Cross Country Christmas

Grant threw his head back, laughing loudly. Ignoring him, I stomped off to the bathroom only to return a moment later for my boot. Six smashed bugs later, I was dressed and ready to leave the roach motel behind.



By the time Grant joined me, I was already in the car with the engine running. He refrained from commenting as I tore out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell were after us. Twenty seconds later, I was muttering every swear word I knew under my breath when flashing lights showed up in my rearview mirror. "Not a word," I told Grant, who was smirking. I glared at him, even though I was more pissed at myself. Go figure, I'd get my first-ever speeding ticket now. This was the cherry on top of the crap sundae these last few days had been. I rested my head on the steering wheel and counted to ten so I wouldn't lose my shit with the approaching highway patrolman.



Grant kept his mouth zipped as the officer wrote me a ticket for going fifty in a thirty-five mile-per-hour zone. My teeth ground together as he called me "young lady" and pointed out that maybe I should leave the driving to my boyfriend. The temptation to drive the vehicle over his condescending ass was strong, but I could only imagine what jail would have in store for me with the luck I'd been having. After fifteen minutes of being reprimanded on safe driving, the sexist, asshole cop finally let us go. I left the odious town behind, clenching the steering wheel in a death grip. To Grant's credit, he kept his mouth closed. I swear if he would have commented, or if I would have seen so much as a smirk on his face, he would have been walking home.



Fifty miles of silence later, I finally cut my eyes over at Grant. "Are you hungry?" I asked.



"Oh, hello. Am I allowed to talk?" he asked, sounding amused.



"My humiliation is a never-ending source of entertainment for you, isn't it? Has there ever been a time when I wasn't doing something you could make fun of?" I complained, taking the next exit that boasted several restaurants. Without asking for his preference, I pulled into the parking lot of a quaint-looking diner.



"Making fun? Is that what you think I've been doing?" he asked, unfolding his six-foot-plus frame from the car. He groaned as he worked the kinks out of his body. "I swear, riding in a coffin would be more comfortable," he complained, bending over to stretch his back. I expected him to elaborate on why I thought he'd been teasing me our entire lives, but he continued to whine about the size of the car as we made our way into the diner. The air outside was brisk. I shivered, staring up at the low hanging clouds in the sky. I had lived in a snowy state long enough to know when a bad storm was coming.



The warm restaurant, on the other hand, was absolutely heavenly. "Wow, I think an elf threw up in here," I said sarcastically. It's not that I hated Christmas decorations. All the rotten luck over the past couple of days had just made me overly cranky.



"I think they're cool," Grant said, taking in the endless array of mismatched Christmas decorations covering every available wall space. There were multiple Nativity scenes and each one seemed to be missing pieces. I couldn't help wondering why they didn't combine them into one complete set. It was impossible to count the number of Santa Clauses scattered around, but I did spot five Christmas trees in varying sizes. Whoever decorated them had quite the sense of humor. The funniest one was decorated using different beer cans as ornaments.



"How many?" an elderly waitress asked, looking up from a table she was wiping down.



"Two," Grant and I answered in unison.



"Aww, aren't you two so cute," she said, grabbing two menus from the hostess stand. "My husband and I used to be in sync like that. Of course, now he's too busying fiddling around in his workshop to be in sync with anything else." She winked at me conspiratorially. Neither Grant nor I bothered to correct her assumption that we were a couple since she had already moved on to another topic. In the short walk to our booth, we learned she had been married thirty years and had two daughters that now lived out of state. Grant grinned at me as she placed our menus on a table that sat in front of the long bank of windows that looked out the front of the restaurant.



"I'm surprised you two lovebirds decided to venture out. That storm is going to be a doozy," she said, placing two filled water glasses on our table as the first snowflakes began to fall from the sky.



I kicked Grant's leg when he snorted over her choice of words. "We're just passing through," I answered.



She shook her head before I finished getting the words out. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. This storm is supposed to stretch across six counties. I guess if you have four-wheel drive you might be able to make a go of it," she commented, glancing out the window.



Grant and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh. The only way we would have four-wheel drive was if we picked up our matchbox car and placed it in the bed of the nearest Ford truck.



"I'm thinking you'll be with us the next few days," she chirped cheerily, obviously thinking the same thing. "Now what can I get you to drink?"



"Coffee," Grant answered.



"I'll take the same," I answered, peering out the window. I was distracted by the snow that was already falling harder. There was no way we could be stuck here for two days. We were still more than seven hundred miles from Woodfalls, and Christmas was in four days. My mom would have my head if I didn't make it there for all the pre-Christmas festivities.



"Don't worry, I'm sure this storm isn't as bad as she's making it," Grant said like he had read my mind. I pulled my eyes from the window and saw that he was studying me as intently as I had been studying the falling snow.



"I hope not. My mom will kill me if I don't make it home for Christmas," I mumbled, fidgeting with my spoon on the table.



"I'll get you home," he said confidently, sitting back in his chair.



"Oh, you'll be driving?" I teased.



"When I say 'I'll get you home,' I mean more figuratively," he answered.



"Thought so." I smiled as June, our waitress, came back with two steaming cups of coffee. She took our food order after telling us she had called her niece who runs a bed and breakfast and told her that we'd be coming by.



"Oh, that was nice of you, but I think we're going to see how far we can get," I said, handing her my menu.



Her eyes widened with disbelief, but she didn't say anything as she headed back to the kitchen shaking her head. Not that she gave up. Throughout our meal, she gave us updates on the weather and traffic conditions. She sounded like a walking highway safety billboard as she quoted statistics for weather-related car accidents. She even tried highlighting how lovely and romantic her niece's bed and breakfast was. I thanked her for her concern, but remained adamant that we were continuing on. I explained how our families were expecting us home for the holidays and would be disappointed if we didn't make it. Grant was no help. All he could do was sit and try not to laugh with every recurring visit to the table.



"You were no help," I chastised him as we paid the check.



"I think her concern is sweet," he said as we both shrugged into our jackets.



"I brought you two crazy kids a couple of coffees to go," June said, bustling out of the kitchen. "You come back and see us here in Whisper Hollow when you're not so pressed for time. Next time you'll have to try our waffles and legendary maple syrup. It's the best maple in the state," she boasted.



"We will," I promised, even though there really wasn't a "we" when it came to Grant and me. "Thank you, June," I said, impulsively giving her a hug. Maybe it was the cheesy Christmas decorations or I was touched by how concerned she was, but I felt an odd kinship with her. It made the stay in the roach motel last night that much worse knowing we could have stayed here instead if we had known about it.



Waving at June one last time, Grant and I left the warmth of the restaurant behind. We crunched our way to the car through the layer of snow that was effectively covering the ground.



"Do you want me to drive?" Grant asked. The offer was sweet, but I could see him eyeing the compact space behind the steering wheel skeptically.



"Don't worry about it, big boy. I got it," I teased, easily sliding my petite frame behind the wheel.



"Take it slow and easy," he directed as I pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the highway.



I shot him a look that said I knew how to drive, even though I heeded his advice and let up on the accelerator a bit. The car still shimmied and slid on the slick highway. We didn't have a lot of weight in this small car. I let up on the accelerator a bit more as the snow fell even heavier. Our progress was slow, and I was beginning to think June was right. Only someone crazy would be driving on this road.



Without warning, the car lost traction. I barely had time to react as we slid sideways across the highway. Luckily, no cars were coming from the opposite direction. I removed my foot from the accelerator and stayed off the brakes. Thankfully, I had some experience driving on icy roads. I knew to turn the wheel in the opposite direction of our skid to keep the car from spinning around, but as much as I tried, we continued to slide sideways and down the short embankment. The car protested with a loud grinding noise and came to a jarring halt in a narrow gully off the side of the road.



Chapter 6



"Well, hell, that was fun," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel with shaking hands. The car was no longer running, but smoke was seeping out from under the hood.



"Are you okay?" Grant asked. I had a strange sense of déjà vu. Just yesterday he had asked me the same question after the plane crash.



"Yeah, but I'm starting to feel like we're in one of those Final Destination movies," I said, resting my head against the steering wheel. The vehicle shook slightly from Grant's laughter. As always, I was so glad I was here to amuse him.



"It's not funny," I stated, although my own lips began to quirk from watching him trying to hold his laughter in check.



"You're like the ultimate traveling bad luck charm," Grant said, between howls of laughter.



"Me? How do you know it's not you? I've never had this much trouble getting from one place to the other before," I said as my own laughter rippled through me. I guess under the circumstances, it was good that we had a sense of humor over our experience. It would definitely give us a story to tell.



"We better head back to Whisper Hollow," Grant said as the snow continued to fall.



"Seriously? How far do you think we've gone?" I wasn't relishing a walk along the highway in my designer boots that were designed more for fashion than function.



"It's probably less than five miles. If we're lucky, we can get back to town before the sun sets. Besides, what choice do we have? Look at your phone. There's no signal out here."



Terrific. Five miles might not seem like a big deal to him, but for someone like me, who avoided exercise like the plague, five miles might as well be ten miles. "Maybe we should wait for someone to drive by and help," I offered hopefully.



"Did I miss all the traffic driving by? I think this is rush hour. Even if a car does happen to be out in these conditions, there's no guarantee they'd stop for us. We could wind up waiting and then be stuck here all night. I don't know about you, but sleeping in this tuna can is not my idea of a fun time," he said. He pulled on the handle of his door to climb out, but it wouldn't budge. "Damn it," he grumbled. "It's stuck. You're going to have to climb out first and then I'll go out your side," he said, looking at the center console and steering wheel apprehensively.



"I can't wait to see this," I spurted out, laughing. It was almost worth the five-mile walk for him to finally be the butt of the joke. Almost.



Five minutes and multiple swear words, bumps and more swear words later, Grant and I were headed back the way we had come, this time on foot. Grant carried the recyclable Disney bag I had gotten from the airport that now contained a change of clothes for each of us and the necessary toiletries. I carried my purse with all our gadgets. He tried to talk me into leaving my laptop behind, thinking it would become dead weight, but I refused. My laptop was my life. I would drag my purse behind me through the snow before I left my laptop. I could tell he wanted to argue further, but he just shook his head, mumbling something about priorities. He didn't seem to get that my job was a priority and my laptop was a tool I needed.



I threw one last wistful look at the car that was already covered by a thin layer of snow. Pretty soon it would match the cover on the ground, which was up to my ankles. At first, I was okay walking along. It was kind of nice to have the snow floating down around us. Even as cold as I was at first, after twenty minutes of brisk walking while trying not to slip, I had warmed up and was tempted to take off my jacket. Once the wind kicked up, it was a different story. Neither Grant nor I talked as we trudged forward with the swirling snow whipping into our faces. Grant stuck close to me, lending a hand when the soles of my boots caused me to slip.



Forty minutes into our journey, I finally broke the silence. "So, what do you do for a living now?" I asked, huffing slightly in the brisk air. I had been dying to know what he had been up to since I left Woodfalls. I was just always too afraid to ask. He may think I'm crazy for asking now, but it was a way to pass the time.



"I took over for my dad at the lumber yard. He still comes in every day, but he basically turned over the day-to-day responsibilities to me when I graduated," Grant answered, not sounding nearly as winded as I was.



"Wow, that's great. I was afraid after the fires in '09 the plant was going to have to close," I admitted. My father had kept me abreast on what was going on while I was away at college. It was all he could talk about every time I called home. He was worried and rightfully so. He had been the shift manager at the plant for twenty years. The lumberyard was his life. He wasn't the only one. Half the population in Woodfalls had ties to the plant in one capacity or another.



"That was a tough year, but I helped out whenever I wasn't in class. There was some rebuilding that needed to be done, but everyone really pulled together," Grant said.



"That's Woodfalls," I said nostalgically. "Whisper Hollow kind of reminds me of Woodfalls," I added. He nodded his head in agreement and I felt a wave of homesickness. In the four and half years I'd been gone, I had only returned for short stints, mostly around the holidays. It was the seasons I missed the most. Like the fall when the leaves changed colors in September and early October. The landscape would be a painter's canvas of yellow, red and orange. Spring was equally enchanting as new life bloomed in the plants that had been dormant all winter.