Chapter 1

Author’s Note: I originally posted this story in 2011. Recently I’ve been looking over some of my older stories to see if they could benefit from continuing the plot where the original left off. “April’s Gift” is the first story I’m revising and expanding. I’ve made some minor modifications to the first five chapters to fit with the new material; otherwise the plot is unchanged. Enjoy!
--D

Ron sat at his laptop and began searching Google for a technical manual. An instant message popped up.

crystal27: hi

He typed in a reply.

Ron returned his Google search. He found the manual he needed, downloaded it and began perusing it.

crystal27: u never told me why ur screen name is wiz

He clicked on the message box and typed.

Ron scanned through the manual, adding bookmarks to various sections.

crystal27: u doing anything interesting tomorrow?

He typed on his keyboard.

Nursing a Sharps, Ron sat in a lawn chair on the patio of his sister’s house. From inside the house came the hubbub of the party, loud talking and laughter. He watched children playing in his sister’s swimming pool. Some were going down the slide and one practiced jumping off a diving board.

A little girl of around six years sat on an inflatable raft. She bounced on it as it drifted toward the deep end of the pool.

Ron stood and strolled near the edge of the pool. The little girl continued to bounce, each time landing closer and closer to the end of the raft. On the final bounce she slid off and began to sink.

Ron crouched down, reached in, grasped the girl by the armpit and lifted her clear. She coughed and sputtered as he set her onto the concrete. He was joined from nowhere by a woman in a yellow sundress who scooped up the little girl and embraced her. “Mattie -- are you all right? A little scared? You’re okay now...” She glanced toward Ron and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

He regarded her. She was in her mid-to-late twenties he figured, large framed and a bit overweight in a full-figured rather than obese manner. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair, hazel eyes and wore oval, wire-framed glasses. Her sundress came to above her knees and her legs were heavy but shapely.

The woman grasped a towel. “No more pool for you, Mattie,” she said. “You go inside, into the bedroom and change out of your bathing suit.” Ron watched as Mattie scampered into the house. The woman turned to Ron. “Oh, thank you so much,” she said. “I didn’t want to make too big of a deal of it in front of Mattie but I am so grateful you were there.”

Ron shrugged. “It was no big deal. I’m Ron, by the way.”

“I’m April.”

“April. That’s not a name I hear often. Are you a friend of Steve or of Connie?”

“Neither, actually. I’m here with Brad and Rayla McIntyre. Do you know them?”

“I know almost no one here,” he replied. “Connie is my sister.”

“Brad works with Steve,” April replied. “I’m his sister and I’m here to keep an eye on Mattie.” She made a snort. “Mighty fine job of it I’m doing, isn’t it?”

“Little kids can get into trouble in an eyeblink.” Ron regarded her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A Coke maybe.” She smiled. “I’m also the designated driver.”

“Gotcha.” Ron returned with a soda and another Sharps.

“Thanks ... you’re abstaining also?”

“I have a heart condition ... an arrhythmia...”

“Oh, dear...”

“It’s more of a nuisance than anything dangerous,” Ron continued, “but alcohol seems to aggravate it.” He held up his can and tapped its rim to the one April held.

“Skumps,” she said and sipped her soda.

“Skumps ... that’s from...”

“Sleeping Beauty,” April replied, “the Disney classic.”

“I know it is.”

“Are you a big Disney fan?” she asked.

“Not really. At one time I thought I wanted to become an animator and I studied all the great animated films ... Disney, Myazaki and others. Are you a fan?”

“Not really, but it is one of Mattie’s favorites. When we sit down for a meal, she always toasts me with skumps. You didn’t become an animator?”

“No. It dawned on me how much work it is, and I don’t care for repetitive tasks. Now, it’s all going over to computers anyway, and I have zero interest an that.”

Ron’s sister came out of the house and approached them. “Oh ... Ronnie and April ... I was going to introduce you two but I see you found each other on your own. Steve’s getting the grill going. Do you want burger, hot dog...”

“Burger,” Ron replied. “Cheeseburger if that’s okay.”

“Same here,” said April.

Ron sat in a lawn chair beside April. Mattie sat cross-legged on a towel by her feet. He watched his brother set off small skyrockets and Roman candles.

“I’m full,” he remarked.

“So am I,” April replied.

“I don’t know where Connie got the sweet corn. It’s too early for it to be local, but it was as fresh as local.”

“I love fresh sweet corn.”

“Do you like fireworks?” Ron asked and gestured toward his brother-in-law.

“I don’t like the ones that go bang ... but these are kinda pretty.”

“The city fireworks are tomorrow night. Would you like to go to them with me?”

April regarded him. “Oh, thanks for asking but I can’t. You see I’ll need to be up early the next day to make a flight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To New York. I have an audition with the Met.”

“The Met?”

“Metropolitan Opera,” she replied.

“You didn’t mention you’re a singer.”

“Didn’t I? Yes ... it’s a passion of mine. The Met had field auditions earlier and they asked me to come for a second round.”

“I see ... Well, good luck,” he said. Metropolitan Opera indeed, he thought. Well -- at least her excuse is as original as it is preposterous...

A couple, not too steady on their feet, stumbled out of the house. “April -- get Mattie together,” the woman said.

“It’s Rayla,” April remarked. “Time for us to go. Ron -- nice meeting you.”

“Same here. Good luck in New York.”

“Thanks.”

He watched as April led Mattie to a maroon minivan and buckle her into her carseat. Mattie’s parents clambered into passenger seats and April sat behind the wheel. Ron watched her drive off and turn a corner, out of sight.

Ron carried a mug of coffee to his laptop. He started up Visio and began working on a diagram. A message box opened.