The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [70]
The moment he jumped onto the depot platform, a sudden blast of cold jolted him. He hunched his shoulders and kept his face down as he struggled against the icy wind to open the door. Not surprisingly, the inside of the depot was as quaint as the outside, with long rows of hardwood benches and a potbellied stove.
The stationmaster looked up as people started to flood inside. Apparently he handled the sale of tickets and whatever was available to buy—a few snack items, magazines, postcards and such. Three phones were positioned against the far wall. One bore an Out of Order sign.
A long, straggling line had already formed in front of the two working phones. Len counted ten people ahead of him and figured he had a fair chance of getting a vehicle until he remembered a friend telling him you needed to be twenty-five to rent one. His hopes sagged yet again. He was a year too young. Discouraged, he dropped out of line.
His nerves twisting, he sat on a hard wooden bench away from the others. It was hopeless. Useless to try. Even if the train had arrived anywhere close to its scheduled time, there was no guarantee he’d actually have a seat on the plane. Because of the storm, the airline had tried to get him on another flight leaving four hours later. But he was flying standby, which meant the only way he would get on board was if someone didn’t show.
The reservation clerk had been understanding and claimed it wasn’t as unlikely as it sounded. According to her, there were generally one or two seats available and he was at the top of the list. It had all sounded promising—and now this.
Cathy Norris sat down on the bench next to him. “I guess I should call my daughter,” she said.
Len didn’t know if she was speaking to him or not. “I suppose I should phone home, too.”
The line for the phones had dwindled to five people. Len rejoined the group and impatiently waited his turn. It seemed to take forever before he was finally able to use the phone. He thought about contacting his parents, but he’d already spoken to them once that day.
Placing the charges on a calling card, he dialed Amy’s number and prayed she was at home.
“Hello.”
His relief at the sound of her soft drawl was enough to make him want to weep. “Hello, Amy Sue.”
“Len?” Her voice rose with happy excitement. “Where are you?” Not giving him time to answer, she continued, “Your mother phoned earlier and said your flight had been canceled. Are you in Boston?”
“Abbott, New Hampshire.”
“New Hampshire? Len, for mercy’s sake, what are you doing there?”
“I wish I knew. The airline put us on a train.”
“Your mother told me about the storm and how they closed the airport and everything,” she said. He was distracted by the people lining up behind him, but her voice sounded…sad, almost as if she knew in advance what he was about to tell her.
“There’s something wrong with the tracks. It’s going to take a couple of hours to repair, so there’s no telling what time I’ll get to Boston.”
“Oh, Len.” Her voice was more breath than sound. “You’re not going to make it home for Christmas, are you?”
He opened his mouth to insist otherwise, but the truth was, he no longer knew. “I want to, but…”
He could feel Amy’s disappointment vibrate through the telephone wire. It was agony to be so far away and not able to hold her. “I’ll do whatever I can to get to the airport on time, but there’s no guarantee. You know I’d do anything to be with you right now, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Amy?” Talking with a lineup of people waiting to use the phone was a little inhibiting.
“I’ll get in touch with your parents and let them know,” she whispered, and her voice broke.
“I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything,” he said. Then, despite a dozen people eavesdropping on his conversation, he added, “I love you, Amy.”
Unfortunately the line was already dead.
He should phone home, Matt decided, and even waited his turn in the long line that formed outside the telephone booth. He