The Perfect Holiday: A 2-in-1 Collection

One

Cathy Thompson’s long nails beat an impatient tempo against the Formica countertop as she waited.

“Yes, I’ll hold,” she said, and breathed heavily into the telephone receiver. Her deep gray eyes clashed with Linda Ericson’s, who sat at the table, a large newspaper spread over the top.

“Any luck?” Linda whispered.

A voice at the other end of the line interrupted Cathy’s response, and she straightened, her fingers tightening around the phone. “This is Cathy Thompson again.” The inflection of her voice conveyed the irritation. “Would it be possible to speak to Grady Jones?”

“Grady’s in the air,” a gruff male voice informed her. “Be with you in a minute, Harry,” he said to someone who was obviously waiting in his office.

“When do you expect him back?” Cathy asked in her most businesslike voice.

A lengthy pause followed, and Cathy could hear the rustle of paper in the background. “Thursday afternoon. Will you hold the line a minute?”

Cathy’s sigh was full of exasperation. Cradling the telephone receiver against her shoulder with the side of her head, she pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. As she looked up she happened to catch a glimpse of the school play yard. The sights and sounds of the last recess of the day drifted in through the open window. Her gray eyes softened as she unconsciously sought Angela Jones. A frown creased her narrow forehead as she discovered the pigtailed first-­grader leaning against the play shed, watching the other girls jump rope. Angela always seemed to be on the outside looking in.

“Do you want to leave a message?” The harried male voice came back on the phone.

“I’ve already left four,” Cathy snapped.

“Listen, all I do is take the message. If Grady doesn’t return your call, it’s not my fault.” He hesitated. “Are you the gal from the school again?”

“Yes, I’m the gal from the school again.” She echoed his words, doing her best to disguise her frustration.

“All I can tell you is that Grady is flying on assignment. I’ll tell him you phoned.”

The man wasn’t to blame if Grady Jones didn’t wish to speak to her, and Cathy’s reply was less agitated. “Please do that.” Gently, she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

“Well?” Linda looked up expectantly.

“No luck. It’s the same as before. They’ll take a message, but he won’t be back until Thursday afternoon.”

“What are you going to do?” Linda asked, concern knitting her brow.

Cathy shrugged. “Maybe it’s time I personally introduced myself to the elusive Grady Jones. He’ll have a hard time not talking to me if I show up at the airfield.” Cathy had done her research well. The school information card had been sketchy. The card listed the father’s occupation as pilot, employed by Alaska Cargo Company. No business phone number had been given, and when Cathy looked it up in the yellow pages she found a large commercial ad. The fine print at the bottom of the advertisement stated that Grady Jones was the company owner. The information card had stated that Angela had no mother. Cathy had found the comment an interesting one. How could any child not have a mother? It could be that Angela’s parents were divorced. What Cathy couldn’t understand was how someone as unconcerned and uncaring as Grady Jones could have been awarded custody of the child. Cathy had tried on several occasions to contact him at home, but the only adult she had ever reached was a housekeeper, who promised to give him a message. Cathy had stopped counting the times she’d left messages for him.

“After all the trouble you’ve gone through, I’d say that’s about the only way you’re going to get his attention.”

“Believe me, I won’t have any problem getting his attention. His ears will burn for a week.”

“Cathy . . .” Linda warned, her large brown eyes worried. “Alienating Angela’s father won’t help her.”

“I know, but I can’t help but dislike the man.”

The bell rang, indicating the end of recess. Emitting a soft groan, Cathy turned around. “Back to the salt mine.” It had been another break wasted trying to contact a parent. Next time she’d pour herself a cup of coffee before making a phone call.

“Don’t go yet,” Linda called. “I want to read you this personal.”

“Linda,” Cathy said with a sigh, but she knew better than to argue. Her friend would insist that she listen anyway. “All right, but be quick about it.”

Rustling the paper, Linda sat upright and read. “Sincere gentleman seeking sincere lady for sincere ­relationship—­”

“Only sincere women need apply,” Cathy interrupted. “Dull, Linda, dull. If you insist on playing matchmaker, the least you can do is find someone with a little personality.”

“Okay, here’s another.” She glanced up. “Man with large house, large cat, six kids. Cat not enough.”

“Six kids.” Cathy choked.

“That says a lot,” Linda defended. “At least he’s honest and forthright. He must like animals.”

“That would make Peterkins happy, but unfortunately I’m the one who has to be satisfied. Six kids are out.”

The shuffle of feet could be heard above the laughter as the children filed into the school building. The afternoon could no longer be delayed.

Two hours later, Cathy was about to unlock the door to her rental house on Lacey Street. She had rented a home so that Peterkins, her black cocker spaniel, would have a yard in which to roam. Steve had given her Peterkins, and the dog was probably the only good thing she had left of their relationship. In the beginning she had resented the fact that Peterkins had been a gift from Steve. Every time she looked at her floppy-­eared friend she was reminded of a soured relationship. But Peterkins wasn’t to be blamed, and there was far more than a dog to remind her of Steve. It was funny how many of her thoughts he continued to dominate. Yet it was totally, completely over. Steve was a married man. A knot twisted the sensitive muscles of her stomach. He’d been married for five months and six days. Not that she was counting. Bravely, she had attended the wedding, had been a member of the wedding party. The maid of honor. Her sister wouldn’t hear of anything else.

Exhaling a quivering breath, Cathy turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Immediately Peterkins was there, excitedly jumping up and down. When she crouched down to pet him, he fervently lapped her hand with his moist tongue.

“Let me relax a minute, and we’ll go for our walk,” Cathy told him. Peterkins knew her moods better than anyone, Cathy mused while she changed clothes and sorted through the mail. Peeling an orange, she sat at the small circular table in her kitchen and leaned against the back of the chair.

Memories of Steve again ruled her thoughts. They’d quarreled. It wasn’t any major disagreement; she couldn’t even recall what it was that had sparked the argument. But something was different this time. Cathy had decided she was tired of always being the one to give in, apologize, change. They had talked about getting married on several occasions. If their relationship was to be a lasting one, Cathy had decided, then Steve must learn to do his share of giving. It would be a good lesson for him to admit he was wrong for once.

She pulled each of the orange segments apart and set them on the napkin, fingering each one. Her appetite was gone, and she scooted the afternoon snack away.

The whole idea of teaching Steve a lesson had been immature and foolish. Cathy realized that now. She gave a short laugh. What a wonderful thing hindsight was.

When Steve began dating her sister, MaryAnne, Cathy had been amused. He wasn’t fooling her; she knew exactly what he was doing. She had taken great pride in meeting him at the door when he came to pick up MaryAnne for a date. With a gay smile, she had proven she wasn’t in the least bit jealous. He could date whom he liked. Twice she had arranged dates at the same time MaryAnne and Steve would be going out so that they would all meet at the apartment she shared with her sister.