Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(19)

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The sound of muffled voices woke Lindsay. It wasn’t the faraway voice of last night. It was the sound of people talking, words going back and forth with short pauses in between. Thinking her father most likely had the television on, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

Sleep didn’t come. The window shade that had been hanging there for more than fifteen years had suddenly become too narrow, and it left room for a strip of sunlight to slide through. The beam of light landed smack across Lindsay’s eyes. She could see it with her eyelids closed and when she turned her face to the wall, it was worse. The light bounced off the mirror and magnified itself.

She blinked open her right eye and checked the clock. Almost ten, time to get up anyway. Lindsay grabbed the robe she’d left hanging on the back of the door when she’d gone off to college, then pulled her slippers from beneath the bed. She listened a moment longer then started for the stairs. Before she set foot on the first step, she knew.

It wasn’t the television; it was a woman talking with her father.

“Not yet,” he was saying, “not yet.”

Lindsay couldn’t make out precisely what the woman said in response, but it was something about someone named Ray. She listened as intently as one listens to whispers carried on the wind but the words were fuzzy, and all she got were bits and pieces. It had to be one of the neighbors, she reasoned. Who else could it be? She hesitated for a minute; then the voices stopped and she continued down the stairs. When the living room came into view she saw her father and a light-haired woman locked in what was unquestionably an embrace.

“Well, excuse me!” Lindsay snapped.

The couple quickly stepped back from one another. John turned and looked up at his daughter.

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” he stammered.

“Obviously!”

“Don’t misunderstand—”

“Misunderstand?” she exclaimed. “What is there to misunderstand?”

“Lindsay, give me a moment and I’ll—”

The woman standing next to him tugged on his arm. “John,” she said, “I think this might go better if I were to leave.”

“No, Eleanor,” John answered, “stay. I think we need to sit down together and—”

Eleanor had already caught a glimpse of the anger spread across Lindsay’s face.

“No,” she said and shook her head. “What you need to do is spend some alone time with your daughter.” Her answer was more sympathetic than chastising.

Lindsay did not offer a stay or go; she just stood there glaring at the woman, her hands on her hips and her expression as flat and hard as the bottom of a cast iron skillet.

John bent and kissed Eleanor’s cheek. She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder then slipped quietly from the room.

Before the door clicked shut, Lindsay said angrily, “Do you want to explain what’s going on here?”

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

“Yeah, sure, like this is something we can talk about calmly,” Lindsay muttered as she dropped onto the sofa.

John ignored the comment and sat alongside her. “Eleanor and I have been friends for a very long time,” he began, but as the words tumbled from his mouth he realized he could no longer say what he’d rehearsed. It would be impossible to claim they were simply good friends. What Lindsay saw left little doubt as to the nature of their relationship.

“I knew Eleanor before I met your mother.”

Lindsay gasped. “This was going on when you and Mom—”

John shook his head. “Don’t be foolish. I hadn’t seen Eleanor for almost thirty years. Then last year I ran into her. One thing led to another and before long—”

“Ran into her?” Lindsay said. “Ran into her like in a pick-up bar?”

“No.” John exhibited his annoyance at such a thought, but Lindsay’s expression didn’t change one iota. “Eleanor’s not that kind of woman. It was quite coincidental; we were both shopping on Main Street when we spotted each other—”

Lindsay didn’t wait for the rest of his explanation. “So what you’re saying,” she said sarcastically, “is that this is a thing with you two?”

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

“Care for? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I love her,” John answered. He had hoped the discussion could be handled differently, but he had no alternative. “We’re planning to get married.”

“You’re kidding!” Lindsay exclaimed. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” John’s words came slowly, and there was a note of sadness in them. “I had hoped to tell you sooner but we haven’t had the opportunity, and then 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.” A crackle of agitation pushed through his words and the patience he’d shown earlier disappeared. He no longer left an opening for argument. “I was going to tell you last night, but you never gave me a chance.”