The Matchmakers (8 page)

Cynthia squirmed on the leather seat and held her breath. What in the world did the man mean?

“What do you think? Maybe I shouldn’t even say it—or
think
it—but does it seem to you that Mother and your father might be just a little  … attracted to each other?”

Cynthia let the air release in a little gasp and turned to look fully at him. She could feel the flush of her cheeks. But since he was asking an honest question—with seriousness—she felt obligated to answer. She swallowed hard and nodded slightly.

“I  … I certainly believe that Daddy thinks your mother is a  … a delightful woman,” she managed to say.

“Would it upset you if anything were to come of it?”

“Oh no,” said Cynthia quickly. “I quite like your mother.”

He smiled.

“Would it  … would it  … upset you?” she asked in turn.

“Me?” His smile broadened. “On the contrary. It would ease my mind considerably.”

Why?
she wondered inwardly as she faced forward again. Didn’t this man realize how blessed he was to have such a wonderful mother?

“It’s been great for me—having Mother here,” he explained, as if Cynthia had spoken her thoughts. “But I don’t think living with me is the life she needs. She needs  … more. She is a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman. She needs to learn to be able to give of herself again. Frankly, living with me is not enough to fill her days. She needs  … people  … activities  … a place of service. She isn’t likely to find that if she stays on with me.”

Cynthia turned questioning eyes on him. “You don’t think so?”

“I’m sure of it. She spends all her time fussing. Over little things. Things that don’t really matter. She needs more than small, cramped quarters and one bachelor son. A challenge. A bigger world.”

“But… she’s going to sell her house.”

“I know. That concerns me. Oh  … not that she’s going to sell her house. That’s the right move, I think. But then what? Cooped up in my apartment all day? I don’t think that would be good for her.”

“I … I’m afraid I don’t follow—” Cynthia began.

“I thought we might—sort of—join forces.”

Cynthia frowned. Where was this conversation going?

“They do seem to enjoy each other. I have a great deal of respect for your father. He’s the kind of man—well, frankly, I wouldn’t mind Mother becoming  … involved.”

“But—”

“Of course, they must make up their own mind. I don’t want to force anything. But still, if they had just a—” He grinned again and held up a thumb and finger, indicating a small space. “If they had just a little bit of encouragement—I mean if they knew that we were in favor, then they might not be reluctant to explore—” he hesitated a moment, then finished with, “the possibility.”

“I don’t know,” Cynthia began slowly. “It sounds—”

“Nothing manipulative,” he cut into her thoughts, then quickly added, “Of course, if you are doubtful, if you don’t think Mother—”

“Oh no. It’s not that. It’s just—well—I don’t want to interfere.” “Nor do I. But I wouldn’t mind giving, what should I say, assent.”

“And how could we do that?”

“Mother will be back here—soon, I hope. I am hopeful that it won’t take long to sell her house. She thinks the world of you—and the boys. It wouldn’t be at all hard to—well, to arrange for little outings, and then give them some space to talk  … to get to know each other better.”

Cynthia thought about it and nodded. “That I can agree to,” she said simply.

“Maybe some days I could take the boys off to… something  … and let the two have the day to themselves.”

Cynthia thought about that awhile. What could an attorney manage to think up for her two boys? “Like  … what?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know  … yet. Todd has been talking of a go-cart. Might be fun to help him build one.”

“He’d love it,” Cynthia responded before she could stop herself.

“I have a friend with a garage. He’d let us use it. Maybe Justin would like to work on it too.”

“I’m sure he would.”

They were pulling into the restaurant parking lot. He turned to her. “Then it’s a deal? Our little secret?” He was smiling again.

“A deal,” she responded, reflecting the smile. “Encouragement. No manipulation. I promised God I wouldn’t try to take things into my own hands.”

“You did?” He looked into her face with obvious interest. Cynthia felt herself flush again.

“I  … I admit I wanted Daddy to find  … someone. But I realized that I was wrong to  … to try to work it out. Then your mother came. I really do like her. A lot. But I won’t—”

“I’ll honor your promise,” he said with sincerity. “I won’t ask anything that you are uncomfortable with. Honest. We’ll just give them occasioned opportunities and see what happens.” Cynthia nodded. It seemed they had an understanding, a common goal.

Chapter Four

Some Minor Adjustments

Mrs. Weston did not wait around for her home to sell but left it in the hands of a capable realtor and returned to her son’s apartment. “I couldn’t stand the loneliness,” she informed Cynthia confidentially. Cynthia nodded. She would not wish to be all alone in a big house either.

You shouldn’t be alone,
Cynthia wanted to say.
You really do need to find someone.
And Cynthia was quite sure in her heart that she knew just the one.

Now that P.C. was also thinking in the same direction, it shouldn’t be too difficult to at least give the idea a chance.

P.C. was already spending many evenings working with the boys on the go-cart. They had set up shop in his friend’s garage, and after the day’s work and school, they spent most of their free time there. Her father hung around with them, seeming to enjoy the whole experience as much as his grandsons.

Cynthia popped in on the little group one evening to inform her father that she would be at Judith’s for an hour or so to go over some Sunday school materials. She was mildly shocked to see the immaculate attorney, old blue jeans and ratty T-shirt streaked with grease, hair flopping forward over one eye, a smear across his forehead, and a rather ridiculous grin on his face. “Always wanted to do this,” he admitted, “but never had any valid reason.”

Cynthia shook her head. In their excitement at seeing the go-cart take shape, all four of them were acting like a bunch of schoolboys.

When the go-cart was completed, they turned their attention to other things. P.C. joined the fishing trips, the ball games, the sand-lot Saturday practice. He even took her father’s place, signing up as the adult accompanying the boys on the Brigade camping trip. “My bones are getting too old to sleep on the ground,” her father had cheerfully conceded.

“How can we ever get the two adults together when Daddy is busy running off with P.C. and the boys all the time?” Cynthia complained to Judith while they sipped Saturday coffee. “This all was supposed to… to make opportunity for Daddy and his mother. But Mrs. Weston and I are off shopping or baking cookies while the men—”

“Tell him,” responded Judith. “Tell P.C. that was the whole purpose of the  … the getting together with your boys.”

“I … I hate to talk to him about it. I mean, I really don’t know him that well.”

“You’ve got to tell him. Lay it on the line. He’s supposed to be helping the process—not hindering it.”

Cynthia nodded. She would try to find some way of bringing up the subject with P.C.

“May I talk with you,” she finally managed as the two of them moved down the church steps the next Sunday.

He stopped and smiled encouragingly. She knew he expected her to say what was on her mind right then and there. She shook her head, nervousness knotting her stomach.

“Not  … here. Not now. Sometime when  …”

His smile disappeared as he nodded. “When?”

“Can we  … can we meet for coffee or something—?”

“Have I done something?” he asked quickly, his words little more than a whisper. There were many others from the congregation within earshot.

“No. I mean, not really. Look, I don’t want a conversation right here. I mean—” She felt flushed and awkward.

“Coffee,” he promised. “When?”

“Tonight? After the service? Daddy will take the boys home.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

All the way home she worried and all afternoon she stewed. By the time they left for the evening service, she was sure that she had let Judith talk her into something foolish. She wished she could back out. What would he think of her? It was just plain silly. But she had already made the… the date. Her father was all set to take the boys home and put them to bed.

She hardly heard a word of the sermon. What she did hear seemed not to register. By the time they were dismissed, her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry.

“I won’t be late,” she promised her father. Surely it couldn’t take long to make some progress on the situation.

“Take your time,” he said and smiled at her in a way she couldn’t define.

“Ready?”

Cynthia looked up to discover P.C. standing next to her.
Ready?
Was she ready? No, she decided,
I certainly am not ready for this,
but she nodded her head dumbly and walked out with him to his leather-smelling car.

He talked easily as they drove. Most of the conversation was about her boys, her father, the fun they were having together. She winced. This was exactly what she wanted to address. But she wouldn’t do it now. Not yet. Not until they were settled in some dimly lit little cafe where he could not clearly see her face. Coffee cup in hand, she could summon up the courage to tell him that these boy-things had rather led him—led her father—off track.

He turned in to the parking lot of the Regency Hotel, and she saw at once that its cafe was brightly lit. She knew her face was not shadowed as she settled herself in the floral-printed booth. He asked for menus. But Cynthia had no desire for food. It would be hard enough to get the coffee down. He ordered coffee and pecan pie. She wondered fleetingly how he stayed so trim.

“Your boys—” he began.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” she hurried to say before she lost her nerve. His eyes widened. She knew he must have noticed the agitation in her voice.

“The boys? I’ve not done something, have I?”

“No. No… nothing like that. It’s just—”

“I think your kids are great. I had hoped—”

“They think you’re great too,” Cynthia was quick to say.

He nodded at that, looking relieved. “I’m glad.” Then he continued, his eyes deepening with intensity, “But you aren’t comfortable with them being with me, is that it? But your father is always there, too, and—”

“That’s not it,” Cynthia tried to explain. She did wish she could get over her silly habit of blushing so easily. Her red cheeks always gave away her nervousness, her concern, or embarrassment. “Don’t worry,” she confessed. “I’ve had my eyes and ears open. I always talk to the boys. They know about telling if anything—anything—makes them  … uneasy. They have told me all about your outings. I feel no concern about them being with you. And of course Daddy has been there, or some of the church group.”

He nodded. She could see that he understood perfectly her duty as a responsible parent. She had checked on him, yet she knew he didn’t blame her.

“So  … it’s something else?”

She nodded. She reached for the coffee spoon and toyed with it the way that always annoyed Judith. She caught herself and laid it aside.

“That’s just it. You  … and the boys—and Daddy—you’re always off doing things together—just the four of you.”

He was listening to her closely. “We’ve been leaving you out, haven’t we?” There was apology in his voice.

She stared at him a moment. “That’s not it. Not—I mean, I thought this whole… whole idea was to give Daddy and your mother—well—a chance to get to know each other. But it’s been a  … a totally male thing. The fact that you boys go off and your mother and I do something, that’s no way to  … to—”

She couldn’t finish. She was flushing again.

He appeared to be thinking seriously about what she was saying. At length he nodded. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “I’ve been  … selfish. I’ve been enjoying the boys and your father and I’d almost forgotten what—I’m truly sorry.”

And he did sound sorry. And look sorry.

Cynthia shifted uneasily on the seat just as the waiter returned to refill the cups. She waited until he moved away.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the boys,” she said. “They  … they have really been having a great time. It’s been good for them. But—”

“Can we start over?” he asked candidly, almost pleading in his tone.

Cynthia looked up and forced a crooked smile. Maybe she should have let things take their own course. After all, the men and boys seemed to be having a wonderful time together.

“I’m sorry too,” she said sincerely, shaking her head ruefully. “I do appreciate your interest in the boys. I shouldn’t have even—”

“No. You’re right. We need to  … to spend more time together. All of us. Do more family-type things. There are lots of things that—”

He stopped and looked at her steadily. A grin spread across his face. “You like fishin’?” he asked, and her answer was a look of mock horror.