Cupid's Christmas (14 page)

A
t the end of that first day, Matthew suggested Lindsay might want to wear jeans, or something that wouldn’t pick up stray hairs like her wool suit. She nodded, and then walked out of the Kindness Animal Clinic with a broad smile—obviously he’d taken notice of what she wore.  

The next morning when she sat down at the breakfast table with Eleanor, Lindsay was wearing an especially flattering blue sweater and jeans that had cost one hundred and thirty-eight dollars.

Eleanor handed her a cup of coffee and smiled. “You look lovely,” she said.

“Why it’s just jeans,” Lindsay replied, “Matthew told me to wear something comfortable.”

“How was it?” Eleanor asked, “Did you like working there?”

Lindsay nodded, “Yeah. I like Matthew too,” she pulled back the smile that was making its way onto her face and added, “I mean he’s a really nice man to work for, not my type, but really nice.”

“Your type?”

“Yeah, you know, dating-wise.”

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought of—” Eleanor was going to say she’d never imagined Lindsay and Matthew together—it might have been a lie, but it was a well intentioned one.

“I mean, he’s really handsome,” Lindsay said. “The kind of guy most women would go for, but I’ve had experience with his type. A woman who goes after someone like that is just asking for a broken heart.”

“Are you talking about my nephew Matthew?”

Lindsay sipped her coffee and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Matthew?” Eleanor laughed out loud. “Why he’s not that type at all. He hardly ever dates. He’s so wrapped up in that business he’s forgotten a man needs to have a personal life.”

“Really?” Lindsay helped herself to a fresh-baked biscuit and slathered it with butter.

When she arrived at the Kindness Animal Clinic a few hours later, Lindsay noticed that Matthew’s hair was a lot lighter than she remembered. He was also a bit taller than she’d originally perceived. For the remainder of the day Lindsay found herself watching Matthew. When he squatted to talk to a big dog, she craned her neck to see the round of his back and the slope of his shoulders. And, she began to find excuses to wander back to his office and ask a question, or seek a word of advice.

On Thursday morning a young woman with a blond pony tail came through the door and whizzed past the receptionist desk without slowing down. “Hey,” Lindsay jumped from her seat and followed the intruder down the hall, “You can’t go back there…”

The woman stopped and turned, “Are you talking to me?” she asked.

“Yes! Customer’s aren’t allowed—”

“I’m not a customer. I work here.”

Hearing the commotion, Matthew came from his office. “It’s okay Lindsay, Barbara’s my surgical assistant.”

“Isn’t she kind of young?”

Matthew laughed, “She’s a student. Barbara’s studying veterinary medicine.”

“Oh.” Lindsay turned back down the hall.

For nearly five hours Matthew and the student were sequestered behind closed doors. Every so often he would carry out a groggy-looking animal, place it in one of the special cages then take another dog or cat from their cage and carry it into the room. Not once did Barbara come out. That afternoon as Lindsay sat alone at the reception desk, she found herself wishing she’d studied veterinary medicine. 

In that first week Lindsay noticed any number of things about Matthew, but the thing that surprised her most was what she noticed about herself—she liked it when he bent over her desk to explain something, or when his hand brushed against hers. On Friday as she was driving home Lindsay stopped for a red light and discovered herself picturing him as he stood talking with her. He was leaning back ever so slightly, his arms folded across his chest, and his head tilted at an angle that said I’m just as interested in you as you are in me. She was thinking of the laugh lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes when the light changed and the driver of the Pontiac behind her blasted his horn. “Okay, okay,” Lindsay grumbled and moved on.

On Sunday morning when she sat down to breakfast with her father and Eleanor, Lindsay peppered the woman with questions about Matthew—What kind of women had he dated? Did he have any special interests? Hobbies, sports maybe? What sort of movies did he like?

“Movies?” Eleanor laughed, “Why I have no idea. I don’t think we’ve ever once discussed movies.”

When John excused himself and left the table, Lindsay stayed. With him gone, she could see Eleanor as an individual, not an appendage of her father. Eleanor she’d discovered was a person she could enjoy talking with—as a friend, not as a stepmother. “I’m kind of rethinking this Matthew thing,” she said, “Since I’ve gotten to know him, he seems more my type.”

“I don’t know if a person is capable of sticking to the exact type they’re looking for,” Eleanor sighed. “Love, unfortunately, is blind. You go through life looking for a tall skinny man and end up marrying one who’s short and wide. But at the time, your heart convinces you he’s the one who’ll bring you a lifetime of love and happiness.”

“I suppose that could be true,” Lindsay mused.

“Oh it is,” Eleanor said, “I know for a fact because it happened to me.”

“You mean with Dad?”

“No, my first husband, Ray’s daddy. Most of the fellows I dated were big and athletic so I figured for sure I’d marry someone like that, but when Raymond came along I was so enthralled with how smart and charming he was I never even noticed he was only two inches taller than me and skinny as a rail.”

Lindsay laughed, “He wasn’t athletic?”

“Good gracious, no. Raymond was an actuarial.”

“What’s an actuarial?”

“Someone who figures the odds on how long people are gonna live,” Eleanor hesitated a moment then shook her head sorrowfully, “It’s sad because Raymond was so busy thinking about other people, he never once took a look at himself.”

“He died young?”

Eleanor nodded, “Forty-seven.”

“Oh, that is sad.” Lindsay waited a moment then went on to note how fit her father was. “Dad used to play football,” she said, “but now it’s mostly golf and racquetball. He’s definitely the athletic type.”

“I know,” Eleanor sighed, trying not to show the regret of their lost years.

 If Lindsay caught the echo of melancholy, she made no mention of it and went on to ask a dozen more questions. “How did you know you were in love with Raymond?”

“It’s hard to say,” Eleanor replied, “Love is the kind of thing that sort of sneaks up on you. I was a college intern working at the insurance company where Raymond—”

“You worked for an insurance company?”

Eleanor nodded, “It was only for five months but—”

“Me too! Seaworthy, in New York. It was the most boring job ever…”

“I bet it was. To me, the insurance business was just an endless string of numbers. I liked going to work because I got to see Raymond, but that was the only reason.”

“Did you work after that?”

“Did I work?” Eleanor laughed, “I’ll say I did, for twenty-five years straight.”

Lindsay sat there asking question after question and once she’d learned everything there was to know about Eleanor’s life, she segued into asking about Ray. When it turned out that his life was rather uneventful, she came back to Matthew.

“What was he like when he was a kid?” she asked.

“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.

N
ow 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.

T
hat 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—”