The conversation stopped when the server brought their meals. “This looks fantastic!” Ryan said.
“I hope you enjoy it,” the server said.
John and Ryan were quiet for the next five minutes as they enjoyed the first samples of their fish dinners. Each bite brought audible confirmations of enjoyment. The only words spoken between bites were words describing how tasty the food was.
“Ryan,” John said, “you and Keri should come over and spend the weekend with us. We have plenty of room. It would give you a chance to get to know the family.”
“That sounds nice. I’ll run it by Keri and see what she thinks. Having fifteen-year-old twins keeps her busy, but maybe we can find a free weekend.”
“Bring the kids, too. Like I said, we have plenty of room.”
“I’ll talk to Keri when I get home and see what we can work out.”
The way things were going, this might be his last trip to Georgia—that is…if he didn’t see Angel at Starbucks in the morning. If Angel didn’t show up, he would have a lot of explaining to do before he could introduce Keri to the Dross family. On second thought, she probably already knew John’s daughter, son, and wife. He wouldn’t be surprised if she knew Ronald Darby, too.
I’m
surprised
Mr
.
Hart
didn’t
match
Keri
up
with
Darby’s
son
when
they
were
toddlers
.
Keri’s dad had surrounded himself with a select group of people that he trusted—people that he knew would carry on the work of Mercy Flight—something he was obviously passionate about.
In his dream, Ryan’s mother instructed him to put others first. Chills swept over his entire body. His mind could not process fast enough. He reflected on how kind and serving John had been to him since they first spoke on the phone. John was a living example of what his mother had told
him
to be: selfless, putting others first, compassionate.
And then there was Mercy Flight, Inc. Ryan’s mother could have written the company mission statement:
Serving
others
while
being
especially
merciful
to
the
sick
and
needy
. Mr. Hart was indeed a saint.
Had he missed his purpose in life? Is it possible Ronald Hart would have taken him under his wing and made him the chief pilot of Mercy Flight, Incorporated? Could he be living John Dross’s life?
John said, “Ryan, what are your plans for the next few of months? I want to be available if you need me, but I have a couple of family trips I’m trying to schedule.”
“John, you should take care of your family first. You need to spend time with them when you can. Don’t worry about me.”
John pulled a datebook from his back pocket. “The family always spends holidays together. The next two on the calendar are Mother’s Day on Sunday, May 11th, and Father’s Day on June 15th. We’ll either spend those days in Buckhead or Dothan. And then they wanted me to take the entire first week of June off...that would be the first through the eighth…for a family trip to the Gulf Coast.”
This
guy
is
amazing
.
I
can’t
believe
he
is
so
concerned
about
me
.
“That sounds great. Do it!”
“I just wanted you to know the dates I would not be available. However, if you need to go anywhere, I’ll have one of our other planes dispatched to take care of you.”
“I’ll be fine, John. Your family comes first.” For the first time, Ryan started seeing things differently. Up until now he had soaked up all the attention and enjoyed it. It felt good to be pampered and served. He remembered his dream mother’s words:
You
will
never
find
true
happiness
when
you
seek
to
serve
yourself
.
If
you
want
to
be
truly
happy
and
fulfilled
,
learn
to
serve
others
…
“Seriously,” John said, “I want you to talk to Keri and see if we can work something out for you to come over and visit. It would give me great pleasure to fly over and pick you guys up and show you a wonderful time in Atlanta. The children will love the Georgia Aquarium, the World of Coca-Cola, the Zoo, the Children’s Museum of Atlanta, and I know Keri will love shopping and visiting with Mercy. Let’s see if we can put something on the schedule before I take off the end of May.”
“Did you say ‘Mercy’?”
“Yes. That’s my wife’s name.”
“I didn’t remember you mentioning her name.”
“I probably didn’t. If I had, I might have called her Angel.”
“Angel?”
This
is
crazy
!
He
calls
his
wife
Angel
?
“Her name is Mercy, but I have almost always called her Angel. I see her as the angel God sent to me. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“I like it. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You’ll love her. I always like to say when I refer to her: God only made one. She’s special.”
“Just out of curiosity, your wife’s name didn’t have anything to do with the naming of Mercy Flight, did it?”
“It did…but that was not my doing. Mr. Hart named the company.”
“How did that happen?”
“Mercy was Mr. Hart’s personal nurse while he was in and out of the hospital with his heart condition.” John paused and smiled. “Actually, Mr. Hart first introduced me to Mercy.”
“Seems like he is quite the matchmaker.”
John smiled. “I would say we both married
up
, thanks to Mr. Hart.”
“Definitely,” Ryan agreed.
“So…back to your question. Knowing his life would probably be cut short, he had the epiphany to start up a non-profit to serve the sick and needy and he wanted to name the company after my wife. He said he had never met a person who lived such a caring, selfless, existence. I can vouch for Mr. Hart’s observation about my wife. Her name is definitely befitting of who she is in every way.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman. I’ll talk with Keri first thing when I get home and see when would be a good time to come over and visit,” he lied. He was not about to talk to Keri about coming to Georgia.
This
is
getting
messy
.
I
really
need
to
find
Angel
and
let
her
zap
me
out
of
here
and
into
another
world
—
fast
!
CHAPTER 31
Buckhead
,
Georgia
Sunday
morning
—
April
27
,
2003
Ryan parked in front of the Buckhead Starbucks on Peachtree at 4:45 a.m. The store didn’t open until 5:30 a.m., but it was his last chance to find Angel, and he couldn’t afford to miss her.
After waiting forty-five minutes, Lewis finally unlocked the doors. He greeted Ryan with meaningless chit chat—mostly apologies about his customer, Angela, not being the woman Ryan was looking for. He ordered his coffee, and took it to a table by the front door.
The first few sips of coffee revived him from a sleepless, dreamless, tormented night. He waited patiently, checking each customer that entered the store, hoping his memory would not fail him when his Angel arrived. The more women he saw walk into the store, the more confused he became.
At
this
point
,
I
probably
couldn’t
pick
the
woman
out
of
a
police
lineup
.
It’s
been
too
long
.
By seven o’clock he had not seen—or smelled—anyone that reminded him of his Angel. Defeated and hopeless, he left the store. He sat in his car another fifteen minutes hoping for a miracle.
Nothing.
His greatest concern—after all the lies—was facing Keri.
Maybe
I
shouldn’t
tell
her
.
Just
forget
it
ever
happened
.
She’ll
never
know
.
If he didn’t tell her, they would never be able to take advantage of the wonderful benefits that Ronald Hart had intended for them to enjoy. In addition, Ryan would have to constantly be on guard that Keri never spoke with John Dross. Basically, if he didn’t come clean and tell her everything, he would be forced to live a lie for the rest of his life—a heavy burden to carry.
I
have
to
tell
her
…
everything
!
As painful as he knew telling her would be, he loved her too much not to.
Having accepted that Angel was not going to show, he started the car and returned to the DoubleTree. Up until now, a small part of him believed he would never see John again—at least not in this reality. He was wrong.
John and Michael planned to attend church, but would be at the airport by one o’clock. They invited Ryan to join them at church, but he turned down the offer, not knowing how long he would be at Starbucks.
Packing his suitcase, he wondered what he was going to do for the next four hours. He saw his bottle of
Angel
perfume and considered squirting some on his arm and taking a deep breath—seeing where he might land. But instead of playing a lethal game of Russian Roulette, he tossed it in the trashcan by the dresser.
I’ll
never
need
that
again
.
His eyes were heavy and his body begged for a nap. He put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside of the door and secured the safety latch. After slipping into his boxers, he settled in for a nap.
What
the
heck
!
Why
not
?
What
have
I
got
to
lose
?
He popped out of bed, pulled the
Angel
from the trashcan, and pumped a couple of sprays on his arm and around the room. He inhaled several times ingesting the fragrance deep into his lungs.
“Ahhhhh…choooo!!”
There’s
no
turning
back
now
.
He let the reaction take full effect—sneezing, burning eyes, his nose running like a faucet. After fifteen or twenty minutes of torture, he went into the bathroom and blew his nose, washed his face, and returned to the bedroom. He lay perfectly still on the bed with his eyes closed and waited for sleep. After his adrenal juices receded, he calmed. The heaviness of sleep soon followed.
* * *
Under a canopy of clear, blue sky, peaceful winds whispered through the branches of easterly bent pines.
Ryan recognized the place to be a cemetery. Grave markers, glistening in the sun, dotted the carpet of rolling green lawns beneath towering oaks and magnolias. The tranquil and somber setting was the shrine of thousands of lost—and often forgotten—loved ones. The world outside had quickly forgotten, but within the boundaries of the cemetery, death, ironically, didn’t seem so final.
I’m
dreaming
.
Why
am
I
here
?
Ryan watched as his dream double leaned down and placed fresh-cut flowers in the floral cone at the foot of a headstone. Like flowers on a dead man’s porch, it was a useless act of kindness, as their bones would offer no thanks and the flowers would soon wilt without care. There were three evenly-spaced, granite markers, set flush with the grass—not two.
He read the names and the dates
KERI H. MITCHELL: JUNE 5, 1957 – MAY 29, 2003
DAVID R. MITCHELL: AUGUST 31, 1988 – MAY 29, 2003
MARTHA K. MITCHELL: AUGUST 31, 1988 – MAY 29, 2003
I
don’t
understand
!
A crow cawed—a possible trigger—propelling him through an imaginary portal; a crack in time.
The vivid details of May 29, 2003, replayed in his mind with the clarity of the present: the call on his cell phone while driving in darkness to LAX to fly his trip to JFK; the panicked, helpless feeling that nearly sucked the life out of his lungs; the evil in the man’s voice that made him choose between his life and the lives of his wife and children; his constant prayers for a miracle that would save his family from the jaws of death—a miracle that never came. Instead, he found their bodies strapped to gurneys in the living room of his house, pumped full of lethal drugs.
Lucid but confused, he struggled to free himself from the horror that engulfed him.
Stop
dreaming
!
Wake
up
!
This
isn’t
real
!
His mental cries went unanswered, much like a surgery patient, paralyzed by muscle relaxants, wakes during surgery finding it impossible to move, speak, or make others aware of his distress. It was unlike his other dreams, where he had freely willed himself from room to room and conversed with dream characters as he wished.
“They’re gone,” a voice said from behind him.
He turned, seeing a woman with a concerned look of empathy observing his grief. “Who are you?” he said.
“Ryan, don’t you recognize me? I’m Angel.”
“Why are you here? Better yet, why am I here?”
“Just like in all of your dreams, you are here to learn a lesson about change.”
“I don’t want change! I want things the way they were—I want Keri back!”
“Ryan, you are not being honest with yourself. You do want change. If not, why do you keep looking for me? I’ll tell you why…because you want to change your past. You want to make your life better. But I’m not the one who is going to change things, and contrary to what you think, it’s not in your dreams where things are changed. Dreams are worthless unless you wake up and actually act on them. You’re not going to change your life until you
choose
to change. It’s not about the past, it’s about the present, and you are stuck because you haven’t learned how to let go of the past. You can only learn from the past, holding on to it will rob you of your hope in the future.”