The Marriage Recipe

Colin poured himself a glass of water from the small bar sink. “I told her I’d go over at lunchtime tomorrow and let her know.”

“Then I’ll work on getting an answer first thing in the day and give it to you by noon. I’m not missing prime rib, either.”

“Great. I can put in something myself, if that helps,” Colin said, meaning taking a cut in salary on this case. His bungalow was almost paid for. His car was paid in full. Except for the really expensive plane he would be a quarter owner of, he didn’t have any superhuge monthly bills.

Reginald’s eyes narrowed, wrinkling the skin at the corner. “I do have one question before you accept Rachel as a client. Will you be able to maintain your professional objectivity?”

The question caught Colin off guard and his heart seemed to stop. “What do you mean by that?”

Reginald coughed, as was his habit when addressing a delicate matter. “You and Rachel were always good friends. She practically lived over here. She’s like a fourth daughter to your mother and me. Since you two were so close, it’s natural that you want to rush to her defense and be her knight in shining armor.”

Colin stared at his father for a moment, processing his words. He had wanted to throttle her ex this afternoon. But that didn’t mean he would be reactive. He and Rachel weren’t…Then Colin understood his father’s concern.

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “You think I…She. No. No, it’s not like that. She was always over here because she had a crush on Bruce, not me. If you’re like a parent to her, I’m like her brother. She never thought of me as anything else, or as anything more than a buddy.”

Reginald arched his left eyebrow. “Even if you did?”

Colin shifted his weight, crossed his arms and simply waited, as if doing so would deny the truth. He’d always liked Rachel, and now a beautiful and intriguing woman had replaced the gangly girl of his childhood.

“Son, it was so obvious to your mother and me that you had the biggest crush on her,” Reginald said quietly. “Kim, Rachel’s mother—Adrienne—your mother and I would joke that someday the two of you should get married, you were so like peas in a pod. You even finished each other’s sentences. We said it would finally unite our families. After all, we’ve been living next door to each other for generations. Your mother had the whole thing thought out.”

Colin sputtered on the water he’d been sipping. “That’s morbid.”

Reginald waved dismissively. “Oh, it’s a thing parents who are friends do. You’ll understand someday. You like to pretend you can somehow predestine your child’s future. You do it although you know your plans won’t come true. You went to college, she went to cooking school, and each of you moved on with your lives. That’s just how things go.”

Reginald set his empty glass on the side bar. “As much as your mother and I would love for you to settle down, we know you’ll do that when the time’s right. I just want to be sure you’ll be objective in Rachel’s case.”

Colin forced himself not to cross his arms across his chest after he placed his glass in the sink. “As you said, we’ve both moved on. She’s planning on going back to New York. Her life isn’t in Morrisville anymore. And I’m not going to be anyone’s rebound guy, so even if she did choose me, which, may I remind you, she never has and won’t because she’s never thought of me as anything more than a friend, nothing’s going to happen. Client relationship only.”

“If you’re sure,” Reginald said. Colin didn’t have a chance to further refute his father’s doubt, because his sister Kristin arrived and seven-year-old twins bounded in with yells of “Hi, Grandpa! We’re here. Can you tell us apart today?” To which Reginald promptly said Libby was the one with the red bow and Maggie was the one with the blue. He was right, of course, and within minutes all had taken their seats at the breakfast-room table, a more comfortable venue than the massive dining-room table, which sat sixteen.

“So, Uncle Colin, will you be there?” Libby asked, and Colin focused on his niece.

“Be there for what?” he asked.

“We’re doing a St. Patrick’s Day feast at our school. St. Paddy’s Day is on Monday this year. We’ve already started making our leprechaun traps. Anyways, we get to invite someone special. I have to bring cupcakes. They have to be from a bakery. Something about hepa something.” Libby said.

“Hepatitis,” her sister finished.

“What about your mom and dad?” Colin asked. He didn’t want to be usurping anyone’s invitation.

“Dad’s got patients and Mom’s already volunteering, so she doesn’t count. I thought I’d bring you. I keep telling my friends you have a plane.”

“Not yet,” Colin said.

Libby frowned. “But you fly a lot. Remember, you took us up. That wasn’t your plane?”

“I rented it,” he said. He’d flown both twins and Kristin, providing them an aerial view of the town and their house. Colin smiled. “But that doesn’t matter. You name me the dates, and if I’m not required in court, we’ll go flying. And I will definitely be at your feast.”

“Good.” Libby seemed satisfied, and dinner continued. Afterward everyone hung out in the family room for a while before Kristin took the girls home around seven-thirty.

“Hey, Mom, do you still have my high-school yearbook?” Colin asked, walking into the kitchen. “I was looking for it at my place the other day and couldn’t find it.”

“If I do, it’s in your old bedroom,” she said. She loaded the plates into the dishwasher.

“You know I would have helped with that,” Colin said.

“Yes, but I told you I had it.” She straightened. “What do you want your yearbook for?”

“I realized I had the other three but not my senior year’s,” he said. “Thought I’d just grab it while I was here.”

His mom wiped her hands on her apron. “I think it’s on your bookshelf.”

Colin climbed the back stairs two at a time to the second floor. The house had a third floor, but that was mainly a big playroom that only the grandchildren now used.

His mom had redecorated some of the other rooms, making them more kid friendly for the grandchildren, who stayed over on occasion, but Colin’s room remained largely untouched. He’d left behind his old childhood furniture, opting to buy a new king-size bed instead of keeping the twin he’d grown up on. He had removed most of his childhood mementos from the room, although they were stored in a box in his basement instead of holding a place of prominence in his own home.

Since his old room was located on the east side of the house and faced the side yard, he had one four-foot-wide window instead of two or more like many of the Victorians. He flipped the light switch, activating the lamp, and moved toward the bookcase, situated near the window and still lined with high-school and college texts. The shelves also still held aviation magazines, a golf trophy from a charity match and, on the bottom shelf, his yearbook. He leaned down, removed it and straightened. As he did, a flash of light caught his eye. He stood there in the window, clearly in view, before reaching down and turning off the lamp.

Rachel was in her room. He couldn’t see her clearly without binoculars, something they’d both used until their teen years. But behind the sheer curtains he could see her silhouette as she stood there, staring across the way—right at him.

When he was a child, none of this was forbidden. He’d take his flashlight, let her know he was there, and they’d send Morse code messages across their yards until one of their parents would discover they were still awake and yell at them to go to sleep. Never once had there been anything sexual about their communication, even when he’d been in high school and realized his feelings for Rachel went beyond friendship.

So why did he have the impression that unlike when they were children, he was somehow a voyeur, a Peeping Tom? And as he saw Rachel lift her arms as if removing a T-shirt, try as he might, he couldn’t get his feet to move one inch or his head to turn.

A light flashed across the way, a small circular beam like from a flashlight’s. He froze. Had she spotted him? He hadn’t been in his room long. He’d turned off the light and was hidden in the darkness and the blinds were only open a sliver. The beam flashed two short, then one long. Then a pause with no light, then one long flash before the light went off again. She’d communicated two letters. U then T. Their code for You there?

She must have seen him moving around earlier. His silhouette certainly didn’t match his mother’s. If Rachel had watched him walk in, she would have recognized him. Is that why she’d signaled?

His eyes, accustomed to the room’s darkness, sought the flashlight that had lived on the bookshelf. His fingers reached for it, but found nothing. His mother might have removed it.

Across the way, Rachel’s flashlight had fallen silent. He could use lamplight to answer, but that would illuminate him. They’d never done that to communicate.

His cell phone would have to do. He drew the blinds, flipped the device open and held it open for a long, then short, then two long flashes. The letter Y.

Yes. I’m here.

Funny, how easily the knowledge returned. When he’d first learned Morse code, he’d had to glance at a sheet of paper to spell out words. He hadn’t used the code in thirteen years, yet the dots and dashes came easily as he and Rachel began to “talk.”

What did he say? she asked.

Ninety percent yes, Colin flashed back. Will know for sure by noon.

How was dinner? she sent him.

Great. Nieces here. Been invited to a school feast. This is like old times. Fun.

Agreed, she returned.