Christmas Rescue Route

by LoRee Peery

  “Watch the lamp.”

  Oscar sat, swiped his tail across the floor once left and once right, stood and bumped Brock’s knee with his nose. Then Oscar danced a one eighty to the door.

  Brock threw back the blankets and grabbed a flannel shirt to keep his bare arms from the chill. “Mom’s leftover oysters didn’t set well, huh? I’m coming.”

  Oscar thundered down the stairs, but raced to the living room rather than to the back door.

  Brock hit the light switch and followed his dog to the sectional sofa.

  Izzy lay moaning, head thrashing, curled in the fetal position, her covers strewn on the floor.

  He grabbed a tartan blanket from the floor and covered her shoulders. Should he touch her or say something? He gathered two more covers. He smoothed one over her legs and caught the end of the other to protect his feet from the icy floor. “Izzy?”

  She shook her head. Her hair would be a tangled mess come morning. She flailed her top arm, hitting Brock in the face with the corner of the tartan.

  He shook it off, ignored his watering eye, and smoothed his hand from her elbow to her fingers. Then he linked them with his. Cold. “Izzy? Honey, it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe.” What should he do? He always jumped in and did whatever needed to be done.

  Oscar slathered Izzy’s face with his tongue, plopped on his haunches, and raised an eyebrow at Brock as if to say, “Do something.”

  Izzy opened her eyes. Brock knew she didn’t see him but was still in some scary dream world. Seconds later, her eyes focused. “Hi, Oscar.”

  Thank You, Lord.

  “Iz? Come here.” He pulled on her hand, released it, and opened his arms.

  “Brock. Hi.” She sat up and cuddled in next to his side. “Sorry I’m not a petite little thing. I’d crawl onto your lap. You’re so warm.”

  He chuckled. “You must be chilled. Despite new windows this old house cools down at night.”

  “If I was more awake I’d say something about you and your brother being full of hot air. Right now, I want to get warm.”

  “You could have been a couple hours without blankets. As for your size, Izrael Kahn, your athletic build is perfect. You are God’s workmanship. That means you are beautiful in the Creator’s sight.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her jaw. “That must have been some dream. Want to talk about it?”

  She ran a hand over his free shoulder and patted his chest right over his heart. “I’ve talked it through more times than I want to remember. An old childhood event creeps up every once in a while. I haven’t had that dream in a long time.”

  “My guess is the trauma of the accident brought it all back.”

  “Obviously. I hate to feel trapped. Maybe the tangled blankets around my legs brought it on.” She drew a huge breath, released it. “Let me do that a couple more times and I’ll be fine. About my size thing. I know the Bible says our bodies are the home of Christ. So if He lives in me, I need to be thankful for every pound and inch and honor the container by taking care of it rather than thinking it should be smaller.”

  This girl could pull some serious air into her lungs. “You don’t need to be smaller. I can hold you in my arms just fine. Anything else I can do? It’s no fun to see you this way.”

  “I’ll be fine. Talk to me, let me feel you next to me.”

  Talk and touch. He’d like to handle those two good works for an extended time into the future.

  “Looks to me like you have your home pretty much finished.” She changed the subject without answering his question about her past.

  “Yup. Pretty much done and doner.”

  A mini laugh burbled up. “What do you do for fun?”

  His snort rose his chest and her head moved against him. “Not much,” he said, “since I feel as though I live at the church. I really got into making this home shine. I’ve put in a bid on another property down the block. They raised it up and replaced the basement walls so it has a sound foundation, then the owners moved before they put it up for sale.”

  She didn’t respond. He wondered if she’d registered what he said. No matter. Izzy belonged right where she was, cuddled against his side. He closed his eyes and pictured the way her face glowed at the table earlier. Anyone could see her interest lay in her field of study. At one point, he’d stopped eating and drinking to soak in her animated face.

  How would it feel if she directed that excitement toward him?

  Intense longing to spend every possible moment with her hit him, so he’d ignore the numbness building in his arm.

  Lord, is Izzy my Christmas gift this year? If so, I thank You with all my heart.

  What was in her past that disturbed her enough to give her nightmares?

  ~*~

  Christmas Day. Finally. Izzy was going home. She anticipated warm hugs from Mom and Dad. Her body was sluggish, plus she hurt all over. She blamed the feeling as much on over-eating as she did on the accident. She’d told Brock eating helped chase away the dregs of the dream. He’d encouraged her to take her mind off her troubles. She’d made a pig of herself by helping him polish off all his mom’s leftovers.

  Shaking off remorse, her dull headache, and tummy twitches, she marveled at the white world outside Lincoln. Chemicals on the roads, vehicles, and habitation hadn’t prepared her for the pristine brilliance. The vast piles of snow reminded her of the Rockies. The drifts in the country dwarfed Brock’s oversized 4x4 truck.

  Though the country roads opened sometime during the night, little traffic traversed between the twelve-foot drifts marking the ditches. The hushed land added to the sense of quiet within the pickup cab.

  “We’re two miles away now. Brock, could you please stop at the next intersection? As much as I want to see my family, I need to get out and experience this. To snap a few pictures.”

  “That’s a perfect idea. There’s nowhere to stop but in the road. And let’s hurry. My little intestine is telling my big intestine to load up on Christmas dinner.”

  “Sorry I ate all your snacks.” She tapped his arm. “We’ve seen no traffic out here today, let’s stop right here.”

  Instead of her phone, she grabbed a digital camera and jumped out at the same instant the engine turned off at the edge of an intersection. A quiet click of the motor accompanied her as she strode to the center of the open roads and looked all directions.

  Brock ambled her way and threw a casual arm across her shoulders. “In this stillness it’s hard to imagine the raging storm of forty-eight hours ago.”

  They laughed at their puffs of vaporous warm breath hitting the cold air.

  She shrugged and closed her eyes. Frigid air seared her lungs but she breathed deep anyway. No wind whispered through the pines, a comforting sound of home in the country. “Do you have the feeling we’re the only creatures on the move out here? I’ve thought this before when deep snow blanketed the earth. It’s like a feeling of security through the illusion of being alone with nature.”

  He didn’t answer, but bumped her head with his. She was far from alone.

  Tree limbs, heavy laden with mounds of icy snow, bowed to the earth.

  The muffled silence was suddenly pierced by honking geese. She raised her gaze to the sky. But the air was so thick Izzy couldn’t see the birds. She sighed, removed a glove, and snapped pictures in all four directions.

  “Got all you need?”

  I think I need you. Where had that come from?

  She shook her head. “I want the camera to catch the perspective of how high these drifts are. It snows in Denver of course, but it doesn’t last long. Can you step close to your truck and say cheese?”

  He jogged backwards, rested a forearm on the tailgate, propped a fist on his hip. “Thank God for seat belts.”

  “Silly thing. Thanks for the reminder. My seat belt helped save me, along with God, and you.” Thank God, we both took that Christmas rescue route.

  He traipsed to her side and opened the door.

 
She could only shake her head at his chivalry. But she decided to accept it because she liked it.

  Moments later, her parents’ home came into view. Garland wound around the porch posts. Huge red bows and giant pine cones accented tips of the swags.

  “Is this where you grew up?”

  “Yes, and my dad too. But when he let Grandpa know farming wasn’t his thing, the land was leased to neighbors.”

  “Sorry, I never asked, what does your dad do for a living?”

  “He sells implements in Ashland, and Mom works at Cecil’s Candies in Elmwood.”

  “You’re kidding. I love those gummy globs that come from there.”

  “Small world, huh?”

  “Wait until we tell them my dad pastored the church you attended when your sister and I were kids. Sorry I don’t remember you.”

  She brushed his arm. “I was too little. What matters is you know me now.”

  They reached the side door.

  Izzy knocked twice and opened the door. “Merry Christmas. Anyone home? The kitchen smells sublime.”

  Her family all spoke at once.

  Mom rushed from the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness, you’re here!”

  Dad grinned wide. “Just in time to…”

  “Sorry.” Laughter tinted Abigail’s greeting. “Dad just told a joke.”

  “Aunt Izzy. I’m glad you’re OK.”

  “Chance, get over here so I can see how tall you are.” Izzy opened her arms. She’d always thought her nephew handsome with his golden brown skin, blue-green eyes, and kinky black hair. The boy had grown.

  They circled around for a group family hug.

  Izzy pulled back to the sound of Brock’s low chuckle. “Hey everyone. This is the man who saved me before I froze to death. Brock Winston, I’d like you to meet my family.”

  Mom and Abigail fought over who was going to hug him first, making Izzy laugh.

  Dad latched onto Brock’s shoulder and shook his hand.

  Izzy observed Chance, at the awkward age between boy and teen, wait his turn. She read on his face the struggle over grappling with how to react. Her nephew ended up doing both the man-thing and the kid-thing by shaking Brock’s hand and giving him a hug.

  Catching his eye, she winked. “I can tell you need a job to do. If I know your grandpa, he’ll take Brock to the den while your grandmother drags me off to the kitchen. I have presents in the truck.”

  She met Brock’s gaze for an instant; then they went to different areas of the house.

  This was a new thing, bringing a male friend home to meet her father. Would there be some kind of delayed man-talk from Dad? Since she didn’t date, he’d never had to warn off a high-school boy, or college one, for that matter.

  7

  Everett Kahn led Brock into his pine-lined den. “Great room for a man to hang out.”

  “Thanks. I have to keep it in order, or my wife lets me know she can’t see the tops of the furniture. That youngest daughter of mine, though, makes her presence known. If Izzy’s interested in a new adventure, she spreads brochures and maps and printed information all over the place.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, she’s enthusiastic about new experiences, particularly if they’re outdoors. She even tried rock climbing but never went again when her friends scaled a crevice so tight a body could hardly breathe between the cliffs.”

  “She had a nightmare early this morning. I figured there was more to it than being trapped in her car.”

  Everett cleared his throat and clapped Brock on the shoulder blade. “About that. She’ll have to tell you. I will say she’s been in tight places a couple times. Now, that food is smelling mighty inviting. Let’s pass through the other rooms on the way. I can’t thank you enough, and the Lord enough, for coming to my daughter’s aid. We all owe you.”

  “Not at all. I believe God chose for me to be on that route at the right time. He brings people of His choice into the lives of others.” Pride threatened to override humility at the way Izzy’s family kept praising him.

  “What do you do for a job, Brock?”

  The great room, he guessed, was thirty feet by twenty-four. He smoothed a hand over the support post behind a loveseat. “I’m a jack-of-all-trades and have the good fortune of picking up fast on how things work. That’s a good thing since I can get bored easily.”

  “You can do electrical, plumbing, construction? Where do you actually work?”

  “Sorry, sir, I didn’t answer your question, running through my mind how this room started out as two smaller ones. I’m facilities manager for Wildwood Community, a large church in west Lincoln, not the one where Dad pastors now.” He didn’t add that for him to work at the larger church would be the answer to his dad’s dream. Well, not the job Brock did now, but something grand like being an assistant pastor. Would Brock ever see himself as good enough to meet Dad’s expectations? “So, yes to what you said, plus some mechanics. I tried school for mechanics, but so much is done with computers now. Contrary to the bulk of my generation, I hate the things and I even use a dumb phone.”

  “As long as your job brings you joy, that’s all that matters. We all need people to clean toilets.” Everett stopped. His cheeks reddened. “I apologize. That’s a bad comparison.”

  “No worries. I know I have more value than cleaning toilets.” One thing for sure. I’m not getting paid for what would bring me happiness.

  “You misunderstand. No menial task was beyond our Savior. He wants us here to serve one another. By caring for a house of worship, your works are valuable.”

  “I do try to put others first.”

  Ardith Kahn led the family in a procession of steaming dishes.

  Brock’s stomach audibly responded.

  “You certainly put a stranger before yourself on that dark road two nights ago. Everett, the turkey is on the platter, bring it to the table, please.”

  Izzy set down a citrus cranberry dish and a salad.

  Brock salivated over the steaming dressing and sweet potato dishes Abigail carried in oven-mittened hands. The way her elbows were tucked against her sides, the heavy bowls strained her muscles. He reached out to take one.

  She shook her head. “They’re hot. You could help by lifting the snowman trivet.”

  He slid the protective iron snowman underneath the dressing bowl and balancing the two, set them down.

  “Thank you.” Ardith surveyed the table. “Chance, please wait until we have all the food on the table before you sit. In fact, you can bring in the rolls and the butter.”

  Brock swallowed the soft chuckle over the woebegone expression on the boy’s face.

  Izzy returned with a fresh veggie tray. She took his hand. “We can sit here. Our little round table is half the size of your family’s.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Family is family, no matter the size. It’ll be crazy when my sisters start having kids to add to our numbers.”

  “Enough basementy talk.” All gazes riveted on Chance, both because he used such a weird word and his voice had lowered several octaves for emphasis. “Pray. Eat. Presents. It’s Christmas.”

  “That was rude, young man.” Abigail scowled at Chance. “That enigma is my son’s latest expression. He uses ‘basementy’ to indicate a subject is ‘deep,’ according to him.”

  Everett cleared his throat. “Our heavenly Father, thank You for our manifold blessings. We all thank You for providing Brock on that detour route through the country enabling Izzy to be here, safe, for Christmas. Please be with anyone who may still be suffering from cold, loss of power, or any ramification of the storm. Thank You for our family. And above all, for coming at Christmas and later, for what You accomplished at the cross. We look forward to what You have planned for the rest of our time on earth, and we look forward to your Second Coming in the clouds. Now that’s a basementy subject. In Jesus’ precious name, amen.”

  Any tension in the room evaporated.

  Theirs wasn’t a crowded table. Brock c
ouldn’t decide if he liked sitting across from Izzy and looking into her eyes better, or the torture of drawing in her scent with every breath. He did like the moments when their fingers brushed or arms touched as they passed food. Already, he dreaded the prospect of going home without her.

  “That’s a lovely scarf, dear. I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.” Ardith glanced at Brock as if he held the answer.

  This time, Izzy touched him. She ran her fingers up and down his forearm. He met her smile instead of paying attention to her family’s reaction to the caress.

  “Brock comes from a very generous family. His brother Burt lives with Brock in Lincoln, I told you that on the phone, Mom. Anyway, Sheila Winston sent Burt out to buy the scarf, and a stocking cap for me, so I wouldn’t sit there last night and watch everyone open packages without receiving one myself.”

  “Speaking of your family, I remember a little country church, County Christian, where we used to attend.” Everett held out his plate to Abigail, who plopped on a spoon of dressing.

  Brock jumped in. “A big track star like me wouldn’t notice a classmate’s little sister.”

  Izzy shrugged her shoulders and made a face. “I only remember the church building and the playground.”

  Brock covered the rest of the details about the church connection between their families.

  “Small world,” Everett and Ardith commented together.

  “Dad preaches at Rockbridge Fellowship on the east side of Lincoln, and I work at the opposite end of the city.”

  “Wow. Basementy. Check out their dimples, guys.”

  Izzy burst out laughing with him. “Chance, Brock’s baby sister noticed the opposite dimples too.”

  Neither said anything of Audra’s remark about them having children.

  Anyone Chance’s age wouldn’t project into a romantic future that way.

  Brock, on the other hand, could get used to that idea. He addressed the table, “Tell me something interesting about Izzy.”

  Chance sat tall. “I’ve got one. In the summertime butterflies come out of nowhere and fly around Aunt Izzy. We’ve never figured it out.”

  “She’s as sweet as nectar?” The words had barely passed his lips before Izzy swatted Brock with her napkin. He didn’t flinch. “Well, you are.”