Part IV

Christmas Season 2010:

Strange how something as pure and soft-falling as snow could have an ominous undertone. Nicole learned this within moments of setting out on the road with her lights on and the wipers moving at full capacity. Despite keeping the speedometer below 20 miles per hour, the road she'd taken to work hadn't seen a snow plough yet and few cars had come before her.

Within another moment Nicole realized she should have taken the freeway instead of the unplowed back roads. She'd thought that semi trucks beside her would backlash snow and slush and that high school students, believing they were immortal, might clip her vehicle. But those alternatives would be better than grappling with the uncertainty she felt now.

Feeling the tires spin as she tapped on the breaks, Nicole began to burn up. She couldn't do a thing about it now, but the wool of her coat was abrasive to her skin, and the scarf around her neck was like a vise.

Before she knew it, her Lumina was veering to the side instead of facing the road head-on; the front tires were sliding and guaranteeing unpredictability. Instead of raising her eyes to the guardian angel that dangled from her rear view mirror or uttering a prayer beneath her breath, Nicole cursed not once, but twice.

Though she tried to correct the vehicle through steering it in the direction she wished for it to go, her tires wouldn't comply. Losing their grip on the compact snow, they continued to slide in distress. Another split second, and the Lumina chose to do a 180 so that it was facing oncoming traffic. When the car was done spinning, it lodged down the shallow embankment so there wasn't a hope of escaping on her own power.

At this, Nicole flinched. Rather than feeling grateful that her life was spared, she thought about the nicks to the side of the car and the lovely scratch across the windshield she couldn't afford to replace. "I can't believe this," she said, looking at all that was scattered within her car: CDs, foundation compact, rolling perfume bottle.

She set the unreliable car in "park" and vowed that she wouldn't be the next one to shift it into "drive."

Hearing her heart hammer through her winter coat, Nicole reached for her open purse on the ground and started grappling around for her cell phone so she could call one of the first contacts in her list.

Finally feeling the weightless metal it in her hand, she flipped it open and saw with disbelieving eyes that the screen was black and worse yet, that her car charger wasn't anywhere to be found. Pressing the battery-dead phone to her forehead, she cringed and asked herself how much worse her morning could get. Forget the hearth and home of Christmas; she felt like the season's cheer had been replaced with bleak midwinter.

You might be off the beaten path a little, she told herself, but if worse came to worst, you could always turn off the car and knock on someone's door and ask to use a phone.

She lowered her eyes and stared at her feet then, reminded that she'd selected the absolute worst pair of shoes in her closet simply because they'd gone well with her outfit. Somehow she didn't think the three-inch heels on her boots would bode well with surmounting snow and ice. What had seemed like the trendiest compliment to her black leggings and candy-apple red sweater was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.

Realizing the extent of her plight, Nicole tipped her head back and laughed for a split second. On the cusp of that laugh were tears, but not wanting to become the desperate damsel, she sniffed them back and remembered to turn her hazards on.

Trying to think levelly, Nicole caught sight of the gleaming angel that spun below her rear view mirror and drew a finger to still the silver wings.

"Please help me," she whispered, glancing at the wintry sky through her window. "I don't know what to do."

While she struggled out of the car so she could wait on the side of the road for help, her thoughts turned once again to faded days unlike any she had ever known. Perhaps she was able to grasp a slice of them in these moments where technology was rendered useless and she was reminded how little of life was actually in accordance with her day planner.

At least she wasn't feeling like a furnace anymore; her heightened fears were diminishing. She wasn't able to trudge far in the inches-thick snow, but standing on snow in stiletto boots was more refreshing than being behind the wheel.

Nicole didn't want to envision her grandfather as a boy again, but there he was in her mind's eye: carefully combed brown hair, freckled nose, determined hazel eyes. He wasn't one to crumble when the going got tough; he took that what was unfortunate and made it as malleable as he could. Even if he was quick to spark, Nicole couldn't fault him for reacting most often in the right direction. She thought of his dedication to the Armed Services, of his life's work at Catholic Charities, of his volunteered hours at the local food bank and told herself that the man had seen it all; he deserved to get frustrated once in awhile.

If only he didn't have to take it out on the wrong person, she thought in spite of herself. But rather than remain bitter about his dinner scene tirade, Nicole imagined him as that boy of ten who wanted nothing more than to alleviate his mother's woes, who wanted to make everything right before Christmas.

After dwelling on this history for several minutes, Nicole saw the first set of headlights coming her way. Humiliated though she was, what choice did she have, but to raise a mitten and flag the driver down, hoping it was someone she could trust?

1934

"What are you doing?" Missy asked, once she realized that her younger brother wasn't heading over to the Nelson's house, but had every intention of remaining indoors. Ed was standing in the basement with a black garbage bag clasped in his hands when she found him.

Missy already regretted her decision to share their mother's private thoughts with him; she'd thought of all the kids that he was the most resilient, but apparently she'd been mistaken. Ed hadn't been himself since last night; he wasn't making eye contact with anyone and wasn't running himself ragged.

"Nothing that she wrote was a surprise," Missy said finally since she couldn't get Ed's attention any other way. "We've known that she was sick for a long time. It's obvious. Her hands start trembling when she isn't even holding anything. You've seen it just like me."

"That's why I'm trying to help her!" Ed shot back, finally turning to face Missy. It was then that she saw how bloodshot his eyes were and understood the reason he hadn't wanted anyone to engage him in conversation. "I...I don't think we should tell the other kids. I mean, she didn't think that any of us would look inside her Bible and find her notes." He held out the garbage bag and pointed inside, "I'm gathering things that we can sell so we're able to pay for more of her doctor's appointments."

Missy glimpsed into the depths of the bag and pulled out wooden blocks, a game of Monopoly and two pairs of shoes they'd all outgrown.

"You can't just give these things away," Missy said, taken back and beginning to unwind the evergreen scarf at her throat. Her cheeks were in full bloom, and Ed didn't know whether that was because she disagreed so adamantly or because of the December frost.

"Yes, I can," Ed said, closing the garbage bag before she could reach in a hand and extract anything. Since she was still hovering over her shoulder, Missy glanced down and noticed her little brother had included his catcher's mitt and a baseball. That's when she knew he was serious.

"Most of these things have been down here for a long time," Ed rationalized, "and no one is using them anymore. If we sell them, it won't make a whole lot, but it will give her a few visits to a doctor. And we need her more than...more than..." He stopped himself and scanned the contents of the basement so emotions wouldn't betray him. He wasn't a baby anymore, and didn't want his sister to mimic him.

Much to his surprise, she didn't throw him a cockeyed glance. Instead, her shoulders heaved up and down, and Ed realized that she was crying. The tears fell quicker than she could backhand them, so she looked at him through the haze and said, "The rest of them know in some capacity...about her being sick. But we won't tell them we're gathering items for her doctor's appointments. She doesn't want more attention drawn to her illness."

He watched in rapt amazement as Missy threw possessions inside, a discarded baby doll, paperback books, the locket from around her neck.

"Then how will we tell her we've paid for the visits?"

At this, Missy smiled widely, the tears all but vaporized from her face, "We'll ask the nurse to tell her she has a benefactor and to keep it confidential."

"That's brilliant," Ed said, flashing his gap-toothed grin. He rather liked this new role of being the anonymous giver and hoped that his mother's health would be restored in the process.

He imagined her at her finest. There she was at Midnight Mass, a row of perfect pearls at her throat, the Missal in her right hand, and a spark in her Irish blue eyes. There wasn't a tremor in sight.