The Christmas Layover

by Robert Tate Miller

  As they finished the class in Shavasana, Tim stood at the front of the room, microphone in hand, while Ally tidied up the studio. “So, be sure to check the Yogi Village website for holiday hours and course instructors,” Tim said. “Namaste.”

  Ally glanced at the clock on the wall as she rolled up the yoga mats. It was 8:15 a.m. Her flight was leaving in less than four hours. She was packed, her JanSport backpack and Eddie Bauer duffel bag waiting by the door of her Santa Monica bungalow. She planned to hurry home, take a quick shower, throw on her travel clothes, and hop in an Uber to LAX, just a short jaunt down Lincoln Boulevard from her house. As she did a mental checklist of her pre-travel to-dos, Ally looked around the studio and realized this would be the last time she’d stand on that familiar mat as a single woman.

  Marriage, she thought. It seems so surreal.

  Ally noticed that one of the regulars, Brooke Benson, had, once again, lingered behind. The pretty young woman was on her back in Setu Bandha Sarvangasana, thrusting her hips up in a way that she knew was affecting the heartbeats of every straight man in the room. Then she noticed Tim was the only man left, straight or otherwise. Why doesn’t she just go the hell home? Ally thought, and then winced. That’s not very yogi of me.

  “So, will I see you at home before I leave?” Ally asked Tim. She wanted his attention on her and not Brooke’s hip show.

  “Don’t think so, babe,” he said. “I’m going to finish up here and then do some shopping for the trip.” He kissed Ally on the top of her head. She wondered why he didn’t kiss her on the lips. She instinctively glanced at Brooke. Is she the reason? Cool your jets, Henderson, she told herself. Paranoia does not become you. Ally was disappointed she wouldn’t see Tim again before she left, but happy to see that at least her fiancé wasn’t waiting to the very last minute to shop for the trip. She put away an armful of rolled-up loaner yoga mats, stopped by her office to gather her gym bag, said goodbye to Devyn, and took one last walk through the studio. The lights were off, but Brooke was still there stretching.

  “Brooke, you do know the class is over, right?” Ally said it with a smile, but she just couldn’t keep a trace of annoyance from her tone. Brooke looked up at her from the mat. She didn’t seem at all troubled.

  “Of course, right.” She sprang to her feet like a gymnast. “I have to go, too. I’m off to see my folks in Orlando.”

  “Great,” Ally said. “Have a wonderful holiday.”

  “And you have a wonderful wedding and honeymoon,” Brooke said. “Tim’s a lucky man to land someone as amazing as you.”

  Ally smiled. It was a painted-on smile. She just didn’t find this attractive young woman the least bit sincere. “Thank you.”

  There was a momentary stand-off as if both women were waiting to see who would leave first. Ally waited her out, crossing her arms and watching as Brooke rolled up her pink-and-lavender yoga mat. For some reason, even that annoyed Ally. What’s wrong with one color? “Bye,” Brooke chirped as she headed to the door. “And happy wedding.”

  “Bye,” Ally said and breathed a sigh of relief as the door finally closed behind the perky blonde.

  “You still here?” Ally turned to see Tim watching her.

  “Of course, I’m still here,” Ally said. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Walk me out?”

  …

  For a reason she found totally inexplicable, Ally had a growing feeling of trepidation as she crossed the Yogi Village studio parking lot with her duffel slung over her shoulder. Tim was with her. He was chatting away happily about the wedding and their honeymoon, and how much fun it would all be, but something just didn’t feel right. Shut the hell up, intuition! she hissed in her mind. They arrived at her jasmine green Subaru Forester, and Ally could tell that Tim sensed something wasn’t quite right with her.

  “Honey, you okay? You seem a little moody.”

  Ally was irritated at this banal choice of words. “Moody? I’m not…okay, I guess I am a little moody.” She suddenly felt guilty and annoyed with herself for the way she was acting. What’s my problem? Why can’t I just enjoy this? “Baby, I’m sorry.” Ally took Tim by the elbows and gave him a peck on the lips. “It’s just pre-wedding jitters. Seems so stressful when it shouldn’t be. I mean, people get married all the time. Right?”

  “Hey,” Tim said, wrapping his arms around her, “I get it. It’s just the pressure of the thing, and the travel, your mother…the whole it-has-to-be-perfect stress. But, listen, it doesn’t have to be perfect. Our wedding is just a symbol: a symbol of something bigger. ‘Do all things with love.’ That plaque hangs on our bathroom wall for a reason.”

  “Right above our toilet,” Ally said with a devilish grin.

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “The perfect place for it.” Ally gave Tim one of her full-body bear hugs.

  “I’m so sorry. I guess I am rocking some pre-wedding stress.”

  “It’s cool,” Tim said. “I love that about you, too.” Ally looked into his eyes. He was being so sweet. She had thought Tim might crack under the strain of wedding mania, but he’d been as cool as a mountain stream. She’d been the one wringing hands over the ticking clock. Tim was her rock, and she loved him all the more for it. He took her face in his hands and gave her a lingering kiss. “Call me from the Uber, let me know you got off okay.”

  “I will,” Ally said.

  “And, just think,” Tim said with a boyish grin, “the next time we step in this studio we’ll be husband and wife.”

  Ally let out a contented sigh. “I can’t wait. I love you so much.”

  “Love you more.”

  As she rolled out of the parking lot, Ally saw Tim blow her a kiss, and, as she turned right on Canon Drive, she caught a glimpse of a white Prius parked on the street next to the lot. The vanity plate read “BRKE.” Brooke hasn’t left yet? Ally shrugged it off, turned on 105.1, and cranked up the holiday tunes. “Happy Holiday” by Andy Williams was playing. She started singing along, and, by the time she turned right on Wilshire heading for home, she was belting it out at the top of her lungs. Ally had her mood mojo back.

  And then—Tim vanished into thin air.

  Chapter Two

  “Hmmm,” Noel said. Ally thought it was cute how totally immersed the young woman was in her story. “You know, Ally, you could be imagining the whole thing. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Tim’s disappearance.”

  Ally laughed. “You are so right. I’m sure I have conjured all this up in my mind and, when we land, I’m going to have a half dozen apologetic messages from him with a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

  “Then again, there’s Brooke,” Noel said with a grim look on her face. Ally looked at her. Thanks for popping my hope balloon. The plane had leveled off at 35,000 feet, and Noel the flying shrink had just stuck a pin in Ally’s worst fear.

  “Yeah,” Ally said. “And my razor-sharp intuition.”

  “Okay, folks. Some news from the cockpit.”

  The announcement that would forever change Ally’s life came somewhere over southern Utah. The tone in the pilot’s voice told her right away that it was no routine flight status update. “I’m afraid we have some unfortunate news from the National Weather Service.” Ally looked at Noel. “And it looks like those weathercasters are due some coal in their stockings this year, because they have blown it big time. The winter storm that was supposed to miss the Atlantic seaboard has made landfall, and it’s a nasty one. What does that mean for us? Well, all northeast-bound air traffic is being diverted.”

  Ally quickly flashed back to her Uber ride from her home in Santa Monica to LAX a few hours earlier. She distinctly remembered hearing a radio weather broadcast as her driver navigated the airport traffic chaos.

  “Good news, holiday travelers. It looks like the so-called storm of the century the weather wonks were predicting for Christmas will miss the eastern seaboard and move out into the Atlantic…”

  Ally sat there in stone-cold shock for
a moment and then looked at the pregnant woman who now knew far too much about her personal life. “Looks like we won’t be going to New York.”

  Noel looked at Ally like she’d just been the target of some cruel sleepover prank. “But, Ally, I have to get home. My Brian’s waiting for me. My baby’s waiting to be born. My baby has to be born in New Jersey. I was born in New Jersey, and my parents were born in New Jersey, and their parents were born in New Jersey. Except for my paternal grandfather, who was born a bastard in Rhode Island.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ally said. “I’m sure they’ll get you home as soon as possible.” Noel’s confused face turned to curious.

  “So, if they’re not taking us to New York, I wonder where they are taking us?”

  …

  “The best kind of love starts with an unexpected hello.”

  Jake Nelson looked up from the old-timey cash register but didn’t recognize the man speaking to him across the counter, and that was a little unusual for Bethlehem, Colorado. As the interstate was a good twenty miles south, Charlie’s Diner catered almost exclusively to locals. But this man, who looked a bit like some college professor straight out of Central Casting, was a complete stranger. He was short and stout with a vested sweater, bowtie, and kind eyes.

  “Your quote in the window,” the man said to Jake’s questioning look. “Your quote is about unexpected love.” Jake sometimes forgot they even had a quote in the diner window. It was written in blue chalk on a small sandwich board, and his niece Maddie was in charge of rotating it every few days. However, sometimes she got busy or distracted, and weeks went by without it changing.

  Jake nodded. “Oh, right. To be honest, I didn’t even see it yet. My niece Maddie’s in charge of the daily quotes.” Jake nodded to a cinnamon-haired nine-year-old mini-waitress who was moving from table to booth, refilling coffee and chatting up customers—mostly about her favorite December subject, Christmas—a mere five days away. The man glanced at Maddie.

  “Ah, yes. She did a wonderful job keeping my coffee cup filled.”

  “That’s why she makes the big bucks,” Jake said. “It’ll be fourteen even.” The man took his leather wallet out of his back pocket, skimmed through his bills until he found a twenty. He plucked it out and plunked it on the counter.

  “Please make sure Maddie gets the change. And tell her I liked her quote choice.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Jake said. “I sure will.” Jake noticed the man studying him. “Something else I can help you with?”

  “I’m just passing through,” the man said, “but I was wondering…is Charlie around?”

  “Charlie passed four years back,” Jake said. “I’m his son.” Jake extended his hand across the counter. “Jake Nelson.” The men shook hands.

  “Harry Wilkins. I’m so sorry to hear about your father. Belated as they may be, I offer you my heartfelt condolences. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said. “How’d you know my pops?”

  “Didn’t really,” the man said. “He helped me once. Actually, it wasn’t me he helped, it was my daughter. About ten years ago, she was driving home from college on a snowy December evening when she hit a patch of ice out on Highway 40. Car flipped three times, and she ended up in a ditch. She was hurt, bleeding, and very scared. Your father was the first one who happened along. He got down in the ditch and tried to get her out, but she was wedged in pretty good. He called the EMS and then waited with her until they showed up. She still talks about him like he was an angel from heaven. She said he started singing Christmas carols, and his voice was so bad she started to laugh. Anyway, he was a great comfort to her in her time of need, and I’m grateful.”

  Jake felt a lump come to his throat. Another story about his dad’s kindness that he’d never heard. Naturally, his father didn’t mention it. That was just Charlie’s way. Jake wondered how many more were lingering out there. “I appreciate you telling me,” he said. “And have a Merry Christmas.”

  “You, as well,” Harry said. “Maybe I’ll come back this way again sometime. And bring my daughter with me.”

  “You’re welcome anytime,” Jake said. Harry nodded to him and headed out. Jake looked over at Maddie. She was taking a break, sitting in an empty booth with nineteen-year-old busboy Robbie, playing paper football with sugar packets.

  “Yes! Touchdown!” Maddie said.

  “How are you so good at this?” Robbie asked her, leaning back in the booth.

  “I guess I’m just a natural,” Maddie said. Jake grinned. Harry Wilkins had no idea he’d happened by on the anniversary of his dad’s death, and he decided that maybe his old man had sent him: his way of saying, don’t forget about me, boy. I’m still watching you. Jake knew he could never forget his dad. Maddie was his spitting image.

  Jake looked around the diner. Only a handful of customers were left from the breakfast rush. His eyes lit on the calendar on the wall over the jukebox. Was it really already December 20? He hadn’t done a lick of shopping. Then again, these days Jake always put off Christmas. He’d fall asleep on Thanksgiving and wake up after the new year, if he could. The season of giving was no longer his favorite time of the year—not since his most precious gift had been taken from him.

  He didn’t really want to commemorate the holiday at all, but Tina and Maddie had given him no choice. They were going to decorate Charlie’s come hell or high water. “You need to decorate your diner, brother,” Tina told him. “It’s not for you. It’s for everybody else. Besides,” she said, delivering the final blow, “that’s what Dad would have wanted.” So, Jake caved. And he had to admit, Tina and Maddie had done a great job. Charlie’s looked pretty darned Christmassy and cute. If you were into that sort of thing.

  Tina was a single mom, whose ex Mark lived in Denver with his new wife and new kids. Tina was grateful to have full custody of daughter Maddie, though she wished her little girl got to see her dad more than once every three months.

  Each table had a mini-Christmas tree centerpiece; there were white lights draped crisscross-style overhead, Christmas red and white napkins, and the words joy, noel, and season’s greetings written in the faux frost on the big picture-frame window right below the slogan Best Burgers Known to Man. A four-foot plastic Santa holding a red cloth sack stood just inside the front door. Andy Williams’s “Happy Holiday” blared a little too loudly from the jukebox. Libby Caldwell came through the swinging kitchen door, peeled off her apron, and plopped it on the counter. The diner’s widowed mid-fortyish assistant manager slash waitress slash does whatever needs doing had been working at Charlie’s since she was seventeen.

  “Louie is short on eggs again,” Libby said. “Want me to make a run?”

  “Naw, that’s okay,” Jake said. “I’ll handle it.”

  Libby looked over at Robbie and Maddie in the booth. “Heard Amelia Thompson’s home from college for the holidays,” she said. Jake gave her a look.

  “So?”

  “So, our favorite dishwasher-busboy here has carried a torch for Amelia since they were seven.”

  Jake looked from Robbie to Libby. “And what does that have to do with me?”

  “I didn’t say it had anything to do with you, Jake, I just wanted you to know that he’s probably gonna be acting funny while she’s in town, and I’ve already started to notice it. He’s distracted.”

  “Well,” Jake said with a devious smirk, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He nodded toward the window. “’Cause here she comes now.” Jake could see Amelia crossing the street heading their way. The pretty college freshman was wearing a green-and-white pullover hoodie with Colorado State on the front. Jake looked at Robbie. He was so focused on the paper football contest he was clueless to Amelia’s approach.

  “Robbie? What are you doing? It’s your turn.” Jake could see that Maddie seemed baffled by her game partner’s sudden distraction. His crush passed by the window. Robbie had finally seen her.

  “Uh oh,” Libby said. “This i
sn’t going anywhere good.” Then, just as Amelia arrived at the front door, Robbie jumped up from the booth and darted back to the safety of the kitchen, a mere fraction of a second before Amelia jingled into Charlie’s Diner. Jake and Libby exchanged an amused look.

  “Hey!” Maddie said. “Where’d he go?”

  Amelia flashed a smile as she approached the counter.

  “Hey there, Amelia,” Jake said. “Welcome home.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Nelson,” she said. She glanced at Libby, who was counting out her morning tips on the counter. “Hello, Mrs. Caldwell.”

  “Hey there, Amelia,” Libby said. “How’s college treating you?”

  “Great, thanks,” Amelia said. “It’s good to be home, though.” She looked at Jake. “I have a takeout order?”

  “Right,” Jake said. He called out toward the kitchen. “Robbie. Takeout.” Amelia swept her hair around her ear.

  “Robbie Wilson works here?” she said.

  “He does indeed.” Jake punched the keys of his antique cash register, ringing up her order. “That’ll be eleven-fifty.” He called out again, “Robbie?” then winked at Amelia. “Wouldn’t know what to do without that boy. Practically runs this place.” Amelia nodded. Jake glanced at Libby, who gave him her what are you doing? face. Jake could see that Maddie was now watching the kitchen door, waiting for her playing partner to emerge. “What is keeping that boy?” Jake wondered aloud.

  Then Jake heard the kitchen door open. Robbie shuffled out, Styrofoam takeout container in hand. The name Amelia was scrawled in sharpie on the lid.

  “Robbie? Our game?” Maddie called out. Robbie ignored the little girl’s plea. He put the order on the counter as his eyes seemed to study a speck of dust on the tip of his high-top Converse tennis shoes. He wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t meet the pretty girl’s eye. Jake shot a look at Libby. He could see her doing her best to keep her smirk under control. “Robbie! C’mon!” Maddie said. “I’ve been waiting.” Robbie just stood there, looking down as if his chin was stuck to his chest by a wad of gum.