by Becky Wade
Matt could easily spot the needed repairs that Beverly had mentioned. Rusty nails poked out of the floor. The side piece of one of the pews had come apart and was tilting at an angle. And a pile of debris near the door needed to be cleared out.
He strapped on his tool belt and went to work. It was weirdly quiet. The only sounds came from his muffled movements and the echo of his metal hammer against the wooden floorboards. After everything that had happened with Kate yesterday, the last thing he needed was silence and more time alone to think. He’d been up most of the night thinking.
He glanced at the picture of Jesus, staring calmly out at him from the stained glass. This chapel had the same hushed, holy feeling he always associated with churches.
He tried to pry out a stubborn nail and managed to jam his thumb painfully. He hissed an expletive and shook out his hand. Glanced again at the window. Look, just back off, Matt thought. I never wanted to set foot inside a church again, but I’m here doing a job, so just cut me a break and back off.
The image in the window seemed to wait patiently. Not offended. Just waiting, with His hand out.
Matt glared at the glass depiction of the face.
I’m angry at you. Unbidden, the words filled his head, his eyes, his ears, his throat. Following closely came a crippling flood of emotion. Endless dark fury. Bitterness. Excruciating sadness. A lust for revenge. Helplessness.
He set aside his hammer and pulled himself onto the nearest pew. His fingers tunneled into his hair and he sat, elbows on his knees, head bent into his hands.
I had everything, and you took it all away and now I have nothing. Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted? Tremors ran through him as his body battled to contain the unbearable pressure of his thoughts.
Did you take Beth from me to punish me? What did I do that was so wrong? What possible thing could I have done to you that would have made you take her? She was so young. So young.
Memories of her ripped at his heart. Matt saw her dancing, laughing, flirting with him, cooking in their apartment’s kitchen. Colorfully alive. And then he saw her dying, wasted, pale, struggling for breath. And he saw himself, confused and terrified. Not knowing what to do. Struggling to hope that she’d still be okay, that she could still recover from the disease. Even when the doctors told him she wouldn’t. And then she was officially gone. Dead. Too late to save, to apologize to, to love.
After all this time, he was still trying to make himself accept what had happened to her. What had happened to his life. One moment he’d had Beth and he’d had his hockey. The next she’d been taken. And then he’d buried the hockey, too. The two biggest parts of his life, gone.
A twenty-seven-year-old dying of brain cancer? How could you let it happen to anyone? But most of all, to her? To her?! She was my wife.
Matt swore aloud, furious. “Your world sucks,” he whispered. “I hate the way you’ve set it up.”
The image in the stained-glass window didn’t change in the face of his anger. Jesus’ hand was still reaching outward.
Kate had told him the other day that God hadn’t forgotten about him. For the first time in years, Matt could acknowledge that maybe God hadn’t. He didn’t know which was worse: being forgotten or being confronted like this with nowhere to turn.
He needed to get out. His heartbeat accelerated. He couldn’t do this.
His strides ate the distance to the doors at the back of the chapel. But just as he was about to wrench the doors open, he stopped himself.
What was he going to tell Beverly? Was he willing to explain why he couldn’t do these few simple repairs for her?
He was breathing too fast. He tried to slow it down, to calm himself down.
He could do this. He had to. He might be a mess, but he wasn’t a coward.
Heart still thudding, Matt forced himself to go back to work. He flat-out refused to let himself look at the stained-glass window again. But in the silence, Kate’s voice grew harder to ignore.
He’ll never leave you.
He loves you.
He hasn’t forgotten about you.
He wanted to jeer at her words, to shut her out as surely as he had the stained-glass window.
But he treasured Kate. There were countless things in this life he no longer trusted, but somehow he did trust her. Her goodness. Her honesty. Matt let everything she’d said to him revolve in his head while he worked, turning each sentence like a diamond held to the light.
And ever so slowly her words began to do more than circle his memory. They began to penetrate. Past his defenses, his doggedness, and his reluctance to bend.
When Kate returned from a yoga class and some grocery shopping later that afternoon, she heard Matt working upstairs. Which meant he’d finally finished the chapel.
She’d gotten halfway through unloading her eco-friendly reusable grocery bags when she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway to the dining room. She stilled, surprised. Inside the walls of this house on a workday she was always the one that sought him out. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He simply stared at her, so long that she began to wonder if maybe he needed to work on the sink or something and was waiting for her to clear out. “Am I in your way?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Oh. Well, I’m just . . . just back from the store, trying to get these things put away.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Sure.” He took the refrigerated stuff and she took the rest, working together in silence. Every particle of air in the kitchen vibrated with the knowledge of the things they’d said to each other yesterday. All she could hear when she looked at him was his voice on the phone last night. “I like you. I want to go out with you myself.” He hadn’t wanted those admissions to change anything. And she was acting like they hadn’t. But actually, for her, they’d changed a lot. The incredible realization that he liked her filled her body with electric tingles she couldn’t squelch.
Once she’d finished folding the grocery bags into a neat pile, she leaned her hip against the sink and studied him. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his attention steadily centered on her. “How’d it go in the chapel?” she asked.
“The work went fine, but I was glad to get out of there.”
“Haven’t been in church for a few years.”
“No, and never really planned to go back.”
Ah, she thought. God had gone to work on him in there. He looked so miserable about it that she couldn’t help but smile.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“Because I’m pleased. It’s a start.”
Since he didn’t seem inclined to say more, she told him about her yoga class and Theresa’s progress with their appraisal report, and updated him on the ongoing deep freeze between Velma and Morty. What she didn’t say was a single word about the enormous things that had passed between them yesterday.
The next day a miracle happened.
Gran, Velma, and Kate were in the kitchen finishing up a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and vegetable soup when they heard the deep bass rumble of a car pulling up the drive. It drew closer and closer still.
All three of them lifted their heads, listening. They were used to the sounds of the usual cars that came around. This one sounded totally different. Distinctive.
“Who on earth could that be?” Gran murmured. She bustled to the back door and opened it, peering out. “Well, I’ll be.” She motioned excitedly to them. “Come see this—hurry!”
They all rushed outside into the cold, bright day. Shielding their eyes with their hands, they watched as an amazing car drew even with them and slid to a stop.
It was Morty, driving what was unmistakably his Cadillac convertible and wearing his new leather jacket, a fedora, and a triumphant grin. The car was low and long. Painted glossy black with glittering silver trim. Twin tail fins in the back. Shiny wheels filled with silver spokes. White leather upholstery trimmed with black. He hadn’t been kiddi
ng when he’d told Kate that he’d kept the car in mint condition. The entire thing gleamed as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor.
“Morty!” Gran exclaimed, laughing with amazement and admiration. “What a beautiful car.”
“Wow, it’s fabulous,” Kate agreed, smiling at him. “Really fabulous.”
“Thank you, ladies.” He tipped his hat to them, practically glowing with pride.
Kate glanced at Velma. She’d never seen Velma speechless before, but she appeared to be so now. Her mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish gasping on the dry bottom of a fishing boat.
“Well, Velma,” Morty said, “hop on in. I’m taking you on a date.”
Velma promptly found her voice. “Right this moment, Morty Rittenbower? I’m not dressed for that.”
“That’s why we’re going to swing by your place first. So you can change.”
“A woman likes a little advance notice.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
“Next time?”
“Next time,” he assured her.
Velma put her hands on her hips and looked ready to argue. A few tense moments ticked by, sunshine glinting along the contours of the car, before her lips finally bowed into a smile. “I can’t believe you actually took this car out of that old garage.”
“I actually did.” He beckoned with his hand. “Now, c’mon. That’s enough fussing. Get on in.”
Kate heard the back door open behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Matt walk outside. Something inside her lifted with delight, just like it did every time she saw him. He came to stand next to her as Velma settled herself in the passenger seat.
“Oh! Let me get your things, Velma.” Gran dashed into the house and reemerged with Velma’s coat and purse.
“Have a good afternoon, ladies. Matt.” Morty saluted them and eased the car away, heartily honking the horn a couple of times.
Pleasure rushed through Kate at the sight of the two of them driving away together. She’d actually helped get Velma Armstrong out on a date with Morty! At times it had seemed like winning the lottery would prove more likely. Yet there they were, driving off together.
Gran walked down the driveway after them, clapping and waving.
“He sure didn’t look worried about the car,” Matt remarked.
“No,” Kate answered. “He didn’t.” He’d looked thrilled with himself. Morty, the old dog, had learned some new tricks and managed to melt the heart of one of the crustiest women on the continent. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“No. What?”
“Well, aside from true love and Morty and Velma’s happily-ever-after?”
“Aside from that.”
“It means I’ve got gift certificates to the spa coming my way.”
“You don’t have the hots for me, do you?” Tyler asked.
Kate glanced at him. They were walking through the club’s foyer on their way out. It had been a fun night, just like they all were with him. They’d gone to a pizza place, then to a club where a friend of Tyler’s had been playing guitar with his band.
Had she developed hormones for him, however? Either tonight or on any of their other date nights? No.
Tyler regarded her with a resigned half smile.
“Well,” Kate replied slowly, “you’re illegally charming.”
“I am that.”
“And incredibly handsome.”
“Incredibly.”
“And I should be wildly infatuated with you.”
“Agreed. But you’re not, are you?”
They stopped near the rest rooms. People drifted past them.
“No,” Kate answered. “But I really do like you, and I’m thankful that we’re friends.” She flinched a little, gave him an apologetic smile. “Was that patronizing, that last part about being friends?”
“Not patronizing so much as uncreative,” he said. “But I guess my ego can take it.”
She regarded him sympathetically.
“Quit looking so worried. It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
“You’re into Matt, aren’t you?”
“Um . . .”
“He’s got that whole dark, tortured thing working. Women love that.”
Kate thought of Theresa and the rest of the female population of the town, who’d all wholeheartedly agree with Tyler’s assessment. “I’m going to top out at friendship with Matt, too.”
“Really? The way he was glaring at me the other night when I came to pick you up, I thought there might be more there.”
“Nope.”
“Well, shoot, little lady. I guess we’re both fresh out of luck.”
She smiled. “I guess so.”
“Here, put on your jacket.” He handed hers over, and they both donned their jackets, scarves, and gloves. He took her hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm. They made their way out of the building and through the parking lot toward his car.
“Don’t get me wrong, princess,” he said. “I wish you were into me.”
She nodded.
“But it’s all right that you’re not.”
“Must be rare for you,” she commented, “to be on the receiving end of the let’s-be-friends thing.”
“Oh, extremely rare.” He chuckled. “The thing of it is . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re friends, too.”
She’d gone on a date with Tyler again. Beverly had spilled Kate’s plans to him just as Matt had been leaving work. The news had hit him like a stone to the stomach.
He’d come home, but he hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t turned on many lights or the TV. All he’d done—all he could bring himself to do—was pace.
Why was she still seeing Tyler? Did she care about him? She must, to keep going out with him. Tyler definitely cared about her. Matt would have staked anything on it.
With a growl, he finally quit his pacing, grabbed up his car keys, and headed . . . again . . . for the empty solace of his Lamborghini.
chapter sixteen
It really wasn’t fair that Matt should be so gorgeous. I mean, really. It was just wrong. Nice-looking was one thing. But over-the-top beautiful?
They were halfway through their Friday night poker and were taking their customary break. Kate and Matt had made their way into the kitchen together for dessert. He was chewing a bite of pecan pie. She’d mostly been chewing on resentment over his looks.
His beauty wasn’t like that of, say, a statue of a Greek god. Matt had scars under his lip and near his eyebrow, after all. And a nose that had been broken. But somehow those things plus the long-lashed eyes, plus the serious mouth, plus the dark hair, plus his sheer size equaled IRRESISTIBLE. Even today, when he’d seemed especially guarded and upset about something, he struck her as painfully handsome.
And this was the person who’d looked at her with heat in his eyes and told her he couldn’t stand to think about her dating other people. This was the person she was supposed to be immune to.
What a joke! She sure wasn’t succeeding at developing immunity toward him. If anything, her feelings for him kept sending roots deeper and reaching up higher, despite her best intentions. She was caught in purgatory—constantly trying to talk herself out of her attraction to him even though goose bumps pebbled her skin every time he so much as looked in her direction. It was terrible. It was wonderful.
“Okay,” she said, finishing her pie and setting aside her plate. “So I was supposed to go antiquing tomorrow with Theresa, but her daughter’s sick and so she can’t go. Would you like to come with me instead?” Now that they’d mutually agreed to be friends, she thought she might have the right to ask him that kind of thing. The difficult part would be avoiding hurt if—when—he turned her down.
“Antiquing?” he asked her skeptically.
“Yep. Gran needs some things to finish out the house. Rugs, lamps, and a couple of sofas. I’m planning to hit the flea market, one estate sale, and
maybe an antique store or two just for fun.”
“Right,” he said slowly. “Just for fun.”
She laughed. “That sounds like a man’s idea of cruel and unusual punishment, doesn’t it? I don’t know what I was thinking. Look, forget I said anything—”
“I’ll go.”
She blinked up at him. “You will?”
“Yeah. What time?”
“Nine?”
“I’ll pick you up in the truck.”
His words had been easily spoken, but there was something in his expression as he gazed down at her. A troubled, dangerous, almost haunted light that made her chest hurt.
She desperately wanted to see something better and clearer in his face before she left and went home to Dallas. But instead of improving, in some ways he seemed worse lately. And she was running out of time.
Morty and Velma drifted into the kitchen. Morty had on his Tommy Bahama shirt, despite the frigid weather outside. Velma had on a lime green velour sweat suit with a white ribbon stitched across the top in what looked like the pattern of a heartbeat on a monitor. Velma’s astute eyes flicked over Kate to Matt. “How you doing, hottie?”
“Um . . .”
“You don’t mind me calling you that, do you?” Velma asked him.
“Actually—”
“Aw, get over it.” She swatted a hand at him.
Morty chuckled. “She’s a spitfire, isn’t she?” He eyed Velma with lovestruck admiration.
“I most certainly am,” she replied, “and don’t you be forgetting it.”
“Now, how could I,” Morty asked her, “even for a second?”
She lifted penciled eyebrows behind the spheres of her glasses. “Well, you’ve got a point there.” She poured iced tea into three glasses, then glanced up at Matt. “Mind helping me carry these in to the others?”
“I can do it,” Morty said.
“If I wanted you to do it, I would have asked you. I want the hottie’s help.”
Matt groaned but picked up two of the glasses and followed her out of the room.
