disconcerting to see formal waiters and white tablecloths. As soon as the gray-bearded waiter left with their orders, she said, “I just hate it when things change.”
Her father looked at her quizzically, “What changed?”
“Everything. This place used to be so much fun. It was noisy and crowded…”
“Noisy and crowded is good?”
“Sometimes,” she sighed, “The Pub n’ Grub was always so great. It was lively and fun, I mean just look at the place now. It’s dead. The only person in the room I know is you.”
“McGuffey bought the place eight, maybe nine years ago, and he’s improved most everything. The food’s better—”
“But there’s no atmosphere!”
“Sure there is. It’s just not what you expected.” John smiled. “Things change Lindsay and that’s not necessarily bad—”
“I disagree,” she argued. “The changes I’ve seen have all been bad. Think about it—the apartment building, my job, Phillip…”
John looked at the sadness stretched across his daughter’s face. “I know that lately it’s been tough,” he said sympathetically. “But give life a chance. Sometimes when you think you’re as miserable as you can possibly be, somebody special shows up and changes everything.”
Assuming that he was speaking of her mother, Lindsay asked, “Did you know right away Mom was somebody special?”
John took a deep breath. He knew there would be no opportunity to tell her tonight. “Yes,” he finally answered. “The first time I heard your mom laugh, I knew I was in love with her. She knew it too.”
Lindsay thought she saw the twinkle of memories dancing in his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen to me,” she said.
He smiled, “Patience, honey, patience. Love isn’t something you go looking for. When the right man comes along he’ll find you.”
Unfortunately, what Lindsay imagined to be a twinkle was really the start of a tear—John was thinking of how he could explain this to Eleanor.
I don’t often say this, but there are times when a human gets things right, and Eleanor was absolutely on the mark when she told John that he should have broken this news to Lindsay earlier. If I look no further than tomorrow, I can see the trouble ahead.
T hat night Lindsay settled into her old room and it was if she’d never left. As she hung the remainder of her clothes in the closet and tucked her underwear into the dresser drawers, she hummed a tune she’d heard on the radio weeks earlier. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, then climbed into bed and snuggled under the comforter. That’s when the buzzing in her ear returned. For several minutes she remained perfectly still, barely breathing, every ounce of concentration was focused on listening to the sound. Words. Words from somewhere far away. Words chopped up into little bitty pieces …um…um…
She bolted upright. “I’m waiting!” Suddenly the buzzing stopped. “Who’s waiting?” she said to no one. While her question still hung in the air, Lindsay heard the high-pitched bark of a dog.
John
I was going to tell Lindsay about Eleanor tonight. I’d gone over what I had to say a dozen or more times, but every time I had the words ready to burst out of my mouth, Lindsay dredged up another memory of her mother. Don’t misunderstand me—Bethany was, without question, a wonderful woman. But she and Lindsay sometimes went at it like two bulldogs. I could be out in the garage or trimming hedges in the back yard and hear Lindsay’s voice screaming about how she wasn’t allowed to do one thing or another. To hear her tell it, every kid in Shawnee High School had more privileges than she did.
Of course, Lindsay doesn’t remember any of that. She only remembers the good times, which I suppose is how it should be. But when every other word she speaks is about how wonderful Bethany was, it’s pretty impossible to bring up the subject of Eleanor.
The irony of this
Her father looked at her quizzically, “What changed?”
“Everything. This place used to be so much fun. It was noisy and crowded…”
“Noisy and crowded is good?”
“Sometimes,” she sighed, “The Pub n’ Grub was always so great. It was lively and fun, I mean just look at the place now. It’s dead. The only person in the room I know is you.”
“McGuffey bought the place eight, maybe nine years ago, and he’s improved most everything. The food’s better—”
“But there’s no atmosphere!”
“Sure there is. It’s just not what you expected.” John smiled. “Things change Lindsay and that’s not necessarily bad—”
“I disagree,” she argued. “The changes I’ve seen have all been bad. Think about it—the apartment building, my job, Phillip…”
John looked at the sadness stretched across his daughter’s face. “I know that lately it’s been tough,” he said sympathetically. “But give life a chance. Sometimes when you think you’re as miserable as you can possibly be, somebody special shows up and changes everything.”
Assuming that he was speaking of her mother, Lindsay asked, “Did you know right away Mom was somebody special?”
John took a deep breath. He knew there would be no opportunity to tell her tonight. “Yes,” he finally answered. “The first time I heard your mom laugh, I knew I was in love with her. She knew it too.”
Lindsay thought she saw the twinkle of memories dancing in his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen to me,” she said.
He smiled, “Patience, honey, patience. Love isn’t something you go looking for. When the right man comes along he’ll find you.”
Unfortunately, what Lindsay imagined to be a twinkle was really the start of a tear—John was thinking of how he could explain this to Eleanor.
I don’t often say this, but there are times when a human gets things right, and Eleanor was absolutely on the mark when she told John that he should have broken this news to Lindsay earlier. If I look no further than tomorrow, I can see the trouble ahead.
T hat night Lindsay settled into her old room and it was if she’d never left. As she hung the remainder of her clothes in the closet and tucked her underwear into the dresser drawers, she hummed a tune she’d heard on the radio weeks earlier. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, then climbed into bed and snuggled under the comforter. That’s when the buzzing in her ear returned. For several minutes she remained perfectly still, barely breathing, every ounce of concentration was focused on listening to the sound. Words. Words from somewhere far away. Words chopped up into little bitty pieces …um…um…
She bolted upright. “I’m waiting!” Suddenly the buzzing stopped. “Who’s waiting?” she said to no one. While her question still hung in the air, Lindsay heard the high-pitched bark of a dog.
John
I was going to tell Lindsay about Eleanor tonight. I’d gone over what I had to say a dozen or more times, but every time I had the words ready to burst out of my mouth, Lindsay dredged up another memory of her mother. Don’t misunderstand me—Bethany was, without question, a wonderful woman. But she and Lindsay sometimes went at it like two bulldogs. I could be out in the garage or trimming hedges in the back yard and hear Lindsay’s voice screaming about how she wasn’t allowed to do one thing or another. To hear her tell it, every kid in Shawnee High School had more privileges than she did.
Of course, Lindsay doesn’t remember any of that. She only remembers the good times, which I suppose is how it should be. But when every other word she speaks is about how wonderful Bethany was, it’s pretty impossible to bring up the subject of Eleanor.
The irony of this
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