A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Forgive

Seated at Mr. Mathison's desk two days before the wedding, Zayn looked up from the script he was reading and smiled absently at Mary Mathison. "Zayn, dear," she said, looking a little distressed as she put a plate of freshly baked cookies on the desk, "could I ask you for a special favor?"

"Absolutely," he said, reaching toward the plate.

"Don't spoil your appetite with too many cookies," she warned.

"I won't," he promised with a boyish grin. In the nearly two weeks he'd stayed in their home, Zayn had developed a deep, genuine affection for his future in-laws. They were like the parents he'd never had, and their home was filled with all the laughter and love that his had lacked. Jim Mathison was intelligent and kind. He stayed up late, getting to know Zayn, beating him at chess, and telling him wonderful stories about Harry and Ted's childhood. He treated Zayn as if he were his adopted son, warned him about saving money and being thrifty, and sternly advised him not to make any R-rated movies. Mary Mathison mothered Zayn, scolded him about working too hard, and then sent him to town to do errands for her as if he were her own son. To Zayn who had never been sent to a butcher shop or a dry cleaners in his adult life, it had been both touching and disconcerting to be handed a list of errands and sent on his way. It had also been strangely pleasant to have shop owners smile at him and ask after his new family. "How's Mary holding up with all the wedding plans under way?" the butcher asked, handing Zayn a package of chicken wrapped in white paper. "She's looking after her blood pressure, isn't she?"

The owner of the dry cleaners handed Zayn an armful of table linens that he'd cleaned. "No charge," he said. "We're all doing our part for the wedding, and we're happy to do it. You're marrying into a great family, Mr. Malik."

"The best," Zayn said and he felt that way.

Now, he hid a concerned frown when he saw the worry that Mary Mathison was trying to conceal as she smoothed her apron and looked at him. "What favor did you want?" he prodded. Teasingly, he added, "If it's peeling more onions like yesterday, it'll cost you an extra batch of cookies."

She perched on the edge of a chair. "It's nothing like that. I need some advice—well, reassurance actually."

"About what?" Zayn asked, prepared to reassure her about anything at all.

"About something Harry did and that I encouraged him to do. I need to ask you a hypothetical question—as a man."

Zayn leaned back in the chair, giving her his undivided attention. "Go ahead."

"Let's say that a man—my husband, for example," she said guiltily, and Zayn instantly assumed the male under discussion was definitely Jim Mathison, "let's say that he had an elderly relative who he'd quarreled with a very long time ago, and I knew for a fact that this elderly relative very much wanted to make up with him before it was too late. If we—Harry and I—also knew that Harry's wedding might be the last—and best—opportunity for that, would we be wrong or right to invite that relative here without telling him?"

Zayn suppressed the uncharitable and amusing thought that this was his opportunity to repay his father-in-law for his insufferable bargain. He did not, however, think Harry and Mrs. Mathison's scheme was a good one, and he was about to say that, when she added meekly, "The problem is, we've already done it."

"I see," Zayn said, smiling a little. "In that case, there's nothing to do but hope for the best."

She nodded and stood up, retying her apron. "That's what we thought. The important thing to remember," she added in a meaningful voice as she started to leave, "is that it's wrong to carry grudges. The Bible warns us to forgive those who trespass against us. The Lord made that very, very clear."