Cupid's Christmas Page 5

  “I know you can,” he answered, and continued up the stairs. He lifted the oversized suitcase onto the bed, and told Lindsay to join him in the kitchen when she was ready.

  Lindsay unzipped the bag, removed her laptop, the few toiletries she’d tucked around the edges and three of her very best dresses. She left the remainder. She was going to be here for a long time, the clothes could wait until later when there’d be plenty of time for unpacking. For several minutes she stood looking at the room—the teddy bear sitting in the chair, the lace runner atop the dresser, the curtains at the window, pink curtains her mother had sewn. These things, Lindsay realized, were the reason she hadn’t come home. In New York she could fool herself into believing her mother was elsewhere, not gone forever, just simply elsewhere. Here Bethany’s absence was absolute. There was no elsewhere. Mom was gone, the kind of gone that slices into a person’s heart like a razor blade.

  Standing there, where everything was just as it had always been, Lindsay felt the hole in her life growing bigger and bigger. The memories that had distanced themselves while she was in New York suddenly came alive and with them they brought a sense of shame. She had selfishly stayed away and left her father to face this alone. It was an ugly truth that now stood naked before her. Never again, she vowed, never again would she leave him alone.

  This is exactly what I feared would happen. Lindsay is one of the few humans with what we call misappropriated affection. I’ve only had a handful of these cases, but my counterpart in California encountered one-hundred and thirty-six in just the last century. Of course his problems are rather unique—there was the movie director who…no…in the interest of decency I think it best I not tell that story.

  Back to Lindsay, there is no cure for misappropriated affection. The only thing I can do is provide a distraction which then becomes the target of her love. Ergo—the dog. You might not have seen it but I know for certain, Lindsay fell in love with that dog the minute its picture flashed on her screen. This is another thing that baffles me when it comes to humans—even those without the capacity to love one another will love a dog. Of course compared to humans, dogs are easy. They’ll love any human I give them. The only problem a dog ever has is switching from one human to another.

  By the time Lindsay came downstairs John had brewed a fresh pot of coffee. “This isn’t Starbucks, is it?” she asked. When John answered that it was Maxwell House, she filled a large mug and joined him at the table. They were not five minutes into the conversation before she asked, “Do you still miss Mom?”

  “Of course I do,” John answered.

  “Yeah, me too.” She looked at him and smiled, “It’s nice that you’ve kept everything just the way Mom had it. That shows how much you love her.”

  “Well actually, the sofa is new,” John said. “…and the porch furniture and the dining room light fixture…” He was trying to swing the conversation around so he could mention that Eleanor had picked out those things, but he didn’t get the chance.

  “It’s a good thing Mom married someone with principles. I hope one day I’ll meet a man just like you, someone who will love me, the way you love Mom.”

  A finger of apprehension poked at John’s stomach. Lindsay’s words were present tense, not past. Words, John thought, it’s only words. He hesitated several minutes and carefully phrased his answer. “I did love your mother,” he said cautiously applying past tense, “and I always will. She has a very special place in my heart. Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.” He paused long enough to let the thought register, then said, “But life moves ahead whether we want it to or not…”

  “I know,” Lindsay sighed.

  John was on the verge of mentioning Eleanor, when Lindsay spoke again.

  “It’s just that Mom was so special,” she said wistfully, “no one could ever replace her.”

  John decided this was not the right time to mention Eleanor, so he changed the subject. “How about having dinner at McGuffey’s tonight?”

  Lindsay nodded, “Okay.” She thought back to the time when McGuffey’s was called Pub n’ Grub. They had a salad bar and the waiters were college kids, who wore jeans and green logo tee shirts. She hadn’t been back for years—five, maybe more. “Yeah,” she said, “McGuffey’s would be great.” Lindsay was already picturing how it much fun it would be to see the friends she’d been thinking of.

  It was a few minutes after seven when they settled into the booth at McGuffey’s. It was a slow night so there were only a handful of diners and a few stragglers at the bar. “Wow, this place sure has changed,” Lindsay mumbled. She pictured the room the way it once was and found it disconcerting to see formal waiters and white tablecloths. As soon as the gray-bearded waiter left with their orders, she said, “I just hate it when things change.”

  Her father looked at her quizzically, “What changed?”

  “Everything. This place used to be so much fun. It was noisy and crowded…”

  “Noisy and crowded is good?”

  “Sometimes,” she sighed, “The Pub n’ Grub was always so great. It was lively and fun, I mean just look at the place now. It’s dead. The only person in the room I know is you.”

  “McGuffey bought the place eight, maybe nine years ago, and he’s improved most everything. The food’s better—”

  “But there’s no atmosphere!”

  “Sure there is. It’s just not what you expected.” John smiled. “Things change Lindsay and that’s not necessarily bad—”

  “I disagree,” she argued. “The changes I’ve seen have all been bad. Think about it—the apartment building, my job, Phillip…”

  John looked at the sadness stretched across his daughter’s face. “I know that lately it’s been tough,” he said sympathetically. “But give life a chance. Sometimes when you think you’re as miserable as you can possibly be, somebody special shows up and changes everything.”

  Assuming that he was speaking of her mother, Lindsay asked, “Did you know right away Mom was somebody special?”

  John took a deep breath. He knew there would be no opportunity to tell her tonight. “Yes,” he finally answered. “The first time I heard your mom laugh, I knew I was in love with her. She knew it too.”

  Lindsay thought she saw the twinkle of memories dancing in his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen to me,” she said.

  He smiled, “Patience, honey, patience. Love isn’t something you go looking for. When the right man comes along he’ll find you.”

  Unfortunately, what Lindsay imagined to be a twinkle was really the start of a tear—John was thinking of how he could explain this to Eleanor.

  I don’t often say this, but there are times when a human gets things right, and Eleanor was absolutely on the mark when she told John that he should have broken this news to Lindsay earlier. If I look no further than tomorrow, I can see the trouble ahead.

  That night Lindsay settled into her old room and it was if she’d never left. As she hung the remainder of her clothes in the closet and tucked her underwear into the dresser drawers, she hummed a tune she’d heard on the radio weeks earlier. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, then climbed into bed and snuggled under the comforter. That’s when the buzzing in her ear returned. For several minutes she remained perfectly still, barely breathing, every ounce of concentration was focused on listening to the sound. Words. Words from somewhere far away. Words chopped up into little bitty pieces …um…um…

  She bolted upright. “I’m waiting!” Suddenly the buzzing stopped. “Who’s waiting?” she said to no one. While her question still hung in the air, Lindsay heard the high-pitched bark of a dog.

  John

  I was going to tell Lindsay about Eleanor tonight. I’d gone over what I had to say a dozen or more times, but every time I had the words ready to burst out of my mouth, Lindsay dredged up another memory of her mother. Don’t misunderstand me—Bethany was, without question, a wonderful woman. But she and Lindsay
sometimes went at it like two bulldogs. I could be out in the garage or trimming hedges in the back yard and hear Lindsay’s voice screaming about how she wasn’t allowed to do one thing or another. To hear her tell it, every kid in Shawnee High School had more privileges than she did.

  Of course, Lindsay doesn’t remember any of that. She only remembers the good times, which I suppose is how it should be. But when every other word she speaks is about how wonderful Bethany was, it’s pretty impossible to bring up the subject of Eleanor.

  The irony of this situation is that if Lindsay gave it a chance, I think she’d like Eleanor. In a number of ways, Eleanor is a lot like Bethany except maybe a little slower to anger and a lot more forgiving. Of course that could be because of age. We’re a bit older now, and years do have a way of mellowing people.

  Mellowed or not, I think Eleanor is still going to be pretty peeved when she finds out I haven’t told Lindsay yet.

  Maybe if Eleanor is here it will be a bit easier. Oh don’t get me wrong, Lindsay can be extremely reactionary, but she’s not the kind of girl to make a big stink in front of someone, especially someone she knows I’m fond of.

  Yep, that’s what I’ll do. When Eleanor gets here tomorrow morning, I’ll introduce her as a real close friend. After they’ve spent some time together, Lindsay will come to see what a wonderful person Eleanor is. Once that happens, our marriage won’t be a problem. At least I don’t think it will be.

  Cupid…Rude Awakening

  Procrastination…it’s a human trait and one that all too often leads to disaster as you will soon see. The ideal answer would be to go ahead and give Lindsay the perfect match I have for her, but the truth is she’s not ready. Her brain has accepted that Phillip was a bad apple, but her heart is still longing for the scoundrel. It’s a common condition we call romance-restricted, but when it’s combined with misappropriated affection, we’re talking about a ticking love bomb.

  Right now, not even I could give this girl a love that would last. The only thing I can do is increase her distraction. Lindsay never wants something that comes easy, so I’ll pique her interest by teasing her with pictures and promises. Eventually she’ll go for it, humans always do. Just tell a human there’s something they can’t have and bingo—biting into that forbidden fruit becomes an obsession.

  The sound of muffled voices woke Lindsay. It wasn’t the far away voice of last night. It was the sound of people talking, words going back and forth with short pauses in between. Thinking her father most likely had the television on, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Sleep didn’t come. The window shade that had been hanging there for over fifteen years had suddenly become too narrow and it left room for a strip of sunlight to slide through. The beam of light landed smack across Lindsay’s eyes. She could see it with her eyelids closed and when she turned her face to the wall, it was worse. The light bounced off the mirror and magnified itself.

  She blinked open her right eye and checked the clock—almost ten, time to get up anyway. Lindsay shrugged on the robe she’d left hanging on the back of the door when she went off to college and started for the stairs. Before she set foot on the first step, she heard them. It wasn’t the television. It was a woman talking with her father.

  “Not yet,” he was saying, “Not yet.”

  Lindsay couldn’t make out precisely what the woman said in response, but it was something about someone named Ray. She listened with both ears, but the words were fuzzy, and the most she could get were bits and pieces. It had to be one of the neighbors, she reasoned, who else could it be? She stood there for a minute and when the voices stopped, she continued down the stairs. When the living room came into view she saw her father and a light-haired woman locked in an embrace.

  “Well, excuse me!” Lindsay snapped.

  The couple quickly stepped back from one another, and John turned to look up at his daughter. “I didn’t realize you were awake,” he stammered.

  “Obviously!”

  “Don’t misunderstand—”

  “Misunderstand? What is there to misunderstand?”

  “Lindsay, give me a moment and I’ll—”

  The woman standing next to him tugged on his arm. “John,” she said, “I think it would be better if I leave.”

  “No Eleanor,” John answered, “Stay. I think it would be better if we—”

  Eleanor looked at the anger spread across Lindsay’s face then shook her head. “You need some alone time to talk to your daughter.” Her answer was more sympathetic than chastising.

  Lindsay just stood there glaring at the woman, balled up hands on her hips, and an expression as flat and hard as the bottom of a cast iron skillet.

  John bent and kissed Eleanor’s cheek then she slipped quietly out the door.

  The lock hadn’t clicked shut before Lindsay angrily asked, “Dad, do you want to explain what that was all about?”

  “Yes,” John answered. “But we need to sit down, and talk about it calmly.”

  “Oh yeah, like this is something we can talk about calmly…” Lindsay groused as she dropped onto the sofa.

  John ignored the comment and sat alongside her. “Eleanor and I have known each other for a long time,” he began, but he could no longer use the words he’d rehearsed. He could no longer say they were simply good friends. What Lindsay saw left no doubt as to the nature of their relationship. “After some thirty years, I ran into Eleanor last year and we started dating.”

  “You ran into her? Ran into her like in a pick-up bar?”

  “No, Eleanor’s not that kind of woman. We were both shopping on Main Street and when we spotted each other—”

  “So you’re saying this is a thing with you two?”

  “It’s not a thing. Eleanor is someone I care for very much.”

  “Care for very much—exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I love her,” John answered. He had hoped this discussion could be handled differently, but as it was, he simply said what he had to say. “We’re planning to get married.”

  “You’re kidding?” Lindsay gasped. “Please, tell me you’re kidding…”

  “No I’m not,” John said. “I had hoped to tell you sooner but we haven’t had the opportunity, and last night—”

  “You said you’ve been seeing her for a year, in that whole year you couldn’t find one single opportunity to give me a call and say—by the way Lindsay, I’m seeing someone and we’re thinking of getting married?”

  “I was waiting until we could sit down together and talk about—”

  “Oh, you mean like now?”

  “No, I don’t mean like now.” When he spoke those words the patience he’d been exhibiting was gone, his voice no longer left the gateway open for argument. “I was going to tell you last night, but you never gave me a chance.”

  “Why not before? Why didn’t you tell me before last night?”

  “Because you haven’t been home—you’ve been too busy to spend any time with me for almost two years.”

  “So you let me decide to give up everything and move back here, and then you spring this on me?”

  “I didn’t plan it this way. I thought while you were here for a Labor Day visit—”

  “Visit? I gave up everything and moved back here because I thought you were lonely, because I thought you needed me…”

  “Be honest Lindsay, the reason you came home is because you were unhappy in New York and that’s fine, but don’t start telling yourself it was because I was lonely.”

  When she began to cry, John wrapped his arms around her. “Eleanor’s a good woman. She’s someone who can make both of our lives fuller and richer. Please Lindsay, at least give her a chance.”

  There was no answer, Lindsay just leaned her head into John’s chest and sobbed softly.

  After a long while she mumbled, “I’ll try,” then retreated to her room. The words didn’t come from her heart they were simply what she felt obligated to say.


  Lindsay closed the door to her room, threw herself on the bed and cried. “How could he?” she moaned. “How could he do this to me? To Mom?” It was well over an hour before she crawled from the bed and went to take a shower.

  That evening the three of them came together for dinner. A smiling John sat at the head of the table, Lindsay on one side and Eleanor on the other. Lindsay stared across the table with a glare that had bits of ice sprinkled through it. Eleanor focused her eyes on her plate, twirling strands of spaghetti so slowly that at times she seemed to come to a standstill.

  “It’s wonderful to have my two special girls here together,” John said.

  Lindsay moved her icy glare over to him.

  Eleanor lifted her eyes for a moment, smiled at Lindsay then refocused herself on a meatball. “Well, it’s wonderful for me to be here,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you Lindsay, and I’ve been looking forward to—”

  “I hadn’t heard a thing about you,” Lindsay interrupted.

  “Lindsay,” John said, not angrily, but with an easily understood intonation.

  Softening her glare, Lindsay said, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  After that most of the chatter was either between John and Lindsay or John and Eleanor, never between Eleanor and Lindsay.

  As you can see this is not going well and it didn’t get any better on Saturday when Lindsay woke to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. She surmised it was Eleanor and the thought slammed into her like an angry fist. Lindsay pulled on a robe and tromped downstairs. Sure enough, there was Eleanor, scurrying about the kitchen like a woman who had lived there all her life. She was wearing an all too familiar apron and seemed to know the precise location of every condiment, dish, pot or pan.