The Christmas Strike

“After Iceland—then where are you going?”

“Paris,” he said without looking at me.

I watched him flipping switches.

“But what about Chicago?” I asked.

He finally looked at me. “I never said I was going to Chicago, Ms. Blake,” he said with exaggerated pleasantness.

I remembered the twinkle in his eye just before he gave in to me. “Why you—you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” I accused. “You knew I thought you were flying right back to Chicago!”

He didn’t quite allow himself to smile. “I promised you one way, and one way you got.”

“But what am I supposed to do in Goose Bay, Labrador?”

“You can get yourself a placard and an indelible marker, Ms. Blake, and picket, for all I care.”

He had to lean close to me to get out of his seat. I was right behind him.

The wind hit me as soon as I reached the door. I struggled against it all the way down the stairs. The cold was biting. In Willow Creek, the cold just nipped. Goose Bay had gotten a head start on us in the snow department, too. There seemed to be several feet of it on the ground.

My face and ears were freezing by the time I caught up with him. I grabbed his arm.

“You don’t think you’re just going to leave me here, do you?”

“You’ll be able to get a plane home,” he said, then started walking again.

Openmouthed, I stared after him. I was going to have to use up my emergency credit card funds to fly back to Willow Creek from Labrador? No. Life couldn’t be that cruel. But, apparently, Cole Hudson could.

“You can’t do this,” I yelled as I ran to catch up to him.

“Yes, I can,” he affirmed as he kept to his stride. “You wanted to get away, well, Goose Bay is certainly away. Beautiful country up here. You’ll love it. You could ski. Play a little ice hockey.”

If I tried to argue with him much more out here, my nose was going to freeze and fall off. While he headed to what must be the service area, I headed for the terminal, hoping for something hot to drink.

Ah, civilization, I thought, as I spotted a small café. Inside, I ordered coffee. When it came I cradled the cup in my hands close enough to my face to melt some of the frost. I took a sip and it nearly scorched my throat, but the flood of warmth when the coffee hit my belly began to revive me. And the more I revived, the angrier I got.

Okay, so I hadn’t wanted to spend my strike rocking in the maid’s room. That didn’t mean I wanted to spend it freezing my nose off. And what a letdown it was going to be to the Prisoner’s of Willow Creek Enrichment Society to hear that I never made it to a place that had neon, never mind anything like the bright lights of Chicago. The thought of Cole Hudson tricking me into coming here, then abandoning me on his way to Paris was—

I sat up straight.

Paris.

I smiled. Paris was the perfect place to carry out my strike—not to mention one of the cities I’d always wanted to visit. I’d come this far, why not go all the way?

I looked up in time to see Cole enter the café with two other men in similar leather jackets. They sat down at a table, already engrossed in conversation. I didn’t care. I had a message to deliver and I wasn’t going to wait.

“When the new plant is built,” one of the men was saying as I approached, “I might have to add to my fleet.”

“It’s going to get busier around here, that’s for sure,” said the other.

“I can help you find the planes,” Cole offered. “I’ve got a connection with—”

“Excuse me,” I said.

All three men looked up. Only one of them groaned.

“Guys, meet my human baggage, Ms. Blake.”

The two men stood and introduced themselves as Dane and Oscar. Dane was gray haired, handsome and distinguished looking while Oscar looked rougher, more the outdoorsy type. They both offered their hands.

“Nice to see some gentlemen around here,” I said as I shook them.

“If you don’t mind,” Cole said, “we’re in the middle of a conversation.”

“No, I don’t mind. I did want to tell you that I’ll be flying to Paris with you.”

I started to turn to go, figuring a hasty exit might avoid the argument I was sure was coming. But he stood up and grabbed my arm.

“When pigs fly,” he intoned—a Shakespearean actor spouting clichés.

“Why not? Don’t you think you owe it to me after playing this lousy trick?”

“I’ve already made arrangements for Dane to fly you to Chicago tomorrow morning. I think that makes us even.”

“But why won’t you let me go along? What’s the difference? I’ll sit in the back and be quiet—”

“We already know you’re incapable of that,” he snapped. “Even when you went to sleep you snored!”

Swell, I thought. I guess it went with the parka and sneakers. At least I hadn’t been in the cockpit where I might have drooled all over his thousand dollar jacket. Thus, I wasn’t embarrassed enough to give up my idea.

“You’re just being stubborn for no reason at all. You’re going to Paris anyway, and—”

“Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Ms. Blake. As soon as they’re done refueling my plane I’m flying out of here with the hope that I never have to lay eyes on any of the Blake women ever again. Understood?”