The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [63]
Christmas Eve, and the airports, train depots and bus stations were jammed. Everyone was in a rush to get somewhere, him included. As a sales rep for a Los Angeles–based software company, Matt was a seasoned traveler. And he figured anyone who spent a lot of time in airports would agree: Christmas was the worst. Crying babies, little old ladies, cranky kids—he’d endured it all. Most of it with ill grace.
His boss, Ruth Shroeder, who’d been promoted over him, had handed him this assignment early in the week. She’d purposely sent him to the other side of the country just so he’d know she was in charge. Rub his face in it, so to speak. This could easily have been a wasted trip; no one bought computer software three days before Christmas. Fortunately he’d outfoxed her and made the sale. By rights, he should be celebrating, but he experienced little satisfaction and no sense of triumph.
Ruth had been expecting him to make a fuss, demand that the assignment go to one of the junior sales reps. Matt had merely smiled and reached for the plane tickets. He’d sold the software, but was left feeling that although he’d won the battle, he was destined to lose the war.
And a whole lot more.
Pam, his wife of fifteen years, hadn’t been the least bit understanding about this trip. If ever he’d needed her support it was now, but all she’d done was add to his burden. “Christmas, Matt? You’re leaving three days before Christmas?”
What irritated him most was her complete and total lack of appreciation for his feelings. It wasn’t like he’d asked for this trip or wanted to be away from the family. The fact that Pam had chosen the evening of his departure to start an argument revealed how little she recognized the stress he’d been under since the promotions were announced.
“I already said it couldn’t be helped,” he’d explained calmly as he packed his bag. His words were devoid of emotion, although plenty of it simmered just below the surface. He carefully placed an extra shirt in his bag.
Pam had gone strangely quiet.
“I’ll be home Christmas Eve in time for dinner,” he’d promised, not meeting her eyes. “My flight gets into LAX at four, so I’ll be back here by six.” He spoke briskly, reassuringly.
Silence.
“Come on, Pam, you have to know I don’t like this any better than you do,” he said, and forcefully jerked the zipper on his garment bag closed.
“You’re going to miss Jimmy in the school play.”
He was sorry about that, but there were worse things in life than not seeing his six-year-old son as an elf. “I’ve already talked to him about it, and Jimmy understands.” Even if his wife didn’t.
“What was he supposed to say?” Pam demanded.
Matt’s shrug was philosophical.
“You were away when Rachel had the lead in the Sunday-school program, too.”
Matt frowned, trying to remember missing that. “Rachel was in a Sunday-school program?”
“Three years ago… I see you’ve already forgotten. It broke her heart, but I notice you’ve conveniently let it slip your mind.”
Matt had heard enough. He folded his garment bag over his arm and reached for his coat and briefcase.
“You don’t have anything else to say?” Pam cried as she stormed after him.
“So you can shovel more guilt at me? Do you want me to confess I’m a rotten father? Okay, fine.” His voice gained volume. “Matthew McHugh is a rotten father.”
Pam blinked back tears. Matt longed to hold her, but they’d gone too far for that.
“You aren’t a bad father,” she said after a moment, and his heart softened. A fight now was the last thing either of them needed. He was