A Gift to Last Page 0,37

would turn around and head in the opposite direction.

"I bet Catherine didn't think so at the time, but the fact that Greg Bennett walked out on her was probably the best thing that could've happened. He's been a rotten husband to all three of his wives." Goodness shook her head in disgust. Apparently, she, too, was having difficulty finding him worthy of their assistance.

"What I don't understand," Mercy said, her expression thoughtful, "is why Gabriel would assign us someone who's so..." She floundered.

Goodness finished the sentence for her. "Impossible," she said. "Greg Bennett's impossible. And he doesn't care about God."

"But as we've discussed before, God cares about him, and so does Gabriel. Greg Bennett is the reason we're here," Shirley said. "The reason we had an opportunity to return to earth. It's our duty to make sure this is a Christmas he'll remember."

Both Goodness and Mercy stepped aside as Catherine and her daughter walked out of the restaurant, laughing and talking animatedly.

"You're right," Goodness agreed once mother and daughter had passed. "I don't like Greg Bennett any more than either of you, but God loves him." She began to say something else, then stopped abruptly. Her deep blue eyes grew huge. "Oh - look at that!"

"At what?" Shirley demanded.

"You'll never guess who's here," Goodness said excitedly. "Right now!"

Shirley whirled about, almost afraid to look. It couldn't be - but she knew it had to be. "Greg Bennett."

"We've got to do something," Mercy insisted. "Think, everyone. We can't let an opportunity like this pass."

"No...no!" Shirley cried, but Goodness and Mercy were already moving toward a table covered with steaming cooked crabs. "Not the crabs," but it was too late.

These Friday luncheon dates with her daughter were a delightful part of Catherine Thorpe's week. The hour with Carrie always went by in a flash. Meeting her daughter gave her an excuse to linger in the downtown area, as well. San Francisco in December was a sight to behold, and she planned to finish up her afternoon with some holiday shopping. She loved spoiling her grandson, and with another grandchild due in April, her world was full.

"I'll see you and Dad on Sunday, then," Carrie said as they strolled toward her office building.

"Bring Jason with you," Catherine urged. She knew her daughter well enough to recognize that her current boyfriend was someone special.

"Mother," Carrie chided, "I don't - "

She was interrupted by a terrible clang. For no apparent reason, a table full of freshly cooked crabs toppled over, scattering them in every direction. Most of the contents slid across the pavement toward a strikingly attractive older man who leaped out of the way with enviable dexterity.

Catherine recognized Greg instantly, but she soon discovered that his gaze was focused on Carrie. He frowned, as if confused.

"Catherine?"

Carrie turned toward her mother and Greg's gaze followed. Catherine looked him full in the face, was looking at him for the first time in thirty-five years. Her lungs felt frozen and for a moment she couldn't breathe.

So this was Greg.

During the past decades Catherine had sometimes wondered how she'd react if she ever saw him again. Now she knew. Her mouth went dry, and the remembered pain of what he'd done made it difficult to swallow.

"Mom?"

Carrie's voice sounded as if it was coming from a great distance.

Catherine had to make a concerted effort to pull her attention back to her daughter.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Carrie said worriedly.

"I'm fine," Catherine assured her daughter, but in fact, she was seeing a ghost. The ghost of a man who had destroyed her ability to love and trust. Time had dulled her bitterness toward Greg Bennett, had changed her feelings, but even all these years couldn't minimize the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly.

Before she could decide if she should approach Greg or ignore him, he took a step toward her, then hesitated. Catherine remained still. He slowly came closer until they stood face-to-face.

A flurry of activity went on about them as several people scurried to pick up the spilled crabs, but Catherine barely noticed.

"Catherine." Greg's voice was low, a little shaky.

"You know my mother?" Carrie asked, taking Catherine's arm protectively.

"Greg's an old friend," Catherine explained when it became apparent that Greg wasn't answering. She saw the way he stared at her daughter, and then she understood why. "Greg, this is my twenty-five-year-old daughter, Carrie Thorpe."

He picked up her message quickly. This wasn't his child, his daughter, and to his credit his recovery was smooth. "You're just as beautiful