Just Joe

by Marley Morgan

  No, she determined sadly. Joe deserved a woman, not a child afraid of the dark corners of her mind. A child who tried to run from ghosts and could never quite outdistance them.

  Mattie swallowed painfully and closed her eyes against the blurring lights of the Christmas tree. She would pack up her fears and her ghosts. She would take Rags with her and run again. Pray God, it would be the last time.

  When Joe woke up and found Mattie gone, he almost went crazy. Leaping convulsively from the bed, he barely took time to grab his jeans before he bolted out of the room.

  "Mattie!" he called her name from the top of the stairs and got no response. Hurtling down the steps, he called again as loud as he could, but something deep and frightened inside of him knew he would get no answer. "Mat-tie?"

  He searched every inch of the house, as if expecting to find her hiding in some corner. But she was gone and she had taken Rags with her.

  Grabbing the phone, he punched out the Barons' number and waited impatiently for the line to be answered. Cole was probably out on the ranch somewhere, and Jassy was doubtlessly lost in one of her masterpieces. For the first time Joe wished his friend's wife weren't so dedicated to her art that she didn't even hear the phone ring. Why didn't somebody answer... ?

  "Hello?" Jassy's breathless tone finally interrupted his impatient thoughts.

  "Jassy, it's Joe. I—"

  "Oh, hi Joe. I was going to call you in a little while—"

  Joe interrupted brusquely. "Jassy, have you seen Mat-tie?" It was a long shot, but the Barons were the only ones in the area Joe could think of who Mattie might go to.

  "That's what I was going to call you about," Jassy reproved gently, drawing a muffled curse from Joe.

  "Well?"

  Jassy was silent for a moment to let Joe know what she thought of his attitude then, hearing his harsh breathing, relented. "She came over here very early this morning. One of your boys dropped her off. She said that there was some kind of family emergency and she had to go home."

  "Oh God," Joe muttered sickly into the silence.

  "She said that you were out on the ranch when the call came in and she couldn't get in touch with you, so she hitched a ride to our house."

  "Is she still there?"

  "No. Remember, last night Cole mentioned that he had to fly into Dallas today. Mattie flew in with him."

  Joe was silent for so long that Jassy became concerned. "Joe? You're not angry, are you? She said that she really needed to go home."

  "She really needed me," Joe corrected wearily. "She just doesn't know it yet."

  Jassy was not dumb. "No family emergency?"

  Joe sighed. "No family. So it hardly seems likely, does it?"

  "I'm sorry." Jassy's words were sincere.

  "Me, too."

  "What are you going to do?" Jassy asked after a small silence.

  "Find her," Joe answered simply. "Try to make it right again."

  "Maybe she just needs some time," Jassy suggested hesitantly.

  Joe remembered what Cole had told him about almost losing Jassy. He couldn't let Mattie leave him like that, not because of what he had told her or done with her last night. He had to bring her back to him, back to his friendship, if nothing else. And somehow, he had to find a way for both of them to forget last night. Because he knew, with an aching defeat, that last night was why she was running away again.

  "Joe?" Jassy's concerned voice prodded him back into the present.

  "There are a lot of things I can give her, Jassy," he told her tautly. "Distance isn't one of them."

  He hung up before Jassy could think of an answer.

  Ten

  But Mattie got her distance—two months and hundreds of miles of it. She was halfway to Port Arthur by the time Joe reached her cottage. She went back to find her ghosts, to face them one last time.

  For an entire week she simply walked around the town, visiting all the mistily familiar places of her childhood absorbing all the memories that assaulted her. On the eighth day she went looking for Frank Bowers, the foster father whose memory haunted her. As Joe had before her, she found that he had drowned five years ago.

  Mattie felt nothing—no elation, no regret. She was curiously numb as she realized that she would never look into the man's eyes again, never confront him with what he had done to her. What had she been planning to say to him anyway, she asked herself with despair. He would have enjoyed knowing what he had done to her, to her life.

  That thought brought Mattie up short. What Frank Bowers had done to her had taken place in the space of three years. And yet he had ruled her life, her thoughts, her emotions for the ten years since she had last seen him.

  The ghosts weren't here in Port Arthur, she realized painfully. Here there were only streets and houses, people from the past. The ghosts were inside of her. If that were true, if she really did carry the ghosts within the darkest corners of her mind, then she could eradicate them. She had to bring them into the light of perspective, to deal with them, accept them and banish them. For Joe's sake and for her own.

  Joe literally camped on Mattie's doorstep for three days. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He could only remember that last night with her, and the memory was like barbwire tearing into his skin. He played with that memory constantly, because for two months it would be all he had of Mattie.

  He somehow dragged himself into uniform for the game that week—a play-off game, at that—only to be replaced in the second quarter by the team's second-string quarterback.

  On the sidelines Coach Rusky roared at him. "Ryan, what the hell is wrong with you? You're playing like you're at Scout camp. Why did you throw the damn ball?"

  Joe just walked away. In truth, he didn't even hear the coach's tirade. He was wondering what Mattie was doing right now.

  Coach Rusky stared after him blankly. "What the hell...?"

  It was Freight Dumbronkowski who provided the answer. "I haven't seen his lady around in a while, Coach. I think she left him."

  Rusky turned his steely eyes on Dumbronkowski. "You can just keep your opinions to yourself, Freight. You're still not out of trouble for that last stunt you pulled."

  "Jen was in labor, Coach—" Marion began defensively.

  "And you walked out in the middle of the game," Coach Rusky reminded him incredulously. "I looked up to see ten men on the field instead of the eleven I sent in. I see you running out of the stadium—in uniform. And I see the other team score a touchdown."

  Marion tried to look ashamed and failed miserably.

  "How is your new daughter, anyway?" Rusky demanded reluctantly.

  Marion smiled joyfully and pulled out a picture.

  Farther down on the bench, Joe relived that last night with Mattie again.

  Mattie stepped from the car and took a deep, satisfied breath. She was home, she thought with a shining contentment. Home to Joe. Her eyes studied the ranch house quietly as Rags bound out of the car behind her. Mattie started up the front steps and Rags followed friskily.

  When her knock produced no answer, Mattie turned to sweep her gaze over the land surrounding the house. Joe would be out on the ranch somewhere. She knew that the door wasn't locked—it never was. But she decided to wait for him on the porch, absorbing the crisp beauty of the February day. She would wait now for what she had waited for her whole life.

  Mattie pulled herself up on the porch rail, drawing her legs up to rest her arms on her knees. Her eyes remained steady on the horizon as if she could see Joe just beyond. Rags danced around the front yard, clearly delighted with

  the space and clean air surrounding him. Mattie watched indulgently for a while, then allowed her attention to drift.

  She returned to Joe a whole person. She had known that even before Jim Wright's confirmation two days ago.

  After two months of searching through the past for that part of herself that Frank Bowers had taken, Mattie was almost ready to return to Joe. There was only one thing she needed to do first. Wit
h a firm grip on her newfound serenity, she made an appointment to see Dr. James Wright.

  The appointment was scheduled for early afternoon, and the bright winter sun bathed Mattie in its glow as she faced Jim Wright. He regarded her with a well-subdued wonder, taking in the radiant calm she exuded.

  "You're not what I expected," he told her frankly.

  Mattie smiled wryly. "Me, either," she told him with stark honesty. "I've changed since Joe came to see you, grown."

  Jim studied her cautiously. "He told you about that?"

  Mattie nodded, her eyes loving as she thought of Joe. "He told me."

  "You know," Jim began solemnly, "in my work, I've managed to help a lot of people come to terms with themselves, to find a semblance of peace. Sometimes, I can't do that. Sometimes, a patient can't find that peace even with my help. And sometimes," he finished deliberately, "very rare ones will find it all by themselves... as you have."

  Mattie shook her head. "Not by myself, doctor. Joe Ryan gets the credit for this. I would have been too afraid to try without him. Too frightened of what I would have found."

  "Have you told Joe this?"

  "I'm on my way to him now."

  Jim met her eyes bluntly. "Why are you here now?"

  For the first time Mattie's eyes avoid his. "I... I guess I just wanted to be sure that what I've found is real."

  Jim nodded with calm understanding. "Tell me what you've found," he invited easily.

  Mattie needed no further encouragement. She was almost bursting with the hard-won knowledge she had acquired.

  "I learned that all those ghosts I went back to Port Arthur to wrestle with weren't there. I learned that they were inside of me, that I had carried them with me all these years like a millstone around my soul. Once I accepted that..." Her voice drifted off, her eyes briefly unfocused.

  Jim leaned forward, his eyes intent. "Once you accepted that... ?" he prompted.

  Mattie met his eyes squarely. "Once I let them go, I was free. Free of the past, free for the future. What happened to me will always be a part of me, but not the biggest part. I have a whole life to live, and I intend to live it to the fullest, without fear, without the past coloring the future."

  Jim nodded with deep satisfaction. "Yes."

  Mattie regarded him quietly. "It's really that simple?"

  "It always was, Mattie," Jim promised her calmly. "But that wasn't the hardest thing for you to accept, was it?"

  Mattie was a little nonplussed by his perception. "No," she conceded. "I figured that part out the first week I was gone. It was... something else that held me back."

  "And have you figured out... something else?"

  "It's love," she told him flatly. "I've been so terrified of that word. All my life I've associated it with loss and pain and... degradation. My parents ioved' me, but they left me. My foster father 'loved' me, but he hurt me. When Joe came into my life, when he showed me that other kind of love, a good kind of love, I was so—confused. I didn't understand. .."

  ''Didn't understand what, Mattie?''

  "I didn't understand that there is only one kind of love," she told him slowly. "The good kind. All the rest is make-believe, unreal. Love isn't the word people use. It's the emotion behind it. It's what I feel for Joe."

  And Mattie, lost in the memory of that discovery, didn't notice that Rags had wandered off.

  Joe gave the wrench one more tight turn, then cursed a blue streak when it slipped and crushed his thumb against the engine he was working on.

  In the two months since Mattie had gone, he had lost more weight than he could afford to and it showed. He looked haggard, tired, and all the joy had gone from his eyes. He felt emptier than he had ever felt in his entire life, as if the happiness Mattie brought to him had simply made more room for the despair when she had gone. She had taken the biggest part of him with her. He wondered if she knew that and if he would ever get it back.

  Two months since he had held her, touched her, loved her, he thought achingly. Two months of fear and pain and sadness. Two months of searching and hoping and dying a little inside each day. Two months without Mattie—

  Joe was so lost in his despairing thoughts that he didn't even hear the barking at first. When it finally did register, he thought nothing of it. There were several working dogs on the ranch. Only when Rags danced joyously into sight, scampering up to him to tug on the leg of his jeans, Joe allowed himself to hope.

  "Rags?" Joe's voice was thick and disbelieving.

  The dog stared up at him with the comically endearing expression that had so captured Mattie's heart.

  Mattie....

  Joe bent slowly, reaching out to touch Rags awkwardly.

  "Did Mattie bring you here?" he asked, stunned. "Is Mattie... home?"

  Rags barked once in answer as he recognized Mattie's name.

  Joe threw the wrench aside. "Take me to Mattie, Rags," he urged intently. "Take me home to Mattie."

  Rags turned and trotted off happily, heading toward the house. Joe could almost believe the puppy understood the urgent yearning in his tone. His heart pounded louder in his ears with every step he took. Pounded for Mattie.

  Joe froze as the house came into sight, his form hidden in the shadow of a towering evergreen. Mattie was there. Curled up on the porch railing, with her back propped against the corner column.

  Rags ran on ahead, unaware of the fierce tide of emotion that seemed to cripple Joe who remained just out of sight. Mattie hopped off the railing and went down the steps to meet her errant companion, and Joe could hear her sweet, scolding voice as she playfully berated the puppy.

  "Where have you been, young man? Leaving me alone like that! Why, what if a six-foot squirrel had come along and attacked me? They grow 'em big here in Texas, you know. Who would have protected me then?"

  "I ran off the last of the six-foot squirrels. You're in no danger here."

  Joe's husky voice brought Mattie's head up sharply. She had not heard him crossing the yard while she was playing with Rags.

  Her lips formed Joe's name, but no sound emerged. Their eyes held for long seconds, a wary joy in each, before the contact was broken to allow a wider perusal.

  Mattie noted Joe's weight loss, her eyes taking in the thrust of his hip bones through his jeans. He looked like he had been driving himself for weeks without rest. New lines

  scored beside an unfamiliar grim mouth, and his eyes looked weary.

  Joe saw the new confidence Mattie carried with her, the resolution and strength in her suddenly serene gaze. If Joe had lost part of himself, it seemed that Mattie had found a part. He felt a physical pain at the thought that she had done so without him.

  "You look beautiful."

  Mattie smiled slightly at the husky words and rose from her knees awkwardly. "So do you."

  Joe gave a disbelieving snort. "I look like hell."

  Mattie's smile trembled at the edges. "Besides from that," she amended.

  Neither seemed to know what to say after that, and they stood there in a strained silence. Mattie thought of all that lay ahead of her, of everything she had to tell him, but the words wouldn't seem to come.

  A bitter wind blew up and Mattie shivered slightly, galvanizing Joe into action.

  "You're cold," he said protectively. "You should have gone on inside the house. The door isn't locked." He gestured for her to climb the steps, careful not to get too close to her.

  "I wanted to wait out here," Mattie told him quietly. "I wanted to see you coming home."

  Joe said nothing as he held the door for her to enter the house.

  Mattie stopped dead in her tracks when she reached the doorway in the living room. Joe almost ran into her from behind, but Mattie barely noticed, her eyes riveted to the tree they had decorated for Christmas over two months ago.

  She looked at him in silent demand, and Joe shifted restlessly before moving into the room.

  "The tree's still up," Mattie pointed out needlessly, her mind churning
with questions.

  Joe was silent for a long time before he answered, his eyes on the tree. "In memory of a beautiful Christmas Eve."

  They were both silent then, remembering that night and what had followed. For Mattie it was the memory of triumph over her dark past. For Joe it was a stinging condemnation of a bitter present.

  "So," she tried a little desperately, "you're a full-time rancher now, huh? You really retired from football?"

  "Yeah," Joe confirmed quietly, his eyes fixed intently on her from across the room. "We kept it quiet until after the Superbowl. I announced it after they gave us our rings."

  Mattie nodded a little jerkily, only taking in his affirmative answer.

  "You didn't watch the Superbowl, did you, Mattie?" Joe's abrupt question caught her by surprise.

  "I don't even know what it is," she admitted a little shamefaced.

  Joe's mouth twisted in self-derision. "I should have realized ... It's the game we play at the end of the season to determine who the best team in the league is."

  "I bet you won," Mattie said with certainty.

  "The Conquerors won," Joe confirmed. "I don't know how much help I was to them. I had... other things on my mind."

  Mattie accepted that a little helplessly, about to question further when Joe continued.

  "After the game I did something I hardly ever do. I granted an interview to one of the networks. Right there in the locker room." Joe laughed derisively. "One hundred million people saw that interview, half the entire damn country. But not Mattie Grey."

  "Joe..." Mattie reacted to the pain in his voice, but Joe didn't give her time to say more.

  "I went on national television and begged you to call me. I got the worst ribbing from the guys on the team, but I didn't care because I was sure that you would call," he continued tautly. "I stayed by the phone for two days, waiting. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. And when you didn't call, I didn't know what to do. I was so sure that you would call. It never occurred to me that you weren't watching, not for days. When I finally remembered how little you knew about football, I had already made a fool of myself. I called every hospital and police station and morgue in the state of Texas...."