Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster
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put on a straw hat and sneakers, got a pair of shears and went out in the back garden to trim the hedges and cut away the dead blooms from daffodils and jonquils before the hot Maryland sun made it unbearable.
Boredom set in almost at once. What was she going to do with the rest of her life? She had a degree in psychology and was qualified to be a psychoanalyst, but she hadn’t pursued a career because she’d been so focused on raising Clark and Darlene.
She went back inside and sat on a kitchen stool and waited for Maggie to come up from the laundry room in the basement. “What am I going to do with myself, Maggie? I plan to get a job. But a job isn’t the answer for what I’m feeling. It’s as if they went off and left me. I’m used to Clark being away, but Darlene’s the baby, and she’s on her own now.”
“You’re lonely, and you’re gonna find out that it’s not loneliness for Clark and Darlene. Being a woman means more than wearing a dress and putting on lipstick.”
“All right. All right. I get the message. I’ve sent out job applications, but with no response so far. I only started last Thursday, so I guess it’s too soon.”
“You’ve got the empty nest syndrome that parents get when their children leave home. You’ll get over it. Excuse me.” She went to answer the telephone in the kitchen. “She’s here, Clark. Just a minute.”
“Hi, Sis. I’m bringing home a friend for dinner and overnight, so you and Maggie fix something real nice. Be there at about six.”
“All right. At least this will give me something to do. With Darlene at work, this place is awfully quiet.”
“I can imagine. For years, you’ve been busier than you had a right to be. See you around six.” Tyra hung up the phone.
“He’s bringing a friend home for dinner, Maggie, and she’s spending the night. He wants us to serve something special, I guess. Wonder who she is and where they met. I’ll put some flowers in the guest room. At least, this gives me something to think about.”
“I was going to serve roast pork. Oh, well. I’ll just dress it up,” Maggie said. “Let’s see. Cold mint-pea soup; roast pork with mushrooms, roast potatoes and asparagus. A salad, and let’s see…crème caramel. Coffee if anybody’s got room left. That’s not so much, since everything’s light except the pork and potatoes. I need some more lemons, mushrooms and some cognac for the dessert.”
“Good. I’ll phone the grocer and the liquor store.”
Tyra finished setting the dining room table, put a bowl of hyacinths and sweet peas from her garden in the center of the table and sat down to watch the local news. A while later, she heard the doorbell ring, glanced at her watch and saw that it was already ten minutes to six.
“I’ll get it, Maggie.”
She opened the door and gasped. Standing beside Clark was a strikingly handsome man, who stood a good two inches taller than Clark’s six foot three. He was a good-looking man who wore success the way peacocks wear plumes. And the way he fixed his gaze on her unnerved her. Annoyed with herself, she looked down at her long, blue denim skirt and flat sandals. Her T-shirt flattered her ample bosom, but that was all it did.
She gathered her wits. “Come in. Clark, the time got away from me, and I haven’t even dressed for dinner. I’ll be right back.” She ran upstairs before Clark could introduce her to his friend. Why had she assumed that his guest would be a woman? Well, at least they hadn’t made chicken-à-la-king. Men preferred food that stuck to the ribs. She took a sponge bath and changed into a long, red-silk dress and heels. The shoes raised her height from five feet eight and a half inches to almost six feet. She liked being tall.
“Byron Whitley, this is my sister, Tyra,” Clark said when she returned to them. “My kid sister, Darlene, should be here in about half an hour. And this is Maggie Jenkins,” he said, as Maggie served hot hors d’oeuvres. “Maggie is our housekeeper and surrogate mother. Maggie, this is Byron Whitley.”
“Welcome, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said. “I hope you’ll visit us often.” She cast a sideward glance at Tyra and smiled as if triumphant.
Tyra had never learned to drink, mostly because she felt that she had to set a good example for her siblings, especially her sister. Nonetheless, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and, after deciding that she could use something to steady her nerves, she asked her brother to make her a vodka tonic.
Clark stared at her. “You sure? In that case, you’d better eat some of those little canapés Maggie served.”
Tyra looked at Byron. “This morning, my responsibility for my brother and my sister ended. Clark has been on his own for the past five years, and today our sister, Darlene, began her first day at work. She’s an attorney. I think I deserve a drink.”
“You do, and I’ll join you,” Byron said, looking intently at her as if there were no one else other than the two of them. When he raised his glass to her, she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the sexual tension between them.
She heard the front door open and was about to go to greet her sister when she realized that Darlene had gone directly up to her room.
“Darlene’s here,” she said to Byron. “We’ll eat in a few minutes.”
Byron focused his attention on Tyra. “What do you do, Tyra?”
“I’m a psychoanalyst, but I think I’d make a good counselor.”
He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes. I expect you will be. Counseling can be very rewarding.”
So Clark wasn’t matchmaking, thought Byron. He hadn’t told his sister anything about his coming to dinner. Indeed, she hadn’t expected her brother’s guest to be a man, given her attire when she first greeted them. He smiled inwardly. When she saw him, she dressed in a hurry. He liked that, and he liked her. A woman who looked as if she might be in her late teens came into the room, her face all smiles. He noted that she had the Cunningham looks, but she certainly didn’t have the bearing of a lawyer.
“Hi, all,” she said.
Clark walked over to her, put an arm around her and said, “Byron Whitley, this is Darlene, my baby sister. She did a decent day’s work today for the first time in her life. Darlene, this is Byron Whitley.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Darlene.”
“Thanks. I’m glad to meet you, Byron.” She turned immediately to her older sister. “Hi, sis. Did I keep you guys waiting?”
Not much escaped him, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d just been given the brush off by someone who was anxious to portray herself as something that she wasn’t.
“No, you didn’t,” Tyra said to her sister. “Let me check with Maggie.”
Tyra strode to the kitchen, her suspicions rising. “What’s going on here, Maggie? Did you get a look at Darlene? From head to foot, she looks the way she did ten years ago with her hair in a pony tail, no makeup, jeans that are too tight and sneakers. She didn’t leave here this morning looking like that.”
Maggie didn’t seem concerned. She handed Tyra two bowls of cold mint-pea soup. “Here. Put those in Clark’s and Mr. Whitley’s plates. I’ll bring in yours, Darlene’s and mine.”
She knew that Maggie’s nonchalance was her way of avoiding things. “Okay, but don’t you think Clark and Darlene are up to something?”
Maggie’s withering look was not unusual. For years, she’d used it as a way to express her disapproval without saying a word. “What on earth could they be up to? You ever know Darlene to keep a secret? Clark’s too smart to be in cahoots with Darlene about anything that’s supposed to be a secret. After you take those bowls in, would you come back and cover that platter while I light the candles?”
“Why don’t you cover the platter and