The Christmas Joy Ride (9 page)

“Probably not.” Miranda smiled at Roxy. “Thanks for your help. I'm going to get Joy now. She'll want to see and approve everything before we go.”

“She has to approve the Christmas decorations?”

“Well, after all, she is
Christmas Joy
. And this is really her deal. I'm just her helper. You know the hierarchy—she's Santa and I'm the elf.” Miranda laughed.

“Sounds like a fun job.” Roxy moved the small lighted Christmas tree that Miranda had placed on the corner of the reception counter into a more prominent position. “This baby tree is so cute!”

Miranda felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she went out to the RV. She couldn't wait for Joy to see what she'd done—and in a relatively short amount of time too! Joy was still on the sofa with her eyes closed. But something about this peaceful scene felt wrong. On closer examination, Miranda noticed that Joy's fists were clenched and her expression was strained, as if she were grimacing in pain.

“Joy
?”
Miranda said softly, gently nudging her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Joy's eyes opened wide and her lips quivered. “Pain.” She croaked out the word, touching her chest. “Heart.”

“Oh no!” Miranda stood, looking for her phone, but remembered it was in her purse, which was still stashed behind the reception desk. “Baby aspirin!” she cried out as she raced to the tiny bathroom's medicine cabinet. She'd spotted the small bottle on their first day out. Rushing back, she shook a pill out. “Chew this!” She slipped it into Joy's mouth. “I'll get my phone to call for help. It's in the rehab center. I'll be right back!”

She sprinted back to the rehab center, yelling as she came in the door. “Call 911! Joy's having a heart attack!”

Before Miranda could find the phone in her purse, Roxy was already speaking to someone at the 911 dispatch center, giving the address and calmly but urgently explaining the emergency.

“I have to get back to Joy,” Miranda yelled as she ran for the
door. As she raced back to the RV, she prayed, begging God to send help fast and to spare Joy.

Please, God
, she prayed silently,
don't let her
die!

Joy felt like an elephant was standing on her chest. She willed herself to relax, trying not to gag over the crumbs of the orange-flavored aspirin, as she waited for Miranda to return.
Please, God
, she prayed silently.
Not yet. I'm not ready yet. Not done
yet.

Joy stared at the RV ceiling, willing herself to live, willing her heart to keep going. Somehow she had to make it to Flagstaff . . . she had to make it to little Emily. It was the most important stop on this trip. She would've gone there first . . . except for the miles . . . the miles.

Miranda returned, and after making certain that Joy was still conscious, she knelt by her side, holding Joy's hand and rocking back and forth slightly. Joy could see Miranda's lips moving . . . praying. Maybe that was all they could do.

Please, God
, Joy prayed silently again.
Just a little more time.
Because even after Flagstaff, Joy still needed to make it to Phoenix . . . She needed to see her boys . . . just one more time.
Please,
God!
She wasn't ready to part from them yet. There were words that still needed to be said.
Please
, not yet.

The door burst open and two paramedics entered the RV, knelt by the sofa, and peered curiously at her. Together they asked questions and slipped on some straps and put something over her mouth and nose. Oxygen, perhaps. Talking soothingly, they reassured her as they checked her vital signs, preparing her to be moved. Joy tried to be cooperative, but she felt the motor home spinning round and round . . . like a carnival ride. She was too dizzy, too woozy, unable to hold on. She felt herself losing touch, losing her grip, slipping away.

Joy spotted him up ahead. Her handsome young man. Under a large oak tree in the center of a field that was golden green and smelled like the end of summer, there stood George Jorgenson in a pale gray suit. He was smiling and waving to her, motioning for her to come and join him. With legs as spry as a young doe, Joy ran toward him—and he ran to meet her. She fell happily into his arms, relaxing in his strong embrace as he lifted her from her feet, spinning her around in his arms. She was home . . . and she knew it. Home at last.

There they sat together, under the leafy green shadows of the old oak tree, on a scratchy plaid woolen car robe with a wicker basket that was filled with luncheon things that George's Aunt Bernice had generously packed up for them that morning. Everything was perfect and magical that day. It was the kind of day that should never end . . . a day that should be replayed time and again at will.

M
iranda couldn't remember ever feeling this scared or concerned for a person—ever. As she rode next to Joy in the ambulance, hearing the whining cries of the siren, she stared helplessly down at Joy's pale, lifeless face. As the paramedics tended to her, exchanging unintelligible words between them, Miranda felt hopeless. She felt a dark cloud of uncertainty. This was it . . . the end. She was losing her good friend. Perhaps even her best friend. And there was nothing she could do about it. In the same way she'd lost her marriage, her job, her home . . . she was about to lose Joy as well. It figured.

With tears streaming down both cheeks, Miranda quietly mumbled a disjointed prayer. Feeling like a six-year-old, she begged God over and over to spare Joy. But even as she uttered the words, she knew it was a selfish prayer. Joy was nearly
eighty-six, and she was being relocated to an assisted living facility where she knew no one. Joy's life, for the most part, was over. Who could deny that? Joy believed in heaven . . . and an afterlife. Perhaps she would be happier to move on now. Who was Miranda to try to hold on to her, to try to keep her back? And yet she couldn't help herself.

“We're taking her into the ER. But she'll probably go directly to the cardiac unit of ICU,” the guy told Miranda as they started to wheel the gurney out the door. Miranda hadn't even noticed they'd arrived at the hospital.

“She'll be in good hands,” the woman said as she helped to get the gurney down.

Miranda wiped her damp cheeks and, gathering her purse and Joy's, she exited the ambulance, watching as the paramedics disappeared with Joy through a set of double doors with a sign that said E
MERGENCY
P
ERSONNEL
O
NLY
. Using another entrance, Miranda found her way to the reception area, impatiently waiting for the intake person to finish with the elderly couple ahead of her. Why were they so slow?

Finally, the receptionist motioned Miranda forward. After Miranda explained the situation, the woman asked for Joy's ID and insurance cards. As Miranda sat down, she began digging in Joy's purse and, locating the items, she handed them over. She explained that she wasn't a relative, attempting to answer the woman's questions as best she could while waiting impatiently as the woman punched the information into her computer. Why was she so slow?

“Can I see her?” Miranda asked eagerly.

“Not yet.” The woman typed something else on her computer. “They'll be getting her stabilized and probably run some tests. Someone will come out to talk to you . . . after a while.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say. But you should plan on at least an hour or more here. Then she'll probably be moved to ICU.” The woman frowned. “Is there any next of kin you need to notify? Someone you need to call?”

Miranda sighed. “Her sons.”

The woman nodded. Then, looking over Miranda's shoulder, she waved to the young mother and son waiting for their turn. “Next.”

Miranda didn't know what to do as she went over to the waiting area. She should probably call Joy's sons. But what would she say? “Your mother and I just happened to be driving a motor home a couple thousand miles in the middle of winter and she had a heart attack”? She couldn't even imagine how they would react. She'd met Joy's sons only a couple of times, and while they were nice enough, she wasn't sure how they'd respond in a situation like this. From hearing Joy talk about them, she knew both Rob and Rick were somewhat intense guys. Joy described them as type A personalities who defined themselves according to their bank accounts. Although they were both approaching their sixties, neither of the men had any intention of retiring. The idea of calling them with this news was more than a little intimidating. Still, they probably deserved to know.

Miranda thought about what she'd want someone else to do if they were in her shoes. If her mom was hospitalized with something as serious as chest pain, she would want to be notified. At once.

Miranda started digging through Joy's bag now. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for since she knew Joy didn't own a cell phone. But when she discovered a little old-fashioned address book, she felt hopeful. And sure enough, in the
J
section Miranda discovered both Rick and Rob Jorgenson's phone numbers and addresses. Since Rick was the oldest, Miranda
decided to call what appeared to be his cell phone number. When he answered she quickly identified herself, explaining that she was with his mother in Albuquerque, but then she didn't know what to say. Joy hadn't wanted her sons to know about the trip, and now she had to tell them like this. “We are, uh, we're at the hospital and—”

“In a hospital in Albuquerque?” he repeated. “What?
Who
is this?”

She explained again. “They took her back to the ER, but she'll probably be moved into ICU soon.”

“
What?
My mother is in an emergency room in Albuquerque? Is this some kind of scam? You trying to get money?”

Again, she explained, but this time she told him about the motor home, how they'd been traveling on Route 66, and his mother's
Christmas Joy
contest. This time Rick said nothing. Clearly, the poor man was speechless.

“I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Miranda said contritely. “And I'm not even sure that Joy would approve of me calling you just yet. But I thought you'd want to know. I know I would if it was my mother.”

“Of course I want to know. What I really want to know is how on earth did this happen? My mom is supposed to be in Chicago. She is supposed to board a flight to Phoenix
tomorrow
. She is supposed to be settling into her assisted living apartment, which Rob and I have gotten all set up for her. We even put up a Christmas tree! What the heck is she doing out on the road? Route 66? A motor-home trip in wintertime? Has she lost her ever-loving mind?”

“Her mind is very clear. It's her heart that worries me.”

She heard him exhaling loudly. “Well, how is she? What's wrong exactly? What's being done?”

“I don't really know. We only just got here. I haven't seen
her since I left her in the ER. But she should be getting moved to ICU before you get here.”

“Right. Well, I could try to get a flight there, but it's probably faster to just drive. Especially this time of year. I'm sure the flights are all overbooked as usual.” He paused like he was considering options, and Miranda couldn't think of anything helpful to say. “Looks like it might take about seven hours to get there by car—if I drive fast. And if I left right away, I could be there by ten—eleven at the latest.”

“Yeah . . . that would probably be good.”

The line got quiet again.

“Do you think she's going to make it?” he asked in a somber tone.

“I honestly don't know. She seemed healthy when we started out, but then she seemed to get tired so easily—”

“I still can't believe Mom would do something like this. You're sure she's not dealing with some kind of dementia or something?”

“No. Her brain is as sharp as ever. She just wanted to help people,” Miranda said defensively. “To make Christmas really special for some deserving folks. And she was having a great time doing it. You should've seen how happy she's been.”

“But her heart! Didn't she tell you that the reason we wanted her relocated to Phoenix was because of her heart problems? We wanted Mom nearby in case she needed surgery or something. What was she thinking? Doing a trip like that with a bad heart? And you're supposed to be her friend. What were
you
thinking?”

“I was thinking that your mom is a grown woman. That she is full of life and wisdom and perfectly capable of making her own decisions,” Miranda declared vehemently. “You know how much your mother loves Christmas. It was her choice to run
that contest on her Christmas website. Joy just wanted to lend a hand so some unfortunate people could celebrate Christmas. And she's done that. She's done it marvelously. If you don't believe me, maybe you should check out her website. Joy is nearly eighty-six years old, and she has the right to live her last days as she sees fit.” Miranda paused to catch her breath. Had she really just said all that?

“Yeah . . . well, I guess you're right. But the timing is a little crazy.”

Miranda had no response. Nothing she cared to say out loud anyway.

“Well, tell her I'll be there later this evening. I'll see if Rob can come too. In the meantime, please keep me posted on my mother's condition. Call or text this number if there's any news. Good or bad.”

She promised she would before she hung up. It hadn't been an easy conversation, but she figured it had been necessary. Hopefully Joy wouldn't be too disappointed that Miranda had ratted her out. That is, if Joy was still breathing. Miranda prayed that she was.

After nearly two long hours of waiting and sitting and pacing and far too much caffeine, Miranda was informed that Joy was awake and asking for her.

“But no longer than ten or fifteen minutes,” the nurse warned Miranda as she led her through the ICU area. “She needs her rest.”

Relieved and eager to see her dear friend, Miranda hurried into the room only to discover Joy looking pale and frail and encompassed with tubes and machines. But when she saw Miranda, her sweet smile was like a ray of sunshine.

Miranda rushed to her side, grasping Joy's wrinkled hand. “I'm so glad to see you,” she whispered. “How
are
you?”

“I'm just fine, dear. So sorry to have scared you like that,” Joy said slowly.

“I'm just glad you're okay.” Miranda gave the fragile hand a gentle squeeze.

“It's my heart.”

“I thought so.” Miranda glanced at the oxygen tube taped to the side of Joy's face and the IV in her arm. “What did the doctor say?”

“I may need surgery. Bypass.”

“Oh.”

Joy's smile faded. “But we haven't finished our Christmas Joy Ride . . .”

Miranda sighed. “I'm afraid it's finished now, Joy. You can't possibly continue.”

“Yes . . . I know.” Joy's pale blue eyes grew hopeful. “But
you
can go, dear. You can finish it for us.”

“Me?” Miranda frowned. “By myself?”

“You know how to drive the motor home. You know what to do. Surely, you can do it, dear.” Joy closed her eyes. Perhaps this much conversation was wearing her out.

“Well, I, uh, I don't know . . .” Miranda felt a mixture of guilt and anxiety. It was one thing driving a crazy-looking motor home around and bursting into people's lives with Joy merrily running the show, but could Miranda really pull it off alone? “I'm not sure I can do it without you.”

“Of course you can.” Joy's eyes opened, looking intently at Miranda as she squeezed her fingers. “You can and you will, dear.”

“I'm not sure about that . . .”

“Please, dear, do it for me.” Joy released a weary sigh. “I can
rest better if I know you're finishing this up for us and if I rest better, I'll get well sooner.”

Miranda made a half smile. “So is this where the Christmas Joy Ride turns into a Christmas guilt trip? And I'm not talking about the glittery kind of gilt either.”

Joy's eyes twinkled slightly. “If that's what it takes.”

To change the subject, Miranda filled Joy in on the rehab center and the details of how the decorating had gone and even showed her the pictures she'd taken on her phone. “Roxy made a real sweet turnaround and was actually quite helpful. When it was all done, she really appreciated it.”

“See, dear, you did all that without me. And you can handle this last visit too. I know you can.”

Miranda still felt uncertain, but she didn't want to trouble Joy with it. Guilt or not, it was probably true that Joy would recover more quickly without the stress of worrying about her unfinished mission.