My fourth interview had been with Melody Sato. Melody was a stunning 20-year-old Japanese woman with long wavy brown hair and flawless tawny skin. She was slender, flat-chested but with a tight little round ass, and maybe 5'5"; she looked like a runner, which she was. She was reserved, soft-spoken, and impressively poised. When I gave her the rundown I had given Carolina and Autumn, her eyes darkened with sympathy for me, but any other implications seemed to miss her completely.
"So, you're an el ed major?" I asked as we started walking.
"Yes," Melody replied in a musical alto that fit her name. "I love kids, and I love seeing the light come on for them—the moment when they understand something they didn't before. I like older kids as well as younger ones, but once they get big"—she gestured self-deprecatingly down her body—"I might have trouble commanding a classroom. Not with the younger ones, though. They respond well to me."
"I'm not surprised," I told her with a smile.
Melody enjoyed the tour. When we got to the kitchen, she looked around ruefully and said, "It looks lovely, but I don't know how to cook, so—" She shrugged eloquently.
"That's not a problem," I assured her. "I wouldn't mind sharing the kitchen with whomever I hire, but I cook for all of us and enjoy doing it. If you were willing to help clean up, though, that's another matter." I grinned at her.
Melody twinkled back. "I'm always willing to help clean up," she assured me in return.
She was more appreciative of the girls' rooms. She offered a couple decorating ideas which made sense to me, but since I didn't have pen and paper to write them down, I knew I would forget. I finally asked her to e-mail me later if they came to her mind; she gravely assured me she would.
When we sat down at the dining-room table, I asked Melody, "So, you said earlier you don't have a boyfriend?"
"No, I don't," she answered matter-of-factly. "I've had a couple in the past, but none of them serious." She paused for a moment, thinking. "My friends tell me I need to go looking for someone, but I haven't found many boys who interest me. My friends say I'm too picky, but I don't want to date someone just to have someone to date."
"That's wise, I think," I said judiciously.
"My friends say I'm naïve, that I miss signals," Melody continued. I kept my mouth shut. "Obviously I can't say they're wrong, but I'm not worried. I want to find a man to be with, but I don't need to hurry. When the time is right, it will happen."
"That's very . . ." I said, my voice trailing off when I lost the word I wanted.
"Zen?" Melody asked. There was a faint tension in her voice, and her lips tightened a fraction.
I looked at her in surprise. "No, that's not what I was going to say, though I don't remember what I
was
going to say. Why? Do you get that a lot?"
Melody nodded, then suddenly relaxed. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't assume."
"Hey, no worries," I told her. "The first rule of predictions is always the Quisenberry Rule."
She looked at me blankly. "I've never heard that."
"Sorry," I said, "it's my own coinage, in a way. Dan Quisenberry was a baseball player—"
"I love baseball!" Melody broke in happily. "I don't know much about the history, though."
"OK, that simplifies things, though," I said. "You remember Kansas City won the World Series a few years ago?" She nodded. "Well, thirty years before that, in 1985, they won their first World Series. Dan Quisenberry was their closer. Back then, there was the general sense that closers were eccentric, and Quiz fit the bill. Bright, quotable guy who didn't just give the same old answers. Anyway, long buildup for a short story, one time he said, 'I have seen the future, and it is much like the present, only longer.'"
Melody nodded. "I see what you're saying. The first rule of predictions is that things will be what they have been."
"Right, that's the baseline. Change does happen and different things come along, but that's where we start."
Melody nodded again, thoughtfully. "Still," she told me, "I don't want to assume that you're no different when I had no reason to—when you're clearly different from anyone else I know. I don't like that reflex."
"Learning to catch our reflexes, our instinctive reactions, is hard," I observed. "It's about the hardest thing we can learn to do. It's worth it, but it only ever comes slowly."
*****
I mentally crossed Melody off the list and went on about my day. I checked my phone to find a voicemail from my local lawyer, asking for a favor. Ben's on the board for our local Habitat for Humanity affiliate; he told me they had a fundraising dinner scheduled for that night and their speaker had come down with double pneumonia and would I be willing to step in? I hadn't really been involved with Habitat since college, but I believed in the organization and had donated both money and household furnishings. I called him back and agreed; he gave me all the details, and I sat down to write a brief speech.
Partway through, it occurred to me that I would need a babysitter. I grinned.
Here's a chance for a trial run. Might as well go in order
. Neither Kylie nor Carolina answered, but Autumn picked up on the third ring. "Mr. Andrews?" she said, sounding a little breathless.
"Hi, Autumn," I answered happily.
"Have you made a decision already?" she asked, a trifle wary.
"What?—oh, no, nothing like that," I responded quickly. "Actually, something's come up and I need a babysitter just for tonight. Are you available?"
"Sure!" Autumn said eagerly. "When?"
*****
As it happened, I had been doing research for a project on the effects of housing instability on children and youth, looking at grades, arrest rates, teenage pregnancy, and other indicators. My research had included some data on the downstream effects on families who moved into Habitat houses. Given that, the speech didn't take long at all to write.
"If you've read any of my mystery novels," I told the gathering, "you know I deal a lot with the ways relational patterns replicate themselves—generational patterns, family patterns, community patterns. The most valuable thing we can do, and the hardest, is to break those patterns, because when we find ways to do that, we stop just putting Band-Aids on problems and start bringing real healing. We stop just treating symptoms and start addressing the underlying causes. We can all be proud to be connected with Habitat for Humanity and support its mission, because Habitat, one family at a time, breaks those patterns and puts families on a track for real meaningful positive change. That's why we say we don't just build houses, we build hope. Thank you for supporting hope tonight."
*****
I got back home feeling good about myself. Autumn greeted me happily at the door and said, "The girls are both hard out. They fell asleep snuggled in to me, one on each side, as I was reading to them, and I got them transferred to bed. They're absolutely adorable."
I smiled. "Thank you, Autumn. Let me dig out my wallet so I can pay you—with a bonus for filling in at the last minute."
