Rules Of Engagement

35

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say gently. “Is there anything you need? Can I help with something?”

He clears his throat. “Actually, I was hoping we could have lunch together today. I’ve been at the hospital since right after church yesterday, and I could use a break.”

I was thinking more along the lines baking him a casserole, but lunch works, too. “Of course. Should we do Antonio’s? That’s near the hospital. About noon?”

“That would be so great,” he says warmly, relief echoing in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at your office.”

Picking me up sounds a little too close to a date for my liking. The last thing I want to do is give him the wrong idea, and Mason’s comment about Bobby being an addict and me being crack has stuck with me. “Oh. Um. Or I could meet you there?” “Nonsense. I’ll see you at noon.”

He disconnects without waiting for my answer or saying goodbye, which isn’t like him. His manners are always impeccable. Then again, his mother is dying. He’s bound to be out of sorts.

“Who are you havin’ lunch with at Antonio’s?”

I jump at the sound of Auntie Waldine’s voice. When I look up, she’s hovering over my desk like a vulture.

“Bobby,” I say, taken aback at her sudden appearance. “Weren’t you just on the phone?”

She sails right past my question, perching on the edge of my desk to more comfortably continue the frontal assault. “So tell me all about brunch yesterday, child. Did Mason and Bettina hit it off?”

I put the phone down and take a sip of coffee before answering. “Believe it or not… no.”

“Really?” Wide-eyed, she ponders that for a moment. “And here I thought they’d be two peas in a pod.”

“You and me both. But for some bizarre reason, he wasn’t interested.”

When she stares at me like I’m as dense as a block of cement, I say, “What?”

She makes a motion with her hand like she’s swatting away a fly. “I had an idea about another candidate for him—”

“No,” I interrupt firmly. “No more of your ‘ideas’. Matchmaking is a delicate science, requiring considerable thought and a logical, methodical approach. You can’t just throw people together and see what sticks. And you definitely can’t rely on the superficial. You have to know what people really need, which isn’t necessarily what they say they want.”

“You’re saying you have to look beyond the surface to see what’s in people’s true hearts.” “Exactly.”

Auntie Waldine’s smile is small and mysterious. “Sounds more like magic than science to me.”

I gaze at her sternly. “Don’t go there. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

She rises and heads back to her desk, saying over her shoulder, “One of these days, dear girl. One of these days.”

I call after her, “Whatever the heck that means!”

But she’s already picking up the phone again and dialing.

When Bobby arrives at my office at noon, he brings a bouquet of flowers with him. I try not to feel like it’s a bad omen.

“How thoughtful,” I say, taking the flowers from his hand. “Thank you.”

He stands in the reception area, looking like an ad for Brooks Brothers in a beautiful gray cashmere sweater with a dress shirt and tie underneath. A pair of black slacks and leather loafers complete the look. Though I suspect he must’ve come straight from the hospital, he doesn’t look like a man who’s been sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside his dying mother’s bedside for days on end.

If Bobby has any flaws, it’s vanity. He’s too concerned with appearances and what other people think. He wasn’t that way when he was younger, but I suppose a career in politics could bring out the inner narcissist in anyone.

“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling at me. Then he leans in and gives me a dry peck on the cheek.

Sitting at her desk, Auntie Waldine calls out, “Mornin’, Bobby!”

“Hello, Waldine,” says Bobby, turning to her. “How are you today?”

“Finer than frog’s hair,” she replies enthusiastically, grinning like a maniac.

I’m immediately suspicious. The last time she looked this happy, she’d been in contact with her great-grandmother’s ghost.

Ignoring my narrow-eyed look, she rises and rounds her desk.

Today she’s wearing a nuclear green tunic over stretchy black leggings. Her sandals have multicolored, chunky fake jewels on the straps. Her toenails are painted a searing shade of yellow to match her fingernails, and a series of strategically placed glittery combs hold up her curly red hair.

This mass of color and sparkle engulfs a startled Bobby in a hug.

“Oh, honey,” she says, patting him on the back. “You’re such a dear. Don’t you worry, it’ll all work out for you in the end. Capricorn is in your eighth house. Very auspicious.” Oh, for fig’s sake. She did his astrological chart before he got here.

“Leave him alone, Auntie Waldine.”

But Bobby isn’t bothered. When he pulls away, he’s smiling. “Good to know.” He glances at me.

“What about Madison? What’s in her eighth house?”

When she looks at me, I shake my head. “Don’t even think about it.” She smiles like a buddha.

Bobby says politely, “Would you like to join us for lunch?”

“Don’t I wish!” She laughs. “But, no, thank you. I brought a bologna sandwich today that I simply can’t wait to dig into.”

Without another word, she takes the flowers from my hands and disappears down the hall that leads to the office kitchen, cackling to herself with the glee of an evil mastermind as she goes.