Ann Brodeur
Agnes Sweeney had seen enough snowstorms in her eighty years, but nothing compared to the deluge of snow swallowing her beloved Winterberry Falls quite like the one taking place outside the retirement center’s living room window.
“Reminds me of winter in ‘46. Made walking to school an Olympic sport.” Martha Johnson, Agnes’ neighbor from the next room, lamented while she yarned over her crochet hook.
“Did they even have the Olympics back then?” Frank Pendergaast muttered from the recliner, shaking open his newspaper.
Agnes chuckled, and Martha gasped, shoving her yarn and hook into her fabric bag.
Martha shook her head before standing and heading for the exit. “I’ll wave from my window as you drive off to the airport, Agnes. I look forward to a postcard.”
Drive to the airport? In this weather?
Agnes frowned and turned back to the window, watching the flakes piling into mounds of snow.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be heading to the airport now.” Frank’s tone warmed Agnes like a cup of hot cocoa as he came and stood beside her.
“Only by a miracle, it would seem.” She folded her arms, staring blankly through the snow.
Bye-bye, German Christmas Market. Bye-bye, Thomaskirche and your beautiful Bach music.
“I’m sorry you won’t get to enjoy the trip you’ve been planning.” Frank’s profile appeared next to her, his hands stuck deep in his pants pockets.
Agnes fingered the gold locket that hung from her neck.
Her packed bags waited by her bedroom door. Her son Daniel, police chief of their little Vermont town, was to pick her up at seven and drive her to the airport. Her granddaughter planned to go with her since she lived and studied in Germany last year.
She’d always wanted to visit Germany at Christmastime.
“No one plans these things. At least I have cancellation insurance.”
Frank chuckled as Agnes finally turned to face the man she’d grown fond of since moving into the center two years ago.
Frank’s blue eyes sparkled. “You’re always prepared for anything, aren’t you?”
She straightened her shoulders, unsure whether he was jesting or accusing. “Is that so unbelievable? Once a schoolteacher, always a schoolteacher. We have to be prepared.”
He grinned. “What would you have done if one of your students had placed a whoopee cushion on your seat back in the day?”
Agnes bit back her smile. “I’d have taken that whoopee cushion and placed it right back on the boy’s seat.”
Frank cocked a brow. “How do you know it was a boy?”
“Because you’ve told that story a hundred times.”
Frank laughed, jangling something in his pocket. “I didn’t think you listened to my stories.”
“I always listen to you, Frank.” Agnes reached out and touched the soft wool of his blue sweater. Feeling the strength in his arms and wanting, just for a moment, to know what it felt like to be in his embrace.
She pulled away.
Wasn’t she too old to be feeling whatever this was?
Frank was a good friend. He knew how to brighten a room and make her laugh. Oh, how he made her laugh. She looked forward to these moments with him, sharing stories and opinions. He was patient, kind, and always pulled out her chair or held open the door. A true gentleman.
And handsome, even in his eighties.
Oh, if only she were brave like the young kids these days, she’d tell Frank what she really thought about him. That being in his presence wasn’t good for her heart—physically and metaphorically. Agnes cleared her throat. “I’ll have you know that elementary school teachers are always prepared. Without exception.”
Except in this case.
She wasn’t quite prepared for the warmth that stirred in her chest at Frank’s softening gaze, the turn of his lips lowering as he seemed to see right to her heart.
“There are worse things than having your trip cancelled, you know.” Frank inched closer, sending Agnes’s pulse into an erratic rhythm. Not something exactly healthy for a woman her age.
Oh, dear.
Was it the disappointment that her trip might be cancelled?
Or was it the inevitability of being snowed in…with Frank?
Agnes swallowed hard as she clutched the base of her throat. “And what is that, Frank?”
Frank moved closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Knowing the woman I love is sad at Christmastime.”
A shiver coursed through her, heat warming her cheeks. “Who?”
He didn’t mean—?
Oh.
Maybe she should sit down. Or lean on something.
Frank’s gaze melded into hers. She steadied herself against the cool window as he smiled. “You.”
The whispered word washed over her, warmth wrapping around her like a crocheted blanket.
“You love me?”
Frank chuckled and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Of course, I do. How could I not?”
Agnes grinned, her heart dancing to a new rhythm.
“But I do hate to see you so down.” Frank rubbed his thumb across her skin, sending a delightful shiver from head to toe.
“Who says I’m down? Frank Pendergaast, my trip to Germany may be cancelled, and we’re snowed in until January, but you’ve given me a wonderful gift, weeks before Christmas.” Joy overflowed. A declaration of love—at her age!
Frank pressed another kiss to her hand. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy, because I have a confession to make.”
Agnes narrowed her gaze. “What?”
“I was going to get you a nice present for Christmas and give it to you when you returned from Germany. You know, something to show you what you mean to me.” Frank’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he released her and moved toward the recliner. He pulled something from between the pages of the folded newspaper.
“But in the end, all I could find was this. I hope it makes you smile.” With reddened cheeks, he handed her the rubbery whoopee cushion.
Agnes burst into laughter. “Oh, Frank, I love it.”
“Good.” He grinned. “And I love you.”
When she’s not lost in a good book, deep in heartfelt conversations with her husband, or experiencing homeschool adventures with her kids, Ann’s most consistent companion is a cup of coffee that’s inevitably gone cold from neglect.
She is represented by Tamela Hancock-Murray, and is an active member of Faith, Hope, Love Christian Writers, The Novel Academy, and ACFW.
Connect with Ann on Facebook, Pinterest, Goodreads, or her website.
Spark Flash Fiction 