My Foolish Heart

by Susan May Warren

  Besides, if she could make it to the school for Caleb, she could make it to the care center to see her father, right?

  Perhaps they’d all have new victories after last night’s game.

  Including Lucy. “I didn’t mean to take the playbook,” Lucy had said as she stopped by after the show, way past her bedtime, bearing an apology. “Or to lie to you.”

  “You could have told me that you and Seb slept together. I would have understood.”

  “I was ashamed. Especially after Bree. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

  Lucy sat on the porch swing, and Issy listened as Lucy told her about how she and Seb had started sleeping together that summer, the first time on the beach after Fisherman’s Picnic. No wonder Lucy hated the celebration. No wonder she’d seemed like a grieving woman after she and Seb broke up.

  “I tried to act like it was nothing,” Lucy said, her knees drawn to herself, “but I couldn’t. I felt dirty. And stupid. And like I’d given myself to someone who didn’t care.”

  Issy sat beside her, one arm around her. “We all could be trapped by our past if it weren’t for the perfect love of God.”

  They sat there, counting the stars until Lucy left for work.

  Issy had gone to bed then and tossed the night away.

  Lucy. Seb.

  Caleb.

  She liked Seb. She did. And if Lucy could forgive him, she could. But how could the school board give the job to Seb?

  Especially since Seb didn’t want it. Which meant the board simply couldn’t get past the fact that Caleb had made them look foolish. They’d trusted him, and he’d lied to them.

  But he’d won the game.

  He’d won the game and the hearts of his players.

  The heart of the girl next door.

  But if she truly believed in God’s perfect love, then she’d have to trust Him for Caleb’s job. His future. Just like she trusted God for hers.

  She drew in a breath as she stood in the garage, keys in hand. She’d found a new verse for today. Isaiah 41:13. “For I hold you by your right hand—I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, ‘Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you.’”

  She sat in her car, prayed, turned the key, and drove all the way to the care center without one moment of real panic.

  Issy hadn’t imagined that the building would be so cheery, with overflowing planters of geraniums flanking the door, a flag waving as if in welcome.

  She took a breath. A full one, without the webbing in her chest. She walked in and stopped at the front desk.

  Jacqueline looked at her. Smiled. “Room 212.” Then she went back to her work as if Issy had been here yesterday.

  She turned down the hall and could have found the room without direction. Laughter, voices, and behind that, cheers and whistles, the sounds of a taped football game.

  She took a breath.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Coach.” Pastor Dan emerged from the room and nearly ran right into her. He jerked back. “Issy. Hey.”

  Behind him, Bam exited. He glanced at her, gave her a small smile, then continued down the hallway.

  “What’s going on?”

  A couple more men filed out, along with Diann, from the school library. She patted Issy on the arm as she might have done a few years ago, when Issy was a student.

  “Impromptu school board meeting.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Dan smiled. “Your dad called a time-out, pulled us in for some coaching.”

  Mitch exited the room. “Hey, Issy. Good game yesterday. I don’t suppose we could rope you in to help with the cheerleaders? As long as you’re going to be on the field anyway.” He winked at her as he walked by.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Your dad asked us to reconsider Coach Knight. Told us he was the one.”

  The one. Yes.

  “Hope to see you at church on Sunday.” Dan squeezed her shoulder as he walked away.

  One public event at a time, thank you.

  One private event at a time too. She blew out a long breath, then knocked on the doorframe. “Daddy?”

  Oh . . . oh . . . The sight of her father hit her like a fist. He lay in the bed, the man he’d once been flushed away, leaving only the bones of a memory. Those big hands that could palm a football and scoop her up after a game lay at his sides. That barrel chest that bellowed out plays, fought the refs for bad calls, now shrank into itself. He’d lost most of his hair, and a breathing tube was affixed to his neck, tunneling air in and out of his chest.

  She knew of his condition, of course, but she hadn’t expected time and his injury to strip so much of him from her.

  Oh, she should have been here years ago. The absence grabbed her, forced the breath from her lungs, started the dark swirl inside.

  “Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you.”

  His eyes darted over to her. “Isadora.” Her name wheezed out of him, sounding almost like relief or perhaps simply longing. It caught her up. Drew her back.

  “For I hold you by your right hand.”

  “Daddy.” She rushed at him, pressed her face into his chest. Despite the hospital smells, she recognized him, the natural scent of his skin, strength, calm. “Oh, Daddy.”

  “Issy.” He breathed her name again, and she looked up. She cradled his face in her hands and found his eyes.

  There he was. And inside those gray-blue eyes, she recognized herself—strong and beautiful and resilient.

  So that’s where she’d gone.

  “You made it,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  A tear leaked out of his eye, and she scrubbed it off with her thumb.

  “I made it.” She sank into his smile, and it pulled her away from the dark edges of fear. Of grief. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

  “I knew you’d make it . . . someday.”

  She ran her hand down his face, the familiarity of it sinking into all her broken places. “Daddy, I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  She looked up at the television. “Just in time for the two-minute warning. Wait until you see the winning play.”

  He winked at her.

  She nestled her head into his shoulder, slid her fingers into his lifeless hand. Listened to his heartbeat. Strong. Constant.

  Daddy.

  Behind her, she heard the cheers—probably herself—as Ryan ran toward the sideline yelling, “Coach! McCormick doesn’t know this play! Coach!”

  “I love that play,” her father said softly, his words thick with memory. “Takes guts to call it.”

  She met his eyes. “Thank you for giving it to him. I know he came here, that you met him. He has such courage. And he’s a good man.”

  “God . . . sent him.”

  She nodded at that too. “I think he’s supposed to be here, for this town. He can pick up where you left off—”

  “No.”

  His word scraped the wind from her, despite its soft delivery. But didn’t he just give Caleb . . . ?

  “Start over. New coach. New team. Knight’s team.”

  Oh. She laid her hand against his damp cheek. “I dunno, Daddy. This town needs you, too.”

  He drew in a breath and leaned his head against her hand. “I’m not dead, Issy.”

  She pressed her forehead to his, then kissed it. “I’m not either.” Not anymore. She wanted to live, to walk into the light, to live there with God, with Caleb.

  In perfect love.

  In fact, she might even rename her show. No More Foolish Heart. Except, it still felt foolish for Caleb to love her, with all her wounds, her fears, her unpredictabilities. But perhaps that’s what love was—foolish. After all, God loved most foolishly. He came into the dark world to rescue people who might never love Him back.

  Maybe, in fact, the foolish heart was the perfect heart.

  “Let’s watch the game.” Her father glanced at the television. She watched his eyes shine as Caleb’s team carried him off the f
ield.

  Victory.

  Epilogue

  “This is the greatest town ever. Moose burgers. I think I’m in heaven.”

  Issy laughed as Caleb balanced the burger in one hand and held her hand with the other, his fingers laced through hers. How could she not love a man who wouldn’t even let go of her hand to eat a hamburger? Er, moose burger, the official sandwich for Deep Haven’s annual Moose Madness weekend.

  “Thanks, DJ,” Caleb managed between bites.

  “Good practice on Friday.” DJ wore a paper hat and an apron, the word Elks across the front.

  “Thanks for your help.” Caleb stepped away as ketchup dropped onto the pavement to join a mixture of soda, kettle corn, and ice cream. “We’re going to look good against Elroy this Friday. See you at practice.”

  He finished his burger, grabbed a napkin, still one-handed.

  “This is foolish, Caleb,” Issy said, trying to disentangle her hand from his. Just because he’d started attending counseling with Rachelle occasionally, learned some techniques to help her push past her panic attacks, didn’t mean he had to hold her hand constantly.

  “Hey, you want me to trip and fall right here in the middle of the street? Have some mercy.” He grinned at her as she shook her head. Like he needed her help. He’d been digging out his athletic prosthesis even before Mitch and the other board members restated their job offer and named him the head football coach of the Huskies. On his state-of-the-art limb, no, Caleb didn’t need her to hold his hand.

  But she wouldn’t argue. Walk around town hand in hand with the most handsome man in Deep Haven? No problem.

  And she might admit that she needed him after spending thirty minutes winding herself up for the crowds of Moose Madness. But here she was. Stepping out farther into the world every day. And tonight, she’d host My Foolish Heart’s first ever on-location broadcast, on World’s Best Donuts’s new outdoor patio.

  Issy feared, just a little, what Seb might think of adding next. A gift shop, maybe? She’d already seen T-shirts and coffee mugs for sale.

  She let Caleb lead her down Main Street amid the tourists buying cotton candy and artisans plying their wares in blue canvas booths. Lucy sold donuts hand over fist down at World’s Best’s new “donut hole” window. Built, of course, by the Deep Haven Huskies, Seb quarterbacking the entire thing, his brilliant idea to beat Bam at his own game. And smack in the middle of the hammering was Caleb, reading the blueprints, directing traffic, and embedding himself into the fabric of the town.

  Now, children dappled the iridescent lake with stones, ducks waddled the shores, and dogs chased seagulls, brazen in their attempts to steal picnickers’ sandwiches.

  “I miss Duncan. I checked the animal shelter, but they haven’t seen him.”

  “He’ll turn up. Maybe he’s found some other hermit to harass.” Caleb winked at her before stopping at a pottery booth.

  Liza greeted her, proving again that Issy hadn’t been quite as forgotten as she’d thought. “Nice to see you, Issy.”

  Issy smiled at her, picking up a milk pitcher glazed brown with streaks of green.

  Liza turned to Caleb. “Are you here to stay?”

  He nodded.

  “Good.” She indicated the pitcher Issy held. “Remember the broken clay I was working with?”

  Caleb touched the pitcher, and Issy let him take it. “You can’t even see the scars.”

  “It’s yours. A welcome-to-Deep-Haven gift.” She packaged it up for Caleb and tucked her card inside. “Stop by sometime.”

  “You know her?” Issy took the bag.

  “I met her at Fish Pic—”

  “Hey, Coach, look out!”

  She flinched as a ball whizzed by his ear. Caleb reached out, pulled it to his chest.

  Jared Ryan ran up, followed by a face she didn’t recognize. “Sorry, Coach. I was aiming for Samson.”

  Caleb passed him the ball as Issy’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She tucked the bag under her arm, then pulled out the phone. “It’s a text from Elliot. He said last night’s ratings were our highest yet.”

  Tonight’s broadcast just might be a warm-up to the one she’d do in Napa, at Lauren’s wedding, if PrideAndPassion actually listened to the words Issy had spoken last night on My Foolish Heart.

  “It’s probably the first time Miss Foolish Heart has ever admitted to being wrong.”

  “Ha. You mean on the radio. I’ve been wrong plenty of times.”

  Caleb grinned at her.

  It’s not every day that Miss Foolish Heart admits to her mistakes, so listen up. Throw out your lists. That’s right. There are perfect tens out there. And perfect eights and perfect threes. See, I’ve learned that you don’t plan for the perfect romance; you work at it. And you trust God to bring the right one into your life.

  Or next door. She’d loved how Caleb had leaned into the microphone, adding his voice, his opinion to the show.

  Although he wouldn’t allow anyone to call him Mr. Foolish Heart. “Coach will do,” he said on their first broadcast, a few weeks ago.

  Coach seemed to be very popular with her female audience. She didn’t blame them. She’d fallen in love with his voice just as much as the man in the flesh.

  She closed the phone. “The continuing adventures of Miss Foolish Heart and BoyNextDoor.”

  “I’m still not sure I’m cut out to share the airwaves with Miss Foolish Heart. I haven’t any clue what I’m doing.”

  “And I do?”

  “Oh, I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” The way he looked at her, the sweetness in his eyes . . . Why had she ever thought that he might not be a perfect ten—or eleven or eighty-seven? So far off the charts, she’d stopped counting. Stupid list.

  They made it past Pierre’s, then down to World’s Best Donuts, where Lucy waved to them from her new window. “I’m just closing shop.”

  Sitting on the bench of the picnic table, Issy finally let go of Caleb’s hand. He climbed up, sat on the table, and tucked her between his legs, settling his hand on her shoulders.

  As if she might make a break for it. Not in this lifetime.

  “I’ll bet Napa doesn’t have this view.” The waves of the lake caressed the shore, the deep blue meshing with the far-off horizon, limitless.

  She looked up at him and found him grinning at her. He bent down, brushed his lips across hers, a little fire there to heat her through. Who needed Napa, anyway? She could stay right here, forever, in Caleb’s embrace.

  “Stop necking and check out my newest creation.” As Lucy straddled the bench, she handed her a bag.

  “This is not a donut. It’s not even a pastry.”

  “It’s a cupcake. They’re all the rage.” Lucy grinned at them.

  “World’s Best . . . Cupcakes?” Caleb pulled out a chocolate cupcake, bit into it. “Not that I’m complaining. Yum.”

  “I’m just expanding my vision. Why not?”

  “Lucy, I love your going into the cupcake business. You’re a genius.” Issy removed another cupcake. This one had pink sprinkles on the white frosting. “My father would love this. I’ll tell him about it when I see him later today.”

  “How is he?”

  “Good. I’ve outfitted him with new Huskies gear. We have a standing Saturday morning game tape viewing. And he’s looking better—no more infections. We might even get him to the house for a visit for Thanksgiving.”

  Lucy met her gaze. Smiled. “By the way, I think I’ve tripled last year’s donut sales just this weekend. I’ll be all caught up on my payments, and Bam won’t be able to foreclose.”

  “Where’s Seb?” Caleb said, plowing through his cupcake.

  “He’s bringing a chocolate raised to his dad, over at the firehouse. Six weeks of sobriety today.”

  “He mentioned running for mayor during practice on Friday.” Caleb finished his cupcake and wiped his fingers.

  “He’s going to run for school board first—take Mitch’s spot.”


  Issy searched Caleb’s face for any lingering hurt.

  “Mitch thought he was protecting the town.” His hand kneaded her neck. “He and I have made our peace.”

  “Hey, guys.” Seb came down the sidewalk, a walking billboard in his red Anybody want a donut? T-shirt. “Wanna grab some dinner before the fireworks start?”

  Issy glanced at Caleb.

  “How about spaghetti? Everyone likes spaghetti,” he said softly.

  “Miss Foolish Heart says so.”

  “And don’t you know,” he said, his eyes in hers, “she’s always right. After all, the perfect love might be right next door.”

  A Note from the Author

  Life is scary. Why do unexplainable things happen—tragic accidents, disease, terrorist attacks? When watching the news, I find myself searching for a loophole—some guarantee that something like that won’t happen to me, my husband, or my children. Like when I hear about the girl in a tragic three-car accident because she was texting. Well, I never text and drive, therefore I won’t get into a tragic three-car accident. Loopholes!

  If I could, I’d make some sort of bargain with God for the earthly safety of my loved ones. But life doesn’t work that way. So what to do with the fear that could paralyze us, cause us to panic, and finally barricade us in our homes?

  The answer: God’s perfect love expels all fear.

  While writing this story, I was struggling with my children leaving the nest—going off to college and out of the safety of my arms. I wanted, with everything inside me, to pull them back, to keep them safe. So wanting to set Issy (and myself!) free, I took apart that verse, let it seep into my life.

  Perfect, in the Greek form of this adjective, means “complete.” As in, all-encompassing. As in, nothing is lacking, and it touches every corner of our lives. Add the word perfect to the word love, and we might have some answers about how to handle fear. Love, meaning “affection,” “benevolence,” “feast of charity.” (I love that—a feast of charity. Tasty, delectable, never-ending charity!) See, in God there is no evil. Not one smidgen. We sometimes act as if God doesn’t care about the bad things that happen to us. Or even worse, that He is somehow laughing behind His hand at our hurts.