Lessons Learned, Healing Hearts

Out of Our Control (Chapter 1)

Mark, his mind racing with worry, looked at his watch. Pacing back and forth in the arrivals area, he desperately needed a distraction, as it had been three long hours since he last received an update from his son-in-law.

"No news is good news," he kept repeating.

Glancing out the window, he watched as a chartered plane pulled up to the tarmac. His clients, a renowned music group, were delayed due to a late spring snowstorm on the East Coast. While it was a situation beyond anyone's control, he desperately needed it to be them. Gathering all his papers and moving closer to the window, he watched a silver-haired older man emerge from the plane, followed by a dark-haired woman. Cussing silently, he was about to sit down, but then, out of the corner of his eye, another figure appeared.

Was this them? Please be them!

As a young man took his coat off and headed down the stairs onto the tarmac, two more young men followed. This had to be them.

"Mr. Torpedine?" Mark called out as the older man and woman passed through the sliding doors first. Behind them, the three others followed, looking tired and haggard.

"Yes."

"Welcome to Vancouver. My name is Mark Thornton. I am here to take you and your group to your hotel."

Shaking Michele's (pronounced Mic-kee-lay) hand, Mark waited patiently for the rest of the group to gather around the older gentleman.

"Is this everyone?" he asked.

Getting a yes, Mark instructed, "Follow me, please, and I will take you to the car."

Walking through the smaller terminal, few people were present. And yet, the air was still filled with a sense of anticipation for those who were waiting for loved ones to arrive.

"I hear you all have had quite the time getting here."

Getting grunts and scoffs from the younger men, he smiled when Michele confirmed, "Yes, it's taken 26 hours, but we made it."

"Well, we're supposed to have beautiful weather for the next two weeks, so you should be able to pack your heavy coats away."

Helping everyone load their luggage into the vehicle, Mark got a closer look at the three young men. Haggard and solely dressed for comfort, while each sported scruffy facial hair, it was still easy to see that when well-rested and cleaned up, all three were good-looking boys. Guessing that they were in their mid-twenties, it was difficult to believe they had already been in the business for over a decade. Sliding into the driver's seat, he headed out of the airport and onto Highway 99.

Passing over the river, Mark's phone vibrated, jolting him out of his thoughts. Pulling it out at the next available red light, he apologized to Michele for checking the message. Dropping his head and swallowing hard, Mark's world seemed to shatter around him as he read the dreaded words, 'Come home, Dad.' Instantly, his lungs tightened, and he fought to keep his vision clear.

"Is everything OK?" Michele inquired, seeing from Mark's expression that he had received bad news.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Mark fought to compose himself. Unwilling to share the despair he was feeling, Mark forced a smile and lied, "It will be."

Arriving at the Marriott Suites, Mark exited the vehicle and opened the trunk. Helping to remove the bags so he could ensure his own carry-on did not get taken by mistake, he received a grateful thank you from everyone.

"Excuse me, Mr. Torpedine. May I have a word with you?"

Informed that someone other than himself would pick them up tomorrow morning, Michele questioned, "I hope whatever is taking you away is not too serious?"