Page 4 of Stuck in Christmas

With a hint of sarcasm, I muttered, “Well, Yogi Berra said, ‘When you come to the fork in the road, take it.’ Guess we’ll go… right.”

“Recalculating,” the assistant announced with all the enthusiasm of an automated voice. “In two miles, your destination is straight ahead.”

“Finally.” Relief washed over me until I squinted at the sign that greeted me two miles later. “Christmas, Mississippi?” I frowned. I didn’t even know there was such a place.

“You have arrived,” he chirped.

“No, I haven’t arrived,” I retorted, shaking my head. “I’m not going to Christmas, Mississippi.”

“You have arrived at your destination.”

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was not my destination, not even close. I didn’t even know where Christmas, Mississippi, was on the map. All around the GPS display on my phone was blank space, like the mapmakers couldn’t be bothered with mapping rural Mississippi.

I rolled into a town square all aglow with sparkling decorations, each corner dripping with holiday cheer. A whimsical charm enveloped the air, and I could swear I heard the faint strains of traditional Christmas carols through the closed car door window.

But the most outrageous sight of all was the snow blanketing the ground. “How can there even be snow here?” I wondered aloud, grappling with my phone, which now displayed the dreaded “No Service” message.

Great. Just great.

As I had been on the road for a while, my bladder decided now was a good time to take a rest break. Maybe I could get someone with more bars to send me in the right direction. A sign advertising Bonnie’s Inn glowed in the darkness. It was open, and I could use a snack and a restroom. Good enough.

I swung my car into a cleared spot right in front of the door and stepped out, shivering in the cold air. I hadn’t worn a coat because it was supposed to be 60 degrees.

I was so focused on the weather that I missed the sidewalk's edge and plunged face-first into a snowbank.

“Mother fluffer,” I yelped and struggled to escape the wet snow.

“Oh, my! Miss?” A deep voice broke through my daze. I blinked as snowflakes began falling from the sky. A gnarled hand dotted with age spots reached out for me. “Let me help you. Are you alright?”

“The only thing wounded is my pride,” I admitted, accepting the man’s help to stand on my own two feet again. When I glanced up, I met the concerned green eyes of a 70-something man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looked like he spent his younger years touring with The Grateful Dead. The nametag on his apron said, “Joe.”

“Joe? Is that your name?” I asked, brushing what I could of the powdery snow off me. The wet stuff was going to leave a stain.

“Yes, ma’am. And you are?”

“Renee,” I replied, a grin breaking through my embarrassment. “Not my best first impression, but it’s memorable, right?”

“That’s for sure, Miss Renee,” Joe laughed. “Let’s see if we can get you warmed up. Come on inside.”

As we entered the diner side of Bonnie’s Inn, a bell jingled overhead, announcing our arrival. Thewarm glow of vintage bulbs cast a cozy glow, illuminating red tablecloths on each table. A festive holiday centerpiece featuring holly and cinnamon sticks added the requisite green to the mix, along with a spicy scent that mingled with the sweet aroma of butter and… was that…

“Do I smell peach pie?” I asked Joe.

“Indeed you do,” a senior woman tap, tap, tapped toward us, leaning heavily on a cane as she came.“Who might this be?”

“Bonnie.” Joe dropped my elbow and rushed to the woman’s side. She wore a Christmas-themed apron that said:Baking Spirits Brightwith gingerbread men dancing around the edges. Her dark skin contrasted against the pouf of white hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. Her brown eyes twinkled at me before landing on Joe, who demanded, “What are you doing up? The doctor told you to stay in bed.”

The woman - Bonnie - playfully smacked Joe’s arm. “Well, Eli is making pies, and I had to ensure he made my peach pie just right.”

“Peach pie is my absolute favorite,” I interjected, slightly louder than my stomach rumble.

“Mine too. That’s why I make it, even in the middle of winter. Let’s get you a slice from the pie we just pulled out of the oven. You look like you could use some warming up.” Bonnie called towards the kitchen. “Eli! Please bring out that peach pie, some plates, and forks.”

“Heard.” The word rang out from behind the kitchen doors, and for some reason, the resonance sank into my bones.

I didn’t have time to think about it before thekitchen door swung open, and I found myself staring right into the piercing blue eyes of a man who stood nearly a head taller than me. His dark hair and eyebrows gave him a devilish appearance, and I could only imagine what that did to the women in this small town.

And for some reason, that thought ticked me off.

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