"I just saw on TV that it’s snowing in Santa Fe, and you said you were going sightseeing," Janice said. "I just wondered if you were okay."
"I’m here at the hotel," Bev said. "I’m not going anywhere."
"Good," Janice said, relieved. "Are you watching TV? The weathermen are saying this isn’t an ordinary storm. It’s some kind of extreme mega-storm. We’ve got three feet here. The power’s out all over town, and the airport just closed. I hope you’re able to get home. Oops, the lights just flickered. I’d better go hunt up some candles before the lights go off," she said, and hung up.
Bev turned on the TV. The local channel was listing closings– "The First United Methodist Church Christmas pageant has been cancelled and there will be no Posadas tonight at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Canyon Day Care Center will close at three p.m. . . ."
She clicked the remote. CNBC was discussing earlier Christmas Eve snowstorms, and on CNN, Daryn Kagan was standing in the middle of Fifth Avenue in a snowdrift. "This is usually the busiest shopping day of the year," she said, "but as you can see–"
She clicked the remote, looking for a movie to watch. Howard would have loved this, she thought involuntarily. He would have been in his element.
She clicked quickly through the other channels, trying to find a film, but they were all discussing the weather. "It looks like the whole country’s going to get a white Christmas this year," Peter Jennings was saying, "whether they want it or not."
You’d think there’d be a Christmas movie on, Bev thought grimly, flipping through the channels again. It’s Christmas Eve. Christmas in Connecticut or Holiday Inn. Or White Christmas.
Howard had insisted on watching it every time he came across it with the remote, even if it was nearly over. "Why are you watching that?" she’d ask, coming in to find him glued to the next-to-the-last scene. "We own the video."
"Shh," he’d say. "It’s just getting to the good part," and he’d lean forward to watch Bing Crosby push open the barn doors to reveal fake-looking snow falling on the equally fake-looking set.
When he came into the kitchen afterward, she’d say sarcastically, "How’d it end this time? Did Bing and Rosemary Clooney get back together? Did they save the General’s inn and all live happily ever after?"
But Howard would refuse to be baited. "They got a white Christmas," he’d say happily and go off to look out the windows at the clouds.
Except for news about the storm, there was nothing at all on except an infomercial selling a set of Ginsu knives. How appropriate, she thought, and sat back on the bed to watch it.
At 2:08, the weight of the new loose snow triggered a huge avalanche in the "totally extreme slopes" area near Breckenridge, knocking down huge numbers of Ponderosa pines and burying everything in its path, but not Kent and Bodine, who were still in their Honda, trying to keep warm and survive on a box of Tic-Tacs and an old donut Kent found in the glove compartment.
By two-thirty, Madge and Shorty still weren’t there, so Luke checked the goose. It seemed to be cooking okay, but there was an awful lot of juice in the pan. When he checked it again half an hour later, there was over an inch of the stuff.
That couldn’t be right. The last time he’d gotten stuck with having the Christmas Eve dinner, the turkey had only produced a few tablespoons of juice. He remembered his mom pouring them off to make the gravy.
He tried his mom. Her cell phone said, "Caller unavailable," which meant her batteries had run down, or she’d turned it off. He tried Aunt Madge’s. No answer.
He dug the plastic and net wrapping the goose had come in out of the trash, flattened it out, and read the instructions: "Roast uncovered at 350ű for twenty-five minutes per pound."
Uncovered. That must be the problem, the aluminum foil tent. It wasn’t allowing the extra juice to evaporate. He opened the oven and removed it. When he checked the goose again fifteen minutes later, it was sitting in two inches of grease, and even though, according to the wrapping, it still had three hours to go, the goose was getting brown and crispy on top.
At 2:51 p.m., Joe Gutierrez slammed out of his house and started up to get Miguel. He’d been trying to get his goddamned lawyer on the phone ever since he’d hung up on Pilar, but the lawyer wasn’t answering.
The streets were a real mess, and when Joe got to the I-15 entrance ramp, there was a barricade across it. He roared back down the street to take Highway 78, but it was blocked, too. He stormed back home and called Pilar’s lawyer, but he didn’t answer either. He then called the judge, using the unlisted cell phone number he’d seen on his lawyer’s palm pilot.
The judge, who had been stuck waiting for AAA in a Starbucks at the Bakersfield exit, listening to Harry Connick, Jr., destroy "White Christmas" for the last three hours, was not particularly sympathetic, especially when Joe started swearing at him.
Words were exchanged, and the judge made a note to himself to have Joe declared in contempt of court. Then he called AAA to see what was taking so long, and when the operator told him he was nineteenth in line, and it would be at least another four hours, he decided to revisit the entire custody agreement.
By three o’clock, all the networks and cable newschannels had logos. ABC had Winter Wonderland, NBC had Super Storm, and Fox News had Winter Wallop. CBS and MSNBC had both gone with White Christmas, flanked by a photo of Bing Crosby (MSNBC’s wearing the Santa Claus hat from the movie).
The Weather Channel’s logo was a changing world map that was now two-thirds white, and snow was being reported in Karachi, Seoul, the Solomon Islands, and Bethlehem, where Christmas Eve services (usually canceled due to Israeli-Palestinian violence) had been canceled due to the weather.
At 3:15 p.m., Jim called Paula from the airport to report that Kindra and David’s flights had both been delayed indefinitely. "And the USAir guy says they’re shutting the airport in Houston down. Dallas International’s already closed, and so are JFK and O’Hare. How’s Stacey?"
Incorrigible, Paula thought. "Fine," she said. "Do you want to talk to her?"
"No. Listen, tell her I’m still hoping, but it doesn’t look good."
Paula told her, but it didn’t have any effect. "Go get your dress on," Stacey ordered her, "so the minister can run through the service with you, and then you can show Kindra and David where to stand when they get here."
Paula went and put on her bridesmaid dress, wishing it wasn’t sleeveless, and they went through the rehearsal with the viola player, who had changed into his tux to get out of his snow-damp clothes, acting as best man.
As soon as they were done, Paula went into the vestry to get a sweater out of her suitcase. The minister came in and shut the door. "I’ve been trying to talk to Stacey," she said. "You’re going to have to cancel the wedding. The roads are getting really dangerous, and I just heard on the radio they’ve closed the interstate."
"I know," Paula said.
"Well, she doesn’t. She’s convinced everything’s going to work out."
And it might, Paula thought. After all, this is Stacey.
The viola player poked his head in the door. "Good news," he said.
"The string quartet’s here?" the minister said.
"Jim’s here?" Paula said.
"No, but Shep and Leif found the cello player. He’s got frostbite, but otherwise he’s okay. They’re taking him to the hospital." He gestured toward the sanctuary. "Do you want to tell the Queen of Denial, or shall I?"