Best Christmas Ever

Chapter 1 “You can stop dreaming of that white Christmas any time, Bing,” Dr. Henry Rodimacher told his radio as he drove white-knuckled along the interstate. “I should have listened to my sister and started for home yesterday.” The storm had begun shortly after he left Tennessee Valley State University where he taught anthropology. It’d been raining when he first started out. It quickly turned to sleet and then to snow. It was a heavy, wet snow. The wipers on his Ford Fusion could barely keep the windshield clear. Tennessee was to have its first white Christmas in years. The professor was on winter break, going home for Christmas with his family for the first time in a while. He’d been in a relationship, and his very religious parents had let it be known that, while he was welcome for the family’s traditional holiday celebration, his partner was not. Henry had chosen family over Jeremy. Jeremy had been patient and said he understood. However, Henry knew it had been a source of hurt for the man he loved. Henry and Jeremy had had only one Christmas together. That was when Jeremy had become sick. Henry told his parents he wouldn’t be coming home so that he could be with his ailing partner. His parents hadn’t been able to accept his decision, and it had led to hard feelings on both sides. It’d been over two years since Jeremy had passed, and when his mother’s invitation to join the family for Christmas had arrived this year, Henry decided it was time to mend fences. “God, are you trying to tell me this wasn’t a good idea?” the professor asked aloud, trying to make sure he was still on the highway when a semi-truck sped by as if oblivious to the deplorable driving conditions. The big rig sprayed the Fusion with wet, heavy snow, making the wipers’ task of keeping the windshield clear even more difficult. Henry crept along, barely going more than thirty miles an hour, trying to determine just how far he was from the turnoff to Knoxville. He saw someone walking along the shoulder of the road just ahead of him. He could barely make out the figure as it was clad in a white sweatshirt. The person was struggling through the deep snow and slush, buffeted by the strong winds. “What in the name of heaven is anyone doing out here hitchhiking in this weather?” Henry wondered out loud, alarmed to see someone on the highway in such dangerous conditions. As he approached, the walker turned and stuck out the thumb of a gloveless hand. Henry shook his head. It wasn’t his practice to pick up hitchhikers, but he couldn’t let this poor soul struggle on, possibly to perish from hypothermia, or be hit by some vehicle that hadn’t seen him through the swirling snow. Henry turned on his blinkers, hoping they would be seen. He slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, and unlocked the doors. The man waded to the car through the deep snow, opened the back door, tossed his backpack inside, and then got into the passenger seat. “God! Thank you! I don’t know how long I would’ve held out. You’re the first car I’ve seen in forever. And the truckers sure aren’t gonna take a chance on stopping.” The man was soaked to the skin and was shivering violently. He was dressed only in a Tennessee Valley hoody and jeans. Obviously he hadn’t prepared to hitch a ride in this weather. Henry turned up the heater fan and directed the airflow from defrost to dash and floor to give the man more heat. “Where are you trying to get to,” Henry asked. “Knoxville,” came the reply from beneath the hood, still pulled up over the man’s head and face. He sat bent over, his hands between his legs. “Your lucky day. That’s where I’m headed.” Henry then considered just how lucky a day it was for either of them to be out in this storm. At that moment, the DJ’s voice from the radio announced, “This just in from the National Weather Service. A winter storm warning and travel advisory is in effect for the entire region—” “No s**t, Sherlock,” the hooded man interjected. “Heavy blowing and drifting snow is threatening to close all roads and highways. Snow is presently falling at the rate of one to one and a half inches per hour. Heavy snow will likely continue for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Travelers are advised to find suitable shelter as soon as possible and not attempt to continue to their destinations.” Henry took a deep breath. They were miles from Knoxville and in a primarily rural area. Getting stranded here could be disastrous. “Well, that puts a clinker into a lot of holiday plans,” the DJ went on. “Good luck to you out there. We’re not prepared here in Tennessee for this kind of snow. Maybe I can brighten up your day with this Christmas favorite.” “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” began playing. Henry took his eyes from the road and chanced a look at the man sitting next to him. His face was still obscured by his hoody, but he appeared to be young. He wore black horn-rimmed glasses, similar to those worn by the professor himself, and had a black scruff of a beard. He looked vaguely familiar. He was still shivering, and his teeth were chattering. “You should get out of those wet clothes. Do you have something dry to put on?” Henry asked. The man nodded. “In my backpack.” “Can you reach it?” The man nodded again. He undid his seat belt, leaned over the seat, and pulled his pack over into the front. Placing it on the floor between his legs, he sat back, and shook his head. “I guess I shoulda checked the weather report before I left school. That was kinda dumb.” Henry turned toward his passenger. “Well, I checked the weather, and I’m out here anyway. So who’s the dum…?” Henry didn’t finish as the man had pulled off his sweatshirt, and now was stripping off his tee. The sight of the man’s handsome face and hair-covered, lightly-muscled torso caught Henry off guard. He was surprised at his reaction. He hadn’t felt such attraction since Jeremy died. Henry forced his eyes back to the snow-covered highway. The man pulled a fresh tee from his backpack and put it on. He spread his wet things on his pack where the warm air from the heater could dry them. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re still cold. There’s a sweatshirt on the backseat next to a stack of pies I’m bringing home for Christmas,” the professor said. “Thanks.” The man reached over the seat once more. He put on Henry’s sweatshirt. It was much too big for him, but Henry figured it was better than the thin, cotton, sleeveless shirt the guy was wearing. “I really appreciate this, Professor Rodimacher.” Surprised, Henry turned to the man again. “You know me?” “I do. It’s been a while. I took your Intro to Anthropology when I was a freshman. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Jimmy Wilkes.” Henry studied the man’s face. From somewhere in his memory banks the image of a handsome, young man who always sat near the front of the class and was an eager participant came forth. He also remembered chastising himself at the time for the intense attraction he’d felt to the young student. “Jimmy! Yes, yes I do remember you. How long ago was it?” “About ten years.” “What have you been doing?” “Teaching high school history. But I’ve come back to school for my doctorate.” “That’s wonderful! What field?” Jimmy looked over at his former professor and smiled. “Archeology—thanks to you. I never forgot how much I enjoyed being in your class, and anthropology combined with my love of history—well archeology seemed a natural direction for me to take.” Before Henry could respond, another semi roared by, covering the windshield with slush and causing the car to sway. Henry frowned. “We need to get off the freeway and find somewhere to stay. I don’t have a clue as to how long it will take to get to Knoxville at this rate. I don’t want some i***t truck driver, thinking he’s invincible, running us off the road.”