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It's still coming down pretty hard, Brian thought. Good thing it's Christmas Eve, or traffic would be a real mess.
He was seated in the Michaels' living room, quietly watching the snow fall on the back yard. The huge poplar trees that lined the Highline Canal were delicately crusted with ice. Their tranquil beauty made Brian feel at ease. It had been a long time since he'd been this relaxed.
It hadn't been what Brian would call the most successful of semesters at U.C.L.A. The first half of his Junior year, he was well into his Major -- American History. That hadn't stopped him from taking a Literature class. Detective Fiction.
For fun, he thought. What could be more appropriate, considering his family? Mom and Dad were the most famous private investigators in California, maybe even the country. His sister, Kate, had gotten her degree in Criminology from Stanford last May and was now working here in Denver for Murphy Michaels. Yes, he thought, my family tree practically dictated I take that class. If you can't beat them, read about them...
Unfortunately, Detective Fiction with Professor Painter hadn't lived up to Brian's expectations. The only thing that had salvaged the class was the term paper. And that was more a collective effort between himself and his friend, Steve. But that was all over now. He'd even lived through the final -- though just barely. Everything about the class had been wrong, and that included the final. It was scheduled for Saturday Morning. If it hadn't been for that class, he could have been out of L.A. by Wednesday evening, instead of having to wait.
How different things would have been, he thought. If only... His mind drifted back to only three days ago.
"Brian! Phone!" The voice shouted from the lounge. "It's your sister."
He stuffed the shirt he'd been debating whether to bring with him to Colorado into his suitcase and went to answer the phone. I thought she'd be back in Denver by now...
"Hi, Katie... A ride to the airport from where? Glendora... why are you in Glendora? Oh, how long has it been since you saw her? Wow. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm heading out the door. Some of us are driving all the way to Denver, and if I don't leave right now, I'll meet a blizzard somewhere near Flagstaff... Sorry. Wait." He covered the receiver for a second.
"I'll drive her," Wendy offered. She'd been helping Brian pack for the past two hours. Brian had been introduced to Wendy through Steve. Steve and Wendy had been dating and somehow Brian had remained friends with her even after she and Steve had broken up. Wendy and Katie were not a good team, Brian remembered. They both like to pick on me.
"...Katie? Wendy's here. She says she'll drive you back if... oh, here, you talk to her."
Brian handed the phone to Wendy and returned to his now-barren room. He would be moving next term, so he'd had to clear all his junk out before break. That had made him irritable. Put that with the Lit final, the water polo team's bad season, and a very heavy class load, and Brian wasn't really in the mood to deal with his sister. "I'm not going to be the bad guy on this one," he muttered, and closed his suitcase. It had been rocky lately between him and Katie. That was for sure.
Somehow, whenever they'd gotten together or talked lately, everything turned out all wrong. It was frustrating to hear how great everything was going with Katie in Denver and then turn around and see his own half-finished papers and ink-marked test scores. Not to mention that every time she'd called lately, he'd ended up snapping at her. Then she would come back with some snide comment about younger siblings. He always felt bad afterwards and wondered why they weren't able to have a civil conversation anymore.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Maybe the break would give him a chance to figure things out. Sighing, he glanced around, checked the closet shelves and even stooped to peer under the bed. That was it -- nothing was left in his room. His possessions were all either headed to Denver with him for his much-needed break, or in campus storage. Even the movie posters were gone from the walls.
When he gathered the last load to take down to the car, Wendy was finishing with Katie.
"Wanna say goodbye to her, Bri?"
"Nah, I'll see her Monday in Denver."
Wendy didn't quite understand that logic, but she let it go. After saying her own goodbye, she hung up.
After a drive-thru burger, Brian finally hit the road. It was a simple enough route. Only four freeways: I-10 East to I-15, up Cajon Pass to Barstow. Then I-40 East through Needles into Arizona. Across all of Arizona and most of New Mexico to I-25. Then I-25 North to Denver, where his parents, sister and the Michaels clan would be waiting.
As he got onto the Santa Monica freeway, he gave one last look over his shoulder. Good old U.C.L.A. You probably need a month's rest from me as much as I need mine from you.
Though it was the nineteenth of December, he wasn't yet in the mood for Christmas music. He tuned the radio to an oldies station just in time to listen to the last lines of "Lady in Red." That song, a favorite of his parents, had always reminded Brian of his sister. He thought of how things had been between them lately. They seemed to have grown so far apart. He found himself wishing he'd at least talked more with her when she'd called.
The song faded, and an even older tune replaced it. Brian hummed along (his singing voice not quite the caliber of his mother's) for awhile as he watched the smoggy sunset in his rear-view mirror.
By the time darkness had fallen, traffic had thinned out and he was virtually alone on the road. His mind drifted to the Christmas ahead. He'd spend the holiday itself at Uncle Murphy's house, but intended to squeeze some time in with his buddy, Steve, who lived in Denver. They'd originally planned to drive together, but a more merciful finals schedule had let Steve out considerably earlier.
Another gas stop in Needles, and he was almost to Arizona. Time changed from Pacific to Mountain time there, but that was about all the excitement the state could muster.
For just over a hundred miles, anyway.
Brian had another swallow of tea from his thermos. Mom had brought Katie up on coffee, but Brian had always liked tea better. More caffeine per ounce. He would need that for the drive ahead. If everything went according to schedule, his 5:00 p.m. departure from Los Angeles would have him pulling into the Michaels' driveway around three or four the following afternoon.
The flat desert he'd been on since Needles abruptly gave way to more hilly terrain. Everything was fine for a mile or two. Just after marker 107, Brian hit the first real grade since Cajon Pass back in California. He took it slowly.
But not slowly enough.
As he rounded the curve that followed the contour of the hill, he found himself on a bridge before he knew it -- an ice-covered bridge. Suddenly, the centrifugal force of his turn shot him out of his lane. He headed uncontrollably for the median.
The next few seconds were a blur. His instincts must have taken over, for he couldn't really remember any of it. Somehow he turned right, and the wheels of the car grabbed onto something. Saved from crashing into the grassy median, he was now spinning out of control.
He finally stopped, but not because of anything he did. The guardrail halted his skid, with a loud crunch that reverberated through Brian's ears. He glanced around. He was all right -- not even scratched, but he knew the car hadn't fared so well. He got out to inspect the vehicle.
The passenger door had flown open. He closed it, and continued his survey. The right rear tire sagged flatly -- probably what had finally stopped him. The whole right rear fender was smashed, but it was only body damage, nothing worse. Brian could hear his father beginning a lecture, but he put that thought out of his mind. He had more important things to do at the moment, like getting the car turned around in an eastward direction.
He got back in and started the car. Before he could slip it into gear, an older Nissan barrelled around the corner and lost control. Brian figured he'd taken the curve at thirty. This guy must've been going at least fifty and ended up sliding to a stop in just the same place as Brian, aimed forward, instead of backward.
Brian had seen the headlights coming straight for him and knew there was nothing he could do. He expected his life to flash in front of his eyes, but it didn't. The Nissan would've stopped at the guardrail -- if it hadn't hit Brian's car first. Brian was thrown against the seat by the impact, with both cars skidding another five feet.
Brian tried to get out to see if the other driver was okay. His door wouldn't open; it'd been smashed shut. Okay... other door.
After the other driver informed him he was all right, Brian figured it would be a good idea to move the cars.
"This area's dangerous," he stated. "What's to keep someone else from doing the same thing?"
"Good idea," the other man agreed emphatically. "Let's move down the road a bit."
Brian climbed back into the front seat and tried to start his car. Though he had two flat tires -- the left front and the right rear -- he didn't think the engine was seriously hurt. The important thing was to get out of the line of fire.
After a few tries, the engine finally turned over. Brian swung the car around, but only managed about 50 yards before it quit. The Nissan pulled in front of him.
"Mister, I'm going to need a tow truck," Brian said. "The next town's about fifteen miles ahead. Can you make it?"
"Nope. My fender's crumpled against the wheel. I don't think even a crowbar'll pull it out enough. You sure you can't go?"
"You nailed me pretty good. I've got two flats. No way I'm going to make it. I tried my cell phone, but I can't get a signal." He shrugged. "I guess we wait for someone to come by."
Brian returned to his car and put the hazard flashers on, hoping that would get the next car to stop. A minute or two later, a pickup with Wisconsin plates slowly came around the corner. Seeing the two cars and the men waving at him from the side of the road, the driver pulled over.
"Hey," Brian exclaimed. "Can you get a tow truck... Wait! You've got a CB! Put it on channel 9! This is an emergency."
"I haven't been able to get much on the radio," the driver informed him. "I did hear about the bridge from some truckers. That's why I crept 'round the corner. I'll try, though."
"Thanks."
The man drove off, and Brian returned to his own car. It was pretty cold out. The Stanford pullover he was wearing (a gift from Katie) wasn't quite warm enough. Digging out his blue corduroy WaterPolo cap to keep his ears warm, Brian started the engine. It kicked over on the first try this time -- at least that was reassuring. Peering out the cracked window, he noted a light blanket of snow was beginning to fall. He turned the heater up a little. All he could do was wait.
Things had settled down a bit, and Brian's mind returned to the lecture he was sure his father was going to give him:
You didn't have to make it in record time, young man. You could have waited the storm out, rather than trying to race it...
Brian's eyes wandered to the rear-view mirror. Now that he was facing the right way, he could see the bridge without having to be out in the cold.
What kind of weather is this, anyway? Since when does it snow in Arizona?!
Brian was still watching the curve when the next car lost control. Unlike Brian or the Nissan, this one did end up in the snow-covered median strip.
Brian instinctively lifted up on his door handle to get out and see if they were okay, but his door wouldn't give. By the time he was out the passenger side, the two kids from the old Dodge were on their way to his car.
"Uh... hi," the younger man said, huddling close to his girlfriend. They were wrapped in what looked like a sleeping bag.
"You guys all right?"
"Yeah. Just can't get it started. D'you have jumpers?"
"No. Even if I did, I couldn't get over there." Brian cast a quick glance at their vehicle. "And if I were you, I'd spend as little time as possible around your car. No telling how long it'll be before someone else ends up on top of you."
Brian did not know how prophetic his words were.
"You're welcome to join me," he continued. "A tow truck should be here soon."
"Thanks."
They climbed into the back seat. They had scarcely closed the door when Brian caught a flash of light.
"Oh, my God!" he gasped as he watched a van suddenly roll end-over-end before it landed on top of the Dodge.
In a burst of adrenalin, Brian forced his door open. He didn't even remember running to the wreck, just getting there.
The driver's window had been shattered, and the woman was trapped inside. Brian knelt beside her. He absently noted the man climbing out of the passenger side.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, checking her for signs of a concussion or broken bones.
"I... I think so... my babies!!! They're in back!!! Help my babies!!"
"Calm down, ma'am. Everything's going to be all right." She's hysterical. Have to watch her to keep her from going into shock.
He moved to the rear door, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. At this point he was joined by a trucker, who'd been coming up the other side of the road when the van rolled.
Brian reached in and started pulling children out. With the trucker's help, he'd extricated everyone but the driver. All five of the kids, plus another adult female were okay -- they'd been wearing their seatbelts.
The trucker was herding the children and the woman's sister to the warmth of his truck, while the woman's husband helped Brian free her from the tangled mess that had once been the steering column.
When the trucker returned, he tapped Brian on the shoulder.
"The kids say one of 'em's missing. Young 'un named Cory." He could barely be heard above the woman's screams.
"Here! You help here. I'll look for the kid. You're too big to fit through the window."
He patted his pockets and pulled out his penknife. He slipped it into his front pocket where it would be easier to reach in case of emergency, then tugged his sleeves down over his hands to protect them from the shattered glass. He pulled himself inside the van.
Amid the tumbled Christmas packages and coats, he found the last child -- unconscious. Brian didn't breathe for a few seconds. He began at the boy's temples, feeling for anything broken and continued down to his toes. He searched the child's face for any signs of pain. When there were none, Brian figured it was time to get moving.
But how? He couldn't force the kid out the back. That'd cut him up for sure. And Brian couldn't fit through the hole carrying him. He'd have to go out through the open hatchback. But that was uphill and Brian would need both hands.
His mind turned to the knife he'd shoved into his sweatshirt pocket. He scooted up to the front seat, and cut the seatbelt holding the mother in. That freed her enough for her husband and the trucker to get her calmed down.
Brian returned to the child. He made a loop in one end of the seatbelt and lowered it around the small chest. With both of the boy's arms outside the noose to keep the rope in place, Brian tied the other end through his own belt loop. He then climbed slowly up the hatchback, pulling the kid behind him. Once outside, Brian undid the makeshift harness and carried the child to his family on the other side of the road.
As he was returning to help free the woman, a Mazda truck hit the van head-on. Both men were knocked a good distance away, while the injured mother was miraculously thrown free of the driver's seat. Her leg, however, caught under the edge of the van.
"Won't this ever end?" Brian pleaded softly.
The men were shaken, but unhurt. Brian gave them each a hand up, then helped the trucker lift a corner of the van so the woman's husband could free her. They carried her to the safety of the far roadway. Mindful of possible back injuries, they set her down on the road itself after the trucker spread out some blankets.
Grateful now for the knowledge provided by the first aid classes he'd helped to teach over and over again his senior summer of high school, Brian gave the woman another cursory look to check for broken bones. She winced when he touched her right leg and both feet. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse was high -- classic symptoms of shock.
"More blankets!" Brian called. He turned to the woman. "What's your name?"
Her husband answered, "Lorraine Higgins."
"I want her to answer, please." Then he whispered to the man, "If we can keep her mind occupied, it might prevent her from going into shock. Right now, that's our biggest worry."
"You're right," the man acknowledged.
"What's your name?" Brian repeated.
"Lorraine."
"Okay, Lorraine. Everything's going to be all right. Everybody's out of the van -- Cory, the kids, your sister and husband. They're all going to be fine. We've called for an ambulance." He shot a glance at the trucker and mouthed the words, "Call for the ambulance!" The man disappeared inside the cab of his truck.
After a time, Lorraine's pulse returned to nearly normal, and Brian breathed easier. The only real problem now would be frostbite. It was still cold, and with the crisis passed, Brian began to feel it, especially in his feet. His flimsy canvas tennis shoes were not designed for winter wear.
A few minutes later, a Volunteer Arizona Highway Patrolman arrived and repeated the call for an ambulance. After he verified that everyone was out of immediate danger, he proceeded with the accident reports.
When the ambulance finally showed up, Brian relayed the injured woman's vitals to the driver. "She's got a possible back injury and broken right leg, probably broken bones in both feet."
"You're pretty good for an amateur," the guy complimented.
"I'm trained in CPR and First Aid," Brian admitted. Thank God, he added to himself. He tapped the side of the ambulance twice in a gesture he'd picked up from his father, and it headed off.
Brian returned to his car to wait for the Highway Patrol. He wasn't worried about getting a ticket as much as he was worried what his mother and father would do.
Twelve miles down the road Brian made a phone call. One ring... two... three...
"Hello?"
"Sherry? It's Brian. Could you put my dad on the line, please?"
"Sure..."
The lump in Brian's throat seemed to be the size of a grapefruit.
"Dad?"
"Brian, is everything all right?"
"Well..." The lump became a watermelon. "There's been an accident -- but no one was hurt," he added quickly. "At least not too badly." He paused for a moment. "I'm so glad I took those First Aid classes. I saved a kid's life, Dad."
Silence.
"Dad?"
"I'm here, Brian. Can you make it home?"
"Yeah, but I've got to have the car towed. It needs two new tires and the steering's a little weird, but it'll get me to Denver. All I want right now is to come home."
"Are you sure you can make it? I can have Fred fly me out there..."
"No, Dad. I'll make it."
"Okay."
"See you soon."
"Goodbye, Brian."
He hung up the phone. That's not what I expected, he thought. Who'd have thought my dad would take it like that!? Somehow Brian wasn't reassured. The other shoe would fall. It looked like later, rather than sooner, though.
Brian drove through the night, which put him in Denver early Monday morning. The light in the Michaels' front room was on.
Before he could crawl out the passenger door, Mom, Dad, Katie, and the Michaels -- Murphy, Sherry and Tom -- were all crowded around his car, hugging him and welcoming him.
"I just want to sleep. Can this wait until later?"
"Certainly, Brian." his dad said, and hugged him hardest of all. "Let's go inside."
That had been Monday. Now it was Thursday -- Christmas Eve. He'd spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday quietly. He had planned to finish, or rather start, his Christmas shopping then, but hadn't gotten around to it. He spent most of his time sitting in the living room, looking out at the snow.
Brian couldn't understand it -- Remington Steele of the famed Irish temper hadn't batted an eye -- not even when the insurance company totalled the car. It was old, and exorbitant towing fees were already stacked up against it.
"Bri?" It was Katie.
"What?"
"I just wondered if you wanted some tea."
"No thanks," he said without turning from the window.
"Whatever." Obviously feeling rebuffed, she moved to go back to the kitchen.
"Um... Katie, wait!"
"Yeah?"
"I, uh, want to talk to you."
She sat down next to him.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, K.L. I just want you to know that no matter how mad I make you, or what I say..." he paused, searching for the words.
She smiled. The words weren't necessary.
"Merry Christmas, Brian." She hugged him.
"Merry Christmas, Katie Laura," he returned. He was glad she couldn't see his face. He'd have a devil of a time explaining the tears in his eyes.