by Amanda Tru
“Not at first. But with practice. We just have to practice you being who you are inside on the outside. That’s all.”
And the work began. Employment, health, education. Easy-peasy. Explaining why he didn’t see his parents often—not so easy, but at least they saw grandparents on holidays, and he lived with his sibling. “That would be me… score one for closeness without unhealthy dependence!”
Hobbies—not many. Some of the questions, she could answer without thinking. Others captured her attention—and her heart. “So… what is the most important thing you are looking for in another person?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Aside from being sold out to Jesus first, which I already said, then someone totally comfortable in her own skin. If she likes who she is, I probably will, too.”
“Why do you have to be my brother? If it didn’t gross me out to think about it—no offense—”
“None taken.”
“—then I’d be in love with you by now.”
“Thanks. Maybe there’s hope.” Heath pointed to the next screen as the slide zipped past. “Does it really ask if I’m looking for a woman with children? Isn’t that just begging for pedophiles to crawl in?”
She hadn’t even thought of it. “I’ll send them an email voicing our concerns. Meanwhile, are you okay with divorced or single moms?”
Of all the questions he’d hesitate on, that one surprised her. Heath sat there, hands wringing in his lap, eyes closed. Was he—he was! He was praying! Eventually, with an agonized expression on his face, he sighed. “I’m okay with single and widowed mothers. But until I study more, I don’t know about divorce. I want to say I don’t care, but I was talking with someone at church last month, and I can’t get his words out of my head.”
“Judgmental, much?”
Heath pleaded with her. “Just put it down. I don’t want to start studying this after saying it’s no big deal to me and then meet the perfect person just as I find out that Don’s right.”
As much as it galled, she put it down. “I think I’m glad I switched to Anglican.”
At that, he pulled the laptop from her, hit the next button, and told her, “Wise men still seek Him.”
With a squeal, Selby hopped up, kissed his cheek and began scanning the room. It took longer than it should have to find a small package covered in burlap and under the manger in her creche. “Oh, how clever! Seek Him. I love it.”
Unlike all the other gifts, this had nothing related to the month associated with the day of Christmas. And, as predictable as it was, Selby couldn’t help but squeal again as she unwrapped the first little bottle—frankincense. The next, of course, would be myrrh—the two essential oils she wanted most and couldn’t afford. “Heath, these are so expensive. I—”
“Feliz Navidad. Now open the last one.” And with that, he went back to typing in answers that she hoped wouldn’t send the organizers running.
Of all the things he could have done for gold, a tiny charm with #seekingHim… “Oh, Heath…”
“Like it?”
“Love it. But you know…”
His eyes met hers over the top of the laptop screen. In unison, they said, “People will ask if I—you—found Jesus yet.”
“It’s a good opener,” Selby mused. “I just realized that. Thanks.”
“So happy to have you here. I would never be doing this…” Heath waved at the screen. “—if you hadn’t come.”
“We’ve got this, Heath. We do. They’ll find someone who thinks you’re almost as amazing as you really are. And after you’ve been married for a few years, she’ll figure out just how amazing you really are. Probably after—”
“The birth of our third child, I know, Miss Marple.”
Selby only did a curtsy and moved to take over the profile process. He’d agonize over some answers for hours if she didn’t. “Okay, so what about your willingness to relocate.”
“Only within commuting distance.”
“Got it…”
The modern office with its sleek lines, on-trend furnishings, and latest in technological gadgets always seemed out of place to Heath, but he stepped in and waited as Ann Weik’s receptionist asked if she could, “Send him through.”
The director of Rockland’s zoo welcomed him with a smile. “So glad you could give me a few minutes to go over your resume and your goals for the department. We would, of course, prefer to keep this position in-house, but you are young…”
The interview process began. Most of the questions he’d expected, but a few felt very much like the previous evening’s profile process. So, when Ms. Weik asked, “And what would you say your greatest personal weakness is,” Heath choked.
“Um, probably my propensity spout random facts about the animal kingdom when I’m nervous—usually while on a date.” A sickening sinking feeling struck his gut as he realized that she hadn’t meant that personal. Things became even more horrifying as he found it impossible to keep silent. “I have very few second dates, as you can imagine. No woman wants to know the life cycle of a dung beetle or the mating habits of chimps over salmon and rice pilaf.”
Silent orders to shush it failed. Heath would have continued, but Ms. Weik blinked at him. “I’ve got one for you. What about the time it takes to empty a mammal’s bladder?”
“Twenty seconds—up to forty. It’s all about—” Dismay poured from his pores in a disgusting display of nervous perspiration. “I know I haven’t asked you out, Ms. Weik. How’d you know…?”
“My daughter is Jordan Aylward.”
And there goes any chance at this promotion. Unsure what else he could do, Heath murmured something about her having a beautiful and gracious daughter. “She wasn’t rude—even after I was. I appreciated it.”
The awkward silence began. Heath tried not to avoid her piercing gaze, but it wasn’t easy. Desperate for some sort of closure, no matter how awkward, he rose. “I suppose you would probably prefer I go. I’ll understand—”
“Sit down, Heath.”
Heath sat.
Like a CEO in a boardroom of a Fortune 500 company, ready to exact some evil takeover, Ms. Weik sat there, hands tented under her chin, watching him. Just watching. “Are you religious, Heath?”
“I’d say that most people who aren’t Christians would call me religious, yes. I prefer faith-filled.”
“That’ll work. Tell me something.”
He winced at what question she could ask. Still, his career might still be salvageable. He had to try. “Yes?”
“Did you enjoy your time with Jordan before…”
“Before I ruined her appetite and made her think I was some Hannibal Lecter in training?”
“She didn’t think that. She did, however, remark that you would be single for the rest of your life.”
Ouch.
“I agreed with her… then.” Ms. Weik leaned forward. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
“I liked her. She was funny, kind, and…” What did he have to lose? Hopefully nothing. “Um… well, she had freckles.”
A slow smile appeared on her face. “Oh, really? And you…”
Explaining would probably seal his fate, but he couldn’t lie, either. “I grew up in the Dominican Republic. Only sixteen percent of the country is white. I saw very few freckles, so every time I came back to the States on furlough, I liked them more and more—so cute. Almost like the body is saying, ‘I want more color, too!’” Of course, he couldn’t stop there. No… he had to blurt out the rest of the truth. “They also remind me of this spotted llama I saw in an animal park when I was little. I begged for weeks to be able to buy that llama.”
The expressionless mask Ms. Weik wore fell off. Laughter bubbled over. “I’ve always liked you, Heath, but never more than right now.”
“Glad I didn’t just ensure I got myself fired for insulting the boss’ daughter.”
“Did you mean to insult her?” He didn’t even have to answer. Heath’s face must have given away his horror because
she laughed again. “Didn’t think so.” A second or two passed before she added, “Did Jordan tell you where she lives?” At his nod, she smiled. “Then you should know that my daughter is an understanding and forgiving girl. She doesn’t know it, but she’s also a romantic. She’d respond favorably to someone who was a secretive admirer.”
“Meaning?”
“If you want another chance, you’ll have to take the initiative. Make it possible to figure you out but don’t advertise it, either.”
The perspiration thing ramped up to epic proportions. “You think?”
“Yes. Now get out of here. I’m pretty sure Roger needs input on the new chimp enclosure.”
Heath jumped up, considered offering to shake her hand and rethought that at the clammy feeling. “Thanks.” At the door, she called him back. “Yes?
“Be sure to request… um… privacy for those chimps, will you?”
With an hour between classes and only a ten-minute walk, Selby decided she’d better call Betwixt and tell them what she was doing with Heath’s matches… and why. It would go to voicemail. Everything did it seemed. So, she didn’t even bother waiting to get inside. With temperatures hovering at a balmy ten degrees, she hit the call button the moment she stepped out the door and got ready to leave a message.
A man picked up a moment later. “Thank you for calling Betwixt, I’m Camden Hutchins, how can I be of assistance?”
“Oh! A real person. Novel idea. Wayne Farrell from Fairbury gave me this number. Um, I’m calling about my brother’s account.”
“Sorry, we do not—”
Selby didn’t have time to be told all about the privacy policies she’d read thoroughly the previous evening. “Yes, I’m aware of safety issues. We respect that. But my brother has given me permission to have his information. I can even log into his account. I just need to ask you about dates.”
“I cannot share that information.”
The explanations began. Her brother’s social awkwardness, the multitude of failed dates. Her plan. “I’m just asking that you not put him with his perfect match right away. I guarantee you. He’ll botch it. We need lots of messed up dates, first.”
“I can’t just give women dates that I know aren’t good for them. They’re paying for careful consideration of their wishes—not to be guinea pigs. My answer is no.”
Impatience, combined with chattering teeth, made her next statement both difficult to spit out and a danger to the two years of very expensive dental work their uncle had sprung for when she arrived in Rockland. “Surely, you have some in the Rockland area who aren’t matching well with anyone yet? Be up front. “We have a forty-six percent match for you. The other party is willing to meet if you are. Would you consider it? Blah, blah, blah.”
Still, “Camden” refused. “No. We use a carefully researched algorithm. It provides the best possible and most compatible match based on answers given during our—”
“—extensive profile process. Yes, I’ve read the web copy. Oh, and you have a typo on the privacy policy page. I think it’s at the end of paragraph three.”
“Umm… Thanks.”
“Look, my brother is a great guy. Every word of his profile is true—strengths, weaknesses, all of it. You can see for yourself that he’s a catch. But until you see that random facts thing in action, you can’t really understand how debilitating it is. He just needs a chance to learn how to resist that urge, and my plan will make it happen. But not if you give him the perfect match right away. It’ll take a few tries to perfect the process.”
“Process or no, I cannot give out personal information.”
Her huff might have been rude—probably was, if she were honest with herself—but Selby didn’t care. “Look, I just want to be able to help him figure out which girls to go out with first. Is that so bad?”
Again, Camden refused.
“Wayne said you have a partner. Why don’t you talk to her? Ask her how she’d feel if no one gave her a chance to become the best version of herself. I suspect she’ll be more understanding. Oh, and take down my number so she can call if she has questions.”
“I—”
Selby didn’t give him a chance to argue. “On second thought, I’ll just text it to this number. That’s easier for all of us.” And she probably has access to the texts so she’ll actually see it.
“It isn’t necessary. I cannot and will not do this. Thank you for your interest in our service, and if we can be of any further assistance, don’t hesitate to shoot us an email or use the chat box for quick answers to questions. I don’t know why Uncle Wayne gave you this number, but we do not publicize it and would prefer you not use it.”
It had almost been too easy. No, Camden didn’t sound all that helpful, but Wayne would do something about him, and his partner… “Any woman involved in matchmaking is going to see finding just the right girl for someone like Heath as a challenge. That’s all I need right there.”
The lace was starting to get to her. It wasn’t that Jordan didn’t like lace but rather that she didn’t like such a superfluity of it. Yes… a superfluity. It’s the best word for it. Even if it is a bit over the top for a Fairbury bungalow.
Then again, the lace was over the top for said bungalow. She’d never asked if Arnie kept it around because it reminded him of Helen or because he liked it himself, but the temptation had become almost unbearable. Only her mentor’s words, “Some people cling to the past with everything they have because they know their future is short” kept her opinions to herself. For now.
Still, maybe just a little less? At least on tables where food could stain it? I could rip it while trying to get out that marinara…
Guilt struck hard and fast. No. Jordan Aylward would not destroy someone’s property just because it annoyed her. Wait’ll Mom hears about that.
“Jordie?”
Only Arnie dared call her “Jordie,” and while she’d never admit it, she liked it. “Yes?”
“Did you happen to check out Floyd Brighton?”
After an exaggerated glance at her watch, Jordan winked at him. “You made it a whole hour and a half. I’m impressed.”
“Nearly blurted it out when you walked in the door.”
“I thought so…” She dumped some peroxide in a bowl, dropped the lace in it, and shoved it under cold water. “Be right there, and I’ll show you what I found.”
Arnie didn’t go, though. He came over and fingered the cheap lace runner with a lost expression in his eyes. “Maybe you should just throw it out.”
Though hope welled up, his tone stamped it down again. “I think I can save it.”
“I guess. They’re good quality, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
He nodded, poking it once more. “They just won’t wear out—no matter how many times I wash them.”
As she dried her hands, Jordan turned to face him and gave him her best, “You’d better level with me” look. “Do you want them to wear out?”
“Of course. You don’t think I like all this fancy stuff, do you?”
“It’s in your house…”
“Helen’s doing. She saved all her allowance to buy the decorations herself. I spent mine on golf clubs—good ones. Still can’t keep a ball out of the sand trap.”
Some people might have asked why he didn’t just get rid of them, but Jordan knew. “Well, if you’d like me to wash them, I think I can ensure that you don’t have to put them back out again.”
“I’ll give you a raise.”
“Don’t need one. Not for that. But you’re going to owe me a piece of that red velvet cake truffle that Audrey makes when I show you all I’ve been doing to check out your son.”
Arnie clutched his chest, and Jordan’s heart kicked it into double time at the sight of the perspiration beading on his upper lip. “It’s really him?”
“Well, the lawyer wouldn’t have forwarded that letter to the wrong person, would they?”
Even Arnie couldn’t
argue with that.
“Now, come sit down. How’s your heart feeling?”
“I’ve got the healthiest heart in the country. I just haven’t ever heard anyone say that before. ‘Your son.’ Always wanted a son. Wouldn’t’ve known what to do with a girl, but I was a great boy—did all the things a boy does. Fish, hunt, baseball, army—you name it, I did it.”
Jordan let him talk as she led him to the couch and pulled out her laptop. Showing him the information on her phone would be sure to set off a tirade against the tiny screens. “Okay, I started with his name and came up with his drywall business, so I went to Yelp.”
“What’s that?”
She explained the website that rated businesses and showed the yelp rating. “He has mostly five-star ratings. One guy gave one star, but if you look at it, it’s just for having a higher estimate than someone else and not being willing to match a low bid. I think it’ll get taken down if the company sees it.”
“Glad to hear he’s not a pushover.”
“Then I went to Facebook. I mean, if he’s a good business guy, maybe he’s a good guy, too.”
Arnie leaned close as the window popped up with the large profile picture she’d left open for him. Anyone doubting the veracity of Floyd Brighton’s claim to be Arnie’s son would just have to look at the picture. Without a word, Arnie stood and went to a drawer in the desk. He flipped through several envelopes and pulled one out.
Back at the couch, he shook the contents into one hand, flipped through, and removed a photo from the stack. “He’s my boy. No doubt about that.”
“I agree. Or you have a younger doppelganger.”
He set the picture down. Side by side, you would have thought it was the same man—right down to the thinning center of the head. Arnie must have been thinking the same thing, because he thumped the picture and said, “He’ll have nothing up there in five years or less. All the men in my family are blessed that way.”