Blame it on Cupid by Jennifer Greene Read Free Book Online Page A

you two lived in Minnesota. We were really good friends. I thought the world of him.”
    â€œCome on.”
    â€œCome on?” She heard the disbelief, but had no idea where it was coming from.
    â€œIf you were such good friends, how come I never heard your name before? How come we never saw you?”
    â€œWe were good friends at the time of your parents’ divorce, Charlie. Maybe your dad didn’t talk about it because it was such a painful time for him—and it wasn’t something he wanted you to remember, either.”
    Zip. Silence.
    She pushed on. “But at the time, your dad talked about you all the time. How much he loved you. All his parenting ideas, how he wanted to raise you, how much he wanted you to be happy….”
    When they finally pulled into the driveway, the kid bolted out of the car as if jet-propelled to get away from her. Merry hadn’t felt this wrung out since she’d paid for a fitness trainer—a foolish move she’d never repeated.
    The culmination of the impossible morning, though, was when she got inside the front door, and found Charlene standing in front of the tree. “What is this?”
    â€œNow I realize it’s past Christmas, but I knew you missed out on the holiday. I just thought it might help to try and make up.” Hell’s bells, back in Minnesota when she’d thought of this, the idea had seemed brilliant. Only now Merry realized the kid could think she was trying to buy her. Or trying to imply that a bunch of silly presents could make up for her dad’s death. How could a nice intention turn out so rotten wrong?
    And Charlene kept looking at her as if she were from another planet. “That’s real nice of you,” she said politely. “But…it’s pink.”
    â€œI know, I know. It was the only tree I could find this late after Christmas,” she lied.
    â€œThat’s okay,” she said.
    But obviously nothing was okay. The kid sat down by the presents as if waiting for a shot at the dentist’s. She gingerly opened each gift and produced an obligatory “thank you” even when she didn’t have a clue what the item was.
    Merry knew— knew— this was going all wrong, yet it was like changing your mind about a permanent in the middle of a hairdresser appointment. It was just too late, once they got that chemical going.
    Charlie wasn’t trying to be difficult. She was so clearly trying to do anything Merry asked her, anything Merry wanted, whatever it took to be home. But everything Merry had chosen, from the Juicy Couture purse with the rabbit’s foot, to the tweed hat with the bumblebee pin, to the spangly beads, to the Ashton Kutcher poster…oh, God. Each thing was worse than the last.
    The rock-bottom worst, though, were the pink cashmere socks with the butterfly motif.
    â€œWow,” Charlie said. The word hung in the air like a cooking odor.
    When it was over, Merry perked up—because, hey, there was no place to go from rock-bottom but up, right? How could anything more ghastly happen that day?
    Â 
    G OD KNEW , HE LOVED his job, but as Jack pulled into the driveway, he was hungrier than a bear in spring.
    No one had twisted his arm to skip lunch or work late. He just forgot the time. When people asked him what he did, he always responded “desk jockey” because that answer worked like a charm. No one ever asked him further questions. They just assumed he was some kind of bureaucrat—no surprise, since there were a lot of white-collar pencil pushers running around Langley and Arlington.
    The label had an element of truth besides. Once he “retired” from the navy—Special Ops—he’d settled into a non-dangerous job. Truth to tell, he thought he made more of a difference now than when he’d fought for his country with a weapon in his hand, but whatever. He loved it.
    Right now, though, he was conscious that he’d