The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [67]
Memories… Cathy couldn’t face them this Christmas. All she could do was hope they brought her comfort in the uncertain future.
Since he’d retired from the local telephone company four years ago, Ron had used his spare time puttering around his wood shop, building toys for the grandchildren. Troy and Peter had been thrilled with the race cars he’d fashioned from blocks of wood. Ron had taken such pride in those small cars. Angela and Lindsay had adored the dollhouse he’d carefully designed and built for them. The end table he’d started for Cathy remained in his wood shop unfinished. He’d longed to complete it, but the chemotherapy had drained away his strength, and in the months that followed, it was enough for him just to make it through the day.
Ron wouldn’t be pleased with her, Cathy mused. She’d made only a token effort to decorate this year. No tree, no lights on the house. She’d set out a few things—a crèche on the fireplace mantel and the two cotton snowmen Madeline had made as a craft project years ago when she was in Girl Scouts.
Actually Cathy couldn’t see the point of doing more. Not when it hurt so much. And not when she’d be leaving, anyway. She did manage to bake Madeline’s favorite shortbread cookies, but that had been the only real baking she’d done.
Resting her head against the seat, Cathy closed her eyes. She tried to let the sound of the train lull her to sleep, but memories refused to leave her alone, flashing through her mind in quick succession. The sights and sounds of the holidays in happier times. Large family dinners, the house filled with the scents of mincemeat pies and sage dressing. Music, too; there was always plenty of music.
Madeline played the piano and Gloria, their oldest, had been gifted with a wonderful voice. Father and daughter had sung Christmas carols together, their voices blending beautifully. At least one of their three daughters had made it home for the holidays every year. But Gloria couldn’t afford the airfare so soon after the funeral, and Jeannie was living in New York now and it was hard for her to take time off from her job, especially when she’d already asked for two weeks in order to be with her father at the end. Madeline would have come, Cathy guessed, if she’d asked, but she’d never do that.
Dear God, she prayed, just get me through the next three days.
Matthew McHugh’s patience was shot. The cranky baby from the station was in the same car and hadn’t stopped fussing yet. Matthew’s head throbbed with the beginnings of a killer headache. His argument with Pam played over and over in his mind until it was so distorted he didn’t know what to think anymore.
If Pam was upset about his being gone this close to Christmas, he could only imagine what she’d say when he arrived home hours later than scheduled.
He could picture it now. His parents, Pam and the kids, all waiting for him to pull into the driveway so they could eat dinner. When he did walk in the house, they’d glare at him as though he’d stayed away just to inconvenience them. He’d seen it happen before. As though he were somehow personally responsible for weather conditions and canceled flights.
As for Pam’s complaining about having to do all the shopping and cooking herself, he didn’t understand it. If she preferred, they could order one of those take-out Christmas dinners from the local diner. She didn’t need to do all this work if she didn’t want to. The choice was hers. He couldn’t care less if the jellied salad was homemade or came out of a container. Pam was putting pressure on herself.
The same thing applied to inviting his parents for Christmas Eve dinner. He wasn’t the one who’d asked them. That had been Pam’s doing. His mom and dad lived less than an hour away;