steaming golden turkey as he sliced generous portions of white meat and laid them on a platter.  He was carving his third thick slice of meat when he fumbled the knife and saw it clatter to the floor in slow motion.  He snapped his eyes open to hear Mamie’s voice in the adjoining room.

 “Put that fork in the sink and get a clean ‘un, Dem.  You probably woke up Mel.”  A moment later Mamie poked her head in the door.  She had a smudge of flour on her left cheek.

 “You feel like Christmas breakfast, Mr. Mel?”  He realized that the smell in his dream wasn’t turkey, it was bacon, and his stomach growled. She pulled back the heavy stack of quilts, leaving one for modesty. Waiting until Mamie left the room, he gingerly reached for his freshly laundered pants. 

 The kitchen was just about as storybook perfect as the bedroom had been.  Mamie kept her groceries in faded green wall cabinets, an antique pie safe that would probably be worth a thousand dollars anywhere but here, and an old round-topped Frigidare.  Another oil lamp sat burning in the center of the table. The bacon, eggs, and homemade biscuits she had on the table would have put Waffle House fare to shame, and Mel savored each bite, but not before Mamie said grace and thanked God for the food, for Dem, and for Mel.   Dem, it turned out, was Mamie’s 10-year-old grandson, and he sat with them watching Mel wide-eyed in one of the other ladder back chairs at the little round table that was almost too big for the corner of the tiny kitchen.

 “Finish your eggs, Dem,” Mamie said. The boy stuffed another bite in his mouth without taking his eyes off Mel.

 “Where are Demetrius’ parents?”  Mel asked cautiously, wondering if he should ask the question at all.

 “His mama died and his daddy run off.  He’s been with me since he was six.”

 “Was his mother your daughter?”

 “No, the one who ran off was my son.  I made lots of mistakes raisin that boy.  You got kids Mr. Mel?”

 “One daughter,” Mel was finishing the last of his breakfast and thought of asking for more but decided he’d had enough.

 “She having Christmas without you?”

 “Yep. She’s been having Christmas without me for the past four years.”

 “You get some girl pregnant?  Duck out on child support?”

 “No, nothing like that…”  Mel wondered why he felt led to tell her about Jesse, but there was something very disarming about Mamie’s countrified honesty.  “My wife left four years ago and took our daughter.”

“Couldn’t you find ‘em?”

“No.  I don’t know where they went and have no idea what happened to either of them. Today is my daughter’s birthday, too.”

 “So what brought you to McNeal County?”

 “A wrong turn.  I was trying to make it to Little Rock by tomorrow. I have an important meeting.”

 “You ain’t no way gonna make it across the state line by tomorrow, let alone all the way to Little Rock.”

 “I know.  That’s why I need to find a phone.”

 “The folks up on the hill have a phone.   After Dem opens his present I’ll drive you up there.” She shifted her eyes to where the child was finishing up the last of his eggs. He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

 “Can I open it now, Gran?”  She smiled and nodded.

 “Just wait ‘till Mr. Mel and me get in there.  We’ll be right behind you.”

****************************

 Mel followed Mamie into the little living room where a couch and two chairs sat facing a small, sparsely decorated juniper Christmas tree that stood in the corner of the small living room by a window. A string of lights was strung around the tree, but with the power out, the gray light of winter reflecting from foil ornaments would have to do.  Demetrius sat in eager anticipation, holding a shoebox-sized present wrapped in aluminum foil and red ribbon. Mamie briskly wound the crank on an ancient wooden record player that sat on a table in the opposite corner and laid the stylus on a spinning 78-rpm record put forth tinny strains of “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” through a cone-shaped RCA speaker that looked as if it should have a spotted dog staring into it and had probably been playing Christmas music the day the newspapers reported the attack on Pearl Harbor. Norman Rockwell would have been right at home in this room. 

Mamie lowered herself into a comfortable-looking overstuffed chair.  She had the faded old Bible from the bedroom table in her lap and she leafed through the pages with nimble fingers and practiced efficiency to the second chapter of Luke.  Mel and Dem sat quietly while she read.

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…”

As her husky voice droned softly through the passage that recorded the Savior’s birth, Mel’s mind wandered back to a time when his life had seemed so much more complete.  He had volunteered for long business trips nobody else at the office wanted so he would be on the road on Christmas day.  He was willing to do almost anything or go almost anywhere to deaden the sharp wound in his heart that reopened every Christmas.

 “You thank God before you open that present Dem,” Mamie said, “always remember, Jesus is what Christmas is about.”  Demetrius folded his little hands an bowed his head for a moment,

 “Thank You God, for sendin’ Jesus to teach us and save us. Thank You for dyin’ us  on the Cross.  Thank You for Jesus’ resurrection and for ours, and for Gran, and…”   The little boy paused for a moment and looked up at Mel before he continued.  “Thank You for sendin’ Mr. Mel to us. In Jesus’ name, Ahhhmen”

“Amen!” Mamie repeated.  The boy tore the foil off a cardboard box that contained nothing more than a red metal fire truck.  Mel halfway expected the boy to express disappointment, but the little fellow put the truck down on the floor and ran to give Mamie a big hug.  He returned to his little truck and pushed it through the house making siren sounds.

 “Is that the only present he’ll get?”  Mel rubbed his sore neck while Mamie smiled.

 “It’s all he needs.  A boy don’t need but one present at the time, and it don’t need to cost all that much.  I gave too much to Demetrius’ daddy when he was a boy and he got to where he didn’t appreciate anythin’ I did for him.  Dem gets food, clothes, new shoes once a year, church on Sunday and a hug and a prayer from his Gran’ every night.  He don’t need more than that.  We don’t have a TV and I don’t allow video games in this house.  Dem’s learnin’ to ask God for things, and most of what he asks for he can’t play with or call his own, even when God does answer.”

“What does he ask for?”  Mamie smiled.

“He prays a lot for his little friends.”

 “I guess a lot of kids get too much for Christmas these days…” Mel mused, trying to imagine some of the children he knew praying for their friends. Maybe they did, but he couldn’t imagine it.

  “Did you buy lots of stuff for your little girl when you were together?”

 “Did I ever!  I guess I spent a couple of hundred dollars on her both of the years I had her.  But then, Summer’s birthday is on Christmas day, so she got a double out of me every year.

 “Got a picture of her?” Mamie asked.  Mel fished for his wallet and showed Mamie the latest family picture he had.  He, Jamie, and Summer had stopped in at the portrait studio at Sears a couple of weeks before Jesse had disappeared and it was the last picture they’d had taken.  Mamie studied the picture for a long moment.

 “She looks a lot like you, Mr. Mel.  She has your eyes and even the same odd color of hair.”  Mel grinned with pride.

 “Yeah, a lot of people thought so. She’s really smart, too.  She could count to twenty before she was two years old.”  Mamie smiled and handed the picture back.  She stood up from her chair and called Demetrius.

 “Hey, Boy! Put that truck away and come let me get you ready.  We’re takin’ Mr. Mel to a phone!”

*********************

 Mel was standing on the porch when Mamie and Demetrius came out.  They all trudged through the snow to the car shed where Mel was surprised to see one of the oldest, most rugged-looking four-wheel-drive pickups he had ever laid eyes on.  Five minutes later Mamie was piloting the rusty old Chevy up the hill with an expert hand.  The snow was almost bumper-high, and the road was hard to see in the blanket of winter, but Mamie was a more-than-competent driver and she coaxed the old truck up the road between long rows of fence posts, each capped with its own small ration of snow. 
Mel had noticed as they left Mamie’s driveway that his Explorer was an awful mess, tilted against the embankment at a sharp angle and all but obscured in a drift. He knew sooner or later he’d have to dig his things out of it.

 “Are we almost there?” Mel asked.  Dem sat between them, dodging the gearshift and Mamie’s elbow every time she shifted gears.  The air in the narrow cab was frigid and it would be awhile before the heater would begin to raise the temperature.

 “No sir, Mr. Mel, we still got a long way to go yet,” It was the first time Demetrius had spoken directly to him.  Mel looked down into the little boy’s smiling brown eyes.

 “Has this been a good Christmas for you, Demetrius?”

 “It sure has, Mr. Mel.  My Christmas with Gran’ is always good.”

 “You believe in Santa Claus?”

 “Christmas ain’t about Santa Claus, Mr. Mel, you’re a grownup.  You should know that.”

 “That’s right, Demetrius, it ain’t --- er,  isn’t. You seem like a pretty smart young man.”  Demetrius smiled.

 “Gran taught me about Santa Claus. We celebrate Jesus at our house, not presents and Santa Claus.  Ain’t that right Gran?” 

“You miss your folks, Demetrius?”

 “Yeah, I miss ‘em.  I pray every day for my daddy to come home.  But Gran’s good enough to make up for everything.  You miss your folks?”

 “I sure do, Demetrius.”  The boy looked thoughtful, pursed his lips and nodded slowly.

“You been prayin’ for your folks, Mr. Mel?”  Mamie caught Mel’s eye for a moment, then shifted her eyes back to the road,  caught another cog with a strong right arm and fought the steering wheel as the deep snow tried to take control of the front tires.  Mel nodded slowly to Dem’s question.

“How do you pray for ‘em, Mr. Mel?  What do you say?”

“I pray for another Christmas with my daughter.  I haven’t seen her since she was two years old, and I miss her something awful every Christmas.”

“Does God ever answer your prayers?”

“Every time.”

“Think He’s gonna answer this one?” Mel smiled with one side of his mouth.

“He’ll either say ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ‘maybe. I can always count on that.’”  Mel smiled, then decided to turn the tables.  “Has God answered your prayers, Demetrius?”

“He sure has!”

“Really!  What prayer has He answered?”

“Well, He let Gran’ sell some quilts so she could buy groceries and get me my new truck.”

“That’s good.  Has He answered any more of your prayers?  Gran’ says you pray for your friends.”

“Sometimes God waits awhile before He answer prayers.”

“Yes He does, Demetrius.  I can certainly vouch for that!”

“Sometimes you gotta pray for a year or two before He’ll answer your prayers.”

“That’s right.  Sometimes you have to pray a lot longer than a year or two!”

“Do you ever give up, Mr. Mel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you ever get tired and stop prayin’ for somethin’?”  Mel paused for a moment and realized that he hadn’t prayed at all for Christmas with Summer this year.  Somehow it all seemed so futile.

“Yeah… yeah I do.”

“I don’t never give up.  I just keep on prayin’.”   Mamie smiled deeply and Mel noticed a single tear rolling out of her right eye. He wondered what secret prayer Dem was referring to.

“What have you prayed for the longest, Demetrius?”  Mel asked gently, watching Mamie’s tear trickle down her cheek. She reached up and brushed it away.

“For you, Mr. Mel.”

“For me?”

“Yeah.  You see that house up there on the hill?”

“That little white one with the green shutters?”

“Yeah.  That’s where we’re goin’.”

“They have a phone?”

“Yeah.  The lady’s name is Miss Jesse and her little girl’s name is Summer.  Summer’s my best friend in the whole world except for Jesus. She’s your daughter, Mr. Mel.  I asked God to send you to Gran and me’ so we could bring you to see her. She told me she remembers you really well and she’s always wanted you to come live with her and Jesse.  I been prayin’ with Summer for you to come for a long time.  Miss Jesse said she didn’t believe you’d ever come, but she said if God sent you we was to bring you up here.  Merry Christmas, Mr. Mel.”

“Mamie….”  Mel’s heart was pounding in his throat.  He tried to imagine what Summer would look like. He tried to imagine her in the yard, on the swing set, riding a tricycle, no, a bicycle now. She would be too big for a tricycle.  He tried to imagine her brushing her strawberry blonde hair and painting her little nails.  As they approached the house he recognized Jesse’s Mercedes station wagon, now faded and dirty, parked under an open car shed.

“I knew who you was as soon as I dragged you out of that truck, Mr. Mel.” Mamie told him.”  Dem knew too. We had both seen an eight by ten copy of the picture you carry in your wallet.  Jesse keeps one on her mantle.  Dem had prayed for Summer’s daddy to stop right by our mailbox one Christmas Eve and then spend the night in our guest bedroom.  And you did.”

“But I had an accident that almost killed me!”  Mel said, confused. They were pulling up in the driveway now and a beautiful little six-year-old girl in a thick winter coat was standing next to her equally beautiful mother on the broad front porch of the little cottage.

“Think about it, Mr. Mel. You wouldn’t have stopped at our house if you hadn’t hit that ditch. When I got a good look at you I was sure you were Miss Jesse’s Mel. I drove up here to call the doctor and showed Summer and Miss Jesse your driver’s license.  Miss Jesse loves you, Mr. Mel, and she wanted me to tell you that she’s all well now.”

“Then why is she still hiding out up here?  Why didn’t she come home?” Mel was befuddled, confused, unsure of how he would be received.  Mamie went on.

 “Doc had treated his own wife for what was ailin’ your Jesse, and he knew just what to do for her.  She never came back home to you because she was afraid you’d put the police on her, and she knew she would be separated from Summer if she’d went to jail.”

“I wouldn’t have had her arrested! I just wanted her to come home!”  Mel found the inside door handle, wrenched the rusty door open, and stumbled through the snow toward his wife and daughter.  Mamie looked at Demetrius.

“Reckon your daddy’ll ever make it back home, Dem?”

The little boy smiled through happy tears as he watched Mel’s reunion with Jesse and Summer.  “He’ll come, Gran. I’m sure of it!”