John Grisham - Skipping Christmas

J OHN G RISHAM has written twenty-one novels, including the recent #1 New York Times bestsellers The Associate and The Appeal, as well as one work of nonfiction, The Innocent Man. He lives in Virginia and Mississippi. His new book from Doubleday is Ford County: Stories.

www.jgrisham.com

Books by John Grisham

A TIME TO KILL
THE FIRM
THE PELICAN BRIEF
THE CLIENT
THE CHAMBER
THE RAINMAKER
THE RUNAWAY JURY
THE PARTNER
THE STREET LAWYER
THE TESTAMENT
THE BRETHREN
A PAINTED HOUSE
SKIPPING CHRISTMAS
THE SUMMONS
THE KING OF TORTS
BLEACHERS
THE LAST JUROR
THE BROKER
THE INNOCENT MAN
PLAYING FOR PIZZA
THE APPEAL
THE ASSOCIATE
FORD COUNTY: STORIES

T he gate was packed with weary travelers, most of them standing and huddled along the walls because the meager allotment of plastic chairs had long since been taken. Every plane that came and went held at least eighty passengers, yet the gate had seats for only a few dozen.

There seemed to be a thousand waiting for the 7 P.M. flight to Miami. They were bundled up and heavily laden, and after fighting the traffic and the check-in and the mobs along the concourse they were subdued, as a whole. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, one of the busiest days of the year for air travel, and as they jostled and got pushed farther into the gate many asked themselves, not for the first time, why, exactly, they had chosen this day to fly.

The reasons were varied and irrelevant at the moment. Some tried to smile. Some tried to read, but the crush and the noise made it difficult. Others just stared at the floor and waited. Nearby a skinny black Santa Claus clanged an irksome bell and droned out holiday greetings.

A small family approached, and when they saw the gate number and the mob they stopped along the edge of the concourse and began their wait. The daughter was young and pretty. Her name was Blair, and she was obviously leaving. Her parents were not. The three gazed at the crowd, and they, too, at that moment, silently asked themselves why they had picked this day to travel.

The tears were over, at least most of them. Blair was twenty-three, fresh from graduate school with a handsome rsum but not ready for a career. A friend from college was in Africa with the Peace Corps, and this had inspired Blair to dedicate the next two years to helping others. Her assignment was eastern Peru, where she would teach primitive little children how to read. She would live in a lean-to with no plumbing, no electricity, no phone, and she was anxious to begin her journey.

The flight would take her to Miami, then to Lima, then by bus for three days into the mountains, into another century. For the first time in her young and sheltered life, Blair would spend Christmas away from home. Her mother clutched her hand and tried to be strong.

The good-byes had all been said. Are you sure this is what you want? had been asked for the hundredth time.

Luther, her father, studied the mob with a scowl on his face. What madness, he said to himself. He had dropped them at the curb, then driven miles to park in a satellite lot. A packed shuttle bus had delivered him back to Departures, and from there he had elbowed his way with his wife and daughter down to this gate. He was sad that Blair was leaving, and he detested the swarming horde of people. He was in a foul mood. Things would get worse for Luther.

The harried gate agents came to life and the passengers inched forward. The first announcement was made, the one asking those who needed extra time and those in first class to come forward. The pushing and shoving rose to the next level.

I guess wed better go, Luther said to his daughter, his only child.

They hugged again and fought back the tears. Blair smiled and said, The year will fly by. Ill be home next Christmas.

Nora, her mother, bit her lip and nodded and kissed her once more. Please be careful, she said because she couldnt stop saying it.

Ill be fine.

They released her and watched helplessly as she joined a long line and inched away, away from them, away from home and security and everything shed ever known. As she handed over her boarding pass, Blair turned and smiled at them one last time.

Oh well, Luther said. Enough of this. Shes going to be fine.

Nora could think of nothing to say as she watched her daughter disappear. They turned and fell in with the foot traffic, one long crowded march down the concourse, past the Santa Claus with the irksome bell, past the tiny shops packed with people.

It was raining when they left the terminal and found the line for the shuttle back to the satellite, and it was pouring when the shuttle sloshed its way through the lot and dropped them off, two hundred yards from their car. It cost Luther $7.00 to free himself and his car from the greed of the airport authority.

When they were moving toward the city, Nora finally spoke. Will she be okay? she asked. He had heard that question so often that his response was an automatic grunt.

Sure.

Do you really think so?

Sure. Whether he did or he didnt, what did it matter at this point? She was gone; they couldnt stop her.

He gripped the wheel with both hands and silently cursed the traffic slowing in front of him. He couldnt tell if his wife was crying or not. Luther wanted only to get home and dry off, sit by the fire, and read a magazine.

He was within two miles of home when she announced, I need a few things from the grocery.

Its raining, he said.

I still need them.

Cant it wait?

You can stay in the car. Just take a minute. Go to Chips. Its open today.

So he headed for Chips, a place he despised not only for its outrageous prices and snooty staff but also for its impossible location. It was still raining of courseshe couldnt pick a Kroger where you could park and make a dash. No, she wanted Chips, where you parked and hiked.

Only sometimes you couldnt park at all. The lot was full. The fire lanes were packed. He searched in vain for ten minutes before Nora said, Just drop me at the curb. She was frustrated at his inability to find a suitable spot.

He wheeled into a space near a burger joint and demanded, Give me a list.

Ill go, she said, but only in feigned protest. Luther would hike through the rain and they both knew it.

Gimme a list.

Just white chocolate and a pound of pistachios, she said, relieved.

Thats all?

Yes, and make sure its Logans chocolate, one-pound bar, and Lance Brothers pistachios.

And this couldnt wait?

No, Luther, it cannot wait. Im doing dessert for lunch tomorrow. If you dont want to go, then hush up and Ill go.

He slammed the door. His third step was into a shallow pothole. Cold water soaked his right ankle and oozed down quickly into his shoe. He froze for a second and caught his breath, then stepped away on his toes, trying desperately to spot other puddles while dodging traffic.