I have just returned from a trip to the Pacific Northwest, which considering that I’ve lived in Phoenix, Arizona for the last three decades was quite a different experience. It was cold and wet. And this was not the kind rain we get in Phoenix. No! This was freezing cold rain, the kind that trickles down the back of your neck and makes you shiver. And gosh, it was constantly dark. It felt like dinnertime all day long.

We’d been staying with Ryan’s stepmom who’d been living alone since his dad died unexpectedly on Christmas day last year. After a nice, week-long visit, we headed south in his father’s car, a vehicle we purchased since it had been sitting unused in the garage since Stanley died.

Despite the dark skies and threat of rain, we marked some rock-collecting sites to visit along the 1,400 mile journey home. I’m a rocker and no amount of inclement weather will stop me from going on a good rock hunt. And Ryan agrees. Okay, that last part was a lie. Ry, good sport that he is, humors me in regard to my obsession with rocks. So he just sighed a little when I directed him toward Quartzville Creek, Oregon, a place I could collected agates and jasper and petrified wood. “It’s only raining a little.” I smiled.

With pretty rocks dancing in my head, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to the topography or the dark, low-hanging clouds when I pointed Ry toward the Cascade Mountains. We were about 20 miles into a high, thick forest when fat snowflakes started smacking into the windshield.

“I saw a sign that said this leads to the 5,” Ry said. “So let’s just stay on it.”

The road began to zig and zag and Ry clutched the wheel like a Formula One driver. Then, a few miles later, he shouted, “Shit! I think we have a flat tire!” He stared at the warning light on the dashboard.

“How’s that possible? We bought brand new tires less than 48-hours ago.” I didn’t wait for his reply. “Don’t worry! I have AAA!” I said in the cheeriest voice I could muster. Then I pulled out my phone and discovered…egads…no bars.

Ry pulled off the road. “I’m going to check the tires.” Then he jumped out and left the door wide open so the wind and snow whipped into the car.

I waited.

Then I waited some more.

But Ry had disappeared.

If you’ve never been in that part of the world, note that those murky forests can be rather forbidding. Trees are densely packed, some covered with thick green moss, skeletal branches reaching out as if ready to grab an unsuspecting passerby. For some reason, I pictured Brad and Janet on that stormy night they found themselves on Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s doorstep. And we know how that ended.

Then, I remembered Bigfoot, beacuse we were stalled right smack in the middle of his stomping grounds. Might the big guy appear, reach into the open door, and carry me off to his bachelor pad? Before I could ponder that scenario, Ry reappeared.

“Where’d you go?” I said, sounding a bit desperate.

“The tires are fine. There was a guy parked down the road. He said to turn around and go back.”

So, we did.

It was two days after we’d survived our ordeal in the mountains that we stood in a parking lot unpacking the car. We were weary from a day of collecting on Oregon’s rugged beaches and looking forward to a warm bed and some dinner. That’s when a man hurried by. I only saw him for an instant. Well-built in a dark T-shirt and jeans. Something about him was familiar, but he quickly vanished into the night.

I forgot about the man until the next morning. Ry and I were having breakfast when I looked up and there he was at the Holiday Inn Express buffet getting a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Santa!” I called, marveling at the way the guy with the hot bod had transformed into the Jolly Old Elf. Clearly, he must have been traveling incognito the previous night.

“Ho Ho Ho!” Santa looked at me and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”

Ryan turned around. “Hey, Santa! I’ve been a very naughty boy. How can I get back on the Good List?”

And there it was. The twinkle in his eye. It really was Santa! He clutched his drink, which I was now pretty sure was actually hot cocoa with whipped cream and a candy cane.

“Be nice to people,” he said. Then Santa winked and walked away. “Ho, ho, ho!” he called as he slipped past the front desk and out the door.

I looked at Ry for a moment. Didn’t he rescue me from the snowy Cascades and Bigfoot? Didn’t he take me to five cold rainy Oregon beaches so I could hunt for rocks. That’s pretty nice, don’t you think?

Here’s hoping that gets him a little closer to Santa’s Good List.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

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