Season's Meetings

by Amy Dunne

Trying not to salivate unattractive pools of drool in front of Holly, Catherine opened the final box. The warming scent of ginger filled the air. Reasonably large and varying shapes of golden gingerbread were attractively displayed in sections.

  “These have been a best seller. Build your own gingerbread house, with the parts all ready to assemble. There’s icing in the tub to use as glue. I did consider supplying sweets and chocolate to decorate with, but it would’ve been too costly and everyone’s tastes differ.”

  Catherine lifted out a folded sheet of paper. Instructions on how to assemble the house and suggestions on different ways to decorate it were listed.

  “Florence gave me the idea. The last time I saw her she badgered me into helping her make a gingerbread house like the one in Hansel and Gretel. I figured leading up to Christmas it was worth a shot, and they’ve flown off the shelf.”

  They had water and enough naughty food to cause them to slip into a glucose-induced coma. But their real chance of survival depended on how long the storm lasted and the possibility of being rescued before night descended. In subzero temperatures the likelihood of them maintaining enough heat was wishful at best. They had a couple of hours until things started to get seriously dangerous.

  Catherine felt a little queasy from the hit to her head, but her appetite was still very much alive and kicking. Not wanting to eat away the opportunity of Holly and Florence making the gingerbread house together, she succumbed instead to the temptation of a brownie.

  The brownie was quite possibly the most deliciously decadent item of food ever to pass her lips. A loud groan of pleasure escaped her, but she was too caught up in the chocolate-fuelled orgasmic bliss to care.

  Savouring the last mouthful, she sucked the tips of her fingers so as not to waste any. When she opened her eyes, Holly was watching her with an unreadable expression. A gentle flush coloured her cheeks and her eyebrows were arched high.

  “That w-was incredible,” Catherine said. Now suitably sated, a warm snugly feeling settled over her.

  “No kidding,” Holly said, sounding a little flustered. “Catherine, I want to apologise. This whole situation is my fault. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

  “Holly—”

  “If we’d continued driving last night or skipped breakfast this morning like you’d suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And using the coin to decide was childish. So, yeah, I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

  “There’s no b-blame. We’re in this together.”

  Holly gave a nod, but her shoulders sagged, as if still burdened by guilt. “You know what I regret—apart from everything?” She gave a weak laugh.

  Catherine shrugged, reluctant to speak unless she had to.

  “I regret not joining you for dinner last night in the restaurant. And I owe you another apology,” Holly said quietly. She picked some nonexistent fluff off the jumper. “The excuse about being tired was a lie. Don’t get me wrong, I was tired, but the real reason I didn’t join you was because of my stupid pride.”

  Catherine was confused and wasn’t sure if it was because of the whack to her head or because Holly’s words were like riddles. She suffered a little sting of hurt, too, because she’d been looking forward to the meal and Holly had lied to her. But excitement wriggled in her belly because Holly had admitted she regretted the dinner that didn’t happen.

  “I didn’t join you because I couldn’t afford to. With the business still in its first year, cash is a real sore point for me. After I’ve paid my personal bills, the rest of my money goes straight back into the business. That’s why I couldn’t afford to go away with my family for Christmas and why I didn’t join you for a meal last night.”

  “I would—”

  “I know you would have offered to pay, Catherine.” Holly gave a wan smile. “But I wouldn’t have allowed myself to accept. I know from the outside it must seem silly, but honestly, I find it humiliating. I hate not being able to pay my own way. Especially when I’m trying to impress a gorgeous woman.”

  Gorgeous woman? Catherine’s cheeks warmed at the compliment, and her stomach did a somersault.

  “My regret is, I missed the perfect opportunity to get to know you. And I can’t help but wonder what might have happened after the meal was over.”

  The car was getting hotter. Catherine might have to remove some layers. How was it possible for a few words to change the dynamic of their situation? One minute, she was contemplating their untimely demise, and a minute later, her senses were on fire and she was horny as hell.

  “I want to get to know you better.” Holly edged closer.

  “O-okay,” Catherine said in a rasp.

  “Can I ask you some questions?”

  Catherine’s heart sank. Questions? That meant speaking, which in turn meant stuttering. Her demeanour went from hot and bothered to just plain bothered. Holly watched her with those eyes that seemed to see right into her soul, her focus intense as she waited for Catherine’s response.

  Catherine realised Holly was serious about wanting to get to know her, and although having her do so in the biblical sense would’ve been her first choice, getting to know her through talking was still more interest than anyone had showed in years. “O-okay,” Catherine said. She moved around trying to find a comfortable position but failed. She was overly aware of how cramped her body was. Her lower back ached, her backside was numb, and her legs craved space to stretch.

  “Why do you hate Christmas?”

  There it was. Bam! The question she dreaded more than any other and it had to be the first one out of Holly’s mouth. Talk about starting as you mean to go on. “It’s a long s-story,” Catherine said, hoping with every fibre of her being that Holly would drop the subject.

  “Well, we have plenty of time.”

  “It’s depressing.”

  Holly shrugged. “If you really don’t want to tell me—”

  “All right.” Catherine gave up. Focusing on the snow-covered windscreen, she took a deep breath. “When I was nine, my parents went out for an evening. They died in a car crash on their way home. It was early December.”

  Holly gasped, but she remained silent.

  “One m-minute they were there, and the next…” Catherine shrugged. “I wrote over twenty letters to Santa. I demanded Granny Birch take me to see all of the Santas at the different stores.” Poor Granny Birch. She’d had so much on her shoulders, making all of the arrangements to bury her only son and his wife, taking care of Catherine, and still trying to keep the magic of Christmas alive—all while her heart was breaking.

  “I’d wait my turn, s-sit on their laps, and when they asked me what I wanted, my answer was always the same. I wanted my mum and dad back.” The memory of being quickly hurried along, given a cheap crappy toy and a pat on the head, and then being sent away remained fresh in her mind. As were the memories of Granny Birch’s tears and the many times she’d sat Catherine down and tried to explain Santa couldn’t give her what she wanted.

  “Christmas Eve came, and I was certain my wish would be granted. I’d been a good girl all year, and Christmas was a time for miracles. I was convinced, come Christmas morning, I’d wake up and my parents would be home. I couldn’t wait to hug and kiss them, smell my mum’s perfume, and hear their voices. And I couldn’t wait to see Granny Birch’s face, knowing all of her sadness would be gone.”

  Holly wiped away tears as she tried to keep her sniffles quiet.

  Catherine faltered. It was clear what had happened—hadn’t happened. Normally, she’d say the words invoking no emotion to their meaning. And yet now, the pain she’d kept bottled up and buried deep inside for so many years was gushing out. “I went to bed at five in the afternoon and Granny Birch gave up trying to argue with me. I woke after seven on Christmas Day. I rushed downstairs—”

  She couldn’t do it.

  She couldn’t speak the words.

  The memories were too painful and yet, in her mind’s eye, she relived i
t all.

  The sound of her feet as she bounded down the wooden stairs. Seeing the mince pie had been eaten and the milk had been drunk only added to her excitement. Santa had come. The green tree with vibrant flashing lights and the many colourful presents placed beneath its branches. The fragrance of pine mixed with the smell of the turkey cooking in the oven. The cold as it nipped at her bare feet. The crushing heartbreak as she ran from room to room calling excitedly for her parents. The agonising, gradual realisation that Christmas miracles and Santa were nothing more than childish lies.

  The knowledge of her parents’ deaths was the only stark truth remaining.

  Granny Birch’s strong arms wrapping around her waist, her voice trying to soothe through her own disjointed sobs. The horrendous animal-like sound filling the house, which turned out to be Catherine’s own screams.

  “I’m…so sorry, Catherine,” Holly said. She pulled Catherine into her arms.

  Unable to speak, Catherine allowed herself to be held. She didn’t wipe her tears or try to silence her cries. The pain was as fresh as that Christmas morning long ago, and yet she needed to let it out. As she sobbed, she was aware Holly didn’t speak or shush her. Instead, Holly wrapped her arms around Catherine and rested her chin on top of her head, her own tears flowing all the while.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Catherine ended their embrace not because she felt embarrassed but because her body was seizing up. Mentally cursing the limited legroom and claustrophobic confines of the car, she pulled away from Holly and immediately mourned the loss of warmth and comfort. She’d never allowed herself to be comforted by a stranger before, but then she’d never broken down either. Holly seemed to be the catalyst for a number of dramatic personal changes.

  Exhausted but feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted, Catherine swallowed, trying to dislodge the hot lump of emotion stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry for—”

  “Don’t you dare apologise for what happened. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” Holly said. She puffed out her chest as if preparing for an argument.

  “Actually, I’m s-sorry for the snot and mascara stains on your jumper.” Catherine watched as Holly looked down. There was a patch of tear-stained mascara on the left side of Holly’s chest above the mound of her breast.

  Holly examined the stain. “No worries. I’m sure it’ll wash out.” She looked up at Catherine and smiled. “You might want to glance in the mirror. You’ve got a little bit of mascara under your eye.”

  Catherine pulled down the mirror and scoffed at her reflection. “A bit of mascara? I look like a l-long lost member of Kiss.” It was true. Black streaks beneath both eyes and cheeks stood out against the pale greenish hue of her complexion. She looked like crap.

  “Well, I didn’t want to be rude,” Holly said. She stretched her arms above her head, letting the tips of her fingers brush the ceiling. “I’m sorry for asking about the Christmas thing, but I’m glad you told me. It’s no wonder you hate it.”

  Catherine was in the process of wiping her face with a wad of spit-covered tissue. She’d originally tried to perch her glasses on top of her head, but the monstrous lump on her forehead put an end to that plan. Her glasses now lay in her lap, and her poor eyesight made Holly look like an unflattering blob with no distinguishing features. “Ever since that year, Christmas is something I’ve gritted my teeth and tried to get through as quickly as possible. Like a trip to the gynaecologist.” What the hell? Did that actually come out of her mouth? Yes. Yes, she mentioned a trip to the gynaecologist in front of a woman she was attracted to.

  Holly laughed. “Catherine, you’re so funny,” she said, her tone musical and light. “But I’m getting to the point where my bladder is full, so you need to not make me laugh. Otherwise it’s going to get messy in here. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Catherine said. She put on her glasses and glanced at her reflection. It was as good as it could be under the circumstances. She’d never been called funny before, well, maybe funny as in weird, but definitely not funny as in ha-ha. She’d never considered herself amusing, but if it meant she’d get to hear Holly’s laugh again, she’d consider becoming a clown.

  “So your birthday is on Christmas Day?” Catherine asked. Trying to simultaneously fill the silence and get out of the limelight.

  “Yeah.” Holly swept a curly strand behind her ear. “As a kid I hated it. It never seemed fair. I couldn’t have a party because all my friends were celebrating with their families. I kept asking to change it. My parents eventually agreed to let me celebrate my eighth birthday on June fifteenth instead. For the next eight years, that’s the date we used.”

  “Why that date?”

  “It was a Saturday and the weather looked good. When I turned seventeen, I couldn’t be bothered anymore and we started celebrating it on Christmas Day again. I love that the whole holiday is steeped in family tradition, and my family is huge. With the exception of occasions like weddings and funerals, Christmas is the one time we all make an effort to contact each other. I’ve always liked that aspect of it. The togetherness. This year Katie and I are going to Skype with my parents, sisters, and other family in Canada.”

  Catherine watched as Holly nibbled her bottom lip and tears welled. “What is it?”

  “I’m scared. What if we don’t…”

  Get rescued? Catherine couldn’t help but ask herself the same question. “Beth and Katie will report us m-missing.”

  “No one knows where we are,” Holly said. “We’re on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. How can they find us if they don’t have a clue where to look?”

  “We’ve got provisions, shelter, and each other. We’ll be okay.”

  Holly continued to cry and her voice sounded nasally. “I’m so scared. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing my family again.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a totally selfish cow, and you’re right.”

  “I think nothing of the s-sort. Of course you’re scared and upset. I am, too.” Another thought occurred to Catherine, and before she had engaged her brain, she voiced it aloud. “Other than Beth and Katie, the only other person who’d probably realise I was missing is my personal assistant, Eve.” Wow, that was depressing. At thirty-one years of age, she was alone now, more than ever before, and only had herself to blame.

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is,” Catherine said honestly. There was no one else. Even now, as she racked her brain, she could think of no one else who would miss her.

  “What about the people you work with?”

  “Yesterday when you asked me about my job I lied. I don’t enjoy it. I’m good at it and it pays well, but I’ve no friends other than Eve. I was embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “Yes. You’re so confident in your abilities. You have this amazing passion for your career, and it made me realise how much I loathe my job.”

  Holly looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I do love my job, but I went overboard yesterday a bit because I wanted to impress you.”

  “Impress me?”

  A blush turned Holly’s face beet red. “Yes. I wanted to impress you and assure you I wasn’t some young foolish girl.”

  Catherine couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’re very impressive.”

  Holly’s colour bordered on purple as she spluttered out her next question. “Why don’t you change jobs?”

  Catherine hesitated in replying. She could reel off all the usual reasons: decent money, she was good at it and was due a promotion anytime soon, but something stopped her. She knew Holly wouldn’t accept her reasons, and for the first time in years, neither did she. She’d gotten the job straight out of university so she could support Paula in her ambition to become an artist. When Paula left, it had been the only thing she could focus on to distract her from the hurt.

  “Catherine?”

  “I wouldn’t know what else to do.” And that was the truth. Her job had been the cons
tant rock to which she’d clung when everything had slipped out of her control. Paula leaving and then Granny Birch’s death had both taken their toll. But now, trapped inside this car and facing an uncertain future, she gained a new insight. It was like an epiphany. She’d become complacent with living a monotonous life. It’d been easier to stick to a routine than consider taking risks and changing her life for the better. She had financial resources most people would be envious of. So what was holding her back? Fear of the unknown?

  “You must have considered a different career at some point,” Holly said.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, what hobbies do you have?”

  “I don’t have any.” She sounded pathetic to her own ears. When had she turned into such a loser?

  “I don’t believe that. What do you do to relax? Where do you go and what do you do outside of work?”

  Catherine opened her mouth but hesitated. She enjoyed drinking wine, but sounding like a raging alcoholic wasn’t helpful. She also liked to read—loved to read, in fact. That was what she did to take her mind off work. “I enjoy reading and I volunteer at the local library twice a week. I help out at the children’s homework and reading clubs.”

  “I’m pretty sure the people there would miss you.” Holly smiled. “What is it you do?”

  “I help out. Sometimes I listen to them read and other times I help them with whatever homework they have. There are thirteen children who attend. Some of them need extra support with their literacy, while others come after school because it’s a safe place to wait until their parents can pick them up.”

  “What are their ages?”

  “The youngest is five, and I think the oldest recently turned thirteen.” A little wave of vertigo assaulted her senses. “You seem surprised.”

  “Not surprised, impressed. It’s awesome you give up your free time. If I had any spare time I’d love to do something similar, but for the foreseeable future it’s not practical with the business. I knew there was more to you than meets the eye.”

  Catherine felt her pulse quicken. “So you think I should work in a library?” The words had sounded preposterous in her mind, but now she’d spoken them there was a certain kind of appeal.