Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines CollideTo Love Again

by Adrianne Byrd

  Matthew drew a deep breath, wondering where he should begin.

  “Maybe I should ask what you did? Forget an anniversary or a birthday?”

  “I wish it were that simple.” He sighed and took another sip of coffee.

  “I know that sigh. This must be serious.” After another beat of silence, Scott added, “C’mon. Spit it out. It’s not good for us psychologists to keep things bottled up. Do you know we have the highest rate of suicides?”

  “Yeah, my wife brought that to my attention.” Taking a deep breath, Matthew finally spilled his guts. Scott had been aware of Matthew and Chanté’s attempts to have a child, but his expression reflected his shock at hearing the shenanigans that transpired between the couple in the passing months.

  When Matthew finished, Scott remained rooted on his stool, staring at his brother.

  “Are you crazy?”

  Matthew sighed, wondering what made him think Scott would ever understand his point of view.

  “You mean to tell me that you walked out on your marriage because you couldn’t have it all? The wife and the two point five children?”

  “I know it sounds bad.”

  “You damn right it does.”

  “Look, Scott. It’s complicated.” Matthew jumped to his feet and paced. “Chanté and I planned every detail of our lives—careers, family and retirement. Then suddenly she starts making decisions without me and the next thing I know, all the plans are flying out the window.”

  “Plans? You want to talk to me about plans?” Scott stood and met his brother’s direct gaze. “Barbara and I planned to grow old together. We planned for Bobby to have brothers and sisters and to raise them together.”

  Matthew dropped his gaze and returned to his stool.

  “What are you doing, Matt? You love Chanté. I can hear it in your voice when you say her name. It’s in your eyes when you’re thinking about her. Fine, she should have told you about the pills, but given what you told me, you didn’t exactly create an environment where she could tell you.

  “So you and Chanté may never have biological children. Adopt. There are plenty of children in the world who need good, stable homes with parents who’ll shower them with love. If that doesn’t work out then fine—it’s just you and Chanté. Would that really be so bad—to be condemned to a life with the woman you love?

  “I envy you. I lost my soul mate. I can’t believe that you’re so willing to walk away from yours.”

  Matthew hung his head—ashamed that that was exactly what he was about to do. There was no other woman like Chanté. No one excited his passion, or drove him up the wall like she did. For the last few months he’d tried to purge her out of his system, but nothing had worked. He had waited years to start his family when he had all he needed in Chanté. “I’ve been a fool.”

  “Damn right you have,” Scott grumbled.

  Matthew was on his feet again, pacing. “But what am I going to do? She’s filed for a divorce. I don’t know where she is. She probably won’t ever speak to me again.”

  “You know, whenever Barbara and I had a bad fight, she would always take off to her parents’, her second comfort zone.”

  “Texas,” Matthew said, and then glanced up at his brother. “You know, I think you may be a better psychologist than I am.”

  “I like to think so.” Scott clapped his hand across Matthew’s back. “Now stop being an egotistical, self-righteous son of a bitch and go get your wife.”

  Chapter 24

  An excited Chanté stared wide-eyed at the ultrasound monitor. At only twelve weeks gestation, she wasn’t able to see much, but what she could make out filled her with an indescribable joy.

  “I wish Matthew was here right now.”

  Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand. “You know, we could call him.”

  At the combination of joy and pain, a tear skipped down Chanté’s face. “I will, but just not right now.”

  “You mean after the divorce?”

  Chanté didn’t answer but returned her attention to the monitor. For the past three days, her mother and father dropped more than a few hints on how they felt about divorce. The reaction surprised her, because her father once viewed Matthew as unworthy of his daughter’s hand. Of course, he felt the same way about every boy who’d ever shown the slightest interest in her.

  Every prom, dance or social event always fell on Leonard Morris’s gun-cleaning night. When she’d finally introduced Matthew to her parents, her father had enough artillery laid out to outfit a small army. However, Matthew gained respect when he sat down, rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to help him clean the guns.

  During the car ride home, Chanté smiled at the memory.

  “You know, I always did like Matthew,” her mother said, completing the two-mile drive back to the house.

  “Really?” Chanté said, remembering the sour looks and sharp quips. “I seem to remember you saying we were like oil and vinegar.”

  Her mother parked the car and turned in her seat. “All right. Not always, but certainly by the time you two tied the knot. He was your intellectual match and he certainly knew how to take on your fiery temper. Two passionate people are destined to throw off sparks every now and then. So what? You made a mistake and he’s hurt. He’ll calm down.”

  “I’m not going to beg him to love me.”

  Her mother reached over and touched her shoulder. “Do you really think he doesn’t love you? What do you see when you gaze into his eyes?”

  Chanté remembered their time at the Tree of Life Resort, where they’d learned the art of soul gazing. She remembered how his eyes were like powerful magnets pulling at her. She remembered the lightheadedness, and the love. So much love.

  Chanté turned and climbed out of the car. When she walked through the screen door of her parents’ house, Buddy barked excitedly.

  “Great! You made it back home,” Leonard thundered and flashed a wide, awkward smile.

  “Good Lord, Lenny. Why are you hollering? People down the street know we’re home now.”

  “Oh.” He took the chastisement. “Sorry about that.”

  Alice walked over to him and planted a kiss against his cheek. “We have pictures of the—”

  “You know, it’s almost four o’clock. We’re missing that Love Doctor show.”

  “You want to watch the show?”

  Chanté rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what her father was up to, and she couldn’t say that she was against watching the show. She missed Matthew with every fiber of her being and now that she’d passed the cursed ten-week mark in her pregnancy, she did long to share this experience with him.

  She sat down on the sofa, feeling more confused as the day ticked along. Would she actually carry this baby to term? Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it look like her or Matthew? Boy or girl, she would love for the child to have Matthew’s dark, mesmerizing eyes and his smooth complexion.

  Swimming lazily through her thoughts, Chanté soon realized her parents were huddled almost near the corner of the room, whispering like a nest of bees.

  “What are you guys doing?” She reached for her purse to retrieve the ultrasound pictures. “Dad, do you want to see the—”

  “Uh, where’s the remote? We better turn that show on before we miss the end,” her mother exclaimed as though everyone in the room had gone deaf. “Here it is!” she said, pulling the mighty remote out from the sofa’s cushions and clicking on the television.

  Instantly, Matthew, handsome as ever in a royal-blue suit, filled her father’s beloved sixty-inch screen and seemed to stare directly at Chanté.

  “I’d like to thank the audience and the viewers at home for tuning in today,” Matthew said. “My goal has been to teach everyone about the powers of forgiveness.”

  “Humph!” Chanté rolled her eyes and crossed her legs.

  “Shhh!” her parents hissed in unison.

  Stunned, Chanté blinked and sulkily returned her attention to the television
set.

  “I’d like to thank my guests, Dr. Margaret Gardner and Dr. Dae Kim from the Tree of Life Resort. I only wish that I’d kept my appointment with you months ago,” Matthew said sincerely.

  Chanté blinked again and leaned forward in her chair. Matthew had paused and glanced off camera a bit—an uncharacteristic move for him. “I know many of you have by now heard that my wife has filed for a divorce.”

  The audience “aww”ed at the news.

  “I want to take the last few minutes of today’s show to talk to you and most importantly to my wife, my soul mate. I decided to reach you this way because I’m not interested in portraying to the world that there is such a thing called a perfect marriage. We go through our ups and downs like everyone else. Sometimes there’s pain and hurt and words exchanged that you can never take back, no matter how bad you wish you could. And I wish I could.

  “I’ve known for years through training and experience that you can’t plan everything in life. But sometimes it’s difficult to get your head and heart aligned. All we can do—all anyone can do—is their best and then just hope for the best. We may never have everything we want in life, but I do want you and only you for the rest of my life. I love you. Won’t you please take me back?”

  “Oh, my God.” Chanté jumped to her feet just as the audience released a thunderous applause. “He said it.” She glanced over at her parents. “He loves me! Did you hear that?”

  Buddy joined in on her excitement and started barking.

  “Yes, baby. We heard. Now what are you going to do?”

  “I—I gotta go.” She glanced around and snatched up her purse. “I have to get back to New York.”

  “Are you sure, baby?” her mother asked, walking over to her. “Is this what you truly want?”

  “Oh, yes!” Chanté grabbed and hugged her mother. “I love him. I’ve always loved him.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that.”

  Stunned, Chanté turned toward the hallway and saw her husband, still dressed in the same blue suit from the day’s show and holding a long box. He opened it and inside was a replacement pair of Manolo Blahnik alligator boots.

  “What? How?”

  “I caught the first plane out of New York after this morning’s taping,” he said, walking toward her. “Your father was kind enough to hide me in the back room and get you to see the show. Did you mean what you just said? Do you still love me?”

  Chanté eased out of her mother’s arms and walked on trembling legs toward her husband...and her future. “How could I ever stop loving the father of my child?”

  Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but then his wife’s words penetrated his brain. The boots fell to the floor. “Child? Do you mean...you’re about to...we’re about to have a baby?”

  “Twelve weeks.”

  Tears sprang to Matthew’s eyes and his arms opened in time to catch his wife when she launched toward him. “Oh, my God. Are we really about to do this?”

  “I don’t know. But I think we’re off to one heck of a start.”

  Alice and Leonard slid their arms around each other and continued to beam at the loving couple.

  He nodded but then added, “No matter what happens, we’re in this together for the long haul. Right?”

  “Right. No more secrets, duct tape or spiking your breakfast.”

  “Deal.”

  Chanté lifted her brows. “You don’t have anything to add?”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “No more chainsaws, cutting up shoes or unwanted dogs.”

  Buddy barked.

  “Except for you, Bud.”

  “In that case, Dr. Valentine—” Chanté wrapped her arms around Matthew’s neck “—I think we’re going to make it just fine.”

  Epilogue

  Three years later...

  “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine,” Dr. Gardner greeted the moment the couple walked through the doors of the Tree of Life Resort. “The Hathaways are already checked in. They informed me you’ve had another baby since your last visit. Congratulations. Your third, right?”

  “Right. Our first girl. Now it’s Matthew Jr., Leonard Scott, after my father and Matthew’s brother, and the new baby is Victoria.” Chanté blushed as she curled into her husband’s embrace. “We like to think this place is lucky for us.”

  “We’re here to try for baby number four,” Matthew boasted.

  “I certainly wish you luck. And I also want to express my gratitude for promoting our resort on your shows. We stay pretty booked throughout the year. We even have a couple of new teachers I believe you know.”

  “Look, Willy. It’s the Valentines,” Mable gawked from across the lobby.

  The elderly couple rushed over. “Hey, you two lovebirds. I hope you are joining our classes in Tao sex.” Wilfred beamed his pearly white dentures. “There are quite a few new positions I think you’d get a kick out of.”

  “New positions? Then count us in.” Matthew winked, and then he looked down at his wife. “Maybe we’ll get twins this time.”

  “Honey, I love you, but don’t press your luck.”

  * * * * *

  TO LOVE AGAIN

  Who can know the

  human heart,

  a fragile thing at best?

  And love, that supernal

  spirit forever fuels our quest

  As…

  Slowly wisdom colors

  Memories, clears away

  the smoky glass.

  Broken dreams restored,

  hearts mended, vision

  crystal-clear at last.

  —The Book of Counted Joys

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Darling, I’m back!”

  Alana Calloway stared, mouth agape, at the tall immaculate figure of her late husband, Michael. Dressed completely in white—an expensive linen suit and Italian loafers to match—one moment he hadn’t been there and the next, there he was, smiling at her, displaying dimples in both clean-shaven, pecan-tan colored cheeks. His dark brown eyes held an amused glint and a luminous aura surrounded him.

  “I must say,” Alana murmured, still awestruck, “you look good for someone who’s been dead for a year. What kept you?”

  I know I’m losing my mind, she thought, but in case this is real, I want to be able to say I asked at least one intelligent question.

  It was in the middle of the night and they were standing in the bedroom of their Daly City home. The hardwood floor gleamed. The furnishings were Scandinavian: spare but artistically pleasing to the eye. A breeze tossed about the sheers at the windows and the piquant fragrance of jasmine filled the air.

  Michael walked toward her with his large, brown hands outstretched. Alana’s heart skipped a beat. Would he be able to touch her or would his spectral hand pass through her solid form the way they depict ghosts in films? Or would his caress be cold, dead and horrifying?

  “I would have been here sooner but it’s difficult to get a visa unless you died a saint.” He grinned infectiously as he grasped both her hands in his. He was warm, real, alive!

  “You’ve lost weight,” he observed, concerned. He looked down into her cognac-colored eyes. “But you’re still my beautiful butterfly.”

  Alana continued to fix him with a disbelieving stare.

  “How is this possible?” she cried. “Are you a ghost?” Her eyes devoured him. This may prove to be her last chance to see him. She reached up and touched his face, her hands moving down to his muscular arms, felt through the fabric of the linen suit.

  Benevolence shone in his dark eyes.

  “I suppose you could say that,” he told her lightly. He brought her right hand to his lips, gently kissed the palm. “I don
’t have much time. These things are tricky at best—visitations, I mean—so I must be swift.”

  He looked her in the eye, his expression grave. “Much will be revealed to you in the next few days. Through it all, try to remember that I love you, Lana. I always loved you. But I was only human...”

  Suddenly, Alana could no longer feel his touch. It was as though his body had become insubstantial, vaporous. She could still see him although his form was transparent and steadily fading.

  “Michael, what’s going on?”

  Michael shrugged helplessly. He apparently had no control over the occurrence and was as shocked by it as she was.

  “My time is up,” he said resignedly. His voice sounded as though he was speaking to her from down a well. “Your time is only beginning. Remember me fondly, Lana.”

  With that, he vanished, leaving Alana standing alone in the middle of the room. Her voluminous nightgown whipped about her slim legs as the formerly light breeze became a gale and the aroma of jasmine grew stronger, over-powering.

  “What’s happening?” she shouted, her voice’s volume small and ineffectual against the howling intensity of the wind-storm.

  Chapter 1

  Turning over in bed, Alana Calloway looked at the lighted dial of the alarm clock through half-open eyes. She had to get up or she’d be late for her meeting with Margery Devlin. Two days before the Annual Valentine’s Day Charity Ball and Margery would be on pins and needles, fussing with last-minute details: making certain her San Francisco mansion was sufficiently replete, being critical of every little transgression, being sure that the appearance of the household staff was immaculate.

  Alana wasn’t in a festive mood. The one year anniversary of her husband’s death was yesterday and she could think of a million other places she’d rather be on Friday, February fourteenth, but Margery was her surrogate mother, and she felt honor bound to be present.

  Judging from the sunlight streaming in through the slits in the draperies, the day promised to be bright and clear. That alone buoyed her spirits. She stood and went into the large walk-in closet. Grasping the lapels of a man’s navy sports coat, she lovingly fingered the material, then bent her head to breathe in the lingering scent of the woodsy aftershave that permeated it.