“So where did you have in mind?”
When the traffic light turned green, she wheeled the big Mercedes in a right turn and headed south on Peachtree.
“Barnes and Noble has a great selection of cards. It’s much easier.”
I’m
not
looking
for
easy
…
I’m
looking
for
perfume
.
They drove two blocks, passing Pharr Road where he and Keri had lived in his
other
life after moving back to Buckhead from California.
Angel pulled into the shopping center just past Pharr and parked in front of Barnes and Noble.
“Isn’t that the Starbucks where you and I first met?” he said.
“That’s it. Fantastic group of employees. I always go there for our weekend coffee.”
He had come full circle. The condo complex on Pharr Circle where they had lived—The Habersham Estate Condominiums—was located behind the shopping center; close enough he often walked to the Starbucks.
It
feels
like
I
have
lived
here
my
entire
life
.
Angel waved at a man standing in front of Starbucks wearing a green apron. “That’s the manager. He’s been at that store forever. I don’t think he will ever leave.”
“His name wouldn’t happen to be Lewis, would it?”
She looked surprised. “Do you know him?”
“We met once when I was in the store.”
It
makes
sense
now
why
Lewis
was
not
able
to
help
me
locate
Angel
.
The
person
I
know
as
Angel
,
Lewis
knows
as
Mercy
.
Unlike Mother’s Day, when the selection of cards is normally good up until the last day, the Father’s Day section had been picked over.
Ryan started pulling cards and reading sentiments. He hadn’t planned on buying John a card, so anything would do. He was so desperate to get his hands on some
Angel
perfume, he considered the possibility of searching the magazines for a scratch and sniff sticker. Even if he did find one, it would be impossible to transfer the fragrance from the magazine page onto Angel’s body—especially while she slept.
“See anything you like?” she said.
“Not yet.”
Just
pick
one
—
anything
.
The front of the next card he pulled from the rack read simply:
HAPPY
FATHER’S
DAY
. He opened the card.
A
Dad
is
patient
,
helpful
and
strong
He
is
there
by
your
side
when
things
go
wrong
.
He’s
someone
who
guides
you
to
do
the
right
thing
And
helps
you
solve
problems
that
life
sometimes
brings
.
That’ll
do
.
He would tell John how much he appreciated him being there for him, helping him solve some of his problems—almost like a father.
Angel walked over. “Find something?”
“I think I’ll take this one.” He handed her the card.
After reading the sentiment, she said, “That is a
very
powerful message; something we all need to read, not just fathers.”
Ryan read the sentiment again, but even after reading it a second time, he was not sure what she saw in the poem that was so special. “What were you thinking?”
“I believe the author of this poem intended for the three words—patient, helpful, and strong—to point us to the past, present, and future. A father is patient, even to the point of allowing his child to make mistakes. ‘
Things
that
go
wrong’
would refer to the past. The father is helpful to his child every day, working with him to solve problems that might seem unsolvable to the child. ‘
Do
the
right
thing’
would refer to the present. The father is strong, always standing by his child’s side, guiding him toward truth. ‘
That
life
sometimes
brings’
would be referring to the future. I see it as a message of how a father is there for his child in the past, the present, and the future.”
“That is amazing how you read so deeply into that poem. Hearing you explain it gives it a whole new meaning.”
“Good choice,” she said. “I think John will love it.” She showed him her card. “I already bought John a card, but I couldn’t let this one go.”
The front of the card said, THANKS FOR GIVING ME WINGS. A pair of wings was centered on the front. He opened the card.
“It’s blank on the inside,” she said. “I’ve got something special I want to write.”
“It’s the perfect card for a pilot. I think he’ll like it.”
“See how easy that was? Sure beats the crowded mall on a holiday Saturday.”
“Good choice,” he lied.
CHAPTER 40
Buckhead
,
Georgia
Saturday
afternoon
—
June
14
,
2003
During the short drive back to the house, Ryan hopelessly struggled to come up with a solution to his perfume dilemma.
Angel parked the Mercedes on the circular drive in front of the house, and they entered through the front door. John was in the study seated behind a large mahogany desk reading the paper. He motioned to Ryan. “Come join me.”
Ryan sat in one of the soft, leather chairs positioned in front of the desk.
Without any preliminaries, John said, “After Gold Street Capital went belly up in their Ponzi scheme, taking with it all of Mr. Hart’s
assumed
fortune, Phillip Darby contacted me. He informed me Mercy Flight, Inc. had been spared along with the bulk of Mr. Hart’s wealth.”
“How was that possible?”
“Shortly before Hart’s death, he had established a charitable remainder unitrust, called a CRUT. The CRUT was funded with all but one-fifth of Mr. Hart’s entire wealth.”
“Why only one-fifth?”
“That was the amount he left to Keri…and you.”
“Are you saying the one hundred million he left Keri was only
one
-
fifth
of what her dad was worth?”
“Yep. He figured you and Keri would be able to live comfortably with a hundred million.”
“It would have been more than enough…if Gold Street Capital had not robbed us.”
“Ronald Hart had a plan for practically every possible outcome…”
Ryan cut him off. “Except one…the collapse of GSC.”
“Mr. Hart was extremely savvy and very aware of the evil that runs rampant in corporate America. His plan considered every possibility…
even
what happened at GSC.”
“How?”
“The CRUT was set up to pay Hart an annual amount until he died. At his death, the law required that the balance remaining in the CRUT must be distributed to a charity. Hart knew he didn’t have long to live. He also knew that, by law, upon his death, the assets held within the CRUT would be distributed to his designated charity—which happened to be Mercy Flight, Inc.”
“If I understand what you are saying, Mr. Hart put almost his entire estate into a CRUT which was distributed to Mercy Flight, Inc. when he died.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He carved out enough for Keri and then put the rest into the CRUT. He didn’t plan on the Ponzi scheme happening, but he prepared for everything.”
“Everything but Keri’s death,” Ryan said.
“Mr. Hart intended for you and Keri to be appointed as executives in his nonprofit corporation. As execs, you both would receive a salary and benefits. Even though Keri is gone, you are still entitled to the position…which I hope you will consider. Based on the net worth of Mercy Flight, Inc. being nearly a billion dollars…”
“Wait! Did you say a
billion
! With a ‘b’?”
“Yes, plus or minus a few million.”
“But I thought you said it was four-fifths of his wealth. That would equal four hundred million, not a billion.”
“That was the original amount. It has since grown and continues to grow faster than we can spend it. And based on that amount, as an exec, you will be paid a nice base salary plus benefits.”
I
must
be
dreaming
again
.
“That is amazing!”
“Yes, we are all blessed that Mercy Flight is well funded for the future, and we hope you will join us.”
Attempting to process John’s offer had momentarily distracted him from his number one concern in life of wanting to return to that Saturday night—June 23, 1974. As amazing as the offer was, he would gladly give it all up for one last chance to get Keri back—even if it meant he chanced losing it all and living out the rest of his life in poverty.
He had nothing to lose by accepting John’s offer. As things stood now, the chance of another dream regression was not looking too good—unless Angel surprised him and showed up Sunday morning wearing her
Angel
perfume. Not only was Mercy Flight an opportunity of a lifetime, it would allow him to be a part of a wonderful organization aimed at doing great things for people in need all over the world. Keri would want him to help carry-on her father’s legacy. “John, I accept your offer.”
“Great!” John stood and shook Ryan’s hand, pulling him into a manly hug. “I’m sure Keri would be happy to know you will be continuing the work her father started.”
“I’m think so too.”
Like the sand in an hourglass, the chance of one last dream regression slowly slipped through his fingers. For some strange reason, it appeared John’s wife had abandoned the fragrance. Regardless, there would always be another opportunity in the future. When he returned to California, he would purchase more
Angel
perfume. He could give it to her as a gift or spray some on her while she slept—either way, he would be better prepared on his next trip to Georgia.
* * *
The remainder of the evening was a celebration of Ryan’s acceptance to join Mercy Flight. All the attention was on him, helping to distract him from his semi-depressed state.
By nine o’clock, the group had run out of energy. Susan and Ronald retired to their suite at one end of the house, John and Angel to the master quarters at the other end of the house, and Ryan to Keri’s old bedroom upstairs.
After a shower, Ryan read in bed for an hour before turning out the lights. Angel planned to have an early breakfast Sunday morning, celebrate Father’s Day, then attend church at Second-Ponce de Leon Baptist Church on the corner of Peachtree and Wesley—located less than a mile from the house. It was the church where Ryan had attended growing up, and was also the church where Keri and her family were long-time members. After lunch, John and Michael would fly him back to California.
His weary mind allowed sleep to come quickly.
CHAPTER 41
Buckhead
,
Georgia
Sunday
morning
—
June
15
,
2003
Ryan woke from a dreamless sleep, slowly realizing he was in Keri’s old family home, in her bedroom. He sunk when he realized—as he did on most mornings—she was gone.
He checked the time—6:07 a.m. He eased out of bed and to the bathroom, relieved himself, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and ran his hand through his hair.
Not expecting anyone to be awake, he slipped on a pair of jeans and a shirt and headed to the kitchen to scrounge up some coffee.
Stepping into the kitchen, he found John and Angel seated at the table drinking coffee. “Good morning,” John said, “How did you sleep?”
“Good. How long have you two been up?”
“Angel was up early. She’s already made her run to Starbucks. Grab a coffee and join us,” John said, pointing to the counter to Ryan’s left. He turned and noticed a Grande Starbucks coffee cup. “It’s black, so you can fix it the way you like it.”
“How nice…thank you.” Packets of sweetener, raw sugar, and milk were on the counter.
“It should still be hot,” Angel said. “Michael, Susan, and Ronald have already taken theirs.”
Ryan removed the white lid from the cup, tore open a sweetener, poured the contents into the cup, and added some milk. After stirring, he replaced the lid and took a sip. The coffee was still hot.
When he sat at the table, he smiled when he recognized the familiar fragrance of
Angel
perfume.
That’s
it
!
Thank
you
Lord
!
He drew in a slow, deep breath. He happened to glance at Angel as he released the breath. She smiled, as if she knew what was about to take place.
“Ahhhh...chooo!”
“Bless you,” Angel said. “It must be my perfume.” She smiled again, as though she were saying
you’re
welcome
.
“Ahhh…choo!” His nose began dripping and his eyes started to burn. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked at Angel. Words were not necessary. Her eyes said it all. The same peace he had felt before—at the cemetery with the strange woman, and with Angel earlier that day—returned, except this time it was much stronger. John sat quietly and calmly watched, apparently aware of what was about to happen.
“Ryan, why don’t you go lie down and see if it will pass,” Angel said.
How
does
she
know
?
“Good idea,” he said, as he stood.
“Go to our bedroom. I just changed the sheets and it will be quieter there,” Angel said. “Keri’s bedroom is on the front of the house and can be a bit noisy.”
Before leaving the kitchen, he turned and looked at John and Angel sitting at the kitchen table, both gazing at him like two statues. Without a reason, he said, “Thank you both for all you have done.” His words were spoken as would be a final farewell.