not indeed? It was only a picture, it had no power over them. Over him.
Yet the torturous question accompanied him as he went through the motions of the day. It was late afternoon when he finally sought Cindy out again.
She was in the kitchen, preparing a huge casserole.
“That’s quite a lot of food,” he commented, not certain how to begin this discussion.
“For tonight,” Cindy replied. Then she glanced up, catching his puzzled glance. “Remember the people coming over tonight? I told you about them.”
“Oh, right. I’ll clear out pretty soon.”
Exasperation flooded her expression. “Flynn. I invited them over to meet you.”
He’d completely forgotten, caught up in hours of rare contemplation, a prisoner of a past he’d never outrun. “Of course.”
A buzzer went off and she walked to the oven, pulling out a fragrant tray of rolls. Searching for a place to put them on the crowded tile counter, she glanced up at him. “Did you need something?”
He moved aside the casserole dish at the end of the counter, making a place for the rolls. “I’ve been thinking…”
Uncharacteristically, she didn’t jump in with words to ease his way.
Which made him feel even stiffer, more uncomfortable. “It’s about this morning…the picture. You can leave it in their room.”
She studied him silently, again surprising him. Flynn wondered where all her fiery words had gone. Especially when she only nodded.
He considered an apology, but the place inside him that held those words had been dammed up long ago. “Do you need any help?”
She seemed to consider this, too. Then she gestured toward the fridge. “You could put the salad together.”
“Sprouts included?”
But her usual ready laughter didn’t surface. “Whatever you’d like to put in it. The vegetable drawer is pretty full.”
They worked in silence for a while. Flynn wasn’t certain how to break the strain, how to bring the sparkle and laughter back to Cindy’s face.
She glanced up at the clock. “Yipes, I still have to shower and change my clothes before everyone gets here.”
“I can finish in here,” he offered, surprising himself as much as Cindy.
“Well, I did want to tidy up—”
“I can take care of it,” he insisted.
She took a final glance at the food, then nodded. “The table’s set and—”
“Go.”
“And I—”
“Go.”
And she did.
It didn’t take long to clean up the kitchen, then check on the girls who were making Play-Doh teddy bears on the faded, terrazzo terrace. Because of the tall, wide windows he’d been able to watch them as Cindy had been doing before he arrived.
He remembered the first time he’d tried to feed the girls and clean up while watching them. It had never occurred to him to put them in the safety of the fenced backyard. An old wooden toy box beneath the awning held a large and varied collection of toys to keep them occupied.
His daughters looked content, having assimilated into Cindy’s life and home as though they’d always been here. He thought of the gathering Cindy had planned for the evening, suspecting she hoped to accomplish the same for him. Knowing that hadn’t been possible since he was a child, equally certain it would never be possible again.
There was something about a group of people who’d known each other long and well. Their chatter filled the air, snatches of conversation that melded from person to person. It seemed everyone was talking at once, but in a good way. No one was excluded, no one hanging outside the fringes of the group.
And due to Cindy, Flynn was included, as well. She’d introduced him to the collection of people who ranged greatly in age and background. Ruth Stanton, a perky seventy-two-year-old woman, welcomed Flynn as warmly as did people of his own age, and some much younger.
Having met Michael and Katherine Carlson before, Flynn felt a little more comfortable with them. Michael in turn introduced him to Tom Sanders, clearly a good friend, also a casual, warm person. Then he met Gregg Rosentreter, Roger Dalton, Don Westien and Gary Simpson. All the men, obviously good friends, were welcoming.
The fact that it seemed everyone at the party attended Rosewood Community Church wasn’t lost on Flynn.
Seeing Cindy heading toward the kitchen, Flynn followed her, relieved to see no one else was in the room. “How’d you go about assembling the guest list for tonight?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, you’d met Michael and seemed to like him. I thought you might have something in common with the other guys he’s friends with—also, they’re people I especially like.”
“No other motive?”
Frowning, she narrowed her eyes. “Such as?”
“They all go to your church.”
She relaxed a fraction. “That’s where I met my friends.”
“All of your friends go to your church?”
A touch of exasperation entered her expression. “It’s not a requirement. I’m friends with some of my neighbors, other people I’ve met in town. But, yes, my closest friends are those from the church. You’ll notice I did invite most of the people who live on this street, as well.”
“To throw me off the scent?”
Something flickered in her green eyes, a flash she quickly disguised. “The sole purpose of tonight’s party is to introduce you to people in the town you’ve chosen to call home. I’m sorry it bothers you that so many of them attend my church. But I could hardly walk the streets and invite total strangers.”
Looking at her, the evidence of her temperament, as fiery as her hair, challenged him. Again, he couldn’t help comparing her to Julia, remembering how his late wife would never have confronted him. “No, I don’t suppose you could. Cindy, I do appreciate your effort but—”
“You didn’t ask for a party. I know. Just me being me again.”
“Cindy—”
The tall swinging door pushed open. “Here you are,” Katherine exclaimed. “Can I help do anything?”
Flynn watched as Cindy reluctantly pulled her gaze away. “Yes,” Cindy replied shortly. “Keep Flynn entertained. I’ll take some more punch into the dining room.” The door swung smartly behind Cindy as she exited.
Uncomfortably Flynn
