The Matchmakers

by Janette Oke

  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.

  It maybe was a little awkward at first, but soon they all settled into an easy rhythm of family outings. Cynthia even dared to think that it would not take many months for their goal to be realized. Her father and Mrs. Weston seemed to thoroughly enjoy each other’s company. And with every outing, the bond among all of them was strengthened.

  But perhaps… perhaps it was the two boys who were, unconsciously, the ones to bring the two widowed people together. It was very natural for the four of them to be drawn into a little group on their outings, one boy attached to each adult—discovering things, attempting things, enjoying things.

  Cynthia and P.C. exchanged expectant smiles.

  “We need to let them get off alone now and then,” he whispered to her on one such occasion.

  “But how? Daddy always expects the boys to tag along with him whenever he’s around.”

  He frowned. “Then we’ll need to plan things with the boys—and leave Mother and your dad free to do something else.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find something. Have you been to the city zoo lately?”

  “No.”

  “There. There’s one outing right there.” He grinned with satisfaction.

  “What if they want to come?”

  This brought back the perplexed look. “Leave it to me,” he said with confidence but still looking thoughtful.

  Cynthia nodded. She would leave it to him.

  Gradually, along with the group activities, there came times when Cynthia and P.C. took the boys off on one or another outing—slyly suggesting what their parents might wish to do with the free time. And then on occasion Cynthia and P.C. requested a bit of free time of their own, coming up with a plausible reason and asking if their parents would baby-sit the boys. The two youngsters still seemed to be the best allies in drawing the two together.

  Both Cynthia and P.C. were even more sure of that following a conversation they overheard between Justin and Mrs. Weston one afternoon.

  “Would you be my grandma?” the boy had asked wistfully. “I don’t got a grandma.”

  The woman had pulled Justin close to her side and held him. “I would love to,” she responded, tears in her eyes. Cynthia caught the look that quickly passed between the woman and her father.

  “You can’t,” put in the officious Todd. “Grandmas are family.”

  “Maybe we can find a way.” Mrs. Weston managed to address Todd’s comment and ease Justin’s concern with the few words.

  “Right now?” asked the usually patient Justin, a shine lighting his eyes.

  “If you’re in a hurry, perhaps we can just … sort of pretend.”

  “I don’t want to just pretend. I want it to be real.”

  Justin’s lip quivered and Mrs. Weston quickly said, “Then I guess we’d better make it official—now. There’s more than one way to become family.”

  Todd looked doubtful.

  “Have you ever heard of adoption?” she inquired of the two boys.

  Justin nodded. He had a friend who had been adopted, whatever that meant.

  “That’s a decision that folks make to take someone into the family. Make them a real part of it,” explained the woman.

  “Does it work?” asked Todd.

  “Sure it works. You run and find a nice sheet of paper and a pencil.”

  Justin hurried off to do as bidden.

  “This will do until my son makes it official,” Mrs. Weston explained to Todd as they waited.

  Todd cast a questioning look toward the man.

  “That’s the kind of work attorneys do,” Mrs. Weston went on. “That and other things.”

  Todd nodded, his expression indicating that if a real lawyer worked on it, he was sure it would be all right.

  Justin, soon back, handed the pencil and paper to Mrs. Weston. Soon she had completed the written document to her satisfaction.

  “Now, I sign here—and you sign there,” she informed the boy. “This is just temporary, you understand. Someday we’ll have to make it legal—one way or another.”

  Cynthia and P.C. exchanged glances again.

  Justin didn’t bother to ask further questions. With a grin he reached for the pencil and printed his name on the line indicated.

  “Can you—can I put my name on it too?” asked Todd rather hesitantly. It was done. Mrs. Weston announced with a smile. “Now you can call me Grandma Dee.” Both boys ran off, noisy in their excitement.

  Accepting the woman at her word, from then on they referred to her as Grandma Dee. Cynthia thought the woman actually glowed each time they spoke her new title.

  “I didn’t know your mother’s name was Dusteen,” Cynthia commented as she and P.C. drove into the city for dinner.

  “I’m surprised you found out,” he answered. “She never has liked it. Says it’s a silly name. She always goes by Dee.”

  “She signed it as ‘Dusteen’ on the adoption paper.”

  He smiled. “Wow! She really was being official.”

  “Are you… are you actually going to draw up legal papers?” she asked as she turned to him.

  “What do you think?” His smile broadened. “Shall we just sort of take our time and see what happens? As Mother said, there’s more than one way to make it official.” He winked. “Things seem to be moving rather nicely, don’t you think?”

  She nodded, her satisfaction reflected on her face. It did seem that way.

  “Rather strange,” Cynthia said, her thoughts taking another turn. “Your mother’s name is Dusteen and she uses Dee. Your name is Preston and—”

  “I’ve never liked Preston. Apologies to my parents, their extraordinary common sense did not seem to be at work when it came to naming me.” They exchanged a knowing grin.

  “Have you ever thought of using your second name? Many people do,” Cynthia suggested.

  “My father was Carl. Two Carl Westons in the same law firm coul
d be rather confusing.”

  She nodded. “I guess it would be.”

  They rode in silence, the radio playing softly, blending in with the smooth hum of the motor.

  “But you could use it now,” Cynthia finally ventured.

  He looked at her awhile, then agreed with a nod of his head. “Could, couldn’t I?”

  She watched his face. He seemed to like the idea.

  “Think I will. I like that. Never was crazy about ‘P.C.’ but didn’t know what else to do. Carl Weston. I like that. I think Dad would too.”

  He reached across the seat and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks,” he said with a smile.

  Cynthia flushed slightly. She had only suggested what seemed to be perfectly natural.

  “So how’s it going?”

  The two women sat with steaming coffee cups before them, picking daintily at their carrot cake—a concession on Cynthia’s part because of their careful watching of calories over the weeks—and Judith spoke the words, one eyebrow lifted as she posed the question.

  Cynthia tried not to sound smug. “Good. I think they really do enjoy each other.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Cynthia looked up at the terse comment but let it pass.

  “And the boys really love her. Even call her Grandma Dee.” “I know. I’ve heard them.”

  They each were silent for a few minutes.

  “How do you feel about it?” Judith finally asked.

  “Me?”

  Judith nodded.

  Cynthia was thoughtful. Almost yearning. “I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed Mama. It’s so special to be able to share time with a motherly—mothering—woman. She just understands …”

  “So you aren’t sorry? That we got involved? Sort of.”

  Cynthia looked at her friend’s teasing expression, then smiled and shook her head. She could not deny her own feelings. She already loved Mrs. Weston like a mother. Nothing would make her happier than her father deciding to—but she must not rush things. She turned her attention back to Judith.