44. A Blitzen Christmas
forty-four
A Blitzen Christmas
I t truly is Christmas Eve in Blitzen. Finally. The holiday festivities we launched are moving full speed ahead, and I can’t count the smiling faces on both children and adults. People started ice skating early this morning and every hour more vendors are arrive to set up.
This is the big day. The lighting of the town tree. Hopefully, a day they will all remember when they’re home in front of their own trees tomorrow.
I’d be touched if I wasn’t so sick at my stomach from worry.
I can’t believe I fell asleep. Exhaustion must’ve set in.
Much worse, I can’t believe I haven’t heard from him.
The thoughts of not even receiving a text are triumphed over by the fact that he and I have never texted. It was always a call or in person. Yet, still, with every text notification I try to manifest: It’s me. I’m safe.
Or at least a godforsaken thumbs up emoji by Kourt’s name.
Going about my duties, I watch the clock tower like a hawk. One tedious hour after another. Morning becomes afternoon.
Still… no Kourt.
I grab my phone for the fifteenth time to search for Sharletta’s number. As if I can’t fathom I don’t have the chief’s wife’s number saved in my phone. As if I think it will miraculously pop up and she’ll text me: All is well with the Blitzen fire department.
The band plays enthusiastically behind me.
It feels like Jingle Bell Rock and Rocking around the Christmas Tree are on a loop, even though I’m sure I’ve only heard them once.
A crowd is gathered in front of the stage where the band plays, and the smell of hot apple cider drifts my way.
The air is crisp, the sky blue—perfect Christmas weather.
I take a deep breath and the notes of cinnamon and clove lift my spirits enough to smile at the lovely friends I’ve made in town.
Walking through the crowd— greeted by name, by one person after another, it occurs to me…
I’ve made more friends in one month here in Blitzen than in four years in Chicago.
I’m so proud they’re enjoying it all.
Keeping busy with idle tasks, I make my way toward the tree to store back-up extension cords under the tree skirt for tonight—the Christmas-colored extension cords.
My shoulders sink and I shake my head.
Kourt drove me to Fisher’s that first time to get them.
That feels a lifetime ago now. Less than one month and that man changed my world.
Helen and Archer are headed toward me after helping a vendor set up for me.
She doesn’t look frantic or upset , I clock, as I watch them walk my way. I keep hanging on to her words. “ I’m his emergency contact. If it’s him, we would’ve been notified. He’s not one of the three.”
A horn honks twice and the sirens pick up as Blitzen’s fire truck pulls into the lot.
Everyone rushes to greet it. My breath catches.
The applause grows so loud as I look for his face but don’t see it. Chief Johnson leaps from the old truck with the rest of the firefighters. Mayor Harris strides to the stage and silences the band as he ushers the chief onto the stage to take the mic.
His salt and pepper hair is almost completely black with soot, yet I’ve never seen the man smile so big. He races to the mic and waves.
“Ladies and gentlemen. All of you fine people of Blitzen, and wherever you hail from in Kentucky…” He stops the crowd with his declaration and out of breath puffs into the mic.
“Merry Christmas, and please know, thanks to all of your efforts and support, we’ve saved the mill.
There’s a lot of repair, and some loss for Boonesborough County, but not all is lost.”
The crowd roars.
“And Blitzen, thanks to these fine firefighters who saved lives and livelihoods—Thanks to you fine folks who rallied—”
A growing applause erupts near the parking area where the fire truck rolled in, as three men hop out of a familiar pickup truck.
Exactly… He’s one of these three.
I wipe the tear that splashes down my cheek at the sight of Kourt walking toward town square. He’s covered in soot, dressed in his bunker pants, suspenders, and a Blitzen Volunteer fire department T-shirt.
“And thanks to one Erika Amherst over here who gave us the means to persevere—Blitzen has gained! Let that be the last run of the old fire truck, as we’ve already raised more than enough to buy the new one!”
Chief yells into the mic, and people cheer back so loudly I hear nothing but white noise as I weave my way through the packed crowd toward Kourt.
I nearly crash into him as arms wrap tightly around my waist and bring me into the most glorious smell of smoke I’ve ever encountered.
“Erika.” Kourt looks into my eyes as he holds me in place. I can’t seem to catch my breath. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or wrap my arms around him.
He hoists me higher, holding me. Tighter. He pulls me closer to him before I can give it a second thought, and I bury my face into his smoke and soot-coated neck. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
I say it as if I’m awake and alert for the first time since he charged into my house with his declaration.
“Does this mean you think you love me too?” Kourt smiles like he’s lassoed the moon.
I pull away from his neck to look at him. There’s a pause as our eyes become submerged into each other’s. The mic on stage squeals, and I’m taken out of the trance of Kourt, to peek back at the gawking stage and crowd below it.
Shaking my head at our audience, I lift my eyes back to meet his.
He raises a challenging eyebrow.
My brow arches to match his as my gaze fixes on him. “How do I know you won’t walk away from me again?”
Kourt’s eyes roam my face, wildly chasing the answer, as he lowers me to the ground.
A beat goes by, and I shrug with a coy grin, pivoting away from him. I take a step and a half toward the eavesdropping crowd when his voice fills the space between us.
“Marry me and find out.”
I stop, frozen in my tracks.
The crowd around me is stunned as silent as I am. A gust of crisp wind blows a piece of hair by my face and I dip my head basking in the shock. Guess he got me there.
The clock tower chimes above town square, indicating the hour.
“You heard me. Marry me.”
The clock chimes again as I turn to face him, my eyes bright with a hint of realization.
“It’s three o clock, Kourt.”
“Is that a yes?”