Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(8)

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 kept talking. “The phone was right there on the seat, but when I turned the corner it slid across to the other side. I looked to find it, and in those few seconds…”

He began sobbing. His shoulders shook, and his head fell forward as the tears came. His grief was so overwhelming that I had a hard time understanding the words he spoke. As he talked he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, like a man ashamed to look life in the eye.

“I ain’t had a moment’s peace since the day of the accident,” he said, and I knew it was true. Seeing George Grumman in such a state, 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 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.

The next morning I found her bathrobe lying on the floor. After hanging in the same spot for over a year, it had fallen from the hook. I took that as a sign and finally called the woman from Mustard Seed.

Last year I ran into Eleanor and couldn’t help remembering what good times we’d had all those years ago. One thing led to another and now, for the first time in almost ten years, I am truly happy. At one time I thought I’d never find anyone as special as Bethany, but Eleanor has her own kind of special. It’s the kind of special that makes me very happy, and I think it’s gonna make Lindsay happy too.





Cupid

Trouble Starts





Women like Lindsay make me appreciate the Eleanors of this world even more. First of all, Eleanor called me by name and had one simple request: she wanted to be loved by John Gray. She never asked for more and never changed her mind. I knew that was a wonderful match from the time she first wished for it. I can assure you, that earlier marriage to Ray was an organizational fault, not Eleanor’s. I have my suspicions Life Management had a hand in it, but again that’s something I can’t prove. And without proof…well, you know how that goes.

Lindsay on the other hand doesn’t recognize true love even when it comes face to face with her. She ignored the perfect match I sent and went traipsing after a lunkhead with more muscles than brains; then she wondered why they had nothing in common. It’s humans like Lindsay who make this job impossible. Instead of trusting that I’ll give her the perfect mate, she’s created her own image of what this ideal man should look like. Now she expects me to produce someone who matches that description. I can tell you flat out that searching for love like you’d search for a suit, by size, color and cut, is the wrong way to go about it. In time the outside of a person changes; their hair turns grey, the muscles become flab and those sexy eyes often end up glued to a television. That’s why when I match lovers I go by what’s inside their heart. The heart of a person stays the same; it’s just the outside that changes.

Now that she’s got a set-in-stone image of her perfect mate, Lindsay’s begun to study the face of every male she passes. She eyes them on her walk to work and scrutinizes them when they stroll through the bookstore. Why, yesterday evening she even checked out two gay men who were folding their laundry in the basement of her apartment building.

~

After a full week of looking into faces that were all wrong, Lindsay returned home on Friday evening weary and disappointed.

Walker greeted her with an apprehensive smile. “Got a registered letter for you.” He shuffled through the pile of envelopes and handed one to her. It was from the Chelsea Building Management Company.