Free A Carol for Christmas by Robin Lee Hatcher

small sips as she stared out the window.
    It was almost dark outside, but at least it wasn’t snow- ing. The sky had remained cloudless all day. Another storm front wasn’t forecast to arrive until Sunday. That was good news. It meant the roads would be clear for those coming to the benefit. Last she’d heard, it was expected to be a sold- out performance.
    Oh, my. Breathe.
    She wished Jonathan would get home.

    Q

    The steering wheel of the Ford Fairlane pulled against Jonathan’s hands, and then came the unmistakable thump , thump , thump of a flat tire.
    “No. Not now!”
    The red roses lay in a box on the seat next to him, but buying those special flowers for his wife took longer than anticipated. Darkness had fallen over the city while he was
    inside the florist shop. Now he barely had time to get home and change his suit if he was to have Carol to the high school by five thirty.
    The car rolled to a stop at the curb. Jonathan got out. Sure enough, the left front tire was flat as a pancake. He should have bought new ones. He’d known this would hap- pen eventually.
    He leaned back into the car and yanked the keys from the ignition, then strode to the trunk, aware of each pre- cious moment as it passed.
    Q

    She wouldn’t let herself cry. It would ruin her makeup. With the shoe box under her right arm and the dress bag slung over her left arm, Carol walked to the Buick. She had five minutes to get to the high school. She never should
    have waited this long for Jonathan.
    Oh, there would be an excuse, a reason for his tardi- ness. Maybe a good one, maybe a not-so-good one. Maybe another fire on the loading dock. Maybe his father had an inventory list to check. Or maybe he had a customer who couldn’t find a lipstick in the right shade.
    Him and his father and their stupid department stores. Why had she left college for this? Why had she thought God wanted her to marry? Maybe that wasn’t what God wanted for her. Maybe He hadn’t told her Jonathan was the one. And if she’d been mistaken about Jonathan and marriage, did that mean she had to remain in Boise, lonely
    and unfulfilled, and let go of her dream?
    As she hung the dress on the hook in the backseat of her car, Jonathan arrived, pulling the Fairlane into the empty parking space beside her. She didn’t look up, didn’t want to see him right now.
    “Carol, I’m sorry.”
    She slammed the back door of the Buick.
    “Honey, I had a flat tire. Give me a minute to change and I’ll — ”
    “Don’t bother. I’m late as it is.” She pulled open the driver’s door.
    “Carol, please. I just gotta wash up. Wait for me.”
    She looked at him. “I don’t have time to wait for you, Johnny. I’ve got to go now.”
    “Okay,” he acquiesced softly. “But I’ll be there soon.”
    She didn’t think she cared, and she didn’t bother to reply.
    Q

    He watched her drive away, her words echoing in his ears.
    “I don’t have time to wait for you , Johnny. I’ve got to
    go now.”
    He had a sick feeling in his gut that she meant much more than tonight, much more than needing to get to the high school by five thirty.
    “I don’t have time to wait for you , Johnny. I’ve got to
    go now.”
    He was afraid she didn’t have time to wait for him in this lifetime, that she meant to go now, that she meant to go somewhere he couldn’t follow.
    Q

    The final medley of the evening — “The Christmas Song,” “Silver Bells,” and “White Christmas” — was a duet by Travis and Carol. When the last notes of “White Christ- mas” faded into silence, the audience erupted in applause and whistles.
    “Thank you, Boise!” Travis shouted above the clamor. “Merry Christmas!”
    The clapping continued as the members of the band and the other female singers joined Carol and Travis in center stage. They bowed and waved at the audience.
    “God bless you!” Travis called. “Good night!” The curtains pulled closed in front of them.
    “Man,” Friday said