Brianna Walker

The semi pulled out onto the road with a big puff of smoke and rubber as the back axle on the pup trailer locked up. My husband quickly tried to pull off to the side, only to sink into the edge, soft and muddy from the past weeks of rain. The trailers started to lean precariously. He quickly maneuvered the truck back onto the road, dragging the locked tires until he could find a place to safely pull over. Half a mile later he found a wide spot to squeeze in, but not before both tires were mere memories of the rubber that used to define them.

With Les Schwab on the way, my husband and I sat in our service pickup and chatted while the wind whistled through the doors.

“This is definitely not the Hallmark car of last week,” he observed wryly.

Last week while he was delivering a load of citrus to Idaho, he had pulled over at a weigh scale to adjust some of the tarps. The wind had worked loose one end, and it was flapping. He fixed the tarp and was tightening up the straps when he saw a campfire on the other side of the scale house. A bit startled, he also noticed two people sitting near the fire, barely visible in the shadow of the scale house.

Not having ever seen a campfire at a weigh station, he kept glancing around while he checked the rest of the straps on his load. Just as he was finishing and hurrying toward the warmth of the cab, he noticed one of the people was walking up towards him. He suddenly realized just how remote they were. When the man got closer he said his car had broken down and asked to borrow my husband’s phone. My husband looked around the little pullout — there was no car. The man must have seen the skeptical look, for he quickly pointed across the highway and down the hill to an old car parked next to the river.

“Can I call someone for you?” my husband offered instead. The man motioned for his girlfriend to come over. They gave him several numbers to try. None worked. The temperature the last several days had only been in the teens, and even with a heavy coat and gloves, my husband was starting to shiver a bit — although if it was solely from the cold, he wasn’t sure.

Finally the man asked if my husband would come help him start his car. He looked dubiously across the highway. One never wants to turn down a person in need — especially in the snow. But one doesn’t have to watch much of the news to know bad things tend to happen to people in remote places. The car was missing the back window, and they’d taped blankets up to keep warm. They said they’d driven down for a walk, but the car wouldn’t restart.

My husband tried to calm those nagging thoughts. But he wondered why anyone would want to take a walk in single-digit weather — or even take a drive in those temperatures if you were missing your back window? My husband’s neck was prickling by the time they reached the car. At that exact moment, lights flashed at the weigh scales above them. My husband said he’d never been so relieved to see blue and red lights behind him in his life. The sheriff was quickly apprised of the situation and he said he’d take it from there.

As my husband was driving away, he watched the smoke from the campfire circle in his rearview mirror. He was glad that the couple would get help. He was also glad that someone more equipped for the situation was the one to do it. There was something funny about the placement of where the car had died. It was odd that they had shelter, firewood, camp chairs, extra blankets and food, but no phone.

In a Hallmark movie, if a girl is driving in a snowstorm, she’s obviously going to get stuck in a drift; if it’s raining, she’s going to get stuck in the mud; if it’s sunny, the tire will surely blow — all of these things will happen at the most convenient moment that will allow her to fulfill her purpose in the story.

We refer to those manufactured Mercedes malfunctions as “Hallmark cars.” They break down in the most perfect locations, with the exact items they need to meet the love of their life or reconnect with their estranged family.

“I’m not sure what situation they needed to solve, but they were definitely driving a Hallmark car. It was tucked safely off the road, away from traffic. This … ” he gestured glumly at the semi with doubles barely off the road, “is not a Hallmark car. Friday the 13th must have squeezed Hallmark out.” Earlier this morning, before loading the truck, my husband decided to deliver a quick block of hay to the neighbor — and ran the squeeze out of fuel in the middle of the road.

“Don’t be superstitious,” I teased, “nothing will happen on Friday the 13th that couldn’t have happened on Thursday the 12th. Superstition is foolish, childish and irrational.”

I grinned sheepishly as I knocked on the fake wood dash. Life isn’t always wonderful — but I’m sure even Jimmy Stewart would agree that having Les Schwab on speed dial to fix those “Hallmark car moments” with the person you love makes it a wonderful life.