Each Shining Hour by Jeff High Read Free Book Online Page A

task at hand of cleaning and putting away dishes. All of that happened with a synchronized flow and economy of motion that was second nature, a ritual they had obviously performed thousands of times.
    The two sisters had insisted that I stay seated, or more accurately, stay out of the way. That was fine by me. I had another matter rolling around in the back of my mind. There was something I had to do, something that was causing me quite a bit of apprehension.
    I needed to make a phone call.
    Eventually Connie took notice of my brooding. Casually she inquired, “Dr. Bradford, what’s that face all about? You look like someone just sold your prize cow for three magic beans.”
    I had been unwittingly drumming the fingers of my right hand on the kitchen table, staring vacantly. I looked over at the two of them, now paused in midwash at the kitchen sink.
    â€œConnie. What is there to do in Watervalley on Saturday night? You know, with a date?”
    Apparently, this comment caused a secret alarm bell to go off, one that was inaudible if you were carrying a Y chromosome. Instantly, Connie and Estelle gave each other a fixed look, one that demanded all hands on deck. Without either of them uttering a word, dishes were abandoned and aprons flew off. They scampered to the table, each grabbing a chair and scooting in close, forming a tight huddle around me. Even Rhett joined the circle, sitting obediently and regarding me with rapt focus.
    What is it about women that makes them warm so quickly to the topic of matchmaking? Connie abandoned her normal reserve and, along with Estelle, started quizzing me. It felt like a scene right out of junior high. Connie launched the first volley.
    â€œSo, you’re thinking about calling Christine?”
    Before I could respond, Estelle flanked me. “She’s awfully pretty, isn’t she? I bet you two really hit it off.”
    â€œDo you need me to press your blue jeans?” Connie inquired. “I went by the cleaners yesterday, so clean shirts shouldn’t be a problem.”
    Estelle countered, “I know she’s really cute, but don’t try to push things on the first date. She’s a good girl and you’ll need to be patient.”
    Connie added, “And I know you want to show her a good time, but this is Watervalley. Don’t feel you have to flex your plastic a whole lot.”
    â€œBut don’t be cheap either,” added Estelle. For good measure, she included, “And be sure to wear clean underwear.” Then shelooked at Connie as if a eureka moment had hit her. “Maybe he should record their conversation so we can critique it later.”
    I was drowning. Wave after wave of pent-up female advice was broadsiding me, counseling me in every detail of wooing, a subject in which I thought I had a respectable working knowledge. But apparently the Pillow sisters saw me as greatly lacking, even on the fundamentals. Following the volleys back and forth was like watching a tennis match. Except I was the ball getting smacked between the two of them.
    Connie gave me a lengthy dissertation about being a godly man and the frailties of the flesh. Estelle executed the coup de grâce.
    â€œAnd remember, there are three secrets to making a woman love you. Don’t always talk about yourself, be sweet to her mother, and moisturize often. You should never underestimate the importance of good skin.”
    I held up my hands in surrender. “Ladies, thanks for all the input. I had no idea that a dating brain trust was so readily available. But all I really need is a suggestion about where to go in Watervalley to show a girl a nice time.”
    They immediately fell silent, shifting back against their chairs, offering me looks of mild pity, as if I were a second grader who couldn’t figure out the answer to a basic math problem.
    â€œWell, that one’s easy,” Connie said breezily.
    â€œSo very easy,” Estelle echoed