A Little Night Matchmaking

Was this what love at first sight felt like? Or, in this case, love at first swipe? Ridiculous. She didn’t believe in anything so unrealistic, nor did she trust the swoon factor. She’d picked one husband based on runaway chemistry, and hadn’t that turned out great? She was older now. Wise enough to know better. She and Joe had spent two unhappy years together, and only one sweet thing had come from their doomed marriage. Chloe.

Her precocious, imaginative daughter’s head was often in the clouds, which meant Mommy had to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. As strangely thrilling as that split second encounter on the road had been, she would probably never lay eyes on the guy again.

There was nothing mysterious about what had happened. Too much sun, not enough lunch and a dehydrated libido explained her crazy reaction.

Brandy pulled into the school’s turnaround driveway at three minutes past six, left the car running and hurried into the cafeteria to the after-school program. “Sorry I’m late, Amy. I was stuck in a jam.”

“No problem.” The college student in charge put away the broom.

Chloe placed the picture book she’d been reading in a big plastic tub. “Stuck in jam? That’s funny, Mommy. You mean like grape jam?”

“No, silly. Traffic jam. A truck was blocking the road.” Brandy reached into her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

Amy helped Chloe with her backpack. “Nothing. I couldn’t have left any sooner. Let’s call it even this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Chloe, you’re a good helper. Would you straighten the books so the lid will fit on the tub?” Once the child’s attention was engaged, Amy took Brandy aside. “I need to ask you about Chloe’s new friend.”

“Which new friend?”

“The invisible one. She’s been talking to him a lot lately. I was wondering how you want me to handle the situation?”

Brandy was unaware of any situation in need of handling. “This is the first I’ve heard of an invisible friend.”

“Chloe spends a lot of time playing alone instead of interacting with the other kids. She carries on whole conversations with an imaginary playmate.” Amy lowered her voice. “Today I heard her saying she didn’t need his help. Said she had kindergarten under control. She has a great vocabulary, by the way.”

“Yes, I know.” Pride replaced worry. “She tested out at the ninth-grade level in receptive and seventh-grade in expressive. Her IQ is above average, too. Did you know she taught herself to read last year using two packs of sight cards and a stack of Dr. Seuss books?”

“She’s an incredible little girl.”

“She’s very creative. I’m sure the pretend playmate is just another figment of her imagination,” Brandy suggested.

“I learned in my child psychology class that the creation of an imaginary world isolates a child from the real one. It can be the sign of a deeper problem.”

“Really?” Brandy’s empty stomach clenched with worry. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“She got a little upset today. I overheard her telling her ‘friend’ to go away, which might mean something. She said school was a kid’s job, and if he kept hanging around he would get her fired.”

Brandy winced. Chloe knew all about that. Brandy had lost two jobs because of childcare conflicts. “Thank you for sharing your concerns, Amy. I appreciate the time and attention you give Chloe.”

“She’s a joy. I hope I’m not out of line, but I talked to Megan, the other caregiver, and she didn’t know what to do, either.”

Brandy patted the girl’s arm. “You’re not out of line. Chloe is obviously having more trouble adjusting to the move than I thought. Thanks for letting me know.”

Amy nodded. “New town. New house. New school. Lots of changes.”

“The pace was much slower back home. Now she has to get up early for before-school care, spend all day in the gifted-and-talented kindergarten and stay for after-school care, too.”

“I can so identify. I have three part-time jobs and a full course load at Odessa College. Okay for me, but stressful for a five-year-old.”

Doubt flooded Brandy’s stomach with a tsunami acid wave. Had she traumatized Chloe by abandoning their familiar world to start over in a strange city? She’d made hard choices recently. What if they had been the wrong ones?

Her boss, Mr. Futterman, didn’t think a woman with a child could devote a hundred percent of her energy to work. Naively she had hoped a career with real earning potential would be her ticket out of the nickel-and-dime job world, but she’d had another reason for putting herself through paralegal school.

She wanted to accomplish something worthwhile. After years as a deadbeat dad, her ex-husband had finally gotten his act together. He’d been elected county sheriff back home and now paid child support regularly. He’d fallen hard for the local doctor and was happily married. She didn’t begrudge Joe his newfound contentment. She was happy for him. Everyone should be lucky enough to find true love once in a lifetime.

Joe’s success had inspired her to do more. To be more. His marriage to Mallory Peterson had given her hope. Maybe there was a special person in the world for her, too.

“Mommy?” Chloe tugged on her sleeve. “Can we go?”

Brandy took her daughter’s small hand. “I won’t be late again, Amy. Thank you for bringing the ‘situation’ to my attention.”

Brandy stopped by the ATM to get money for the dry cleaning and gas. As she placed the bills in her purse, a familiar white pickup truck turned the corner and caught her attention. She couldn’t see the driver’s face, but the wide shoulders were unmistakable. So was the flaming logo on the door.

Hotspur Well Control.

Chloe piped up from the back seat. “I’m hot.”

“I know, baby. The air conditioner stopped working.”

“How come?”

“Just old, I guess.”

“As old as me?”

Brandy laughed. “Much older than you.” Weird. Their paths had crossed again. Glimpsing him revved up all the emotions she’d suppressed, but she tried not to think about him while picking up her clothes at the cleaners. Like the dreams that haunted her, their encounter was hard to forget. She’d felt a sense of portent at his touch. What if she hadn’t seen the last of him? She laughed. Chloe wasn’t the only one with an overactive imagination. Seeing the sexy stranger again was a coincidence. Nothing more.

A few minutes later at the gas station, she had to wonder. She parked alongside an available pump just as the same white pickup pulled away from the one next to her. The driver stopped at the street, his large, competent hands resting on the wheel, and watched for a break in traffic.

Hotspur Well Control again. Who was stalking whom here? She started pumping gas but stared in the tinted driver’s side window over the top of her car. The man in the black Stetson startled her by turning around and staring back. He lowered his sunglasses for a better look, but the traffic cleared, another motorist honked and he drove away.

It wasn’t so strange to run into the same guy three times in one afternoon. Awareness was like that. When she’d first become pregnant, she’d noticed other pregnant women everywhere she went. Driving a purple car made her notice other purple cars. Nothing weird about that. Just human nature.

The sun was sinking fast by the time Brandy finished her errands and headed home. The day had lasted too long, and Supermom was super tired. Poor little Chloe had to be worn-out too.

“You’re awfully quiet, punkin.” Brandy glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her daughter strapped into a booster seat, her blond bangs plastered to her forehead by baby sweat. “Everything all right?”

“Yep. Just thinking.”

Like mother, like daughter. “When you get the problems of the universe sorted out, will you let me know?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

She shouldn’t worry. Chloe was deeper than most children her age, more sensitive. All kids had active imaginations. An invisible playmate was her daughter’s way of coping with the new stressors in her life. They’d have a nice talk over dinner, and she’d make sure Chloe understood the difference between real and imaginary.

Tonight she would prepare a real sit-down, we’re-a-family meal served on plates instead of from takeout bags. Country fried chicken fingers, mashed potatoes minus the yucky gravy, steamed baby carrots cut in tiny rounds and chocolate pudding. All of Chloe’s favorite foods. A surefire way to earn mommy points.

Four blocks from home the cell phone rang. Brandy groaned when she read Futterman’s name on caller ID. She didn’t have to answer. It was after seven o’clock. She was a paralegal, not an indentured servant. She’d given the firm nearly eleven hours today. She was tired. Her child was hungry. She had a life outside Futterman-Ulbright.

And the salary Fenton Futterman paid her financed that life. Well, put it that way. She took the call and listened as her frantic employer explained his latest problem. He had an early pretrial conference in the morning and had somehow lost the documents she’d meticulously prepared from sketchy notes and marginalia. Her hopes for a quiet evening flew out the window. Her boss considered motherhood a disability. He wouldn’t consider chocolate pudding a good excuse.

Nor was he willing to find the file on her computer and print another copy. She’d have to return to the office. The task wouldn’t take long, but it would cut into time she wanted to spend with Chloe.

Would forfeiting mommy points earn her a few employee points? She glanced into the back seat. She was working hard to give Chloe the kind of life she deserved, but it wasn’t really fair to drag her along for the ride. On the other hand, she couldn’t afford to tell her demanding boss no.

Life was a series of trade-offs. Balance was the key.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Futterman. I’m on it.” She disconnected the call and released an exhausted sigh. The scales were tipping and Mommy was losing.

H.A.R.P. Field Report

From: Celestian, Earthbound Operative

To: Mission Control

Re: Operation True Love

Current Objective: Contact human ally and introduce matchmaking protocol. Initiate communication between male and female subjects and assess their respective relationship skills.

Progress Notes: Contact with child established. Screening tests reveal depth of subjects’ differences. Limited success with current objective. Male subject exhibits resistance to operative’s environmental manipulation techniques. Measurements indicate commitment levels below acceptable standards.

Female subject emotionally accessible and responsive to dream therapy. Exhibits interest in long-term commitment but is currently distracted by vocational duress. Internal stress and external pressure reduce suggestibility and make her less susceptible to covert tactics.

Plan: Initiate emotional retraining of subjects and increase contact between them.

Personal Assessment: Operative desperately lacks experience to complete this mission and respectfully requests to be relieved of duty.

Chapter Two

Brandy pulled into the fast-food drive-thru and ordered the usual. With the food cooling on the seat beside her, she drove downtown against rush hour traffic, an exhausted salmon swimming upstream without even the prospect of mating to motivate her.

By the time she arrived at the office, the firm was closed for the day. All the smart people had gone home. Juggling her briefcase and purse in one hand and the bag of food in the other, she unlocked the dead bolt and ushered Chloe inside. The lever jammed when she tried to relock the door. The universe was conspiring against her today. She pulled the knob and jiggled the catch to secure the door and led Chloe to her small office at the back of the building.

“Is this your work?” Chloe looked around curiously. She hadn’t visited the hallowed halls of Futterman-Ulbright before.

“Yep. Sorry you had to come down here, honey. Mommy needs to get some papers ready for her boss.”

“I know. They got losted.” Chloe peered at the computer monitor’s space-themed screen saver, then swiveled the desk chair in dizzying circles.

“Right.” She hadn’t mentioned the missing papers. “How did you—”

“Your boss should be more careful.”

“I agree.” She cleared a spot on a corner of the desk and set out a colorful cardboard box. Cinnamon. Again. Where was that coming from? Brandy found nothing unusual among the meal’s contents. She sniffed the air near Chloe where the scent was strongest. Ah, cinnamon crackers. “Here you go. You can eat while I work.”

Chloe wasn’t happy with her meal and went straight for the toy. “Oh, ratties. I already have this one.” Unwrapping the burger, she carefully removed both pickles and picked off every microscopic bit of onion before dumping French fries on the wrapper.

“Sorry, baby.” Trying not to feel too guilty about all the fast-food meals they’d eaten recently, Brandy poked a straw in the milk carton. She squirted a packet of ketchup in a neat red pile, careful not to let the condiment touch the fries. Chloe had a thing about mixing food. She preferred to dip.

“That’s all right, Mommy.” She tore the wrapping off the disappointing toy and laid it aside. “I can start a collection.”

Sipping her super-size diet cola, Brandy sat at the computer and pulled up the file containing the case documents her boss needed for the conference. She couldn’t believe someone as anal as Futterman could misplace something so important. Moving anything on his desk an eighth of an inch left or right resulted in a major freak-out. Today’s weirdness just kept piling up. And it wasn’t Friday or the thirteenth.

Deciding to make a spare this time, she set the printer control for two copies and started the process.

“So, baby, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Mommy.”

She blotted a dot of ketchup from her daughter’s mouth with a paper napkin. “Do you think school is a kid’s job?”

“Uh-huh. Like being a pair of legals is your job.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Amy says you have a new friend. Tell me about her.”

Chloe’s dark brown eyes seemed much older in her baby face. “It’s a him. His name is Celestian.” She blended the four syllables together into two. Sles-chun.

Ah, Celestian. She’d heard the unusual name before. “Your dad’s dog?”

“No. It’s a different Celestian. He’s supposed to help me, but most of the time I don’t need any help and he gets his feelings hurted. I told him to go home today.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “It’s kindergarten, not college. He’s too sensitive.”

Brandy nodded. “Can you see Celestian?”

Chloe gave her a look she would have considered insulting had it come from anyone but a five-year-old. “’Course I can.”

“Can I?”

Chloe laughed and dipped another fry. “Nope. He’s inbisible. He says I’m the only one who can see him.”

“So you named your pretend friend after the little white dog that sleeps on your bed when you visit Daddy?”

Chloe’s blond bob swung in vehement denial. “I didn’t name him. That’s his real name. And he’s not pretend. He’s real too. He’s just inbisible to people who don’t need to see him.”

“He talks to you?” Brandy didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. On one hand, it was unsettling to think her daughter could ‘see’ invisible people, but on the other, the child’s fantasy was probably just a way to personalize the little dog she missed.

What was her fantasy all about? Was the man who visited her dreams the personification of her own secret longings?

“Yep. Sometimes he talks too much. He’s funny.” She sobered. “He said other people wouldn’t understand about him. Let’s don’t talk about it.”

Was Chloe afraid to share feelings? Did she think her mother wouldn’t understand or care? She’d never kept secrets before. Doubt settled on Brandy, weighing her down. Motherhood had never been easy, but she had managed, even without Joe’s help. This problem was more complicated than making sure Chloe ate enough protein and got her vaccinations on time. Brandy had no more idea how to handle an invisible playmate than the girl at the after-school program. At least Amy had taken a child psychology class.

The printer continued to spit pages, the noise loud in the quiet office. Distracted by her thoughts, Brandy helped herself to a French fry. “We’re buddies, punkin. Powerpuff Girls. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I know. This isn’t a real secret.” Chloe fingered the plastic toy. Made Barbie do a dance. “More like…private.”

“I understand. What do you and Celestian talk about?”

Chloe took a bite of her baby burger, chewed and dutifully swallowed before speaking. “Stuff.” She picked up another French fry, dunked it in ketchup and extended the dripping offering.

Chloe laughed when Brandy snapped up the fry with a wolfish growl. Maybe Chloe wasn’t any more upset about the move than she had a right to be. Children were resilient. Brandy had not studied child psychology, but she knew that much. It wasn’t unusual for a bright child to have an imaginary playmate. And parents often worried about things long after children had forgotten them.

If Chloe had invented Celestian because her mother was preoccupied with work, well, she’d fix that. She’d spend more time with her. Quality time. Do everything she could to make her daughter feel safe and loved. It was probably no coincidence that the playmate was male and named after Joe’s dog. Maybe Chloe missed her father more than Brandy realized.

After nearly three years of benign neglect and indifference, Joe Mitchum had finally taken his parental responsibilities seriously. A near-death experience with a bolt of lightning had jump-started his daddy engine, and he and Chloe had finally forged a good relationship. Unfortunately Chloe saw her father less since the move to Odessa. Creating an imaginary Celestian was probably her way of bringing a little bit of her old home to her new one.

She understood the feeling. Something was missing from her own life as well. A quiet gentle man who shared her values. A true partner to love her and Chloe and put their interests first.

Now where had that thought come from? She could make a life for her and her daughter on her own, thank you. She didn’t need a man. If the right one came along, so be it. If not, well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

“What stuff do you and Celestian talk about?” Brandy turned her wandering attention back to Chloe.

“Getting along stuff. Being happy stuff. But mostly trick stuff.”

“Tricks? What kind of tricks?” Chloe wasn’t the type of child to test boundaries with misbehavior and blame it on the imaginary friend.

“You’ll see.” Chloe sipped her milk. She cocked her head to one side again as though tuned in to a voice Brandy couldn’t hear. After a moment, she said, “Can we not talk about Celestian anymore?”

“Okay. But you’ll let me know if you have a problem, won’t you?”

Chloe’s sunny face lit up with a wide grin. “I don’t have problems, Mommy. I’m only five, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” The powerful scent of cinnamon permeated the room, and an unsettling sense of expectancy set Brandy’s nerves on edge. Maybe it was the strange encounter with Stetson on the road today that had her twitching. She’d never been into new age ideas or dream analysis or anything that wasn’t totally down to earth. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something life-altering was about to happen? “Honey, is Celestian here now?”

After a long pause, Chloe nodded.

“Where?” Brandy’s gaze darted around the room. The suite of offices was empty. The rest of the staff had gone home, and the cleaning people had not yet arrived. Outside on the street, traffic had thinned out. Night had settled over Texas like a dark, smothering blanket.

Chloe slowly lifted her hand and pointed. “Right over there.”

Of course, no one was perched atop the file cabinet, but Brandy looked anyway. The invisible playmate was a figment of her daughter’s overactive imagination. Still, gooseflesh rose on her arms at the thought of another presence in the room. She squinted, playing along with Chloe’s game. “Hmm. I can’t see him. What does he look like?”

“Just regular.”

“Is he a little boy? As big as you?”

“Nope. Grown-up size.”

“Old? Or young?”

“He says he’s three hundred and twenty-two,” Chloe whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “But he doesn’t look even as old as Grandpa.”

Brandy marveled at Chloe’s creativity. What had she ever done to deserve such a special child? “Does he have hair?”

“’Course!” Chloe laughed again. “It’s yellow and longer than yours. And his eyes are blue. He wears white clothes and no shoes.”

Apparently, Celestian was very real to Chloe. She’d gone to great lengths to invent details about his appearance. Brandy stroked her daughter’s soft round cheek. “Punkin, is everything all right at school?”

Chloe’s narrow shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug. “Well, the teacher does her best with what she has to work with.”

Brandy smiled. Where did she pick up that stuff? Chloe preferred her own company to that of other children and never minded playing alone. Still, niggling worry refused to die. “What about your classmates? Do you get along with them?”

“I guess so. We don’t have much in common. They’re pretty young. Most of them can’t even read.”

“They’re the same age as you,” Brandy pointed out.

Chloe nodded. “I know, but they act like little kids.”

“They are little kids.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Just ’cause they’re five, doesn’t mean they have to act five.”

“True.”

Had her daughter ever been a baby? Mothering Chloe had been one surprise after another. Dissatisfied with the inefficiency of crawling, she had walked at nine months. In an effort to communicate, she developed her own system of sign language at ten months. By eighteen months, she was speaking in intelligible sentences. Impatient to wait for school, she taught herself to read at four and a half.

Every morning before the mad dash out the door, logical, organized Chloe made sure Brandy had everything she needed for the day. Exhibiting an intriguing combination of wisdom and innocence, her daughter had always been advanced for her age. Not only did she march to a different drummer, she followed a beat most people couldn’t even hear.

They finished their fast-food dinner in silence. Chloe didn’t mention Celestian again, but a creepy, uneasy feeling set Brandy’s nerves on edge. She needed to get out of the deserted office. Things would seem more normal once she got home. She tossed the food wrappers into the trash and gathered up her things as the printer finished the document.

Turning, she spotted a tall man standing in the open doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the space. She yelped in startled alarm. “Who the heck are you?”

“He came! He really came!” Chloe clapped her hands and jumped up and down, as though she’d been awaiting the intruder’s unexpected arrival. Damn that stuck lock.

Instincts surging into protective mode, she tugged Chloe close, positioning herself between her child and the man. He didn’t look particularly threatening, but there was definitely something dangerous about him.

A quick catalog of his features convinced Brandy she’d seen him before. High forehead, big brain. Smart. Strong jaw, not too square. Stubborn. Black eyes, prominent cheekbones and sleek, dark hair. Sexy. Lips that were full and firm. Sensual. Too bad they were set in such a humorless line.

“I want to see Fenton Futterman.”

His voice washed over her like a warm tide. He sounded just like the Midnight Man. No. She had heard his voice before, but not in her dreams. He was Stetson, the man she’d run into this afternoon. That explained the haven’t-we-met-before vibe. He’d ditched the hat and the sunglasses, changed clothes. He looked different, but the pay-attention voice was unmistakable. Four run-ins in one day. Her universal conspiracy theory took on new meaning, but he was no fantasy man come to life.