I didn't know what was happening at my father's house.
I was still at the base, trying to get through the remaining responsibilities after the Christmas Eve rescue.
My phone was quiet.
I hadn't called him.
He hadn't called me.
As far as I knew, the holiday had passed exactly as he wanted.
Jason had his celebration.
His wife's parents had attended.
My father had avoided the possibility of anyone asking questions about my military career.
I imagined that he was satisfied.
I didn't know that the evening was about to become uncomfortable for a completely different reason.
At some point, the rescue footage had made its way into the national news.
The report included the overturned charter bus.
It showed emergency responders working through the blizzard.
It showed passengers being helped out.
And it included footage of the fuel tanker.
The same tanker where Walt had been trapped.
The same cab I had climbed into while the state trooper held the door steady.
I hadn't watched the broadcast.
I didn't even know exactly when it was going to air.
But my father was about to see it.
I later learned that his guests were still gathered at the house.
The Christmas dinner had gone ahead.
The table had been filled.
Jason had been there with his wife.
Her parents had been among the guests.
My father had probably spent the evening doing exactly what he had planned.
There had been no uncomfortable questions about me.
No discussion about my deployments.
No conversation comparing my career with Jason's promotion.
At least, that was what he had wanted.
Then someone turned on the national news.
I could imagine the room.
The dishes had probably been cleared.
The wineglass was still on the table.
People were sitting together, listening to the television while the evening moved toward its end.
The news anchor introduced a report about the dangerous Christmas Eve accident in Colorado.
The screen changed.
The overturned bus appeared.
Then came images of the emergency response.
The footage showed people being helped out through the exposed side of the vehicle.
Children were carried away from the wreck.
Snow covered the roadway.
The report explained that the accident had involved a charter bus, a pickup truck, and a fuel tanker.
Nearly forty passengers had been aboard the bus.
The situation had been extremely dangerous.
The camera showed the emergency teams working through the storm.
Then the tanker appeared.
My father was watching.
I didn't know what he was thinking at that moment.
Perhaps he recognized the location first.
Perhaps he simply listened to the report.
Then the footage moved closer.
A soldier appeared on the screen.
My father knew that uniform.
He knew that face.
It was me.
The daughter he had asked not to come home.
The daughter whose military career he didn't want becoming a subject at his Christmas dinner.
There I was, working beside the damaged tanker.
The camera showed me near the cab.
It showed the team helping Walt out.
The report described how the driver had been trapped and how responders had managed to remove him before the tanker shifted farther toward the shoulder.
My father had wanted a quiet evening.
Instead, the television was showing exactly where I had spent Christmas Eve.
And the guests were watching.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The Anchor Spoke My Name, and the Wineglass in My Father’s Hand Fell Before Anyone Could Ask Him a Question
Three Nights Before Christmas, My Father Made One Phone Call That Changed Where I Would Spend the Holiday
Part 17 of 20
