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Another Outer Banks Christmas

By Christina Sinisi

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“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.” (Luke 1: 38; NIV).

Chapter 1
His grandfather was a bulldozer walking on two legs, balding on top, with a mustache thick enough to scare a cat. The man barreled across the fellowship hall. Wade Hampton searched for an avenue of escape, but he found none.
Standing in line for breakfast casserole, he was hemmed in on one side by the kitchen wall with its open slit for serving. On the other side, the good ladies of Hatteras Island Community Church had set up a table festooned with a Christmas tree tablecloth. Unless Wade took the coward’s way out and shoved Mrs. Barbara out of the way, he couldn’t avoid the reckoning coming his way.
“Chilly out, isn’t it?” Mrs. Franks’ voice creaked like a rusty door.
The little, bent-over woman in front of him appeared frail, but he knew for a fact she’d nab the last chocolate-covered chocolate doughnut before he even had a chance.
“Yes, ma’am, the weatherman predicted icy roads tonight. You weren’t planning on going out, were you?” Wade answered with his manners on the front row.
“Me?” The sweet old lady punched him in the arm. “Aren’t you a hoot, young man? Like I ever drive in the dark, unless there’s a hurricane and we’re forced to evacuate. Ain’t nothing else going to get me out of my house at night.”
“Good to hear, good to hear.” They inched forward, and Mrs. Franks shuffled the disposable coffee cups so she got the second from the top. “I’d hate to have to encounter you in my line of work.”
Mrs. Franks nudged the coffee pot with full-octane caffeine and steaming liquid poured into her germ-free cup. “Well, son, I can’t say I plan on calling an ambulance for myself. Costs too much.”
Wade pressed his luck and took the cup she’d discarded. “I understand. Can’t afford it myself, but we don’t always have a choice.”
“Why, sister, did you make that streusel?” Mrs. Franks switched her attention, and he couldn’t say he blamed her.
Most people avoided talking about his work as if talking about what he did would prove dangerous, like he was the Grim Reaper instead of the driver of the truck.
Moose, aka his grandfather, waited for him at the end of the line, having focused on ice water rather than the deadly pastries, and the man would be sure to point out the flaws in Wade’s choices.
Behind him, Kerrie joined the line. He didn’t look back and didn't need to. He just had this Kerrie Alexander radar that served him no good since he lacked the guts to act on his awareness. Still, he knew when she entered the large fellowship hall. He overheard her start up a conversation with Annie Hanahan.
Annie Hanahan showed off the ring Trey Kingsley had slid on her finger a week earlier, just in time for Christmas.
He’d say some men had all the luck, but he didn’t believe in luck. He believed in hardscrabble, fighting for everything he wanted in life. Ever since his father kicked him out of the house at the still-stupid age of sixteen, and his stepmother had cheered him on, he knew better than to count on anyone or anything.
An attitude which his Sunday school teacher, the same Kerrie Hudson, argued with him about every chance she got.
Mr. Kingsley came up behind the two women, towing a younger, skinnier, female version of himself behind. Megan, that was her name.
“Are you going to take that doughnut or marry the thing?” His buddy, Jackson, sounded aggravated.
Good grief, was marriage some kind of virus popping up everywhere? Wade fumbled for an answer. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“Well, get it back on the food. You’re holding up the line,” Jackson grumped.
Wade grabbed an inferior jelly doughnut. Something was better than nothing.
“Aren’t you the EMTs who came to my rescue Friday night?” Mr. Kingsley’s younger sister sounded a good bit healthier than she had just a couple of days earlier when they’d treated her for a head injury at her brother’s rental house.
Jackson stiffened at the sound. “Um, yes. Yes, we are. How are you feeling?” Jackson sounded like some idiot rich guy in a movie.
Wade’s shoulders shook, his buddy’s discomfort the best thing that had happened to him all day. One ugly look from a middle-aged lady toting twins, and Wade pulled Jackson forward by the arm.
“I’m fine. Thank you so much. I really appreciate y’all coming and helping. I mean, I know it’s your job, but no one made you choose that job.” Kingsley’s kid sister glanced around the room. “So, you attend this church?”
Wade almost choked on the laughter he was shoving down his own throat.
“Yeah, since last summer. I don’t remember seeing you here before,” Jackson said, juggling his plate and almost losing the stupid doughnut.
“I was away at school. I attend USC. South Carolina, not California. So, I’m home for semester break now.” Megan stumbled over her words. If the girl acted as stupid as his buddy, then things looked good for Jackson. Figured.
Wade moved faster, third wheel not his favorite position on the team. So, he missed a little of the conversation. Then, he was at the end of the food line.
“Where do you want to sit?” Wade spoke across Miss Kingsley. He held a plate piled high with doughnuts and breakfast casserole that he didn’t remember acquiring. “Hi. I’m Wade, and he’s Jackson. I think he forgot to introduce himself.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, looking like he might punch Wade’s lights out later. Well, he could try. Wade hadn’t lost to his younger friend in a boxing match yet. “I guess I forgot since I got your name the other night.”
“No problem. Good to meet you, Wade, Jackson.” Megan juggled her plate of nothing but fruit and a mozzarella cheese stick. “Well, I guess I’ll see you next Sunday.”
Jackson watched her like some lovesick puppy, but Wade had to give the guy credit—he bulldozed on. “You’re not going to Sunday school? The young adults’ class is studying Revelation.”
The girl blushed. “I’ll ask my brother what his plans are. We all drove together.”
“I could drive you home if you need a ride.” Jackson bordered on pathetic. “Or you could join us another time. Whatever works for you.”
“I’ll just put this down before I spill on my new shoes.” She tilted a rose-appliqued heel outward. “Be right back.”
Wade whistled. “Wow. Way to serve the Lord there, bud.”
“Huh?”
“Inviting her to Sunday school. Cool move.”
They both stepped to the side so as not to hold up what remained of the line.
Megan walked up with a cell phone in her hand. “Trey says they’re heading home after snack. The baby can only behave for so long. He’d like your contact information, and he’ll call you so you have his number.”
“Sure. Let me come introduce myself.” Jackson moved forward.
Wade gestured with his mountain of food. “I’ll see you in the classroom. I’m going to head over, save us some seats.”
He watched the pair walk away. Their emergency services team had answered a call last Friday night. The girl, Megan Kingsley, had passed out from hunger and had hit her head on the way down. Jackson had looked like he’d been run over by a doggone train, love at first sight, blah, blah, blah. Only thing was, Jackson had more guts than Wade ever had.
A day and a half of knowing she existed, and the rookie would ask her out, see if the man didn’t show him up.
He’d known Kerrie for over a year, ever since her family moved to the island. He’d never done more than invite her to the lunch he and Jackson always had after church, might as well join the Women’s Book Club of the Month discussion as much headway as he’d forged.
“Son, if you think you’re going to avoid talking to me, you’ve got another thing coming.” Moose barricaded his path, short and squat, age pushing his proud shoulders forward. “Come sit with me.”
“I told my friends I was going to the classroom and save us some seats.” Wade grabbed at the excuse to avoid being cornered by his grandfather.
The old man grinned. “Fine, then I’ll expect you at the house tonight for dinner.”
Wade groaned. Why bother trying to escape whatever scheme his grandfather had cooked up this time when he knew he couldn’t win?
 

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