Heartache and Hope

by Mary Manners

  “No.”

  “Good. Aubree has this thing…she’s not very fond of the bridge. I usually avoid it when I have her in the jogging stroller. But we don’t have to worry about that tonight.”

  “No. we don’t. But I’m keeping you from her.”

  “It’s not a problem. Mom’s got things covered.” He zipped up his jacket and drew a pair of gloves from his pocket. “They enjoy their time together, so it’s good. Since Dad died, Mom’s been a little lost. She’s finding her way, though.”

  “I’m so sorry, Patrick. I didn’t know.” Daylin’s breath curled out to dance along the air. “He was always so kind to me.”

  “Yeah, he was a good guy. I miss him.” He took her hand. “Come on, let’s get going. Maybe we’ll have time to grab a bite to eat after. If I’m guessing right, you haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “Caught red-handed.”

  “I knew it.” He curled his fingers along hers. “Your fingers are like icicles.”

  “Sorry.” Daylin wished she’d remembered her wool mittens. Already, the breeze nipped her fingertips to icy shards. She’d heard various weather reports stating the temperature should moderate by the weekend, and she hoped they were accurate. Although, she did like the feel of Patrick’s hand sheltering hers. She’d warm soon enough.

  “Here, take these. I’m used to the cold.” Patrick drew a pair of gloves from his pocket and offered them to her.

  “No, I couldn’t.” Daylin shook her head. “You need them as much as I do.”

  “I insist.” Refusing to take no for an answer, Patrick let go of her and tucked them into her hands. “Go on, take them.”

  “Well…OK. Thank you.” Daylin tugged on the gloves, her fingers swallowed by the large size, yet blissfully warm nestled in the soft fabric. She could hardly believe this cold would soon be behind them—forecasters were calling for a weekend in the sixties—at least for the time being. “I left my mittens on the kitchen table.”

  “No problem. There’s a lot to remember…especially in this weather. You’ll get the hang of it. Come on.”

  He turned and picked up the pace, walking at a brisk clip as they approached the bridge. It spanned the Tennessee River on each side and, although not particularly long, it seemed to gape at Daylin like an open mouth, ready to devour her whole. Her belly lurched…what if she got stuck halfway across, couldn’t keep up and make it over once Patrick revved his engine into high gear.

  The breeze called to her as it lifted wisps of hair that had fallen loose from the ponytail she’d fashioned. A chill caused her eyes to water, blurring traffic lights ahead into a halo of color. The aroma of barbecue drifted from restaurants along the waterfront, doing its best to chase away the chill. Daylin murmured to herself, stunned by the view of winking lights.

  “Sorry.” He turned back to face her. Those blue-gray eyes questioned as he asked, “Am I going too fast?”

  “Not at all.” She quickly recovered her footing and tugged at the elastic band of each glove, adjusting them around her wrists. “I was distracted by the lights.”

  “Hard not to be.” He glanced sideways for a peek, then back to her. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Though not as pretty as you.” Patrick reached out to skim a finger over her ponytail.

  “Patrick…”

  “What are you afraid of, Daylin?”

  “I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

  “Such as…?”

  “Getting hurt. I’ve been hurt, Patrick.”

  “So have I. But we can’t live afraid.” He skimmed a hand along her jawline. “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “I used to love to watch your hair fan out while you ran. Now that was pretty…especially in the sunlight, when it danced like a burst of burning embers.”

  “I…” Words suddenly eluded her. The way he spoke made her feel special, treasured. It was a nice change, but she’d fallen too quickly on more than one occasion. Caution lights flashed through Daylin’s head. Be careful…

  “I thought we were going to run.”

  “Slow and steady finishes the race.”

  “You mean: Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “That’s true, too. It’s also true the real winning isn’t in the race itself; it’s in what comes before and after.” His breath curled out in puffs of white that rose to frame eyes that studied her every move. Somehow she felt safe with him, cared for.

  Careful, Daylin…

  “So, let’s cross the bridge, first. It will give us time to talk.”

  ****

  Patrick stumbled, caught himself and redirected before he did a header to the concrete. A fan of embers…? Where had the words come from?

  Daylin’s off-handed wink had his gut in a tangle. There was something about her that drew him, making him want more than a simple run. He’d cared for her once...but that was a long time ago. He’d dismissed their friendship way before he’d committed his love to Sandra. So why, now, did he feel like he wanted to pick up where they’d left off, and then some.

  Because he’d been a widower a long time, and it was perfectly OK to care for another woman. He’d hashed that out, come to terms with it over the weeks, months…years that had passed. Guilt had no place here, right?

  Suddenly, Patrick yearned to peel back the layers of time and experience and discover what waited beneath. An odd desire tugged at his heart, causing him to reach for Daylin’s hand as they entered the bridge’s pedestrian lane.

  She turned to him, her wide-set, honey gaze connecting with his.

  “Careful…traffic,” he explained as a single car passed.

  He sensed she knew it was more than the car that made him hold onto her for a moment longer. He couldn’t quite make sense of the feeling, but a tremor of anticipation lurked beneath the surface…waiting patiently.

  “Thanks.” She smiled as they neared the mid-point of the bridge and the Tennessee River came into full view. “Oh, my…look at that.”

  “I know. It’s something to see at night, isn’t it?” Dappled water kissed the shore beneath a milky-white halo of moonlight. In the distance, lights from the Star of Knoxville Riverboat flashed as it eased from the dock to embark on its nightly dinner cruise. Music from Calhoun’s on the River drifted as the deck off the river filled with patrons unwinding from a long day of work. “This is one of my favorite places to run at night.”

  “Run…that’s the operative word.”

  “Let’s just walk for now, break in those shoes of yours a bit.” Patrick gazed across the shimmering water, felt the warm glow of the lights soothe the day’s stress from his joints. “Do you remember the day it rained so hard during cross-country practice that you were convinced we’d be swept away?”

  “I do.” Daylin’s eyes shimmered like chocolate diamonds beneath the lights of the bridge. “The storm lunged in so fast it took us all by surprise. You and I got separated from the group, and we took shelter in that shed on Old Man Dickerson’s property to wait out the lightning.”

  “A tree was felled by the wind, missed the roof of the shed by only a foot or so. Good thing, too, or we might have been trapped inside—or worse.” He remembered the ferocious howl as air moaned by like an angry beast. Daylin had been so frightened she’d begun to laugh uncontrollably, and then cry until he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close in an attempt to dispel the fear.

  “I was terrified, but you made the whole experience bearable.” Daylin touched his shoulder. “I’ve never been caught in a storm like that before or since, and I don’t believe I’ve ever thanked you for how you helped that day.” Her gaze connected with his, her eyes warm and round with the memory of her terror. “So…thank you.”

  Patrick jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. If she only knew what his true feelings were that day—how he’d hoped the storm would continue to rage long enough to steal a kiss. He’d noti
ced her for months from the time she stepped onto the track to join him in practice …watched her graceful moves and listened to her soft laughter. But she’d been oblivious to his desire, and seemed too distracted by other things to have time for any real interest. So he’d left things alone, allowed the moment to pass. It was enough that they shared a ride home once in a while, and that she’d even stayed for dinner at his house one night.

  His hand sheltered Daylin’s once again, and he felt the same paralyzing conflict. Except now there was so much more than a simple high school crush to consider—Aubree, for one. How would a relationship with Daylin affect his daughter? What would happen if things didn’t work out?

  Begin the morning with a song and a prayer, and the rest of the day will take care of itself…

  Daylin’s gaze softened and, as if reading his mind, she eased her hand back. She turned to gaze down the length of what was left of the bridge before turning back to him. Slowly, a grin—pure mischief—curled her lips. She took a stutter-step before suddenly breaking into a sprint. As her ponytail slapped at the collar of her shirt, her voice rang out, “Bet you can’t catch me.”

  For a moment, Patrick felt propelled back into the past as he watched her disappear into the night. Then he found his voice. “Bet I can.”

  His tennis shoes smacked the pavement as he chased her through the moonlight, the cool breeze whipping through his hair and stinging his five-o-clock-shadowed cheeks. His pulse kicked in and a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. Sucked-in air set off a flash-fire of heat in his lungs. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly alive.

  He took his time reaching her, enjoying the view that had nothing to do with the bridge lighting or the landscape below. It was all Daylin…every bit of it.

  He came up behind her as they reached the end of the bridge. “Got you.” He plucked her from the pavement and lifted her off her feet, swinging her around.

  “Put me down, put me down!” She giggled, breathless, as she squirmed from his grasp. “I’m too heavy.”

  “No, you’re just right.” The scent of her perfume swirled up to tease his nose as the fire in his lungs settled to warm coals. “Just…perfect.”

  7

  “You’re in trouble, Daddy.” Aubree, nestled firmly between Patrick and Daylin, scooted closer to the table.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Look!” She tapped her pencil over the page of the puzzle magazine Daylin had given her that evening as they waited for the movie to begin. “I found the last hidden picture. Now you have to buy me an ice cream.”

  “Isn’t it a little cold for ice cream?”

  “Nana says it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Aubree leaned over, whispered in Daylin’s ear. “Sometimes she brings me chocolate chip when she comes for school, and we eat it after math work. I don’t much care for math, but chocolate chip is my favorite.”

  Daylin returned the whisper, adding a wink. “Mine, too.”

  “Really?” Aubree’s eyes danced over a cherubic smile as she tugged on Patrick’s shirtsleeve. “Daddy, can we go to Dusty’s Diner after the movie? Miss Vera said she’d give me a piece of pie a la mode. What’s a la mode, Daddy?”

  “It means pie with ice cream.”

  “Yum…Miss Vera’s very nice and ice cream is good. Can we go?”

  “Not tonight. It will be late.”

  “Sunday, then? After church?”

  “Let’s see…” Patrick scratched the shadow of beard along his jaw and then stretched his arm toward her. “Twist my arm, and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Aw, Daddy, that’s silly.” But Aubree gave it a squeeze anyway while Patrick mimed a severe bout of pain. The child giggled and let go. “Come on, Daddy, please, please, please?”

  “You got me good.” Patrick made a production out of rubbing his assaulted bicep. “I suppose Sunday after church would work for a trip to the diner. Vera did promise you a slice of pie.”

  “You have to come, too, Daylin.” Aubree bounced in the seat, her legs swinging. “Daddy can pick you up, and we’ll all go to church together. You can see me sing in the children’s choir. We’re doing a special song this Sunday, and I get to wear a pretty dress. It’s blue and velvet and Daddy helped me choose it. He says it’s perfect for someone who sings like an angel—me.”

  “Is that so?” Daylin tweaked Aubree’s nose. “Well, your Daddy knows best.”

  “Yep.” Aubree’s head bobbed up and down. “He knows everything.”

  “In that case, I’m sure you sing like an angel, and I’ll bet the dress is pretty.” Daylin’s laughter tumbled. “I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  “Then you’ll come?”

  The laughter faded with the second mention of church. “I…I’ll think about it.”

  “You don’t like singing?”

  “I love singing. It’s not that.”

  “What, then?”

  “Your daddy and I should discuss it first, OK? He might have other plans.”

  “’Kay.” She swiped a hand across her mouth, brushing remnants of pizza crust crumbs from her lips. “Can I have some popcorn, Daddy?”

  He offered her the bag, and Aubree dipped her hand for a fistful of fluffy kernels.

  “Chew carefully. Here’s your juice.”

  The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the movie. Patrick took the puzzle book from Aubree, closed it, and set it beneath the seat. He slipped his arms around the child, and as she snuggled into his lap, his shoulder brushed Daylin’s. The contact was a warm jolt of electricity to her, and she wondered if he felt the same.

  “Moose Tracks,” Patrick murmured as his aftershave kissed her nose.

  “What?”

  “Moose Tracks.” His fingers searched for hers, twined gently. “It’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. And there’s nothing to discuss…I’d love for you to join us at church Sunday.”

  Patrick’s easy touch, the inviting words, sent Daylin’s pulse skittering. She barely heard the movie’s soundtrack as opening credits began to scroll across the screen.

  She cleared her throat. Sitting in the fellowship hall to enjoy a movie was one thing; partaking in a Sunday service, ensconced in the sanctuary itself, was something altogether different…terrifying. She’d been gone for so long, she felt as if there were no turning back. A sense of unworthiness settled as Daylin struggled to speak. “What time is the service?”

  “Ten-thirty.”

  “I see.” She attempted to focus on the screen, failed miserably. The women had been kind to her, Frannie in particular who’d been preparing the snack table when they’d arrived, sectioning pizzas onto paper plates and pouring cups of sweet tea and lemonade. Apparently, it was the duty of the ladies’ group to oversee movie night. Daylin had stopped to chat, and Frannie had introduced her to several friends. All had smiled and chattered about this and that, doing their best to make Daylin feel welcome. And she did…at least as far as movie night went. But Sunday service, well…

  “I was thinking we could spend some time with Aubree, have dessert first—the pie and ice cream—and then head out to an early dinner…alone.” Patrick’s suggestion hung in the air between them. “What do you think?”

  “I like the ice cream part, and the dinner part, too. But I’m not so sure about attending church.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why the hesitation?”

  “It’s been so long.” Daylin turned her palm up in an attempt to clarify her words. “I don’t really belong there. I’d feel....”

  “There’s no need to feel anything but welcome, Daylin. No one keeps tabs on the past…or a record of how many Sundays you’ve stayed away. All that matters is here…now. Of course, you belong. We all belong.”

  “You make it sound like a party.”

  “Not a party, exactly, but certainly a celebration.”

  “It’s hard to resist when you put it that way.”

  “Good. Then your answer is yes?”

 
“How will you manage dinner with me—us—alone…with Aubree along?”

  “Mom will watch her for the evening. She’s already offered.”

  “Then Yenta is working her magic again, right?”

  “Yes, but this time I’m all in. I’m kind of enjoying how the yenta operates this go ’round.” He nodded to cement the statement. “How about you?”

  Daylin waited for the nerves to zing into full swing, and for the little voice to issue its caution. Neither came. She simply felt…excited. A full day together with Patrick…the very idea tasted better than chocolate. Daylin smiled as she leaned against the seat back, allowing her fingers to relax in his. “I think church then dinner with you sounds just lovely.”

  ****

  “Sit with me.” Patrick said as they approached a trio of porch swings along the riverfront. “It’s not too cold, is it?”

  “No, not at all.” Daylin settled into the seat and smoothed her skirt, crossing her legs and swinging one leather boot-clad foot over the other. “We’re on the downhill slide of January and temperatures are holding steady in the sixties, even with the sun so low in the sky. Who would have thought?”

  “Don’t let the lamb fool you. Once the sun dips below the horizon a chill will set in.” He slipped into the swing beside her, gave it a gentle push. “But, for now…”

  “Are the winters hard on Aubree?” The breeze lifted Daylin’s hair as fingers of sunlight turned strands to burnished copper.

  “It depends on what kind of viruses are floating around at the time. She’s more susceptible to them than the average kid, and some are downright nasty.”

  “Is that why she’d homeschooled now…because of an illness?”

  “Yes. She was pretty sick last month. We nearly missed Christmas. But she’s fine now—as fine as possible. The homeschooling is a temporary thing. If all goes well, she’ll be back in the classroom before we run the marathon.”

  “Half-marathon—and I’ll most likely walk it.”

  “Half-marathon, then, but I’m betting you’ll run it. You did great yesterday at the group run. You’re making great strides—no pun intended.”