Phoebe's Groom

by Deb Kastner

  But she couldn’t ask Chance to marry her. Sure, it was the twenty-first century, and she had no problem acknowledging that when it came to male/female relationships, as she’d told Lucy, it was perfectly okay for a woman to do the asking—even so far as proposing to their special man.

  But it wasn’t right for Phoebe, no matter how much Lucy pleaded with her. No matter how much she loved Chance. No matter that there would never be another man in her life who could ever take his place in her heart.

  No matter how her heart was breaking.

  She wouldn’t do that to Chance—put him on the spot and force him to reject her personally. She was a little worried though, because she doubted Lucy had the same qualms about talking to her father, given the stubborn streak that coursed through the veins of every single member of the Hawkins’ family.

  It was too much to hope Lucy would let the matter rest. Phoebe had the feeling that the worst was yet to come, and there was no way to avoid it.

  STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Have you ever wanted what you cannot have?

  JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: In the words of our Savior, you do not have, because you do not ask.

  Chance was still waiting in the family room for Lucy to come in the front door when suddenly she’d slipped in through the kitchen and slumped into the easy chair, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if for comfort and tears streaming down her face.

  He’d been ready to give her a hard time about missing curfew, but clearly she’d somehow come in without his knowledge, so there was no way to confirm whether she’d been late or not.

  More to the point, though, something was obviously distressing her—even he could see that, as unobservant of the female state of mind as he usually was. His protective instinct roared to life.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Is it Michael?” He hoped not. Relationship issues weren’t his forte, not to mention the fact that his first parental response toward a boy that broke his daughter’s heart would not be pretty. Still, it was a logical conclusion to guess that Michael was the problem, given that Lucy had just been out with him.

  She burst into a fresh round of tears.

  Feeling vulnerable himself and powerless to help his little girl, he crouched down in front of her and put his hand on her knee.

  “I know I’m just your dad, and all, but you can talk to me,” he suggested softly. “It may be hard for you to imagine, but I’m actually a guy, too, so I know how they think. Maybe I can help you.”

  She started to shake her head and then suddenly stopped, her eyes widening as she absorbed the full impact of his words. A light appeared in her luminescent, tear-filled eyes and Chance’s heart clenched. He would do anything for his little girl—young lady, he mentally corrected himself.

  “Dad, what does it feel like to be in love?”

  Chance swallowed his breath and began coughing violently. He thumped his chest hard with his fist trying to dislodge the very uncomfortable bubble of air trapped there.

  Why was his thirteen-year-old asking about love?

  And how was he supposed to answer her?

  “I…uh…yeah,” he sputtered.

  He was the last person she should be going to for advice on love. He was nothing but a giant train wreck in that department.

  He needed to call in reinforcements—and the sooner the better.

  “Phoebe,” he called loudly, his raspy voice strained. “Phoebe-e-e!”

  To her credit, she came rushing in immediately, her makeup bag still in her hand.

  “What happened?” she exclaimed, dashing into the middle of the family room and looking around anxiously. “Is someone hurt?”

  “Worse,” he groaned. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach as the air he’d been choking on just a moment before now left his lungs in a whoosh.

  Phoebe Yates deeply, profoundly cared about his family. Not that he hadn’t already known that. He’d seen her tender heart in action any number of times in the past six weeks. The punch-in-the-gut reminder was the makeup bag in her hand.

  She was really and truly leaving. He didn’t know how his heart would stand it. Lord help him.

  “Chance,” Phoebe repeated, taking his arm to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”

  He glanced at her through a hazy, unfocused consciousness. He wasn’t usually this emotional, but he’d opened himself up to love, and consequentially, heartbreak.

  “It’s Lucy,” he explained through a dry throat. He gestured vaguely in his daughter’s direction. “She just asked me—” he paused and shivered “—what it feels like to be in love.”

  Phoebe placed her hands on her hips and lifted a brow as she stared suspiciously in Lucy’s direction. “Oh she did, did she? I see.”

  “I’m glad somebody does,” Chance grumbled. “Now will you please tell her she cannot possibly be in love when she is thirteen years old?”

  Phoebe sighed and shrugged. “You cannot possibly be in love when you are thirteen years old,” she parroted to the girl, though Chance couldn’t tell if that was for Lucy’s benefit or his own. Her voice sounded odd. Strained.

  “I didn’t say I was in love,” Lucy countered, rolling her eyes. “I just want to know what it feels like—” she gave a pointed pause “—to be in love.”

  Phoebe sat down on the couch with a thump. She raised her hands to her cheeks, which, Chance only now noted, were burning a bright red.

  He didn’t know what Phoebe had to be embarrassed about. Lucy was the one asking the awkward questions here, questions he’d thought Phoebe, given her female perspective, would be more competent to handle than he himself would be.

  “So, love is…what?” Lucy prompted. “Never having to say you’re sorry?”

  Chance sputtered in an attempt to hold back his laughter. “Trust me on this—love is having to say you’re sorry all the time.”

  Lucy smiled secretly. “What else?”

  “It’s minding your own business when someone doesn’t want to talk about it,” Phoebe answered caustically, although it looked like Lucy understood what Phoebe was getting at.

  Chance frowned. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, only that somewhere along the way there had been a turn in the road and he’d clearly missed it.

  “Love is sharing things close to your heart,” the girl countered.

  “Love is knowing when to stay silent.” Phoebe leaned forward in her seat, almost aggressively, her attention solely focused on Lucy.

  “Love is knowing when to speak up,” Lucy insisted.

  This wasn’t even remotely close to the conversation Chance had anticipated between the two females. It felt like a war was brewing between the two of them.

  “Love is sharing your faith and bringing the other person closer to God,” Chance offered, feeling like he needed to say something, even if it was wrong. He thought maybe bringing God into the picture might diffuse the situation a little bit.

  It sure couldn’t hurt.

  And it did seem to take some of the wind out of their sails. They both looked at him wide-eyed, as if they’d forgotten he was in the room at all.

  Phoebe sighed. “Your father is right. Let’s just get back to the Biblical version. ‘Love is patient, love is kind,’” she stated, quoting the first book of Corinthians. “‘It…’”

  Phoebe paused and Chance jumped in. “‘It is not self-seeking.’”

  Lucy looked absolutely smug. “Love is finishing each other’s sentences.”

  Chance narrowed his gaze on his daughter. “Just what, exactly, are we talking about here?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Phoebe?”

  “Phoebe?” he repeated, looking her direction. “Why Phoebe?”

  The woman had been blushing flaming red earlier in the conversation, but now she looked positively green around the gills.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned with the way her pupils were dilating, making her eyes appear almost as black as his. Even though she was still
seated on the couch, she looked like she was weaving a little bit, so he sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder to steady her.

  She, in turn, stood abruptly to her feet. “I have to go…finish packing,” she ended lamely.

  “I thought you were done,” he said.

  She waved the makeup bag she still had in her hand. “Not quite. I need to double-check that I have everything. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

  It was a reminder Chance didn’t need. He’d hoped to spend a little quality time alone with her this evening, but he got her message loud and clear.

  She wanted to be left alone. She was ready and anxious to go back to her old life.

  When he broke from his thoughts, he discovered Lucy was trying to sneak out of the room.

  “Young lady,” he said sternly. “You get back here right this minute. Park it in the chair.” He pointed to the easy chair the girl had just vacated.

  Her cheeks were stained pink, and she had the oddest expression on her face. He wasn’t good at reading looks. What was it?

  Guilt? Annoyance? Frustration? All of the above?

  “You want to tell me what just went on in here?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an order, though Lucy didn’t appear to immediately recognize it as such.

  She slouched in the chair, wrapped her arms around a large, stuffed pillow, and stared at the ground. What she didn’t do was speak.

  “Lucy?” he prompted gravely.

  She lifted her gaze, piercing Chance like a dagger. Tears had once again sprung to her eyes, and he felt powerless, in depths way over his head, splashing about and nearly at the point of drowning.

  Even though she hadn’t yet answered his question, he’d finally figured what was bothering Lucy. He just didn’t know how to fix it. Not for Lucy, and not for himself.

  “We have to let her go, Luc,” he explained, the harshness gone from his tone.

  “Do we?” Her gaze was accusing, disbelieving.

  “You heard the Bible verse I quoted,” he said, not liking the feeling that he needed to justify his actions. Or in his case, the lack of them. “We have to think of Phoebe first.”

  “Is it really Phoebe you are thinking about, or is it yourself?” she accused, her frustration bubbling over like a can of soda that had been shaken before the lid had been popped.

  “Meaning?”

  Lucy stood with a huff and forcefully chucked the pillow she’d been holding onto the seat she’d recently occupied.

  “You think teenagers are so stupid,” she accused as she rushed from the room. “But you guys don’t know anything. Anything.”

  She was out the door before Chance could ask her what her sharp, passionately spoken words meant. He momentarily considered calling her back into the room, but at length decided to let her go. She was too angry to reason with.

  Besides, she was right. He didn’t know anything. And with every day that passed, he realized he knew even less. The big questions in his life remained unanswered.

  Like how, even with God’s help, he was going to live without Phoebe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my flight. I got here insanely early. I just couldn’t prolong my goodbyes. It hurt too much.

  JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: We’re so sorry to see you leave, dear. You really did brighten our world—and changed our hearts.

  Chance sat at the kitchen table cupping a steaming mug of coffee in his hands, watching as the vapor rose and disappeared into thin air.

  Just like Phoebe.

  Though he could still feel her all around him, see her in his mind’s eye every time he turned around, she was gone.

  Gone.

  She’d left at daybreak that morning, declining the big country breakfast Aunt Jo would have made her. All the women had been crying. It was all Chance could do to remain dry-eyed himself.

  Phoebe had bought each of them parting gifts—a new knitting basket and several skeins of colorful yarn for Aunt Jo, a silver locket necklace for Lucy and a bright, grass-green bandana for him. She’d said he needed to add a little color to his life.

  Except she’d been the one who had brought his world into Technicolor. Now that she was gone, his life had instantly returned to shades of gray.

  Add to that the fact that, if he wasn’t mistaken, both Aunt Jo and Lucy were angry—with him.

  Aunt Jo was tossing pots and pans around with so much effort, not to mention noise, that Chance was sure she was about to break something. Hopefully not over his head.

  Lucy was seated at the other side of the table from him, moping and texting on her cell phone. Her MP3 player was so loud he could hear it clearly from where he sat.

  It was possible he was misreading the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe they were just as upset as he was that Phoebe had left. They each had their own reasons why her departure was so difficult. But Chance had the distinct feeling it was more than that.

  Finally he could stand it no longer. Setting his cup down, he reached across the table and gently pulled the buds from Lucy’s ears.

  “Turn that thing off and talk to me,” he insisted.

  “Humph,” came Aunt Jo’s affronted reply from behind him. Lucy just picked up her ear buds and returned them to her ears. She didn’t even bother to turn down her music.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” This time he took the MP3 player from her entirely and turned it off himself. “Cell phone, too, please.”

  He held out his hand and Lucy reluctantly complied. She’d been moping before. Now she was silently fuming. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to find that Aunt Jo had his back on this one. Instead, she was glaring at his back.

  “What did I do?” he objected.

  Women. Honestly.

  Aunt Jo slid into the seat next to him and flopped her dish towel onto the table. “If you can’t figure that out, dear, then I credited you with more brains than the Lord God must have given you.”

  “You’re mad because I let her leave.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Ding, ding, ding. Give the boy a Kewpie doll.” She was obviously being sarcastic, but at least her gaze was still filled with the love he’d come to depend on, even when he hadn’t been able to voice it.

  Lucy, on the other hand, was smoldering.

  “Luc?” he asked gently.

  “I can’t believe you let her walk out of here.” She looked like she wanted to add something else, but she set her jaw instead. She’d probably been about ready to call him a moron. Or worse.

  And he probably deserved it.

  “I had to let her go,” he said defensively to no one in particular and to each of them individually, himself included.

  “And why is that, dear?” Aunt Jo queried, worrying her hands through the dish towel.

  “You know why,” he protested. “You both know why. She has a hugely successful career back east. I couldn’t ask her to give that up.”

  “Did you want her to leave?” Aunt Jo asked sagely, her red curls bobbing as she shook her head, answering her own question. Her T-shirt today was an appropriate I’m With Dumbo, which Chance privately thought referred to him rather than the elephant pictured on the front of the shirt.

  “Of course I didn’t want her to leave,” he blurted out. “I’m in love with her.”

  Lucy snorted. “Now you figure it out.”

  “But that doesn’t change anything. I’m sure she was anxious to get back to New York and her old life.”

  “You’re sure?” Aunt Jo stretched out the words thoughtfully.

  “Well, I mean, yes,” he sputtered. “She wouldn’t want to give up the big-city lifestyle she’s used to and the opportunity to bake exotic pastries. She once told me she would be going back to her dream job. She’d be crazy to stay here in Serendipity and bake plain old pies and cookies at some hole-in-the-wall café for the rest of her life.”

  Aunt Jo’s jaw dropp
ed in astonishment. “How could you even say such a thing?” she demanded. “Cup O’ Jo is not a hole-in-the-wall, thank you very much. It’s your legacy, in case you’ve forgotten. Yours and Lucy’s. Her middle name is Josephine for a reason.”

  “No offense intended,” he assured her, trying to backpedal. “You know that little café is my life. But it’s not Phoebe’s.”

  “Why not?” Aunt Jo demanded, looking at him like he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

  “Did you ask her?” Lucy challenged at the same time.

  Talk about being ganged up on. Why didn’t they just give him a break?

  And then, slowly and pointedly, Lucy’s words sank into his thick brain.

  Had he asked Phoebe if she’d wanted to stay?

  He had prayed about it and asked God to help see him through, but he’d made assumptions where Phoebe’s wishes were concerned. He’d jumped to his own conclusions about what was best for her without even bothering to consult her first and ask her what she wanted.

  He blanched and couldn’t take a breath. He hadn’t even given her a choice, offered her the option to stay if she wanted to. In fact, through his own erroneous words and actions, he’d actually pushed her away, giving her no reason to believe she was welcome here permanently.

  He hadn’t told her that he loved her.

  What an idiot he was. No wonder Aunt Jo and Lucy were so put out with him.

  He stood to his feet with such alacrity that he knocked the table with his thigh and sloshed coffee all over the surface.

  “I’ll get it,” Aunt Jo said, mopping the liquid up with her dish towel.

  “I’ve got to go,” he announced.

  “We know, dear,” Aunt Jo said calmly, but both she and Lucy gave Chance a spontaneous hug.

  Shot with adrenaline at this sudden decision, he was shaking from head to toe. His mind was darting a million places at once.

  Focus, he told himself. He had to pull it together, and fast, if he was going to logically figure out exactly where she’d gone and, equally important, how to catch up with her before she disappeared for good.