Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(16)

“Yes,” John answered. “But we need to sit down, and talk about it calmly.”

“Oh yeah, like this is something we can talk about calmly…” Lindsay groused as she dropped onto the sofa.

John ignored the comment and sat alongside her. “Eleanor and I have known each other for a long time,” he began, but he could no longer use the words he’d rehearsed. He could no longer say they were simply good friends. What Lindsay saw left no doubt as to the nature of their relationship. “After some thirty years, I ran into Eleanor last year and we started dating.”

“You ran into her? Ran into her like in a pick-up bar?”

“No, Eleanor’s not that kind of woman. We were both shopping on Main Street and when we spotted each other—”

“So you’re saying this is a thing with you two?”

“It’s not a thing. Eleanor is someone I care for very much.”

“Care for very much—exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I love her,” John answered. He had hoped this discussion could be handled differently, but as it was, he simply said what he had to say. “We’re planning to get married.”

“You’re kidding?” Lindsay gasped. “Please, tell me you’re kidding…”

“No I’m not,” John said. “I had hoped to tell you sooner but we haven’t had the opportunity, and last night—”

“You said you’ve been seeing her for a year, in that whole year you couldn’t find one single opportunity to give me a call and say—by the way Lindsay, I’m seeing someone and we’re thinking of getting married?”

“I was waiting until we could sit down together and talk about—”

“Oh, you mean like now?”

“No, I don’t mean like now.” When he spoke those words the patience he’d been exhibiting was gone, his voice no longer left the gateway open for argument. “I was going to tell you last night, but you never gave me a chance.”

“Why not before? Why didn’t you tell me before last night?”

“Because you haven’t been home—you’ve been too busy to spend any time with me for almost two years.”

“So you let me decide to give up everything and move back here, and then you spring this on me?”

“I didn’t plan it this way. I thought while you were here for a Labor Day visit—”

“Visit? I gave up everything and moved back here because I thought you were lonely, because I thought you needed me…”

“Be honest Lindsay, the reason you came home is because you were unhappy in New York and that’s fine, but don’t start telling yourself it was because I was lonely.”

When she began to cry, John wrapped his arms around her. “Eleanor’s a good woman. She’s someone who can make both of our lives fuller and richer. Please Lindsay, at least give her a chance.”

There was no answer, Lindsay just leaned her head into John’s chest and sobbed softly.

After a long while she mumbled, “I’ll try,” then retreated to her room. The words didn’t come from her heart they were simply what she felt obligated to say.

Lindsay closed the door to her room, threw herself on the bed and cried. “How could he?” she moaned. “How could he do this to me? To Mom?” It was well over an hour before she crawled from the bed and went to take a shower.



That evening the three of them came together for dinner. A smiling John sat at the head of the table, Lindsay on one side and Eleanor on the other. Lindsay stared across the table with a glare that had bits of ice sprinkled through it. Eleanor focused her eyes on her plate, twirling strands of spaghetti so slowly that at times she seemed to come to a standstill.

“It’s wonderful to have my two special girls here together,” John said.

Lindsay moved her icy glare over to him.

Eleanor lifted her eyes for a moment, smiled at Lindsay then refocused herself on a meatball. “Well, it’s wonderful for me to be here,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you Lindsay, and I’ve been looking forward to—”

“I hadn’t heard a thing about you,” Lindsay interrupted.

“Lindsay,” John said, not angrily, but with an easily understood intonation.

Softening her glare, Lindsay said, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

After that most of the chatter was either between John and Lindsay or John and Eleanor, never between Eleanor and Lindsay.





As you can see this is not going well and it didn’t get any better on Saturday when Lindsay woke to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. She surmised it was Eleanor and the thought slammed into her like an angry fist. Lindsay pulled on a robe and tromped downstairs. Sure enough, there was Eleanor, scurrying about the kitchen like a woman who had lived there all her life. She was wearing an all too familiar apron and seemed to know the precise location of every condiment, dish, pot or pan.

“Good morning, honey,” Eleanor said with a smile.

“Lindsay,” Lindsay corrected, “I don’t like to be called anything but Lindsay.”

“Okay then, Lindsay it is. I’ve got some sausage and pancakes ready—”