Thursday afternoon - December 17
Ms. Bullock sat at her desk, reading a document. "Everything is in order. Exactly as you requested," she said to Oliver.
She laid the papers in front of Joe and pointed to a line on the front page. "Mr. O'Toole, if you'll just sign here." She flipped a few pages. "And here." Joe complied.
Ms. Bullock took the papers from Joe and put them in front of Oliver. "Your signature is required next to your father's." Oliver wrote his name on the two locations.
She folded the documents, put them in an envelope, and handed them to Oliver. He put the packet into his coat pocket and stood up.
"Thank you, Ms. Bullock," Oliver said.
Joe stood up and shook Ms. Bullock's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"You as well," Ms. Bullock said.
Joe and Oliver walked to Joe's truck. "Thank you for doing this, Dad," he said, hugging Joe.
"I'm happy to help," Joe said. He patted Oliver's back. "I'm off to the Children's Home."
"How is construction of the stable progressing?" Oliver asked.
"Real good. The individual sections are almost finished. Bill and I should be ready to move them to the church and assemble it today. When do you and Shane leave?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Joe climbed into his truck. "Have a good trip," he said and drove away.
Friday Afternoon - December 18
Oliver parked the car in front of a small, tidy white clapboard cottage with bright blue shutters, surrounded by a white picket fence. A slatted wood sidewalk stretched from the steps down to the beach. Ferns and daylilies grew along each side of the footpath. Window boxes held smaller ferns. Four spruce trees framed each side of the house.
Oliver got out, walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and held his hand to Shane. Shane took it, stepped out, and stood leaning against the car.
"It's charming," Shane said. "I like the shutters. Bright blue." She traced the side of Oliver's face with her finger. "Just like your eyes."
Oliver's cheeks turned pink and he offered Shane his arm. "Shall we go in?"
Shane took a closer look at the trees while Oliver opened the door.
"Colorado Blue Spruce?" she asked Oliver.
"Grandmother wanted them. She said they would remind her of home."
Oliver opened the door and Shane stepped over the threshold. Solid wood floors shone in the sunlight. A white wicker bench with soft blue cushions sat by the door. Closing the door, Oliver took Shane's hand and led her to the front room. More of the white wicker furniture with the same blue cushions.
"Grandmother loved wicker," Oliver said.
Oliver stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Gently releasing his hand, Shane went to the sofa and sat down.
Oliver closed his eyes as memories surfaced in his mind. Grandfather sitting in the wicker rocker while he was still able, holding Oliver on his lap while he read the Bible or Shakespeare. Grandmother busy in the kitchen. Oliver sitting at the kitchen table, watching her knead bread or bake cookies, the ring that now graced Shane's hand shining on her left finger.
Shane watched the expressions play across Oliver's face. A smile, inhaling deeply as if he smelled something delicious, another smile, a soft laugh, and then, abruptly, he bowed his head and blew out a long breath.
Shane ran to Oliver and threw her arms around him. Oliver hugged her tightly and a slight sob escaped his lips. They stood there quietly for several minutes, Shane gently stroking his neck and rubbing his shoulders.
Oliver let Shane go and smiled slightly. He took his fingers and wiped his eyes. "I had no idea returning here would be so difficult," he said.
"You want to talk about it?" Shane asked.
Oliver offered Shane his arm. "Walk with me."
Oliver and Shane left the house and walked towards the beach. They reached the end of the sidewalk and just ahead, stood the tree. No longer a small, twisted evergreen tree. Nearly 20 feet tall, it seemed to reach for the sky while the large, gnarled roots still clung to the rock.
"This is the tree?" Shane asked. Oliver nodded.
Shane backed away slightly so she could see the top. A starfish sat there. She looked at Oliver with shining eyes. "Now I understand."
Oliver moved away from the tree as well, stopping when the heel of his shoe struck something. Bending over, he picked up a seashell. Ridges were worn smooth by the gentle waves that rocked it back forth through the years. Rope hanger frayed and torn, yet there was no doubt in Oliver's mind that this was a shell from a long-ago Christmas Eve when a broken-hearted boy and an angel decorated a Christmas tree, and the boy was comforted.
Oliver handed the seashell to Shane. She smiled and hung it on the tree. "A divine delivery?" Shane asked.
"Unquestionably," Oliver said.
Shane turned and looked at the cottage. "You sure you want to do this?" she said.
"I am," Oliver said. "It's the right thing to do. Grandfather would be pleased."
Shane took his arm and squeezed it. Her cell phone pinged. She pulled it from her purse and read the message.
"That was Phil," she said. "The pictures are ready. Shall I tell him we'll be there tomorrow afternoon?"
Oliver nodded. Shane's thumbs flew across the keyboard as she typed and sent the response.
"We have much to do," Oliver said. "We need to leave."