A Midnight Miracle

by Gary Parker

  “Thank the Lord for small favors.”

  “I’m proud of you too, Pops.”

  “Maybe we can go get that tree you wanted when you get back.”

  Rem looked at his dad but decided not to make too much of the suggestion lest he scare him off it. “That’ll be good,” he said.

  Roscoe put a plate in the dishwasher, and Rem headed to his bike.

  Five minutes later, he steered out of Hilltop and headed up the incline past the last gas station. The brisk air quickly reddened his face and got his blood pumping. The muscles in his legs pulsed with the pedaling of the bike, and he took a big breath of fresh air and looked up. The blue sky spilled down. The side of Hilltop Mountain bordered the road to his right; the sheer drop-off to the valley below stretched out to his left.

  Rem smiled and adjusted his sunglasses. He loved riding his bike, especially in the mountains, loved the strain of the pedals going uphill, the sheer abandonment of flying down on the other side. When he rode, his problems somehow seemed smaller, almost as if each turn of the wheels put the troubles farther and farther in the rearview mirror. He needed that today, maybe more than ever.

  The road eased gradually up the incline, then turned left about a mile out of town and wound like a snake around the side of the mountain. The wind kicked up from behind, and Rem appreciated the tailwind. Going up a mountain and into a wind would’ve made the ride more of a fight than he wanted today. About two miles out, the road switched back and became steeper. In spite of the cold, he began to perspire, and it felt good, cleansing. Close to thirty minutes passed. The road dropped off, and Rem began a rapid whip down the mountain. His spirits soared as his speed increased. The sun warmed his back. No matter how heavy his problems became, he could handle them; hadn’t he always? He checked his speedometer—forty-four miles an hour!

  Jenna’s face popped into his head as he sped down the steep grade, and he smiled again. He’d call her when he got back home. Even though she’d said no last night, he’d convince her today, no doubt about it. Women always said yes to him; he could count on that no matter what else didn’t work out. Yes sir, just as soon as he made it back home, he’d give Jenna another chance!

  Rem wheeled to the bottom of the grade and eased back on his seat. The three miles down the hill had lasted only a few minutes. Now the road leveled out for a stretch of almost four miles. He saw a white fence to his left and then an arched entry down a gravel path. Suddenly realizing where he was, he slowed in respect and eased past the archway. About a quarter of a mile later, he came to a second gravel road, this one only one lane and bordered with thick brush. Making a quick decision, he turned left and pedaled down the one-lane road and into the cemetery. His pace slowed even more as he fought the gravel under his wheels. After a couple hundred yards, the gravel became soggy mud, and he eased off his bike and pushed it down the road. A rutted path appeared to his right, and he took it. Soon the path pretty much ended, and Rem lay down his bike and walked forward about seventy yards. Cedar trees bordered the white fence that lay straight ahead. Rem’s breath quickened. He reached the spot not far from the fence, a flat grave in the middle of at least twenty others. A white stone stood at the grave’s head.

  Rem stopped, took off his bike helmet and sunglasses, and held them under his arm. In the distance he heard cars approaching but didn’t look up. The sun felt cooler now even though no trees shaded him. He stared at the white stone, read the words written on it. “Eva Lincoln. 1942–2000. Wife. Mother. Woman of the Word.”

  His eyes misting like they always did when he visited his mom’s grave, Rem squatted to the headstone and leaned in close. “I miss you,” he whispered, ignoring the foolish feeling that hit him every time he did this. “Dad does too, though he might not say it to me.”

  A light breeze blew through Rem’s hair, and a dog barked behind him. He patted the stone. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “You know I love you.”

  The stone felt cold under his hand. He glanced around the graveyard, scanning the headstones nearest him, and his spirit sagged. Death came without warning most of the time, a sudden stab of hurt that twisted a life into rubble as surely as a tornado, a whirling black funnel that sucked up everything and left nothing untouched.

  His mother had accepted her death with an ease that surprised him. Heart disease got her—a “bad ticker,” she called it. Nothing short of a transplant could have provided any hope of saving her, and she saw no need of that.

  “The Lord’s got my time appointed,” she’d told him and Roscoe the day the doctor told them that the left side of her heart had deteriorated to the point of no return. “If it’s my hour, so be it.”

  Rem stayed angry at her for a long time after she said that. What kind of person didn’t fight like a cornered rat, didn’t claw and cling to life like superglue to duct tape? He didn’t like it that his mom had embraced her end so gently and peacefully. Didn’t she want to stay with him and his dad? He needed her. Roscoe did too.

  “I got my reasons,” she said when he pressed her to consider more drastic medical treatments.

  “I know,” he said. “But they’re not good enough.”

  “They are for me.”

  Although Rem tried to get his dad to talk her into changing her mind, he couldn’t do it. The discussion ended, and he never again brought it up.

  Rem heard cars approaching and stood and slipped his helmet back on. The dog barked again, and Rem put on his sunglasses and decided to head out. Back on his bike, he saw the cars as they turned in at the cemetery’s main gate—looked like ten or so. He wondered who had died. The cars headed his way, and he braked respectfully and waited for them to stop. A couple of minutes later, the lead car reached a spot a few feet from a green funeral cover and pulled over. The rest followed. A minute later the door of the lead car opened, and a man climbed out on the passenger side.

  Rem almost fell off his bike as he recognized Nelson Hart. What was he doing in Hilltop?

  Nelson moved to the hearse that had stopped behind him and took a spot at the back. Within a couple of minutes, the pallbearers unloaded a casket, hauled it ahead of the crowd to the funeral tent, and lay it across the dug-out grave. Nelson stepped to the head of the casket, opened his Bible, and began to read. His strong voice echoed across the quiet of the morning air.

  Rem almost laughed. Nelson was a preacher? He couldn’t believe it! Back when he’d known him, the gang called him “Whoa” as in “Whoa, Nellie,” because he tended to lead them into all kinds of mischief and they had to hold him back. The last time Rem had seen him, they’d both lived in Raleigh, Nelson finishing his last year at NC State and Rem concluding his first. Nelson had graduated with a degree in accounting. What had happened to make him into a preacher?

  Too curious to leave, Rem waited patiently through the ten-minute graveside ceremony. When it was finished, he picked up his bike and eased toward Nelson. The crowd quickly broke up, and only Nelson and an elderly woman remained. Nelson steered the woman to a black car right behind the hearse and helped her in. Then he turned around and took a deep breath. Rem approached him as the black car with the elderly woman eased away.

  “Nelson Hart?” Rem called.

  Nelson’s eyes narrowed as Rem drew closer.

  “It’s Rem Lincoln,” Rem said.

  Nelson moved his way. “What in the world are you doing here?” he asked, sticking out a hand.

  Rem vigorously shook the hand, then stepped back. “Riding,” he said, indicating his bike. “Home for Christmas, needed some exercise.”

  Nelson laughed loudly and pointed at Rem’s pants and bike shoes. “Most folks don’t come to the cemetery dressed like that.”

  Rem laughed. “Guess not. I didn’t plan it, but at least they’re black.” He pointed toward his mother’s grave. “My mom . . . she’s buried over there.”

  Nelson became more serious. “I didn’t know,” he said.

  “Four years ago,” Rem said. “Heart disease.”r />
  Nelson nodded. “Where you living now?” he asked.

  “In Atlanta. I’m in software development.”

  “I read that Atlanta’s a good place for technology development.”

  “Not so good the last couple of years.”

  “Read that too.”

  Rem laughed but not happily. Software development in 2004 spelled disaster for lots of folks, and he wasn’t immune to the problems associated with it. Not wanting to think about his troubles, he focused on Nelson again. “Who you burying?” he asked. “Anybody I know?”

  Nelson shook his head. “A ninety-year-old man. Been in a nursing home in Hendersonville for years. His family brought him back here for burial. I didn’t know him.”

  “What are you doing in Hilltop? And a preacher too? Last time we were together, you had just taken a job with a big accounting firm in Charlotte.”

  Nelson shook his head. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” he said. “I’m the pastor of the Hilltop Community Church now, started close to two years ago.”

  “My mom went to that church!” Rem said. “Why didn’t I know this?”

  “You’re telling on yourself, you know,” Nelson said. “You obviously haven’t been home much. Or in church either.”

  “I’m not a big fan of preachers,” Rem said. “Your company the exception, of course.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Nelson shrugged, and Rem felt a little guilty. His mom wouldn’t like his attitude about religion, Lord rest her soul. “What happened to ‘Whoa, Nellie’?” he asked.

  Nelson waved him off. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  “That’d be good. What you doing tonight? I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “No need for that,” Nelson said. “I’m married now. You come to my place, and Julie and I will give you a meal you won’t forget for a while. Bring your wife too if you have one.”

  “No wife,” Rem said. “Can’t find anybody to have me.”

  “Then all the more reason for you to come to our place. Expect you don’t eat much home-cooked food.”

  “I can’t believe you’re married,” Rem said. “‘Whoa, Nellie’ settled down. A sure sign the apocalypse is upon us.”

  Nelson chuckled. “Julie’s great. I met her in California when I went out there for seminary.”

  Rem chuckled. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  “Come to dinner with us. I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Rem paused, a weird feeling popping up. “You won’t try to convert me, will you?” he asked, half mocking.

  Nelson’s face went blank, and Rem couldn’t read him.

  “You need converting?” Nelson asked.

  “No more than you when we were at State together,” Rem countered.

  “If that’s the case, you’re in worse shape than you know.”

  Although Nelson smiled as he spoke, Rem had the distinct feeling that his tone had suddenly shifted, that his words carried some truth he didn’t want to say straight out. A quick fear ran through Rem, and he felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of going to Nelson’s. His old friend had obviously changed in the last decade, and the kinds of changes he’d made were complicated, maybe too much for Rem to handle at a time like this.

  Rem kicked the ground. “Let me check with my dad,” he said. “See what he’s got planned for tonight. With so little time at home . . .”

  “I understand,” Nelson said. “You need to be with your dad as much as possible. Why don’t you talk to him, then call me at the church. I’ll tell Julie to throw an extra piece of chicken in the pan. If you can’t make it, I’ll eat it.”

  “Sounds good,” Rem said.

  “All right.” Nelson stuck out his hand. Rem suddenly remembered something, and an idea floated up. “You think Julie could throw on two pieces of chicken?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Nelson said. “You hungry?”

  “I might bring somebody with me,” Rem said. “If that’s all right.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “Let me check,” he said. “Maybe so, but I don’t want to go out on a limb before I know if it’s sturdy.”

  “Just call me.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Nelson opened his arms, and Rem quickly gave his old friend a bear hug and then turned away and hopped on his bike. As he left the cemetery, his mind buzzed a million miles an hour. Jenna was a member of Nelson’s congregation, but did that mean she’d go to dinner with him?

  Back on the highway, he decided to cut short his ride and go straight home. If he wanted to ask Jenna to dinner, he probably needed to do it as soon as possible. Otherwise she’d think him rude. But wait a minute. Everybody knew her religious inclinations. Was he setting himself up for a lot of Jesus talk if he took Jenna to a preacher’s house?

  No, he figured as he worked his way up the incline. He’d keep it light, easy, nothing too serious. If Nelson steered matters too deeply toward religion, he’d just bring up “Whoa, Nellie,” open a few pages of that old book. That’d shut Nelson up real fast, no doubt about it.

  Although pleased he had an escape if needed, Rem found it difficult to relax. This whole trip to Hilltop suddenly felt weird, like a scene from The Twilight Zone. He could almost hear Rod Serling from the old television show now—“Three old friends come together for the first time in over ten years in a secluded mountain town at Christmas. What strange current of the universe has brought them together for this fateful rendezvous, and what will happen to their lives as a result of it?”

  First, he’d run into Jenna Newsome, now Nelson Hart. What other surprises could this Christmas hold?

  5

  As she’d done nearly every day since she moved back to Hilltop, Jenna stopped by her mom’s house right after closing down the day care. To her surprise, as she stepped out of the car, she found her dad, Henry, sitting on the front steps, his tall frame bundled in a black wool coat and leather gloves, his face red with early-evening cold.

  “What are you doing?” she called as she moved to him.

  He chuckled but didn’t stand. “She won’t let me inside,” he said.

  Jenna shook her head at her mom’s childish behavior. The last few years had seen all kinds of such craziness from both her parents. If God gave a prize for the most annoying ex-spouse in history, her mom and dad would end up in a dead tie.

  “How long you been here?” she asked.

  “Close to an hour, I guess. I brought you this.” Henry reached to his side and handed her a large box wrapped in bright green paper. “Wanted you to have it on Christmas Eve. Didn’t know if I’d see you before then.”

  “Why didn’t you just go to my apartment and wait there?”

  He dropped his eyes. “I brought her something too.” He picked up another wrapped box and showed it to Jenna. “Wanted to give it to her myself, apologize, you know.”

  Jenna’s heart softened a little, and she gave her dad a quick hug. “Let’s go in,” she said. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee, warm you up some.”

  “She’ll scream to high heaven if I go in,” he said. “You deliver her present for me. I’ll wait here until you’re done, and then we’ll go to your place and visit for a while. You know I don’t like to create a scene.”

  “Sure you do,” Jenna said. “You love a scene, both of you. Remember her birthday party?”

  Henry smiled sheepishly. “That’s why I brought her a present.”

  Jenna eyed her dad; he made her insane sometimes, made her feel like a mom who needed to spank her son. In October she’d made the mistake of inviting him to her mom’s birthday dinner at a local restaurant. He’d insisted on bringing the cake, his “peace offering,” as he called it. Close to thirty people—all of her mom’s best friends—had gathered to celebrate her fifty-fifth year. When everyone had finished eating, the waitress brought out the cake. Seventy-five candles burned on its chocolate surface.

 
Her mom, Margaret, had always been a stern woman. Her face had tightened slightly at the joke, but she didn’t say anything. But then she tried to blow out the candles. She tried three times before she caught on to the second part of Henry’s foolishness. The candles were the kind you couldn’t blow out. Margaret’s face got red, but she again held her tongue.

  Watching her mom, Jenna’s blood pressure went up. She knew Margaret didn’t do well with much humor, especially her dad’s sophomoric kind. Jenna glanced at Henry, but he just shrugged, a good old boy having a few laughs. Jenna hoped the jokes had ended for the night. But Henry had one more round of silliness up his sleeve. When her mom tried to cut the cake, it squeaked.

  Jenna’s face bleached white. Her mom again applied the knife to the cake. The cake squeaked once more. The crowd laughed nervously. They knew that Henry’s offbeat humor and Margaret’s straight-laced manners didn’t always mix well.

  Margaret glared at Henry as he roared with laughter. Jenna grabbed the knife and tried to slice the cake but quickly realized it was Styrofoam covered with chocolate icing. She pointed her finger at her dad, but he didn’t seem to care. He’d pulled his prank; he looked happy.

  Furious with embarrassment, Margaret had rushed from the restaurant, and although they lived in the same town and saw each other quite often, she’d not spoken to Henry since. No wonder she wouldn’t let him inside the house, even to receive a Christmas present.

  “You two drive me nuts,” Jenna said.

  “I know,” Henry said. “I’m sorry for that, but you know how she is—so stuffy. I have to stick a pin in her balloon every now and again, just to see the air rush out. You go on in. I’ll see you at your apartment.”

  “Maybe that’s wise.”

  He kissed her, handed her both boxes, and left. After he pulled away, Jenna turned back and went inside. Her mom stood at the window and watched Henry’s car as it drove off.

  “The man’s lost the last marble he ever had,” Margaret said.

  “You’re both loony,” Jenna said. “He left this for you.” She handed her mom the gift, but she sniffed at it and stalked toward the den.