The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (16 page)

“Aah,” her mother said.

Her father leaned forward but said nothing.

“You know I went to Butternut Creek for that meeting in—what? April?”

“Were you at camp together?” her father asked. The man never let anything get by him. “Did you find him attractive then?”

“We didn’t have any time together. I…”

“Did you avoid him?” he asked.

“No, Dad. He had to leave for a funeral. We really didn’t spend time together. We did not have a chance to swear undying love.” She shut her mouth quickly. Her frustration had made her mouth off.

“Missy,” her father warned.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded, so she continued. “Then, today, he walked into the studio with flowers. I don’t know what this means or how he feels or how I feel.”

Her parents glanced at each other and smiled.

“What did he say?” her father asked. “When he brought the flowers?”

“Not much. I had appointments and couldn’t talk to him.”

“So,” he said, “this minister shoved the flowers toward you and ran off without a word of explanation?”

“Not exactly
shoved
, but, yes, he did run off before I could think of a thing to say.”

“Have you called to thank him for the flowers?” Mother asked, always the one to reinforce rules of etiquette. “At least emailed him? Although I think a personal note is so much more courteous.”

Her mother would see that sin of omission as a nearly unforgivable breech on Gussie’s part.

“I haven’t had a chance. I just got home, but you’re right. I’ll write.” Her last words were said with determination, to make sure her parents understood this was the end of the grilling, that she’d shared as much information as she could at this moment.

They didn’t catch on. “Tell us more about this Adam,” her mother said.

“I don’t know much more. He’s a minister, not from Texas. He took in two homeless children.”

“He did?” her mother said. “What a fine young man. He likes children?”

Knowing exactly where her mother’s thoughts headed, Gussie stifled a groan and stood. “I’m going to put these in a vase before I prick my finger on a thorn.”

The roses had been de-thorned, but her parents didn’t need to know that. She had to get away. She’d shared a great deal with them but refused to confess to the tumble of emotion inside, the sudden yearning the flowers had brought, the feeling that both delighted and terrified her.

She wanted love more than anything in the world.

And less than anything.

“Pops, what’s that closed building in the back of the church? Bree says it’s a gym. Why can’t we play ball there?” Hector asked. Now that it was mid-June, the days had gotten much hotter. Adam couldn’t blame Hector for wanting an indoor court.

“I’ve only been inside once,” Adam said. “When I first got here. You want to check it out?” At Hector’s nod, he added, “Grab a flashlight. We don’t have any utilities on back there.”

After he searched his junk drawer for the keys and Hector found a flashlight, they headed across the lawn of the parsonage and the church parking lot. He hadn’t heard from Gussie for days. The tour would fill time and take his mind off that lack of communication.

“Jesse tells me they locked the place up because it had deteriorated to the point it wasn’t safe and the church couldn’t afford to fix it up.” He turned the key in the padlock to remove the chain, then inserted another in the lock, turned it, and tugged at the door. It opened with a loud shriek.

The air inside rushed at them, thick and dank and dust-filled.

“Stinks in here.”

“Mold and age,” Adam agreed.

Light filtered through windows high on the walls of the building, enough to allow them to see the rough wood of the court.

“This is bad, Pops.” Hector stood at the edge of the court and looked around. “But has possibilities.” He pointed. “A scoreboard, bleachers.”

“Do you know how much a new floor would cost?”

“How much?”

“I don’t know, but a lot more than we can afford.” They wandered around the court and toward the dressing rooms. “Jesse told me they applied for grants but those went to organizations in big cities with more of a crime problem. They also tried to get the community involved, but the initial investment was too much.”

Hector shook his head. “This could be terrific. Everyone in town could use it. We could have events and stuff and charge to keep it up. Rent it out.”

“I agree.” They walked into the dressing rooms. Lockers stood open, the doors sagging. Rust stains showed in the drains of the showers and basins. “It’s the initial cost. Not only the floor but new wiring and plumbing. It’s a huge project.”

“Yeah.” Hector nodded. “But it would be cool to have a hoop we could use closer than the park and in the rain.”

That evening, Adam checked email, then sent a message to his parents and to his sister, a medical doctor who wandered through Africa caring for refugees.

When the you-have-a-message tone sounded, he clicked and checked the name of the sender. Gussie. Quickly, he opened and read the email. “Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely.” Nothing more. A curt but polite thank-you note that didn’t show a bit of encouragement. Hard to convince himself—no, impossible!—that the note was written by a woman who adored him or felt even an iota of attraction and wanted to see him again.

Well, he’d tried. He’d been active and acted spontaneously but her reaction showed she thought of him as a friend who, oddly, brought her flowers. A nice, geeky guy who dropped into her studio without an appointment only to say hi. With roses.

What had he expected from her? A proposal? A declaration of eternal love? Perhaps even a Scarlett O’Hara, “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, Reverend Jordan” flirtatiousness?

That sounded stupid even in his own brain.

She probably didn’t understand why he’d brought her flowers any more than he did. It had seemed like a good idea before he arrived in Austin, but when he remembered her expression of amazement, he still cringed.

But first she’d smiled.

He probably would have sat and stared at the email for a few more minutes and thought of dozens of depressing reasons she’d never be interested in him.

Fortunately, Hector and Bobby clattered in. Their arrival effectively interrupted his moment of wallowing in the depths of unrequited love.

“How ’bout some hoops, Pops?”

As he’d always done, Adam’d figure out life after a hard game of roundball cleared his mind and exhausted his body.

O
uida lay in the hospital bed in the middle of the living room and savored the quiet. When she’d arrived a couple of days ago, she carefully supervised the position of the bed. From there, she could look straight ahead, through the clear square in the stained-glass window of the front door and out to the porch and a slice of the street. If she turned to her left, she viewed the side yard toward the parsonage.

Nearly three weeks after her fall, she’d recovered a little. The pain had lessened and her hand had healed well. She did exercises with a ball over and over to strengthen it. Her shoulder sling would come off in a few weeks. PT helped with pain and range of motion. As she gained a little use of that arm, she no longer felt quite as much like a turtle on its back, but she still couldn’t put much weight on it. Fortunately, the broken leg turned out to be less restrictive than the doctors had first thought. It had healed enough that she’d be able to get rid of the cast shortly. Still, a long road to recovery lay ahead.

Today the girls had gone to day care. George had gone into Austin for a few hours. She sighed. The poor man was so uncomfortable, it was a good thing for him to get away from here and back to his beloved numbers. He’d left her with the remote, a phone, several books, and a tall glass of ice water. She hoped she didn’t need to go to the bathroom until the nurse showed up in an hour.

Peace. It had been so long since she’d had peace. George wasn’t wandering around the house looking confused and asking her every five minutes if she was okay and if she needed anything and did she know where his blue shirt or the ketchup was and did she need anything? The girls weren’t laughing or running up and down the staircase or making noise of any kind.

Peace.

It bored her silly.

Scattered around the living room were a few of the girls’ toys. She loved to have them playing in here. Last night they’d left sticky ice cream bowls on the coffee table. Wonder of all wonders, George had picked them up, carried them to the kitchen, and placed them in the dishwasher without complaint. She’d had to point them out to him, but he did the rest on his own.

“Hey, neighbor,” Adam shouted from the front door. “Decent?”

Not that she had any modesty left after her stay in the hospital and her dependency on everyone around. But, for Adam, she felt around to make sure the sheet was tucked in. “Door’s open. Come on in.” As if anyone locked their doors in Butternut Creek.

“Can I get you anything?” He wandered in.

Adam was the nicest person. Although she’d never been inside the Christian Church except for the Christmas pageant in which the girls had dressed as angels, he took good care of the Kowalski family. If she had even an iota of the spirituality gene, she’d join the church in no time, but she didn’t and the whole thing seemed a waste of time. Oh, the girls loved Sunday school and went every week. They brought home crafts she displayed on the bookcase and pages colored in odd shades that showed Abraham as purple or Mary as yellow because, Carol said, most of the crayons were broken or missing. She’d have to donate several boxes, once she could get to the dollar store.

“I’m fine. Sit down and keep me company. Good to see you.”

Adam tossed a stuffed animal off the sofa before he settled in. “How’s it going?”

“I hate being laid up. I never get sick and I’m not used to people taking care of me. It’s driving me crazy.”

“How’s George handling everything?”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “It’s not easy for him. He’s trying so hard to help. He’s doing the laundry and uses so much detergent that the sheets crackle when I turn over, but I’m not going to tell him that. I’m just glad he does the wash.”

She really didn’t want to tell him about the problems George was having in adjusting, so before he could ask more she said, “Carol and Gretchen love playing in your yard. Thanks for letting them use your swing set.”

“I’m not using it much myself,” he answered. “Janey loves playing with your girls.”

“I’ve heard…” She stopped to consider her words but decided to go ahead. What could he do to a woman in traction? And she wanted to know. “I hear you have a girlfriend.”

If there had been any doubt in her mind about the gossip, his reaction changed that. He straightened, blinked, and gulped before attempting to lounge back comfortably.

“Girlfriend?”

She didn’t say anything.

“They may be talking about Gussie Milton. She’s from Roundville. We know each other through the youth groups.”

“Adam, I promise I won’t tell the Widows. I know how they are. I’ve heard stories about their tactics. Poor Sam was hounded until he and Willow got together.” She lifted her free hand and pretended to zip her lips. “You can tell me anything. My lips are sealed.”

He grinned. “Nothing to report. I tried to date her.”

“Tried? You gave up?”

He shrugged.

“I was hoping for a wedding in the future,” Ouida said.

“Oh, sure.”

“Is she skittish or are you?” She struggled to sit up a little straighter and kept her eyes on his face.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I have a sign on my forehead that says,
MISERABLE AND ALONE. PLEASE HELP THIS POOR LOSER
?”

“Guess that means none of my business? Okay, I’ll change the subject because I have a favor to ask.”

He looked wary.

“Don’t worry. It’s easy. Please take George for an evening. He’s driving me crazy and I’m driving him nuts. He needs some man time. He also probably needs to talk to you about what’s happening, about this change in our lives.”

“I could do that. When?”

“What night might be convenient? The sooner the better.” She attempted to get comfortable but that darned cast and the traction didn’t allow it. “Tonight?”

“I’ll be home.”

“And one more favor.”

Again Adam looked worried, so she quickly explained. “Would you pull me up on the bed? I keep slipping down.”

That evening Adam wasn’t surprised to see George when he opened the front door of the parsonage. “Come on in,” he said and led his neighbor back to the television/living/dining-on-TV-trays room.

With his well-tailored khakis, George wore flip-flops and a UT T-shirt. Adam hadn’t thought his neighbor possessed flip-flops or a T-shirt. Even dressed in what passed as casual for George, his neighbor didn’t look a bit comfortable. Warily he studied the hall and the room. Looking for religious symbols or holy relics?

“Ouida make you come?” Adam asked.

“Not exactly,” George said. “She did suggest it. Strongly.” He glanced at his bare toes. “She also told me to wear these shoes. She said when guys get together to watch a game, they don’t wear wing tips.” She wasn’t wrong. Sam and the boys came over pretty regularly to watch sports, and he’d never seen them wear wing tips. George shook his head. “I don’t know
how
she knows what guys wear to get together to watch sports, but this is what she told me they wear.”

Because Adam didn’t know if he should laugh or not, if George was joking or only repeating Ouida’s advice, he said, “Probably from a beer commercial on television.” He waved toward a chair. “Grab a comfortable place to sit. Would you like something to drink? A Coke or tea?”

“No, no.” George took the recliner but sat straight up in it.

Adam settled on the sofa. He should give his neighbor time to relax and to start the conversation on his own but didn’t feel optimistic that would happen. The only conversations they’d shared had been the night at the hospital when Ouida fell and a few chats while George indulged in his one leisure-time activity Adam was aware of: helping Ouida garden.

“So, how’re things going?” Adam asked.

George glanced at Adam. “Terrific,” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. The tone made him feel his neighbor did have a sense of humor.

Then George leaned back and sighed. “I’m so out of my depth with this whole thing, I don’t know what to do. Ouida’s the one who makes sure everything at home runs precisely. I can’t juggle things like work and family and cooking. Thank goodness the church ladies bring food.”

“You do know that’s going to stop in a few days.”

George looked at him, panic in his eyes. “What?”

“The meals are to tide you over during the roughest of times.”

“Oh.” George considered that. “I can’t cook.”

“Can you use a microwave? They make great frozen foods nowadays.”

They watched the pre-game show on television for a minute or two before George said, “You know I don’t like to share, right? I’m not a touchy-feely kind of man.”

Adam nodded.

“But this worries me. The doctors have said they don’t know how well the leg will heal, if she’ll have problems or a disability. None of them can guarantee she’ll walk without a cane or a walker.”

Adam considered saying that there were no guarantees in life but bet George wouldn’t be comforted by a cliché. “No, they can’t, but she’s getting great care, from home health and from you.”

George scrutinized him with cold eyes. Obviously, Adam had failed as a man, a minister, and a neighbor.

“I don’t know what I can say, George. No one knows at this moment, and it seems to me you’re a man who likes certainty.” He searched for words. “But all of us are here to help—your neighbors, the church, all of us. And Ouida, she’s a fighter. You know that. She’s strong.”

George clenched his fists and swallowed quickly. Adam bet that was a deep show of emotion for his neighbor. If there was anything Adam knew at this moment, it was that he couldn’t allow George to break down. Oh, it would be cathartic and George probably needed to share, but he’d be embarrassed if Adam had witnessed that, might even cut off all contact.

“Do you like baseball?” Adam said in a hearty, booming, manly voice.

“Yes.” George nodded and blinked. “I graduated from UT. I’m a big Texas fan, any sport. With work, I don’t have a chance to watch it much.”

Adam decided his guest needed a break and a little privacy. “Let me get drinks and chips. Do you want pop?”

“You have red?”

“Sure.” He tossed George the remote.

By the time Adam returned, put the chips and pop on the coffee table, the Rangers game had started. After a few minutes, George said, “I don’t know how to take care of children.”

Adam started to say,
What worries you about that?
before quickly pulling the words back. Sounded too much like a preacher, like a counseling session. “Why’s that?”

“Ouida does that.” George took a handful of chips and munched. “I’m not good with kids.” He glanced at Adam. “I work with numbers. I’m uncomfortable and ineffectual around illogical people.”

“Illogical pretty much defines children. Especially young ones, like Gretchen.”

George nodded. “They’re at day care during the day.”

“They need you around.”

“Sure.”

A few minutes later, George said, “I’ll have to work at home more.”

“Probably.”

“I like things neat.”

Adam glanced at the precise cut of George’s hair, the way even his T-shirt looked as if it had been freshly starched and ironed, and the neat crease of his slacks. “Kids aren’t neat.”

“I can handle that.” He watched a double play end the third inning before adding, “Maybe.”

A little less confidence than Adam had hoped for. He took a handful of chips and waited.

“I’m not good with injured or sick people, either,” George said as the color commentator babbled on about the first baseman. “That’s the hardest part.” He shook his head.

“That’s tough.”

After the fourth inning, George stood. “Guess I’ll go home. Thanks for the food.”

Adam wasn’t sure if what he’d said or left unsaid was right or wrong or the least bit helpful but felt communication was open. Maybe they’d even had a few moments of male bonding, but George was hard to read.

When George came home the next day, the girls had settled on the bed with Ouida. “Come on in,” she said. “The girls wanted me to tell them a story.”

“Be careful with your mother’s leg,” he warned.

“Yes, Daddy,” the girls said, scooting back a fraction of an inch.

“They’re fine. The girls were very careful.” Ouida looked down at the girls with a smile. It felt so good to be home with them cuddled around her.

“Mommy, tell us the story about your dog. You know, the deaf one,” Carol said.

“Mommy, did you have a deaf dog?” Gretchen’s eyes got round with wonder as if she hadn’t heard the story dozens of times.

“Yes, sweetheart. Her name was Daffy. Short for Daffodil. She was a blond cocker spaniel with big floppy ears.”

“Like this?” Carol put her hands up to her ears.

“Yes, big floppy ears, but she got an infection inside her ears.”

“An ’fection?” Gretchen asked. “Did it hurt?”

“Very much. Daffy loved her people but she hurt so much when they petted her that she stayed away.”

“Oooh,” the girls said together.

She glanced at George and smiled. He leaned against the wall and continued to watch.

“Sweetheart,” she said. “Why don’t you sit on the chair next to the bed.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

She gave up and returned to the story. “Daffy’s doctor had to clean out all the bad stuff in her ears as well as the parts of the ear she heard with. When the doctor took off Daffy’s bandages, she couldn’t hear.”

“Oooh,” the girls repeated.

“Poor puppy,” Gretchen said.

“But Daffy didn’t mind. She still danced and helped me load the dishwasher if I dropped a few leftovers for her. She came for dinner and played with the other dogs.” She paused to allow her daughters to react.

“And then what?” Carol said.

She could see George smile. He’d heard this story and knew what would come next. He knew the girls did, too, but he seemed to be enjoying this family time.

“One day, I had to go to the bathroom really bad,” Ouida said.

The girls covered their mouths with their hands and giggled.