The Red Gloves Collection by Karen Kingsbury Page A

strangely. “Can I help—”
    “Mom.” Earl saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. She hadn’t known it was him at first, but now … now she knew. “Mom, I’m home.”
    “Earl?” Her voice was broken and weak—almost childlike. He stepped into the house and took her in his arms. She was shaking, and for a moment Earl thought she might pass out. “Thank God. Oh, thank God. I knew you’d come home at Christmastime.”
    All he could do was hold her.
    After a moment of silence, she leaned back and framed his face in her hands. Then, with a smile, she linked arms with him and headed into the living room.
    At one end sat his father. He looked older, more frail than the last time Earl had seen him. Seated around the room were Earl’s brother and sister, their spouses, and kids. Conversations stopped and the room fell silent as Earl and his mother walked into view.
    His sister gasped and then covered her mouth.
    For a moment, no one spoke. Earl knew it was his move, his turn to apologize. But his throat was thick and he knew if he tried to talk he would break down and cry.
    Almost as though he could sense Earl’s discomfort, his father stood and moved slowly across the room. Their eyes met and held, then his father engulfed him in a desperate hug that erased the years. “Welcome home, son.”
    “I’m—I’m so sorry, Dad.” Earl’s voice broke and he buried his face in his father’s shoulder.
    One by one the others rose and joined in the embrace. Earl stood utterly still, his tears splashing against his new shoes. What was this? How could they so quickly forgive him? And why would they still love him after all his years of silence?
    It was a moment that defined their love, a moment that told Earl everything he needed to know: He was going to be okay. No, he would not have Anne and Molly. Not for a long while. But he had the love of his family. And a faith in God that had never been there before.
    “Oh, Earl.” His mother clung to him even more tightly than before. “You’re really here!”
    Then, as briefly as he could, he told them about Gideon and her gift and how it had changed his mind about life and love. Even God’s love.
    His mother still looked at him as though he might disappear at any moment. Then she said, something Earl had never expected her to say. “How fitting—that God would use a child to make the miracle happen. Especially at Christmas.”
    Earl’s legs trembled. The love from his parents, his family, was almost more than he could take. He was so undeserving. What if he hadn’t opened the child’s gift? What if he’d tossed it in the trash can like he’d planned? Neither of them would have found life—neither him nor her.
    With a shudder, he shook his head and cast a pleading look at his father. “We’ve lost so much time.”
    “Yes,” his father wrapped his arm around him once more. “But think how much time we have left.”

POSTSCRIPT
    T he wedding was over and Earl slipped into the foyer. He needed to find Gideon, needed to give her something.
    How good God had been to them over the years. Gideon had figured out that their Christmas surprises were from him, and he had flown back to Portland and spent rime with the Mercer family. He’d stayed in touch throughout Gideon’s transplant process. And when she came home two months later with a healthy report, Earl was the first one she called.
    She had become something of a granddaughter to him. Someone he loved as dearly as he’d loved his own girl.
    He had flown out for the wedding. He still lived in Redding. His parents had both died years ago, so he had the old house to himself now. Just him, alone with the Lord, celebrating life and anxious for heaven.
    He maneuvered himself past the milling crowd and peered over the heads of a group of men. There she was. Surrounded by guests in the far corner of the church foyer. He made his way closer and motioned to her. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Gideon?”
    Her face lit