by Janette Oke
Todd scowled. “You would be late lots of times if I didn’t make you hurry.”
Justin shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
Finally they were out the door and in the car. Cynthia felt that the worst part of her morning was over. Dealing with customers at the bank where she worked was easy in comparison.
“Is Grandpa Paul comin’ for dinner?” asked Justin.
“’Course. He always does,” responded Todd before Cynthia could even open her mouth.
“I hope he got my watch fixed.”
“What’s wrong with your watch?” Cynthia had heard nothing about a broken watch.
“He broke it going down the slide backward,” put in Todd.
“It caught when I fell,” Justin said simply.
The watch had been her father’s idea. With a timepiece to make the boy more aware of fleeting moments, Justin might realize that there were times when hurrying was perfectly in order. It hadn’t worked. But Justin loved the watch. It was his prized possession.
“What broke?”
“Just the strap piece. Just a little bit. Grandpa Paul will fix it.”
Yes, thought Cynthia. Grandpa Paul will fix it. Grandpa Paul fixes everything … well, just about everything.
Cynthia’s eyes teared up. What on earth was she thinking? What ever would she do without her father?
“I’m gonna ask him if we can go ice-fishing tomorrow. Darren’s dad is takin’ him ice-fishin’,” continued Justin.
“It’s too cold for ice-fishing,” Cynthia said as she negotiated a corner, her eyes on the road.
“No, it’s not. You wear your warm clothes—an’ jump an’ run around on the ice to keep warm an’ stuff.”
“I thought maybe you’d like to go with me to the craft show.”
“Craft shows are for girls.” This from Todd who had gender roles well sorted.
“There’s a whole section there for kids,” Cynthia corrected.
“Girl kids.”
“Not girl kids. There are—”
“I’d rather go with Grandpa Paul,” Justin said simply.
“You don’t even know if he’s going anyplace,” Todd reminded him. “He hasn’t said that he’s going ice-fishing.”
“I’ll just stay home with him, then.” The matter was settled as far as Justin was concerned.
“Maybe we can go to the craft show for a few minutes after church on Sunday,” Cynthia suggested hopefully. She wanted some time with her sons but could think of nothing they could do together in the dead of winter.
“Grandpa said he’d help me build my new model,” Todd announced. “He said we’d start right after dinner.”
So the plans for Sunday had already been made as well.
Cynthia eased the car up against the curb. “Get out on the sidewalk,” she cautioned as she always did when she let them out at school.
“Bye, Mom.”
Todd was gone almost before she had completely stopped the car. Justin leaned forward to plant a moist kiss on her cheek. “Bye, Mom.” Then he slowly began to gather his lunch box, reader, mitts, and scarf. “Bye, Mom,” he called again before he shut the door, then stood, belongings dangling, mitts held in his hands instead of on them. “Bye, Mom,” he called again, struggling to wave with hands full of little-boy school items.
He’s going to lose another mitt, thought Cynthia, shaking her head and smiling at him. He’s already been through three pairs this winter.
He stood and waited. She knew he would not leave to trudge toward the school building until he had watched her pull away. With a last wave and a thrown kiss, she eased the car back out into the street. Such a little guy. Such a sweet little guy. And so much like his daddy.
She felt cheated that she wouldn’t get to spend more time with him on the weekend. She had so little time with him anymore, and he wouldn’t be her little boy for long.
“You going to the craft show today?” Judith asked as they sat at the Koffee Kup the next morning.
Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think so. I had thought the boys might like to go. See some of the models and things.” “They don’t?”
“Daddy took them ice-fishing.”
“Ice-fishing? Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”
“That’s what I thought. But they took a thermos of hot chocolate and lots of sandwiches. If they get cold, they’ll go to the diner just off the lake. They have video games there. Todd is crazy about video games.”
“Why don’t you go anyway?”
“To the craft show?” Cynthia shook her head. “Not much fun going alone. I’ve decided to stay home and catch up on some of my cleaning.”
“Not much fun cleaning alone either,” said Judith dryly.
Cynthia smiled and nodded her agreement. She turned back to the topic of the craft show. “You going?”
“Yeah. Soon as I get home from grocery shopping. Why don’t you come with us?”
Cynthia was uncertain. “Taking the kids?”
“We’re all going. Cal says I just take him along to tote the things I buy, but he does a bit of buying himself. Last year he bought this humongous birdhouse. We could hardly get it in the van. The kids had to sit all cramped in there around the big thing. Not a single bird used it all summer, but it does look cute. Cal keeps reminding me of that.”
Cynthia felt a little twinge somewhere deep inside. It sounded like so much fun to be a family.
“By the way, I asked Cal to sort of… keep an eye out. You know, for a nice widow or—”
“Oh, Jude,” Cynthia gasped. “You didn’t tell him—”
“’Course not. I told him nothing, except that I thought it would be a wonderful idea if your dad found a nice woman—”
“Oh, Jude. I wish you—”
But Judith was looking at her with an impish grin. “Listen,” she said. “If your daddy’s lonely, we need to help fix it.”
A twinkle shone from her eyes. Some of the distress left Cynthia’s mind. Judith always made a game out of life. Crazy Judith. But she had a loving heart. One that sought to take care of friends.
“Well—” Cynthia began, smiling in spite of herself. “Perhaps he isn’t that lonely. Maybe he’s quite happy the way things are.”
Judith reached across the table and took hold of Cynthia’s wrist. She gave it a little shake. “You’re not going to have a life until he has a life,” she said with unusual seriousness.
“I have a life.”
“But not the kind of life that you deserve. Not the kind you are … wanting. I’ve been thinking about it ever since our talk. I should have seen it sooner. But I didn’t. Cynthie, you are left out of everything. The Couples Club because you aren’t a couple, the Mom’s Day Out because you are working, the Valentine Dinner because you don’t have a Valentine, and it goes on and on.”
“But how will marrying off my daddy change any of that?” asked Cynthia bluntly.
Judith shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but we have to take things one step at a time.”
“Sure. Take away my built-in baby-sitter and I’ll never get out of the house—not even for shopping.”
“You can leave the kids with Cal. He’d never notice he had another two there. I think he just lets them go, anyway, the way the house looks sometimes when I get back home. Good thing it’s a mess to begin with. At least I don’t notice much difference.”
Cynthia smiled again and picked a cherry from her Danish. Judith was not a fussy housekeeper, but her home never looked that bad.
“Anyway, I told Cal to just… sort of keep his eyes and ears open. And don’t ‘Oh, Jude’ me.”
“He … he won’t say anything to anybody, will he?”
“Cal? Never. He’s about as close-lipped as the proverbial clam. Even I have to pry things from him.”
“But—”
“But he’s observant. And he understands people. It amazes me, the little things that he picks up. Should have been a detective or something. Details fly right ove
r my head, but Cal seems to see and hear everything that’s going on. Little things. Not just what people do, but why. I never catch those things. I just take things as they come—on the surface. Never notice the deeper side.” Judith used her hands expressively to emphasize her comments.
Cynthia nodded and smiled. It was true. Judith was an everything-on-the-surface person. One knew exactly what she was thinking or feeling about any subject. She took others in the same way—on the surface. While she, Cynthia, was more inclined to bury things. To feel things deeply yet silently. Judith was never silent. Cynthia often wondered if she talked to herself if no one else was around.
Judith waved for a refill of her coffee cup. “Cal will watch. But no one—not a soul—will realize that he is watching. He’s like that.”
“I’m not sure Daddy—”
“Cal will never let your daddy know, and he certainly will not try to make a match. Never. You know Cal better than that. He’d never interfere.”
“Then what—?”
“Sometimes folks can sit right beside each other and never catch on that they would be good for each other. Sometimes folks just need a little nudge.”
“And who’s going to do the nudging?” Cynthia asked with some trepidation.
Judith smiled. “Well … I’m not above a little nudging.”
With fresh cups of coffee they settled back for a few moments of quiet reflection. Cynthia was the first to speak.
“I sure don’t want Daddy pushed into something.”
“Nobody will do any pushing, Cynthie. Promise. There’s a big difference between pushing and encouraging.”
“I don’t know …”
“Relax. Maybe Cal won’t even be able to come up with a good prospect. We won’t force the issue, you know.”
Uneasiness still made Cynthia shift slightly. Force the issue, her thoughts repeated. No. No one will force Daddy. He has a mind of his own. Always has. She supposed that he was safe enough. She managed a weak smile and turned back to her Danish. She would try to put the whole conversation out of her mind.
“If you happen to see any of those knitted dishcloths at the craft sale, would you pick me up a couple? Mine are getting pretty ratty looking.”
“Daddy, that button looks about to come off,” Cynthia said, indicating a dangling button on her father’s sweater.
He followed her gaze. “So it is,” he responded. With one quick little jerk he finished the job, tucking the button into his pocket.
“Want me to sew it on?”
“I can do it when I get home.”
“I’ll do it now, if you like.”
He reached back into his pocket and produced the button. “Would you? I hate sewing buttons. Would rather change a tire, or pull a pump, than sew on a button.”
Cynthia waited while he removed his sweater and handed it to her with the button. “That was always your mother’s job,” he explained unnecessarily.
“I know.”
She saw the wistfulness in his eyes. She knew he was still lonely. He had adjusted in many ways. But one could never really adjust to the loneliness. Maybe, just maybe, Judith was right. It was possible her father did need someone. Someone to share his days and his long evenings. Someone to help with the little chores of daily living. Someone to care whether he came home.
As Cynthia sewed on the button, her thoughts traveled to areas she had not allowed them to go to for many months. Maybe I’ve been selfish, she concluded. Maybe Daddy is longing for a life of his own but feels that he has to stay and care for me and the boys. Maybe I need to let him go.
The unexpected twist in her thinking brought tears to her eyes.
Chapter Two
A Plan of Action
“I think I’ll have the sesame bagel.”
Judith’s head came up from the coffee she was stirring. “What do you mean—sesame bagel? You never have the sesame bagel. What happened to the fruit Danish?”
Cynthia shrugged. “I just feel like having something different.” Judith shrugged too. “Well, make mine the raspberry Danish,” she informed the young woman who waited for their orders. “I’m sure what was good last week will be good this week too.”
Cynthia felt that the glance thrown her way held a bit of reproof. “I didn’t say I was trading in my kids,” she stated with some annoyance, “just ordering a sesame bagel.”
“You’re getting restless,” Judith countered.
“Not restless. I’ve been having a fruit Danish for years.”
“That’s just the point. Why—?”
“Do I have to go on ordering the same thing every Saturday for the rest of my life?” she asked, agitation giving an edge to her voice. She stared at Judith, her jaw set. Why are we even discussing this? she wanted to say.
Judith stared back, then laughed.
It began as a funny little snort and quickly turned into full hilarity. Soon the two of them were sharing the mirth of the silly exchange. They hadn’t laughed like that since they had been college roomies.
“Have all the sesame bagels you want—and English muffins, too, if it pleases you,” Judith gasped out. “I’m glad to see you are able to make changes.”
“I’m in a rut. My whole life is in a rut,” said Cynthia, wiping at the laughter tears in her eyes.
“Maybe life is nothing but ruts. Comfortable ruts—when things go well. Jarring ruts—when things go wrong. I don’t know. We sort of settle in and feel content with the familiar—even when the familiar is not what we really want from life. Are we really that fearful of change, Cynthie? Boy! I hadn’t realized—my rut is getting pretty deep. I really should do something to shake things up. Wish I would have ordered the… the cherry cheesecake or—”
“Not the cheesecake. Too many calories.”
Judith frowned. “I forgot for a moment. I’m out with the fat patrol.”
They laughed again, not as boisterously as before.
“You said you had some news,” Cynthia prompted as the waitress placed steaming cups before them.
“Wish I’d have just had Columbian,” stated Judith, frowning at her coffee mocha. “Been having the same—”
“Jude! You said you had news about something.”
Judith’s eyes lifted to look into Cynthia’s face. Her whole countenance brightened. “Oh, I have,” she enthused. “I could hardly wait to tell you. You know—what’s his name? That lawyer, the one who sits at church over there on the left—by the Lairds?”
“Attorney,” corrected Cynthia. “He wishes to be called an attorney—not lawyer.”
“What’s the difference? He’s in law, isn’t he?”
Cynthia shrugged. “I dunno. Folks say he doesn’t like to be called a lawyer. That’s all I know.”
“What’s his name?”
Cynthia thought for a few moments. She couldn’t remember.
“I think it’s—what’s that big law firm in the city?” Judith tried again. “He’s connected with it. You know that big one. You hear the name all the time. Starts with… with some direction.”
“Direction? You mean East, South—?”
“West—that’s it. He’s with Weston,” Judith said, triumphant.
“Right. Weston, Weston & Hughes. Is he the Weston or Hughes part?”
“He’s Weston. The second Weston. His father was the first Weston. He’s gone now. Died about two years ago.”
Cynthia’s eyes clouded. She still could not hear the words relating to death without pain.
“So—what about him?” she finally managed.
“Cal has gotten to know him. Racquetball. They play in the same church league. Lately they have been teaming up for doubles. Having coffee after.”
Poor Cal, Cynthia wished to say but bit her tongue. That would be unfair. She really didn’t know the attorney. But she had to admit that she had never been too impressed with the little she had observed of him.
“Well, listen to this,” said Judith, leaning forward, her cheeks flushing wit
h the excitement of her soon-to-be-disclosed news. “He has a mother.”
Cynthia frowned.
“He has a mother,” repeated Judith.
“I was under the impression that all mortals have mothers,” said Cynthia dryly. “I thought it was part of the plan.”
“No, silly! He has a mother—widowed.”
“So—?” Cynthia turned palms up to underscore her question.
“He’s worried about her. Well … concerned anyway. She is planning to come and spend some time with him. She’s lonely. They had moved—his mom and dad, just before his father died—to a new area, a new church. She didn’t even have time to make another set of friends. He—Attorney Weston”—Judith spoke the words with exaggerated emphasis, swaying her shoulders to keep time with each syllable—“is afraid that once she gets here, she’ll just stay.”
“What’s wrong with that? He’s single, isn’t he? I should think he’d like someone to cook his meals and wash his socks.”
“Guess he doesn’t.”
“So he doesn’t want her? His own mother?” It sounded very uncaring to Cynthia.
“He doesn’t think that would be good for either of them. He’s been on his own since law school.”
“I’ve wondered about that. How come he’s not married?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never stopped to think about it.” Judith stared at Cynthia, who could feel herself flushing. It wasn’t that she had been staying up nights thinking about it either. She just wondered, that’s all.
“Why doesn’t his mother move back to her old area? Surely her old friends are still there,” Cynthia commented.
“He asked her that. She said she couldn’t. Not alone. It just wouldn’t be the same.”
Cynthia felt her heart going out to the lonely widow. She understood some of those feelings. It wouldn’t be the same. But then—nothing was.
“So what—?” began Cynthia, determinedly bringing her thoughts back to the present conversation.
“You aren’t getting it, are you?”
Cynthia shrugged. Judith had lost her—way back on the verbal trail when she had taken one of her unexpected turns.
“No. I guess I’m not. I’ve no idea—”
“Your father!”