Perfect Match (14 page)

Madison tapped her finger nail on the small table. She
leaned back in her chair, looking at Edna. “But I’m so new at this. I’ve only
been the CEO a few weeks. That doesn’t sound very impressive.”

Edna chuckled. “A few weeks my foot. Ever since day one, when
Rodney hired you, you’ve been the glue behind the scenes that kept us hanging
on. You’ve been the CEO.”

“You know I prefer being in the background.”

“Well, you can forget that. You’re the center piece for
Fallington Enterprises. Madison, you’re an impressive woman. Accept it, but
don’t let it go to your head. Just accept it.” Edna flipped through her
calendar. “I know the photographer and writer from the advertising and
marketing firm. They’ll do a good job. Bring two outfits or more when they do
the photo session.”

Still, Madison was unsettled about publicity and what that
would bring forth.

Edna was right. The news coverage of Hollis’s arrest made no
serious ripples about town.

But one very observant teenager saw and read the small
article. When Madison answered her office phone, Selena said, “Hi Mom, tell me
what’s going on. Who is this Hollis guy that got arrested in our neighborhood?”

Madison quickly lined up her responses, with a little
chuckle said, “Oh, don’t worry about that. Mrs. Swenson filed a complaint that
he was trying to peep in her window.”

“How gross!” Then she added, “But the article mentioned that
he was connected with Fallington out of California?”

“He was in town for our staff meeting last week. He
resigned, no longer works for Fallington. End of story.”

Selena thought about that. “What was he doing in our
neighborhood? Was he with you?” Alarm filled the last question.

Mustering her calm voice, Madison answered, “Actually he was
with me—”

“Mom?” The question probed.

“Selena let me explain. Remember how we’ve learned to gather
all the details before rushing to conclusions?”

“Okay, sorry…”

“I was going to give him a ride back to the Shiloh Inn where
the staff was staying while in town. We had stopped by the apartment
briefly…maybe in there twenty minutes max…he went down stairs and somehow got
involved with Mrs. Swenson.” Madison held her breath, while Selena processed.

Selena giggled, and said, “Mom, you’re not as good at
convincing me of details as you once were, like when I was six-years-old. I can
tell there are some gaps in your explanation.” Her giggle continued.

Madison closed her eyes, and clinched her fist, thinking,
darn Selena’s analytical mind. She catches everything. She should be the
CEO…some day. “Oh, sweetie, you’re so smart. Yes there are a few gaps, but most
of it is legal stuff. Nothing that you or I should be concerned with. The
lawyers are handling it, so I can’t say more than I’ve told you.”

Selena, still in snoop mode, asked, “Are you dating him,
Mom?”

“Good heavens, no, Selena. You remember my requirements for
that ideal man? Hollis Redgrave isn’t the man. Get your mind back on your novel.
I’ll bet that’s more interesting.”

“Just checking, just checking. I want you to be okay. No one
had better hurt my mom.”

Madison didn’t tell Selena that she was bruised and sore
from Hollis shoving her into the kitchen counter. Shifting gears Madison asked,
“Did you have a treatment?”

“Yes. It went pretty well, but I always feel so weak
afterwards, but I bounce back, just like today…I feel great.”

“Keep that beautiful bounce, Selena.”

“I will, Mom, just for you.”

Mid-afternoon, Roscoe wheeled down the hall toward the
sunroom. He slowed his chair when he heard boisterous, female laughter. He
caught glimpses of gangly and shapely bodies moving about, a head of hair
swishing, and arms in constant motion. Flashes of hands and fingers fiddling
with cell phones. Three girls surrounded Selena in her chair. He rolled back to
his room, backing his chair just inside. Let them enjoy their privacy.

But the hall carried snippets of their conversation laced
with guys’ names, school names, burger hangouts, and game scores. He thought
back to when he was in high school, trying to remember if he experienced
moments like that. No memories came to mind. He kept listening until he
realized he was smiling at the happy sounds floating down the hall. He picked
up the closing comments as the girls moved out into the hall. “Love you,
Selena. Thinking about you. We’ll be back with guys next time, and praying for
you.”

The hallway grew quieter as the girls wandered toward the
elevators.

Roscoe got his nerve up and slowly rolled down the hall. He
hadn’t seen Selena in almost a week. He braked his chair at right-angle to her.

Her head was down, her right hand writing across the page in
her spiral notebook. She looked up with a slight smile.

“Thought I’d come down and join the party, but I see I missed
it.” He nodded toward the hallway where the girls disappeared.

“Some of my friends from my church group.”

Silence seeped into the sunroom.

Roscoe cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking…the other
day…well…I owe you an apology for how I acted and what I said about…about
dying. That was very inconsiderate of me.”

She had watched the perspiration pop out on his forehead.
Difficult for him, she thought. Well, I’ll be darned. People do change. She
smiled. “That’s okay. I guess it sort of shocks people.” She watched him nod.
“But you’re dying also. We all are.” She was still smiling. “Now we all have
something in common.”

“Never thought of it that way.” He paused. He could feel
another layer of perspiration just waiting to shine. To hell with it, I’m going
full steam ahead. “Do you…I mean…are you…uh—”

She decided to cut him off, ending some of his misery. “Am I
afraid to die? Is that what you want to ask?”

He nodded. “Yes. Are you?”

“No. I don’t want to die yet, but I’m not afraid?”

His expression posed the question, as he said, “You’re not?”

“No. I’ve taken Jesus up on his promise. He said he’d take
care of that. My job is to live each moment. He’ll take care of the rest.” She
paused studying him. “You’re not afraid of dying either.”

His eyes widened. “I’m not? What makes you say that?”

She looked him square in the eyes. “Anyone driving through
rain-slicked Beaucatcher Tunnel over 100 miles per hour is not afraid to
die…are they?” She grinned with total innocence.

He had to chuckle. “You’re a real piece of work, Selena,” he
hastened to add, “but in a good way. You’re smart, funny, challenging, and
different in a very interesting way. How’d you get that way at such a young
age?”

“I’m just little simple me.” Keep it simple, she thought.

“I doubt that. Uh…about my driving?” He took a deep breath
and exhaled. “One of the many stupid things I’ve done.” He shook his head
looking at the floor. “Dumb.” He looked back at her. “Don’t do dumb, stupid
things.”

She watched him, nodding.

He said, “By the way, where do you go to church?”

“Faith United Mission Church, just outside of town.”

He nodded. “I’ve passed it. Know where it is.”

“So where do you go to church?”

“Haven’t gone much. Probably should have.” His face took a
serious turn, as he looked out the window, studying the empty sky.

“You ought to try it sometime. You might like it. We’ve got
a woman pastor.” She giggled. “Most people call her ‘preacher-woman.’”

Selena started writing again. Tapping her pen, then
stringing words across the page, and making notations in the margins.

Roscoe reflected several minutes, debating where to go with
their conversation. He thought, I don’t know a blasted thing about religion. I
hated it when I was made to go to church. Church and real life never did seem
to be in harmony with each other. Well here goes.

“You’ve said you’re dying, but…but you still believe in this
Jesus…thing.” His hand motioned at empty space.

She stopped writing, looked up at him. “Do you have
something better that I should believe in?”

Stunned by her question, he managed to say quietly, “No, I
don’t. I…I think you’ve made the best choice.”

She watched him a few moments, before posing, “What do you
believe in, Roscoe?”

Where is she getting these sharp, penetrating questions? How
in hell am I supposed to answer that? I don’t have an answer. He cleared his
throat, as if that would give him an answer and confidence. It gave him
neither. He leaned forward in his chair, scratching his forehead. “I’m really
not sure. I guess fate…chance…myself?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. That’s
a tough question.”

She repeated, “‘Fate, chance, and myself?’ That’s not
exactly a championship lineup. Too many question marks, rolls of the dice, and
‘myself’ is just another human being. Where’s the hope in all that?”

“Beats me.” He threw his hands up in exasperation.

She smiled. “I’m still betting on Jesus.”

Her questions and comments had whetted Roscoe’s searching,
something that had been dormant for years. “But have you ever…seen…I mean…why
isn’t Jesus more…real…I guess that’s what I’m asking…I don’t know…I don’t…” He
thought, why do her questions grab at me the way they do? She’s
just
a
teenager.

Her left elbow was propped on the arm of her wheelchair, her
chin resting on the backs of her fingers, as she asked, “Roscoe… in total
darkness, when you are making love to a woman, do you believe she’s not
real…that she doesn’t exist?”

His mind went blank, as he shook his head with a
disbelieving half-smile. His face flushed at the content of her question. All
he could muster was, “Selena, what…where—”

“Fair and honest question. What’s your answer?”

“Of course she’s real, and exists.”

“Well, that’s how it is with me, when my soul searches for
Jesus in my dark moments. He’s real, and exists.” She smiled, and her green
eyes sparkled.

He nodded, appreciating how her questions and comments made
him think about things he’d never considered. Most of his thinking hadn’t gone
much beyond what’s in a woman’s bra and panties, and how much money he had to
spend. He couldn’t believe some teenager has him thinking about bigger ideas
than just the next pleasure.

“You must be studying to be an attorney, with your thinking
and questions you raise.”

“More than an attorney.”

“What would be better than that?”

“A writer. I want to be a writer. Writers have to be smarter
than attorneys.” She grinned, toying with her pen.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He pointed to her spiral
notebook.

“Yeah, I’m writing a novel.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“Does this look like I’m kidding?” She fanned the pages of
her notebook, filled with writing, some in color, a few sketches, and some
newspaper clippings. She giggled.

“What’s your writing about?”

“Romance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Look I’ve gotta
take some meds or Rachel will be on my case.” She stuffed her notebook and pen
back in her canvas bag. “I hope you can meet the pastor at my church sometime.
I think you’d like her. She’s really nice and she’s about your age.”

Looking puzzled, he asked, “And what age would that be?”

“Sixty-five.” Her wheelchair left for her room at top speed.

Dumbfounded, he watched her profile, as she raced for her
room. His mind worked overtime, searching, trying to put some pieces together.
Something familiar, but not quite clear. And where did sixty-five come from?
His searching was coming up empty.

He raked his hands through his hair. I need to get out of
this madhouse before I lose what’s left of my mind.

Thursday

Roscoe had been introduced to crutches on Monday, and he’d
been practicing every moment he could, so much so that he was beginning to
develop blisters on his hands. He hated the feel of crutches under his arm
pits. Using crutches to get around was just plain awkward. Although still in
pretty good shape, he’d discovered muscles he didn’t know existed.

He viewed crutches as a necessary evil, and he needed them
to get him to his destination today. He’d called and made an appointment for
this afternoon; he didn’t want to be late. He’d gone through his plan several
times.

He put on a blue chambray shirt, and made a final check of
his cargo pants. He’d placed his wallet in his hip pocket. He made one final
call, and then placed his phone in his side pocket. Another five minutes, and
he’d be on his way.

He hadn’t seen Selena since Monday. Her door had been closed
most of the time; he’d learned from one of the nurses she’d been resting more.
He wondered if she was also writing. He could tell she had a genuine interest
with her constant scribbling in her notebook. He chuckled, thinking about her
snappy little comments. She’d become more likable each time he’d talked with
her, although some of her questions had caught him off guard.

With his pen, he scrawled across the hospital complimentary
pad of paper, and placed it on his pillow. That ought to be explanation enough,
he thought.

He eased his wheelchair into the hall, partially closing the
door behind. The coast was clear and with his crutches positioned awkwardly on
the chair arm and a foot rest he was on his way. When the nurse at the nurses’
station turned her back he breezed past, crouching over a bit, holding his
breath. Made it through the first checkpoint, he thought.

The elevator was a bit troublesome. He hovered near the two
elevators until the passenger traffic thinned out then timed the hitting of the
button to catch the next one. Everything went well until one crutch slipped and
stuck in the crack between the elevator door and hall floor. He jerked, freeing
the crutch just as he heard footsteps rounding the corner. He wheeled into the
elevator jabbing the down button, just as a voice called out, “Hold the door
please.”