His Ideal Match. Arlene James
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Phillip dutifully went along, though he knew what was coming. Sure enough, his brother had asked a friend with a local accounting firm if he had any openings. It made sense, after all. Phillip was good with numbers. He was good with bookkeeping. He was even good with money. It was the whole idea of being an accountant, someone else’s bean counter, in a nine-to-five job that made Phillip’s skin crawl. Before Asher could suggest that Phillip apply for a position, Phillip changed the subject to an article that he’d read while he’d sat in Asher’s office, waiting for Asher to finish a phone call.
The article had mentioned a new smartphone app that allowed its purchasers to “test drive” possible employment fields. According to the article, a new field of reality apps allowed people to follow a day in the life of a number of professions, be it a baker, a truck driver, a plumber or a diesel mechanic. The purchase price seemed steep to Phillip, but he supposed it was worth it if it prevented a person from spending the time and money to educate him or herself for a career he or she ultimately didn’t like.
Asher listened then unceremoniously informed him that Carissa made just enough money to make her ineligible for government assistance because she did not pay rent. If she could come up with the funds to get into an apartment of her own, then she could qualify for government assistance.
Phillip headed home to discuss the situation with Hilda and Chester, only to find the entire household in the front parlor with Carissa and her kids, all of whom openly wept. Tucker stood at his mother’s side, literally howling.
“What’s happened?” Phillip asked, already knowing.
Little Grace hopped down off her mother’s lap and ran toward him. Phillip instinctively reached down to take her up into his arms. She buried her damp face in the crook of his neck and sobbed. Tucker draped himself around his mother’s neck and continued bawling, while Nathan stood stoically, tears rolling unimpeded from beneath the lenses of his glasses.
Hypatia turned a sad face to him from her usual armchair, a teacup in her hand. As always, she could have stood in for the Queen of England, her silver hair styled into a sleek roll against the back of her head, her ubiquitous pearls worn with a tailored silk suit. “Marshall Worth has slipped from this world into Paradise,” she announced softly.
“Perfectly healed,” Kent added in a gentle voice, his arm about Odelia on the settee.
“A brand-new body,” Odelia whispered, encased in a cloud of blue chiffon.
“Without pain,” Magnolia offered, patting Nathan’s shoulder. She had come in without removing the yellow galoshes that she always wore when working in the gardens.
“That’s what we have to remember now,” Chester said in a tear-clogged voice, putting away a handkerchief.
“That’s our consolation,” Hilda agreed. She mopped her face with her apron, sniffed and all but wailed, “I should start dinner!” before trundling from the room. Carol followed.
Chester shook his head then said, “She isn’t thinking clearly,” and he went after her.
A collective sigh filled the air. A moment later, Nathan jerked away and ran from the room. Carissa calmly set Tucker onto his feet and, after a moment of uncertainty, looked to Phillip. He desperately wanted to open his arms and pull them both in, but he knew what she needed from him, so he lifted his hand to Tucker alone. The boy stumbled into his side and wrapped his arms around Phillip’s waist. Phillip awkwardly patted the boy’s back, and Carissa quietly went after her oldest son.
When he turned again to his aunts, they were staring as if he’d grown a second pair of arms. All but Odelia, who clasped her beringed hands beneath her double chin and, for some reason, smiled at him as if he’d hung the moon.
* * *
Carissa and the children stayed the night at Chatam House, not in the building out back where Chester and Hilda lived with Hilda’s sister, Carol, but in the main house, in a three-bedroom, three-bath suite upstairs that was bigger and far finer than her father’s old apartment. The Chatam sisters had suggested it, and Carissa had let herself be talked into it. Partly because she was too tired to argue, but mostly because she didn’t think the children ought to go back to the apartment so soon after their grandfather’s death. It seemed best to get through the next few days first.
Plucking at the black T-shirt that she’d tucked into the waist of her denim skirt, she sighed and asked, “Do you think this is all right to wear to the funeral home?”
“I think it’s fine,” Phillip told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She had twisted it into a bun low on her neck, but no matter what she did, wisps escaped. Someday she would have money for a decent haircut.
“Maybe I should tie a scarf around my hair.”
“No.” He curled a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “You look lovely just as you are.”
Despite the luxury of having had a room and a bed entirely to herself, she was too tired to scold herself for enjoying the compliment. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about the kids,” he told her. “I’ll sit right here in the suite with them until they wake. Then I’ll send them down to Hilda for breakfast.”
“I’ve laid out their clothes.”
“Don’t worry.”
“They can dress themselves.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Uncle Chester says it won’t take long.” She bit her lip to stop its trembling.
Phillip leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “Don’t. Worry.”
But how could she not? Funerals cost money, which she didn’t have. Despite her best efforts, tears suddenly streamed down her face. Phillip said nothing, just gathered her loosely against him until she regained control. It would be so easy to lean on him. He had promised her father, after all, that she wouldn’t be alone after his death, but she knew better than to hold him to that promise. Phillip had been pledging the support of the Chatams, not him personally. She pushed him away, grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the suite as fast as she could.
Chester, the Chatam sisters and Kent waited for her in the foyer downstairs. What a trio the sisters were, Hypatia all elegance in her silk and pearls, her silver hair expertly styled, Odelia flamboyant in eye-popping prints and oversize jewelry, her shockingly white hair curling with abandon, and Magnolia looking like a bag lady in her moth-eaten shirtwaists, her steel-gray braid hanging over her shoulder. Surprised to find them dressed to go out, their handbags dangling from their elbows, Carissa automatically protested.
“Ladies, Uncle Chester and I can take care of this.”
Hypatia shook her elegant silver head. “Your uncle has been an enormous part of our lives for many years. We would never abandon him in his hour of need.”
“Oh, of course.”
They did far more than “not abandon” Chester, however. They made suggestions that helped trim costs without sacrificing the dignity of the service, including offering Chatam House to hold the reception at afterward. It shamed Carissa to have to ask the funeral director if he could provide a payment plan, but she had no choice.
“Oh, no, honey,” Chester said, slipping an arm about her shoulders. “Hilda and I will take care of this.”
“But, Uncle Chester—”
“It’s been decided, Carissa. I know he was your father, but he was my brother, and he worried so about you and the children. You have enough to take care of as it is.”
Carissa closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks before hugging her uncle’s neck. She didn’t miss the small, satisfied smiles that the Chatam sisters traded or the wink that Kent gave Chester. She knew very well where Chester was getting the money to pay for this, but for once she was going