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Perry’s family still lived in a small town a few hours outside of Seattle, so he and Della set out early on the 22nd, knowing they had two long days of driving ahead of them. They’d decided not to bother with the holiday hustle and bustle of the airport. After spending Christmas with the Masons, they could take a few leisurely days driving home, stop at the cabin in Bear Lake for the weekend, and return home just in time to face the new year fresh and relaxed.
The first day of driving passed with relative ease. While Perry drove, Della read Ian Fleming’s latest Bond novel aloud. They listened to different radio stations, scrolling through the dial carefully when one station got too far away and fuzzy. When Della took a turn behind the wheel, Perry amused her by reading off all the names of the tiny burgs and municipalities printed on the map in miniscule type. After nearly 12 hours driving, they pulled into a roadside motel and rented a room for the night.
The second day of driving, which was supposed to be the shorter of the two, started off similarly until a large orange and black detour sign sent them out of their way. The detour was rough and bumpy, littered with rocks and potholes. They stopped for lunch and fuel in a little out-of-the-way burg, confirming with the station clerk that they were on the fastest route north. He confirmed they were and filled the tank.
As the afternoon wore on, the sun began its westerly descent and slipped behind a bank of gray clouds. Their conversation quieted and they kept the radio low, and Della noticed tension starting to creep into Perry’s posture.
“Look ahead on the map,” he instructed as the dash clock signalled 2. “Hopefully there’s a town ahead with a garage.”
Della’s brow furrowed as she pulled the map from the glove compartment.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well, we had the tank filled at lunch. That should have gotten us into Washington, even with this detour. But the gauge is showing that the tank is nearly empty.”
“Looks like we’re only a few miles from a place called Spruce Junction,” Della read. “Do you think we’ll have enough fuel to get there?”
“I hope so,” Perry said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I hope so.”
00
They were practically coasting on fumes as Perry pulled into a parking lot of a roadside diner on the edge of Spruce Junction. The odor of gasoline was potent as they got out of the car. Perry took Della’s elbow and guided her to the door.
“Afternoon,” called a woman behind the counter. She was refilling sugar bowls from a big bag, a nametag reading ‘Aggie’ pinned to the front of her uniform.
“Good afternoon. Do you have a pay phone?” Perry asked. The woman gestured to the far end of the counter.
“Do you want anything?” Della asked as Perry withdrew his arm from hers and started fishing for a dime in his pocket.
“Just coffee,” he mumbled, marching with efficiency toward the telephone.
Della slid onto a leather stool at the counter and Aggie set her sugar bowl task aside. She placed two white mugs on the counter and pulled a pot of steaming coffee off a hot plate.
“What brings you to Spruce Junction?” she asked in a tone that made Della think the woman didn’t care a bit about why they were in the tiny town just hours before Christmas Eve.
“On the way to see family for the holiday,” Della said, stirring two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her cup. “We’re experiencing some car troubles.”
Perry dropped onto the stool beside her.
“I couldn’t even raise an operator,” he grumbled.
“Oh, well, Annie ain’t the most efficient switchboard gal there’s ever been,” Aggie said, leaning grumpily on an elbow across the counter.
“Is there anyone we could contact in town who could help us? A mechanic or garage?” Perry asked, obviously unimpressed with the service.
The waitress gave a dry laugh. “Hardly. We got a filling station, but the fella that owns it can’t fix any kind a’ car that Henry Ford himself didn’t personally design.”
“There’s not anyone nearby? Maybe the next town?”
“Well, Earl Greely up to the county seat keeps most folks running around here.”
“Is there any way we could contact him?” Perry asked.
“Probably not,” Aggie said, leaning back on her heels. “He’s out of town for a few weeks.”
Perry and Della looked at each other for a moment, trying to figure out what to do.
“Say, I think Hank Wheeler’s boy is fixing up an old jalopy. He might be able to take a look.”
“Seems to be our only option right now,” Perry said, pulling out a few dollars to cover their bill. “Where might we find this young man?”
“The Wheelers live in back of Hank’s hotel. Just down the block a piece, same side of the road,” Aggie said, pocketing the cash and taking their mostly-untouched cups toward the dish bin.
“Thank you,” Della called as she followed Perry to the door.
00
Snow had started to drift down and dusk was falling as young Harvey Wheeler slid himself out from under Perry’s car. He wiped his hands on an old rag as he hauled himself off the ground.
“Looks like something punched a hole in your gas tank,” he said. “Right on the bottom; there isn’t a hope of keeping a drop of gas in there as is.”
“All those rocks and potholes?” Della asked.
“You came through on 11?” Harvey asked. “That would do it. That stretch is a mess. Someone really ought to do something about it.”
“Write your congressman,” Perry suggested dryly. “I suppose there’s no one who could fix this before Christmas?”
“Gosh, no, Mr. Mason. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, son,” Perry excused, though the tightness in his jaw and forehead told Della plenty.
“Is there a bus station or a train depot around here?” Della asked.
“Up to the county seat there’s a bus stop,” Harvey answered. “My dad can call and check the schedule.”
They followed Harvey into the hotel and he went into the back room to find his father.
“You folks decide to stay?” Hank Wheeler was just as jovial now as he had been when they’d first arrived, asking after Harvey.
“We’re hoping you can help us check the bus schedule at the county seat,” Della explained.
“I certainly can,” Hank smiled and started digging in a drawer behind the desk, producing a crinkled brochure a few moments later. “Here we are…let’s see, today is Monday…their last stop is at 4:45.” The three of them looked to the wall clock behind the desk. 5 o’clock. Della felt her hopes start to fall.
“What about tomorrow? We could be there bright and early, catch the first bus,” she suggested.
“Bus don’t stop there on Tuesdays, and Wednesday being Christmas day…” Hank began.
“Thanks for checking,” Della said.
“Looks like we’ll be staying after all,” Perry sighed glumly. Hank checked them into a room and passed Perry the key.
“You’re at the top of the stairs. I can have Harvey fetch your bags over from the diner. No need for you folks to be goin’ back out into weather,” he offered kindly.
“Thank you,” Perry replied, taking Della’s arm as they started up the stairs.
“Say, we’re hosting the village Christmas party tonight at 6:30–decorating the big tree, cookies and eggnog, filling stockings for the orphanage, even a visit from St. Nick. It's nothing too fancy, but you folks would be welcome to stop by,” Hank called after them.
“We’d love to attend,” Della replied, hoping the universe would forgive her fib.
00
Their room was comfortable enough, outfitted with pine furniture and cozy plaid. Harvey had delivered their baggage promptly and reiterated his father’s invitation to the village party. They’d tried to settle in, freshening up after a long day in the car. Della peeked out into the night. In the light of the single streetlamp, she could see snowflakes swirling in the wind.
“It’s nearly 6:30,” she murmured, checking the small alarm clock on the nightstand.
“You go,” Perry mumbled back. He’d sunken into the overstuffed armchair near the radiator, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand.
“I know it’s not what we planned, but I’m sure we can still have a lovely Christmas here,” she said, perching on the end of the bed.
“I haven’t been home for Christmas in almost ten years. Haven’t really felt like I was wanted, or even thought of. More of a distant relative on a Christmas card list than a son or a brother,” Perry explained.
“Maybe the party will cheer you up,” she suggested. He nodded reluctantly and followed her down the stairs.
People were just arriving, carrying all sorts of things. Dishes wrapped in foil or wound up in a towel, armloads of presents, boxes of tinsel and ornaments, all things to keep the party merry and lively. They found a seat at a table and were quickly put to work stringing popcorn and cranberries into a garland.
Children were running about, shrieking and laughing at the top of their lungs. Someone brought in a radio and turned the volume up loud, blasting the whole party with Christmas music. Eventually, one of the women came to collect their garland and people started decorating the tree. Someone turned down the radio and a teenage boy with a guitar came to the center of the room, leading the group in caroling.
“Now you sing one, Joel,” one of the girls cooed with a flirtatious smile on her face. The boy blushed but consented, and the party-goers got quiet.
“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he began singing, “you can plan on me.” Della bit her tongue and reached for Perry’s hand to offer silent comfort. She could see his jaw working as the boy continued through the song. “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.” He squeezed her fingers for a moment and then pulled his hand away, walking toward the back door. She listened to the end of the song, her heart breaking for the man she loved.
The young man finished the song and the audience clapped. He launched into one of the newer songs, something more upbeat. Some of the kids started singing along with him, and the party was lively once again. Della glanced to the door Perry had ducked out and decided it was time to intervene.
00
Perry was leaned against the wall beside the door, a cigarette between his fingers. His eyes were on the smoke dissipating into the crisp night air, but Della knew he was lost in thought.
“Brought you a Christmas cookie,” she offered, holding out a tiny sugar cookie on a paper napkin.
He gave a small smile, folding it into the napkin and tucking it in his pocket. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and scuffed it out with the toe of his shoe, eyes fixed on the dying embers.
“Do you remember a few years ago, when we were still figuring things out between us, and we said we’d each go home to our families for Christmas and be together afterwards?” he murmured thoughtfully.
“And when we sat down to call the airlines, we both started trimming days off of our trips until we finally decided to admit that what we really wanted more than anything was to stay in LA together?” she asked. His eyes finally sought hers.
“Yes.” he confirmed. Della slipped her fingers into his.
“I remember.”
“You're still the most important thing in the world to me,” he promised. “I'm sorry that I got caught up in all of the…mess. You will forever be my greatest gift.”
“Perry,” she murmured, leaning into his chest.
The door to the hotel opened and one of the men emerged, shouting over his shoulder to someone inside.
“Another box of ornaments, yes, dear.” He pulled his coat around him and leaned into the wind. “Can’t believe all these boxes fit in that old heap,” the man said, half to himself, as he shuffled towards a beat-up sedan.
The wind gusted and Perry pulled Della into him. She tipped her head back and he pressed a kiss to her lips. The man returned, muttering grumpily, carrying a cardboard box that rattled with glass baubles.
“Here.” He stopped short, digging through the box for a moment. He tossed a wad of dusty plastic greenery to Perry, who caught it in midair. “You folks make use of this, and then my Missus won't be trying to corner me,” he grumbled, closing the door behind them and leaving Perry and Della in the quiet darkness.
“What is it?” Della asked. Perry held it over their heads.
“Mistletoe,” he murmured conspiratorially.
“Well, Mr. Mason, you know the rules,” Della said, wrapping her arms around his neck properly as he gathered her closer.
The door to the hall sprung open and a short woman in a faded dress and knitted cardigan poked her head out.
“You ain't seen any mistletoe, have you?” she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I know it was in that last box. Amos always tries to lose it.”
Before either Perry or Della could answer, the man from earlier appeared beside the woman.
“For Pete's sake, Mabel, leave them alone and come here. I’ll kiss you without it.”
The woman giggled girlishly and the door closed as Amos drew his wife back inside.
“Guess I get to keep this,” Perry teased, tucking it into his pocket.
“We’ve got a quiet few days with not much to do,” Della replied with a twinkle in her eye. “We may need it.”
00
The alarm clock clanged from the table beyond Della’s side of the bed. Perry didn’t move for a moment, waiting for her to silence it. When she didn’t however, he rolled to see what was holding her up and found her side of the bed empty.
He silenced the alarm and clicked on the lamp. Della had left a note on her pillow–went to the dining room for coffee. See you there.
Perry dressed and went down to meet her. She was nursing a cup of coffee and had the paper spread out in front of her.
“Good morning,” she greeted as he tucked himself up to the table. His fingers brushed over hers as he reached for the carafe.
“Morning,” he returned with a tired smile. She wordlessly passed him a section of the paper, knowing he wouldn’t be ready to talk until his coffee was gone.
Only a few moments later, two plates of fried eggs and toast were delivered to the table by Mrs. Wheeler.
“I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for you,” Della teased.
“I appreciate it,” he replied, taking a healthy portion of marmalade from the bowl between them.
The dining room was fairly quiet, with only a few other guests taking coffee and talking quietly at a table on the opposite side of the room. Perry had been looking absently over the headlines for a few minutes, but set the paper aside to take in the festive nature of the hotel–the stockings hung on the fireplace mantle, the garland draped around the banister, the massive tree that the party-goers had been decorating the night before…Della watched alertness slowly spread across his face the emptier his plate became.
“Well, we’ve got a few days ahead of us. How does a walk around town sound?” Perry suggested.
Just then, the front door swung open, jingling the sleigh bells attached to the knob. A man entered, stomping snow off his boots onto the rug.
“Miss Street?”
Perry and Della both looked up as the newcomer walked toward their table.
“Miss Street,” the newcomer repeated, “I am Roy Franks.”
Della smiled as Perry looked on, confused.
“Good morning, Mr. Franks. Thank you for finding your way out here,” Della said kindly. She turned her attention to Perry. “I’ll go collect the bags if you’ll settle our bill with Mr. Wheeler,” she requested.
“Ah–certainly,” Perry replied, still mystified. “When should I tell Mr. Wheeler that we’ll be back?”
“We’re checking out. Mr. Franks is taking us on toward our final destination,” she answered mysteriously with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“I’m parked right out front,” Roy Franks said. “I’ll go make room for your bags.” With that, the man left.
“How did you–” Perry began.
“Not now, darling. We've got a long day of driving ahead of us, and we don't want to keep Mr. Franks from his family any longer than necessary. I promise, I’ll explain later,” she assured.
Half an hour later, they were cruising down the open highway, Franks at the wheel, Perry in the passenger seat, and Della settled comfortably in the rear. Franks was animatedly asking questions about some of Perry’s more notable cases, and the lawyer was happy to share. Della didn't miss his occasional glances to her in the back seat that let her know he wasn't going to let her out of her promise to explain.
Two hours later, it seemed like Franks was out of questions and Perry might get to ask a few of his own. But just then, Franks pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of a drive-in that was shuttered for the season. He parked alongside the only other car in the lot, a worn but sturdy-looking red sedan.
Della smiled as Perry shot her another quizzical look. He held his door open for her and offered a hand as she extracted herself from the backseat.
The driver of the red sedan was nowhere to be seen but a moment later, two women, one with a baby on her hip, and a man appeared from the building.
“Hi, big brother,” Olivia Mason-Taylor said with a smile, passing the baby to the man. She stepped forward and let herself be pulled into one of Perry’s big hugs.
“Perry,” the man said with a grin, extending his hand. Dan, Olivia's husband and Perry’s brother-in-law.
“And this is little Rosie,” Olivia introduced, tickling her baby’s cheek. Rose Mason-Taylor looked at the world through wide ice-blue eyes, the same eyes that belonged to her mama and Uncle Perry.
“To say I'm not shocked would be a lie,” Perry said, looking first towards Olivia and Dan and then back to Della, “but–”
“I’ll get your bags,” Roy Franks cut in, not wanting to step on the family reunion but obviously anxious to get headed home. Dan opened the trunk and helped Franks transfer the luggage.
“While I haven't yet puzzled out how it all happened, thanks for coming to our rescue,” Perry said, shaking the man’s hand when the trunks were both closed again.
“My pleasure. I owed Paul Drake a favor, and this was far more pleasant than a midnight stakeout or hours combing through microfilm,” Franks replied with a chuckle.
“My thanks, too,” Della added. He tipped his hat.
“Merry Christmas everybody,” he called, dropping into the driver's seat of his car.
“Let’s us get going, too. Thanks for letting us use your lot as a transfer station, Ellen,” Olivia said to the other woman, who was standing in the doorway. She waved and called Christmas greetings as she closed the door. Olivia pulled Della into the back seat with her, leaving the passenger seat for Perry. Dan turned the key and the car shuddered as the engine roared to life.
Once they were on the road again, Perry turned to Della with a determined look.
“I've waited long enough. Tell me how we went from stranded to saved overnight,” he insisted.
Della laughed. “Well,” she began, “last night when you left the party, I began thinking about how, if this were a case, you might begin to solve the problem. We had tried all the obvious solutions, so I did what you do when you're out of answers: call Paul Drake to dig up a few more options.”
Perry laughed and shook his head.
“I wondered how he got wrapped up in this.”
“Paul said he knew someone who could get us as far as the state line, if I knew someone who could meet us there,” Della continued.
“And I, of course, was not going to miss out on a chance to have my far-away brother and his girl home for Christmas, so when Della called, I said right away that Dan and I would come pick you up. Ellen was a school chum of mine. You remember, Perry, from the drama club?” Olivia filled in. “I knew Ellen had moved here with her husband, so I looked her up. It was the perfect spot to meet. We will be home in a few hours.”
00
Perry pressed the thumbtack through the plastic stem of the mistletoe and into the doorframe between the hall and the living room. Dan and Perry’s brother Robert were helping the children hang their stockings on the mantle.
“And Santa Claus is going to come down the chimney?” asked the eldest, John David.
“How will he know we’re here and not at home?” Vera questioned.
“We should put the fire out, or he’ll burn his boots!” exclaimed Kathy.
“Santa Claus has everything figured out, but he won’t come if you’re still awake,” Della reminded with a twinkle in her eye.
“Where’s the book, Marie?” Robert called to his wife. She fluttered in a moment later with the Mason family’s copy of Twas the Night Before Christmas. The children all gathered around Robert’s feet as he perched on the sofa to read aloud.
Perry watched Della settle into one of the chairs by the window, a contented smile on her face as she listened to the story. He couldn’t hide a smile of his own as she giggled along with the children. He felt tiny fingers grasping at his sleeve. Little Rosie, keeping her eyes stubbornly open, was restlessly struggling against her mother in an effort to get to her cousins. Olivia sighed and put the wriggling child down, and they watched her toddle over to stand at the edge of the sofa where Robert was still reading to the children.
“Do you remember Christmas Eves like this at Granny and Papa’s house?” Olivia murmured, leaning her temple into Perry’s arm.
“Barely. It seems like a lifetime ago,” he replied, eyes once again drifting to Della.
“We’ll see what we can do to make some new memories,” Olivia assured. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ve missed you all these years.” She followed his gaze. “I’m glad you brought Della. I’m glad you have her.”
“Me too,” Perry confessed. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“I like your decoration, by the way,” Olivia teased, casting her eyes upwards to the dusty mistletoe. She pecked his cheek.
“Aunt Livvy! Come help us with the cookies!” the children called to Olivia, grabbing her by the hand as they ran through toward the kitchen. She laughed and let herself be led along. Della stepped into the space Olivia vacated at his side.
“Staying up late to wait for Santa Claus?” he teased. She smirked and he folded her into his arm.
“Like I told the children, he won’t come if we’re awake,” Della pointed out.
“Merely a lie made up by exhausted parents who are hoping to get to bed early themselves before being woken up at the crack of dawn,” Perry whispered conspiratorially. Della giggled, and relaxed into his side.
“So those of us who are not parents?” she asked, her smirk growing into a flirtatious grin. “What do we do?”
The children thundered back in with a plate of cookies, followed by Marie and Olivia. The mothers shepherded their children toward the stairs, and Perry saw Dan and Robert peek out of the study, waiting to sneak in and fill the stockings once the coast was clear.
“I believe we have the distinct pleasure of writing a special letter to my nieces and nephew from Santa Claus himself,” Perry surmised. Della smiled at the touch of whimsy in his expression. This side of him wasn’t altogether unknown, but wasn’t entirely familiar, either. His wit had always been dry, quick, and sharp as a tack. The childlike wonder that colored the edge of it now was an added edge that tickled her.
Robert and Dan emerged from the living room pasting on looks of innocence that wouldn’t have fooled Hamilton Burger. Marie appeared at the top of the stairs, giving the all clear signal.
“‘Night,” Dan yawned as he climbed the stairs.
“Poor fellow. First Christmas as a father–well, first Christmas with a baby that’s mobile–” Robert smiled. “This year, blocks and teddy bears. Next year, noisemakers and dolls that cry, and then it’s just a hop-skip and a jump to roller skates and bicycles and board games with the most convoluted rules…” Robert laughed good-naturedly. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Perry and Della called their good nights and Della clicked off the hall lights as the upstairs also grew dark and quiet. The shadow of the mistletoe caught her eye.
“Looks like you found the perfect place for that.”
“Only for now. It will definitely be coming home with us to tuck away in our decorations so we never forget this trip,” he said, taking her in his arms.
“Somehow I doubt that we’d forget it, regardless of souvenirs,” Della whispered before leaning into an indulgent kiss. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered against his lips. He smiled into her kiss.
“Now, Ms. Street, take a letter,” he said, drawing her to the sofa. She tucked a book in her lap and used a scrap of wrapping paper that was hiding under the coffee table. She looked at him expectantly, pencil poised over the paper. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and began dictating. “Dear children, The cookies you chose were delicious. Please send the recipe to Mrs. Claus at the North Pole.”