Thanksgiving 2039

Written for The Friday Challenge 11/20/09, The Second Annual Thanksgiving Challenge


Josh looked critically at his face in the mirror, trying to decide if the gray hair made him look distinguished or just old. The urge to go natural had come over him suddenly yesterday, and he had come home with the appropriate shampoo to remove the color he had applied for years. If he didn't like it this way, he could always go back. Hair color was very easy these days. For a brief moment he wished flying cars were that easy, but then he quickly canceled that wish. After all, his livelihood depended on the fact that flying cars were not at all easy.

“Okay, my vote is for gray,” he said to himself. “Let's see what Kate has to say about it.”

He walked out to the kitchen, where his wife was putting breakfast on the table, and posed with a flourish. Her reaction was unexpected. She was a woman of instant likes and dislikes, rarely undecided about anything, but as he watched her face, several emotions came and went, delaying her response of, “I like it! It makes you look even more handsome.” Could he possibly have seen fear in her eyes?

“What is it? Your face looked kind of strange.”

She looked confused. “I don't know. For a minute you looked familiar.”

All he had to do was raise one eyebrow, foregoing the obvious comment.

“No, silly, I know you should look familiar, after I've been married to you for 28 years. I mean you looked like someone else, but I don't know who.” Now she looked a little bit lost. “It made me feel … odd.”

He moved quickly to gather her in his arms, knowing he was right about her being afraid. He held her for a minute, then moved on to lighten things up. “So, I look like a vid star? I guess I'll keep it this way for a while, then.”

Kate laughed. “If a bunch of crazy fans start following you around, you'll have to go back to ordinary dark brown.”

They sat down to eat, discussing the day's schedule. Thanksgiving dinner was to be at Kate's parents' house this year. The kids had insisted on going over there early to help their grandmother, leaving Josh and Kate to enjoy the morning by themselves. It wasn't until Josh was sipping his coffee that he realized he might have picked the wrong day to change to gray hair.

“I wonder what your father will say about my hair. You know, he's been looking at me funny lately, and this will probably make him look at me really funny.”

“What? He has not!”

“Yeah, he's been watching me. I've caught him at it a lot lately. It's like he thinks I'm going to explode or something.”

“Oh, he thinks all men go crazy at the age of 50 these days, so he's probably waiting for you to go off the deep end and divorce me for one of those teenie fans of yours.”

“How can I? I don't have any fans yet.”

“Yeah, and you better not get any, either!” She punched his arm lightly.

“I think that's what I'm going to be grateful for today. I don't have any beautiful, crazy, teenie fans to steal me away from you.” He was referring to their Thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and each person saying one thing they were grateful for.

“You say that, and my dad really will be looking at you funny!”

Josh looked at his wife smiling at him and was overwhelmed with how much he loved her. Every year he said the same thing, that he was grateful for Kate, and it was true. She was the best thing in his life.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a perfect day for Thanksgiving at the Clancy's old farmhouse. The sun was shining through the bare branches and the cool air, lighting up the trim on the wide porch. Josh noticed it needed paint and filed that away for future reference. Kayci, their youngest daughter, who was in her first year at Armon College, came running to meet them.

“Hey, dad! Love the hair! Come on, we've got hot cider!”

There was a flurry of getting packages and dishes from the car, and then they were entering the house. Kayci was first in, and she enthusiastically demanded that everyone notice her father's new hair color and how nice it looked, so everyone had a comment as they shook hands or exchanged hugs. Josh started a running poll in his head, tabulating the results. So far, gray was ahead of dark brown.

He came to Kate's father, who thrust out his hand with his usual cordial smile, but then looked at the gray hair and froze. As Josh took his hand, he was astonished to see he was shocked.

“Are you alright, Fred?”

Fred was motionless for several seconds, but finally nodded, his eyes still on the gray hair. Josh moved on past him, so Kate could greet her father. At that moment, Kate's mother came in from the kitchen carrying a plate of appetizers. As her eyes lifted to Josh's face, she stopped dead in her tracks, and the plate slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor, breaking in pieces.

All conversation stopped for a moment, then people moved in to help clean up the small mess and tend to Kate's mother. Fred came to his wife and held her, comforting her, and they left the room.

“What happened?” Kate asked at the same time Josh said, “That was weird!”

Everyone was asking questions, but nobody had any answers. Eventually dinner was ready, Kate's parents reappeared, and everyone took their places at the table. Josh kept an unobtrusive watch on his parents-in-law. From what he could tell, his father-in-law didn't look at him at all, and his mother-in-law tried not to, but occasionally her eyes would flick over in his direction and then quickly away.

During the meal, the traditional declarations of gratitude began. There was really only one rule, and that was each person had to pick one thing. No “I'm grateful for so many things.” There was often a great deal of discussion about the one thing each person picked. And often, the one thing was preceded by a big buildup. So, the whole process took a long time, usually lasting through the meal, and sometimes afterward.

Usually someone voluntarily started them off, and for several years, that someone had been Josh. He always dutifully thought about all the things he could pick, because he knew they would accuse him of not thinking about it and just saying the same thing he always said. But in his mind, his gratitude for Kate was so much more than his gratitude for anyone or anything else, there was no way he could pick something else. This year there were several couples present that had not been married long, and he had begun to worry that they might feel they had to copy him, so he put that in his buildup, and it was right to do so, because the discussion following his declaration was longer and more lively than ever.

Finally they accepted his statement and moved on around the table. When it was Kate's mother's turn, she looked down at the table for a long time, said simply, “I am grateful for Josh,” and burst into tears.

Her husband put his arm around her and nodded. “Yes, I too am grateful for Josh. He has loved and protected my daughter Kate for a very long time.”

Some of the younger boys and men cheered and whistled, which helped the mother's tears turn into smiles. But nobody asked why they chose Josh. Attention turned to the next person.

After dinner, the women cleaned up, the younger ones played football or baseball, and the older men talked and played half-hearted poker. Years ago, they smoked, but there were no smokers left anymore. Every few years, Fred was begged for the story of How Kate Was Saved From The Truck When She Was Only Four. This was always followed by an ongoing debate over what had really happened and who the man was who had saved her. Certain sides of the family insisted he was an angel, while others thought Fred's memory was faulty.

This year, Fred didn't wait to be begged.

“I want to tell the story about Kate and the truck and the man who saved her. It's time to tell it again, and we all need to remember it and remember him.”

“It started when he came down the road, looking for work. He said his name was John Smith, and he had been in a bad accident, and he didn't have any family or any money. He wondered if I needed any work done, and I said I'd appreciate it if he could help me with painting the house. We worked out a deal where he would sleep in the barn and eat meals with us, and I would pay him a hundred dollars when the painting was done. It didn't seem like very much money to me, but he said he was glad for the work.

“You could tell he had been in an accident. He had a new scar over his temple, a big ugly one, and he walked slowly the first few days. He was around 50 and had gray hair, and he looked a lot like Josh, especially now that Josh has gray hair. I think you gave Jen a shock today with that gray hair.

“He worked for us for a couple of weeks, and he got to be part of the family. He was always fixing things for Jen, and making toys for the kids, and he worshiped Kate. She had him wrapped around her little finger. Anything she asked for, he would do. The painting was just about done, and I was looking around for something else he could do, when that day came, July 24th.

“It was after lunch, about one o'clock, when Kate came running out the back door and down toward the highway. I think she was trying to escape from taking a nap, because I heard Jen calling her inside the house. I was up on a ladder, looking at the trim over the porch, but John was standing on the ground at the foot of the ladder.

“He took off running toward the highway, and I didn't know why, because he started running before Kate came into view. He caught up to her in the middle of the highway, and he snatched her right up and threw her to the other side of the highway. The truck hit him then, before he had a chance to get out of its way. It was a big truck, going fast, and when it finally got stopped, he was dead.

“Kate was fine, bruised and scared, but okay. The police came, and an ambulance, and they took him away to the hospital, but he was dead.

“I saw the whole thing from that ladder, and I still don't know how he knew to start running or how he knew to throw her across the road out of the way of the truck. He didn't look at the truck. He looked only at Kate. And he saved her life. On July 24th. Remember that.”

Fred stared straight at Josh. “July 24th.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Josh studied the data from the last test flight. It shouldn't be this bad. There was something wrong, and he didn't know what. There had to be some clue to solve this problem. He had questioned the test driver thoroughly, and the man seemed competent, but there had to be some little vibration or sludginess of controls, or something to give him a hint. It seemed like he was monitoring every detail, but he must be missing something.

Reluctantly, he decided he would have to test drive the car himself. He was reluctant only because he knew he was not a professional test driver, but he did have the advantage of knowing the car inside and out as an engineer. He frowned, knowing he would be so distracted by the actual driving and trying not to crash, that he wouldn't be able to feel tiny vibrations or sludginess of controls, even if they were there. Alright, a compromise. He would be a passenger. The test driver could worry about controlling the car, and he would be free to look for his clue.

He set about planning the passenger seat. It should be less protective than the driver's seat, so he could feel vibrations, and he needed to see everything the driver was doing, so he could tell if the car was responding correctly. The driver's seat in a test flying car was highly protective and designed to keep the driver from all injury during a crash, because test flying cars were expected to crash. In order to prevent the driver's body from hitting any surface hard, he was padded and restricted to the point of not being able to move. The seat itself was not directly attached to the car body, but designed to use air and gel cushioning to slow any sudden change in velocity. He would need to raise the threshold for the passenger seat to not go into cushioning mode until the change in velocity was much higher.

It took him several days to work out the design, but he was quite satisfied with both the safety and the potential for feeling what the car was doing, and before long the two passenger flying car was ready to test.

On the day of the test flight, he double checked all the vid and sound recording equipment, and the attendants strapped him and the driver into their seats. While the driver went through the systems checks, Josh mentally sat back and relaxed, preparing himself for pulling some clue out of chaos. On the dash in front of him, the car's emblem stared back at him. He had named it the Ford Eagle 4H. Everyone thought the 4H was for four hemispheres. It was supposed to be an ultimate expression for global, counting two hemispheres for the outer world and two for the inner world of imagination. But that wasn't the real meaning. His original inspiration for a flying car had come from reading Henry Ford's journal and studying his drawings and schematics. The Eagle 4H was the Eagle For Henry.

At last the car began its run down the concrete strip. Everything was smooth and responsive until they reached flight speed and lifted off. He kept up a constant stream of comments on what he saw, heard, and felt, and he was amazed at the severity of the vibrations. There was a lot wrong! Always before, the trouble began when the driver attempted to turn in flight, and it was the same this time. He could actually hear and see the driver's seat jostling around to compensate for the rough path of the car as it dipped and swerved. He saw the driver begin to fight the controls, and the vibrations became much more violent. The thought occurred to him, and he voiced it for the recorder, that his presence may have exacerbated the situation, causing the vibrations to be worse.

His last observation, faithfully dictated to the recorder, was that the controls might be too responsive and therefore contributing to the problem. Then several things happened at once. The car crashed into the concrete pavement, he felt his seat's cushioning system kick in, and his vision and thoughts abruptly went black.

- - - - - - - - -

Fred and Jen arrived at the hospital as soon as they heard. Kate and the kids were in the waiting room, sitting with heads down or pacing impatiently. Josh was still in the E.R., but the doctor had already come to tell them he had many cuts and bruises, but no broken bones, and he had not yet regained consciousness. They were investigating the possibility of internal bleeding or concussion.

After a long wait, the doctor returned. Josh was still unconscious, and that was a concern. They had found no internal bleeding, but he was convinced there must be a concussion, even though the usual indicators were not present. Except for remaining unconscious. They were going to move him to intensive care and monitor him closely. Visiting would be limited for now, but they expected him to improve over night.

Fred's chance to see Josh eventually came, and he walked into the room quietly. Kate was sitting at the bedside, holding Josh's hand. He saw bandages on Josh's face and head, and some on his arms. One of the bandages was over Josh's temple.

Fred couldn't resist taking a look. He pulled the tape off of one side and looked at the jagged cut on Josh's temple. It was just as he remembered, only newer. It hadn't healed any yet.

“What are you doing?” demanded Kate in a hushed but indignant voice. Fred put the bandage back in place and smoothed the tape down, saying nothing.

Just then the doctor returned to check on Josh. After looking at all the monitors and the chart, he said, “This is an unusual case. There are still no signs of concussion except for his remaining unconscious. And he has very active brain waves, which wouldn't be the case in concussion. It's more like he's asleep and dreaming, and we can't wake him up, although the brain activity is closer to what would be happening if he were awake. Physically, he's asleep or even comatose. But we never see this brain activity in a comatose patient. Maybe he will wake up tomorrow morning as if he just had a longer than usual night of sleep, who knows? We will keep monitoring him and wait for any change.”

- - - - - - - -

Josh opened his eyes blearily and squinted at the bright room. It was a hospital room, and that realization nudged his memory. The crash must have been worse than he thought. Maybe the cushioning system didn't kick in soon enough, or maybe his presence in the test car had made the crash much more damaging. He wondered how the driver had fared.

He sat up and looked himself over. Some cuts and bruises, but otherwise he felt okay. He was about to get out of the bed when a nurse came in. She made a little fuss at him, making him stay in bed until she had taken his vitals and answered her questions about how he felt. No dizziness, no headache, pretty much normal.

Before she had completely finished, the doctor came in and asked all the same questions. Apparently satisfied with the answers, he smiled and said, “I don't see any reason why you can't leave, Mr. Smith. I'll start the paperwork, and you should be out of here in a couple of hours or so.”

Josh's mind was stuck on the idea of paperwork taking two hours or more, so he didn't register the “Mr. Smith” for a minute, and by that time, they had both left the room. At first he wondered if he just didn't hear the name right, but then he looked at the plastic name band wrapped around his wrist. It said John Smith, Protestant. He frowned at the band. This hospital must be a very old and out of date one, because there was no bar-coded patient ID number, and he was sure they had given up putting the patient's religion on ID bands years ago.

Since he wasn't going to get any answers sitting in bed, he walked over toward the closet to get his clothes, and his eyes glanced over the daily calendar on the wall. He stopped when he saw the big 9. It was made like a tablet of paper, to tear off a page each day, and the day of the month was very large, with the month printed in small letters at the top. It said July. Today was July 9th. Which was totally crazy, because his accident had happened in December.

His brain whirred over the many discrepancies while he dressed and went into the bathroom to comb his hair. He looked in the mirror and saw the big cut over his temple. It was starting to heal, but it was still red and ugly. How long had he been here? And where exactly was here?

He remembered his wallet was in his pants and pulled it out. It opened to his driver's license, which had his picture on it, but the name said John Smith. Most of the other information was wrong, too. There was an address he had never heard of, and it said his birthdate was 01-15-34. His brain got stuck again when he noticed the expiration date: 01-15-85. He stared at the little plastic-coated card, wondering if he was losing his mind.

Inexplicably, an image came to him of Fred looking him in the eye and saying “July 24th. Remember that!” He had been talking about July 24th, 1984, the day Kate almost got run over by a truck. The story flooded into his memory. John Smith. About 50. Gray hair. Looked a lot like Josh. Been in a bad accident. Had a new scar over his temple.

Now he was sure he was losing his mind.

- - - - - - - -

Josh was dawdling over his pie. He was watching Kate play in the garden. He loved to watch her. She was so fascinated by everything around her, and if things weren't interesting enough, she imagined them different. Right now she was pretending the tomatoes were talking to her, telling her how ripe they were, and when they could be picked.

“Mom! This one is ready! Can I pick it?” she called.

“Is it red all over?” Jen called in return.

“Yes. It's very red all over.”

“Okay, you can pick it.”

Kate bent to the tomato and very carefully removed it from the plant, holding it to her nose. “Mmm, this is a good one!” She ran over to her mother and held the tomato up.

Jen smiled. “Yes, I see. Thank you for finding it.”

Kate ran into the house to put the tomato on the sink.

Josh smiled to himself as he ate the last bite of pie. He still had trouble believing he was really here, watching the four-year-old Kate learning and playing and just being Kate. He had been here several days, and his soreness was pretty much gone. That was good, because he needed to be able to move when the time came. Kate could run awfully fast.

He had done a lot of thinking, lying out in the barn at night. He'd been scared and grateful. Scared that he would fail to do the job he was here to do, that he wouldn't see her in time, or that he would stumble and not catch her, or that he would chicken out. How horrible that would be! But he had come around to the fact that he had already done it, so he knew he would be able to do it.

Grateful that he had these wonderful fourteen days to watch his beloved wife as a child and love her even more. Most grateful that he would have a chance to give her back her life. He thought about dying, and he wasn't afraid. He had a deep faith, and he knew he would be in a better place. He would miss Kate, of course, but he had enjoyed 28 good years with her, and he knew that was more than most people got. And besides, of all the ways there were to die, this was the best, giving his life to save hers. When that truck hit him, he wanted to be thanking God for letting him do this.

- - - - - - - - -

Fred knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to gather up John's belongings and see if he had any family to notify. He walked into the barn with a determined stride. There wasn't much. John only had one change of clothes with him when he arrived, carrying everything in a shopping bag. In fact, there was the shopping bag, right there next to the pile of straw and blankets John had made into a bed.

He looked into the bag. There was only a Bible printed by the Gideons and an envelope. Fred wondered if John had taken the Bible from his hospital room, but as soon as he saw his own name on the envelope, he forgot everything else and picked it up. It had “Fred” written on it, and also “Personal” and “Urgent,” both underlined twice. Slowly he opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Fred,

This is probably going to be difficult for you, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to remember for 45 years what I did and tell me about it on Thanksgiving, 2039, so I know what I’m here for, when I get here. That sounds confusing, doesn’t it? I’ll try to explain.

My name isn’t really John Smith. You will meet me in about 15 years, and you will know me as Josh Mitchell. I will marry your daughter Kate. About 45 years from now, I will be in an accident and somehow I will wake up in a hospital here, now, in 1984. I will come to your farm and ask for work, so I will be here to save Kate from the truck. But when I come to in the hospital here, I will need to know what I’m supposed to do, and that is where I need your help.

I want you to start a Thanksgiving tradition of telling the story of the day Kate was almost killed by the truck and the man who saved her. You don’t need to tell it every year, but enough times to keep it fresh in my memory, and most of all you need to tell it on Thanksgiving, 2039. Make sure you emphasize to me that it happened on July 24th, because that will help me put it all together. But don’t tell me it was me that saved her. Just keep telling the story that John Smith was the one. You can say he looked like me, but don’t tell me it was me. I guess you better not tell anybody it was me, or people will think you’re nuts. I’ll leave it to your discretion whether or not to tell Jen. Please don’t tell Kate. It would put a heavy shadow over our marriage.

I need to know the details, like she came running out of the back door around 1 pm, and I started running after her before I could even see her, and you heard Jen calling her, and I grabbed her up and threw her to the other side of the highway. Put that all in the story, so I know what to do and when to do it.

One other thing. I'm not sure what happened to the me in 2039, whether I disappeared or died or what. But I know I'm going to die today saving Kate, so I will probably be dead in 2039, too. I want Kate to know what happened to me. You can show her the letter then, because she may not believe you otherwise. Kate, my love, I am so glad I could do this. I don't regret it for a minute, because it means we will have 28 wonderful years together. Don't be sad – we'll see each other soon.

Josh
July 24, 1984

- - - - - - - -

Fred stood at the door to the hospital room with his hands in his pockets, watching Kate watching Josh sleep, if that's what he was doing. There had been no change for almost a month now. His cuts and bruises were healed, but he still didn't wake up, and the monitors still showed the mysterious brain activity. The doctor had scheduled an meeting with them later today to discuss future treatment. Fred suspected he would suggest a skilled nursing facility, the kind of place where patients in a coma were sent to sleep away the rest of their lives.

His fingers touched the letter in his pocket. He had taken to carrying it with him every day, expecting any day might be the day Josh would die, and then he would show the letter to Kate. As the days dragged on, he began to feel he shouldn't wait any longer. Today he had decided she needed to know what had happened so long ago, before she had to make any decisions about sending Josh someplace to wait to die. He took a deep breath and stepped to her side.

“Kate, honey, I have a letter from Josh.”

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it toward her. She took it, half eagerly and half filled with dread, and began to read. He watched her face and remembered the day he first read it, how confused and unbelieving he had been. It had taken a lot of thinking through it to understand how undeniable the facts were. It had been written before all the events described in detail in the letter. In spite of that, he hadn't really believed it until Kate brought Josh home to meet her parents fifteen years later.

Kate was reading the letter over again. He waited until she turned to him, full of questions, then he began to tell her. He talked for a long time, going over every detail and every argument for or against. He told her the process he had gone through over the years, coming to accept the letter at face value, even though it was impossible. After seemingly experiencing every possible emotion, she ended up with the only question for which he had no answer: what was happening to Josh now?

The doctor came in for his daily look at Josh. He did a quick but careful exam, still looking for anything he might have missed that would explain Josh's condition. Then he went over the tests from yesterday, when he had requested every possible kind of brain scan and whole body scan that he could. He had not found anything that could be causing Josh to not wake up.

“As you can see, the monitors are still showing the same brain activity, which would normally indicate that he is awake.” The doctor waited for them to look at the monitors. “Let's go out to the office down at the end of the hall, so we can talk without disturbing your husband.”

As they entered the office and sat down, Kate began asking questions. The doctor answered each one thoroughly and patiently. After about ten minutes of this, the doctor's phone sounded an alarm tone. He looked at the display and abruptly stood up.

“It's your husband. He's in distress.”

He strode quickly back to Josh's room, Kate and Fred following. They watched in horror as the doctor and several medical attendants applied various resuscitative procedures. Several monitors were flashing red or blue lights, and nothing seemed to be helping.

“What happened?” demanded the doctor. “I saw him not ten minutes ago, and he wasn't bleeding, and he didn't have any of these huge bruises.” He glared around at the others, but they were shaking their heads.

“His ribs are broken!” exclaimed the doctor. “It's like a pile of concrete fell on him, or something! We need to get him to surgery, and get new scans, and ...”

Fred interrupted. “He was hit by a big truck going 60 miles an hour!”

Everyone looked at Fred, but they didn't stop trying to resuscitate Josh.

“He's going to die if you don't do something quick!” Everyone continued to stare at Fred.

Kate burst out with a wail, “Josh, come back! You don't have to die again!”

That seemed to galvanize the doctor, and everything moved very fast, so that in less than a minute, they had Josh rolling into surgery, accompanied by a parade of equipment.

Kate and Fred were left in the suddenly quiet hall. They moved to the waiting room and sat.

- - - - - - - - - -

Josh opened his eyes blearily. Gradually he realized he must have had some kind of accident. He was covered in bandages, arm casts, and leg casts, and several parts of him were hanging from various traction contraptions. He tried to lift his hand to feel his face, but he was unable to figure out where exactly his hand was.

My brain is mush, he thought, and fell asleep again.

- - - - - - - -

When Thanksgiving came along again, Kate volunteered to host it, knowing Josh would be more comfortable getting around in his own home. He still needed a cane to walk, and he tired easily. His mental recovery had been equally slow, especially his short term memory. When he started asking the same questions every day, his therapists gave him a notebook to write his questions and answers in, and he settled into a routine of reading it every morning and carrying it around with him.

After the meal began, Josh rapped his spoon on the table to get everyone's attention. He picked up his notebook.

“It says here that I'm supposed to say one thing I'm grateful for this year. Kate warned me last week, so I've been thinking about it and writing my ideas on my list. The one thing I'm grateful for this year is ...” He paused and looked around the table. “Kate. I'm most grateful for Kate.”

The younger ones clapped and cheered, and everyone was smiling and nodding in approval. They were all familiar with Josh's list of answers.

When the cheering died down, he continued. “Like I do every year!” Now everyone was cheering, including Josh himself.

“You better watch out. I'm remembering some things now, so I could be remembering what you said last year.”

That caused quite a lively discussion, which was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone.

After dinner, the usual groups gathered, and Josh and his cane aimed for the living room with the other men.

“Hey, Fred! Don't you have a story to tell about Kate and a truck?” he asked.

Fred looked at Josh warily. “Do you have that on your list? Did Kate tell you about it?”

“No, I think I remember there's a story you tell sometimes.” Josh frowned. “Am I remembering wrong?”

Tom, the main proponent of the angel theory, jumped in. “You're not wrong. Come on, Fred, tell us about the angel that saved Kate.”

Once again Fred found himself telling the familiar old story. He had foolishly thought he wouldn't be telling it anymore, but he hadn't told anyone the real truth except Jen and Kate, and Josh didn't remember it. So he told it, but this time his sense of urgency was gone. He had done what Josh had asked, and it had worked. The purpose behind the story telling was finished. It had become nothing more than a good story.

After he finished, the men were quiet for a while. Perhaps they had been affected by Fred's change of attitude. Josh was frowning slightly, obviously trying to remember. He did that a lot these days.

“And he wrote you a letter, didn't he?” Josh asked. “Do you still have it?”

Tom immediately went into debate mode. “Angels don't write stuff. There isn't any record of them ever doing that.”

During the chaotic discussion that followed, Fred beckoned to Josh to accompany him into the bedroom, where he pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. As Josh read to the end, Fred thought he now knew what the expression “his face glowed” meant.

“I remember! I did it! I saved her! Thank God!”