BIRTHDAY SURPRISE
Greg Richardson recoiled from the cold as he stepped from his office building into the blustery twilight. The wind, an agent of the winter storm that seemed intent on derailing Greg’s plans for the evening, began its savage attack.
At 6:15 that morning, he had stepped into the morning air to find it cold, but tolerable. There had been no breeze and the moon and stars had still been visible in the cloudless sky. If he had listened to the weather report, he would have been forewarned this winter storm, already labeled, ‘a killer,’ was going to pass through during the day, dropping the temperature to single digits with the cold being compounded by a stiff breeze.
As he made his way to his car, that ‘stiff breeze’ was driving the sleet, causing it to slice into his skin. He pulled up the collar of his coat, jammed his hands deeper into his pockets, and picked his way through the few cars left in the parking lot.
He slipped several times along the way, almost falling once. The wind caused his eyes to water, his exposed skin to hurt, and made it difficult for him to catch his breath. Arriving at the car, he saw it covered in ice. Attempting to unlock the door, his fingers quickly became numb and he dropped his keys. The cruel wind seemed to mock his plight.
Once inside the car, he turned the key in the ignition. Protesting, the engine reluctantly started. Turning on the defroster and cranking the fan to high, Greg was greeted with another icy blast, one that rivaled the wind from outside. It was if the storm had the capacity to invade the safety of his sanctuary. Opening the car door to another onslaught of winter’s breath, he stepped back outside to chip the ice off the windows. Unprepared for the frigid weather, he found himself scraping the ice without the protection of gloves. He tried pulling the sleeve of his coat down over his hand but that pulled the collar away from his neck and face, exposing them to the icy assault. His hands were becoming so cold he could barely curl his fingers around the grip of the scraper.
Greg cursed to himself. Not only was he exceedingly cold, but this unexpected delay was going to make him late for Jamie’s birthday party. Jamie was daddy’s little girl.
He recalled the first time he held her. Rhonda, his wife, told him he was helplessly wrapped around Jamie’s finger from that moment on. And she was right. In the backseat of the car was a large box wrapped in bright metallic blue gift paper, tied together with a thick ribbon culminating in a seven inch bow. Inside the box was the life size baby doll that Jamie had been begging for. Rhonda had said it was too expensive but Greg disagreed. He couldn’t wait to see Jamie’s face when she opened this present. “This storm isn’t going to destroy this year’s birthday surprise,” Greg thought to himself. The wind shrieked as if laughing at his naivety.
He battled the ice on the windows, creating small portals through which he hoped to see well enough to begin his journey home – to Rhonda, Jamie, and warmth. Back inside the car, Greg cautiously backed out of his parking space. He was alarmed to feel the car slipping on the ice the moment he touched his brakes, despite the fact he was moving exceedingly slow. He hoped once he was out of the parking lot he would find the roads in better condition. He didn’t. Instead, he passed several cars which had skidded off the roadway. More than once he felt his own car slide on the ice. Each time, he had managed to regain control.
Shivering from the cold, he alternated his hands on the steering wheel, driving with one while sitting on the other. As he traded hands, he glanced at his watch. Greg calculated he could make it home in time for Jamie’s birthday dinner. The weather may have succeeded in foiling plans for Jamie’s party but he wasn’t about to allow it to keep him from his family on this special night. He increased his speed by a couple of miles per hour. The car fish tailed, but Greg was able to keep it on the road.
The car just wasn’t getting any warmer. Fortunately, as if making a concession due to his resolve, the sleet from the storm ceased. Greg began to daydream of wrapping himself in a blanket and sitting with Jamie on his lap before the fireplace. He relished the thought of the heat radiating through his body. Caught up in his daydream, he wasn’t paying attention to his driving. He was startled back to reality when he saw the turn for his subdivision just a few hundred feet ahead.
He immediately lifted his foot off the accelerator and tapped the brakes. Greg could feel the tires skimming over the ice coated surface of the roadway. He knew he was going too fast but gauged he could still make the turn. He cut the wheel to the left but the forward momentum caused the vehicle to slide into the lane of oncoming traffic. As he struggled to gain control of the car he heard the scream of the artic wind outside, amazed at how much it sounded like a devilish howl of delight.
Though his heart was racing, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Greg heard the blare of an air horn and looked up in time to see the headlights and massive grill of an oncoming semi truck. He could see the truck beginning to jack-knife, read the name of the truck manufacturer predominately displayed at the top of the grill and the name of the trucking company on the wind deflector over the cab. He could also see the frenzied face of the driver, his disheveled hair and stubby beard. Most notable was the fear in the man’s eyes. Greg squeezed his own eyes shut and raised his arms to shield his face as he braced for the impact.
The expected pain did not come. He did not hear a crash or the scream of ripping metal. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he saw his car headed for an embankment. He quickly grabbed the steering wheel and regained control of the car. Glancing in his rear view mirror he saw the semi had managed to straighten itself out and was still headed down the highway. Greg didn’t have a clue how he had managed to avoid being run over by the big rig. It seemed an impossibility. His heart was still racing and his hands shook. He stopped the car and took a few minutes to compose himself. He noticed he was no longer cold despite the fact the storm continued to rage outside. He chalked it up to the rush of adrenaline. Greg put the car in gear and continued on his way.
He parked in the driveway and jogged up the sidewalk to the front door. The weather was continuing to deteriorate. The sleet had resumed and the wind was whipping through the bare branches of the fruit trees adorning his front yard, giving the eerie appearance of some sort of victory dance. Despite the conditions, Greg didn’t feel the least bit cold. He thought it strange that the wind driven ice no longer had any effect on his bare face or exposed ears. He worried about frostbite.
Once inside, he removed his coat and hung it in the hall closet. He called out to Rhonda but received no answer. He thought he heard whimpering coming from Jamie’s room at the top of the stairs. Quietly making his way up, he made out the unmistakable weeping of his little girl and the comforting voice of his wife. Greg glanced in Jamie’s room and saw Rhonda gently rocking Jamie in her arms, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. We’ll reschedule your party when the weather is better. Then all of your friends will be able to come and you’ll have so much more fun.” It was a tender moment and Greg did not want to disturb their time together so he quietly turned and made his way back down the stairs.
Seated in his favorite leather recliner, he browsed through the newspaper. Several minutes passed before he called up to Rhonda again. She still didn’t answer. He was getting out of his chair to go back upstairs when the door bell rang. “I’ll get it!” he called out. But Rhonda was already bounding down the stairs. He came up behind her as she opened the door.
Standing on the doorstep in the freezing weather were two uniformed police officers. “Excuse me, Ma’am. Is this the Greg Richardson residence?”
“Yes. I’m Rhonda Richardson. What can I do for you?”
“We’re terribly sorry to come here like this, but could you tell us if your husband drives a white sub compact car?”
Greg wondered why the officers weren’t directing their questions to him. He realized the truck driver must have filed some sort of complaint against him. He was about to warn Rhonda to be cautious with her answers when he noticed the look of panic creeping across her face.
“Yes, Greg drives a white Plymouth Neon. Why do you ask?” Greg could clearly see the fear that flashed in her eyes.
He reached out his hand to place it on her shoulder to comfort and reassure her. The officer speaking to her did the same thing at the exact same moment. Greg’s hand landed on the officers, but Greg did not feel the man’s hand under his. He felt nothing.
“I’m afraid your husband was involved in a vehicular accident about a half hour ago. He turned in front of semi truck and the driver was unable to avoid the collision. The emergency crews are still working to free his body from the wreckage. Mrs. Richardson, the coroner has already confirmed your husband did not survive.”
The officer paused as he attempted to maintain his composure. “We were able to remove these personal affects from the car before we left.” He turned to the second officer who handed him a briefcase and a large package, wrapped in blue metallic gift wrap and a large red ribbon and bow. The corners of the box were crushed and it was lightly spattered with blood.
Greg watched as Rhonda swooned and collapsed to the floor. He reached out his arms to catch her, but she passed through them as if they weren’t even there. He saw her crumple to the floor and heard the howling wind laugh once more.
Greg Richardson recoiled from the cold as he stepped from his office building into the blustery twilight. The wind, an agent of the winter storm that seemed intent on derailing Greg’s plans for the evening, began its savage attack.
At 6:15 that morning, he had stepped into the morning air to find it cold, but tolerable. There had been no breeze and the moon and stars had still been visible in the cloudless sky. If he had listened to the weather report, he would have been forewarned this winter storm, already labeled, ‘a killer,’ was going to pass through during the day, dropping the temperature to single digits with the cold being compounded by a stiff breeze.
As he made his way to his car, that ‘stiff breeze’ was driving the sleet, causing it to slice into his skin. He pulled up the collar of his coat, jammed his hands deeper into his pockets, and picked his way through the few cars left in the parking lot.
He slipped several times along the way, almost falling once. The wind caused his eyes to water, his exposed skin to hurt, and made it difficult for him to catch his breath. Arriving at the car, he saw it covered in ice. Attempting to unlock the door, his fingers quickly became numb and he dropped his keys. The cruel wind seemed to mock his plight.
Once inside the car, he turned the key in the ignition. Protesting, the engine reluctantly started. Turning on the defroster and cranking the fan to high, Greg was greeted with another icy blast, one that rivaled the wind from outside. It was if the storm had the capacity to invade the safety of his sanctuary. Opening the car door to another onslaught of winter’s breath, he stepped back outside to chip the ice off the windows. Unprepared for the frigid weather, he found himself scraping the ice without the protection of gloves. He tried pulling the sleeve of his coat down over his hand but that pulled the collar away from his neck and face, exposing them to the icy assault. His hands were becoming so cold he could barely curl his fingers around the grip of the scraper.
Greg cursed to himself. Not only was he exceedingly cold, but this unexpected delay was going to make him late for Jamie’s birthday party. Jamie was daddy’s little girl.
He recalled the first time he held her. Rhonda, his wife, told him he was helplessly wrapped around Jamie’s finger from that moment on. And she was right. In the backseat of the car was a large box wrapped in bright metallic blue gift paper, tied together with a thick ribbon culminating in a seven inch bow. Inside the box was the life size baby doll that Jamie had been begging for. Rhonda had said it was too expensive but Greg disagreed. He couldn’t wait to see Jamie’s face when she opened this present. “This storm isn’t going to destroy this year’s birthday surprise,” Greg thought to himself. The wind shrieked as if laughing at his naivety.
He battled the ice on the windows, creating small portals through which he hoped to see well enough to begin his journey home – to Rhonda, Jamie, and warmth. Back inside the car, Greg cautiously backed out of his parking space. He was alarmed to feel the car slipping on the ice the moment he touched his brakes, despite the fact he was moving exceedingly slow. He hoped once he was out of the parking lot he would find the roads in better condition. He didn’t. Instead, he passed several cars which had skidded off the roadway. More than once he felt his own car slide on the ice. Each time, he had managed to regain control.
Shivering from the cold, he alternated his hands on the steering wheel, driving with one while sitting on the other. As he traded hands, he glanced at his watch. Greg calculated he could make it home in time for Jamie’s birthday dinner. The weather may have succeeded in foiling plans for Jamie’s party but he wasn’t about to allow it to keep him from his family on this special night. He increased his speed by a couple of miles per hour. The car fish tailed, but Greg was able to keep it on the road.
The car just wasn’t getting any warmer. Fortunately, as if making a concession due to his resolve, the sleet from the storm ceased. Greg began to daydream of wrapping himself in a blanket and sitting with Jamie on his lap before the fireplace. He relished the thought of the heat radiating through his body. Caught up in his daydream, he wasn’t paying attention to his driving. He was startled back to reality when he saw the turn for his subdivision just a few hundred feet ahead.
He immediately lifted his foot off the accelerator and tapped the brakes. Greg could feel the tires skimming over the ice coated surface of the roadway. He knew he was going too fast but gauged he could still make the turn. He cut the wheel to the left but the forward momentum caused the vehicle to slide into the lane of oncoming traffic. As he struggled to gain control of the car he heard the scream of the artic wind outside, amazed at how much it sounded like a devilish howl of delight.
Though his heart was racing, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Greg heard the blare of an air horn and looked up in time to see the headlights and massive grill of an oncoming semi truck. He could see the truck beginning to jack-knife, read the name of the truck manufacturer predominately displayed at the top of the grill and the name of the trucking company on the wind deflector over the cab. He could also see the frenzied face of the driver, his disheveled hair and stubby beard. Most notable was the fear in the man’s eyes. Greg squeezed his own eyes shut and raised his arms to shield his face as he braced for the impact.
The expected pain did not come. He did not hear a crash or the scream of ripping metal. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he saw his car headed for an embankment. He quickly grabbed the steering wheel and regained control of the car. Glancing in his rear view mirror he saw the semi had managed to straighten itself out and was still headed down the highway. Greg didn’t have a clue how he had managed to avoid being run over by the big rig. It seemed an impossibility. His heart was still racing and his hands shook. He stopped the car and took a few minutes to compose himself. He noticed he was no longer cold despite the fact the storm continued to rage outside. He chalked it up to the rush of adrenaline. Greg put the car in gear and continued on his way.
He parked in the driveway and jogged up the sidewalk to the front door. The weather was continuing to deteriorate. The sleet had resumed and the wind was whipping through the bare branches of the fruit trees adorning his front yard, giving the eerie appearance of some sort of victory dance. Despite the conditions, Greg didn’t feel the least bit cold. He thought it strange that the wind driven ice no longer had any effect on his bare face or exposed ears. He worried about frostbite.
Once inside, he removed his coat and hung it in the hall closet. He called out to Rhonda but received no answer. He thought he heard whimpering coming from Jamie’s room at the top of the stairs. Quietly making his way up, he made out the unmistakable weeping of his little girl and the comforting voice of his wife. Greg glanced in Jamie’s room and saw Rhonda gently rocking Jamie in her arms, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. We’ll reschedule your party when the weather is better. Then all of your friends will be able to come and you’ll have so much more fun.” It was a tender moment and Greg did not want to disturb their time together so he quietly turned and made his way back down the stairs.
Seated in his favorite leather recliner, he browsed through the newspaper. Several minutes passed before he called up to Rhonda again. She still didn’t answer. He was getting out of his chair to go back upstairs when the door bell rang. “I’ll get it!” he called out. But Rhonda was already bounding down the stairs. He came up behind her as she opened the door.
Standing on the doorstep in the freezing weather were two uniformed police officers. “Excuse me, Ma’am. Is this the Greg Richardson residence?”
“Yes. I’m Rhonda Richardson. What can I do for you?”
“We’re terribly sorry to come here like this, but could you tell us if your husband drives a white sub compact car?”
Greg wondered why the officers weren’t directing their questions to him. He realized the truck driver must have filed some sort of complaint against him. He was about to warn Rhonda to be cautious with her answers when he noticed the look of panic creeping across her face.
“Yes, Greg drives a white Plymouth Neon. Why do you ask?” Greg could clearly see the fear that flashed in her eyes.
He reached out his hand to place it on her shoulder to comfort and reassure her. The officer speaking to her did the same thing at the exact same moment. Greg’s hand landed on the officers, but Greg did not feel the man’s hand under his. He felt nothing.
“I’m afraid your husband was involved in a vehicular accident about a half hour ago. He turned in front of semi truck and the driver was unable to avoid the collision. The emergency crews are still working to free his body from the wreckage. Mrs. Richardson, the coroner has already confirmed your husband did not survive.”
The officer paused as he attempted to maintain his composure. “We were able to remove these personal affects from the car before we left.” He turned to the second officer who handed him a briefcase and a large package, wrapped in blue metallic gift wrap and a large red ribbon and bow. The corners of the box were crushed and it was lightly spattered with blood.
Greg watched as Rhonda swooned and collapsed to the floor. He reached out his arms to catch her, but she passed through them as if they weren’t even there. He saw her crumple to the floor and heard the howling wind laugh once more.