Turnabout’s Fair Play: Matchmakers

Thank you for letting me know you’ll be coming to dinner and bringing a guest. Danny’s parents often ask him about you, so I know they’ll be happy to see you. Please let me know once you have the name of the guest you will be bringing. My mother likes the formality of place cards, even though this is a casual, family dinner.

I’ve gone back and forth with this, but I’ve decided I must be perfectly honest with you. I wasn’t thrilled when Danny suggested inviting you to come. I know he’s always thought of you like a brother, but I think it’s pretty rotten that just when you start getting successful with your career, you drop him from your life. Then when things look like they’re about to get tough, all of a sudden you want to be buddy-buddy again. Danny believes that you’re truly sorry for having done that. And because I love my husband, I want to believe it, too. I could make all kinds of threats, but I know I could never do anything to you that would rival you hurting my husband again. So all I can do is trust this is a genuine act of friendship, that you do want to participate in his life, and pray that his faith in you is well placed.

Now, as to your question about Sir Galahad. After we were married, Danny admitted to me that the matchmaker his grandmother hired told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to mention to me anything about the King Arthur stuff, or paintballing, or anything else the two of you used to do together. Ever. Not even after we got married. But because Danny is who he is, he can’t keep anything to himself if he is interested in it. He told me on our first date. I admit, I was a little concerned about his level of interest in a fictional world—and that was before he’d started the weekly (now monthly) King Arthur gaming with his nurse friends. But I came to realize that having a rich imagination is part of what makes Danny who he is, and it’s a big part of why I fell in love with him. It helps that he does have other interests and doesn’t talk about it nonstop—the way one of his friends does. Now that guy, he’s obsessed with that stuff so much that it’s a little scary to be around him.

I assume you asked because you like someone and you don’t know how to tell her about this. My advice is just tell her. If she freaks out and doesn’t want to see you again, she’s probably not the right person for you. And you never know, she may turn out to share that interest and be the perfect person for you. If you never tell her, how will you ever find out?

“Wow—you look absolutely wiped out.” Zarah draped her beach towel over the wooden deck chair to Flannery’s right.

Caylor handed Zarah and Flannery each a can of soda and returned to her position on the chaise on Flannery’s left. Hanging out at the pool in Caylor’s backyard had been a much better idea than going to the crowded, noisy coffeehouse.

“Could be because she hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours.” Caylor pinned her with an accusatory glare.

Flannery yawned. “I took a couple of naps here and there. But I got the project finished so that I can enjoy what remains of my holiday weekend.”

“By sleeping it away?” Zarah sat and started rubbing sunscreen onto her arms and legs.

“I don’t want to hear it from either of you. I know quite well that both of you have had to pull all-nighters to get a project finished just within the last couple of months.”

Neither could argue, so they stopped ragging on her. She waited until Zarah was settled on her lounge chair to drop her news on them.

“I’ve been meaning to tell y’all—I’m not going to go out with Pax Bradley.”

As expected, Caylor’s head popped up, and she frowned at her. “You promised.”

“I know. But…I also know whom I’m going to invite as my date to Caylor’s wedding.”

“It’s probably just Jack, and she’s teasing us.” Caylor swung her long legs around to sit sideways on the chair, facing Flannery.

“It’s not Jack.” Flannery took a deep breath, maintaining her relaxed pose and a straight face. “It’s Jamie O’Connor.”

“You’ve hated him ever since that first time you met him and he called you Fanny.”

“And I distinctly remember you complaining on several occasions about his inclusion in my wedding party.” Zarah turned onto her side so she could see Flannery.

“Which is exactly why I’ve been debating whether or not to tell y’all. Because I knew you’d never let me live down that initial impression of him. But I’m telling you, he’s changed in the last few weeks. And most of it comes from his whole life being shaken up when he got laid off a month ago.”

“That’s terrible—a month ago? But the wedding was a month ago. How come I didn’t hear about this?” The guilt for having been wrapped up in her wedding when someone else was going through a hard time would eat at Zarah for some time to come, if past experience had taught Flannery anything.

“He didn’t tell a lot of people in the beginning. But then he went out to Utah to visit his family”—she grinned over his new attitude toward them—“and he came back almost a completely new person. And I like that new person.”

Adjusting her sunglasses, she stole glances at her friends from the corners of her eyes. “We had lunch Friday, and then he came over and brought me dinner that evening.”

The girls demanded details. Flannery gave them what specifics she could—he came over with the leftovers from Cookie, fixed her dinner, played with the cat, they talked, he shared some of his background, he left.

“So you just talked—at lunch and at dinner. Just…talked?” Caylor leaned forward and scratched her foot.

“He’s got a lot of stuff going on in his life right now, and he needed someone to talk to, someone without a vested interest in what’s going on.” Except she did—because she definitely didn’t want him moving to Utah. Not now.

Were there any major fiction publishers in Utah? Or maybe Jack would let her work remotely. No—that would never work. She’d have to figure out how to make a go of it as a freelance editor. If that’s what she must do, she had the industry contacts to be able to make it work.

“Not vested yet.” Zarah—ever the romantic. Or at least for the last nine months or so, since the love of her life, her first love, had come back. “It sounds to me like you’re starting on a good foundation of friendship. You should have that trust in each other—knowing that you can tell the other person anything and they’ll never judge you or think less of you, even if it’s something you can’t tell anyone else.”

Flannery turned her head and studied the usually taciturn historian. The idea Zarah would have any secrets in her life that she felt she couldn’t share with her and Caylor…Flannery couldn’t imagine it. “But that’s why I don’t want to go out with Pax. I want to see what this thing with Jamie is before I go out with someone else.”

Pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head, Flannery straightened into a more upright position. “Speaking of secrets, there’s something else I need to tell you two. Something I’ve been keeping from you for a while now.”

“Sounds serious.” Caylor touched her arm. “You know you can tell us anything.”

“I know.” Now that Jamie had called her out and made her admit the truth, it seemed silly that she’d kept it from her two closest friends. “You both know that I sometimes spend my free time writing Arthurian-legend fan fiction.”

“You’ve done it your whole life. You used to torture me by reading it to me.” A wink followed Caylor’s tease.

Caylor launched into an explanation, relieving Flannery of the emotional expense of having to tell the story again this weekend.

“Those people are just lucky that I didn’t go to your high school.” Caylor rubbed her hands together.

“It wouldn’t have mattered even if you did—you were finishing up your first year at Vanderbilt.”

“Anyway”—Flannery turned more toward Zarah, who didn’t know as much of this backstory as the woman she’d grown up with—“after that, I made sure that no one knew that I wrote fan fiction. I even invested in a locking file box in which to keep my notebooks. Once I had my own computer, I password-protected the files and gave them coded names that only I would understand.”

She took a sip of soda, her throat dry from the long talking sessions and the lack of sleep she’d had the last two days. “But the thing about writing fan fiction is that we have a tendency to want to share it with other fans of the original story. After that movie came out several years ago—the one with Clive Owen in it—a bunch of Arthurian-legend fan sites, as well as a multitude of places to share and read fan fiction, cropped up. For the longest time, I read—the stories and the discussion forms—but didn’t participate, and definitely didn’t post anything. But I finally got so tired of the poor quality of stuff I’d read—not to mention how raunchy and sometimes downright depraved some of it is—I needed to provide an alternative, especially with the story of the characters who are my favorite. So about six months ago, I created a profile on one of the sites and started uploading my completely revised and updated story about Dame Ragnelle’s life.”

“Publicly? On the website, for anyone to see? After everything you’ve been through?” As a published author, Caylor should have understood the need to share what she’d written.

“It’s published under my username, which has no connection to me or any way for people to find out who I am. So I thought I was safe from discovery, that I would remain anonymous.”

“If this turns out to be another tragic story about someone finding out you do this …” Zarah fanned herself with her broad-brimmed straw hat—something she’d bought in New Mexico out of necessity.

“Well…sort of. Not the tragic part, though. You see, the story installments caught someone’s attention and…we’d been e-mailing back and forth through the site. Usernames only—no personal information whatsoever. And the e-mails turned a little flirty.”

“No—I’m getting there.” She told them about Jamie’s visit to the office and seeing the print of the Gawain-Ragnelle woodcut. About Jamie figuring out Liam’s full name. “He asked me if I was that user—and told me he was the person I’d been e-mailing with.”

Zarah laughed. “It’s just like the movie You’ve Got Mail. You disliked him in real life, but under the protection of an assumed identity, you fell for him.”

“Yeah—except I’d already started falling for him in real life before things got flirty on e-mail. So not only does he know that I’m a closet geek, but he actually appreciates that about me, being a former dork himself.” A giggle bubbled up at the memory of his flourished bow and departure Friday night.

“What is it, Caylor?” At Zarah’s question, Flannery turned to look at their friend, too.

“I’ve known Flan since before I can remember. I’ve been with you through every relationship you’ve ever had—from the initial euphoria of the crush to the ice cream and Dr Pepper of the breakups. But I have never—never—seen you like this before.”

Cookie and Kirby groaned. Yet it had been their idea to play Mille Bornes, a card game Jamie hadn’t seen since elementary school. Apparently, they must have been practicing with it—because up until this sixth hand, they’d been trouncing him. But not this time.

Kirby’s phone rang. He squinted at the screen and then smiled, slid his finger across, pressed a button, and held it to his ear. “Hello, Flan.”

Jamie tensed, hoping to be able to hear her, but no such luck. An unreasonable surge of jealousy took him by surprise. Seriously? He was going to get jealous over Flannery calling her grandfather instead of him?

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you’ll be able to make it tomorrow. Sleep well. And don’t worry about me, I’m well entertained.” He said his good-byes and returned the phone to his shirt pocket. “I won’t need to leave in an hour after all. Flannery finished her work project, but she said she didn’t get much sleep. She’s going to turn in early tonight so that she can enjoy all the activities tomorrow.”

“How disappointing for you. I know you’ve said how much you enjoy the music program at the arts center.” Cookie carefully stacked the cards and put them back in the box. “Would you…I know I am no replacement for your granddaughter, but if you still want to go, I would like to go with you.”

Jamie left the dinette table and moved into the kitchen, where he promptly opened the refrigerator door and crouched down behind it so the two older folks could pretend like they were alone.

“That would suit me right dandy.” Like his granddaughter, Kirby was usually very well spoken. But occasionally, he’d pop off with one of these countryisms, reminding them of his rural, farm-boy roots. Jamie imagined it was something he learned to do as a preacher, not only to relate to his congregants but also to keep them on their toes.

He stood, closing the fridge door and coming away empty handed at his grandmother’s call. “Ma’am?”

Trying to keep from jumping up and down, Jamie leaned on the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the eat-in part of the kitchen. “I think I can manage on my own.”

“That settles it, then. We’ll take my car, and then I can drop you off at Jamie’s house afterward.”

Jamie didn’t miss the fact that his grandmother laid her hand on top of Kirby’s, nor that Kirby turned his hand over and clasped hers with it.

Too sweet—his grandmother was holding hands with her boyfriend. The childlike excitement that came from getting just what he asked for as a gift made him giddy. He wanted to call Flannery and tell her.

Even though lunch on Friday had been meant to discuss their plan for figuring out ways to put their grandparents together—though, on his part, it had really just been to see Flannery—Cookie and Big Daddy seemed to be doing just fine without them.

Measuring his pace so that it didn’t turn into a happy dance, Jamie went around and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“We won’t be out too late.” Kirby looked from Jamie back down at Maureen. “Maybe grab some grub afterward?”

“You kids be good now.” Whistling, Jamie pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed out to the car.

Almost as soon as he hit the interstate, his phone rang. He hit the button to answer his phone through the car’s hands-free system. “Hello?”

He clutched the steering wheel tighter—because raising both arms in victory wouldn’t be prudent while flying down the highway. He did pound the fabric-lined ceiling a couple of times with one fist, though. “What’s up?”

“I’m working on my story, and I’ve gotten to a point at which, in the past, I’ve written it a few different ways. I was thinking maybe I could run them past you and get your opinion on which one you like best.”

Seat dancing—mostly just moving his shoulders and head—was something he could do in the car. “I’d love to help out with that. Hey, by the way, your grandfather and my grandmother are going out again tonight.”

“I didn’t—you did, by calling and canceling on your grandfather. Cookie offered to go in your place. They invited me go with them, but I declined, of course.”

Jamie changed lanes quickly to take the north exit instead of the south exit. “I’m on my way. Want me to pick up something for dinner?”

Thai, Chinese, pizza, cardboard. Would it really matter? “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Did you really think I was going to give that up once it was in my possession?”

“I guess not. So what are you going to want to eat?” She read the menu to him.

By the time he’d told her what he wanted and she repeated it to him, he’d pulled into a parking space on the street. “Don’t order yet. I’m on my way up.”

Moments later, he knocked on her door, heart hammering. Flannery didn’t want him to kiss her until he’d figured out what he wanted to do with his life. But really, the only thing he wanted to do with his life was spend time with her. He doubted she’d take that as an answer, though.

The person who answered the door was definitely not the Flannery he was used to seeing. With her hair pulled back in a partially up/partially down ponytail, no makeup, and wearing sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, and from the dark circles under her eyes—and the fact she couldn’t seem to get them open all the way—Jamie could understand why she had canceled on her grandfather, claiming fatigue. Definitely not a ploy on her part to make Kirby and Cookie spend more time together.

She handed him the menu—with a sticky-note on it containing her order—and left him in the kitchen while she padded in her socked feet over to the armchair. Not quite the width of a loveseat, it just about swallowed her whole, leaving only the top of her head and the screwy ponytail showing.

Something brushed against Jamie’s leg. As soon as he looked down, Liam started meowing—though it sounded more like a little kid crying.

“As soon as you order, would you mind getting a can of food out of the pantry and feeding Liam?”

It hadn’t been a poor connection on the phone—her voice really was low and gravelly tonight. Jamie quickly scanned the menu, though he’d been certain of what he wanted. Flannery’s sleep-deprived brain just hadn’t been able to process it.

He placed the order—which was promised in thirty minutes—then turned his attention to Liam. The pantry would be one of those two doors. He opened the one closest to the end of the kitchen. Yep—well, a utility closet with the water heater taking up most of it. But judiciously placed shelves maximized the small space. A couple dozen cans of cat food occupied a high shelf. Never having dealt with feeding a cat before, he grabbed a can without reading the label.

“Oh, cat, shut up.” The moaning complaint from Flannery could barely be heard over the cat’s begging cries.

Jamie bent to pick up the empty bowl from Liam’s mat, happy the can had a pop top, since he didn’t see a can opener on the counter anywhere, and he didn’t feel like digging through her drawers to find a handheld one.

He pulled the lid off the can—and strangled out a gagging cough. “Is it supposed to smell this bad?”

“Yeah.” Flannery lethargically waved a hand over her head. “It usually smells pretty bad. Please rinse the can out before you put it in the recycle bin so it doesn’t stink up the whole place.”

Jamie used the bent can top to scrape the foul-smelling brown stuff into the bowl. He thought Liam might keel over of an apoplexy with the way the cat stiffened as Jamie put the bowl back on the mat, but instead the cat hunkered and chowed down.

After making sure every morsel of the foul-smelling stuff was gone, he found the recycle bin and tossed the can and lid into it.

Finally, he made his way to the living room, dropping onto the end of the sofa closest to her. “What’ve you got for me?”

Sitting cross-legged in the big chair, Flannery had her laptop balanced on her right leg, one spiral notebook on her left knee, and two more notebooks on the coffee table, which she’d pulled over in front of the chair.

They spent the next hour reviewing the scenes she’d written five, twelve, and twenty years ago. The Thai food was great, in that it was delivered on time and hot, but mediocre in its quality. However, Jamie would gladly sacrifice quality food for quality company.

Around eight o’clock, as they discussed the pros and cons of different events from each of the scenes, Jamie got up to put the leftover food away and rinse the plates and utensils to put in the dishwasher.

An idea for a totally new scenario hit him. Shutting off the water so she’d be sure to hear him, he told her exactly what he could see happening in the scene.

“Flannery?” He dried his hands and walked over to the chair. In the semidarkness—with no lights turned on in the living room, only the glow of the city beyond the windows—he could easily see he’d lost her. Rescuing the laptop before it slid off onto the floor, he set it and the notebooks on the coffee table, which he pushed back to its original position in front of the sofa.

He considered trying to carry her to her bed, but though she was slender, she was the same height as he. And a runner, if the 10K charity run T-shirt she wore was any indication, meaning muscle tone would make her heavier than she appeared. Plus, she looked so comfortable and peaceful—he didn’t want to disturb her. Instead, he pulled the soft throw from the back of the sofa and covered her with it, tucking it around her shoulders.

Almost jumping out of his skin with the urge to kiss her, Jamie pushed a loose strand of hair back from her cheek, leaned over, and kissed her temple. That was all Flannery would do the other night, so that was all he would allow himself.

Opening the laptop to jot down his idea for her, he discovered he couldn’t when it came up to a screen asking for a password.

Well, he had access to paper and pen. Turning one of the notebooks to a blank page, he started writing. Somehow, in getting the high points of it down in black and white, it seemed a bit cliché, maybe even silly. But he’d let her be the judge. She was the writer, not him.

The blinds provided him with a challenge—figuring out that they were electronically, not manually, controlled and then actually getting all of them to close. He left the light over the stove on, just so she wouldn’t wake up in the dark and hurt herself.

He picked up the notebook and took it into the kitchen where he could see. On the last blank page in it, he drew a heart that went from edge to edge, top to bottom, running the gel-ink pen over it several times to thicken the line. Then inside, he wrote a note that he hoped Flannery would understand.

As quietly as he could, he tore the page out. Pulling two magnets off the side of the refrigerator, he hung the note on the front, right over the water dispenser, where she wouldn’t miss it.

At the front door, he paused and turned to look back. He could barely see the bump her head made on the arm of the chair. “Good night, LadyNelle.”

Chapter 21