by Becky Wade
“Past tense.”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still deciding.”
He pulled off his cap and shoved his fingers through his dark hair once, then twice, leaving it in messy disarray.
“Look, here’s the deal,” she said. “The way you’ve acted this week has been hard on me and Gran. I can’t let you go on treating us like that when we don’t deserve it.”
He frowned.
“You want to tell me what happened while we were in Philadelphia that made you pull away?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m not a mind reader, but since you’re not talking I’m going to take a guess.”
A vertical groove formed between his brows.
“We left,” Kate said, “and during the time we were gone something happened that made you start wondering why you were wasting your time making friends with a grandmother and her annoying granddaughter from Dallas. I mean, we’re only here temporarily. We’re maybe more trouble than we’re worth. And after what happened with your wife, you’d rather not get attached to anyone ever again. . . . How’m I doing?”
He held her gaze, silent.
“You know, Gran lost her spouse, too.” Kate bit her lower lip, an unexpected rush of emotion for her grandad cinching her throat. “My grandad was this wonderful, wonderful man. He was a pediatrician. Gran’s mentioned him to you, right?”
He nodded.
“He was so sweet and scholarly. He always wore these”—she motioned vaguely toward her chest—“vests that buttoned down the front and tweed blazers with, you know, those oval patches on the elbows. He and Gran adored each other. They had such a good marriage. They’d been married fifty-four years when he died.”
He waited, listening.
“I guess I’m telling you about Grandad to remind you that you’re not alone. That other people have suffered through the loss of a spouse. Some of them, like Gran, have still managed to find joy in their lives afterward.”
“Beverly’s a better person than I am.”
“No, she’s not. She’s great, but so are you.”
He didn’t reply.
“I think . . .” Kate started, lost her nerve, and started again. “I think that God has blessings He wants to give you but can’t until you let Him.”
“I’m not going there with you. I’m not going to talk about God in all of this.”
“Okay.”
He worked the brim of his ball cap between his hands, bending it, then finally putting it on his head backward.
“What can you talk about with me?” she asked.
“Nothing more tonight. And that’s the truth, so stop pushing.”
She opened her mouth to argue . . . then thought better of it.
“I’ll go back to the house,” he said, “and eat dinner.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“But I’m not promising anything else.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “I need you to back off.”
“I . . .”
He was standing there, waiting for her to agree, but for the first time since she’d met him, she had no words. Her limbs suddenly felt heavy and cold. The temperature of the air whistled chill across her skin.
He blew out a frustrated breath, then motioned for her to go ahead of him back to the house. Kate started forward, and he followed silently behind her.
Now that her anger had deflated, she was slightly embarrassed by how she’d acted. Why did she have to be so blasted persistent? When she’d been growing up, her mom had often shaken her head at Kate’s determination and murmured, “Like a dog with a bone.”
That’s clearly how Matt viewed her, and why wouldn’t he? Anyone with an ounce of dignity would have left him alone when he’d asked. But she hadn’t been able to quit because she cared and because her instincts had told her that she needed to press. If she didn’t, who else was going to? And if no one else was going to, then how was he ever going to open up to anyone again?
They walked on. The sun had bumped below the line of the horizon, casting palest pink against the undersides of the clouds. Kate could see by the cars parked in the distant driveway that everyone except Morty had already arrived.
When they entered through the kitchen, the seniors greeted their return with exactly what they didn’t need—rabid curiosity.
“Matt can stay for dinner after all,” Kate told Gran.
“Excellent!”
Kate and Matt went to work setting the table, Kate’s mind full of the things they’d just said to each other. When Morty arrived, it took her a few seconds to realize he was wearing the Tommy Bahama shirt.
The shirt’s beige, peach, and ivory palm fronds scrolled down each side of his chest. The cut emphasized his broad shoulders, the peach looked terrific against his glinting silver hair, and the collared neck and short sleeves gave him a confident, casual air. He could have been someone’s wealthy, distinguished, Hawaii-loving uncle.
The shirt had cost 120 dollars, a sum that must have struck Morty as exorbitant, even though he hadn’t batted an eye when he’d reimbursed her.
Everyone buffeted Morty with compliments as soon as he walked in. Kate looked to Velma, who was assessing Morty from head to toe. At first it looked like Velma’s verdict could go either way, but gradually her expression settled into lines of approval.
Kate and Morty had scored a potent hit in the game of Battleship for Velma’s heart.
Over dinner, conversation and iced tea flowed easily around the Queen Anne dining table. Matt, sitting diagonally across from Kate, was subdued but managed to answer questions politely. When he begged off from poker after helping load the dishwasher, no one hassled him, least of all Kate.
From the kitchen window she watched him walk across the dark yard toward his truck. His posture and pace reminded her of a convict escaping from prison.
If she hadn’t been surrounded by a roomful of observant eyes, she might have succumbed to peppermint taffies and tears. She’d said everything she could think to say to him outside under the big tree. He’d grudgingly agreed to eat Gran’s dinner tonight. But beyond that, about all the stuff that really mattered, she couldn’t help but feel she’d failed.
He was about to do some serious drinking.
Matt rummaged around in the back of his pantry, hunting for a bottle of Jack Daniels—something he never drank—and a couple cans of Coke—something else he never drank. After dropping a bag of corn chips, spilling the flour, and knocking over a whole row of spices, he located what he was after.
Back in the kitchen, he filled a tall glass with ice and sat himself, the Jack, and the Coke at the kitchen table. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights except for the one suspended over the table, so the rest of the house remained dark.
This was such a bad idea.
He went to work pouring a medium amount of Coke and a huge amount of whiskey into his glass.
Drinking alcohol and competing at peak physical ability didn’t go together. He’d been an athlete since, what? Eight? So he’d drunk precious little in his life.
Tonight was about to be an exception. Because, unfortunately, the fact that this was a bad idea suited him at the moment. He wanted to be self-destructive, and he sure as anything couldn’t get drunk at one of the town’s bars. The entire population of Redbud would know about it by noon tomorrow.
Matt didn’t even wait for the ice to make the liquid cold. He just started right in, drinking deeply. Then he sat back in his chair, rested his forearms on the table, and stared blindly at the wall, waiting for it to take effect.
“Do you think this is the best way to go about your grief, Matt? This recovery plan working out for you?”
He looked determinedly away from the wall, as if by doing so he could avoid Kate’s words.
He usually came home from the gym after exhausting himself physically and then occupied his mind with TV or the computer until bed so he wouldn’t have to think. It was awful uncomfortable to just sit here with his thoughts. He hated hi
s thoughts. Yet he didn’t want to watch sports or turn on the computer tonight. He wanted to make himself face his own sorry company.
“Maybe they respected your privacy too much. I’m not going to be content with that.”
He took some more pulls on his drink. Ever since Beth died, all his friends and family had bent over backwards to be nice to him, to avoid confronting or upsetting him, to protect him. Even before Beth. He’d been a professional athlete. Nothing but supporters had surrounded him. He could hardly remember a time when people hadn’t agreed with him.
Kate had mightily disagreed with him tonight.
He’d thought he’d hated how carefully everyone treated him. But look at him now. One woman had called him out and it had knocked him flat. What’s worse, he had a sinking feeling that he’d deserved everything she’d said. Merely remembering the angry way she’d looked at him caused his muscles to contract, tensing up. His heart started to beat loud and painfully. Fear reactions. Because she scared him.
He was afraid she could already see too much and that she’d keep coming at him, demanding more from him than he could give. He was afraid that she would fall in love with Tyler. He was afraid that he’d be desolate without her when she left.
He didn’t know what to do. What could he do about her? He felt trapped, like an animal tied to a stake in broad daylight.
He frowned at his empty glass. Without bothering to refresh the ice, he poured more Jack, more Coke. If he could, he’d gladly pay Beverly twice what she was paying him, just to let him quit. Some other poor sucker could finish the house.
Except that in his life, he’d only broken one commitment. He’d broken his contract with the Barons when he’d left the team after Beth’s death. Afterward, he’d promised himself that he’d never break a commitment again.
How much longer would the work take? Six weeks? The thought filled him with two kinds of panic. Panic because that was such a long time to protect himself from Kate. Panic because that was such a short time before she’d be gone for good and he’d be completely alone again.
“After what happened with your wife, you’d rather not get attached to anyone ever again.”
Well, too late, buddy. Because despite his terror of it, his determination to do the opposite, he’d gone and gotten attached to her anyway.
She was like sunshine. When she was near, the ice inside of him eased. She made him feel warmer, more comfortable, almost whole. Even these past few days when they hadn’t been talking, he’d felt it and it drew him undeniably.
When she left, where would he be? He didn’t think he could handle any more disappointments.
Really? he asked himself with disgust. After losing your wife to brain cancer, you’d think you’d be able to withstand a few small disappointments.
But instead he felt fragile. Like with one misstep, he’d crack.
Maybe he could keep a simple friendship with her going without letting her any further inside his head than she already was. Maybe she’d be satisfied with that. Maybe he could manage not to feel sick to his stomach when Tyler came by to flirt with her.
Right. Right.
He drained half his glass.
“I think that God has blessings He wants to give you but can’t until you let Him.”
She talked frequently about her church back home, and she dropped God’s name into conversations as if He were a friend. But suggesting that God had blessings for him that he was refusing? No. That was going too far. He’d had faith in God once and had come away bitterly disappointed. God had nothing but heartache to offer him, and he had nothing but animosity and resentment toward God. They were pitted against each other now, and he never saw that changing.
Exhausted, he dropped his head into his hands. What was he going to do?
He couldn’t care about the beautiful redhead with the big heart. And he couldn’t not care.
chapter eleven
Holidays back home in Dallas had taken on a Groundhog Day quality for Kate in recent years. For Halloween she’d take out the same witch, wooden cat, orange wicker pumpkin, and the wreath with the funky little skeletons hanging off it. For Thanksgiving she’d take out the same pilgrims, Indian corn, caramel-colored leaf-shaped plates, and the fall wreath made of birch branches. For Christmas she’d take out the same nativity set, tree ornaments, and white lights for the bushes out front.
Kate’s sister, Lauren, had married three years ago and forged new holiday routines for herself and her husband. Which left Kate—still under the holiday umbrella of her parents—celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas with her mom and dad in the same places, in the exact same ways, year after year.
Kate loved tradition as much as anyone. But the brain-numbing repetitiveness of it all had begun to leech away a lot of the fun.
What a tangible relief to be celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving at Chapel Bluff this year. She and Gran hadn’t brought any of their decorations with them. So, on Halloween afternoon, in a moment of Martha Stewart-inspired fervor, Kate went trudging into the woods in search of nuts, berries, and leaves to use as decorations. She found zero nuts and zero berries. There was an abundance of leaves, however, so she came home from her expedition with a bag full of those and an assortment of pinecones.
Gran, ever creative, arranged the pinecones inside a large glass hurricane on the dining table, then decided that they should make garlands out of the leaves. So Kate and Gran spent two happy hours in the den sipping hot chocolate and stringing fall leaves while gray clouds somersaulted across the sky outside. Once they’d completed their garlands, they hung them in swags across the windows in the front room, dining room, and kitchen.
Finished, they stood together admiring their artistry, feeling pleased with themselves. Especially Kate. The whole thing was so un-Groundhog Day!
Theresa’s predictions for Halloween night at her house came true.
There was candy corn.
It was chaos.
After they’d all finished feasting on Chinese takeout, the kids rushed to the back of the house to put on their costumes. Gran and Kate helped Theresa clear the table of black and orange ghost-encrusted dinnerware. Theresa’s husband, Doug, a tall, long-limbed man with a placid disposition, bundled up the trash and headed out the back door with it.
“You guys really don’t have to do this,” Theresa said, motioning to the dishes they were in the process of rinsing and placing in the dishwasher.
“Nonsense!” Gran replied. “You have enough to do tonight. Let us help you with this at least.”
“Well, if you insist, then I’m not going to turn you down.” She gave them a grateful smile. For the festivities, Theresa had dressed in jeans, a black top with a witch on the front, and a pair of black cat ears.
“Thanks for dinner,” Kate said.
“You’re welcome. I hope you don’t mind that it wasn’t homemade. I try to avoid cooking as much as is humanly possible.”
“Don’t say that around Gran,” Kate warned. “She’ll have you out at Chapel Bluff, taking cooking lessons from her whether you want to or not.”
“Exactly!” Gran agreed. “You should see how much Matt has learned.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. If Matt Jarreau’s going to be at these cooking lessons, then maybe I’ll consider it.”
“What’s my wife saying about Matt Jarreau now?” Doug asked, returning from outside.
“Beverly here gives him cooking lessons,” Theresa answered, “and I was saying that if Matt’s involved, then I might want to learn to cook after all.”
Gran looked appalled, but Doug just shook his head, smiling softly, not threatened in the least.
“Well,” Theresa said philosophically, “if he wants to run away with me, it would be good if I knew how to cook him dinner, at least.”
“Mo-omm!”
Kate and Gran both started at the sound of the high-pitched wail from the other end of the house, but Theresa and Doug appeared immune to it.
�
��Emma is playing with my Power Ranger nunchuks!” Jack yelled.
“I’m just looking at them” came the defensive reply.
A squeal, a grunt, a shout.
“I don’t want her to play with them!” Jack screeched. “She’ll break ’em!”
“It’s okay for her to look,” Theresa called wearily.
“No!” Jack screamed. “She’s swingin’ ’em! No! Give ’em back!”
Emma said something muffled, followed by more howls from Jack.
“Oh, good grief,” Theresa muttered. She stalked from the kitchen. “Excuse me, everyone, while I go and throttle my children.”
The doorbell rang. Doug didn’t make a move.
“Would you like me to do the honors?” Gran asked.
“Please,” he said. “I believe Theresa put the bowl of candy by the door.”
While Gran periodically opened the door for trick-or-treaters, Kate finished straightening the kitchen and then went to help Theresa get the kids ready.
Kate was sweating and Theresa’s cat ears and patience were both askew by the time the two of them had dressed the kids, put their makeup on, arranged Emma’s hair, and accomplished a frantic emergency search for Jack’s treat bag. They emerged into the den with a short red Power Ranger and a Princess Leia who’d insisted on wearing five pink plastic bracelets and dangly clip-on earrings.
Theresa took lots of photos, then rooted around for flashlights. Doug, still relaxed and seemingly oblivious to the general craziness around him, escorted the kids outside onto the front walkway.
“I want to run ahead,” Emma said.
“No!” Jack cried. “She got to run ahead last year and I was always last.”
“We’ll all go together,” Theresa hollered.
“Then who gets to push the doorbells?” Emma asked, her face poised for a meltdown.
“You can take turns,” Theresa answered. She finally located two mismatched flashlights. Only one had working batteries. “Figures,” she grumbled. She went and let their black lab in from the backyard, then attached his leash in the foyer while his tail beat Kate and Gran in the knees with rhythmic crushing blows.