The Matchmakers (4 page)

“Not if  … not if he’s supposed to be a  … a suitor.”

“A suitor? Who said anything about a suitor? All we are going to do is give them a chance to meet each other. That’s all.” Judith was shaking her head in exasperation.

“And how—?”

“Well, Cal likes this guy,” Judith started out slowly, then warmed to the subject. “Keeps talking about having him in for Sunday dinner. I figured the best time to do that is right after his mother gets here. Sort of  … make her feel welcomed.” She winked.

“And then  … ?”

“Then it would be perfectly natural for me to also invite my best friend—and her family.”

Cynthia only looked at her friend.

“It’s the only thing a hospitable churchgoer would do. Isn’t it?” went on Judith in a teasing tone.

Cynthia stirred restlessly. It seemed that Judith had the whole thing worked out.

“I don’t know, Jude …”

“Just keep a Sunday open. She’s supposed to be here in a couple of weeks.”

For a reason that she could not have explained, Cynthia still felt unsettled about the whole thing.

“What are we going to do today?”

Cynthia was not sure if her father was directing the question to her or to her sons. She had hoped to spend the snowy day quietly—perhaps with a fire in the fireplace, a good book, or an afternoon of family games. It seemed a long time since they had just had fun together. “I know,” Todd interjected with enthusiasm. “Let’s rent some videos.”

“Yeah!” seconded Justin.

“Great!” said her father with a glance out the window. “It’s a perfect day for videos. Maybe your mother has some popcorn she could pop.” He cast a glance toward Cynthia as he made the remark.

“I think I’m all out,” Cynthia said, feeling a bit of a letdown as her own plans quickly vanished.

“We’ll pick some up while we’re out getting the videos,” her father offered.

Already the three men of the house were getting into their coats. The usually dawdling Justin seemed in more of a hurry than the other two.

“Do you have lots of milk for hot chocolate?” her father asked as he slipped on his gloves and reached for the car keys he had tossed on the kitchen counter.

“That depends on how much hot chocolate you will be drinking,” replied Cynthia evenly. Rather than a relaxed, snuggly day, she now glumly pictured three males stretched out across the family room while she scurried around in her kitchen keeping them supplied with popcorn and hot chocolate.

“We’d better get some apples, too,” put in Justin. “I like apples with my popcorn.”

“Anything else?” her father asked.

“I’m going out for groceries anyway. I’ll get it,” Cynthia told them.

Her father nodded, quite satisfied that everything was arranged. Cynthia watched them go. The boys were noisy in their excitement, and her father was filled with good-natured gusto. Cynthia knew that her quiet Saturday afternoon was not to be. She mourned just a little bit as she added popcorn, more milk, and apples to her grocery list.

“When did you say this Mrs. Weston is arriving?” Cynthia’s query brought Judith’s head up.

“Not sure. Soon, I think.”

“Hasn’t Cal been playing—what—tennisball?”

“Racquetball. Yeah. He plays every Tuesday.”

“Hasn’t … Attorney Weston said anything?”

“I don’t know. Cal is—you know—quite uncommunicative. He doesn’t say much about things unless I point-blank ask him.”

“Well, ask him.”

Judith stopped chewing her last bite of toasted scone, her announced venture into variety. “What’s going on?” she asked around food in her mouth.

Cynthia flushed. “I just thought that you were—you know—talking about an  … an introduction, that’s all.”

“With your father?”

Cynthia nodded. She could not bring herself to give a verbal agreement.

Judith swallowed and leaned forward.

“I had the impression,” she began, “that you weren’t too crazy about the idea. Cal said, ‘Jude, don’t push it. Let things happen as they happen.’ So I sort of—”

“But … I thought  …” For a minute Cynthia felt a strange little panic. She needed help. She needed Judith’s help. Her friend was right. She would never have a life of her own, a life with her boys, until her father had one.

Cynthia checked herself. That was foolish. Downright foolish. Her father was taking care of them, and she wasn’t fully appreciating it. She lowered her head, her cheeks hot with shame.

“I  … I wasn’t thinking that we should ‘push it,’” she ventured when she could look up. “But it might not hurt to at least—you know—let them get acquainted. Sort of see what happens. Daddy is a smart and capable man. If she isn’t  … well, right, then he’s not about to be tricked into anything.”

“You want him to marry?”

“Well, no, not  … maybe not marry, at least not  … well, perhaps see someone. You know, show a little interest or  …” Cynthia came to a stammering halt. What exactly did she want?

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I just  … just need space. Space to find my family again. To see if I can function as a person. I don’t  … I can’t even make decisions anymore. The boys get to decide on more things than I do.”

“I hadn’t realized—” began Judith.

“Maybe I’m just being silly,” Cynthia hurried on. “But I  … I got rather used to being an adult. I mean, when Roger was here, we made decisions for the family. We had our understanding on the various areas of  … of being in charge. We told the boys what the day’s activities would be. Now I’m not even asked. Daddy thinks—he means to be helping me. But he’s  … he’s taking over my home. He’s smothering me. I feel I’m not an adult anymore—not a mother. I love my father. I wouldn’t know what to do without him, but—”

“You need help,” assured Judith with finality.

Cynthia toyed with her cup, her eyes clouded. “Maybe not … not marriage,” she said when she looked up, “but if you could—even if it would mean a few Saturday outings, I’d—”

“I’ll have Cal do some fishing,” replied Judith.

“And this  … this attorney guy—?”

“Weston. He goes by P.C.”

“P.C.? That’s rather a strange—”

“That’s what I thought. Cal says he doesn’t like his name. Was teased horribly when he was a kid.”

“What is it? How can it be worse than P.C.? That’s—”

“Preston.”

“Preston? That’s not so bad. Sounds better than P.C.”

“Preston Weston?”

“Oh!”

They looked at each other, the glint in their eyes quickly sparking a burst of laughter.

“That’s a hoot,” said Cynthia when she could finally speak. “Preston Weston. Who ever would name their kid that?”

“Mrs. Weston,” replied Judith around more explosions of mirth.

“Hey, maybe I don’t want my father meeting this woman after all,” Cynthia added in good humor.

The laughter. It was good for the soul. Cynthia supposed that was the main reason they had stayed friends ever since college. They had always found reason to laugh together. Somehow things just seemed funnier when she had Judith to share them.

“Can’t you just hear the kids singsonging that?
Preston Weston. Preston Weston,
” mimicked Judith, rocking school-kid fashion in time to her chant.

Cynthia stopped mid-chuckle. Perhaps it was no laughing matter. “Must have been horrid for him,” she said slowly. A strange feeling of compassion washed through her as she thought of a little boy, tormented because of his name. No wonder the man didn’t smile much.

“Cynthie.”

Her coat sleeve was tugged and she heard her name hissing almost directly in her ear. She turned to find Judith right behind her, leaning slightly over her shoulder, a dancing light causing her dark eyes to flash. “She’s here.”

Cynthia’s eyebrows came together. “Who?”

“The widow.”

The widow. Mrs. Weston. The attorney’s mother. A feeling of nervousness flooded through Cynthia—a feeling akin to going out on one’s first date.

“Where?”

It was only a whisper, but Judith, who had now moved to stand before Cynthia, heard it.

“With him—over on the left side where he always sits.” They both looked into the church sanctuary from the foyer.

“What’s she … like?” Cynthia forced from a dry mouth.

Judith shrugged. “She looks all right.”

All right?
Cynthia almost said it aloud.
All right is not good enough for Daddy.
But she said nothing. Just worked on swallowing.

“Cal is going to ask them for dinner next Sunday. Are you free?”

“Next Sunday? Shouldn’t we sort of get to know her a little bit?”

“I don’t know how else to get to know her. Her son has been here for—what—almost three years? We’ve never gotten to know him.”

Cynthia nodded. It was true. But everything seemed so sudden. She felt nervousness crawl along her spine.

“Are you free?” Judith prompted.

It was a rather silly question. Cynthia was always free on a Sunday. She nodded dumbly.

“Your father?”

“My father—what?”

“Free? Will he be able to come?”

Cynthia swallowed again and nodded her head. Of course her father was free. He never did anything but take dinner with them on a Sunday.

“Good!”

Judith’s enthusiasm was far different from what Cynthia was feeling. Her exuberant friend gave her arm a little squeeze, eyes dancing. “We’ll do it!” And Judith was gone.

Cynthia wished there were someplace she could be alone. Could just sort of catch her breath, clear her head. But the foyer of the church, filled with the usual rush and vigor of worshipers greeting one another, offered no place of solitude, no time of silence. She stirred, absentmindedly returned “Good mornings” with a forced smile and made her way toward the sanctuary. The boys had already rushed off to their respective classes, but her father would be waiting for her to join him in their usual seat on the right side for the adult Bible class.

A stain of red began to flush her cheeks. Would her father know? Would he, through some mysterious sense, be aware that she was plotting something? How would he feel?

Cynthia steeled herself against her uneasiness and moved forward. She could not leave—would not ever consider it. Perhaps it was the habit of many years that always found her in church each Sunday morning. Perhaps a sense of duty toward her father would not allow her to leave him sitting there alone. Perhaps the unconscious realization that she needed God this morning, needed direction and guidance, drew her toward her usual place.

She eased in beside her father and took a deep breath. As much as she felt compelled to do so, she did not turn and look across the sanctuary to where the Westons sat. Maybe she could not have turned even if she had tried. She wasn’t sure. It was enough to sit beside her father, wondering if he sensed a difference in her. She felt anxious every time he stirred.

The Sunday school lesson that morning was on the topic of finding God’s will.

Cynthia cringed many times as the teacher, fluently quoting verse after verse, took them on a spiritual quest. Once, only once, did she dare cast a glance toward Judith. Her friend seemed entirely at ease, nodding in agreement at the points being made.

Cynthia lowered her gaze to the Bible in her lap, but the words on the page seemed to blur.