Authors: Janette Oke
The Matchmakers
© 1997 by Janette Oke
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7023-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Design and illustrations by Dan Thornberg
Dedicated with love
to the “special gals”
of the Tuesday morning group,
Ladies Time Out,
of the
Parkdale Evangelical Missionary Church
God bless!
Contents
“I don’t know what to do.”
The words were spoken with such wistfulness that Judith Wright’s head came up and she stared across the table at her longtime friend. They were at the Koffee Kup, their usual Saturday morning meeting place, and Judith had just finished fingering up the crumbs of her prune Danish. With one finger aloft, still damp from her last lick, she stared at Cynthia Longley, waiting for some explanation of the problem. When there was no further comment, simply a deep sigh, Judith lowered her finger and leaned forward, concern further deepening her chocolate brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Cynthia glanced up from the coffee cup she absentmindedly twisted round and round.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she was quick to state.
Judith slumped in relief. “You gave me a start.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” The words trailed off.
It wasn’t like Cynthia to look so melancholy. She was back to fingering the cup again.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Not … not really wrong. It’s just that Daddy …”
“I thought you and your father were … well, close,” Judith prompted when Cynthia didn’t continue.
“Oh, we are.” Cynthia seemed to stir herself from her reverie, shifting slightly on the bright yellow chair. “We are,” she repeated more firmly.
Judith stirred, too, not convinced that all was well. She had every intention of finding out exactly what was going on.
“I don’t understand,” she began, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. “What’s bothering you? C’mon, spill it.” She looked intently into the pretty oval face, framed with soft, honey-blond hair.
“I’m not… not bothered. I’m just—”
“You’re bothered. It’s written all over you. Hey, Cynthie. This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re bothered.”
Cynthia sighed again, then shrugged. They both knew she did not easily hide her thoughts, her emotions, from anyone—particularly Judith. They had known each other too long. Had shared too many secrets. Too much intimacy. Judith in her own probing way could always pry the information from her.
“I feel guilty even sharing this,” Cynthia acknowledged, “and I wouldn’t … to anyone else. I know that everyone thinks, well, that Daddy and I are … that I’m so very—what—? Blessed? To have Daddy. And they’re right,” she hurried on before Judith could make any comment. “I know that. I don’t know what I would have done, how we ever would have managed, or made it without him since … since Roger died, but lately …”
She let the words drop and lowered her gaze.
Judith, more than anyone else, knew how difficult the last three years since Roger’s sudden death had been for Cynthia. She had hoped that the worst was over. That the painful loss of her husband was behind her in more than just time, that Cynthia was now ready to go on with her life.
Cynthia determinedly pushed the coffee cup away but began to toy with the spoon. It made little clinking sounds on the hard surface of the table, and Judith wanted to reach out and silence its intrusion in the conversation. At last she could stand it no longer and leaned forward, one hand pressing Cynthia’s fingers and the annoying clatter of the spoon firmly against the table.
Cynthia’s eyes lifted and she stirred restlessly. Her face flushed slightly. “I feel like a real… jerk, even thinking like this,” she berated herself, “but sometimes … sometimes I just feel
smothered.
”
“Smothered?”
“He’s always there. Every evening … every Saturday. On Sunday. I know the boys have needed him.
I’ve
needed him. But now … I just feel like I’d like a little more breathing space.” She stopped and lifted troubled eyes. “I wish he’d let go. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
Judith was beginning to get the picture. She loved her own father dearly, but she was glad she didn’t need to live with him. That her mother was there to be the buffer to his moods. The salve that soothed all agitations. She nodded slowly. She hadn’t thought of Cynthia’s situation in that light before.
“Can you just sort of ask for a little privacy?” she ventured.
“Oh, Jude, I … I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want Daddy to feel that he’s not wanted. Not appreciated. He’s been so sweet. I don’t know how we ever would have managed. He’s been so … so gentle with me. I’m sure that’s why he agreed to take that early retirement package last spring. He didn’t really want to quit work. He did it so he would have more time for us. He has been so good with the boys. He says over and over how important it is for boys to have a male image to look up to. He’s—it’s almost like a broken record at times. But he’s right. It is. They do. I know that. Sports and fishing. Camping. All those—” She stopped abruptly and shrugged again.
“And he does all those little mannish chores and fix-it jobs,” she continued. “You know. He keeps an eye on the furnace filters and gets salt for the … something-or-other. And he checks the … the oil in the car and tests the tires with that funny little gizmo. I would never have known about all those things, and even if I did know, I’d never have the time to do them. What with working full time and trying to keep up at home and … everything.”
Judith took another sip of coffee, nodding in understanding above the rim of her cup. She wouldn’t know how to manage all of those things either.
“But now I think it’s… well, it’s time for a change,” Cynthia continued. “I think maybe I’m ready now. Well … not really ready. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever be ready. If I’ll ever truly adjust to life without—”
“’Course you will,” Judith filled in quickly. “It takes time. Don’t rush yourself.”
Cynthia sighed deeply. She began to fidget with the coffee spoon again. “Honestly …” she said in a soft voice. “Sometimes I feel … confined. Hardly able to breathe.”
Judith nodded toward the waitress in the bright checked apron and pushed Cynthia’s cup to the edge of the table to join her own. They were silent while the waitress replenished both cups, the hot stream sending little shivers of steam upward. Judith added a trace of cream and began to stir. Cynthia tested hers gingerly, taking a small sip, then set the cup on the napkin for a brief cooling time.
“Why don’t you just tell him?” Judith asked. The matter seemed really quite simple.
Cynthia looked shocked. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she exclaimed.
“You think he’d misunderstand?”
“Well, he … I’m sure by now he thinks that we … He’s been looking after us for three years. It would be cruel to just upset everything.”
Judith nodded, then leaned slightly toward the coffee before her to make the most of the delicious aroma. “You know, I’ve a notion to have another Danish,” she mused, but Cynthia was quick to cut in.
“You can’t. We took the pledge.”
“But surely—”
“Only one. One a Saturday. We promised to hold each other to it. Don’t try to fudge.”
It was Judith’s turn to shrug. She lifted her cup and took a sip of the coffee.
“Have you walked?” Cynthia asked.
Judith raised an eyebrow.
“Have you taken your walk?” The words demanded an accounting.
“What are you, the fat police?”
“Come on, Jude. We promised. At least three times. Have you walked this week?”
“I had to take the dog to the vet. I figured that should count for at least two. Maybe even three. You’ll never know how I have to wrestle him to get him into the van.”
“Jude!”
“Anyway, that doesn’t solve your problem with your father.” Judith felt just the slightest twinge of guilt in using her friend’s frustration to head her off.
A few moments passed in silence. Cynthia played with the spoon again, and Judith sipped her coffee.
“Couldn’t you just… talk to him?” Judith picked up the conversation again. “Ask for a little freedom. You know, nothing like, ‘There’s the door,’ or ‘We don’t want you around anymore.’ Just something like … like, ‘I’m ready to start living again,’ or something.”
“That’s another problem,” Cynthia responded slowly. “Some days I think I am ready to … to start living. Other days, I’m not sure.”
“Then talk to him on your ready day.”
“But I can’t just say, ‘Be there when I need you, and the rest of the time butt out.’”
“Well, it’s hardly—”
“It would be. That’s just how it would seem to him. What if I … if I treated our friendship like that? ‘Come when I call. But don’t bother on the days I’m feeling I can get by on my own.’”
“Well, you can hardly compare our friendship to—”
“’Course you can.”
“We meet because … because we want to meet.”
“But we need each other too.”
Judith had never really thought of that before. She put her cup down with a dull clunk.
“I mean, I don’t know how I’d ever have handled Roger’s death without… without you there to listen, to cry along with me. I really don’t, Jude.” Cynthia’s eyes glistened with tears.
Judith felt her own eyes threatening to spill over. She nodded. It would be the same for her if something traumatic happened in her life. Cynthia was the one to whom she would turn.
“You’ll always have me,” Judith said, her voice husky.
“And Daddy too. I don’t want him out of my life, Jude. I couldn’t … wouldn’t want to ever be without him.”
Judith nodded. It was a tricky and risky situation.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Judith said, waving toward the untouched cup.
Cynthia moved restlessly. “I shouldn’t ’ve had another cup,” she mumbled.
“Well, you’ve got it. Might as well drink it.”
Cynthia obediently took a drink, then set it aside to indicate she had completed her duty. “There’s another problem,” she said, her eyes clouding. “I’m not quite sure how much Daddy does what he does for us because he knows we need him, or because he needs us.”
Judith’s eyebrow lifted.
“He’s been so lonely since we lost Mama.”
“But that’s … what? Eight years now?”
“Nine. Nine next August.”
“Surely he’s over it by now.”
“Jude, it’s not like the measles. You never get over it. Not really. It’s always there. The ache. The loneliness. The feeling of being … robbed. The pain gets less, but the … the hurt never goes away.”
With a slight nod Judith acknowledged the fact that she knew nothing about losing a mate. Again her heart ached for her friend.
“So you think your dad is … hanging around because he’s lonely himself?”
“Well, I know he was terribly lonely after Mama died. I knew that at the time, but I never realized just how lonely until I went through it myself. I feel so bad that I wasn’t there for him. I was—or thought I was—so busy with my new marriage, then the little boys. I never really knew what he was going through. And he doesn’t talk much about feelings and such things.”
“Men never do.”
“Well, I suppose not. Roger was a little better than Daddy, though.” Cynthia reached again for her coffee cup. She took a sip, then set the cup back down on the shiny table surface. Lukewarm coffee was quite awful, her expression said.