Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(17)

~

This is exactly what I feared would happen. Lindsay is one of the few humans with what we call misappropriated affection. I’ve only had a handful of these cases, but my counterpart in California encountered one hundred and thirty-six in just the last century. Of course, his problems are unique. There was the movie director who…no, in the interest of decency I think it best I not tell that story.

Back to Lindsay. There is no cure for misappropriated affection. The only thing I can do is provide a distraction, which then becomes the target of her love. Ergo the dog. You might not have seen it, but I know for certain. Lindsay fell in love with that dog the minute its picture flashed on her screen. This is another thing that baffles me when it comes to humans; even those without the capacity to love one another will love a dog. Of course compared to humans, dogs are easy. They’ll love any human I give them. The only problem a dog ever has is switching from one human to another. They’re fiercely loyal, which is something that’s not necessarily true of humans.

~

By the time Lindsay arrived downstairs, John had brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She sniffed the air and asked, “Is that Starbucks?”

When John said it was the same old Maxwell House they’d been using forever, she smiled then filled a large mug and joined him at the table. They were not five minutes into the conversation before she asked, “Do you still miss Mom?”

“Of course I do,” John answered.

“Yeah, me too.” She looked at him and smiled. “It’s nice that you’ve kept everything just the way Mom had it. That shows how much you love her.”

“Well, actually, the sofa is new,” John said, “and the porch furniture and the dining room light fixture.” He was trying to drive the conversation around to where he could mention that Eleanor had picked out those things, but he didn’t get the chance.

“It’s a good thing Mom married someone with principles. I hope one day I’ll meet a man just like you, someone who will love me, the way you love Mom.”

A finger of apprehension poked at John’s stomach. Lindsay’s words were present tense, not past. Words, John thought, it’s only words. He hesitated several minutes and carefully phrased his answer.

“I did love your mother,” he said cautiously, “and I always will. She has a very special place in my heart. Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.”

He paused long enough to let the thought register, then said, “But life moves ahead whether we want it to or not.”

“I know,” Lindsay said.

John was on the verge of mentioning Eleanor when Lindsay spoke again.

“It’s just that Mom was so special,” she said wistfully. “No one could ever replace her.”

John decided this was not the right time to mention Eleanor, so he settled for changing the subject. “How about having dinner at McGuffey’s tonight?”

Lindsay nodded. “Okay.” She remembered when McGuffey’s was Pub n’ Grub. Back then they had a salad bar, and the waiters were college kids who wore jeans and green logo tee shirts. She hadn’t been back for years—five, maybe more.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile, “McGuffey’s would be great.” Lindsay was already picturing how much fun it would be to see the friends she’d been thinking of.





It was a few minutes after seven when they settled into the booth at McGuffey’s. It was a slow night, so there were only a handful of diners and a few stragglers at the bar.

“Wow, this place sure has changed,” Lindsay mumbled. She pictured the room the way it once was and found it disconcerting to see formal waiters and white tablecloths. As soon as the gray-bearded waiter left with their orders, she leaned forward and whispered, “It’s so sad to see things change.”

Her father looked at her quizzically. “What changed?”

“Everything. This place used to be so lively. It was noisy and crowded…”

“Noisy and crowded is good?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “The Pub n’ Grub was great. When I walked in the door I felt so at home. I knew everybody, and it was fun. But look at the place now; it’s dead.” She gave a sad shrug. “You’re the only person I know here.”

John nodded. “True, it’s not like it used to be. But when McGuffey bought the place eight, maybe nine years ago, he improved almost everything. The food’s better—”

“But there’s no atmosphere!”

“Sure there is. It’s just not what you expected.” John smiled. “Things change, Lindsay, and that’s not necessarily bad—”

“I disagree,” she argued. “The changes I’ve seen have been nothing but bad. My building changing from rental to condo, was that good? Not for me.”

“Granted, it wasn’t good for you, but maybe the person who buys that apartment will feel differently. How you look at change depends on where you are in your life.”

Holding on to an air of disagreement, Lindsay shook her head. “Okay then, what about the Book Barn closing down, all those people losing their jobs. How can that be good for anybody?”

“I know you can’t see it now, but maybe each of those people will move on to something better in their lives. You’ve already told me Sara moved to Florida and loves it down there.”