Melissa McClone - A Little Bit of Holiday Magic

Deep snow. A foot more than was on the highway. No tracks.

The truck plowed ahead, slowed by the road conditions and her nerves. The snow muffled the sounds of the tire chains, but the disturbing engine noises increased in frequency and volume.

Not good.

White-knuckled, she clutched the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline.

Hood Hamlet, please don’t let me down.

The snow and darkness, pitch-black except for the one headlight, made seeing more than a foot or two ahead impossible.

She leaned forward, squinting, trying to see.

The windshield fogged on the inside. Frost built up on the outside.

A T in the road lay ahead. But no sign to direct her, nothing to let her know she was close to Hood Hamlet.

Right or left?

Grace chose right. That turn seemed easier to negotiate with the road conditions. She eased the steering wheel toward the passenger’s side.

The truck skidded, sliding sideward.

Air rushed from her lungs. Her fingers dug into the steering wheel. “No. No. No.”

Turn into the slide.

Hadn’t Damon told her that when she was learning to drive? Wait. That was for front-wheel drive cars, not his truck.

She turned the steering wheel the other way.

The truck straightened.

Grace glanced back at Liam, who was still sleeping. “Maybe our luck’s changing.”

The truck slid again.

She tried to correct, but the vehicle spun in the opposite direction. Round and round, like a merry-go-round with afterburners.

Her pulse accelerated into the stratosphere.

The world passed by in slow motion, appearing through the windshield wipers like blurry photographs.

Trees. Snow. More snow.

Round and round.

Grace couldn’t tell what was real, what was her imagination. The roar of her heartbeat drowned out the music.

It’ll be okay, babe.

Damon. Tears stung her eyes at the memory of his voice. Nothing had been okay since he’d died.

A wall of snow appeared in front of her.

Every muscle in her body tensed. Panic ricocheted through her. Grace closed her eyes. She screamed, clutched the steering wheel with all her strength. If only she could hold on to Liam...

“Damon, help us.”

A prayer. A plea.

The truck jolted with an awful metallic, crumpling sound. Something exploded, hitting her in the face. A horrible smell filled her nostrils. “Oh.”

The engine died.

Liam wailed.

Adrenaline surged. Her face stung. She coughed. “Liam.”

He screamed louder. The soul-piercing sound stole her breath and her hope.

Hands shaking, she struggled with her seat belt. The air bag had deflated and lay on her lap. She had to get to her son. “Be right there, baby.”

He sobbed, alternating between hiccups and cries, each stabbing her aching heart. “P-nut. Where P-nut?”

“I’ll find him.” Grace unfastened the belt, turned, reached back. Her face burned. It hurt to breathe. She couldn’t see anything, but felt around. “Fleece blanket, cookies, jacket. Peanut has to be here.”

She hit the switch on the cab lamp above her.

Light flooded the truck. The engine might not work, but thankfully, the battery still did.

Crocodile tears streamed down Liam’s cheeks. “P-nut.”

Grace glimpsed blue fuzz stuck between the front and back seats. She pulled out the stuffed animal. Pushed the elephant into Liam’s mitten-covered hands. “Here’s Peanut.”

The tears stopped flowing. He cuddled his favorite toy. “Mine.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

“No.” He kissed the elephant. “I fine. Peanut fine, too.”

A lump clogged her throat. The relief was short-lived. If she didn’t do something fast, they were going to freeze.

She tucked blankets and sleeping bags around him again in between coughs.

“Mommy needs to check the truck.” And get help. She grabbed her cell phone. Dead. Of course it was. She hadn’t been able to find her charger since driving through Utah. “Stay here and keep Peanut warm. I’ll be right back.”

Grace pulled on her handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Come on.”

She tried again. Nothing.

She crawled to the passenger seat and tried that handle. On her third attempt the door opened, pushing away a drift.

Thank goodness. She stumbled out of the truck. Her canvas sneakers sank into the soft snow. Her toes curled from the icy cold.

Wind whipped. Freezing air stung her lungs. Fear doubled with every passing second.

Crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her gloved but trembling hands beneath her armpits, she closed the door with her hip. She needed to keep Liam protected from the cold.

The truck was stuck in a seven-feet-tall snowbank. The shell over the back of the pickup looked fine. She couldn’t see the damage to the driver’s side, but based on the impact sounds she expected it to be crunched.

“Help,” Grace yelled, though she doubted anyone was around. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness with snow falling. “Can anyone hear me?”

The wind swallowed her voice. A weight pressed down on her.

She couldn’t give up.

Her son needed her to be strong.

If Grace hadn’t had Liam, she would have given up the night the army rang her doorbell to tell her Damon, her Ranger husband, a man she’d loved since she was fifteen, had been killed in Afghanistan. Damon had saved three soldiers before dying, but the word hero could never fill the gaping hole his death left in her and their son’s life. A hole still present two and a half years later.

Damon had always said, “It’ll be okay, babe.”

She repeated his words. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”

All she had to do was find shelter. Get Liam out of the cold. Everything else could wait until daylight.

Grace looked around.

Snow and trees.

That was all she could see.

Stupid snow and stupid trees.

Driving across country from Georgia to Oregon two weeks before Christmas had been stupid. Sure, she’d finally graduated college, but she should have stuck it out another few months until the weather improved.

What was I thinking?

Making new Christmas memories, not dwelling on old ones. Ringing in the New Year in a different place, not wondering what might have been. Meeting new people instead of saying goodbye to old friends transferring out of the Rangers or heading downrange on another deployment, not knowing who wouldn’t be coming home this time.

Snow coated her jacket and jeans. Her hair, too. Her gloved hands tingled. She shoved them in her pockets.

“I’m sorry.” Her teeth chattered. She blinked away tears. “Should have stayed in Georgia.”

It’ll be okay, babe.

Grace wished she could believe things would be okay. She glanced back at the truck. At the light illuminating cab. At Liam.

No giving up.

The snow helped the burning sensation on her skin. She wasn’t coughing. It no longer hurt to breathe. All good things. And this road had to lead somewhere, to people, right?

She forced her tired legs forward to find help, her feet completely covered in snow. Wetness seeped into her shoes, sending icy chills up her legs.

Grace glanced back at the truck, not wanting to lose sight of her son. Looking forward again, she shielded her eyes from the snowflakes coming at her sideways like miniature daggers. She scanned right to left.

Snow, trees and...

Santa Claus?

She blinked. Refocused.

A lit-up Santa beckoned in the distance. Beyond the figure was a house strung with multicolored Christmas lights.

It’ll be okay, babe.

It was going to be okay. At least for tonight. Grace looked up into the swirling snow. “Thank you, Damon.”

* * *

“No worries. I have power, Mom.” Bill Paulson walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of beer in one hand and the phone against his ear in the other. “This is your third call tonight. It’s late. Go to bed. I’ll be by in the morning to plow your driveway. I have to check the rental properties, too.”