Cupid's Christmas Read online

  “Kind of quiet. Polite to grown-ups. I remember how he brought home every stray dog or cat he came across. Once he even brought home a three-legged squirrel,” Eleanor chuckled, “…and then Gracie had to find all those animals a home.”

  “Gracie was his mom?”

  Eleanor nodded, “She was Raymond’s sister.”

  As they sat there talking it seemed that every answer led to another question and then another and another. The breakfast dishes were still sitting on the table and Eleanor was busy telling how she and Gracie used to take the boys to the beach, when John walked in and asked how long it would be before lunch was ready.

  “Lunch?” Lindsay replied glancing up at the clock. It was twelve-forty. “Dad, Eleanor just finished making breakfast,” she said. “You can’t expect her to turn around and make lunch! Give us a few minutes to clean up here, and then we’ll go out to eat.”

  “Okay,” John answered. As he turned back to the living room he mumbled something about how he’d been thinking of those hamburgers at Hooligan’s anyway. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he called back.

  Eleanor caught the ‘we’ in Lindsay’s words, she’d been included in that we. It was all she could do not to grab hold of the girl and hug her, but it wasn’t time for that yet. Their relationship was still so new, so fragile, squeeze too hard and it could crumble to pieces. As Lindsay was carrying the dishes to the sink Eleanor offered to finish up. “I’m already dressed,” she said, “…go take your shower and get dressed.”

  “You sure?” Lindsay asked.

  “I’m sure.” Eleanor had already turned to the sink and Lindsay didn’t see the smile that lit her future stepmother’s face.

  Now you can understand what I’ve been saying. It’s obvious—Eleanor has always been in love with John. Okay, she made a mistake and allowed herself to become infatuated with a skinny bad-tempered male. It happens. He was a shallow individual, but he knew how to dazzle a woman. Eleanor’s only fault is that she’s human. I’m more to blame than her. I’m the one who allowed her to slip off the radar. If I’d been watching, she would have come to her senses long before Ray Junior was on the way. Once she held that baby in her arms, it was too late.

  For years Eleanor tried to convince herself that John was nothing more than a wonderful memory. The thought of him would come to mind and she’d brush it away as something she was better off forgetting. There were times when she even believed it but I always knew the truth. Don’t forget I can see into the deepest core of a person’s heart so I know what someone is feeling even when they refuse to admit it.

  Hopefully you can see why I’ve got to make this work. It’s my last chance to right this wrong. I haven’t come up with a plan to take care of Ray yet, but I’m using everything I’ve got on Lindsay, so stand back and watch the action.

  That evening when John and Eleanor settled in the living room, I pushed Lindsay toward the computer in the den. I planted the thought that she should add a love of dogs to her resume. When the icons on the home screen were loaded, she double-clicked Microsoft Word then double-clicked Resume.doc.

  Lindsay moved faster than I’d anticipated, so there was a blank screen for a few moments then my image of the dog popped up. I knew exactly what she’d do, and she did it. Before I pulled the picture back, she clicked print.

  The printer came to life and began whirring, but by then the image of the dog had been replaced by the resume. Seconds later a sheet of paper shot out of the printer. Lindsay reached for it—almost certain it would either be a blank or the first page of her resume. Of course, it was neither. It was a picture of the dog.

  “It must be imbedded in this file,” she mumbled and then clicked print for a second time. A copy of her resume rolled out of the printer. Three times she tried closing the file and reopening it and three times she got nothing but her resume. By the time she finally decided it was useless, she’d printed the resume nine times. She then made ten copies of the single picture she’d gotten.

  Although Lindsay did not make a mark on the original she’d printed out, she took a heavy black marker and wrote at the top and bottom of each copy. At the top she wrote—If you see this dog, please call—at the bottom she wrote her telephone number. She then grabbed her purse, a hammer, and package of carpet tacks that had been in the top kitchen drawer for as long as she could remember, and started for the door. In the living room she stopped to show the poster to Eleanor and her father.

  “See,” she said, “This is the dog I’ve been telling you about.”

  Still somewhat puzzled, Eleanor said, “Oh, so you had this dog when you lived in New York?”

  “No. Pets weren’t allowed in the building,” Lindsay answered, “But I know this dog and it’s the one I want to get, I just don’t know where to find—”

  “Wait a minute,” John said. “These are lost dog posters. You can’t go around putting up lost dog posters if it’s not your dog.”

  “It doesn’t say lost dog, it says if you’ve seen this dog…”

  “It infers lost dog,” he said, “For all you know, this dog might belong to somebody else.”

  “It doesn’t,” Lindsay said emphatically.

  “How do you know it doesn’t?”

  “I just know.”

  “Not good enough,” her father answered, “Get rid of those posters.”

  “But Dad…”

  He shook his head and she could see his mouth set in a rigid line of determination.

  “John,” Eleanor pleaded, “…be reasonable.” She reached across and patted his hand, “Maybe instead of tacking the posters up, Lindsay could just hand them out to a few people she knows. She can explain that it’s a dog she’s looking to buy.”

  “Well, I suppose if she explains…” he relented.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with having one on the clubhouse bulletin board, and maybe at Matthew’s office,” Eleanor added.

  “Okay, those two places, but that’s it!” John got up from the sofa and headed to the kitchen for a dish of ice cream, “You girls want one?” he called back.

  They both answered no. Lindsay smiled at Eleanor and mouthed the words thank you. She folded one of the posters and handed it to Eleanor who, by then, had promised to show it to the girls in her garden club.

  On Sunday afternoon, while Lindsay was at the mall shopping for a pair of high heel boots that would look good with her jeans, Eleanor called Matthew at home. “Lindsay has this little dog she’s looking for and I’d appreciate it if you could help her find it.”

  “What kind of a dog?” he asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Eleanor said, “but judging by the picture she has, it’s just a scruffy looking little white dog.”

  “I don’t understand,” Matthew said, “…she wants to buy a dog, or this is a dog she lost?”

  After another ten minutes of explanation they hung up. Matthew now knew three things he hadn’t known before—first, Lindsay was a little bit crazy, next, she was fixated on finding one particular dog and lastly, he liked her even more than he previously had.

  Eleanor

  Blessings sometimes come in strange disguises. Up until a few days ago, I could have sworn I’d die an old lady before Lindsay took a liking to me. John couldn’t see it, but I suspect that was because he didn’t want to see it. Oh Lindsay and I never had words, but it was the lack of words that let me know exactly how she felt.

  The morning Mister Morrissey called her about the job I heard her cell phone ringing and spotted it laying there on the table. My first thought was to wish I were somewhere else, so the question of whether or not to answer the phone wasn’t mine. Given the way she’d been going out of her way to avoid me, I figured I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. But you know the funny thing about life is sometimes when you’re looking to move away, The Good Lord plunks you down in just the right place at the right time.

  That sure was the right time and place for me, because ever since that morn
ing Lindsay has been downright pleasant. I always wanted a daughter and yesterday when we were sitting at the table talking about the different parts of our life, I could almost see Lindsay as belonging to me. Don’t misunderstand, Ray’s my son and I love him, but the boy is so like his daddy—it’s painful. I don’t think once in his whole life has Ray sat down and had a heart to heart talk with me. When he was growing up he used to leave me notes on the kitchen counter—not stuff about what good mother I was or anything like that—it was Ma, wash my gym stuff ‘cause I need it for tomorrow, or Ma, I don’t like bananas so please stop putting them in my lunch. He got that gravelly disposition from his daddy—Raymond didn’t have a warm fuzzy bone in his body.

  I know, you’re probably wondering why I married Raymond, but he wasn’t that way when we met. He was different then. I can’t honestly say if he changed, or if I was just blind to the truth of what he was because I believed I was in love with him.

  I sure hope Lindsay doesn’t make the kind of mistakes I’ve made. I know she’s still getting over the boyfriend she had in New York—but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind that Matthew would make a real nice boyfriend. If it’s to be, it’s to be. One thing neither of them need is some old busybody meddling in their affairs.

  Anyway, I’ve got my own troubles to worry about. Right now my biggest trouble is Ray. He’s said some things that are meaner than you can imagine—things I haven’t even told John. If I did, John would just end up hating Ray and what good would that do? When I feel really low, I think about how Lindsay has come around and I try to believe the same thing could happen with Ray. Sometimes I can talk myself into believing it, other times I know it’s just wishful thinking.

  Cupid…Loving Lunch

  Love makes anything believable. One zap from me and the impossible becomes possible. Women feel their heart start to flutter and wise men begin to act foolish. Up until today Matthew has registered a zero on the gullibility scale, but now that he’s looked into Lindsay’s eyes, he’s ready to be a believer. I can tell you what is going to happen, but I won’t because it would only spoil the fun. Instead I’ll give you this small bit of wisdom—every human should have a dog because somewhere between the bark and the wag of a tail is a heart that’s bigger than your own and the truth of what love is all about.

  I watched as Lindsay arrived at the Kindness Animal Clinic, I knew exactly what she would do and she didn’t disappoint me. She whizzed through the front door and went straight back to Matthew’s office.

  “Is it okay if I put this poster on the reception room bulletin board?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he answered. It was hard for him to hold back a smile, but he didn’t want to let her know that Eleanor had already told him about the dog. When he asked to see the poster I noticed how his hand lingered on Lindsay’s—she noticed it too.

  Once the poster was in his hands, Matthew could see this wasn’t just a sketch and it wasn’t a stock photo—it was a real dog, a specific dog, a dog he could easily imagine had something to say. He began to wonder if Eleanor had somehow left out a part of the story, “Why are you looking for this particular dog?” he asked.

  “I think this dog is looking for me.”

  “Looking for you?”

  “Yes. The first time I saw this dog it was on a rescue site and…” Lindsay went on to explain the story of how the picture of the dog kept popping up on her computer.

  Matthew’s eyes were locked onto hers as she spoke. Her words held such passion, such conviction. He was a practical man and even though he had a great love of animals, he normally would have scoffed at the preposterous tale of a disappearing and reappearing dog, but oddly enough, as Lindsay spoke he came to believe her story.

  I told you, love makes believers of us all—yes, even me. With all the tragic love affairs I’ve witnessed you might think I would by now be disenchanted, but no—I’m the biggest believer of all.

  “Go ahead and put the poster on the bulletin board,” Matthew said, “I’ll also ask around to see if I can find out anything.” His voice had the sound of nonchalance, but the truth was he had already decided to do whatever was necessary to find that dog.

  When Lindsay stepped out for lunch, he took the poster from the bulletin board, scanned it and posted the notice on seventeen different websites. Nine were Bichon Frise breeding farms, seven were animal rescue sites, and one was an animal activist league.

  On Tuesday, at eleven-forty-five, Matthew asked Lindsay to check his afternoon appointment schedule.

  “At two-thirty you’ve got Heidi, for a check-up and there’s Sneakers at three-fifteen…” She rattled off a few more but before she got to the end of the list he interrupted—

  “Nothing until two-thirty, huh?” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Okay we’ve got time, let’s grab lunch.”

  “Together?” Lindsay stammered.

  “Of course, together.”

  “But the office…” she said.

  “No problem,” he laughed, “…the boss is out to lunch.” He walked over to the glass door and flipped the Open sign to the side that read—Back in 1 hour.

  Lindsay smiled. This invitation was even more than she’d been hoping for.

  As it turned out, lunch lasted for well over an hour. Matthew was so different than the other men Lindsay had dated. There was no pretense, no come on—it was a friendship but a friendship that promised so much more. On the surface it had seemed that she and Matthew had nothing in common and yet they found a world of things to talk about. They spoke about the changes that had taken place in Cherry Hill, about old friends who had moved away and new restaurants they had yet to discover. He told her he loved Italian food and even though the very thought of garlic gave her heartburn, she claimed she did also. His eyes never left her face and she hung on his every word.

  “I’m impressed with your sensitivity over this dog.” He smiled at her and she blushed. “I’m serious,” he said earnestly, “I think you’d be great with all kinds of animals.”

  “I’ve never really—” Lindsay was going to explain that it was just this one dog but, before she had the chance, he interrupted.

  “I was thinking maybe you’d like to learn to work with me,” he said, “…as an assistant. You could do some easy things to get started, and I’d be right there beside you to help out.” he smiled, but it was a smile that told her this was already much more than a job.

  “That sounds great,” she said enthusiastically. She wanted him to know how pleased she was without giving away the secret of what she was feeling—what she’d been feeling for the past week. The truth was, Lindsay more than liked the idea of being close to him. She wanted his hand to touch hers, his shoulder to brush against hers, and she wanted to breathe in his musky scent then turn to find him so close she could again see the green flecks in his eyes. Yes, she wanted all those things, but there was always that terrible fear—love came at such a high price, you gave your heart to a man you trusted and then discovered the ugly truth. It was an irony of life that she’d learned the hard way—men who seemed too wonderful to be true, usually weren’t.

  That evening after dinner Lindsay remained in the kitchen to supposedly help Eleanor with the dishes, that’s when she again brought up the subject of Matthew and his history with women. “Has he had a thousand different girlfriends?” she asked.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Eleanor replied.

  “Is he trustworthy?”

  “As far as I know he is, I’ve never had reason to think otherwise.”

  “Was he ever engaged?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  Eleanor nodded. “It was shortly after he’d opened his practice. He was engaged to a lovely girl from Cherry Hill. I think her name was Brianna. She wanted to be a reporter, and when she got an offer from the Seattle Inquirer, she moved out there.”

  “Did he ask her not to go?”

  “Whether he did or didn’t, I don’t know,” Eleanor s
hrugged. “I never asked. A situation like that is too close to the bone. If Matthew wanted to keep it to himself, I felt I should respect his wishes.”

  Even though Lindsay couldn’t argue with what Eleanor said, she also couldn’t help but wonder if Matthew still had thoughts of Brianna.

  Eleanor had moved on to slicing peaches for tomorrow’s garden club luncheon when Lindsay turned back and asked, “What did she look like?”

  “What did who look like?”

  “Brianna. What did she look like?”

  Eleanor laughed out loud. “Good gracious Lindsay, if that’s what you’re worrying about you can quit worrying. Brianna was eight years ago and Matthew’s dated a dozen different girls since then. He’s not thinking about—”

  “But, what did she look like? Did she look like me?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Not at all.” She turned back to the peaches then added, “Brianna was six inches shorter than you and nowhere near as pretty.”

  Lindsay came up behind Eleanor and hugged her.

  The following Saturday night Lindsay and Matthew had their first date. She wore a black dress that was a bit snug in some spots and a smidgen low in others. He noticed immediately.

  “Wow!” he exclaimed. “A lot different than the lab coat.” He didn’t have to say anything more—the look in his eyes said it for him.

  “I hope that means what I think it means,” Lindsay looked square into his eyes and this time she didn’t look away when the thirty seconds were up. That’s the rule—thirty seconds of eye-to-eye contact is flirtatious, anything more is an invitation—and that’s exactly what she intended it to be.

  “I know you like Italian,” Matthew said nervously, “but there’s this wonderful little French Place in downtown Philly and I was thinking—”

  Before he could finish the thought, she said, “I like French even better.”