Roz Fox - Daddy's Little Matchmaker

He smiled at that. “Yes, I can’t say I was sorry to see my in-laws retire to Arizona. I didn’t relish the prospect of having to limit their contact with their only grandchild.”

Vestal picked up her book again and prepared to open it. Then she hesitated, marking her place with one finger. “I forgive you for being so stubbornly resistant to seeking help from Ms. Ashline, Alan. Louemma is your daughter. I shouldn’t be an interfering old busybody.”

Alan’s eyebrow shot up to meet the lock of hair that perpetually fell over his brow. “If I thought you honestly meant that, I’d leave now, a happy man. But I’m betting tomorrow you’ll find another way to bring up her name in a flank attack. So I’ll capitulate. If I can ever get an audience with her, I will speak to Ms. Ashline about Louemma.”

“Really?” Vestal removed her reading glasses and gazed at her grandson with a hopeful expression. “It so happens I have the perfect plan, Alan.” Setting her book aside again, she swung her feet off the ottoman and stood. Walking over to her small cherrywood rolltop desk, she picked up a section of the Ridge City weekly newspaper. “According to this article, Laurel’s giving a weaving demonstration to Charity Madison’s Camp Fire troop tomorrow. It’s no coincidence. It’s synchronicity, Alan. Louemma still belongs, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but…she hasn’t attended since the accident. What are you suggesting? That I barge in on one of their meetings?”

“No. Well, yes. Louemma’s been cut off from her little pals long enough. Call Charity. Say you’re bringing Louemma to the meeting. Those kids are all her friends. She used to look forward to seeing them.”

“I know, but…” It struck Alan that these were his fears welling up. He’d quit visiting Pete and Charity because they were among the people who, after the accident, had first alluded to his wife’s possible infidelity. “Give me the article. I’ll go out right now and talk to Louemma. If she wants to attend, I’ll contact Charity. Only…aren’t you forgetting that some of those kids are the same ones who treated her so badly at school?”

“That’s the way of kids. Especially girls. Trust me, Alan, I saw it all during the years I taught third grade.”

Releasing a breath trapped deep in his lungs, Alan pushed to his feet. “I’m not going to force her to interact with her former friends. Whatever her response might be, will you take my word for it? Or do you want to come along and see that I actually throw out the possibility and let her choose?”

“I trust you, Alan. I’ve questioned your hardheadedness, but never your integrity.”

He laughed at that and walked toward the door. “I’ll give you the verdict at dinner. Oh, by the way, are we eating earlier tonight?”

“I asked Birdie to move up lunch and dinner by an hour or two starting tomorrow. I know you said we’d discuss it, but I thought it had probably slipped your mind.”

“It had until now. If it works for everyone else, I’ll make it work for me.”

Alan went straight back to the living room. Louemma was engrossed in her movie, so he dropped the paper and sat down to watch it with her as promised. He had to lift her up and settle her against his side. At times like this, more than any other, Alan longed for the return of the active boisterous girl she’d been before the accident. For that reason, it seemed churlish of him to have argued with Vestal over the Ashline woman. He ought to grab at any chance of helping Louemma, no matter how unlikely or bizarre it might seem.

The minute the credits started to roll at the end of the movie, Alan sat Louemma up. He grabbed the section of the newspaper and turned off the movie with the remote. “Nana found something interesting in today’s paper. Your old Camp Fire group has someone coming to the meeting tomorrow to demonstrate weaving.”

The little girl glanced up with interest. “What is weaving?”

“Uh…well, all cloth is woven. There are different kinds of thread, and various types of weaving. The article mentions pot holders. Woven on a hand-operated loom.”

“Oh.” The spark died in her dark-brown eyes. “I couldn’t do it, then.”

Alan hated to raise her hopes, only to dash them again. On the other hand, he’d promised Vestal. “Nana saw this weaver working with patients at the hospital. A friend of hers who’d had a stroke and used to be paralyzed on one side can apparently operate the loom now. I’m not saying you can do it, baby, but it’s worth trying. Plus you haven’t seen Sarah Madison in a while. I thought I could knock off work early and take you to the meeting, and let you see what weaving’s all about.”

She pursed her lips. “Sarah called me a spoiled brat. But I miss Jenny, Maggie and Brenna. I guess it’d be okay to go.”

Alan had hoped for more overt enthusiasm, or else a flat refusal. He supposed he’d have to live with her tepid response. “Fine,” he said, clasping sweating palms over his knees. “I’ll phone Mrs. Madison and tell her to plan on two more at the meeting. Oh,” he added as he stood, “I understand we’re eating earlier beginning tomorrow. Did Birdie tell you?”

“Birdie and Nana discussed it with Miss Robinson. She said it didn’t matter to my lesson schedule.”

“Good, that’s what we’ll do.”

He realized he was stalling, not wanting to make that call to Charity. Alan removed that DVD disc and found another appropriate program for Louemma to watch before he decided he could stall no longer.

AT THREE-THIRTY the next afternoon, Alan found himself sitting in front of the Madison home. Louemma wore an anxious expression. Her Camp Fire uniform hung on her, emphasizing her weight loss.

“Sure you’re still okay with your decision, honey? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I want to go.”

Alan heard a but in there. “But…?”

“I don’t like riding in the wheelchair. And I’m nine, so when you carry me, I look like a baby.”

“Don’t you remember how you woke up crying every night with terrible muscle aches? That’s why Dr. Fulton got you the chair.”

She dragged her lip between her teeth.

Allowing her to make up her own mind, Alan remained silent. He and Charity already thought the meeting, added to the demonstration and the social half hour, might be too much for Louemma’s first outing. They’d settled on skipping the meeting portion, at that time Charity would prepare the other girls for Louemma’s eventual appearance. As he waited, staring out the car window, he saw a pickup cruising slowly toward them on the opposite side of the street. He recognized it as the one he’d seen parked near the footbridge at Laurel Ashline’s cottage. It galled him to think of it as her cottage. If she was related to Hazel Bell, then she was kin to a woman who had scammed his family.

Well, maybe scammed was too harsh a term. But Hazel had certainly deceived them.

“What’s the verdict, Louemma? I think that’s the weaver across the street. We’ll want to go inside and get settled so we’re not interrupting her.”

“I’ll use the chair, Daddy. The other girls sit on the floor.”

Since the last thing Alan wanted was to encounter Laurel Ashline on the porch, he jumped from the Jeep, pulled out the wheelchair and flipped it open. He unbuckled Louemma and lifted her down, placing her in the chair. It became apparent that their demonstrator had things to collect, too. He saw her leaning into the pickup bed—and he couldn’t help admiring her backside. Forcing his eyes away, he managed to maneuver his daughter and himself into the house, greeting Charity and the other girls, all before Laurel knocked at the door.

Alan took a seat in the far corner of the Madisons’ family room. It was a good place from which to evaluate the weaver without attracting her attention. Apparently, Eva Saxon’s assessment of Laurel as a tall, willowy blonde was fairly accurate. Peg Moore, though, had called her plain. And shy. Alan wouldn’t attach either of those labels to this woman, whose skin was flawless. After putting down a loom and a large quilted bag, she talked animatedly with Charity, all the while flashing brilliant smiles at the small circle of girls.