Finding Mr. Right

He didn’t seem a bit taken aback, considering her question. “I am. But I’m at a different state in my life. I want stability and a family. Right now, I don’t have either.”

“Is it you or her?”

“It’s a combination of things, and it’s too bad. What about you?”

“I’m sorry. As for me, I’ve never married or even come close to it. But I met someone recently who seems interesting.”

“He’s a lucky guy.”

She was surprised that he was so open about such personal matters. But she realized that he was vulnerable and seemingly very unhappy.

“Are you separated now, Matt?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but it suits me. The longer it lasts, the more I learn about myself and the happier I am.”

She sipped sweetened ice tea as she waited for Matt to finish his apple pie. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, because she knew he would see the pity in her eyes.

As they left the lunch room, she asked him, “Do you think you and your wife could make a go of it if she worked harder to understand your needs?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Neither is what the other needs.”

“Thanks for your company, Matt.”

“I thank you. Just talking about it has strengthened my resolve to put my life in order. You’re a good listener, and I’ll bet you’re a good counselor.”

“See you later.”

She sat down at her desk, leaned back and exhaled. She understood the wisdom of letting Byron know her feelings, and that meant letting him know her dreams and aspirations. She cared for him, and she wanted him.

At two-thirty, a tall, handsome and well-dressed teenager walked into Tyra’s office and extended his hand. She liked him at once. “Ms. Cunningham, I’m Jonathan Hathaway, and I hope you can help me,” he said. She asked him to have a seat.

“Thanks. My seventeen-year-old girlfriend is pregnant, and her dad won’t let us marry.”

“Did you date her without his permission?”

“No. I went to her house practically every evening, took her out or stayed there and did my homework with her. Sometimes he was at home, and sometime he wasn’t.”

“I don’t think the courts can give you permission to marry this girl so long as she’s under eighteen, but you do have some rights, and we’ll see that those rights are honored.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I sure hope so.”

She talked with him for half an hour and realized that they might be forced to go to court. “Where does your family stand in this, Jonathan?”

“They’re angry. She could stay with us and my folks would help me pay for everything, but her dad won’t allow it.”

“What is he demanding? He must want something.”

“Oh, he does. He’s asking for money.”

Tyra bit back her anger. “I’ll see what we have here and collect the resources that we need, Jonathan. Meanwhile, try not to worry. She’ll be eighteen in about six months, and her father will have no legal jurisdiction. Of course, we want marriage for the two of you before the child is born, if possible. You’re my number one priority.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I know you’ll do what you can.”

She said goodbye to Jonathan. She’d lost track of time and realized that it was past time to go home. She quickly packed up her things.

“How about a drink?” She looked up and saw Christopher Fuller holding the lobby door for her.

“No thanks. I’m in a hurry to get home.”

“If you’re in a hurry, why’d you stay so late? What were you doing? Making out with Cowan?”

“What I was doing is none of your business. I don’t have a damn thing to do when I get home. I just can’t stand you.” She whirled around and bumped into Matt. “Matt, this idiot says I’ve been making out with you. I’d appreciate it if you’d straighten him out.”

As she rushed off, she heard Matt say, “Come off it, Fuller. You wouldn’t know a lady from the pigs you lie around with. You’ve had one warning. If you don’t want a second one, you’d better change your tone.”

When she got home, she went to her bedroom, closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She’d decided it would be foolish to jeopardize her relationship with Byron merely to put her siblings in their place.

Byron was a block from his house when he remembered his promise to buy Andy a bicycle. A four-and-a-half year-old could handle one he reasoned. He turned the Cadillac onto Genstar Drive and headed for the Francis Scott Key Mall. Once inside the mall, Byron passed a bookstore window and saw a children’s book about Frederick, Maryland heroes. He went in and bought it. Andy loved stories that he could retell in his day school and was fast earning the title of class storyteller. Byron made a note to read the book first so that he could answer his son’s questions, and he knew there would be plenty of them.

Byron found the bicycle that he wanted, remembered to get a helmet and headed home. He pulled into his garage, left the bicycle and helmet in the car and entered the house through the kitchen. In his haste to greet Byron, Andy nearly fell out of the chair.

“I need a new story, Daddy. Kisha told one today, but nobody clapped.”

Byron lifted the boy into his arms and hugged him. “Why didn’t you clap?”

“I didn’t want her to be as good as me.”

“As good as I. You should have clapped. You’re good at it, and you can afford to be gracious to other children who try to tell stories.’

“Yes. But she wasn’t as good as I am.”

“Fine. Next time, I want you to lead the applause for her. Got it?”

“Yes, I will. But I don’t like the idea.”

Byron put Andy back in the chair and went up to his room. A search of the yellow pages in the telephone book gave him a choice of several gourmet restaurants, and he chose one. After ordering, he showered and dressed in black jeans, a T-shirt and black sneakers and went downstairs.

He handed his son the book he’d bought earlier. “Let’s read, Andy.”

“What’s the story about?”

“Important people who lived in Frederick long ago.”

“Good. I’m going to read slow, so I’ll remember it and I can tell it at school tomorrow.” The boy read the picture story in about fifteen minutes. “I love the story, Dad.”

Andy loved reading. Indeed, the boy had a sizeable library of books. It was becoming difficult to find new ones that challenged his skills. I’m going to have to start writing stories for preschool children, Byron said to himself. “If I get Andy’s imagination to working, it should be fun.”

At five-thirty, he rang Tyra’s doorbell, and, to his disappointment, Darlene opened the door. “Hello, Darlene. Are you the Cunninghams’ official doorman?”