The Matchmakers (7 page)

But Cynthia did not say the words. She even forced the thought from her mind. How could she think that way? God knew what was best in life—even in death.

“Well, one can cherish the memories of past days—but not live in them,” the woman continued. “I thank God for each one of my special memories. But as good as they are, more than memories are needed to carry a person through the days. One must—eventually—learn to move on.”

Her father nodded, but Cynthia thought that she still could read doubt in his eyes. It had been hard for her father to move on.

“So do you have any plans?” Cal, who had been listening thoughtfully, asked.

“No, not yet. But I like it here. I like the church, the pastor, the wonderful, busy seniors’ program. The feel of… of warm family.” She cast a glance toward her son. “I’ve been doing some thinking about moving here.”

Cynthia also took a quick peek at P.C. Weston. She did not see him flinch. Saw no shadow of concern in his eyes. She could not read his face at all. Was he at all at odds with his mother’s comment?

“I think that would be wonderful,” her father was saying. By the look in his eyes, he was very enthusiastic about the idea.

“We’d love to have you,” Judith put in. “It already feels like you belong. It’s hard to remember that you’ve only been with us for a few weeks.”

Mrs. Weston reached out and clasped Judith’s hand in her right and Cynthia’s in her left. “I feel that way too,” she said simply. “You two have made me feel so at home.”

It was time to do the dishes.

Four weeks later the Westons issued an invitation. The little party was to get together again.

“Preston’s apartment is far too small to host a dinner,” Mrs. Weston explained. “So we are going to a restaurant. Then we will go back to his place for dessert and coffee.”

No one complained about the arrangement.

The restaurant meal was a wonderful treat. The Westons had chosen the best place in town. With no need for the hostess to be jumping up to serve or to clear the plates, all of them settled in to enjoy the food and the conversation.

When the meal was over there was no lingering over coffee, no playroom to which to send the kids. The attorney settled the bill and Mrs. Weston pushed her chair back.

“We must get these youngsters away from the table and give them some running room,” she said. “They have been sitting quite long enough.”

Her smile included all five. “You have behaved so nicely. I’m proud of you.”

The kids squirmed in embarrassed pleasure.

They had done well, Cynthia agreed as she pushed away from the table. Even her Todd and Justin. But she was a little nervous now. What would happen at the bachelor apartment? How would the immaculate attorney respond to five active, noisy kids romping through his quarters? She wished they could just go on home and leave the event on a positive note.

Just as she feared, when they were invited to step through the door, everything in the apartment spoke of expensive taste and extreme orderliness. Cynthia held her breath.

“You youngsters. Check the closet there,” Mrs. Weston said as she bustled in. “Preston did some shopping so you’d have something to do while we visit.”

The kids needed no second invitation. They bounded toward the closet and fell to their knees. Indeed the attorney had done some shopping. Cynthia’s mouth opened in surprise. She had never seen such up-to-date toys. They were not many in number but carefully chosen. She quickly spotted two new motorized space station building sets that her boys had begged for as Christmas gifts—and she had been unable to supply. There was also a small train set, complete with tracks and a village to construct.

Erin, too, had been considered. Quietly she took schoolteacher Barbie with her potential classroom and went off to a corner to set up the scene.

The boys expressed enthusiasm and dived in with noisy excitement. Cynthia noticed the attorney smile softly. He seemed pleased with their pleasure.

Maybe it was self-protection rather than generosity,
thought Cynthia. He knew if they didn’t have something to do they might—
But that’s unfair,
she checked herself. It was kind of him to think of the kids.

The dessert, pound cake with strawberries and whipping cream, was delicious. They sat around the living room and drank rich, hot coffee and chatted while the kids continued to play with the new toys. Cynthia decided that it hadn’t turned out too badly after all.

When it came time to go, the boys were disappointed. Reluctantly they began to gather up remote-controlled cars and the many connecting pieces and place them back in the box in the closet.

“They’ll still be here when you come again,” said the attorney. Cynthia glanced up. Was he serious? Was he actually considering letting them come again? Their social obligation was now covered. Was there to be another round?

Cynthia looked toward Judith. Her friend only smiled.

“It’s really working quite well, don’t you think? I mean, your dad and Mrs. Weston seem to really enjoy each other.”

Cynthia smiled. “You’re not going to believe this, but do you know what Daddy said the other day? He asked me to go shopping with him. Shopping! He hasn’t added anything to his wardrobe since Mama died, except for the shirts, socks, and underwear that I pick up for him.”

“Shopping? A man?”

“I couldn’t believe it. I asked him just what he wanted, and he said—with a rather embarrassed look—that he needed about everything. That he had let himself get pretty seedy. Imagine!”

“Well…” said Judith, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe things are moving along faster than we would have dared to think.”

“I hope they don’t move too fast,” Cynthia said soberly. “I mean, I think she’s great, but I want them both to be sure.”

“They’re not kids—either one of them,” Judith reminded. “I know, but  … well  … you never can be too cautious. I’ve known of two perfectly wonderful people who just didn’t work out together at all.”

Judith nodded her agreement, then said, “So, any future plans? Dinners? Outings?”

“Daddy and P.C. are taking the boys to the hockey game next Friday night.”

“He likes hockey?”

“You’re surprised?”

Judith shrugged. “I guess I am… a bit. I mean, he seems more like the kind who would be into—I dunno—polo. Cricket.”

They looked at each other and fought to control their giggles.

Cynthia became serious again. “Guess he likes most every sport—according to Daddy.”

“So the two men will be going off with the boys to this hockey thing. Then what? More events? More outings?”

“I suppose.”

“And you don’t mind?”

Cynthia looked up, not sure what the question implied. “What do you mean—mind? It’s good for boys to have—to be with men. Daddy has always said so. I’m glad that someone is willing to take them. Sports are good for them—except wrestling. I draw the line at wrestling. I never could understand grown men—”

“And what do you do?”

Cynthia set her coffee cup down. “What do you mean?”

“If these  … these males in your life spend their time running to  … to sports things, what do
you
do?”

Cynthia frowned. She had not thought about the lonely nights sitting at home by herself. It was not an enjoyable prospect.

“Maybe you should find something to do with Mrs. Weston,” Judith went on.

“Could you join us?”

Even though Cynthia was learning to care deeply for the older woman, she was not quite prepared to take full responsibility for the friendship.

“I have a family,” answered Judith simply. “Friday night is our family night. The kids always look forward to planning the activity. They plan way ahead. Next Friday we are going bowling.”

“Oh, fun.”

“You could join us. Cal wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment Cynthia was tempted but she quickly shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said lamely. “It would feel very … odd. My father taking the boys out and me going off on my own.”

“Another time then. Maybe you all can join us.”

Cynthia turned back to her pastry. It did sound like fun, but after all, family outings were special and meant to be just that. It would change things if she horned in.

She looked up at Judith and smiled her thanks but made no commitment.

When spring came, Mrs. Weston decided to go home and put her big house up for sale. Cynthia knew that she would miss her. It wouldn’t be the same without her cheerful smile greeting them each Sunday.

“This is late notice,” the diminutive woman said on her last Sunday with them, “but could you go out for dinner? I’m going to miss you all so much, and I thought that we should spend one more—”

“Yes!” Todd drew back a fist and pumped it enthusiastically.

“I do have a roast in—” Cynthia started to explain.

“I can run home and remove it from the oven,” her father said quickly.

Cynthia smiled. “Well,” she said, “it sounds like the family is much more interested in your invitation than in eating at home—so, yes, thank you.”

“I have my car. Preston came early for the men’s prayer time before the service. I’ll meet you at Dixon’s,” Mrs. Weston instructed. “I’ll go on ahead and have them set up the table.”

“Dixon’s.” Cynthia nodded, watching as Mrs. Weston hurried away to her car.

“C’mon, Grandpa Paul,” prompted Justin. “Let’s go take out the roast.”

Her father moved to follow the two eager boys, then turned back to Cynthia. “No need for you to come. We’ll just turn off the roast and meet you at Dixon’s.”

“But… how am I to—”

“You can ride with P.C.” And he was gone.

Cynthia felt her cheeks coloring. How was she going to go to the attorney and say that she had been left behind? But he suddenly was there beside her. “Ready?” was all he said. She nodded, relieved that she hadn’t needed to ask.

I could go with Judith and Cal,
she found herself thinking as they left the church and proceeded across the parking lot. But she knew they always had a full van, what with their own brood and picking up neighborhood children for the Sunday service.

P.C. opened the car door and she settled herself on the smooth dark leather of the seat. The car even smelled clean. Cynthia thought of her own vehicle. It had been years since it had looked polished. Not since Roger  … She really needed to give it a good cleaning. In fact, she really was in need of a newer car. If it wasn’t for her father …

“Good sermon,” he began as he backed from the parking spot.

Cynthia nodded.

“Mother really enjoys the services here.”

“That’s nice,” mumbled Cynthia.

He smiled. He really had a pleasant smile when he chose to use it.

“But then, that’s not all she enjoys.” Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out if there was some kind of hidden message in the words.

“I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to talk with you—alone—for some time,” he went on and Cynthia blinked.

He grinned. “There sure isn’t any opportunity when we are in our little crowd.”

No, there was not. She wondered if they had said more than a dozen words to each other over the past months. But the fact had not concerned her. Not in the least.

“I’ve been wondering… if you  … well, if you feel like I do?”