How Nick and Holly Wrecked...Saved Christmas (4 page)

Nick picks up keys, a Christmas gift, and an envelope from the counter. “That stinks.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But I love being with my granny. We’re doin’ all right.”

“What about your dad? Could you have stayed with him?”

“Um... No. My mom was never married to my dad. We’ve never been close.”

I am relieved when he doesn’t push it. I long ago accepted my status as a casualty of a broken home. No reason to dwell on it now.

He sticks his nose in the fridge again and I brace myself for the possible beer situation to rear its ugly head.

I’ve never been more relieved to see a Mountain Dew.

“Let’s go,” he says and heads for the door.

“What did you get your Aunt Ivy for Christmas?” I ask as we pull on our boots.

“iPad. Her computer died but all she cares about is Words with Friends, the weather, and her e-mail. This should be all she needs. What about Collette?”

“I have an idea but I haven’t done it yet.”

I head for Nick’s truck, but it’s his dad’s Mercedes that starts up on its own across the garage.

“C’mon,” Nick says.

“That’s your dad’s new SUV.”

“He said I could drive it.”

I shuffle my feet to keep them from freezing. “I’ll get our groceries.”

“No, c’mon. We’re only goin’ a couple miles down the road. We’ll be back for the truck. And stop making that face. It’s fine.”

What face? The one that’s concerned we’ll get pulled over in your dad’s new car?

I need to find a new face. A poker face.

I sit on a heated leather seat and breathe a hint of new-car smell through my busted nose. “This is nice.”

Nick hops out at the mailbox and the end of the drive. “It’s OK,” he says as he gets back in. “But it’s no Z-28.”

A few minutes farther down Lakefront Drive, Nick slows. Cars line the street in both directions and all the way up the drive. I can see from the road that every light in the house is on.

“Isn’t this Ricky Farmer’s house? Are his parents having a Christmas party?”

“No, Ricky’s having a Christmas party. His parents won’t be back tonight.”

“That looks like some party.”

Nick drives past the house. “There’s nowhere to park here.” He pulls off the road two mailboxes away. “There’s a path through the woods. Let’s go.”

“I didn’t know we were going to a party, Nick. My face is not exactly in party condition.”

“Everyone here already knows about your face. We won’t stay long. Ricky’s mom needs this envelope from my dad for her charity and I told Ricky we’d stop by.”

We?

“C’mon. All our friends are here. It’ll be fine.”

Our?

Apparently, Nick Zernigan has sniffed one too many new car fumes. I may have known some of these people since Kindergarten, but they are not my friends. Amanda and I don’t get invited to these legendary parties on the lake, and we don’t move in these circles.

Ice, snow, and twigs snap beneath my boots. Bitter cold shocks my cheeks and nose and I slow down to avoid diving face-first into the ground. Nick and Ricky know this path well. I do not.

Nick takes my hand. “We’re almost there.”

I push my scarf further up my face and walk close to him where it’s safe. I no longer mind the cold.

The house pulses with music and noise as we approach.

“There must be a hundred people in there.”

“I doubt that,” Nick says as he enters a side door.

We stand in the laundry room at the bottom of the stairs. Nick puts the envelope with Mrs. Farmer’s name on the dryer.

“Ready to go up?”

No. I don’t drink, and I don’t smoke, and I don’t feel comfortable with these people. And why doesn’t anyone get that I look like I’ve been hit by a bus?

“Yes,” I say and smile.

We climb the stairs. Nick opens the door and then closes it again.

“What?”

“There are a lot of people in that kitchen.”

“I told you.”

“Here.” He digs in his pocket. “Take this.”

He hands me the remote keychain for his dad’s car. I hand it back like it’s on fire.

“No, take it.” He laughs.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Let’s get in and grab some food. I’ll find Ricky and say hi. If we lose track of each other, text me, and I’ll meet you outside. Push this button twice and this button once.”

“Then what happens? It’ll drive down the path and open the door for me?”

“No, but it will start and warm up the seats. I don’t want you to stand out in the cold waiting for me.”

I reach around him and push open the door. “Go.”

Nick opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer. He offers me a red plastic cup and motions toward the selection of drinks on the island.

I take the cup. “I’ll get something,” I shout over the music.

He smiles and grabs a bag of chips. “I’ll find Ricky. Wanna come?”

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll be around.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I fill my cup with ginger ale.

Someone snickers behind me. “Omigosh... Did you see her nose? Who is she here with?”

I don’t bother to turn around. Move along, stupid shallow people. I know I don’t belong here, but since I am, deal with it.

I take a picture of the adult beverage bar and text it to Amanda.

U r not going to believe where I am.

I get lost in a crush of partiers and eventually make my way to the base of a winding staircase. I sit and watch as the celebration goes by.

“Holly?”

“Kayla?”

“Hey, girl, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either.”

Kayla and I go way back. We’ve attended the same church since we were three and bunked at the same summer church camp for six years. We serve on the same youth mission committee and work the church nursery together every other month. That’s where the similarities end. Her involvement in athletics and cheerleading beats my choir-drama loserness in every popularity poll that was ever written. She gets to be a Christian and be cool and I get to be a Christian and, well, not be cool.

Kayla twirls a piece of long, curly blonde hair around her finger and looks around. “Are you here with somebody?”

“I rode with Nick. But we’re not
together
together.”

“Nick Z.?”

“Yes.” The look of shocked horror on Kayla’s face is almost comical.

“Huh. I didn’t know you two were friends.”

I take a sip of ginger ale. Me either. “We got to know each other a little better when we both were involved with the holiday show.”

Kayla isn’t listening anymore.

“I gotta go,” she says as she’s swept away by her boyfriend. “Your nose looks better. See you in church on Christmas Eve.”

I wish. On both counts. “Thanks.”

I glance at my phone. It’s been a while since I last saw Nick. I text him.

Heading outside to get some air.

I make my way back through the kitchen and down to the laundry room. I rush past the couple making out on the extra-large pet bed on the floor and head out into the cold.

Nick texts back.
On my way
.

But five minutes later, I’m freezing to death. I start down the path. There’s no reason to die in the arctic when Dr. Zernigan’s luxury SUV is heated and full of gas. I aim the remote and double click. The headlights come on in the distance and the low gentle hum of the engine promises warmth.

The noise of the party fades behind me and I barely notice the road above the trail—until the blinking red and blue lights of a police car bounce off the trees around me.

The car slows.

I fumble for my phone and rip off my glove.

COPS!!!!
I text to Nick.

I run. The cold air bites my nose and throat as I breathe too hard. My knees buckle as I fight with the door handle and realize I haven’t punched the right button.

Someone is running toward me. “Get in and drive,” Nick yells. “Drive!”

I keep clicking as I run around the other side. Car engines rev and footsteps are heavy on the road as panicked and drunken party-goers try to escape.

The door comes open as my hearts beats out of my chest. Clearly by accident, the back of the SUV starts to rise.

“No!” I punch more buttons and jump in the driver’s seat.

“Go!” Nick dives in the back and pulls down the door. “Drive!”

“I don’t know how to drive this thing,” I scream back at him.

“It’s just a car. Drive!”

I put it in gear. It lurches forward and I hit the brakes hard before making a slow, sharp turn in the dirt.

“Take your time and pull out on the road,” he says as he crawls toward the front. “If you aren’t driving crazy, they’ll have no reason to stop you.”

I do and creep away from Ricky’s house as another police car passes us. There is no traffic behind me now and I’m sure it’s because the police have blocked Ricky’s driveway and managed to corral everyone.

Nick squeezes himself into the passenger seat and puts on his seatbelt. I’m not wearing mine.

“You are a genius.”

“What?”

“The lift gate... The back. I was running full speed and that thing opened just in time.”

“It was a total accident. I was pushing all the buttons and it popped open. How do I get back to your house without going back past Ricky’s?”

“Turn left in about a half mile and we’ll circle back.”

I use my pinkie to feel for the blinker, still shaking so hard I’m afraid to loosen my grip on the wheel.

“Where were you when I texted?”

“I was in the kitchen and on my way out. Thanks for that. When I saw it, I yelled at everyone and took off. Turn left again where that Santa Claus is flashing.” He twists to look behind us. “If we hadn’t parked a ways down I don’t think we’d have made it.”

I make one more turn and recognize the main road. Nick’s driveway seems incredibly narrow and a million miles long as I inch toward the garage. I slam it in park and nearly fall out in my rush to exit the car right outside the massive columns in the front. No way am I gonna try to get that thing in its small, neat space.

I wait by the truck while Nick puts the Mercedes to bed and locks up the house. My knees have gone from rubber to jelly and I’m trembling from the inside out. As the rush of fear subsides, I want to cry, but refuse. I lean against the passenger door and wait for him to unlock it—and he comes around the side laughing like a hyena.

“I’m glad you’re amused, Nick.”

“C’mon, Holly, you know this is hilarious.”

“Maybe tomorrow it’ll be hilarious.”

“That was
awesome
,” he insists. “
You’re
awesome.”

“Not awesome. I was scared to death.”

“Duh,” he says, “but you were cool. That text... The way the gate opened up. It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“Are you listening to yourself? I don’t want to be good at running from the police but I can’t afford to mess anything up this year. I can’t get an M.I.P ticket or have to show up at court with my mom.”

“And you think I can? My recruiter is keeping tabs on me. I can’t blow it either.”

“Let’s just go. Are you OK to drive?”

“Seriously? I didn’t even drink that beer I opened. I basically carried it around for the forty-five minutes we were in there.”

“And why bother to do that, Nick? Why open it at all?”

He jerks on my door until it comes open. “I can drive.”

The truck is slow to warm up as Nick adjusts the vents. Both our phones are about to burst into flames with activity.

“Aw, man,” he says. “Ricky didn’t get out.”

“It’s his house. I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get out.”

“His parents are gonna freak.”

“No doubt.”

“I’m sorry about Starbucks, Holly.”

I see on my phone it’s way past closing time. “Whatever, Nick. It doesn’t matter.”

Notifications start popping on my phone faster than the machine at the old folks’ home pops corn. Kayla has tagged me with Nick at the must-attend party of the season, and Amanda has consequently seen this and had a stroke.

What is happening down there????????????

I text back:
Christmas is definitely and irrevocably wrecked. Call you when I get to Granny’s
.

She replies:
Peeing. My. Pants.

Day Three—Karaoke is Evil and Must Be Destroyed.

“Sorry,” Granny says. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

This is followed by another bump, crash, and thump.

I groan but don’t open my eyes. “S’okay. What are you doing?”

“I need my Christmas reindeer antlers for karaoke tonight. Thought maybe they were in this closet. Can’t find anything in this mess. If I’d known it would be such a chore, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Give me a minute to wake up and I’ll help you.”

“Stay put. Don’t want a hat box falling out of here and banging up that nose again.”

No... We don’t want that.

I sit up and stretch. Granny has the whole closet nearly emptied into the room. Curiously, there’s a cat tree standing at the foot of my bed with a litter box perched on top. It’s exploding with cat toys. I can see the edge of the pet play-pen, collapsed and leaning against the door.

The debate my mother and I have been having about Granny’s Christmas gift is now clearly answered. I think she’s ready to love again. My mom thinks Granny doesn’t need the burden of a kitten. The evidence was here all the time if I’d only bothered to hang my coat in that closet.

“Are those all Pierre’s things?”

“
Oui
. I need to tote all this downstairs and have someone drop it at the shelter.”

But even as she’s saying this, she’s putting the things away. It couldn’t be clearer.

“I miss Pierre, too.”

“Ah-ha! I think this is it.” She pulls out a large square box with pictures of Christmas angels all over it. “It is,” she says and pushes tissue paper aside. “I needed to find this box a week ago. It has all my Christmas costume jewelry in it.”

“Good,” I say as she pulls out several scary pairs of earrings. “Nothing says ‘Jesus is born’ like that light-up Christmas tree hat. Nice.”

“You can wear this.” She hands me a red velvet headband with a protruding red star on top that reads ‘naughty or nice’. It’s outlined with sparkling silver sequins.