Divided Hearts

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that every time we moved, we were in a hurry and often left the big stuff behind.” She shrugged. “Too hard to pack into a station wagon.”

  “Cory...”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t. Please.” She gestured to the couch. “Now, come and drink tea and eat cookies, which I bought all by myself.”

  He smiled a slow, wistful smile. “You really are unique, Cory,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “I’m afraid you’ll find I’m frighteningly ordinary,” she said.

  He conceded the end of that particular conversation and sat on the couch beside her then noticed the photo album she’d pulled out.

  “What’s this?” he asked, setting his mug down and picking it up. “Pictures. Of you?” he asked with a slow grin.

  “No. Not really.” She tried to laugh, but couldn’t. It seemed he was going to see her entire life’s history one way or the other. “I found that album when I was in tenth grade. I didn’t even know Mom had it until then. This is of my brother.” She took her mug and tucking her legs under her, curled up in her corner of the couch.

  “Brother?” Matthew frowned as he opened the hard, brown cover. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “It wasn’t something Mom wanted to be common knowledge. She hadn’t even told Zeke.” Cory clutched her mug, elbows pressed against her sides. What would he think of her mother now?

  Matthew was silent as he turned pages, the protective paper rustling. Cory just about knew the album by heart. The faded color pictures were cracked with age. He turned back to the first page.

  “That’s my mother and real father,” Cory said as he glanced up at her. “Andrew Luciuk. He died when my mother was about two months pregnant with me. He’s the father of my brother as well, in case you’re wondering.” She wished she didn’t sound so defensive. Habit around this man.

  Matthew turned the page to the meager collection of pictures of Nik. “What happened to your brother?”

  Cory swallowed a knot of pain. Why did this bother her now? Was it because she knew of Matthew’s very intact and very secure family? Was it because it mattered so much to her what he thought of her, of her mother?

  She took a careful sip of tea and prayed a quick prayer. “You will be sick and tired of the brief history of Cory Luciuk pretty soon,” she said with a light attempt at dispelling the growing heavy atmosphere.

  “I doubt that,” he replied. “Tell me.”

  And once again, Cory was bringing out the details of her life she and her mother had kept to themselves. “My mom was expecting me when my father died. He’d been unemployed for a number of years and had no life insurance. I think they had used up the last of the savings long before that. Mom had no money, no family to help, and no job. Then she and my brother were evicted from their apartment and she moved into a shelter. Things were pretty dismal.

  “Then she found out she was expecting me. She went to Social Services to see what they could do for her. A social worker encouraged her to put my brother up for adoption. It was an extreme measure, but by that time, she had already unsuccessfully looked for work for about four months, living in a shelter the whole time. She didn’t know where to turn. So she gave him up. She did it out of love and of a desire to give him a better life.”

  Cory paused, feeling anew her mother’s pain at that irrevocable decision. “She wasn’t told where he went or what happened to him. Open adoptions weren’t encouraged then. The social worker told her it would be better if she stayed out of his life, so that’s what she did. I don’t know how she managed to get through the next year. She never talks about it. I know she contemplated giving me up to give me a chance at a better life, too. I guess things turned around for her because she met Zeke Smith and he promised to take care of her.”

  “And you know nothing about your brother?”

  Cory stared down at the brown liquid in her mug, swirling it around. “I know his first name and date of birth, but that’s it.” She couldn’t look up at him. “I didn’t know how to even begin looking for him. I tried off and on, but it’s so hard to get any information unless you’ve got money. I never found anyone in any department willing to help.”

  Matthew said nothing, only looked a little closer at the pictures, then angled the album toward Cory. “Cute guy. What is his name?”

  Cory put her mug down and moved a little closer. “Nik. His name is Nik.” She brushed her fingers over the picture, as if trying to breathe life into the figure she had only seen in this album. “When I first saw the pictures, I used to pretend that one day he would come charging into my life to save me and my mom....” she paused, realizing who she had prayed for his brother to rescue her from. Zeke. Clifton. Matthew.

  Matthew set the album down, his elbows resting on his knees. “And you know nothing more?”

  “No.”

  Matthew angled his head toward her, his eyes holding hers. “And what about now, Cory? Do you still wish he would come into your life and rescue you?”

  Cory felt the full impact of his gaze and the weight of his question. She glanced down at her now cold tea and shook her head. “I don’t know if I need rescuing.”

  Matthew turned to her, gently took the cup from her hands then toyed with her fingers. “Last night, you told me you wanted space and time. I know that twenty-four hours is hardly enough.” He squeezed her hands, his eyes intent on hers. “I’ve been thinking about you. About me. About our complex history. And about what I’d meant when I told you I wished things had been different from the start.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across it.

  Cory swallowed at the sight of his head bent over her hands, the touch of his lips on them. “At the prom?” she asked, licking her lips.

  “No. Before that.” He looked up at her, a sad smile hovering over his lips. “The first time I saw you. I was waiting for my dad at the courthouse. When I saw you, I didn’t know who you were or even how old you were, but I couldn’t avoid the attraction you had. You seemed so mature. So poised.”

  “That was a long time ago,” she murmured.

  “I didn’t discover your age until my dad told me. I felt like a reprobate, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

  Cory smiled at his confession. “How old were you then?”

  “About twenty-two.” He smiled ruefully. “I was articling for my father that year. Student lawyer and a know-it-all, and I fell for a teenage girl with sharp eyes and a sharp tongue.”

  Cory couldn’t stop the flush that warmed her neck. “I used to have some pretty smart remarks, I’ll admit.”

  “I remember one comment you threw out at me. It was funny, even then,” he continued.

  “Please,” she begged. “Like you said, I was young. I didn’t have a lot of defenses. Mouthing off was all I could do.”

  But he kept on. “You came from the courtroom, stopped right in front of me, and said, ‘If it wasn’t for lawyers, we wouldn’t need them,’ then turned around and marched away. My dad was dumbfounded, Zeke was furious, and I had to bite my lip from laughing. Once I got it, mind you.” He stopped, his hands caressing hers. He took a slow breath, as if for courage. Cory looked up at him, tension coiling in her stomach at the somber tone of his voice.

  He sighed, reached out and lightly touched her cheek. “I’d like to see more of you.”

  Cory felt each word press on her mind, permeating her very being, slowly pushing away her flimsy defenses. She closed her eyes, as if to hear them better and hold them closer.

  His fingers lingered on her face, tracing her features as she sat stock-still, light shivers dancing up and down her spine at his gentle caress.

  She turned her face toward his hand, reaching to hold it against her cheek, a peculiar sorrow mixed with serenity.

  “I know you wanted space,” he continued, his voice quiet and intimate. “I’m not giving you that, am I?”

  Cory pulled away, still holding his hand. “Last night
was...” She shook her head, struggling to find the right words. “It was difficult and yet not.” She turned his hand over, lightly tracing the lines in his palm. “I was overwhelmed and didn’t quite know what to think and how to sort everything out. I’ve always liked things in black and white. From the start, you’ve been a gray area.”

  “What are you saying?” His voice was soft, hesitant.

  She looked up at him, his hand pressed between hers. “I remember hating what you did, and then looking at you and wishing that someday you would smile at me. There were times I honestly thought I was crazy. Like I was betraying my mom and myself.” She laughed lightly. “I think I’ve always liked you. At the prom, after I told you to get lost, I was kicking myself afterward for being such a snob. I was scared of you. Scared of what you would think of a poor girl who couldn’t even afford a decent dress, who lived in a rundown apartment in the wrong part of town. I didn’t want it to matter, and I hated that it did. You’ve been the enemy and yet...” she couldn’t finish. She was still unable to articulate her own confusion.

  Matthew smiled at her then. It was a warm, welcoming smile that promised much more. He lay back against the couch and tugged Cory’s hands. “I hope I’m not the enemy anymore?” he said, a gentle question in his voice.

  “It depends on what I’m fighting,” she replied.

  “Don’t fight.” He lowered his head, his lips touched hers, and once again, he drew her close into a place of warmth, strength, and sanctuary.

  She shifted and slipped her arms around him, exulting in the strength of his arms around her and savoring the feel of Matthew holding her tight.

  “Oh, Cory,” he murmured in her ear. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to do this from the first moment I stepped into the house. When I didn’t see you at the restaurant this morning, I felt lost.” He pulled back, tilting her chin up to look at him. “I missed you, and I was scared.”

  “You? Scared?” The thought seemed ludicrous. “Of what?”

  “Scared that you might run away again.”

  Cory laid her head against the back of the couch, her eyes on this handsome man who wanted to be with her, who felt lost when she wasn’t around. It was a small miracle.

  “I don’t have any place I’d sooner be right now,” she said.

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you. About last night...when you asked my forgiveness...” She held his steady gaze, feeling a tension in the hands that lay on her shoulders. “I have to admit that there have been many times I thought I hated you. But like I said, you were always a gray area. More than anything, I hated the feeling that no one was listening to me. That I was helpless. That I had no rights.”

  Matthew murmured a regret and she touched his mouth, forestalling the words.

  “I don’t know how to say this without sounding all formal, but yes, I forgive you. I need forgiveness as much as anyone. If I think of all the trouble I must have caused you and your father...” she paused, then laughed lightly, “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “What matters is that you’ve forgiven me,” Matthew said, cupping her face in his hand. “And I’m thankful for that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew held Cory close, her head tucked under his chin. He felt complete. Whole. His chest lifted in a satisfied sigh as he silently sent up a prayer of thanks.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said, staring at her school pictures hanging on the wall across from him. “I came to Sweet Creek for more than one reason, although I didn’t want to admit it. I was looking forward to seeing you, even though I knew you wouldn’t welcome me.”

  Cory laughed lightly, acknowledging the truth of the statement. “When I first saw you in the restaurant, I was scared stiff that Zeke would come as well. And then I was mad that I was scared.”

  “I gathered that.” Matthew smiled in remembrance.

  “When you first wanted me to sign the will, to accept the money from Zeke, I thought it would make things too easy for you. I thought it would salve your conscience, and I didn’t want that to happen.” She pulled back then, looking him straight in the eye. “I wanted nothing good to come from his death. But it did. Money isn’t that important to me, or my mother. But we’ve done without so long, because of Zeke. It seems divine justice that something should come back. Doesn’t it?”

  Fear tightened his throat as he held her trusting gaze. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. What they shared was so fragile. If he told her what his father had related to him just this afternoon, she would be angry again. He couldn’t face that. Besides, it wasn’t a sure thing. Not yet.

  Instead he bent his head and kissed her, closing his eyes against the open trust he saw in hers, closing his mind to what might happen while praying his father would work a miracle for them.

  Cory pulled slowly away, pressing her hand on his chest, looking guilty. She lifted her hands to smooth down her hair, slanting a furtive glance at Matthew.

  “I should check on my mother.”

  The moment was broken with the mention of Joyce. Matthew wondered what Cory’s mother would have to say if she found out he was in the house. He doubted much had changed since she had turned away from him in church.

  Cory walked from the living room, and Matthew watched her go with a small measure of fear.

  I can’t tell her. Not yet. He shut his eyes against the flare of shame when he thought of deceiving her.

  All he needed was a little more time to cement the relationship. Once he established that, only then might she be able to accept what he had to tell her.

  He needed time to prove himself trustworthy, he thought, getting up.

  As he did, the photo album he had been looking at fell to the ground. He picked it up and opened it again. As he looked at the pictures of the brother Cory used to wish for, he knew what he could do. He and his father had enough connections in the legal world. Someone, somewhere would know of this man.

  Nik. Matthew snapped a picture of him with his phone, then he put the photo album back on the shelf with the few others Cory and her mother had. He fingered one of the others; then, with a pensive smile, pulled it out and opened it up.

  A young Cory grinned back at him. A gap-toothed smile. The caption told him she was seven years old and had just lost her front teeth.

  He paged through the album, noting that there were few pictures of Joyce. He wondered if she was the one who took most of the pictures.

  “You’re not allowed to do that yet,” Cory said from the hallway.

  Matthew turned, feeling guilty until he saw her grin. “It’s called research,” he said easily. “I always do this before I start on a new case.”

  “Oh. So that’s what I am?”

  “Of course. I’ll just have to put off my other clients so I can give you my full attention.” He returned her smile, enjoying the bantering. It injected a light note into what, up until now, had been deeply intense.

  “Nathan won’t be pleased if you neglect your work.”

  “That’s okay,” he said with a grin. “I’m just working there until a good fast-food job opens up.”

  “I think your reality check just bounced,” Cory returned. “You’d be hopeless in a kitchen.”

  “I resent that.”

  “Good. You can prove me wrong.” She threw him a teasing look over her shoulder. “I’m making supper for my mother. You can help.”

  “Is she awake?”

  “No. But she’s slept long enough. She should eat something.” Cory bit her lip, glancing sidelong at him.

  “What is she going to say when she finds me here?”

  Cory lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’ll handle that as it comes up. Now, let’s get that kitchen tidied up,” she said, turning away. “I feel like I should apologize for the mess, but this week has felt like every day was Monday.”

  “That’s rough,” he sympathized. “Well, point me in the direction of the soap,
and I’ll wash these dishes.”

  “Under the sink,” she pointed with her chin as she opened the fridge. “I was kidding, but I’m also not going to turn down the help.”

  Matthew glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think any man was ever punished for doing the dishes.”

  “Not in this house.” Cory kicked the door of the fridge closed with her foot.

  “What are you making?”

  Cory held up an egg. “Nature’s fast food. I’m making an omelette. You want one?”

  “Are you going to put onions in it?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re fussy?”

  “Well—” Matthew threw her an apologetic look “—I’m not a big fan of onions.”

  Cory shook her head, winking at him. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a picky eater.”

  He smiled back at her, their eyes holding, lengthening the moment. Then she turned back to her omelette and he went back to washing dishes. They worked together in companionable silence.

  Matthew couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Cory around all the time. To share a life with him.

  Hold on, Matthew, he warned himself. He was jumping way too far ahead. Last night, he had kissed her for the first time. He had never moved this quickly with any of the other women he had dated.

  You’ve never known any of the other women as long as you’ve known Cory, he reminded himself.

  “You’re sure quiet suddenly,” Cory said, brushing past him to pull a frying pan from the oven.

  He set the last cup on the drain board and turned to her. “Just lost in thought, I guess.”

  “Unfamiliar territory?” She set the pan on the stove and threw him a saucy grin.

  “Nasty, nasty,” he reprimanded. He caught her hand and tugged, pulling her closer.

  “I have to cook this omelette,” she said, putting up a token resistance.

  “I know.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth, just because he knew he could. It was as if he couldn’t hold her enough, couldn’t touch her enough.

  The sound of a door opening down the hallway made her pull away with a guilty start. Cory threw a furtive glance down the hallway and moved away from Matthew.