Winter Wonderland Wishes

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Phoebe’s hand instinctively covered her mouth for a moment. She felt her heart sink with the news he had just broken. That meant he had lost two women he had loved. That was a heavy burden to carry for any man.

‘How old were you at the time, Heath?’

‘Sixteen—so it will be twenty years this July since she was killed.’

The desolate expression on Phoebe’s face told Heath how she was feeling. She knew she had no words that could capture the depth of his sadness so she didn’t try to speak.

‘I think, to be honest, he has no reason to go to bed early any more. There’s no one waiting so he stays up late—unless he has an early surgery roster … then he goes to bed at a reasonable hour.’

‘And he’s never wanted to remarry?’

‘No. He and my mother were soul mates. He didn’t think he would find that again, so he never looked.’

‘That’s sad. There might have been someone just perfect …’ Phoebe replied—then realised that she was overstepping the mark, by commenting about someone else’s love-life when her own had been a disaster, and stopped.

‘Perhaps. But he’s never recovered from losing my mother. Some people never do. They just can’t move on.’

Phoebe wondered if Heath was the same as his father. Cut from the same cloth and faithful to the woman he had lost. Never having healed enough to be with someone else.

They travelled along in silence after that, until Heath pulled up at the front of the beautiful old sandstone villa that his father had called home for so many years, and where he was staying for just a few weeks. Standard white roses, eight bushes on each side, lined the pathway.

Someone must have been watering them in the extreme weather, Phoebe mused as she walked past them, tempted to touch the perfect white petals. Their delicate perfume hung in the night air. The front porch light was on and the home had a welcoming feel to it. It was as if there was a woman still living there, Phoebe thought as she made her way to the front door with Heath.

He unlocked it and they both stepped inside.

‘Hi, Dad, we’re home. I hope you’re decent. I have Phoebe with me, and you don’t need to scare her in your underwear, or worse.’

Phoebe felt a smile coming on at the humour in his greeting and it lifted her spirits. She looked around and was very taken by the beautiful stained glass around the door of the softly lit entrance hall. And she felt comforted by the lighthearted side of their father-son relationship. It was not unlike the way she related to her own father. The warmth, respect and humorous rapport were very similar.

‘I’m outside on the patio.’

Heath dropped his keys onto the antique hall stand and then led the way down the long hallway, through the huge country-style kitchen, complete with pots and pans overhanging the marble cooking island, to the back veranda. From what she could see of the house in the dim lighting it was pristine, and she wondered if it was the work of Ken or if perhaps he had a cleaning service to keep it looking so picture-perfect. It didn’t look like two men were living there.

Phoebe excused herself to visit the bathroom while Heath walked through the French doors to the patio.

‘There you are,’ he said to his father, who was sitting in the light of the moon.

‘Yes, just sitting alone with my thoughts. And here’s one of them. Don’t look at me as a role model—look at me as a warning … It’s not a real life without a woman to share it. Don’t leave it too long to look for love again.’

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