Holland Suggestions Read Free

came in with the morning mail and the coffee. As usual, we had nothing to say. She poured my coffee, then put a stack of mail on my desk and left, with a malignant glare at the portrait of Judy in my bookcase. That annoyed me; it always had, but there was no way I could thin the bad blood between Judy and Sharon now. So I would have to live with it or find myself a new secretary. Often I thought that that might be the best answer for both of us.
    There followed more doodling and a superficial examination of the mail. Sharon had opened and thinned it for me, handling by herself the kiss-off letters and passing on the rest, in order of importance as she judged it. I sifted through it quickly. There wasn’t much; there never was on Monday: the usual engineering crap, sales pitches from field agents. Nothing even mildly interesting until, at the bottom of the stack, I found a thick, padded manila envelope. I turned the package over and examined it The postmark was New York, two days ago, and on both sides someone had stamped the word PERSONAL. Naturally, Sharon had not opened it. I tore it open and pulled out a large photograph, wrapped twice around with a long rubber band and protected on both sides by corrugated cardboard panels. I slipped off the rubber band, pushed away the cardboard, and turned the picture face up. I expected it to be some technical shot of one of Harper’s big jobs, but instead I saw a primitive mountain trail that dead-ended at the base of a wall of rock. The trail seemed to drop away into a canyon. The drop was sheer and I knew it was deep. There was a cave among the rocks at the end of the trail, and as I looked at it a strange sensation passed over me; the feeling that everyone has at some time in his life of knowing a place where he’s never been. In this case it was nonsense. I have a slight problem with heights, and I knew I would never go out on a ledge like that.
    I looked inside the envelope for some explanatory note, but there was nothing. There was no writing, other than my name and HARPER BROTHERS CONSTRUCTION COMPANY and the address. I examined the cardboard and the back of the print. Nothing. The picture was intriguing in a vague sort of way. I looked at it again, carefully this time. It was not a particularly good shot. The sun had probably been behind the mountain; at any rate, there was too much darkness. But it was clear enough. The trail looked treacherous. Scattered along its length were many loose rocks; any of them might send a careless climber plunging into the canyon. The thought gave me the shivers. It was difficult to get a perspective from the print, especially since there were no people in it, but I guessed that the trail was no more than three feet wide. Again I felt a wave of distinct familiarity. Absurd.
    The buzzer. “It’s your daughter,” Sharon said coldly.
    “Put her on, please.”
    I had time for just a brief reaction: mixed surprise and apprehension. There was a click and a loud background noise; a shuffling of feet and the hollow sounds of hallway talk.
    “Judy?”
    “Hi.”
    “Something wrong?”
    “No, everything’s fine.”
    “Well, then, what’s the occasion?”
    “I just wanted to apologize for running out like that.”
    “I didn’t even notice.”
    “Look, I know you’re busy and all.”
    “As a matter of fact, my whole morning’s suddenly free. What’s on your mind?”
    “Nothing really. Just what I said.”
    There was a long pause while I gathered my thoughts. Obviously she was fishing, groping for an opening to discuss whatever was bothering her. Just as obviously, she wasn’t finding it
    “Listen, I’ll be late for class,” she said.
    I pondered it. It would have to be done, but not now and certainly not by phone. “Okay, you run on then. But don’t cook anything tonight. I just might be in the mood for a night out. How about dinner at the Roadhouse?”
    “Really?”
    “Sure. Just the two of us, okay?”
    “Great.”
    That