“No.” My sister’s voice was firm. “Drag me to the beach without sunblock, use a harsh cleanser on my bathroom sink, or buy me a ticket for a punk rock concert—no matter what the torture, I won’t throw you a party.”
“But, Linda, my apartment isn’t big enough to even play double-handed solitaire! I’ll scrub your kitchen floor and baby-sit for a month—all you have to do is loan me the grill and your backyard.” I am not above groveling for a good cause.
My sister shifted in her chair. In her eighth month of pregnancy, she was somewhat sensitive about references to beached whales. “And,” Linda announced, “I refuse to wear an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook.’”
“I’ll handle every detail.” I played my trump card. “I need to find a way to get Sam into an unpressured social setting.”
“A man’s involved?” Linda stretched out her legs as if to check whether she could still see her toes. “Where did you meet him?”
“My current night class. Sam and I go out for coffee every Thursday after class.”
My sister sets me up with each eligible man who strays into her orbit, and I could tell she had mixed emotions about my mention of Sam: delight at the prospect of a possible wedding in my future and disappointment that she had nothing to do with it.
But she gave in with a graceful nod. “All right. I’ll loan you the backyard, if you’ll babysit and help clean the house.”
“Thanks.” I blew her a kiss and headed for the door. “Sam and Gail seem perfect for each other.”
“Lori! I thought you and Sam ...”
“I’m still waiting on the Lord, Linda.”
“Waiting on the Lord means being sensitive to God’s leading. News flash! When the right man enters your life, don’t expect bells, sirens, whistles, or the Angel Gabriel to appear and say, ‘Hey, here’s the guy for you...’”
“Since God created me, He knows I’m often oblivious to what’s right under my nose, and He’ll have to send a special messenger. Any angel will do if Gabriel’s busy.” I patted Linda’s shoulder and she stuck out her tongue at me. “Anyway, I happened to mention Sam to Gail and she wants to meet him.”
“I didn’t know Gail was such a close friend of yours.”
“She’s an acquaintance, but I can still do her a favor. You’re not the only matchmaker in the family.” I made my escape before she could retract permission for the party.
After our next class, I told Sam that the preparations for Saturday’s barbecue were progressing. “I still need to scour the grill and help clean house. All you have to do is show up and be charming.”
“And you think I’ll like Gail.” His smile seemed somehow lopsided.
“She’s bright, witty, and gorgeous. What’s not to like?”
He stirred his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “Gail sounds perfect. But will she be perfect for me?”
I thought I detected an odd note of reluctance in his voice. I smiled. Sam deserved the best. “You’ll get along like toast and jam.”
“As good as we do?” He chuckled, and I thought smugly that Gail couldn’t help but be enchanted by this man.
When I called Gail to assure her Sam was coming, she tried to pump me for personal details, but other than describing him as nice looking and friendly, I was at a loss.
Sam and I don’t discuss superfluous issues like net income or careers. Instead, we conduct intense debates about social problems and our favorite old movies. We talk about the importance of seeking God’s direction in our lives and share our dreams for the future. I’d never asked him if he belonged to a health club or whether he had great benefits at work.
Although dissatisfied with my crumbs of information, Gail vowed to give me her firstborn child if this relationship made it to the altar and said she’d see me on Saturday.
Novice that I was at nurturing the tender sprouts of romance, I began to dread the barbecue. What if Sam and Gail took one look at each other and decided that they preferred English muffins and peanut butter?
After a frenzied morning spent rounding up tricycles from the latest demotion derby in the back yard and fixing salads, my hair looked like I’d been tumbled in the dryer.
“Don’t blame me,” Linda chirped as I wiped strained carrots off the kitchen floor. “I warned you my youngest was in the food-throwing stage.” She patted her rounded tummy covered in yellow cotton. “How do I look?”
My own stomach felt as if someone had set up an abacus inside and was sliding beads across the strings with vicious thrusts. “Like a straw with a beach ball in it.”
By the time the guests arrived, we were speaking again, and the back yard soon sizzled with the scent of grilling meat and the sound of lively conversation.
Gail drifted up. “Where’s Sam?”
I shaded my eyes with a loaf of French bread. “Guess he’s fashionably late.”
She showed her perfect teeth in a barracuda smile. “I turned down a tennis match with a CPA to meet this man, Lori. You’d better deliver.”
Leaving the ‘or else’ part of the threat unuttered, she moved over to sample the dip. Regretting that I’d gone to so much trouble for someone as congenial as a case of hives, I placed the bread on the buffet table.
Turning, I saw my sister deep in conversation with a man on crutches, his left leg in a cast from the knee down, and I hurried over.
“Sam, what did you do to yourself?” I demanded, horrified. “You were fine on Wednesday!”
Snatching a child from under the wheels of a speeding car or slipping on the deck of one’s yacht were equally acceptable answers, but Sam looked sheepish. “Fell down the steps at the track on Friday morning. I’m having a little trouble getting around.”
Gail, who’d trailed over after me, sucked in her breath. I remembered her partiality for briefcases, sports cars, and pension plans and launched a missile glare that said “be nice” in her direction.
My sister smiled. I distrusted that smile.
After the standard introductions, Linda chirped, “We were talking about Sam’s job—it sounds so fascinating. Tell Gail what you do for a living, Sam.”
I wished this subject had been raised later than sooner, after Sam and Gail had had a chance to get to know one another. From his assured manner, I’d assumed Sam held a position in the business world, but we’d never gotten down to specifics.
“I guess you’d say I’m a mechanic.”
My heart sank. A blue-collar guy would clash with Gail’s rapidly purpling features. Linda, always helpful, shoved a bowl of olives under Gail’s nose as if they were smelling salts.
“Thanks for setting me up with a grease monkey in need of Gamblers Anonymous.” Snatching an olive, Gail turned away. No firstborn child for me.
Attempting to gloss over her rudeness, I took Sam’s arm and steered him toward the buffet. “Hint: avoid the fruit salad. A few of my fingertips might be mixed in with the melon slices.”
He chuckled, a warm, rich sound that always made me smile.
Handicapped by the crutches, Sam indicted his selections, and I filled his plate. While he began the awkward task of maneuvering his injured leg under the picnic table, I went back for my own food and our drinks.
As I set a glass of lemonade by his plate, he said with a shrewd glance in my direction, “So, that was Gail.”
My cheeks flamed as hot as the grill. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. You’re sweet and have a great sense of humor. She just didn’t hang around long enough to find out all your great qualities.”
“But you’ve certainly done that.” He toyed with a forkful of potato salad. “Since Gail doesn’t want me, how about you?”
I spilled coleslaw in my lap and took a hasty sip of lemonade to clear my whirling head. Scraping cabbage off my shorts, I recognized what had been staring me in the face all along. Sam was a man I found very attractive. And I’d tried to fix him up with Gail! Obviously, the damage to the ozone layer was having a dangerous effect on my brain.
Sam continued with a smile. “I didn’t come to meet Gail today. I came to be with you. Does the idea of my working with my hands bother you, Lori?”
He held out his calloused hands, hands that courteously pulled out my chair at the coffee shop on Thursday evenings and gestured so eloquently when he talked.
Remembering his crooked smile the night I’d babbled on about Gail’s qualities, I realized he’d been indicating an interest in me all along, but I’d been too caught up in my own plans to notice.
I recalled something else. “Remember the first time we went out for coffee? You changed a flat tire for a pregnant woman in the parking lot. Everyone else walked by, but you stopped. That incident made me think of the story of the good Samaritan. I think your hands are beautiful, my good Samaritan, and as long as you wash them before meals, I don’t care if you feed lions at the zoo.”
Those beautiful hands reached out to encompass my fingers, sticky shreds of cabbage and all. “I have a confession to make, Lori. When I brought my nephew in to register for college and heard your bubbling laugh, it was as if God grabbed me by the shoulder and said, ‘Hey, that’s the woman for you!’ I decided to sign myself up for the same class that you did—whether it was folk dancing or ceramics.”
Unprepared for such frankness, I tried to pass his words off with a joke. “It’s a good thing you didn’t hit it off with Gail. Because if you had, then I’d have had the job of breaking you two up after going through all this trouble to throw you together.”
Sam smiled, looking over my shoulder, and I turned to see my sister bouncing merrily between knots of people scattered throughout her backyard.
“To be honest, I didn’t want to hit it off with Gail—that’s why your sister brought up my job right away.”
“That was Linda’s idea?” I bit my lip and decided to apologize again for that crack about the beach ball.
“And as long as I’m confessing, although I work with engines and I still consider myself a grease monkey at heart, I actually spend quite a bit of time at the office since I invented something that improves the fuel economy in race cars. Now I have my own corporation, and during the racing season, I spend a lot of time flying around the country to research and make adjustments that help the top drivers keep their edge.”
“Corporation?” I gulped.
“You’re spooning fruit salad into your lemonade, Lori.”
I looked down. So I was. “But, Sam...!”
He winked at me. His eyes were a warm brown, with dazzling flecks of gold, tiny reflections of the sun. “I promise I’ll wash my hands before leaving the office. So, any more questions?”
Dazed, I shook my head. My career as a matchmaker was over before it ever started. I had reached the pinnacle of the profession, having fixed myself up with the perfect man, even though Linda had been the first to recognize my interest in Sam was personal.
Imagine my own sister, a special messenger from God! I grinned as she gleefully flashed me the “OK” sign.
She wasn’t Gabriel, but when she hurried past, I thought I heard the flutter of wings.
THE END