Exceptional contest entry Love Remembered by Writingfundimension Christmas Story contest entry

The driver of a Boyd’s Manufacturing delivery truck, Curtis Boyd, tapped his brakes to slow his vehicle and guide it toward the curb. Raindrops had morphed into the size and substance of snowflakes since his leaving the plant a half hour earlier, and his headlights reflected patches of black ice. Dammit, Julie. Why are you making me do this? I’m tired, and all I want’s a couple of beers, a hot shower, and a warm bed. He combed his fingers through his sparse, blonde hair and let out a ragged breath.  “Stop off before work and invite Jan and Jason for Christmas dinner,” his wife had begged. “That’s all… you don’t need to say anything else.” He’d put off the task by convincing himself he could take care of it after work. But the day had been a long one -- made worse by the loss of his top mechanic – and his hips ached from the heavy loads he’d dragged around. I haven't talked with Jan in weeks. It's going to be awkward showing up with a last minute invitation like this. Looking over at the small cape-cod, made even more indistinguishable by a thickening layer of white, he noted the shades were all drawn. Except for a thin light coming from an upstairs window, the house was dark.   Looks like they’re not home. I’ve missed my chance, and Julie will just have to understand. He gunned the engine causing his vehicle to lurch forward. It fishtailed over the ice, then caught a dry patch of pavement and disappeared down the block.  ***** The room’s only light and warmth came from a wood-burning stove in the corner. A thick log caught fire and fell forward, hitting the stove’s door with a thud. The rail-thin brunette, lying stretched out on the floor and wrapped in a wool blanket, shot upright. “David?” The log adjusted itself again, and Jan’s eyes flew to the source of what woke her. Fragments of her dream clashed with the bleak surroundings: She was on the top step of a marble staircase. At its bottom, looking up, was her husband. He was young and glowing with health. He held his arms open, inviting her into their warmth. Her feet were bare and the marble was cool against her skin. She lifted the edge of her gown and slid her foot forward, but was yanked from the dream by the log’s intrusion. The abrupt waking left her with a sense of loss fresh as the falling snow.   Jan fell back onto the floor, gripped the edges of the blanket and brought it up to her chin. Almost Christmas Eve, and I’ve accomplished zilch. At least there won’t be a Christmas tree to decorate. Even before their son arrived, she and David enjoyed the ritual of buying a fresh spruce tree and decorating it on the Christmas Eve. When their only child, Jason, became old enough to participate, sitting atop his father’s shoulders, Jason placed the Archangel tree-topper handed down from Jan’s Polish grandmother. For a moment, the memory of pungent, fresh-cut pine filled her senses, and she felt as if an arrow, propelled by guilt, shot right through her gut. ****  The day before, she’d informed her son they'd not be buying a Christmas tree. “I’m behind schedule this year, Jason. There just isn’t enough time to get out to Hansen’s farm to pick one out and haul it back here, not to mention getting it into the house. We’ll be using the table-top tree Grandma Porter made for us.”  Jason’s eyes burned. “You’re not asking my opinion? You say I’m the man of the family now, but you make up new rules without any discussion!” Jan crossed her arms and looked at a spot on the wall behind his shoulder. “This isn’t directed at you, Jason.” He moved closer and pointed a finger at her chest. “This is about me. And it sucks that you don’t see that.” His chest heaved. “It’s not my fault Dad died, but I’m the one being punished.” She reached for him, but he pushed her back, turned and stomped up the stairs. A minute later, music blasted from behind the closed door of his bedroom.   **** What do I say to him? It does feel like we’re both being punished, and I don’t know how to make it right with my son. Returning to the heap of color sitting in the middle of the room, Jan wrapped the remainder of her Christmas presents. She cringed at the small number stacked in the middle of the sofa. It’s all I can afford until the life insurance proceeds come through. Thank God we had the foresight to get both of us insured. Combined with the reduced income due to a medical leave, Jan was forced to be stringent with her spending. At the top of the pile was a present for Jason – a set of headphones he’d been saving to buy. Though they set her back two hundred dollars, she hoped her son would see it as a way of making up for the horror of the last few months. She scooped up the parcels and headed for the hall closet. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. The first knock she mistook for further settling of the logs. A second, louder one, left her gasping. Fear gripped her as a memory moved to the forefront of another late-night knock and the devastating news that followed it. But the part of her brain that remained practical forced her to take action. She approached the door and looked through a side window. A man dressed more for jogging than visiting was standing with his hands in his pockets, rocking from side to side. His head was bare and tilted so that she couldn’t make out his features. “Who is it, Mom?” Jason called from the top of the stairs. “A man I don’t recognize.” Jason was at her side in a flash. “Let me handle this, Mom.” Cracking the door, he demanded, “Identify yourself.” “Uh… okay. I’m not sure I have the right address. Is this the home of David Whitman?” “Who wants to know?” “I’m an old friend. I know it’s late, but I didn’t know where else to go.” He moved closer and peered into Jason’s face. “You look just like him, so I’m guessing this is the right place.” Jason closed the door and leaned back against it. “I can smell alcohol on his breath. What should we do? It could be a scam to get entrance into the house so he can rob us… or worse? “Tell him we’ll answer his question if he tells us his name and offers proof to back it up.” “Good thinking.” Jason cracked the door open once again and repeated his mother’s words. “That’s fair. My name’s Richard Riley, but David, uh… Mr. Whitman… always called me Ranger Rick.” While he was speaking, he retrieved his wallet and presented a driver’s license. “See for yourself.”  They examined the license confirming that a man who appeared to match the picture I.D., by the name of Richard Riley, was standing on their doorstep near midnight on Christmas Eve.  “Looks like he’s telling the truth. What do you think… should we let him in, Mom?” “Your dad had a friend on the West Coast by that name. Though I never met him, I could tell he was special in some way. It’s also true your father called him Ranger Rick. I don’t know what he wants, but the temperature’s dropping and he’s not dressed to withstand the cold.”   Jan took hold of her son’s shoulder and said, “I’m going to stall letting him in to give you time to get the shotgun out of the closet and put it behind the couch. Do not load it because I don’t intend to shoot the man... just scare him off if it becomes necessary.” ****  She assessed the stranger sitting across from her. Though he was likely not yet fifty, he appeared a decade older and rode hard as the old saying went. His lips formed an inverted V, and Jan guessed his smile was as rare as a solid gold spoon. Her teacher’s voice took over. “I don't understand why you would drive across the country on the off-chance you’d find my husband.” “At the time I cooked up this plan, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.” His voice was pitched low and held the echo of regret. Jan felt a strange kinship swell in her heart. For the first time in weeks, she was looking at someone who appeared in worse shape than she was. He raised his eyes to her, and they were bleak, as if he’d not seen the sun in a long while. Jason interrupted her thoughts. “If you were such a good friend of my father, why didn’t he talk about you?” The blunt edge to her son’s voice matched her own skepticism. Richard Riley clasped his hands together and turned his gaze toward Jason. “Perhaps because it was complicated. In order to explain our relationship, I need to talk about a period in his life that I’m not allowed to share without his permission.” “Obviously that’s not going to be possible,” Jan’s retort appeared to have the effect of a lash across the visitor’s face. He winced, then mumbled, “Sorry. I can’t comprehend that he’s gone.” Neither can I. “David was honest about his previous girlfriends. Is that what you’re referring to?”   “No, ma’am. I’m talking about a different kind of relationship. The one he had with Bill W.” “Who is Bill W?” Jason interjected. “It means,” Jan sliced the air with her hand, “that this man is claiming that your father attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.” She slid to the edge of the couch and turned her anger on the stranger. “My husband never drank alcohol in his life. He said he didn’t need anything artificial in order to have a good time.” “Glad to hear that… makes me proud.” “Why should you care?” she demanded. “I was his sponsor in AA. He finally went for help when he started having blackouts. Guess he’d been drinking since he was twelve. Story was his father introduced him to alcohol so they could bond. You know, like real men.” “David would never have kept something like that a secret from me, and since I can smell liquor on your breath, I’m finding it hard to believe your story," Jan argued. The visitor's reaction was mystifying. He raised his hands to his face and a ragged sob broke the silence. “Jeez, Mom, what do we do now?” Jason whispered.   “You stay here, while I go into the kitchen and make coffee. Once he’s had a chance to sober up some, we’ll  get this cleared up.” **** Jan noted that Rick Riley’s hands shook each time he put the cup to his mouth. This is not just a one-night bender. What happened to make him fall so far? “Would you like some eggs to go with that coffee?” she offered. “No, ma’am. I need to get going. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one night.” He slid back his chair, gripped the edge of the table and pulled himself upright. Jan looked to Jason and he nodded. “Wait,” she said, “you’re not in any shape to drive in this weather. There’s a winter storm advisory in effect.” “I’ll take it slow. I can’t impose on you folks any more than I already have.” Jason crossed to face the man, holding his hands up like a cop stopping traffic. “You’re in no shape to be driving. Besides, my dad would never let you risk your life that way.” “We have an extra bedroom,” Jan added. “You can stay the night. We'll talk further in the morning." "I have no way of repaying your kindness,” Rick said. Jan squeezed her son's arm. "There is a way you can repay us. We need an extra hand to chop down a Christmas tree for our living room. There’s a farm at the edge of the city limits and they’ve got some real beauties, six feet and taller.” She felt the warmth of her son’s smile and knew she’d made the right decision. “So, what do you say, Rick?” “I’d say I’ve never met real-life angels before today.” His chest came up, his chin lifted and he looked from one to the other. “And I accept your offer with gratitude.”                  Recognized Author Notes Word count: 2077 Terms: Bill W: The name of the founder of Alcholic's Anonymous. 'Being a friend of Bill W' is a kind of code between alcoholics. Thanks much to Angelheart for the use of her great artwork once again! Merry Christmas to you all!

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