The Christmas Joy Ride

by Melody Carlson

  Tomorrow was here, but Miranda wasn’t sure she was ready for it. She looked up at the morning sky, which was still nice and clear, then at her watch. It was a quarter past eight, but Joy was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d changed her mind after all—common sense had kicked in, or maybe her sons had gotten wind of this lunatic plan. Not that Miranda had breathed a word to anyone. She plopped her bag next to the RV and went up to knock on Joy’s front door.

  “Oh, there you are.” Joy opened the door with a big smile. “All ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” Miranda nodded, taking in the burgundy velour warm-ups that Joy was sporting. “Don’t you look festive.” She pointed to the sparkling rhinestone trim. “Bedazzled too.”

  Joy chuckled. “I have three of these jogging suits. This one, one in emerald green, and one in magenta.” She handed Miranda a basket of what appeared to be old VHS movies.

  “What’s this?”

  “Christmas films for our trip.”

  Miranda looked at the faded movie boxes—they all looked to be at least twenty years old. “Does the motor home even have a VHS player?”

  “Sure it does. And these will be just the medicine in the evenings. We’ll revive our Christmas spirits after a long day on the road.”

  Joy had boxes of cookies and other homemade Christmas goodies waiting by the front door, and before long, the RV was fully loaded, the steps were up, and Joy was adjusting the driver’s seat and checking the controls on the dashboard. Miranda watched in wonder as Joy pushed various buttons and switches, peering at everything with the intensity of a seasoned airline pilot—a very elderly pilot. Her silvery hair curled gently around her face, giving it a softer, younger appearance, and for a moment Miranda could almost imagine a different Joy—perhaps how she looked twenty years ago when they’d purchased this beast.

  “You really think you can do this?” Miranda buckled and then cinched her seat belt.

  “Oh, sure.” Joy looked longingly at her house. “I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see this place.”

  “Are you sad?”

  Joy sighed. “Well, I suppose I’m a little sad. But I have such good memories. So many lovely Christmases there. I remember the year that I sewed a Santa suit for George.” She pointed to a house across the street. “The Armstrongs lived over there and their boy Jamie had attempted to convince my little boys that Santa wasn’t real.”

  Miranda laughed. “But he’s not real.”

  “Well, yes, of course. But the spirit of Santa is real. It’s the spirit of love and giving, and I like to think that it’s symbolic of God’s love and generosity. Sort of like a metaphor for children. Don’t you think?”

  “When you put it like that, I do.”

  “Anyway, my boys were too little to stop believing in Santa. I just couldn’t let it happen. So I sewed George the most wonderful Santa suit. Red velvet and faux fur, and all the trimmings. On Christmas Eve, we set it all up for Robbie and Ricky to sneak out of their rooms and discover Santa filling their stockings.” She laughed. “We didn’t find out until years later that the boys had seen through our little guise. But we certainly enjoyed it.”

  “I’m sure that made a wonderful memory for them too.”

  Joy turned the key in the ignition, then looked into a small backup camera attached to the dashboard. “All clear. This yellow lever here is the emergency brake,” she explained as she released it, and—just like that—they were moving.

  Miranda stared into the backup camera, holding her breath as Joy eased the motor home backward into the street. But other than driving over the edge of a curb, they seemed okay. No mailboxes, street signs, or small children were injured. And now they were actually driving down the street—right down the middle.

  “Uh, it feels like the RV is taking up the whole street,” Miranda said nervously. “Shouldn’t you pull over some?”

  Joy laughed. “George used to say the very same thing. But it’s just an optical illusion because you’re so high up. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  As Miranda tightened her grip on the armrests, she doubted that she’d ever get used to this. Really, what had she been thinking? Was it too late to bail on the old lady?

  “Now did you bring that electronic device you were telling me about?” Joy asked as she eased up to a stop sign. “The one that navigates?”

  “Yes. The GPS. It’s in my bag. I already programmed it for Route 66—although I was surprised to learn they don’t really call it that anymore. It’s more a conglomeration of a bunch of highways.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that it’s not the nice winding road we used to see in old movies. But it’s got history just the same.”

  “Want me to get my GPS out now?”

  “I suppose that’s a good idea. I’ve been studying a Route 66 road map that George got a long time ago, so I think I can find our way. But it might be good to have your device for backup. You never know.”

  Miranda pulled out her fully charged GPS. If nothing else it proved a distraction from obsessing over the fact that the motor home seemed to be hogging most of the road. As the GPS powered up, she took in several slow, deep breaths—willing herself to relax, but not feeling any relief. She jumped at the sound of a horn honking, bracing herself for sudden impact. But it was only the driver of a delivery truck, smiling and waving with enthusiasm.

  “I think he likes our decorations,” Joy said as she waved back.

  “Oh, yeah.” Miranda wished she hadn’t had that third cup of coffee this morning.

  “So do you want to be the navigator?” Joy got into the lane that went to the freeway.

  “Sure.” Miranda looked at the GPS. She’d plugged in Chicago to start from, with Phoenix as the destination, but there were a lot of miles in between. “I think I can get us there okay.”

  “Great. Because one thing I learned early on while driving the motor home—learned it the hard way—is that it’s not always easy to backtrack in a big rig.” Joy chuckled. “And it’s best to avoid dead-end streets whenever possible. True as much in life as with motor homes.” She began to hum “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” as she picked up speed to enter the freeway.

  “How fast do you usually drive this thing?” Miranda asked nervously.

  “It’s best not to go over sixty. Fifty to fifty-five is ideal, but I don’t like to impede traffic if I can help it. That in itself can be dangerous.”

  “Yes. I can imagine.” Miranda felt her stomach lurch as Joy pulled the big RV into traffic. But Joy didn’t even flinch when the driver behind her honked the horn. Maybe she thought that was for the brightly decorated RV too.

  “So what kind of gas mileage do you get in this thing?” Miranda stared straight ahead with her fingers wrapped tightly around the armrests.

  “About ten miles a gallon.”

  “Wowzers.” Miranda watched with wide eyes as a big semi passed them on the left. Was there really enough room on the road for both of them?

  “That’s when we’re not towing.”

  “Towing?”

  “A tow car. George and I used to pull a little SUV behind the motor home. You know, so we could park it and still have something to drive around in.”

  To further distract herself, Miranda started doing mental math. Dividing ten mpg into their total distance, then multiplying that number by the current gas price was a bit staggering. “Do you realize it’s going to cost you around a thousand bucks to make this trip?”

  “Sure. I have it all figured out. And that’s just gas. It’ll be about that much again for campsites and food.”

  “Two thousand bucks for a road trip?” Miranda shook her head.

  “It’s worth it, dear. This’ll be the trip of a lifetime.” She glanced over with a grin. “Besides, I got a real nice price for my house. I can afford this.”

  “Right.” Miranda pointed at the road. “Better keep focused, Joy.”

  Joy just laughed. “You’re just like George used to be. At first any
way. After a while he’d sit back and relax. That chair reclines. You can even put your feet up if you like.” She pointed to a little quilted basket full of cassette tapes. “Go ahead and put one of those in,” she told Miranda. “I think we have enough Christmas music to get us all the way to Phoenix without even listening to the same album twice.”

  Miranda pulled out a tape. “I haven’t seen one of these since I was a girl. Do they really still work?”

  “For the most part. There might be a couple in there that are stretched and worn in spots.” She chuckled. “A bit like me.”

  With Christmas music playing merrily, they continued on down the freeway. Joy kept the speed down and drove in the slow lane, allowing the other lanes of traffic to whiz past her, but Miranda was relieved when they exited onto a highway with fewer lanes.

  “This is it.” Joy pointed to a highway sign. “Even though they don’t call it Route 66, this is where it begins. They started building this road in the mid-1920s, but it was during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl that the road really got used. A huge migration of folks looking for better days in California went right through here.”

  Miranda looked out at the perfectly normal-looking highway and tried to imagine people from the thirties in their loaded-up cars and trucks. The only image she could come up with looked like a scene from The Grapes of Wrath, but that worked. The Joad Family would’ve used Route 66 to get to the West Coast. Although it was probably just a two-lane highway back then.

  After about an hour, Miranda felt considerably calmer. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. At least they were still on the road, and the sky was still clear, and Joy seemed to be in her element behind the wheel. And sitting up high in the passenger seat looking out over everything was rather nice. “So tell me, Joy, who are we going to visit and why?”

  “We have six stops to make,” Joy began, “to see people I selected from a contest I held on my website.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Mid-November. About the same time you went to assist your sister with her children and the new baby.”

  “I can’t believe you set that up all by yourself with no techie help from me,” Miranda said. Joy usually depended on Miranda for new additions to the website. But Miranda had been trying to show Joy how easy it was to do some things herself.

  “I just followed the directions you’d written out for me,” Joy explained. “It took me a lot longer than it would take you, but I eventually got it up.”

  “Good for you!”

  “The contest wasn’t anything fancy,” Joy continued. “I didn’t know how to put up any of the fancy extras you’re so good at. And no photos. I simply announced that I had a lot of great Christmas goodies that I wanted to give away. I called it the My Route 66 contest, and I invited any deserving folks who lived along that route to contact me with their story.”

  “And you got a lot of responses?”

  “A couple dozen altogether, but only six that qualified.”

  “Well, six sounds like plenty.”

  “Yes, six is more than plenty. I have it all scheduled in my book there.” She pointed to the red and green notebook on the dashboard. “I had originally planned to leave a few days sooner than this. But there was so much preparation to be done. I can hardly believe it’s already mid-December. So we’ll need to stick to the schedule and keep this road trip moving whippity-snap in order to accomplish everything before Christmas.”

  “You said the people were deserving,” Miranda said, pressing for more info. “How so?”

  “Well, they’re all different. Kind of like apples and oranges and bananas and pears. I guess you’ll just have to see them for yourself and decide. But mostly they sound like regular folks who’ve fallen onto hard times . . . for various reasons. Just everyday people who are not feeling too cheerful about Christmas this year.”

  “Kind of like me.” Miranda folded her arms in front of her.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Joy’s voice lilted. “Which is exactly why you are perfect for this trip, my dear.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know how it feels to suffer, Miranda. You have developed great empathy.”

  Miranda wasn’t too sure about this, but at least it sounded good. She leaned back into the comfy seat and attempted to relax. Maybe she’d been wrong to be so concerned about taking a trip like this. Maybe it was just what she needed. Well, that and a good cup of coffee and some chocolate. Because if she allowed herself to focus on the sorry state of her life, she would probably slip into a total meltdown.

  3

  After about three hours of driving with only one short rest stop, Joy didn’t want to admit that she was feeling a bit weary. She glanced over at Miranda and was pleased to see that she appeared to be snoozing comfortably. Apparently she was over her earlier panic attack. Well, it wasn’t exactly a panic attack, but Miranda had definitely been on edge. Joy was tempted to pull over and take a short nap too, but with less than an hour to their first stop, she was reluctant to waste any precious time. Especially since her plan had been to arrive in early afternoon, spend a couple hours on her Christmas Joy project, then get to the RV park before dark. She hoped the queen-sized bed in back was still as comfortable as it used to be.

  “Wow, I can’t believe I actually fell asleep.” Miranda sat up straight in the seat and stretched her arms.

  “I’m sure you needed it.”

  “You doing okay?” Miranda asked. “Getting tired yet?”

  “I’m okay.” Joy nodded firmly. “And based on the last sign I saw, we should be in Springfield in about forty minutes. I thought we could grab a bite to eat somewhere near the place we’re stopping.”

  “Do you know which exit to take? Or where to go once you’re in Springfield?”

  “The address is in that.” Joy pointed to the red and green notebook on the dashboard. “Look under Mansfield Manor.”

  “Mansfield Manor?” Miranda reached for the notebook. “Sounds kinda swanky.”

  “According to LaShanda—the gal who entered the contest—it’s in need of some help.”

  “What is it anyway?”

  “A nursing home.”

  “Oh . . . Well, I’ve got it in my GPS now. Looks like it’s not too far off the highway.” Miranda set her device into a special holder that she had positioned on the dashboard. “So who’s LaShanda?”

  “She’s a nurse’s aide who works there. She wrote that everyone in the nursing home gets pretty depressed during the holidays. Apparently they don’t get many visitors. But we’re going to see if we can change that . . . just a little.”

  “Just by putting up some Christmas decorations?”

  “Decorating is the first step. But there’s a little more to my plan.” As she drove, Joy explained how LaShanda had an eleven-year-old son who was in a scout troop. “Willy and his friends will come to a party in the nursing home. It’s scheduled for Saturday afternoon. And I’m providing all the refreshments. LaShanda has it all arranged with a caterer friend. Also, I’ve wrapped up a bunch of small gifts, just little inconsequential items, but the scouts will play Santa as they present them to the residents. And then they’ll sing some Christmas songs.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s not much, but it’s more than these folks would have otherwise.”

  “I think it sounds lovely. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

  “LaShanda was very appreciative.”

  “She sounds like a very thoughtful person.”

  Before long they were coming into the city limits and Miranda—along with her GPS, which had the voice of a slightly bossy woman—found a McDonald’s with enough room to park the RV. Miranda went in to get their lunch, which they ate in the RV. By 1:30, they were pulling up to a boring one-story brick building painted in a muddy shade of brown. Joy pulled into the parking area in back and turned off the engine. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, making a little grunt as she stood up straight.

  “You are tired,” Mira
nda proclaimed. “I can tell.”

  “Oh, well, I’m still getting into driving shape,” Joy told her.

  Miranda looked unconvinced. “You look tired to me, Joy. And this is just our first day. Do you really think you’re up for this?”

  Joy frowned. “We’ll just have to pace ourselves, get plenty of rest, and try not to overdo.”

  Miranda pointed to the driver’s seat. “Or else you’ll have to let me drive.”

  Joy was surprised. “Really? You’d want to drive?”

  Miranda shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I’m a good driver. If you can do it, I’m sure I can too.”

  “Well, then you shall get your chance, my dear. Count on it.” Joy reached for her boom box, something her grandson had left behind after a visit one summer because it was “outdated.” She slipped a Dean Martin Christmas cassette into it, then opened the RV door and carefully made her way down the steps. “Why don’t you unload the bins that I wrote ‘MM’ on—for Mansfield Manor?” she called to Miranda. “I’ll go ahead inside.”

  “You got it.”

  Joy found a very blasé-looking receptionist and explained why she was there. A couple of minutes later she was greeted by a large African-American woman and the biggest smile Joy could ever remember seeing. “LaShanda!” Joy exclaimed as they exchanged a big hug. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “Bless your heart for coming to us,” LaShanda said as she led Joy to the “activity room,” which looked rather inactive just now. “Not a moment too soon either.” LaShanda explained how one of her favorite residents was feeling extra blue today. “It would’ve been Madge’s seventieth anniversary this week, and they always celebrated with a Christmas party, with family and friends,” she said. “But her husband passed away a couple years ago.” She lowered her voice. “No one expected Madge to still be around this long, but she’s turned out to be a real trouper.”

  “Perhaps I can pay her a visit after I get my helper started on the decorating.” Joy looked around the stark activity room. “Mind if we work to music?”

  “Not a bit.”