“Don’t worry about that now,” she said softly. “Let’s just get through tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out the rest. Right now, you’re safe. Your kids are warm. That’s all that matters.”
Zack, the youngest boy, looked up at Joanne with these big brown eyes.
“Are you an angel?”
Joanne laughed.
“No, sweetie. Just a person trying to help.”
“You seem like an angel,” he insisted.
We stayed up with them until almost 2:00 in the morning. The kids fell asleep first, exhausted and full and finally warm. They curled up in the booth under piles of blankets, looking like a puppy pile, all tangled together. Samuel and Tracy tried to stay awake but eventually dozed off too, sitting up in the booth. Tracy’s head on Samuel’s shoulder, his arm around her.
Joanne and I sat at the counter drinking coffee, watching them sleep, listening to the storm rage outside.
“We’re not charging them,” Joanne said after a long silence. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I agreed. “We’re not.”
“And you’re going to fix their car.”
“If I can, if it’s something I can fix.”
“And you’re going to give them money.”
I looked at her. She was smiling. That smile that made me fall in love with her when we were 19 years old and she was waitressing at a truck stop in Scotsluff and I was a cook just back from Vietnam with no idea what to do with my life.
“How much?” I asked.
“However much they need,” she said simply.
“Joe, we’re not rich. We’re barely making ends meet as it is.”
“I know, but they have less than we do. And it’s Christmas. And look at them, Frank. Look at those babies sleeping. What kind of people would we be if we didn’t help?”
I looked at the Doyle family sleeping in our diner. Looked at my wife, beautiful and stubborn and kind to her bones. Made a decision that felt right in my chest in the place where good decisions live.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll help them. Whatever it takes.”
She kissed me right there at the counter.
“That’s why I married you. Because you’re good Frank Holloway all the way through.”
The storm cleared around 5:00 a.m. I went out to look at their car while everyone was still sleeping. It was bad. Really bad. They’d need a toe to a real mechanic. Probably $400 to $600 in repairs, plus the cost of the toe. They didn’t have it. I knew they didn’t.
I went back inside. Joanne was making breakfast. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, the works. The kids woke up to the smell of food and the sight of snow sparkling in the morning sun.
“It’s like a Christmas miracle,” little Zach said, his eyes wide.
After breakfast, I pulled Samuel aside.
“I looked at your car. The transmission shot. You’re going to need a tow and a mechanic.”
His face fell.
“I don’t We can’t afford that. I’ll have to call Tracy’s parents, see if they can wire us money, but it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and I don’t know if the banks are even open.”
I pulled $100 out of my wallet, put it in his hand.
“Here,” I said, “there’s a mechanic in town, Joe’s Garage on Main Street. He’s good and he’s honest. Tell him Frank sent you. He’ll come here and get you fixed up.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can. Consider it a Christmas present. But Samuel—”
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve got three kids who want to see their grandparents for Christmas. You’ve got a wife who’s been nothing but gracious and kind, even though you’re stranded in a strange town. Take the money. Get your car fixed. Get to Rapid City. Have a good Christmas. That’s all I want.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“How do I pay you back?”
“You don’t. Don’t worry about it.”
They left around noon on December 24th, 1992. Joe had fixed their transmission for $200, charged them half his usual rate because I asked him to. Samuel tried to give me the hundred back, said they’d make do with the money Tracy’s parents could send, but I refused.
“Merry Christmas,” I said.
Tracy hugged Joanne.
“We’ll never forget this. Never.”
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
