"It's locked!" I exclaimed to my husband as I stood outside the door of our son's house, wearing my robe and pajamas and holding the clothes we had gotten out of the car. We had taken an overnight bag in last night, but left our hanging clothes in the car. Howard, coming up with a shirt on a hanger, tried the door to no avail.
"Let's ring the doorbell!" I suggested, seeing a button on the garage wall. We hated to wake our daughter-in-law, though, and our son, Trevor, had told us last night he would leave early to drop our grandson Kyle at the TSA (Texas Soaring Association) for a day of work at the field where an area meeting was to be held that day. "Surely Trevor will be back soon," I said, hopefully.
Just then I glimpsed the top of his SUV that was visible in the distance moving along the road leading to the neighborhood. "I see him!" I announced, though Howard didn't think so, since the car had disappeared from view. In a few minutes Trevor pulled in looking at us quizically. "I was about to ring the doorbell," I said, as he walked up. He said that wasn't the doorbell, it was the alarm system, and he didn't have his key, either. He went to the front door and managed to get in. Our sweet son then made us a wonderful breakfast while we got dressed.
We had had a great time with them the day before when we had stopped by their house on the way to Houston. We had spent the afternoon at the flying field watching Kyle in his volunteer duties: holding a glider wing and running until it was lifted by the tow plane, conferring with other soaring enthusiasts, and waiting his turn to go up. What a peaceful place! A few clouds were floating marshmallow-like in a soft-blue sky, the only sound the motor of the tow plane and the wisk of the breeze as the planes glided noiselessly above.
After awhile, we went inside the "club house," a fifties era A-frame that housed the office, a lounge and snack bar. "How much are the cookies?" Howard asked, eyeing tantalizing rows of them under a plastic cover. The attendant, a motherly type who cooked for the flyers, answered, "You're welcome." He repeated the question, to which she again replied, "You're welcome!" Then he smiled as he realized they were free and got one for himself and one for me, too.
Now we were about to resume our trip to our son Jamie's house and left this family to enjoy the rest of their spring break, knowing that on our way back we could stop there again for an overnight stay, confident of finding no locked door, but of being met only with "You're welcome!"
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