Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(23)
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During the week before Labor Day, it seemed that Lindsay couldn’t turn around without coming face to face with Eleanor. She was everywhere—in the kitchen, in the living room, stretched out on the backyard chaise. It got so Lindsay began to fear that one morning she would wake to find Eleanor’s face looking up from beneath her bed. Although she tried to avoid being in the same room, it was virtually impossible. Even when Eleanor was absent, reminders of her remained. Gardening magazines were scattered about, a half-finished needlepoint was left in the family room, a ring holder suddenly appeared on the kitchen window sill, and on the bathroom counter there were three bottles of nail polish in peachy-pink colors Bethany would never dream of wearing.
Although Lindsay did try, she simply could not bring herself to like Eleanor. It was all she could do to hold her tongue when the woman made some affectionate remark to her father. And Eleanor had a habit of calling him “honey” or “sweetheart.” At times she’d even use “sweetie,” which made every last nerve in Lindsay’s body twitch. Bethany had never gone to such extremes. She’d called him John, which was as it should be. Fortunately, after that first day, Eleanor did stick to calling Lindsay by her name.
On the Saturday before Labor Day, a huge bowl of potato salad appeared in the refrigerator.
“What’s this for?” Lindsay asked as Eleanor bustled around the kitchen.
“We’re having a family cookout for Labor Day,” Eleanor replied.
“Isn’t this a lot of potato salad for three people?”
“Oh, it’s not just us.” Eleanor smiled. “We’re having the whole family.”
“What whole family?”
“Your dad, you, me, my son, Ray, and his wife, Lorraine and Frank—”
“Aunt Lorraine?”
Eleanor nodded. “Unh-hunh.”
“Aunt Lorraine is Mom’s sister.”
“Yes, I know,” Eleanor said nonchalantly. “Lorraine’s also a member of our garden club. We’ve known each other for years. John and I had dinner with her and Frank a few weeks ago, and we went to this lovely little Italian restaurant…”
Lindsay couldn’t stop Eleanor from talking but she could close her ears, which is what she did. She watched the woman’s mouth moving and nodded occasionally but refused to listen to another word of the conversation. As soon as she could leave without being deliberately rude, she did so.
Her bedroom seemed to be the only place that offered an escape from Eleanor, so Lindsay spent much of her time in there. Sitting at the student desk where she’d once done homework, she sent e-mails to friends she hadn’t thought of in over a year, she browsed job listings and, of course, searched every pet adoption site she could find. She knew the dog she wanted, she had the picture of it fixed in her mind, but she had not yet been able to find it. She even telephoned the Small Paws Adoption headquarters to ask about the dog.
“It’s not one of ours,” the woman said. “I don’t recall ever having such a dog.”
“It’s probably a Maltese or Bichon,” Lindsay explained. “Grayish-white, scraggly-looking, hair hanging in its eyes?”
“It’s definitely not one of ours,” the woman said. “We groom our dogs and do a complete health screen before they’re listed.”
Lindsay thanked the woman for her time, hung up the telephone and went back to the internet. “That dog is somewhere,” she mumbled and started to search again.
Labor Day dawned with bright sun and clear skies. Lindsay opened one eye and saw the crooked sunbeam cutting across the room. “Darn,” she grumbled. She’d been hoping for rain. Rain would mean Eleanor’s cookout would be canceled, and Lindsay would be spared the agony of the family get-together. She was none too anxious to meet Eleanor’s son, nor was she thrilled with seeing Aunt Lorraine who, as Eleanor’s friend, now seemed to be somewhat of a turncoat. Lindsay skipped breakfast and held off joining the party until her father hollered up the stairs saying she should get a move on.
When she stepped outside, Lindsay hardly recognized the backyard. On one side was what looked to be a new stainless steel grill twice the size of the one her father previously had, and the lawn was filled with a scattering of snack tables and lounge chairs. She strolled across to where her father was standing.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” He laughed then gave a nod to the man standing next to him and said, “Lindsay, this is Ray, Eleanor’s son.”
“Pleased.” The young man said and stuck his hand out. Although he said pleased, he looked to be nothing of the sort. He had the dour look of someone who wanted to be anywhere other than where he was. Lindsay understood the feeling.
Turning his body, John said, “And this is—”
“Shawnee High Cheerleading,” Lindsay said, pointing a finger. “Traci Vogel, right?”
Traci’s face brightened. “Yes, but it’s not Vogel anymore, it’s Barrow.”
“You’re Eleanor’s daughter-in-law?”
Traci nodded.
Other than a few moments of polite conversation with Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Frank, Lindsay spend the remainder of the afternoon talking with Traci. Although they’d been two grades apart and never so much as passed each other in the hallway, Lindsay seemed to remember that Traci was the best of all the cheerleaders and certainly the most agile. Traci in turn recalled how Lindsay had been one of the most popular girls in school. Reminiscing about things that never were as they remembered, the two girls came to like one another.