Chapter 7 - THE UNEXPECTED GUESTS
By 6:15 PM, the snow outside was coming down in thick, blinding sheets. The wind blew against the tall glass windows of the fire hall, but inside, the room was at peak celebration. Someone had turned on the old radio console in the corner, and Christmas carols drifted over the warm room.
Nan was leaning over the big commercial stove, her face flushed from the heat, stirring the last batch of rich turkey gravy with a long wooden spoon.
Suddenly, the heavy metal side door of the fire hall rattled and swung open, letting in a swirl of freezing wind and white snow.
"Grandma!"
A small voice shouted over the din of the room.
Nan froze.
Before she could turn around, a little pair of arms threw themselves around her knees, hugging her tight. It was seven-year-old Sam, his snow boots dripping onto the linoleum floor, his winter coat cold to the touch.
Nan nearly dropped her spoon. "Sam?"
She looked up. Standing right behind the boy was Greg. Snow was dusted thick over his shoulders and hair. His cheeks were bright red from the freezing cold.
And behind Greg, standing in the open doorway as the snow swirled around her, was Amber.
Amber was wearing her sleek cream-colored wool coat, buttoned tightly to her chin. Her hair was slightly disheveled from the wind. She stopped right at the threshold, her wide eyes taking in the entire room.
She looked at the long tables crowded with people. She saw Mr. Kowalski laughing at the head table, sitting in front of the hand-ironed red linen tablecloth. She saw the night nurses in their scrubs, the children playing with wooden toys, the snowplow drivers eating hot pie, and the three large roasters steaming on the kitchen counters.
She saw the warmth, the life, the absolute, unscripted joy of a room full of people who had nowhere else to go—and had found a home here.
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Amber looked at the plaque on the wall: OAK CREEK VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT - LEONARD MILLER, 26 YEARS OF SERVICE.
Then, Amber looked at Nan.
