The words were a softly spoken plea that lifted from his depths. She sensed as much in the way his eyes held hers, the way he trembled, as overcome by the idea of leaving as she was. This wasn’t casual. This wasn’t meaningless. This was a bonding, a most thorough giving of one heart to another.
God understood that, right?
Josh was her forever love. She knew it without any semblance of doubt. This was their moment. A commitment to the love they knew they would always share.
God understood that, right?
When she circled his neck with her arms, when their lips met once more and everything else in the world spun away, she had a fleeting thought. Everything would change if they saw this moment through to culmination. Everything would be different, and the world would be seen through different eyes. In another fleeting instant she happened to catch sight of her purity ring, recalling the vow she had made with her three best friends—Aileen, Siobhan, and Kassidy.
She and Josh tumbled onto the basement couch, cocooned privately within the spot where they had watched movies and studied, held hands and danced, laughed and dreamed—where they had nurtured their love for years. As they surrendered to a moment that nothing could hold back, Maeve tamped down God’s guidance and truth with all the certainty in her heart. After all, nothing could be more pure and more real than the love she felt for Josh.
God understood that, right?
****
A short time later, Maeve rolled as quietly and unobtrusively as possible from Josh’s sleep-loosened hold. She scooped her clothes into an untidy ball, quaking as she stumbled into the powder room of the basement and quickly secured the door behind her. She splashed cold water into a small paper cup and gulped it down. She looked into the mirror then released a shaky breath.
Terror struck her spirit. This terror, however, had nothing to do with Josh’s acceptance to UCLA. This terror came as the result of something brand new she saw within the deepest reaches of her eyes. Knowledge. Good and evil. Right and wrong.
And in this battle, wrong had most definitely won. She knew better. She had known better than to surrender physically to any man outside the bonds of marriage.
She yanked on her clothes as fast as she could. She wanted to be covered. Hidden. All of a sudden, her self-righteous views of Adam and Eve struck her low and left pride crumbled to dust. What on earth had she allowed to happen?
She touched her cheeks and light from overhead glinted off the band of silver on the ring finger of her right hand. I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. Purity. A commitment to God, and to her very best friends. Maeve’s chin quivered. She leaned heavily against the sink.
What had she done?
Passion’s cloud had evaporated, leaving her mind clear, and she began to weep. Uncontrolled trembling weakened every stronghold of her character as she very slowly, very deliberately slid the purity ring off her finger. No way could she wear it now. No way could she face her friends bearing the stain of shame that now tainted her spirit. A soft knock sounded at the door, causing Maeve to jerk.
“Maeve?”
She swiped tears away and tried to regain her composure, but the tears kept coming as she tucked the beautiful, glimmering ring into the front pocket of her jeans.
“You can come in.” Her voice was so thick and husky it sounded foreign to her ears.
The door opened and Josh stepped inside. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She shook like a leaf in the breeze. She had blown it. Sinned in a way she had promised never to do.
In the instant he took her in, Josh’s eyes transformed from curious to compassionate and loving—so beautifully tender. “You OK?”
Maeve could only shrug, turning her back to him, her head bent low. Seconds later, Josh slipped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. Maeve tried to stay distant, and stiff, but the strength of his arms melted her to a puddle.
“Are you mad at me?”
Maeve shrugged for a second time. “I’m mad at me. I’m mad at life. I hate the idea of graduation, I hate California, and I hate what we allowed to happen, and…and…”
Emotion overrode her ability to speak. Josh’s hold tightened against her as quickly as one of his bullet-speed, spot-on passes could hit the arms of ready receiver. “Maeve. Listen to me.” His voice rang with firm authority. A leader’s authority. He waited to speak until she turned and stared into his beautiful, clear eyes of dark brown. “I love you.” His fingertips dove gently through the thick, tumbling curls of her hair. “Nowhere I ever go will take away the feelings I have for you. Nothing will change. I promise you that. Forever.”
Unexpectedly he lifted her right hand and kissed the bare spot where the ring had resided. Slightly discolored skin paid testament to its tenure, and although she was surprised he had noticed its absence, she adored him anew for sensitivity and a caring spirit.
“You can still wear the ring.” No, she couldn’t, but she didn’t interrupt. “I love you. I will always love you. Nothing changes that. Not California, not your amazing acting and singing career. You can wear it because I won’t let you down. We’re as good as married in my heart.”
Maeve studied him for a long, intent moment. Through new eyes. Through a life forever changed. Through a heart that had grown, broken, fallen, and would now attempt to rise again.
She pulled the ring from her pocket and settled it carefully into place. Not because he was right, but because she had done a grievous wrong. Now and forevermore the ring would be a reminder, a weight to be borne. And yes, also because Josh seemed so earnest and hurt, so eager to do what was right.
But if they had truly wanted to do what was right, they would have backed away after the first round of heated kisses. They hadn’t.
The ring would be her reminder of that love, and of the irreparable loss of precious innocence. Besides, she’d never be able to explain its absence to her friends. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not ever. Heaving a sigh, she twisted the band and absorbed its shimmer through a layer of tears. Everything was different now. Everything had shifted. Good and evil. Adam and Eve. That’s what made her sick inside—realization and a woman’s knowledge.
For always, always, there was a price to be paid for sin.
1
Present Day
After securing the trunk of her car, Maeve Callahan wheeled two suitcases through the garage that adjoined her condo and bumped them up a pair of cement stairs leading to the entry door. Balancing the luggage against her hip and a nearby wall, she extracted her keys from the depths of a cavernous purse, praising God for the small miracle of finding them right away. Following a six-hour flight from Dublin, Ireland to New York City, then a bouncing clipper from LaGuardia to Westerville Municipal Airport, she was exhausted—but delightfully so.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open. What a fabulous trip. In the quaint, picturesque village of Clifden, in county Galway, one of Maeve’s dearest friends, Aileen Brewer, became Aileen Douglas. Memory reels of the wedding still delivered a thrill.
Maeve maneuvered her suitcases inside and trudged through the kitchen, embracing the stillness and pleasure of returning home. All at once, a long-haired calico cat burst across the threshold between the living room and kitchen, legs pumping furiously as it skittered across amber hued ceramic tile in a mad charge for Maeve’s legs. Maeve laughed deep and hard. “Well hello there, Miss Coco Chanel. Did you miss me?”
Coco answered with curves, swerves, and a resounding purr.
“Let me get inside, silly lady.”
Passing through the kitchen, Maeve took note of full food and water dishes on the floor near the mud room; her feline family member was well tended, as expected. Next, she spied a hefty stack of mail on the spotless green-veined granite counter along with a thin spiral notebook decorated on the cover with handcrafted doodles of kittens and the words ‘Coco’s Cat Diary’ scripted across the front in vivid blue marker.
For the time being,
Maeve ignored the mail and lifted the notebook instead, knowing it would be much more fun to explore. Her sixteen-year-old house sitter and pet-loving neighbor Melanie O’Brien always left behind a chronicle of Coco’s life while Maeve was away, full of sketches and comedic stories about the cat’s daily antics.
Coco continued to weave figure eights around Maeve’s ankles. “Well, Coco, it certainly seems you kept Melanie entertained.”
Overtaken by a huge yawn, she set the notebook aside then tugged her luggage straight to the bedroom and tucked it into a corner. She’d unpack later. First things first.
It was time for a bistro-sized mug of peppermint tea and NFC championship football.
Sunday evening crept in. Rather than sort through dirty laundry, unpack goodies, and deal with travel chaos, Maeve opted to climb into sweatpants and an oversized blue-and-white football jersey—the one bearing the number fourteen—the number sported by Detroit quarterback, Josh Andrews.
She wore his team colors in private. Only her besties—Aileen, Kassidy Cartwright, and Siobhan Douglas, knew she followed his career. But even they didn’t realize how closely she tracked him. How acutely she ached for him, and how tied she remained to the sweet, overwhelming love they had shared so long ago.
The secrecy didn’t bother Maeve anymore. She was used to keeping secrets now, used to hiding her deepest longings. And secrecy didn’t change facts. Her heart ran deep as an ocean when it came to Josh Andrews.
Expelling a sigh, she padded to the kitchen and prepared her beverage. In the living room, she set her drink on the coffee table and plucked the remote control from the top of a stack of magazines. She clicked on the television, tuned promptly to ESPN, and sank onto the couch. Oh, was it delicious to be home—and as hoped she was just in time to catch a slick commentating squad of retired NFL players launch into pre-game mode.
“Welcome to the Big Easy, everyone, host town of the conference Championship game between New Orleans and New York. Football fans, I assure you, we can’t wait to get this party started.”
Music blared as analysts accelerated anticipation levels and profiled the star players on each squad. Sliding a quilt from the back of the couch, Maeve tucked her legs and feet beneath its warmth then patted her lap to entice Coco Chanel to snuggle. More than willing to comply, Coco leapt into place and purred as Maeve stroked her back.
“It’s going to be a battle to the finish because both teams are so evenly matched, and both teams are willing to fight hard and strong. It doesn’t get much more exciting than a number one offense meeting up against a number one defense. Joining us now is a man who knows all about having a fire in the belly when it comes to the playoffs. Please welcome one of the elite quarterbacks in the league, Detroit’s Josh Andrews. Josh, we’re glad to have you as part of the broadcast team today.”
“Thanks for the welcome. It’s good to be here.”
Just like that, the boy of her past filled her screen as a man who stirred a thick, rich ache in Maeve’s soul. His presence peeled through her spirit like church bells. Short, dark hair, a square, clean shaven jaw, and riveting brown eyes formed a compelling package. He was just over six-feet tall, short for a quarterback, but his skill-set was unrivaled. Beyond physicality, he possessed an aura of quiet confidence that was magnetic.
Maeve watched without blinking, her nerve endings doing a sparkle dance.
“Josh, you and I have been friends for years; I know all about that competitive drive of yours, and I know how much you’d like to be prepping for this game, on a mission to claim a championship ring instead of commentating.”
“True enough, but still, this is fun.”
He wore a gray silk suit that added a touch of elegance to broad shoulders and a strong build. A white dress shirt and blue and gray striped tie polished his look. Captivated, Maeve’s breath stalled, trapped somewhere deep within her body. He had always been so handsome…
“Despite the injury you sustained last month, your talents are equally feared and respected by your competitors.” Laughter rounded the four-member panel. “You’re a force all your own on the football field, but from what I hear you’re going beyond the gridiron to create an amazing legacy with your charity, the Goal to Go Foundation. Tell us about it.”
With self-effacing charm, Josh ducked his head during all the praise mongering. It didn’t surprise her any that he deflected from the overt adulation. Humility was hard-wired into his DNA. Maeve tingled, and oh, how she yearned for him, for the dedication to one another they had once shared.
“I appreciate the mention of Goal to Go. I created the foundation to give disadvantaged kids the chance to pursue athletics as a means not just to stay physically fit but to focus on and learn the ideals of sportsmanship. We equip them to play hard and live with hope despite daunting circumstances, and we sponsor as many of them as we can to help defray playing costs at their schools or in their communities. Goal to Go delivers opportunity, and sometimes opportunity spells the difference between a life that soars and a life that crumbles.”
“Before we dive into analysis, tell us how rehab is going. I see the sling is gone. You look great.”
Josh flexed his right arm. “Rehab is grueling. I don’t think I’ve never pushed myself so hard. The drills are torture, but I’m told every spike of pain is a step forward. If that’s the case then I must be making all kinds of progress because there are times when the pain is indescribable.” Some commiserating exclamations rounded the table. “Faith and commitment to my team has kept me going, but I guess we’ll find out how far I’ve come in a few months at training camp.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to bet against you. Let’s shift gears and give you a chance to analyze today’s game. How do you think New York matches up against that notoriously strong New Orleans offense?”
While Josh began a coach-style litany of statistics and percentages, lamplight glinted off the surface of the ring Maeve always wore on the third finger of her right hand. She stopped stroking Coco and studied the piece, torn as always by love and sorrow over all she had lost during their one fateful night together.
Emptiness pushed through her body, but not for long. She was used to battling this particular monster. She was alone for a reason. She didn’t deserve the fruitful passion and loving joy now possessed by Aileen, Siobhan, and Kassidy. She had blown her chance—in every way possible. If only she hadn’t been so immature, so carried away by passion, so wrong. Love, Maeve had discovered, didn’t excuse recklessness or the sin of deliberately falling from grace.
Coco chose that moment to take a few playful bats at Maeve’s stilled hand. Coco’s excited behavior stirred Maeve’s thoughts back to the present…far from all that might have been.
While she waited through a commercial break, she sipped tea and plucked her cellphone from the end table. Tapping into the camera app, she reviewed pictures from Aileen’s wedding.
The entire week in Ireland had been akin to living in the pages of a fairytale. There was the celebration Mass, conducted within the candlelit confines of St. Joseph’s Church. The ancient, gray stone parish featured a soaring steeple, its curved archways illumined by added candelabra that framed a long, main aisle strewn with pink rose petals. At the altar, in a timeless exchange, Aileen and Liam Douglas had committed their love and lives to one another.
Aileen had been a vision in a frothy white dress with a cathedral train; Liam’s black tux was a nod to elegant, classic attire for a groom. The tightest of friends ever since high school, Maeve and Kassidy had stood right beside Aileen as bridesmaids, both wearing sheath-style dresses of pale pink silk. Completing their quartet, Siobhan had been appointed maid-of-honor and wore a matching style dress of sky blue.
The reception at Abbeyglen Castle, to Maeve’s romantic mind, was positively idyllic. Perched high atop a grassy cliff, Abbeyglen gifted wedding attendees with a stunning overlook of the coastline of Clifden Bay along with sweeping vistas of the Twelve Bens Mountains, the quaint villa
ge of Clifden and farms that featured sheep, cows, and horses that roamed rolls of land loosely framed by low walls of gray and brown fieldstone.
Once again, Coco was not pleased to be ignored. This time the impatient feline head-butted Maeve’s hand, rubbed a wet nose against her palm. Maeve resumed her ministrations. “OK, Miss Coco. You win.”
There had been bittersweet tears, uproarious laughter, and even an impromptu sing-along with the local band at O’Mara’s Pub, a Tudor-style staple of the village of Clifden since its founding in the early 1800’s.
Maeve sipped some tea then returned to the pictures, recalling Kassidy’s glow upon her return to their shared room on their last day in Ireland. Maeve had been given the honor of being the first to know Drew Wintower, their tour manager and promoter, had not only proposed to her at sunrise, on a sea-cliff spot not far from Abbeyglen’s central grounds but had also presented Kassidy with a diamond engagement ring that was breathtaking.
After the official group announcement—delivered at the end of their final dinner together in Ireland—there had been a bit of good-natured teasing revolving around the fact that Maeve would be the last of their quartet to find wedded bliss—the final bachelorette of the Sisters in Spirit.
That was no bother—she knew and understood the hearts of her friends. Besides, Maeve was used to solitude. Alone or not, the trip would live in her heart forever. The moments she had shared with her three best friends, the tears they shed upon ending one chapter of life and entering a new phase of experiences, had been perfectly balanced by the fact that their bonds endured, that their performance group had capped an incredibly successful debut concert tour across the stages of North America with more work on the horizon.
Her life was a gift—a banquet rich with goodness—but at its core there was no loving fulfillment.
There was no Josh.
****
In a way, Josh Andrews had always found the practice facility in Allen Park, Michigan to be somewhat eerie. It was a regulation football field stripped to its most sterile, bare minimum components. Here there was no clutter of seating, no electric light shows, no pounding reverberation of music, no cheers or electricity of game day. Here there was nothing whatsoever to distract or compete for a player’s attention.
Maeve's Symphony Page 2
