Divided Hearts

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Do you remember your prom?”

  “I remember it all too well,” she said, her voice brittle. Why was he bringing up that humiliation again?

  “I asked you to dance, and you turned me down flat. I never found out why. I thought maybe if I took you out to supper, you could tell me.”

  Still, she hesitated.

  “I promise I won’t ask any other questions.” He put his hand on his heart, looking like he was about to swear an oath. “Think of it as wounded male pride that needs a little salving.”

  His grin and the twinkle in his eye made her smile.

  “Trust me. I’ll keep it low-key and non-confrontational,” he continued.

  He sounded so reasonable. Pushing back would only make her look petty. Besides, the old attraction to him still lay latent.

  “Okay, I’ll ease your wounded pride. Just tell me where and when.”

  “This Friday. At the Eastbar Steakhouse.”

  “Why not at the restaurant?”

  Matthew shook his head, frowning. “Are you kidding? You’d be getting up, pouring coffee, and before I know it, you’re walking around telling terrible jokes to the other customers. No. I want to take you someplace you can be served for a change.”

  She wanted to refuse. Accepting would create a complication she didn’t need. And yet avoidance seemed a coward’s response. Kelsey was right. She had to learn to get past her confused feelings for Matthew, and the best way for that to happen was simply to talk to him.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “What?” Matthew straightened, frowning.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “You will not. I’ll pick you up. At seven.”

  “Sorry. I’ll meet you there at seven.” She didn’t need her mother to know that she was going out for supper with Matthew. Cory was having a difficult time with the idea as it was.

  She pulled open the door of her car, tossed Matthew what she hoped was a careless grin, and got in. As she drove away, she could see him standing in the parking lot, watching her.

  As if he were still trying to figure her out.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s just a business meeting,” Cory reminded herself, tweaking a hair into place. Despite Matthew’s speech about pride, he also needed to finalize some paperwork. That’s what this meeting was about.

  So why had she spent so much time fiddling with her makeup and picking her clothes? She knew her apricot, silk T-shirt brought out the golden highlights in her dark-blond hair and emphasized the brown of her eyes. She adjusted the gold buckle of her belt and centered it on her black pants. Not high fashion, but plain enough to go anywhere. She hoped Matthew didn’t show up in a suit.

  Thankfully her mother’s friend had come and taken her out. Cory hadn’t told Joyce that she had a date with Matthew, only that she was going out. Joyce hadn’t asked too many questions, so Cory hadn’t had to use too many evasions.

  She didn’t want to listen to her mother’s negative comments about Matthew and Zeke. They often came too close to her own contradictory feelings toward him. She thought of a comment Matthew had made about the judge. That it wasn’t Matthew or Clifton McKnight who had decided. It was the judge.

  Yet, who had convinced the judge? Who gave him the information to make the judgement?

  But, if Matthew was right about Zeke’s will, the money would ease much of her mother’s struggle. She wouldn’t have to work as hard. They might be able to buy their own home.

  They might even have funds to start working full-time on their catering business and, just maybe, go looking for her brother.

  As she looked at her reflection, Cory reached up and touched her chin and cheeks. As she did more often lately, she wondered if she looked anything like her brother Nik. If he shared the same eye color, if his mouth looked like hers, or if the shape of his face was the same.

  What would he tell her to do about Matthew? What would his advice be?

  “He’s not here,” she told herself. She thought of the envelope in her bedroom that held what little they knew about him. She never had time or money to search for him, and consequently had only a pitiful amount of information and a few contacts in various government offices.

  But maybe now, with more money...

  She pushed herself away, and without a second glance, walked from the house. She still didn’t trust Zeke, but Matthew seemed to believe it would all work out. Maybe she had to stop being so pessimistic. Maybe she could allow herself a few kept promises.

  Matthew was waiting in the lobby of the Eastbar Steakhouse when she arrived. It was hard to miss his careless hair, his head bent over a magazine rack of a kiosk by the front entrance. He turned as she came in, and his welcoming smile made her heart bump lightly in her chest. “Hi, there. You’re nice and early,” he said, coming toward her. Thankfully he wore an open-necked shirt and blue jeans. No suit. “You look great.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t think of anything wittier to say. His crooked smile and casual grace made this seem more like a date than the business meeting Cory had convinced herself it was.

  “I’ve got a table reserved for us. We can sit down anytime.” Matthew indicated the dining room and Cory followed him inside.

  The Eastbar Steakhouse was the fanciest place in the valley, and it was the first time Cory had been inside. Smoked glass framed with oak separated the tables in the dining room, creating intimacy and openness at the same time. The lighting was low and the atmosphere inviting. As they settled into their table along one wall, Matthew looked around with an approving smile.

  “This looks nice.”

  “This is a nice place,” Cory agreed. “First time I’ve ever been here.”

  Matthew looked surprised. “No previous dates ever brought you here?”

  “No previous dates brought me anywhere. I’m just too busy.” Now didn’t she sound like the town loser.

  “You and your mother do much catering?”

  Cory nodded, thankful for the change in subject. “We had a few events last week, but that’s all she can manage.”

  “Because of her fibromyalgia?”

  Surprised that he remembered, Cory gave him another glance. “Yes. At times it’s under control, but it takes a lot of time and care to keep it that way.”

  “Time and care that you spend on her.”

  “Yes.” Cory held his eyes with hers. “I’m all she has right now.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.” Matthew’s expression was serious, and Cory felt a moment’s confusion at his sincerity.

  “It’s not luck. It’s love,” she returned, her voice quiet.

  Matthew smiled at that, and Cory’s confusion increased. This so-called business meeting would be harder than she thought.

  The waiter came by with menus and asked if they wanted anything beforehand. Cory felt strange being served, and Matthew’s covert grin told her he had noticed.

  “This is hard for you, isn’t it?” he said, his grin widening as he flipped open the menu. “Having someone serve you and ask you what you want.”

  Cory shrugged, surprised at his perception.

  She gave him another quick glance over the top of the menu, surprised to find him looking at her.

  His smile was engaging, his manner casual and inviting, his charm irresistible. Though part of her instincts told her to keep her distance, she was tired of being lonely and alone. She hadn’t been on a real date for years. Could barely remember which town it was in and when it was exactly.

  “It is difficult,” she replied, smiling back. “Like you said, had we gone to the restaurant in Sweet Creek, I would have had a hard time not getting up and serving you coffee.”

  “That’s kind of what I thought,” he said, tilting his head to one side.

  She didn’t answer, but instead studied the menu, finally deciding on a pasta dish.

  “How is your
work with Mr. Stanley going?” Cory asked once the waiter left with their order.

  “Good. In a couple of weeks, I’ll have the piles on the floor dealt with. Then we can get to work on the ones on his desk.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised he’s managed to keep so many clients.”

  “I guess people in small towns tend to be quite loyal. From what I hear, if you need help right away, he’s there for you.”

  “Probably part of his problem. But I don’t want to talk about Nathan Stanley. I’d sooner talk about you.”

  “And here I thought this was a business meeting.” Cory forced a light laugh to cover up the jolt his words gave her. Ordinary chatting up had been much easier.

  “It is. Sort of. I do have something I need you to sign.” He pulled a folded-up envelope from his shirt pocket and took out a single piece of paper, explaining to her what it meant.

  Cory signed it, using the pen he handed her. He took it back, folded it back up and then returned it to his pocket. “There. That’s done. Now we can carry on.” Matthew leaned forward again, his pose relaxed.

  “That was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you had more to show me....” A trill of confusion and expectation shivered down her back.

  “I have to confess, it was a bit of a ruse.”

  “Why?”

  Matthew pulled in one corner of his lower lip as he studied her. “I’m not sure. A couple of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I said, finding out why you wouldn’t dance with me at prom.”

  “I thought you were joking about that.”

  “In a way I was. But I wouldn’t mind finding out why. It was also the last time we talked to each other. And one of the few times we met outside of court.”

  Cory looked down, once again feeling the sting of humiliation of that evening.

  “I’ve never had a chance to ask you why since then,” Matthew continued. “I have to admit, I’ve always wondered. Male pride maybe,” he said with a short laugh.

  “There were a couple of reasons,” she conceded.

  “Zeke being one?”

  “One part,” she admitted.

  “What was the other part?”

  Cory sat back, wondering what to say. How to say it. At that time in her life, Matthew was established as the bad guy. The one who stood up for her stepfather. Who helped enforce and enable the verbal, and sometimes physical, abuse her stepfather meted out on her and her mother.

  To meet Matthew socially had been difficult for her. Especially when she had been fighting her own disloyal attraction to him for a couple of years.

  “I didn’t like it that you saw where my mother and I lived,” she admitted. “I didn’t like it that you had to see me wearing a dress I knew was ugly. I know Zeke had promised to buy me a dress. But I didn’t trust him to follow through. Initially I wasn’t going even though I’d been asked, but my mom was so excited and wouldn’t hear of it. So she took me shopping.” She paused a moment, to take a steadying breath, to send up another quick prayer. “The only thing we could find in our price range was that dress in a consignment store. We tried to fix it up as best we could. I wore it as a favor to my mom. To show her I appreciated what she did.”

  In the silence that followed her comment, Cory heard the murmuring of the other patrons of the restaurant, the faint clink of silver on china. The memory of that evening seemed the culmination of her and Matthew’s relationship. A harsh reminder of the differences between them.

  The reminder had hurt more than it should.

  “That was thoughtful,” Matthew said, his voice breaking the silence. “And, for the record, I thought you looked beautiful. That’s why I asked you to dance with me.”

  Cory wanted to think he was being polite, but something in his voice caught her attention. “I guess I thought you asked me as a joke.”

  Matthew laughed shortly. “No, Cory. I was very serious.” His expression became serious as he leaned forward. “You made that dress look remarkable just by wearing it, by walking around with your head up and those brown eyes daring anyone to say different.”

  Cory looked away, flustered. His words weren’t businesslike. They had nothing to do with wills and pieces of paper. Compliments and words of admiration leaned more toward the beginnings of relationships, and she didn’t know how to deal with it—not from Matthew McKnight.

  “I knew what you thought of me,” she said, as if to erase the gentle mood he had created. “I knew you didn’t approve of Deirdre hanging around with me.”

  He leaned sideways, running his thumb along his chin as he looked at her. “Initially, no. But that night, I saw a girl who wouldn’t bow to peer pressure, who didn’t care what people thought of her.” He was quiet a moment, and Cory couldn’t help but look at him. “I saw a girl I admired.”

  His words rearranged and unsettled her own view of him. Never, in all her dealings with Matthew McKnight, would she have suspected admiration. Not from him. It shifted things, and, as usual, she took refuge in wry humor. “Until I threw up in your car.”

  Matthew gave her a crooked smile. “Not your best moment.”

  “It was a difficult evening.”

  “Deirdre told me about your date ditching you, and I saw how her girlfriends looked at you when you came into the room.”

  “So you asked me to dance because you felt sorry for me?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  “No. Like I said, I asked you because I admired you.”

  Her heart quickened, and again, she had to look away, unable to reconcile her memories and her own emotions with how he was talking to her. She had no defenses against this gentle onslaught. It was tempting to believe him and accept his admiration, to think maybe his comments and glances might go somewhere. But she didn’t dare.

  “It couldn’t have been for long. We were back in court the very next week,” Cory said, bringing a strong dose of reality back into the moment.

  She heard his sigh. “Yes. I know.”

  She sensed he was about to say more when the waiter came with their food. She welcomed the interruption, smiling her thanks at the waiter as he placed the steaming plates in front of them.

  “Enjoy your food,” he said, then took a step back and left them alone again.

  Cory tossed Matthew a quick glance, then, folding her hands, bowed her head. Her prayer was a confusion of gratitude and pleas for help as she wondered how to navigate her way through this evening.

  As she raised her head, she caught Matthew’s quizzical glance.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, automatically touching her hair.

  “Nothing. You look fine.” He laughed shortly. “I find it uplifting to see how easily you express your faith.”

  “Praying before a meal is hardly a strong expression of faith. I’ve seen you pray, too.”

  “Yes. I guess I didn’t think of you as a praying person.” Silence again as he picked up his fork and toyed with it. “You went to church with Zeke, but never with Joyce. Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “A lawyer asking permission to ask a question?” Cory found refuge in her usual wry humor. “That’s a new one.”

  “Can we just be Matthew and Cory tonight?” he asked. “Not a lawyer and a woman who hates lawyers? I won’t bring up Zeke.”

  Cory dug her fork into her plate of pasta, wrapping the noodles around it, aware of his eyes studying her. Admit it, she thought, you like him. You’ve always liked him.

  “Okay,” she conceded with a tilt of her head.

  “Tell me about church?”

  Cory sighed, watching the swirl of the noodles around her fork. She didn’t want Matthew to think less of her mother and wanted him to understand. For that to happen, he had to believe her view of Zeke. She wondered if he would.

  “My mother had many disappointments in her life, and she blamed God for many of them,” she said, evasively.

  “Her divorce from Zeke being one of them?”


  Cory shook her head. “I thought we weren’t talking about Zeke.”

  “Sorry. That was my mistake. I guess I’m just trying to figure you and your mother out.”

  “It seems talking about me and my mother inevitably brings Zeke into the conversation.” She sighed. She couldn’t even go out for dinner but he came up.

  “Okay, let’s get that out of the way and talk about him then.” He waited as if giving her a chance to protest. She said nothing.

  “Tell me what life with Zeke was like,” he continued.

  Cory took a mouthful of food, the pause giving her an opportunity to plan her answer. “I don’t think you’ll believe me,” she said finally.

  Matthew sat up, his elbows on the table. “I know you well enough that you have principles and standards. I’ve heard Zeke’s side of the story. Now I want to know yours.”

  “Why does that matter now?”

  “One symbol of justice is a set of scales. I’ve realized that to balance those scales, I need to hear what you have to say.”

  Cory played with her fork, as she tried to find the place to start and the tone that didn’t sound like she was seeking sympathy, yet would tell Matthew in no uncertain terms what she and her mother lived with.

  “Your mother married him before you were born,” Matthew prompted.

  “That’s right. I never knew my real father,” Cory said. “He died just before my mother found out she was expecting me. Zeke was the only father I knew.”

  “And your mother divorced him when you were twelve?”

  “You know your facts, Mr. McKnight,” Cory said, unable to keep the sardonic tone from her voice.

  “Sorry. I’m sounding like a lawyer.” Matthew leaned back. “Just ignore me. Tell your story.”

  Cory smiled at his admission. “Zeke Smith is—was,” she corrected, “quite a charmer. When my mother met him, she was feeling overwhelmed, broken, lost, and alone. And she was pregnant, living in a women’s shelter, and wondering if she’d have to give me up for adoption too.

  “Then she met Zeke while she applied for a job at a diner. He asked her out, was charming and attentive. When Zeke proposed after only a couple of dates, she accepted. She thought she had finally found security. And things went well. When I was born, Zeke was thrilled. At least according to her.” Cory paused, still cautious about telling Matthew, her father’s onetime defender, the same things she had tried to tell many other people without success.