Daddy's Little Matchmakers

This thought kept him going through the remainder of the afternoon and got him through the bedtime routine that sometimes derailed his patience. Tonight, however, the older two girls were unusually compliant, taking their baths and climbing under the covers without a single complaint.

That in itself was suspicious. But when Brooke, the baby girl who was growing up far too fast, kissed him good-night and marched off to bed without a single request for water or a second story to be read, Eric suspected something was up.

He loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher and reset the coffeepot for tomorrow then waited a full five minutes longer before tiptoeing down the hall to see if he could catch the trio at whatever trouble they’d planned. Instead, he found his girls sound asleep, bathed in the pale yellow glow of the night-light.

Eric padded back to the kitchen and turned off the lights. Standing in the darkened room, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the spice-scented candle his mother insisted made a suitable centerpiece for the table. What she couldn’t have known is the smell reminded him of Christy. Cinnamon and spice had always been her favorite scent.

Opening his eyes, Eric scooped the candle off the table and marched outside. The warm night air fell around him like a salt-tinged blanket as he walked barefoot to the trash can behind the garage. Lifting the lid, he hesitated only a moment before throwing the candle into the deep recesses of the empty can then slamming the lid back down tightly.

He returned inside and fell into the recliner. Reaching for the remote, Eric turned on the television but after realizing he’d heard nothing of what the talking head on the sports channel had said, he shut off the television and went to bed.

Tomorrow would be another day, he reminded himself as his head hit the pillow. Fridays were generally slow at the clinic—slower than even the snail’s pace of the other weekdays—so he’d decided starting today he wouldn’t go in until noon unless there was an emergency.

Maybe he’d set the alarm and make pancakes. Eric smiled. Yes, pancakes. A reward for the girls’ good behavior in going to bed so nicely. And just maybe, a chance to see what in the world they were up to. Also, a way to have a nice family meeting regarding why they would not be placing any more ads.

“The ad.” Eric scribbled a note to remind himself to call the Gazette first thing. Perhaps he could stop the ad before it went to print.

After a fitful night of mostly missed sleep, Eric rolled over and reached for his phone as soon as the alarm went off. “Classifieds, please,” he said when the call was answered.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one in yet. May I take a message?”

Stifling a yawn, Eric laid back against the pillows. “Yes, please. This is for Amy Spencer or whoever has the power to pull an ad before it goes to press. Please call Eric Wilson at—”

“The Eric Wilson? From Daddy’s Little Matchmakers?”

He groaned. “Yes.”

“What a great story. We’ve already had inquiries on it.”

Sitting bolt upright, Eric gripped the phone. “Wait. You’re saying the ad has already gone to print? But it was just placed yesterday afternoon. I thought there was a lag time of a day or two. Your paper only comes out once a week.”

“All the more reason to get such a great story in quickly,” the woman said with a lilt in her voice. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“No, nothing,” he managed.

“Amy’s last day was yesterday but I’m sure someone can call you back if you’d like. I’ll have to check and see who’s handling classifieds now that the temp job is finished. Would you like me to do that?”

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. But you could do me one favor.”

“What’s that, Dr. Wilson?”

“Could you tell whoever’s inquiring that there’s no story here? Its just three little girls and one nosy grandmother trying to run my life. I love them but I certainly don’t want to encourage them.”

A giggle and then she said, “Can I quote you on that, Dr. Wilson?”

“No,” he said a bit too harshly before hanging up.

Later that morning Eric scooped the last pancake off the griddle and added it to the stack. With summer upon them, that meant he could spend the morning with the girls before his mother came to take up her babysitting duties. Even as he grumbled over the embarrassment of the ad, he gave a quick thanks for Mom—whose home was a short three blocks away—as he reached into the pantry for the syrup. Maple for Ella and Hailey, and strawberry for Brooke.

“Girls,” he called as he said a prayer for guidance before their family meeting. “Breakfast.”

Down the hall they came, a scampering herd of pink-clad girls whose giggles and squeals were forever imprinted on his heart. One by one he greeted them and then, with a great show of mock formality, he set their glasses of juice and milk before them.

“Look, Daddy’s using the stick glasses.”

Hailey lifted the glass, a piece of wedding crystal that had been woefully hidden away for special occasions—until this last move. Since Christy’s death, Eric had learned that any day he woke up and put both feet on the floor was a special occasion.

He slid his Bible out of the way and sat the milk carton on the counter. Tucked into the pages of the well-worn book was a neon-green flyer for Starting Over—the new men’s group for widowers that the church advertised last Sunday.

Wincing, Eric recalled sitting through the clever basketball-themed video the pastor had shown last Sunday. While he loved the sport, the idea of getting together with a bunch of guys on Saturday morning to shoot hoops and talk about their grief certainly did not appeal. And even if it did, Saturday mornings were always spent with the girls.

It was their time, and nothing would come between him and his girls. Not even a group that purported to offer help to men stuck in the cycle of grief. If the Lord wanted him at that group, He’d just have to clear the time.

Which Eric knew He wouldn’t.

So he turned his back on the thought and joined the girls at the table. He was doing just fine, and anyone who told him otherwise was just wrong.

“Look, Daddy, my pancakes are pink.”

Eric glanced over at Brooke’s plate and found she’d mixed her milk with the syrup to form a gooey glob of her favorite color. “Nice, Brookie” was all he could manage. No sense in correcting what could become a budding culinary career. “Now tell me how pink tastes.”

“Daddy, Hailey’s making flowers with the syrup again.”

A glance at his middle daughter’s plate confirmed Ella’s complaint. Rather than pour syrup over her pancakes, his artistic child was making elaborate swirls and tiny leaves to decorate what was a garden of floral delights. All while her older sister waited for her turn at the syrup bottle.

“I’m just getting it right, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t want to mess up the flowers.”

“Enough, Hailey,” Eric said. “Let Ella have—” His cell phone rang, and Eric debated a moment before he reached for it. The clinic. “Dr. Wilson,” he said as he rose to step away from the now-chattering females.

“Hey, Doc,” his receptionist said. “Things have gotten kind of busy and it might be a good idea if you come in earlier than you planned.”

Skipper came bounding in the dog door shaking his wet coat all over the cabinets, the walls and the newly refinished wood floor. “Sure, soon as I talk to the girls and clean up this mess,” he said as he hurried to end the call.

A glance around the room told Eric that the conversation with the girls would have to wait until tonight. Cleaning up the dog’s mess soon turned into cleaning up the girls’ mess and then, after that, to turning on the sprinklers in the backyard and creating a make-do Slip’n Slide out of the leftover plastic tarps the painters left behind. By the time his mother arrived, Eric was covered in pieces of grass and soaked head to toe.

“Well, now,” she said as she wisely stood out of the range of the girls’ splashes. “Is this any way for the town’s most eligible bachelor to behave?”

“Mother, really.” He grabbed a towel off the fence and began to dry off. “Not in front of the girls.”

“What do you mean ‘not in front of the girls’?”

“I mean we’re having a good time.” He looked back to note three sets of eyes staring in their direction. “So leave off with the eligible-bachelor stuff, okay?” he added in a much quieter voice.

“They look awfully happy. You didn’t punish them, did you?” She gave him one of those “Mom” looks.

“Actually I haven’t had a chance to speak to them.” He shook his head. “But no, they won’t be punished. Not since they had you egging them on.”

His mother lifted a silver brow. “Egging them on? Really, Eric, you act as if I’m the only one who wants you to find someone to love.”

“Grammy, come swim with us,” Brooke called.

“Grammy didn’t bring her suit,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow morning I can take you all to the pool at the community center. Or maybe to the beach. If it’s all right with your daddy.” His mother turned her attention to Eric. “You didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow morning, did you?”

“Tomorrow morning?” His heart sank. “No,” he replied weakly. “Just spending time with the girls like we do every Saturday. I suppose we could go to the pool.”

“Looks like you just spent the morning with them, Eric.” Mom gave him her most radiant grin. “And no offense, but I was hoping to make this a girls-only morning. Maybe go get our nails done and our toes painted afterward. Is that awful?”

“No, it’s fine,” he said as three girls began to cheer. “Great.” His mother clapped her hands. “I had hoped to take them to breakfast, too. So, I’ll be here around seven-thirty. Is that too early?”

“Too early? No, I don’t suppose.” Especially since the men’s group meeting began at eight.

“Well, go on and get ready for work, then,” she said brightly as Hailey called for her. “Grammy’s got it covered out here.”

Eric reluctantly complied, grumbling his way through his shower, getting dressed and then making the short commute to the clinic. As was his custom, he pulled around to the back only to find there were no empty parking spaces.

“That’s strange,” he said as he drove around to the front of the building only to see the parking spaces on Main Street filled, as well. Across the way, the Gazette’s parking lot was also at capacity. “Must be a sale going on over at the shoe store.”

He finally found a parking spot down at the Vine Beach Public Library some three blocks away. By the time Eric reached the front door, the Texas sun had begun to toast the back of his neck and his shirt was soaked. He was, quite literally, hot under the collar and beginning to steam.

Before he could wrap his fingers around the knob, the door flew open. “Thank goodness you’re here, Doc,” his receptionist said. “I didn’t have a clue what to do with all the calls for appointments.”

“Appointments?” Eric walked in to find the tiny office filled with pets and their owners, the great majority of whom were women. All chairs were occupied and a woman in tight jeans holding a mewling cat in a hot-pink cage leaned against the opposite wall.

“Hello, Eric,” she said when she met his gaze.

Eric? He nodded in greeting then stepped around her. The phones were ringing and the crowd at the front desk was three deep. A teacup Chihuahua shivered violently, it’s diamond-studded collar sending rainbow sparks across the worn floorboards while a Yorkie with blue hair bows relieved herself behind the lone plant.

Nancy, his vet tech, was pulling files and adding them to a thick stack. Rather than working in the back at her grooming table, Cassie Jo seemed to be busy printing what appeared to be new-client forms. Dee had one phone to her ear and another resting in the crook of her arm. It was not immediately apparent whether she was speaking to the caller or the dark-haired matron at the front of the line.

“Follow me,” Eric said to Nancy as he stepped over a pet carrier and hurried to the solitude of his office. “All right,” he said when she shut the door behind her. “What’s going on?”

Her smile was inappropriate to the stress of the situation. “My guess is they’re all here to see you.”

“Me?” Eric shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look,” he said with what he hoped would be a calmer voice, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but I’m usually a guy who can laugh right along with the rest of them. The catch is, I need to be in on the joke. So, why don’t you tell all those people to go home so I can have my parking place and my office back?”

Nancy gestured to the folded copy of the Gazette that topped the stack of periodicals on the corner of his desk. “See for yourself.” She paused. “You might want to sit down.”

“Surely all of this insanity wasn’t caused by that ridiculous ad in the classifieds. Who reads that section, anyway?”

His vet tech shook her head. “Don’t know about that but I’m pretty sure everyone reads the headlines.” She shrugged. “See for yourself. If you don’t need me for anything else, though, I probably should get out there and help.”

“No, go ahead.” He waited until Nancy left then carefully opened the paper to read the headline. “Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

Before he could read past the first paragraph, the intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Phone’s for you, hon,” the receptionist said. “And you’ll probably want to take this one.”

“What?” He shook his head. “Not right now.”

“No, seriously,” she repeated. “You want to take this.”

Eric leaned back, exasperated. “And why would that be?” he managed.

“Well, it’s some reporter from the Houston Chronicle. Said she read the most interesting story about you on the newswire this morning. Wants to know if you have any comments she can put in the story she’s writing.”

“Great,” he said weakly.

“Line three.” Nancy’s voice dissolved into a giggle as she skittered out of the room and left him alone with the red light blinking on line three and a Houston Chronicle reporter asking for details of his search for a bride.

Chapter Four

Friday afternoon ended with Amy bolting out of the empty house on Vine Street and heading toward the beach. Knee-deep in the warm Gulf, she lost herself in the swirling waters she loved so much.

A steady line of traffic moved down Vine Street, passing silently between her and Nana’s white cottage. From her vantage point she could see the swing swaying gently beneath the arbor of sunny yellow Lady Banks roses. And while the white picket fence hid them, Amy knew the blossoms in Nana’s perennial garden were swaying, as well, though the weeds around them were likely moving in unison.

She turned her face to the salt-tinged wind. Something about the topography of the land and the angle of the waves kept a breeze blowing year-round at Vine Beach. At least that’s how Grandpa had tried to explain the phenomenon, though she’d never known whether a bit of his theory was true. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she’d only snacked on cheese and crackers for lunch.

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, Amy was swishing through the water toward the sandy shore when her cell phone began to ring. A quick glance at the display told her that the temp agency was on the other end of the line.

Her heart sank. Just yesterday upon completion of her assignment at the Gazette, the agency’s administrator had told her that there was no more work for her in Vine Beach. All taken by summer workers willing to take minimum wage, she’d been told. While the news had been delivered in an apologetic tone, Amy had felt as if a weight had been lifted.

If a job had been found, she might have to rethink her theory that lack of work meant it was time to leave Vine Beach. Amy said a quick prayer that this would not be the case.

“Hello,” she said on the third ring.

“Amy, I’m so glad I caught you before the end of the day,” the agency administrator said. “There’s been an opening for an assistant at Dr. Wilson’s clinic. He’s specifically asked for you. Monday morning. Seven a.m. sharp. No idea of how long he’ll need you, so this one’s open-ended. Might become permanent.”

Her breath caught and for a moment, Amy considered the proposition of working for the vet. Then clarity and good sense told her what to say. With no idea of what she was supposed to do next, it was not the time to take on another temp job. At least not one that might become permanent. No need to leave him one employee short should she decide to leave town.

“No, I’m not interested, but please tell Dr. Wilson thank you.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am,” Amy quickly replied. “I’m really not sure how much longer I’ll be in Vine Beach, so I can’t really commit to another job right now.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Amy hung up with a promise to update her contact information should she decide to leave town. Replacing the phone in her pocket, Amy shook her head. Why in the world would Eric Wilson specifically ask for her? Very odd indeed.

Perhaps she should call Dr. Wilson and explain her reason for declining his offer. Then she might also have to answer for why she contributed to the story that landed in today’s headlines.

She went to bed still debating the issue and awoke to decide that weeding the gardens was a much better idea than taking on such a task. Thus, Amy spent Saturday morning tending to the long-overdue chore of caring for her grandmother’s garden. While she worked, her mind once again wandered back to what Eric Wilson might think about the article in the Gazette. Surely he would understand that she’d only performed the duties of her job. That anyone who happened to answer the phone would have done the same.

And there could have been something seriously wrong with his mother.

“Who am I kidding? If it were me, I’d be horrified,” Amy muttered as she swiped at the perspiration on her brow. “I should have minded my own business. And I certainly shouldn’t have said anything to Bev.”

The article hadn’t been all that awful. A little embarrassing if you were of a mind to prefer your privacy, but not awful.

Shrugging off the thought, Amy leaned back on her heels and sighed. More pressing was the fact that as of yesterday, nothing held her in Vine Beach other than the silly notion that her grandmother might eventually come to need her again.

She wouldn’t, of course, at least not anytime soon. Rather, since moving into the assisted-living facility, her grandmother’s social life had blossomed, and with it any question of her return to the cottage on Vine Beach disappeared. The issue now was what to do with the house. And what to do with herself. For much as she loved to sit on the swing and stare across Vine Street at the gray-green water of the Gulf of Mexico, Amy knew the situation was only temporary.

When she took the three-month assignment at the Gazette, Amy promised herself when the work there was done she would make plans to move on. Three months had seemed like a very long time when she took on the commitment. Now that she’d seen the assignment to its completion, she felt no closer to knowing what came next.

Perhaps she’d go back home to Houston and return to the flower shop. Unfortunately, every time she thought to broach the subject with Mom or Dad, she found it impossible to do so. The words just wouldn’t come out. Finally Amy realized that much as she loved her parents, the Lord seemed to be leading her elsewhere. But where? So far He’d been silent on that.

So, she’d filled out a few applications last night online and printed out her résumé to mail three more. If the Lord wanted her here, He wouldn’t allow any of those inquiries to become offers.

At least she knew she’d done something. Anything. Now she could only wait.

She straightened and gathered up the basket, the summer sun warm on her shoulders. Across Vine Street, the sound of waves breaking on Vine Beach beckoned. Amy cast a glance around the vegetable garden with a satisfied smile. The morning’s work had been productive, and she’d picked enough to make a nice salad for lunch.

Porch salad. Amy smiled as she thought of the name she and her grandmother had given to the salads made from the garden. Whatever they picked they washed and chopped into a mishmash of vegetables that were served up on Nana’s porch in bowls taken from the cabinet in the dining room. Something about the combination of the rose-covered fancy china, the lace tablecloth cast over the old wicker table at the corner of the porch and the best view of the Gulf of Mexico on all of Vine Street made each porch salad meal unforgettable.

She shook off the dirt from her gloves then gathered up the basket and strolled toward the back door. Just inside the kitchen, after leaving her gloves and shoes outside, an idea occurred, and Amy reached for her phone to call her grandmother. Why have porch salad alone?

“Sweetie, much as I would love a good porch salad, you know it’s my bingo day and we always have lunch together after,” Nana said once the pleasantries were exchanged and Amy’s purpose for calling divulged.

“Is it?” she asked as she retrieved the colander and sat it in the sink to begin rinsing the vegetables.

After a long pause, Nana said, “Amy girl, are you all right?”

She turned her back to the sink and leaned against the counter, one arm around her waist. On the opposite wall, the old regulator clock ticked a comforting, even rhythm.

“I’m fine, Nana,” she said as brightly as she could manage.

“How’s that job going down at the paper? Goodness but today’s headline about those darling little girls was something.”

“The job ended yesterday, actually, and the headline…” She paused to reach behind her and turn off the water. “It certainly was something.”

“I know Susan Wilson must be tickled pink that Eric’s finally going to get over his loss. I need to call her. Yes, I’ll do that right after bingo.”

She froze. “You know Mrs. Wilson?”

“Of course I do,” Nana said. “Known her for years. I believe we first met at the Garden Club meetings. Or maybe it was volunteering over at the old folks’ home. Before we were both old folks, of course. Anyway, she’s got an absolutely green thumb when it comes to roses. No one grows them as thick and pretty as Susie.” A pause while she chuckled. “Except me, of course. But then, I taught her everything she knows.”

While Nana rambled on about soil enhancements and the benefits of deadheading roses earlier rather than later in the season, Amy moved to the tiny kitchen table and sat down. From her vantage point, she could see the climbing rose on the trellis that Grandpa had built so long ago. In another month, the sturdy vine would be covered in a profusion of pink blooms.

A pity she wouldn’t be here. She would have to arrange with someone at the assisted-living facility to bring Nana out to see them.

“Sweetheart,” her grandmother said, “you’re a dear for letting me go on about roses and such, but I am afraid I’m going to have to hang up. It’s just about bingo time and I haven’t done a thing with my hair yet.”

“Of course. Have a great time with the ladies, Nana,” she said.

“I will, sweetie,” she said. “Oh, wait. Listen to me going on about flowers and bingo when I didn’t even think to ask what you’re going to do next.”

“Next?”

“Yes, you said you were finished with your job at the paper. What will you do next?”

Amy leaned back in the chair and thought of yesterday’s call from the temp agency. “I don’t know, Nana. I had thought once I was finished at the Gazette, I might…”

“You might what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just never thought that I was supposed to live in Vine Beach permanently.”