Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(6)
As Lindsay slid into bed that night, she knew she had designed a man with principles. She closed her eyes and brought the image to mind again. “Perfect,” she sighed. She held onto the picture until sleep came and carried her away.
I suppose you know without my saying, this can only lead to trouble. Only the most foolish humans believe true love is based on hair color, or the garments that adorn a body. For centuries I’ve listen to humans expound on how they fell in love with a person’s eyes or their voice—if I had a raindrop for every time a male has claimed to have fallen in love because of a female’s breasts, I could easily flood all of Manhattan. The truth is love comes from that tiny spot in a human’s heart, the miracle spot, but no human has ever figured it out. They’ve tried. In fact the brightest minds of all time have tackled the challenge and not one has come up with the right answer. Instead they create profiles and rationale to set up a website promising these gullible love-starved humans the perfect mate. Hah. Granted the humans are getting better at this game, but perfect matches come from one place and one place only—me.
John Gray
It’s been ages since Lindsay’s been home, I’m glad she’ll be here for Labor Day. It’s time I introduced her to Eleanor. With her mother gone all these years, I know she misses having a woman in her life. Women talk about things a man is no good at and Eleanor, well, she’s a person you can’t help but love. I’ve had a fondness for Eleanor since the day we first met and that was over thirty years ago. She’s been good for me, and I think she’s gonna be good for Lindsay too.
After Bethany died in the crash, I hated myself for being alive. I kept asking God why He couldn’t have taken me instead of her. Living in this house was like living in Hell. Everywhere I looked there were reminders of Bethany—her sewing basket, slippers by the side of the bed, a robe hanging on the back of the door—she was in every room, and I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of even one thing. I can’t count the number of times I answered no when the Mustard Seed lady called and asked if I had any used clothing to donate. I was sleeping on a bed of nails and didn’t have the courage to move elsewhere.
Lindsay was living at Rutgers then. I think she stayed there partly because it wasn’t a place filled with reminders of her mother. I can’t say I blame her, but there were plenty of times I thought of calling and asking her to move home. The only thing that stopped me was Bethany’s voice whispering in my ear about how unfair such a thing would be.
Sometimes the loneliness got so bad I’d climb out of bed in the middle of the night and walk from room to room checking to see if anything had changed. Now I can see I was wallowing in my own misery, but back then I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t even bring myself to sleep in the middle of the bed. At night when I’d get into bed, I’d stay on my own side and leave Bethany’s pillow laying there like a turned-over tombstone.
About a year after the accident, the doorbell rang, and when I answered it I was face to face with George Grumman. Even though it was icy cold and sleeting he stood there with his hat in his hand and his eyes focused on his shoes. My first impulse was to grab him by the throat and choke the life out of him, but then he began talking and I could see he was living with the same kind of misery I was. I opened the door and asked him in.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said. When George spoke I could hear the quiver in his voice. He went on to tell me how his little girl had been taken to the hospital the morning of the accident. “I had to work,” he said, “but Maggie promised she’d call and let me know how our baby was doing…” He stopped, blew his nose then continued, “…the phone was right there on the seat but it had slid across to the other side. I looked to find it and in that few seconds…” he stopped talking and began sobbing. The sound of his grief was so muffled I could barely hear it, but I saw the way his shoulders shook and his head fell forward. We talked for a short while longer and with his remorse so evident I found it harder to hate the man. As he got up to leave I asked how his daughter was doing. “She died two days after the accident,” he said. Then he walked out the door, and I never saw him again.
I thought about that visit for well over a week and I was still thinking about it the night we had a thunderstorm that knocked out the power. I sat there in the dark for what might have been two hours then I finally gave up and went to bed. I’m not prone to dreaming, but that night I did, and the dream was so vivid I can remember it to this day. Bethany was dressed in a summertime dress and she was as young and pretty as the day I married her. I couldn’t see myself but I knew I was the one walking along beside her. She turned to me and said, Don’t forget, then she laughed that same great laugh I fell in love with. I tried to tell her that if I live to be a thousand I couldn’t forget her, but she covered my mouth with her fingers. Silly, I’m not talking about me! Don’t forget how to forgive or you’ll forget how to love. She opened up the suitcase she’d been carrying and motioned for me to look inside. As I gazed down at the case I could feel her alongside my shoulder. She leaned close and whispered in my ear—Do you see me inside there? I shook my head. It wasn’t Bethany, but it was all the things she’d left behind. She laughed again then picked up the suitcase and flung it into the sky. I could see myself trying to catch her sewing basket and the blue robe, but it was like trying to catch the wind. When I turned back she was gone, but I could still hear the sound of her laughter.