Cupid's Christmas Page 4

  With most humans I can predict what they’ll do, but Lindsay is totally unpredictable. No one understands human hearts better than me, and I can assure you, it’s much too soon for that girl to find love. This leaves me in what might be called a pickle. I can’t give Lindsay a new match nor can I allow her to interfere with John and Eleanor, so I’ve created a distraction—not all that difficult because humans are extremely gullible and quite easily distracted. Watch what happens...

  Lindsay woke with a strange feeling and a buzzing in her ears. It seemed as though she was hearing something and yet not hearing it. Twice she cleaned her ears with a cotton swab then resorted to using an ear wax cleansing oil. Still it continued.

  She booted up the computer and googled Jobs, Jobs, Jobs, but the strangest thing happened—she got a car rental site. She exited the site and tried again. The next time she was rerouted to a genealogy site, one that promised to find lost and forgotten family members. She again clicked ‘exit file’ and tried retyping JobsJobsJobs.com in the search bar. Again she landed on the genealogy site.

  Still thinking of her conversation with Sara, she changed course and typed Visit Florida into the search bar. Seconds later it appeared—the same picture she’d been imagining. A bluer than blue ocean, a long stretch of sandy beach, palm trees so tall they overreached the edge of the picture. Lindsay sighed…if only… While she was still gazing at the screen, the beach transformed itself into a river with a man who was holding up the giant bass he’d caught. That scene dissolved into one of a middle age couple sitting at an outdoor table with glasses of red wine and tropical flowers. Discover the Florida in you! was scrawled across the screen. Suddenly Lindsay had an overwhelming urge to go. I could be there in two days, she thought. I could probably stay with Sara. I’ve got enough savings to last a month, maybe two, by then I could find a job and… Without waiting, she double clicked on get more information.

  There were a few seconds of hesitation then a page appeared that read Welcome to Small Paws, the place where love starts. The page was bordered with images of dogs, small cute dogs—a cuddly-looking Shih Tzu, a long-haired Maltese, and a Pomeranian with a poof of hair and a tiny nose. “Awww, how cute,” Lindsay sighed, and without knowing what pushed her hand to do so, she clicked on one of the pictures.

  The face of the Shih Tzu instantly stretched across the screen. In the lower right hand corner was a block of copy. ‘I’m a nine year old boy who needs a home,’ it read. ‘I do best with older adults who have lots of love and can spend all day with me…’ it went on to say that he was completely housebroken but not good with small children.

  “All day?” Lindsay sighed. “I can’t… I’ve got to get a job.”

  She moved on to click the Pomeranian and the picture grew larger, but before she could read the copy, the photo was replaced by one of a shaggy-looking puppy standing on small square of what was part grass and part dirt, Although she’d never known dogs to have an expression, this one looked forlorn. Beneath the photo was a single line of copy, it read—I’m waiting for you. This picture had no button to click for more information. It said nothing more about the dog. There was no logline about the breed, or what kind of home was right, no designation as to whether it was male or female.

  “What the…” Lindsay double-clicked on the picture. It disappeared and the Pomeranian came into view. ‘I’m a sweet little girl who is three years old,’ it read…the copy went on to tell the dog’s story and provide a link where the viewer could fill out an adoption application.

  Lindsay hit the back arrow. The picture of the Shih Tzu reappeared. “Where’s that other dog,” she grumbled and moved her cursor to the forward arrow. The Small Paws home screen appeared again. “What the heck is going on here…” One by one she went through every picture on the website, that sad-eyed dog was nowhere to be found and the buzzing in her ears seemed to be getting louder. It wasn’t just a buzz, it was far away voices, voices too small to be understood or distinguished. Lindsay could swear she heard a dog barking, but since the apartment building had a strict no pet policy, that was impossible.

  For the past fifteen years Lindsay had not once thought of having a dog. When Honey, a Golden Retriever, who for ten years tagged along behind her, died, she gave up all such thoughts. Several times her mother suggested they visit the pet shop and look at puppies, but Lindsay refused. No dog could ever replace Honey, she said, and she stood firm on that answer.

  But after less than an hour on the Small Paws website, Lindsay knew—she not only wanted a dog, she had to have a dog. And not just a dog, it had to be that pitiful looking puppy. She was going to have to give up the apartment anyway, so she’d find a place that allowed dogs. All she had to do now was find that dog. She exited the site and tried again. After she’d entered SmallPaws.com into the search bar, the home screen reappeared. She again went through the entire site, dog by dog, sometimes double-clicking, sometimes a single click, but not once did she see the picture she was looking for.

  When the telephone jangled, Lindsay answered with an air of frustration, “Hello…”

  “Hi honey, how are you?” her father said.

  “Not so great,” she answered absently.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “What isn’t?” Although she had far greater concerns, she zeroed in on the problem at hand. “This darn computer is acting up and…” in the middle of her words, her throat closed up.

  “If you need a new computer,” John said, “I could—”

  “It’s not just the computer, it’s...” Lindsay gave a sigh that stretched itself out like a clothesline, and then said, “It’s everything, it’s my whole life…”

  “What’s wrong with your life?” John had been a single father for nine years and, try as he might, he’d never fully understood Lindsay. There was always a secondary meaning behind the words she spoke—it was a secret code that parents were not privy to. The life she was dissatisfied with could mean anything from boyfriend problems to a dress lost at the dry cleaner. He listened to the muffled sobs for a minute longer then said, “Lindsay, please stop that crying. Just tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

  “You can’t,” she snuffed. “I lost my job, and my building is going condo. I have to be out of here by the end of next month.”

  “Have you found another apartment?” John asked, trying to address the practicalities of the situation. “Do you need money to move?”

  “No, I don’t have another apartment.” She started to sob again. “I haven’t even looked. This is New York—no building will rent to someone who doesn’t have a job. They want employment references. ”

  Since Lindsay seemed unwilling to talk about what exactly she needed help with, John suggested, “Why don’t you move home? Take some time off and get your thoughts together. It’ll be a lot easier to decide what you want to do, if you’re not stressed.”

  “Oh Dad, I can’t possibly…”

  “Sure you can. You’ve got no reason to stay in New York.”

  “Yes I do,” she answered, “I’ve got to look for a job and then there’s all this furniture…” Lindsay looked around the room and realized she actually had very little. A bed she’d ordered online, a dresser she’d gotten from the Salvation Army Thrift Store, a sofa that had been left by the previous tenant, two lamps, an on-again-off-again television and a bunch of books. The truth was that there was nothing to keep her here. Everything she’d once had was now gone. She could even feel herself disappearing by bits and pieces. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

  “Mind? Why, I’d be delighted. You can have your old room. We can give it a fresh coat of paint if you want. Maybe have a few cookouts…”

  He painted a picture that Lindsay rapidly became part of. It would be as it had always been. She could already see each and every room of the house, her car still in the garage, a flowered comforter covering her bed, the smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill, friends, laughter…she even pictured th
e dog running beside her. A warm surge of a happiness rose in her heart and she answered yes without pausing to consider that sometimes things change.

  This is where it all starts to go wrong—I can already see it happening. Lindsay was supposed to go to Florida and visit Sara for a month—that’s where she was going to adopt the dog who would be her constant companion for the next three weeks. Then on a Saturday afternoon as she strolled along the sand at Saint Petersburg Beach, she’d meet the handsome young architect who is right now planning a Florida golf vacation. I had it worked out perfectly. But this all goes back to what I said earlier… Lindsay is totally unpredictable. Now I have to start scrambling around for a new plan which is not necessarily easy. Handsome human males with a pleasant disposition are not exactly falling off of trees, if you know what I mean.

  Everything boils down to one simple fact—when humans are in love, everything is right with the world. If Lindsay fell in love with the architect, she’d have no problem with her father marrying Eleanor, but if she’s broken-hearted and miserable…well, let’s just say watch out!

  The next morning, Lindsay rose early and began packing. By noon she had emptied out the refrigerator, packed her laptop, two books and the clothes she’d be taking. Anything that didn’t fit in the large suitcase, Lindsay left behind. After three years in New York, her life had become so small it could fit into one suitcase. When she wheeled the bulging bag into the hallway and closed the door behind her, there was no hesitation in her movement. She didn’t bother to look back or double-lock the apartment door.

  She stepped from the elevator tugging the suitcase behind her, crossed the lobby and handed Walker the keys. “Would you mind calling the Salvation Army Thrift shop to come and pick up the stuff in my apartment?” she asked.

  “Okay,” he answered. “Where you off to?”

  “Home,” she said. “I’m going home.”

  The old man smiled. “Good,” he nodded, “…real good.”

  Eleanor

  John is the sweetest and most loving man I’ve ever known, but he’s got a blind spot when it comes to understanding a woman’s feelings. He thinks Lindsay will see me as a second mother, but that’s pure foolishness. She’s a grown woman, not a child. It’s more likely she’ll consider me an adversary, and I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if she felt downright resentful. I’ve been there, and I know how I felt.

  I was fourteen years old when Mama and Daddy got divorced. They fought tooth and nail until one day he slammed out the door and never even looked back. Three years later Mama remarried, and I just about hated her for doing it. I hated Mama and my stepdaddy too. Every word out of my mouth was an argument, and if she looked at me crosswise, I’d say she was doing it because of him. It took me almost two years to warm up to the poor man, and when I finally did, he turned out to be a really good stepdad. Matter of fact, he was the one who taught me to drive after Mama gave up, claiming I was hopeless.

  Regardless of what John thinks, I’ll bet Lindsay feels about like I felt. It’s something to ponder, that’s for sure. Hopefully, there’s a way to get around what she’s feeling, but right now I don’t know what it might be.

  One thing I do know is that he should have told his daughter about us long before this. “I’m gonna tell her tomorrow,” he said and then he suggested we all go out to dinner and get acquainted. I squashed that idea darn quick. You can’t just shove me in Lindsay’s face and expect she’ll like it, I said. She needs time to adjust to the thought of her daddy remarrying. Take her to dinner, I told John, spend some time being interested in what she has to say, and then tell her about me. If he talks about me like I’m just a close friend, she might be less apt to view me with a heart full of anger.

  A situation such as this is almost like reaching for a stray dog. You don’t know what hurts that animal’s suffered so if you try to grab hold of it right away the dog is likely to sink its teeth into your hand. The only way to make friends is to wait and let the animal come to you. People aren’t all that different. John’s got to give Lindsay time to sniff me and make sure I’m not looking to harm her.

  I’m praying he has the good sense to not even mention the idea of us being married or me being Lindsay’s second mother. The truth is the girl doesn’t need a replacement mother, but after hearing what I’ve heard, I’m betting she could use a good friend.

  If Lindsay is willing to let me be her friend, I’ll be way more than happy.

  Cupid…The Homecoming

  I watched Lindsay walk out of her apartment building and I could see she had no regrets. I’m back to square one when it comes to finding her Mister Wonderful, but she thinks everything is coming up roses. She’s going home, and home to her is a place where things remain the same. To her home is a place where nothing bad can happen.

  Lindsay thinks her troubles are over, and she’s totally convinced she’ll find the same happiness she had as a child. What an odd lot humans are. History books, songs and stories are filled with tales of those who’ve made the exact same mistake, and yet every human thinks in their case it will turn out different. Few ever come to realize that love, wonderful though it may be, is not always easy. They look at it through rose-colored glasses and see nothing but blue skies and sun, when in truth love often comes wrapped in a storm cloud. Eleanor and John will soon become painfully aware of this.

  Dragging the suitcase behind her and bumping it up and down the curbs as she walked, Lindsay headed toward the Budget-Rent-A-Car on Thirty-First Street. After filling out several forms that were nowhere near as complicated as the job applications, she drove away in a Honda Civic, turned down Thirty-Eighth and pointed herself toward the Lincoln Tunnel.

  When she left New York, the sky was overcast and dark grey, the clouds low and weighted with rain. But when she exited the tunnel, the sky had cleared and the sun was now so bright she had to flip down the visor. Lindsay took this as an omen and began to believe her life was going to get better. By the time she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, she was certain of it, and that certainty increased with every mile she traveled.

  Lindsay’s thoughts drifted back to the friends she hadn’t seen in so many years, friends she’d for so long been promising to call. What a terrible friend I’ve been, she sighed, I should have called them more often. Donna Bobbs called me months ago, and I never did get back to her. And Josey Leigh—I just know I missed sending her a birthday card last year. Well, Lindsay reasoned, friends are forever. Donna and Josey aren’t the type to be angry with me for forgetting one birthday or not returning a few phone calls. Why I’ll bet they’ll be so glad to hear from me…

  It may have seemed like months ago to Lindsay, but it was almost two years ago that her friends stopped calling. They stopped calling because they almost always got her answering machine and after numerous tries, they simply gave up and moved on with their lives. Lindsay can’t see that now, but she will.

  She doesn’t know that Donna Bobbs, her best friend for over fifteen years has moved to Ohio, and Josey Leigh is now an attorney with no time for Lindsay and, sadly enough, no interest. And Sinclair, the handsome lad who lived down the block—he’s now married and lives in Hohokus with his wife and three toddlers. Nothing stays the same, not for Lindsay, not for John, not for anybody.

  After Lindsay counted up all the friends she was going to call and all the things she was planning to catch up on, she turned to thinking of her father. Poor Dad, she sighed, I have all these friends and he has nothing. I’ve not only been a bad friend, I’ve been a terrible daughter. I should have come home more often, and spent more time with Dad. He’s not getting any younger…

  As she pulled onto the New Jersey Turnpike, Lindsay pictured her father rambling around the house all by himself, and she began to sense how lonely he must have been. When she tried to recall the last time she’d been home, it shocked her to realize it had been two years. Two years since she’d visited Medford, or stepped foot in the house she’d grown up
in. She recalled the look of her father on that last visit. He’d pretended to be cheerful, even told a few jokes and funny stories, but his laugh wasn’t the same laugh she’d once known. A certain sadness had settled over him, a sadness that made his blue eyes appear grey and his mouth droop at the corners. He hadn’t asked her to move back home, but Lindsay knew it had to be what was in his heart. Why did I not see that, she wondered, why did I not see how much Dad needed me?

  She drove for forty-five minutes, but while her eyes were focused on the road ahead, her mind was leafing through a photo album of memories. When Lindsay left the turnpike and turned onto Route 70, she felt the warmth of at long last being home. She grabbed her cell phone and pushed speed dial 2. Phillip had been number one, but weeks ago he’d been deleted. Now there were only five numbers programmed into her phone—the Book Barn and the pizza delivery place would be deleted before the day was over, then there would be just three, Amanda, Sara, and her father, he was number two.

  He answered before the telephone could ring a second time, “Hi honey,” he said, “Are you on your way?”

  “I’m almost there,” she answered. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

  “Can’t wait to see you,” he said. “Drive safely.”

  He was waiting alongside the driveway when she pulled in.

  Her father appeared more robust and cheerful than Lindsay remembered. She kissed him on the cheek and he pulled her into a bear hug. “It’s good to have you home,” he said, and his voice wrapped itself around her with a familiarity she’d almost forgotten.

  John tugged Lindsay’s suitcase from the trunk of the car and carried it into the house. She followed behind saying, “You don’t have to do that Dad. I can handle it myself.”