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Skipping Christmas

By John Grisham

Eighteen

The crowd parted to allow the ambulance through. It stopped ten feet from the ladders,

from the man hanging by his feet and his would-be rescuers. Two medics and a fireman

jumped out, removed the ladders, shooed back Frohmeyer and his cohorts, then one of

them drove the ambulance carefully under Mr. Krank.

"Luther, what are you doing up there?" Nora yelled as she rushed through the crowd

"What does it look like?" he yelled back, and his head pounded harder.

"Are you okay?"

"Wonderful."

The medics and the fireman crawled up on the hood of the ambulance, quickly lifted

Luther a few inches, unraveled the cord and the rope, then eased him down. A few folks

applauded, but most seemed indifferent.

The medics checked his vitals, then lowered him to the ground and carried him to the

back of the ambulance, where the doors were open. Luther's feet were numb and he

couldn't stand. He was shivering, so a medic draped two orange blankets over him. As he

sat there in the back of the ambulance, looking toward the street, trying to ignore the

gawking mob that was no doubt reveling in his humiliation, Luther could only feel relief.

His headfirst slide down the roof had been brief but horrifying. He was lucky to be

conscious right now.

Let them stare. Let them gawk. He ached too much to care.

Nora was there to inspect him. She recognized the fireman Kistler and the medic Kendall

as the two fine young men who'd stopped by a couple of weeks ago selling fruitcakes for

their holiday fund-raiser. She thanked them for rescuing her husband.

"You wanna go to the hospital?" asked Kendall.

"Just a precaution," said Kistler.

"No thanks," Luther said, his teeth chattering. "Nothing's broken." At that moment,

though, everything felt broken.

A police car arrived in a rush and parked in the street, of course with its lights still

flashing. Treen and Salino jumped out and strutted through the crowd to observe things.

Frohmeyer, Becker, Kerr, Scheel, Brixley, Kropp, Galdy, Bellington-they all eased in

around Luther and Nora. Spike was in the middle of them too. As Luther sat there,

nursing his wounds, answering banal questions from the boys in uniform, practically all

of Hemlock squeezed in for a better view.

When Salino got the gist of the story, he said, rather loudly, "Frosty? I thought you guys

weren't doing Christmas this year, Mr. Krank. First you borrow a tree. Now this."

"What's going on, Luther?" Frohmeyer called out. It was a public question. Its answer

was for everyone.

Luther looked at Nora, and realized she wasn't about to say a word. The explanations

belonged to him.

"Blair's coming home, for Christmas," he blurted, rubbing his left ankle.

"Blair's coming home," Frohmeyer repeated loudly, and the news rippled through the

crowd. Regardless of how they felt about Luther at the moment, the neighbors adored

Blair. They'd watched her grow up, sent her off to college, and waited for her to come

back each summer. She'd babysat for most of the younger kids on Hemlock. As an only

child, Blair had treated the other children like family. She was everyone's big sister.

"And she's bringing her fiancé," Luther added, and this too swept through the onlookers.

"Who's Blair?" asked Salino, as if he were a homicide detective digging for clues.

"She's my daughter," Luther explained to the uninformed. "She left about a month ago for

Peru, with the Peace Corps, not going to be back for a year, or so we thought. She called

around eleven today. She was in Miami, coming home to surprise us for Christmas, and

she's bringing a fiancé, some doctor she just met down there." Nora moved closer and

was now holding his elbow.

"And she expects to see a Christmas tree?" Frohmeyer said.

"Yes."

"And a Frosty?"

"Of course."

"And what about the annual Krank Christmas Eve party?"

"That too."

The crowd inched closer as Frohmeyer analyzed things. "What time does she get here?"

he asked.

"Plane lands at six."

"Six!"

People looked at their watches. Luther rubbed the other ankle. His feet were tingling now,

a good sign. Blood was flowing down there again.

Vic Frohmeyer took a step back and looked into the faces of his neighbors. He cleared his

throat, raised his chin, and began, "Okay, folks, here's the game plan. We're about to have

a party here at the Kranks', a Christmas homecoming for Blair. Those of you who can,

drop what you're doing and pitch in. Nora, do you have a turkey?"

"No," she said sheepishly. "Smoked trout."

"Smoked trout?"

"That's all I could find."

Several of the women whispered, "Smoked trout?"

"Who has a turkey?" Frohmeyer asked.

"We have two," said Jude Becker. "Both in the oven."

"Great," said Frohmeyer. "Cliff, you take a team down to Brixley's and get his Frosty.

Get some lights too, we'll string 'em along Luther's boxwoods here. Everybody go home,

change clothes, grab whatever extra food you can find, and meet back here in a half

hour."

He looked at Saline and Treen and said, "You guys head to the airport."

"For what?" asked Salino.

"Blair needs a ride home."

"I'm not sure if we can."

"Shall I call the Chief?"

Treen and Salino headed for their car. The neighbors began to scatter, now that they had

their instructions from Frohmeyer. Luther and Nora watched them disperse up and down

Hemlock, all moving quickly, all with a purpose.

Nora looked at Luther with tears in her eyes, and Luther felt like crying too. His ankles

were raw.

Frohmeyer said, "How many guests are coming to the party?"

"Oh, I don't know," Nora said, staring at the empty street.

"Not as many as you think," Luther said to her. "The Underwoods called and canceled.

As did Dox."

"So did Father Zabriskie," said Nora.

"Not Mitch Underwood?" queried Frohmeyer.

"Yes, but he's not coming."

What a sad little party, thought Frohmeyer. "So how many guests do you need?"

"Everybody's invited," Luther said. "The whole street."

"Yes, the entire street," Nora added.

Frohmeyer looked at Kistler and asked, "How many guys in the station tonight?"

"Eight."

"Can the firemen and medics come too?" Vic asked Nora.

"Yes, they're all invited," she said.

"And the police as well, added Luther.

"It'll be a crowd."

"A crowd would be nice, wouldn't it, Luther?" Nora said.

He pulled the blankets tighter and said, "Yes, Blair would love a crowd."

"How about some carolers?" Frohmeyer asked.

"That would be nice," Nora said.

They helped Luther into the house, and by the time he made it to the kitchen he was

walking unassisted, but with a severe limp. Kendall left him a plastic cane, one he vowed

he wouldn't use.

When they were alone in the living room, with Trogdon's tree, Luther and Nora shared a.

few quiet moments by the fire. They talked about Blair. They tried in vain to analyze the

prospect of a fiancé then a groom, then a new son-in-law.

They were touched beyond words by the unity of their neighbors. The cruise was never

mentioned.

Nora looked at her watch and said she had to get ready. "I wish I'd had a camera," she

said, walking away. "You up there hanging by your feet with half the city watching." And

she laughed all the way to the bedroom.

Nineteen

Blair was just a little miffed that her parents were not waiting at the arrival gate. Sure it

was short notice, and the airport was crowded, and they were undoubtedly busy with the

party, but she was, after all, bringing home her one and only. She said nothing though, as

she and Enrique walked quickly down the concourse, arm in arm, stride for stride,

somehow weaving gracefully through the mob while remaining attached at the hip and

staring only at each other.

There was no one to greet them at the baggage claim either. But as they were hauling

their luggage toward the exit, Blair saw two policemen holding a hand-scrawled sign that

read "Blair and Enriqe."

They had misspelled Enrique, but at the moment who cared? She called to them, and they

snapped into action, scooping up the luggage and leading them through the mass of

people. Officer Salino explained as they walked outside that the Chief had dispatched a

police escort for Blair and Enrique. Welcome home!

"The party is waiting," he said as they stuffed their things into the trunk of a police car,

which was parked illegally at the curb in front of the taxis. A second police car was

parked in front of the first.

As a South American, Enrique was more than a little hesitant to voluntarily get into the

back of a police car. He looked around nervously, at the crush of foot traffic, taxis, and

buses bumper to bumper, people yelling, guards whistling. The idea of bolting crossed his

mind, then his eyes returned to the beautiful face of the girl he loved.

"Let's go," she said, and they jumped in. He would've followed her anywhere. With lights

flashing, the two cars flew away, darting through traffic, forcing others onto the edges of

the streets.

"This happens all the time?" Enrique whispered.

"Never," Blair answered. What a nice touch, she thought.

Officer Treen was driving furiously. Officer Salino was smiling at the thought of Luther

Krank hanging by his feet while the entire neighborhood looked on. But he wouldn't say

a word. Blair would never know the truth, according to orders from Vic Frohmeyer,

who'd finally gotten through to the Mayor and also had the Chief's ear.

As they worked their way into the suburbs, the traffic thinned and a light snow began.

"Calling for four inches," Salino said over his shoulder. "Does it snow down in Peru?"

"In the mountains," Enrique said. "But I live in Lima, the capital."

"Had a cousin went to Mexico one time," Salino said, but let it go because there was

nothing else to add. The cousin had almost died, etc., but Salino wisely decided not to

venture into third-world horror stories.

Blair was determined to be hyperprotective of her fiancé and his homeland, so she

quickly rushed in with a "Has it snowed since Thanksgiving?"

The subject of weather was the most common ground of all. "Had two inches a week ago,

wasn't it?" Salino said, glancing at Treen, who was driving with white knuckles in a

successful attempt to keep his car no more than five feet behind the police car in front of

them.

"Four inches," Treen said with authority.

"No, it was two, wasn't it?" Salino argued.

"Four," Treen said, shaking his head, and this irritated Salino.

They finally settled on three inches of snow as Blair and Enrique huddled in the back and

looked at the rows of neatly decorated houses.

"Almost there," she said softly. "That's Stanton, Hemlock is next."

Spike was the lookout. He flashed green twice on his Boy Scout signal lantern, and the

stage was set.

Luther limped pitifully into their bathroom, where Nora was putting the finishing touches

on her face. For twenty minutes she'd been desperately experimenting with everything

she could find-foundations, powders, highlights. Her wonderfully tanned skin was hidden

from the neck down, and she was determined to lighten her face.

It wasn't working, though.

"You look emaciated," Luther said, truthfully. Powder was flying around her head.

Luther was in too much pain to worry about his tan. At Nora's suggestion, he was

wearing black-black cardigan over a black turtleneck with dark gray slacks. The darker

his attire the paler his skin, in her opinion. The cardigan he'd worn only once, and luckily

it was one Blair had given him for a birthday. The turtleneck had never been worn, and

neither he nor Nora could remember where it came from.

He felt like a Mafia lieutenant.

"Just give it up," he said as she flung bottles and seemed ready to throw one at him.

"I will not," she snapped. "Blair will not know about the cruise, do you understand,

Luther?"

"Then don't tell her about the cruise. Tell her your doctor recommended tanning for, uh,

which vitamin is it?"

"D, from the sunshine, not a tanning bed. Another stupid idea, Luther."

"Tell her we've had some unseasonably warm weather, been outside a lot, working in the

flower beds."

"That's your lie, and it's not going to work. She's not blind. She'll look at your flower

beds and see that they haven't been touched in months."

"Ouch."

"Any more bright ideas?"

"We're getting a head start on spring break? Bought a tanning package."

"Very funny."

She brushed by him in a huff, powder trailing behind her Luther was limping down the

hall, with his new plastic cane, toward the crowd in his living room, when he heard

someone yell, "Here they come."

Due to a malfunctioning canvas strap, Ralph Brixley was actually holding his own Frosty

in place, in front of Luther Krank's chimney, on Luther's roof, in the snow and the cold,

when he saw the green flashing light from the end of the street. "Here they come," he

yelled down to Krank's patio, where his assistant, Judd Bellington, was waiting by the

ladder and trying to repair the strap.

From Ralph's point of view, he watched with some measure of pride (and some measure

of frustration because it was cold up there and getting colder) as his neighborhood circled

the wagons to help one of its own, even if it was Luther Krank.

A large choir, under the shaky direction of Mrs. Ellen Mulholland, was assembled next to

the driveway and began singing "Jingle Bells." Linda Galdy owned a set of handbells,

and her hurriedly recruited band began ringing them along with the choir. The front lawn

was covered with neighborhood children, all waiting eagerly for Blair and her mysterious

new fiancé.

When the police cars slowed in front of the Kranks', a cheer went up, a loud hello from

the kids on Hemlock.

"My goodness," Blair said. "What a crowd."

There was a fire truck parked in front of the Beckers' and a large lime-green ambulance in

front of the Trogdons', and on cue all their lights began flashing to welcome Blair. When

the police cars rolled to a stop in the driveway, Vic Frohmeyer himself yanked open the

front door. "Merry Christmas, Blair!" he boomed.

She and Enrique were soon on the front lawn, surrounded by dozens of neighbors while

the choir howled away. Blair introduced Enrique, who seemed just a bit bewildered by

the reception. They made their way onto the front steps and into the living room, where

another cheer went up. At Nora's request, four firemen, and three cops stood shoulder to

shoulder in front of the tree, trying to block as much of it as possible from Blair's view.

Luther and Nora waited nervously in their bedroom for a private reunion with their

daughter, and for a quiet introduction to Enrique.

"What if we don't like him?" Luther mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his

ankles. The party was growing rowdy down the hall.

"Hush, Luther. We raised a smart girl." Nora was applying a last-minute layer of powder

to her cheeks.

"But they just met."

"Love at first sight."

"That's impossible.

"Maybe you're right. It took me three years to see your potential."

The door opened and Blair rushed in. Nora and Luther both glanced at her first, then

quickly looked beyond to see how dark Enrique was.

He wasn't dark at all! At least two shades lighter than Luther himself!

They hugged and squeezed their daughter as if she'd been gone for years, then, with great

relief, met their future son-in-law.

"You guys look great," Blair said, sizing them up. Nora was wearing a bulky Christmas

sweater, the first time in memory that she wanted to look heavier. Luther was the aging

gigolo.

"Been watching our weight," he said, still pumping Enrique's hand.

"You've been in the sun," Blair said to Luther.

"Well, yes, we've had some unseasonably warm weather, actually. Got a bit burned in the

flower beds last weekend."

"Let's get to the party," Nora said.

"Can't keep folks waiting," Luther added, leading the way.

"Isn't he handsome?" Blair whispered to her mother. Enrique was just a step ahead.

"Very handsome," Nora said proudly.

"Why is Daddy limping?"

"Hurt his foot. He's fine."

The living room was packed with people, a different sort of crowd, Blair noticed, not that

it mattered. Most of the regulars were not there. Most of the neighbors were. And she

couldn't figure out why the police and firemen had been invited.

There were some gifts for Enrique, which he opened in the center of the room. Ned

Becker passed along a red golf shirt from a local country club. John Galdy had just been

given a picture book of local country inns. His wife rewrapped it, and they unloaded it on

Enrique, who was moved almost to tears. The firemen gave him two fruitcakes, though

he confessed they didn't have such delights down in Peru. The Police Benevolent

Association gave him a calendar.

"His English is perfect," Nora whispered to Blair.

"Better than mine," she whispered back.

"I thought you said he'd never been to the U.S."

"He was educated in London."

"Oh." And Enrique went up another notch. Handsome, educated abroad, a doctor. "Where

did you meet him?"

"In Lima, during orientation."

A cheer went up as Enrique opened a tall box and removed a lava lamp, one passed along

by the Bellingtons.

When the gifts were done, Luther announced, "Dinner," and the crowd moved to the

kitchen, where the table was covered with the Hemlock donations, though the food had

been arranged and rearranged until it looked original and festive. Even Nora's smoked

trout had been dressed up by Jessica Brixley, perhaps the best chef on the street.

The carolers were frozen and tired of the snow, though it wasn't heavy. They heard the

news about dinner, and moved inside, along with Mrs. Linda Galdy's handbell ensemble.

The man with the orange-and-gray beard Nora'd met by the peanut butter at Kroger

appeared from nowhere and seemed to know everyone, though no one seemed to know

him. Nora welcomed him and watched him carefully, and finally heard him introduce

himself as Marty somebody. Marty loved a gathering and quickly warmed to the occasion.

He cornered Enrique over cake and ice cream, and the two immediately launched into an

extended conversation, in Spanish no less.

"Who is that?" Luther whispered as he limped by.

"Marty," Nora whispered back, as if she'd known him for years.

When everyone had eaten, they drifted back to the living room, where a fire was roaring.

The children sang two carols, then Marty stepped forward with a guitar. Enrique stepped

forward too and explained that he and his new friend would like to sing a couple of

traditional Peruvian Christmas songs.

Marty attacked the guitar with a vengeance, and the duet began in a nice harmony. The

words were unknown to the audience, but the message was clear. Christmas was a time of

joy and peace around the world.

"He sings too," Nora whispered to Blair, who just radiated.

Between songs, Marty explained that he'd once worked in Peru, and that singing the

songs made him miss the place. Enrique took the guitar, strummed a few chords, then

softly began another carol.

Luther leaned on the mantel, alternating one foot at a time, smiling gamely, though he

wanted to lie down and sleep forever. He looked at the faces of his neighbors, all of

whom were entranced with the music. They were all there, except for the Trogdons.

And except for Walt and Bev Scheel.

Twenty

After yet another foreign carol, and during a boisterous round of applause for the Enrique

and Marty duet, Luther slipped unnoticed from the kitchen and eased through the

darkness of his garage. Dressed in snow attire-overcoat, wool cap, muffler, boots, gloveshe

shuffled along, aided by the plastic cane he'd vowed not to use, trying not to wince

with each step, though both ankles were swollen and raw.

The cane was in his right hand, a large envelope in his left. The snow was still light, but

the ground was covered.

At the sidewalk, he turned and gazed upon the gathering in his living room. A packed

house. A tree that improved with the distance. Above them a borrowed Frosty.

Hemlock was quiet. The fire truck and ambulance and police cars were gone, thankfully.

Luther looked east and west and saw not a single person moving about. Most of them

were in his house, singing along now, rescuing him from an episode that would

undoubtedly be remembered as one of his more curious.

The Scheel house was well lit on the outside, but almost completely dark within. Luther

crept up their driveway, his boots rubbing his wounds, the cane making the entire venture

possible. On their porch he rang the doorbell and looked again at his house directly across

the street. Ralph Brixley and Judd Bellington came around the corner, hurriedly stringing

lights on Luther's boxwoods.

He closed his eyes for a second, shook his head, looked at his feet.

Walt Scheel answered the door with a pleasant "Well, Merry Christmas, Luther."

"And Merry Christmas to you," Luther said with a genuine smile.

"You're missing your party."

"Just have a second, Walt. Could I step in?"

"Of course."

Luther limped into the foyer, where he parked himself on a matt. His boots had

accumulated snow and he didn't want to leave tracks.

"Can I take your coat?" Walt asked. Something was baking in the kitchen, and Luther

took that as a good sign.

"No, thanks. How's Bev?"

"She's having a good day, thanks. We started to come over and see Blair, but the snow

started. So how's the fiancé?"

"A very nice young man," Luther said.

Bev Scheel entered from the dining room and said hello and Merry Christmas. She was

wearing a red holiday sweater and looked the same, as far as Luther could tell. Rumor

was that her doctor had given her six months.

"A pretty nasty fall," Walt said with a smile.

"Could've been worse," Luther said, grinning, trying to enjoy himself as the butt of the

joke. We won't dwell on that subject, he declared to himself.

He cleared his throat and said, "Look, Blair's here for ten days, so we won't be taking the

cruise. Nora and I would like for you guys to have it." He lifted the envelope slightly, sort

of waved it at them.

Their reaction was delayed as glances were exchanged, thoughts were attempted. They

were stunned, and for quite a spell couldn't speak. So Luther plowed ahead. "The flight

leaves at noon tomorrow. You'll need to get there early to get the names changed and

such, a slight hassle, but it'll be worth it. I've already called my travel agency this

afternoon. Ten days in the Caribbean, beaches, islands, the works. It'll be a dream

vacation."

Walt shook his head no, but just slightly. Bev's eyes were moist. Neither could speak

until Walt managed to say, with little conviction, "We can't take it, Luther. It's not right."

"Don't be silly. I didn't purchase the travel insurance, so if you don't go then the entire

package is wasted."

Bev looked at Walt, who was already looking at her, and when their eyes locked Luther

caught it. It was crazy, but why not?

"I'm not sure my doctor will allow it," she said feebly.

"I've got that Lexxon deal on the front burner," Walt mumbled to himself as he scratched

his head.

"And we promised the Shorts we'd be there New Year's Eve," Bev added, sort of musing.

"Benny said he might drop in." Benny was their oldest son, who hadn't been home in

years.

"And what about the cat?" Bev asked.

Luther let them shuffle and strain, and when they ran out of their flimsy excuses he said,

"It's a gift from us to you, a sincere, heart-felt, no-strings-attached Christmas offering to

two people who are, at this very moment, having a difficult time finding an excuse. Just

go for it, okay?"

"I'm not sure I have the right clothes," Bev said predictably.

To which Walt replied, "Don't be ridiculous."

With their resistance crumbling, Luther moved in for the kill. He shoved the envelope at

Walt. "It's all here-airline tickets, cruise passes, brochures, everything, including the

phone number of the travel agency."

"What's the cost, Luther? If we go, then well reimburse you."

"It's a simple gift, Walt. No cost, no payback. Don't make it complicated."

Walt understood, but his pride got in his way. "We'll just have to discuss it when we get

back."

There, they were already gone and back. "We can talk about everything then."

"What about the cat?" Bev asked.

Walt pinched his chin in serious thought and said, "Yes, that's a real problem. Too late to

call the kennel."

With uncanny timing, a large black furry cat sneaked into the foyer, rubbed itself on

Walt's right leg, then gave a long look up at Luther.

"We can't just leave him," Bev was saying.

"No, we can't," Walt said.

Luther hated cats.

"We could ask Jude Becker," Bev said.

"No problem. I'll take care of him," Luther said, swallowing hard, knowing perfectly well

that Nora would get the chore.

"Are you sure?" Walt asked, a little too quickly.

"No problem."

The cat took another look at Luther and slunk away. The feeling was mutual.

The good-byes took much longer than the hellos, and when Luther hugged Bev he

thought she would break. Under the bulky sweater was a frail and ailing woman. The

tears were halfway down her cheeks. "I'll call Nora," she whispered. "Thanks."

Old tough-as-nails Walt had moist eyes too. On the front steps, during their last

handshake, he said, "This means so much, Luther. Thank you."

When the Scheels were once again locked away inside, Luther started home. Unburdened

by the thick envelope now, shed of its pricey tickets and thick brochures, freed of all the

self-indulgence contained therein, his steps were a little quicker. And, filled with the

satisfaction of making the perfect gift, Luther walked straight and proud with hardly a

limp.

At the street he stopped and looked over his shoulder. The Scheels' home, dark as a cave

just moments earlier, was now alive with lights being flipped on both upstairs and down.

They'll pack all night, Luther thought to himself.

A door opened across the street, and the Galdy family made a noisy exit from the Kranks'

living room. Laughter and music escaped with them and echoed above Hemlock. The

party showed little signs of breaking up.

Standing there at the edge of the street, light snow gathering on his wool cap and collar,

gazing at his freshly decorated house with almost the entire neighborhood packed into it,

Luther paused to count his blessings. Blair was home, and she'd brought with her a very

nice, handsome, polite young man, who was quite obviously crazy about her. And who,

at that moment, was very much in charge of the party along with Marty Whatshisname.

Luther himself was lucky to be standing, as opposed to lying peacefully on a slab at

Franklin's Funeral Home, or pinned to a bed in ICU at Mercy Hospital, tubes running

everywhere. Thoughts of snowballing down his roof, headfirst, still horrified him. Very

lucky indeed.

Blessed with friends and neighbors who would sacrifice their plans for Christmas Eve to

rescue him.

He looked up to his chimney where the Brixleys' Frosty was watching him. Round

smiling face, top hat, corncob pipe. Through the flurries Luther thought he caught a wink

from the snowman.

Starving, as usual, Luther suddenly craved smoked trout. He began trekking through the

snow. "I'll eat a fruitcake too," he vowed to himself.

Skipping Christmas. What a ridiculous idea.

Maybe next year.