The Hardy home was a bustle with activity. His father was struggling to get his tie just right as his mother tried to dress Fenton and herself. Frank went upstairs and quickly got himself ready. After he was presentable, he walked over to check on Joe. But when he opened Joe’s door he was amazed to see Joe in bed. Frank turned the light on and ripped the covers off of his younger brother’s head.

"DON"T!" Joe whined and grabbed for the covers.

"It is time to get ready for church," Frank said. "Mom and Dad are almost ready to go."

"I am not going," Joe said sternly.

"And why not?"

"I don’t feel like it."

Frank sighed. He had tried to understand. He had tried the talking approach, but nothing seemed to work. So he thought he would take the direct approach.

"You know that mother expects for her whole family to be at church on Christmas Eve," Frank sternly pointed out.

But there was no answer from Joe, who had a pillow over his head.

‘FINE! I don’t know what else to do for you. I have tried to get you to feel better and join the living world, but you just go right back into your own little world. IOLA IS GONE! No matter how much you avoid the world, she is not coming back."

"NO DUH FRANK!" Joe yelled back angrily.

"You need to get yourself together. Iola would have NEVER approved of you acting like this. You need to live the life you have," Frank pleaded, pulling the pillow back.

"HOW FRANK? YOU JUST TELL ME HOW! How can you even know what I am going through right now! You have Callie and you are going to be able to hold her and spend Christmas with her. I CAN"T FRANK! How would you feel if it was Callie that was dead and cold in that grave!" Joe snapped back.

"That’s not fair Joe."

"FAIR? FAIR? YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME ABOUT FAIRNESS?" Joe hollered angrily. "I will tell you what is NOT fair. Iola. Iola dead in that cemetery, that is not what is fair. IT SHOULD BE ME IN THERE. I SHOULD BE THE DEAD ONE, RIGHT?"

Frank snapped. "I THANK GOD EVERYDAY THAT IT IS NOT YOU! THAT YOU ARE ALIVE AND WELL."

Joe lay there quietly. "So you are saying that you are glad that it was Iola that died?"

"No Joe. That is not what I meant," Frank said softly, trying to reason with Joe.

"That is what you said."

"JOE!"

"Then answer this question Frank. If it had to be someone, who would you rather it had been? Me or Iola? Huh? What would your answer be?" Joe chided his brother relentlessly. Frank gritted his teeth until he could no longer.

"The truth?" Frank asked as he walked to the door.

"Yes, Frank. The truth."

"I wish at this point that it was ME that went up with the car because seeing you like this is tearing me apart," Frank said as he slammed the door. Tears started to flow down his face and he could not help but feel a little guilty. It was true. He was glad that it was not Joe who died. He just could not bring himself to say it, especially since Iola was his best friend’s sister. It was not that he wished anyone to have been in the explosion, but he was certainly glad it was not his little brother.

He looked up to see his parents, standing in the hallway. His mother was mortified and his father was just waiting for an explanation. But Frank did not have one.

"Joe isn’t going because he is not feeling well. I will be waiting on you downstairs," Frank said as he walked past his parents and on down the stairs. He felt bad that he had lost his cool, but he just could not take it anymore.

But even as the family left for church without Joe, Frank saw that wish as one of many unanswered prayers.

Meanwhile, Joe was snug in his bed, oblivious to what was going on outside. The once fluttering snowflakes had started to come down a lot faster. Soon the streets of Bayport were covered once again and driving became very treacherous. He heard the old grandfather clock strike nine. Rolling over to reposition himself, he kept having visions of Iola. He remembered when he first met Iola. They were both freshmen and he was playing for the football team. Iola picked him over the quarterback that year. It was at that homecoming dance that Joe asked Iola to go steady with him. She gladly agreed. While they had their moments, most of the three years they spent as a couple were joyful. He remembered how good she looked in her red dress at the Valentine’s Day dance and how they left the dance early just to spend some private time alone at the overlook. It was cold, but they kept each other warm until midnight. Tears started to stream down Joe’s face and his lip started to quiver uncontrollably. He felt like the very breath he was taking was burning a hole in his chest. Joe turned over to face the other wall, but the memory of Iola that night would not leave his head. Then there was the explosion. That massive fireball that took her life and left no trace that she ever even existed.

Then Frank’s words came back to haunt him.

Joe couldn’t breath. He had to get out of the house. All of his grief, anger and disgust had all came to a head. Joe was on an emotional overload.

"I know. I will just take a drive. I will take the van out and just drive… as fast as I can… on the back roads. Then I will feel better. I just have to get out of this house… away from those memories," Joe said to himself as he pulled on a pair of jeans and an old blue sweatshirt. Running down the stairs, Joe did not even bother getting a coat. He just grabbed the keys to the van and ran out the door.

Joe put the keys into the ignition, but the van would not respond. He tried again, but the van was not even turning over. He angrily smacked the steering wheel with his fist, his eyes full of rage and hurt.

"I guess you could say that I did learn something from you Joe Hardy," a voice said right beside him.

"Just go away, whoever you are. I don’t want to hear it," Joe called out as he let his head collapse on the steering wheel, his eyes closed.

"Sorry, but I am not going anywhere and neither are you!" the voice taunted. That voice… where have I heard that voice Joe thought. IOLA!

Joe turned his head and peeked over at the passenger seat. He could not believe what he saw. There sitting there as plain as day was Iola, dressed in her jeans and favorite old jersey. Her hair was in a ponytail and she looked as healthy as she ever did.

"Iola?" Joe finally said.

"Who else silly!"

"What are you doing here? I mean you are… you know…" Joe stammered, his eyes wide with shock. He didn't know how to feel at the time.

"Dead? It is okay to say that Joe because I am dead," Iola said with an even tone. "I am here because you are going to get yourself into a big mess if you don’t listen to me."

"Oh Iola," Joe said tearfully. He started to reach out to touch her, but he felt nothing but air.

"Joe, you have to listen to me and trust me on this one. I asked one of my buddies up there for this favor and I owe a lot for it, so pay attention. Tonight, you are going to be visited by three spirits. One at the strike of midnight, then the other at the strike of one and the last one at the strike of two. Please listen to what they have to say Joe. It is very important that you listen to them," Iola said softly.

"Aren’t you getting mixed up with that Dickens guys story Iola?" Joe quipped.