Calculated Risk (12 page)

“We have two in this next neighborhood.” He made a turn. “Mr. Palmer, a widower, and the Hansons, a couple who used to be very active in the church until he had a stroke.”

Mr. Palmer answered the door. He was thin, and his shoulders hunched. “Well, hello, Nick.” Mr. Palmer stepped aside. “Come on in. Make yourselves at home.”

They moved inside, and Mr. Palmer shuffled to close the door. “And who's this young lady?”

“This is Cisney Baldwin.”

Well, well. Nick hadn't clarified she was a co-worker. Gutsy for him to leave the door open for Mr. Palmer to think they were a couple. Was he being kind to her, or was he so low on communication skills that he didn't think to protect himself?

Mr. Palmer returned from taking his sack of food into the kitchen. “Since I had so few Thanksgiving decorations and put them away myself, I'll just show you where I keep the Christmas stuff.” Mr. Palmer slowly led Nick down a hallway.

Cisney looked around. By the ruts in the carpet, Mr. Palmer had moved the small table from the picture window to the side of a stuffed armchair. Over in one corner a piano stood away from the clutter of furniture.

She wandered over and rested her hand on the closed piano cover and then inspected several framed photos. Most were probably grandchildren and one showed a younger Mr. Palmer and a woman who was certainly Mrs. Palmer. In the photo, he stood facing his laughing wife with eyes only for her.

Cisney raised her hand to press against her aching throat that had accompanied her misting eyes. Dust covered her hand. She glanced toward the hall, quickly produced a tissue from her handbag, and wiped her palm, then stuck the tissue in a side pocket of her purse.

When she heard the men's voices, she stepped to the center of the room. How long would it be, if ever, before Mr. Palmer noticed her handprint on the piano cover?

Mr. Palmer carried a red and green Christmas tree stand while Nick hefted two large boxes stacked on top of each other. He leaned his head to the side to see where he was going. She strode over and removed the top box and set it on the carpet.

Nick went to work on putting together a seven-foot artificial tree in front of the picture window. Cisney sat on the arm of Mr. Palmer's stuffed chair while he lifted ornaments from a box he'd taken from one of the bigger boxes and placed on his lap. If only she could take out her phone and record his precious descriptions of how he and Blanche had obtained each ornament. But he might feel like Cisney was interviewing him and clam up.

Nick caught her eye and held up dangling lengths of tinsel. He gave her his I-could-use-a-little-help-here look.

She rolled her eyes and bent over to examine an angel made of white feathers that Mr. Palmer said his daughter made in fifth grade.

Nick dusted his hands together. “OK, Mr. Palmer, she's up and ready for the ornaments. You hand them to us and tell us where you want them to go.”

Cisney placed a hand on Mr. Palmer's arm. “Does your piano work?”

“I think so. No one's played it in three years, not since Blanche passed. None of the kids took lessons.”

“Would you mind if I play some Christmas carols while you and Nick decorate the tree?”

“No. Have at it. It'll be good to hear some music in this old house.”

 

****

 

Nick and Cisney walked down Mr. Palmer's sidewalk toward the van.

Nick stopped and looked back at the lighted tree. It looked good. He lifted his hand in farewell to Mr. Palmer standing on the porch.

Mr. Palmer returned his wave. “Send me an announcement after you two get married.”

Nick opened his mouth to refute the statement, and then clamped it shut and waved again. A snicker came from Cisney ahead of him. Their engagement was a phenomenon that just wouldn't quit. She picked up speed and climbed into the car before he could open the door for her. Behind the windshield, she was bent over laughing. He climbed in, shaking his head, and then gave in to a small chuckle. Probably as much from her giggles as from the absurdness of the situation.

He backed out of the driveway. “We're behind schedule because someone didn't help decorate.”

She stuck out her bottom lip.

“But I have to admit that was the happiest I've seen Mr. Palmer.”

Her gorgeous hazel eyes grew huge. “Really?”

He nodded. Her little kiss to Mr. Palmer's cheek as they left would cause sugarplums to dance in the elderly man's head for a week. “But no shirking your decorating duty at the Hansons, even if they have a piano.”

 

****

 

Nick turned the van into the cinema parking lot.

“OK, Fannie, we're here,” Tony said. “Which movie?”

“It's the eight o'clock romantic comedy rated PG,” Fannie said.

“What? We have to guess which one?”

“I don't care which one it is,” Nancy said, “as long as it isn't a shoot-‘em-up movie with one chase scene after another, like the one Tony and Nick picked last year.”

Inside the theater near the concession counter, Cisney withdrew her wallet from her handbag.

Nick stepped over to her and spoke close to her ear, smelling the fresh peachy scent of her hair. “Put your wallet away. Dad takes great pleasure in funding movie night and would be hurt if you paid for anything. He's just glad he doesn't have to drop us off anymore.”

“I'm not part of the family. I don't want your dad paying for my treat.”

“Cisney. Put. Your. Wallet. Away.”

She made a face and complied. For once.

He stood in line behind her, the popcorn aroma changing his mind to abstain from eating another bite after the Thanksgiving feast.

“How long have you been doing the Ping-Pong and movie traditions?” she asked.

“Since the twins were in first grade, and we went to Disney movies.”

“Wow.” She moved forward in line. “You have a really nice family, Nick. They're so friendly and fun.”

“You think so, after the voting thing in the car?”

“They're just romantics, that's all.”

He nodded toward Tony animatedly talking to Allison in the next line. “Some too romantic?”

“Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“I like Tony. He's a tease, but he's also a gentleman and seems good-natured.”

He couldn't argue with her on that.

“You want to share a popcorn?” she asked.

“Sure. You want butter?”

Her lips tightened as if she tasted dirt. “I don't usually, but if that's the way you like it, butter's fine with me.”

“You sure?”

She nodded and advanced to the counter, where the server glanced at the line forming behind them and held his fingers poised over the register. Cisney surveyed the candy behind the glass. “I'll have…” She ran her finger along the display case.

The server shifted his weight, and Nick gave the guy a sympathetic smile.

She jabbed the glass. “I'll have that—no, make it that,” she said and pointed. “And a diet orange soda.”

Nick ordered a large popcorn, no butter, and a soft drink.

Cisney and Dana couldn't differ more. Dana would have done less chitchatting in line and spent more time contemplating her order. She was no time waster. He'd respected that about her.
Lord, am I crazy for subjecting myself to Dana tomorrow? I haven't sensed your usual pressure that I'm off track
.

As a youth collected the women's tickets, Tony edged over to Nick. “How about letting me sit next to Cisney.”

“Sorry, chum, we're sharing popcorn. Besides, I think Allison would be hurt.”

“Hey, man, why do you think I have two sides?”

“Well, if Cisney doesn't object, sit on her other side. Just don't talk during the movie.”

Would Cisney babble through the show? Few things irked him more. Dana never said a word after the lights went down. Dating cool, calm Dana held no unhappy surprises…until she broke it off with him.

Inside the theater, the twins chose a row halfway from the back and filed in.

Cisney stepped into the row.

Tony grasped her elbow. “Let Nick go in next so I can sit between you and Allison.”

Cisney moved out of the row and pointed at Nick. “Just don't separate me from his popcorn.”

Nick sidled in, and then Cisney, Tony, Allison, and Nancy.

Cisney worked on opening her box of candy while Tony and Allison talked. She got her fingernail under the flap but couldn't get the glue to budge. She tried the other end and then went back to work on the flap. The top layer of the flap skimmed back, leaving the box sealed.

Nick stuck out his hand, palm up. She gave him the box, and he opened it.

“My hero,” she whispered.

He grinned and tilted the popcorn bucket toward her.

She shook her head. “I eat all my candy first,” she whispered.

“But the popcorn's best when it's hot.”

“That's OK, you go ahead.” She turned to face him and drew her finger across the outside of the bucket halfway up its side. “Stop here, and I'll take over,” she whispered.

“The movie hasn't started yet, you don't have to whisper.”

“In movies, my family never talked above a whisper, if at all, or Daddy wouldn't bring us again for a long time.” Her beautiful eyes widened. “You don't talk during the movie, do you?”

“No.” He held up the popcorn container, glad they agreed on one thing. “You do know the bucket is somewhat cone-shaped and half the popcorn is about here.” He moved his finger up on the bucket from where she'd drawn her line.

“Shame on you, Risk Man. You didn't take into consideration that they were chintzy on popcorn. The kernels reach a half-inch short of the top. And you didn't take into account that I'm smaller than you and don't eat as much.”

He chuckled.
Risk Man
?

She put her fingers to her puckered lips. “Shh.”

He had taken into consideration a less than full bucket. But she ate less? He'd let her have her victory. She was something else.

 

****

 

Cisney savored the dark chocolate taste of her candy and the crunchy white nonpareils on top. What could be better than chocolate and holding her own in a sparring match with Nick on the technical aspects of sharing popcorn? In a lot of ways, being around a man who wouldn't make Daddy's list was a relief. No pressure. No trying to figure out what he liked and disliked in a woman. She could be herself.

She gave Nick a sideways glance. He was endearingly cute when he laughed. Did he know that? The faint dimple and the crinkles beside his eyes changed his whole countenance. Nice teeth, too, except right now they chomped on a mouthful of popcorn. Why did all the men she knew do that? Scoop up a handful of popcorn or peanuts and toss the whole bunch into their mouths? She liked to eat one or two kernels at a time to make them last. The same with her candy.

The lights went down.

Tony held his box of chocolate-coated caramels her way. She didn't want Tony to get too chummy during the movie. His teasing personality amused her, but not during the show. But chocolate and caramel? What would it hurt to share a little chumminess? She received two tumbling candies into her palm before stopping him from issuing more. She dutifully held out her box. He shook his head. The man had just earned lifetime chum status.

She mouthed her thanks, and they turned to the screen.

Too bad Tony wasn't her type. He and Allison looked good together. He'd leaned around the headrest in the car, and the two had talked all the way to the movies, had been joined at the hip in the concession line, and giggled non-stop until the lights dimmed. Later, she'd ask Nick why they weren't an item.

The commercials ended, and the previews started. Allison and Tony gave thumbs-up or thumbs-down after each preview and bumped fists if their thumbs agreed.

Cisney smiled and slipped two candies into her mouth. Were her one-on-one dating days over? This night out with Nick's family was fun, and she always enjoyed her own friends, but fewer eligible men in her age group remained in the shrinking pool. She'd be thirty in a few months.

With Daddy's expectations, she couldn't bring home just any man. Forget a guy who stuttered, or loved gardening, or enjoyed musicals. And in go-getter Daddy's eyes, any man who'd ask Daddy for anything, even his daughter's hand in marriage, had no backbone. Did Daddy know how hard it was to find a Christian who met his standards?

At the top of her list, as it was at the head of Mom's and God's, was a man who attended church with her, and loved Christ. Jason had gone to church with her when it was convenient, but she'd deceived herself at first that Jason, the woman dumper and friend moocher, cared about Jesus. The longer they had dated, the less he joined her during worship.

The movie wasn't helping the tack her thoughts had taken. The heroine needed a wake-up slap. Couldn't she see that the guy she drooled over was wrong for her? That the quiet man in the wings was the man who'd love and cherish her forever? Maybe God needed to knock the heroine on the head like He had her earlier about Jason in the rowboat, thanks to Nick.

Now that God had enlightened her about Jason, would He help her find the right guy quickly? She was already a two-time loser. Ron, the prior real man, who'd tickled Daddy and stuck around for five months, had dropped her to take up with a pretty mousy woman.

Cisney lifted her orange soda from the drink holder. Was she stuck in a depressing cycle?
Cisney meets real man—Daddy's happy—Cisney's on good behavior—Cisney beats real man in darts or other game—real man tires of Cisney—real man dumps Cisney—real man finds his dream mouse—Daddy and Cisney are unhappy.

What would it take to stop the cycle? Where could she find an adoring wingman with backbone? She let her gaze drift to her left, where Tony was whispering in Allison's ear, and then she let them meander to her right, where…Nick had his cell to his ear?