Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(37)
“Ray’s so angry,” Eleanor said. “He just doesn’t understand. He thinks your father…”
Lindsay sat and pulled her chair close, “Don’t worry,” she said taking Eleanor’s hand in hers. “He’ll come around. When I first found out about you and Dad, I felt the same way but look at us now—we’re like best friends.” Lindsay still couldn’t bring herself to say like mother and daughter, perhaps one day but not yet.
“Ray’s a lot different than you. Once he gets a grudge in his heart, he’s not about to part with it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him as angry…”
“He won’t be angry forever. Wait and see. I’ll bet he calls tomorrow morning and says he’s sorry for acting that way.”
Eleanor shrugged, but there was a look of doubt stretched across her face.
Cupid…The Last Word
I’d like to be able to tell you what’s going to happen, but regretfully I can’t. Even I have blind spots and right now the only thing I can see in either Eleanor or Lindsay’s future is a gigantic black hole. That scares me. A black hole is not good. It generally means Life Management is up to something they want to keep hidden. Like humans the world over, I believe love conquers all, and I’m hoping to muster up enough love power to break through this barrier and avoid whatever mishaps Life Management has planned.
I knew Eleanor thought Ray would call back once he’d simmered down, but after three days had passed without a word, she began to have doubts. On Friday evening she called his house and left a message, “We’re looking forward to seeing you and Traci next Thursday,” she said sounding optimistic. “I’ve ordered a twenty-two pound turkey so there will be plenty of white meat, I know you don’t—” A shrill beep cut into her words and the mechanical voice said, “end of message.”
“It’s not the end of…” Eleanor stopped mid-sentence because by then all she had was a dial tone. She dialed the number a second time and tried to speak faster. “The machine cut me off before I could finish,” she said, “but call me back, I’ve got something important to tell you.” Although she’d left that message, I knew what Eleanor wanted was the opportunity to tell Ray what she had to say in person. To her, a telephone call seemed so impersonal. Family things, she felt, deserved a face to face discussion—a discussion that would enable warring parties to work things out. Eleanor had deliberately tried to keep her tone light and cheerful in the hope that Ray would consider their earlier conversation forgotten or forgiven—which I must admit sounded pretty good to me as well.
At nine o’clock that evening John suggested they take a ride over to Friendly’s for an ice cream sundae, but Eleanor shook her head, “Let’s not,” she said. “I’m expecting Ray to call.”
John smiled. “Did you tell him yet?”
“I haven’t had the chance,” she answered.
“Are you going to tell him when he calls?”
“I don’t know…” she sighed. “I may have to.”
Eleanor sat at the kitchen table and waited for the telephone to ring. Her message had said it was important, so she was sure he’d call. Seven o’clock turned into eight and then nine, but there was no ring, there was only a silent telephone and the far off sound of the living room television. She waited until almost midnight then snapped the light off and went up to bed. “I guess he didn’t get my message,” she sighed.
On Saturday morning before she turned the coffee pot to brew, Eleanor called and left another message. “Ray honey,” she said, “I’ve got something important to tell you so call me back. Oh, and by the way, on Thursday we’re planning to have dinner at about four o’clock—let me know if that’s okay for you and Traci.” She reluctantly set the receiver back in its cradle. Even if he was still feeling perturbed he’d at least call, she rationalized. “I said it was important, what if I was sick? What if…”
It was the first question John asked when he sat down at the breakfast table, “Did you hear from Ray yet?”
Eleanor shook her head no. “They’re late sleepers,” she said, “I doubt he’s listened to the messages.” Somewhere deep inside her heart, in the place where people hide the ugliest truths of those they love, Eleanor knew such was not the case. Ray was someone who pocketed his anger and held onto it until it was threadbare. She knew that the probability was she would have to give him the news over the telephone. Eleanor did what she’d done a thousand times before, what her mother and grandmother had done, she hid her feelings in a flurry of activity. If she moved fast enough, talked enough, smiled enough, maybe, just maybe, the heartache couldn’t catch up. She turned to the stove and poured three rounds of pancake batter onto the griddle.
Lindsay caught the look on Eleanor’s face as she turned, John did not. “Lindsay,” he said, “I’m going to the Renegades football game this afternoon, it’s the last home game of the season—do you want to join me?”
“No thanks, Dad. Eleanor and I are going shopping together.”
“You can go with your dad, if you want,” Eleanor volunteered. “I don’t mind going to Macy’s by myself.”