I was but a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old, the summer I worked grounds crew at Camp Sand Lake.
Sand was a given, being smack in the Mojave Desert, and it would’ve been omitted altogether in an alternate universe where “Camp Lake” made good branding. The eponymous lake, however, was a mystery. How deep was it?
“So, Aedan, I’d like you to take care of the place today. This will be an opportunity to get your feet wet managing the business.”
“What?” I glanced up from my phone, sipping my rapidly-melting milkshake. Uncle Johnny didn’t usually bother me on my lunch break.
He sighed. He looked frazzled, and his white hair stuck out at odd angles.
Pastor Shantel peered through the little window of the flying saucer purring at three hundred miles per hour. Tsulee, the leader of the blue alien children, sat beside her, watching the screen track their progress to Area 51.
The craft flew high enough to be a speck from the ground but low enough…
I stared out at the cold gray afternoon. Some summer holiday this was turning out to be. Spending the whole of June on a road trip through the French countryside had sounded idyllic when my parents suggested it. I’d expected to be frolicking in Alpine meadows with wildflowers in my hair like Heidi and swimming in gorgeous blue mountain lakes.
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I flew up the stairs two at a time, furious. Six more weeks in a cast? That’s my entire baseball season ruined. Flopping into my desk chair, I swept my casted arm across the top of the desk, sending everything either flying or thumping to the floor. Look magazine peeked out from under homework and a tissue box.
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When I was a young girl, my grandfather would often wrap my little hands in his gnarled ones and a fierce twinkle would enter his eyes. “Amelia,” he would say. “I quit racing dragons many years ago after nasty Rangle McHoughy beat me. Don’t give up like I did.”
At fifteen, my determination to beat a McHoughy grew strong.
Operation Dynamo. More than 338,000 British and other Allied troops waited on the beaches of France. Surrounded by the Germans, the only way out was on the sea that trapped them.
But the beaches were too shallow for destroyers to reach. So, the British Admiralty sent out the call for small vessels to ferry the men to safety.
Most high school principals looked forward to graduation night, but not Edwin. It was the one night of the year that he couldn’t ignore his psychic ability—he dared not call it a gift.
As he handed diplomas to the graduates, he would see flashes of their future, snapshots of what was to come.
I saw the dismay in Princess Auvora’s eyes as soon as I removed my helmet; I’d probably have felt the same in her situation. But she recovered quickly. Smoothing her skirts, she lifted her chin and extended her hands in a welcoming, gracious gesture.
“Brave…” She faltered, her brow wrinkling. “Knight-ess?
I knew the dangers of stopping for a stranded traveler, so I often passed them without a thought, praying for someone else to help. I had lived in Michigan all my life and experienced April snow squalls that formed from nowhere. Such is the way with the Mitten State in spring.
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Rich pulled his chair out from the breakfast table and glanced across it at his grandson. Tommy had his hand over his mouth, struggling to stifle a laugh. Rich bit back a smile. Tommy really hadn’t hidden the whoopee cushion well enough. Oh well, what could you expect from an eight-year-old? He sat down. Blaaaat.
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I remember how the rain poured when we boarded our flight from Virginia two weeks ago. A typical, gloomy, East Coast April day. Penny and I both have seasonal depression, so when the opportunity arose to take a ten-years-overdue honeymoon to sunny Djerba Island for two weeks, we didn’t hesitate.
I wish we had.
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