The Matchmaker's Medium (7 page)

“I have a better idea: Go to dinner with me.”

I actually
felt
my mouth drop open.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I just thought maybe we could talk about that mark thing—“

“Sure, I’d love to.”

He
clapped
his hands together, the sound echoing in the tiny office. “Great! What time should I pick you up? And where do you live?”

“I guess, maybe, seven-ish? Or eight, if that’s too early.”

“No, seven-ish is perfect. Not seven, because that’s too early. But seven-
ish
is exactly the time I had in mind when I asked.”

Yep. A fellow smartass. This should be amusing, if nothing else.

“Okay. Well, let me give you my address.”

“Just text it to me. Here, give me your cell phone,” he said, reaching for it. I handed it over, a little too willingly, and it slipped out of my hand.

“Whoops,” he said, expertly saving it from certain destruction on the floor.

“You have good hands,” I said, then froze.
Wow, that was a Freudian slip if there ever was one,
I thought, terrified he might catch it.

“That’s what they tell me,” he answered, winking at me.
Yep, he caught it. Damn.

“Okay, so, seven-ish o’clock? I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds great.” He walked me to the door and waved as I drove away.

“I guess it went better than you thought it would,” Jamal said from the back seat.

“No thanks to
you
,” I snapped.

“Hey! Don’t blame that mess on
me
!” he said, “If I was running the show, it would’ve gone a
lot
smoother than that, foxy lady.”

“Well, I got a date out of it.”

“I know. And in the words of Jimmie Walker, that’s
dy-no-MITE!
”

“Careful, Jamal, you’re dating yourself.”

“Someone needs to. Can’t seem to find any foxy ladies to boogie down with me on
this
side of things.”

“I meant—just, never mind. I need a new dress. Wanna go shopping?”

“Like you need to ask.”

Chapter Six

“Come on in!” I yelled down the stairs.

“You sure?” Esteban yelled back.

“Yes! I’m almost ready, just finishing my hair!”

“Okay!” I heard the screen door open and slam closed. I made the ten-thousandth mental note to myself to get the spring fixed on that stupid door, so it wouldn’t slam anymore.

“Why so much makeup?” Jamal asked, looking at me in the mirror. It was creepy, the way I could see him, but the mirror didn’t reflect him. Like something out of an old B-movie vampire flick from the late 50s.

“Because I don’t want him to see my bad skin,” I said, scowling at him.

“I can dig it. No need to get all those wrinkles pushed together.”

I swung my hand to smack his arm, and got nothing but air.

“You’re lucky I can’t hit you. Pig.”

He laughed at my insult, and proceeded to look me up and down, like one of his ‘girls’ back in the day.

“Do I pass inspection, sergeant?”

He snapped to attention, saluted me, and said, “Sir, no sir!”

“That’s ma’am to you, private.” I stuck my tongue out at him, for good measure.

“You look like a million dollars, baby.” He winked and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

He stuck his head back in, “To check out your new man. Where else would I be going?”

“Hey! You leave him alone. He’s a nice guy.”

“Yeah, okay, white girl. Let me handle The Man, you don’t know what you’re gettin’ yo’self into. Can you dig it?” He wiggled his butt, shuffled his feet, and did a little move with his hands.

“Just go. I’ll be down in a few.”

He disappeared through the wall, even though the open doorway was six inches to the left.

“Show off,” I whispered.

Jealous
, he answered in my head.

I smiled, accidentally burning myself in the process. “Ouch!” I stuck my burned finger in my mouth, trying to ease the sting.

* * * *

“Would you like a wine list, sir?”

“Not me. Do you want any wine?” Esteban asked.

“No, thanks. It just makes me dizzy and sleepy.”

“Very well,” the waiter said, sliding the wine list back into his apron-pocket. “Would you like any appetizers?”

“Uh, maybe you could just let us look at the menu,” I said, looking at Esteban for backup.

“Yeah, we need a few more minutes to decide,” he said, winking at me. The waiter looked at us like we were naked wedding crashers and stormed off in a huff.

“Moody much?” I asked, pointing a finger at the waiter.

“I already know what I want, but I think it’s kind of fun screwing around with the waiters,” he said, leaning toward me like we had a really big secret.

“Whatever makes you happy,” I teased.

“So, now that we’re alone—well, sort of alone—can you tell me about your mark?”

“Oh, that?” I waved my hand like it was the silliest thing I ever heard. “You don’t wanna hear about that, it’s boring.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“For starters, when did you know you had it? Was it, like, a special birthmark or something?”

“Uh, no. There was no
physical
mark. Actually, the first time I knew I had it was the first time I saw a ghost.”

“Well, that’s one way to get going. How old were you? Fifteen, sixteen?”

“Ha! I wish. Try five.”

“Five? You were only
five
years old the first time you saw a ghost?”

“Yep.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I thought you said your culture didn’t see it as crazy.”

“Well, being able to speak to the spirits isn’t crazy, but having to do such an adult thing at the age of five? That’s a little crazy.”

I scanned the menu one more time, running my finger down the laminated page. “Okay, I know what I want. Where’s that annoying waiter?” Of course, because I wanted to find him, the waiter was nowhere to be found.

“You know how it goes, they disappear right when you want them around, then get right in your face when you don’t. Like dogs.”

“I guess so. I don’t have any dogs. Do you have any dogs?”

“Yep—a Rottweiler and a beagle/dachshund mix. Both females.”

“That’s a strange combination.”

“My friend gave me the Rotty before he deployed to Afghanistan. My kids picked the little one.”

Kids?

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just didn’t realize you had any—dogs.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. You’re not surprised by the dogs, you’re surprised by the
kids
, and you know it.” He was mock-angry with me, pushing his eyebrows down into a frightening Jack Nicholson-in-The-Shining type of look.

“Wow. Don’t make that face too often. Unless you
want
to scare off every woman within a five mile radius.”

He laughed a rich, hearty, belly laugh, just as the mysteriously-reappeared waiter spoke.

“Are we ready now?” he asked, whipping out his fancy pen and the standard order notepad.

“Yes—
we
are ready now,” Esteban said, winking at me again.

This guy isn’t just a smartass, he’s a smartass with an evil sense of humor. I totally love it,
I thought, studying him as he ordered. He cleaned up pretty well, his mocha skin shining in the warm restaurant lighting, bald head gleaming. And he smelled so good I wanted to order
him
for dinner.

“And for the lady?” the waiter asked, turning to me.

“Oh, um, I’ll have the…” I snapped the menu back open, my mind suddenly blank, “the prime rib.”

“Excellent choice,” he said. He finished scribbling in his notepad and slid the menus out of our hands. “Your appetizers and salads will be out shortly.” He sauntered away, waved and smiled at someone across the room, and disappeared into the kitchen with a flair.

“Some people like their jobs
way
too much,” I said.

“Agreed.”

“So, where was I?”

“You were telling me about the first time you saw a ghost.”

“Oh, that. Well, I saw a little girl in the bathroom at school.”

He sat there, waiting for more. Finally, he asked, “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“How did she die?”

“She was murdered.” I started messing with the rolls in the basket, squishing my finger into one and pulling it apart.

“Oh, that’s all.”

“Well, she disappeared a few days before I saw her. At the time, we thought she was just lost or something.”

“Obviously. Because little girls usually wander off, lost, for days at a time.”

“Look, I was just a little kid, myself. I didn’t know any better.”

“I know, I know,” he said, reaching for my hand, which I dodged by shoving a piece of bread in my mouth. He pulled his hand back and let it rest in his lap. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

I shook my head, exasperated. “It’s okay. I just hate talking about it. Isabella was really sweet; she didn’t deserve what happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“When I saw her in the bathroom, I told my teacher. She looked for her, but Isabella had disappeared. Besides, Miss Melody wouldn’t have been able to see her, anyway. She didn’t have the mark.”

“What happened when she couldn’t find Isabella?”

“She dragged me to the principal, who called the police and my mother. I could handle the other grownups not believing me, but my mother? She ripped into me something fierce, when she found out I was ‘lying’ about seeing Isabella.”

“Did you tell her the truth?”

“No way. One thing you couldn’t tell my mother was the truth. Why waste the energy?”

“Sounds like a great lady.”

A server brought our salads and appetizers to the table. We busied ourselves with reorganizing the table so we had enough room for everything, then got down to serious eating. I watched his strong hands moving the fork from plate to mouth, and wished to Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy that I could be a fork. Just for one night.

“—in the end?” he finished.
Crap, what did he just say?

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else. What did you say?”

He stopped eating, tilted his head to one side, and peered closely at my face.

“Are you always this distracted?”

“Who, me? Distracted?” I asked in my best mock-insulted voice. He laughed.

“Fair enough,” he said, laughing. “What I asked was ‘did you find out what happened to her in the end?’”

“Oh, yeah, it’s a sad story. Somebody took her and killed her. A stranger. They still don’t know why he did it. I don’t think
he
knows why he did it.”

“He’s still in prison?”

“Prison for the mentally insane. The guy was a patient at the county mental hospital; got dumped out on the streets a few days before he took Isabella.”

“Don’t tell me. Lack of funding?”

“Well, if you don’t want me to tell you...”

“You didn’t, you know, um….
see
it, did you?”

“No, it doesn’t work that way for me. I just see the ghosts, they talk to me and tell me their story, that kind of thing. Sometimes, they can’t talk, so we have to play the ‘guess what I’m trying to tell you’ game.”

“So, he was wandering around, homeless, insane. Then he saw a little girl and took her?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. It was that random and simple.”

“That pisses me off and scares the hell out of me, all at the same time. My daughter is seven right now, and all I can think about is her playing in the yard and some creepy crazy guy snatching her and hurting her.” He put his fork down, pushed his plate away. “I guess I’m done with this.”

“Now it’s my turn to apologize, Esteban. I didn’t mean to freak you out and ruin your dinner. This always happens to me. I don’t know why I don’t just keep my big mouth
shut
.”

“It’s not your fault, Amber. I’m the one who kept pushing you to talk about it. You don’t have to apologize.” He looked so sweet and vulnerable; I wanted to walk over to him and give him a ‘big ol’ squash-hug’ (as my grandma used to call it).
I wish grandma was here
, I thought for the millionth time. She always knew how to smooth over an awkward situation. This definitely qualified.