The Next Best Thing
“It was always just physical, anyway,” Levi said, giving Jess a wink, a slight smile pulling his mouth up in one corner. “Right, Jess?”
Hello. Captain Testosterone still had it, Faith had to admit. That look was equivalent to half an hour of dedicated foreplay—green eyes all sleepy and knowing, that faint smile promising all sorts of thorough attention. Not that she was...it wasn’t like she...what was the question again?
“Faith? You want dessert?” Jessica demanded.
“Oh! Um, no, that’s fine,” she said brightly, hoping no one noticed her burning cheeks.
“Gotta go,” Levi said, standing up. He punched Jeremy’s shoulder, leaned in to kiss Jessica on the cheek, then glanced at Faith. Good Lord, he wouldn’t kiss her, would he? Should she offer her cheek, just in case? But Jessica was standing in the way, and if he wanted to kiss her, he’d have to—
Yeah, never mind. He was leaving. “Bye, Levi!” she called merrily. “Always so great running into you!”
She didn’t miss Jessica’s eye roll as she padded away. Well, who cared? Levi and Jessica were two people she’d never managed to win over.
“Where were we?” Jeremy asked, and she turned her attention back to him.
* * *
WHEN SHE GOT HOME THAT NIGHT, Goggy and Pops were still awake, alas.
“Your grandfather won’t go to bed,” Goggy announced, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. She looked like an angry pink pigeon, wrapped tightly in the fleece robe Faith had given her for Christmas.
“Your grandmother won’t, either,” Pops said from the den. “How was your date, sweetheart?” He came into the kitchen and bent to kiss her cheek.
“Yes, how was it?” Goggy asked, squeezing her hand, not to be outdone in the affection department.
“It wasn’t a date,” Faith said, spying the plate of brownies Goggy had made earlier. She took one, not because she was hungry, but because Goggy had made them for Levi. “But it was good to see Jeremy again.”
“Those are for Chief Cooper,” Goggy said, a hint of reproof in her voice.
“I know, but they looked so beautiful, I couldn’t resist,” Faith said.
“Let me get you some milk, sweetie.” Mollified, Goggy leaped to the cupboard for a glass. Pops tried to sneak a brownie, too, but Goggy slapped his hand. “Those are for Levi! Not for you!” she said. “Faith, sweetheart, do you want another one?”
“So, Pops, it’s nine-thirty,” Faith said. “Why are you up?” Her grandfather, being a farmer, did tend to go to bed around eight each night. “You feeling okay?”
“You know what it is?” Goggy said. “It’s that woman, that German, on Project Runway. He’s making a fool of himself, watching a show for a German woman who’s a third his age!”
“So? I’m allowed to look. I’m not dead yet.”
“Too bad, isn’t it? When are you going to do me a favor and—”
“So, listen, you two,” Faith said loudly. They quieted. “It’s obvious that you don’t need me around here, checking on you. I’m going to find a place of my own until...well.” Until I go back, she was about to say.
But she’d never planned to stay in California forever. No one was getting any younger. Abby’d be off at college in two years; Goggy and Pops were old, if still filled with piss and vinegar.
“Who said we didn’t need you? Of course we need you!” Goggy said firmly. “You should stay with us.”
“She’s a grown woman, Elizabeth,” Pops said. “She can do what she wants. And aren’t you the one who sent her all the way to California?”
“So what? She needed to get away! Her heart was broken, you doddering old man. I didn’t mean she should stay away forever. Did I tell her to do that? No! This is her home.”
“Well, maybe she wants to spread her wings a little without you nosing into her business,” Pops said.
“Okay, okay,” Faith said. “No more fighting.”
“We weren’t fighting,” Goggy said. “We were discussing.”
“Right. Let’s watch Project Runway, okay? But I am moving out.”
“I don’t know. A single girl on her own? Someone could break in and slit your throat as you’re sleeping,” her grandmother said.
“Thanks for the thought, Goggy.”
“You should get married. Oh! You know who’s single? Levi!” Goggy made a clucking sound of triumph. “That wife of his left him! I bet he’s lonely. You could marry him! Is he Lutheran?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not my type,” Faith said easily. “Come on. I hear Heidi Klum.”
She herded her grandparents into the den and sat between them on the couch.
Marry Levi. Right.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I DON’T SEE WHY YOU GIRLS needed me to drive you,” Faith’s father said as they pulled into the parking lot.
“Because we need you to protect us from disgusting men, Mr. H.,” Colleen said. “Though if you’d marry me, I wouldn’t be reduced to Singles Shooting Night.”
“Please, Dad. We’ll both feel better if you’re here. And Coll, no more proposing to my father, okay?”
The plan was to get Dad out in the world of senior citizen singletons and show him that there were women who weren’t quite as, er, carnivorous as Lorena. Two days ago, Honor had caught the woman in Dad’s bedroom, going through Mom’s collection of antique perfume bottles. When Honor confronted her, Lorena said she’d gotten lost on her way back from the bathroom, which didn’t explain why she was making a list. This had resulted in a phone call from Honor, saying that if Faith wasn’t up for the job, she’d do it herself.
But Faith was trying. She wanted nothing more than for Dad to find a nice woman, though it was still shocking that after nineteen and a half years, someone like Lorena had wormed past his shield. Tonight, she’d opted for the more personal route, completely unable to imagine her beloved dad with StillHotGranny or NotDeadYet, the most recent listings on eCommitment/SeniorLove.
And so, Singles Shooting Night (Ages 21 to 101! the ad had merrily announced) here in Corning, which got Dad out of town and might make him a little more relaxed...he’d always tended to blush and mutter around interested women (except Lorena—again, probably because he was so clueless). And sure, Faith had it in the back of her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d meet a sweet and wonderful man. One who looked like Jake Gyllenhaal, maybe. Or Ryan Gosling. She’d take either. Or both. Why not? A girl could dream.
As for the whole weapons aspect of the evening, well. There wasn’t much in terms of singles events around here, if you didn’t count setting a fire to a hay bale so the Manningsport Volunteer Fire Department would come out, which Suzette Minor had done last week. According to Ned, Suzette had then been asked out by Gerard Chartier, so maybe there was something to be said for arson. But Singles Shooting Night had a certain metaphoric truth, Faith thought. You’d aim, fire and hit or miss. We met over a Glock, and she nailed the target right in the face, and I just knew.
“Game faces on, people,” Colleen said as they got out of the car. Dad grumbled but followed her inside, removing his cap and running a hand through his silver hair.
“Daddy, don’t forget you have to talk if a lady approaches you,” Faith said. “Be nice.”
“We should’ve brought Lorena,” Dad said. “I think she’s interested in getting married again.”
“Oh, she is, Mr. Holland,” Colleen said. “She’s got her eye on you, don’t you know.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling fondly.
“Does she put out?” Colleen asked.
“Coll! Come on!”
“I— We...ah, we don’t...well, she’s fun and all, but...uh, here you go, girls.” He held the door to Zippy’s Gun & Hunting and then went inside. Plenty of people crowded into the shop, Faith thought. Lots of white hair.
“Hello there,” a man said to Colleen’s boobage, which was on excellent display, as ever. He was around seventy, and Colleen smiled slyly. She’d often voiced the opinion that she had the makings of an excellent kept woman or trophy wife.
Faith had to give the organizers credit: at least there’d be something to do in addition to the usual chatter/interrogations that went on at singles events. Kill each other, for example. She tried not to sigh as Coll wandered off.
Her parents had grown up together, childhood friends, dating since tenth grade, when Dad had caught Mom’s shoe at a church dance—the boys had lined up on one side of the room, the girls on the other, and the girls had been told by the reverend to throw one shoe, then find the boy who caught it and dance with him. Mom had admitted to hurling her Ked at John Holland “like Don Larsen throwing to Yogi.”
Then again, maybe they weren’t the best example.
Colleen returned. “I already have three phone numbers,” she said. “So old school. Two of those guys don’t even have a Facebook page.”
“Well, you’re tapping into the artificial hip crowd, Coll, what do you expect?”
“You see anyone for you?” Colleen asked, peering around. A man wearing overalls—but no shirt—leered at them, but Coll just laughed and said, “In your dreams, pal. Eesh. Avert the eyes, Faith. I don’t think he’s wearing underwear.”
By and large, the attendees were female and over fifty. She and Colleen definitely stood out. There were...let’s see...seven men, not counting Dad. Speaking of, her father approached. “Sweetie, what should I do?” he asked. “Two women have already asked for my phone number.”
“Oh, great!” Faith said, patting his arm. “Very flattering. Maybe you should meet one of them for coffee. I’m sure they’re very nice.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not really interested in dating.”
“Dad, Lorena is circling you like a great white. I think she thinks you’re dating.”
Dad gave her a confused look. “No. She’s just fun. A nice person. Very vivacious.”
Faith paused. “Dad, we’re pretty sure she’s after your money.”
“I have no money. I have four children instead.”
“She was cataloguing Mom’s perfume bottles.”
“Oh, those things. Your mommy sure did love them. I thought they were dust collectors, myself, but...” His blue eyes softened at the memory, and Faith’s heart tightened. She had to find him someone else. He deserved it.
A woman edged closer. Nicely dressed, age-appropriate. Faith gave her a tiny nod and turned back to her father.
“Dad, if you think Lorena’s fun, maybe you’ll like talking to other women who don’t discuss thongs with your teenage granddaughter.”
“Did she do that?” Dad asked, suitably shocked.
“Ask Abby.”
“Give someone else a shot, Mr. H.,” Colleen said. “See what you got. Oh, that guy is giving me the eye. Back in a flash.” Colleen dashed off to another septuagenarian, this one with a walker, and tossed her shiny hair.
“Hello there! I’m Beatrice,” said the woman who’d been eyeing dear old Dad. Attractive, lively, smiling. A contender, in other words. She spoke to Faith, rather than John. “Aren’t you beautiful! I love red hair.”
Nicely played, Faith admitted. Go straight for the child. “I’m Faith, and this is my dad, John. He’s a widower.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Beatrice cooed, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I’m divorced, three kids, four grands.”