Almost Like Being in Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  Kade.

  Her longing for Kade was like the faint sound of wind chimes on a breeze—turning her heart toward something that beckoned her closer, but that she couldn’t grasp.

  Caron slipped down into the chair. “It’s so odd, Margo. I left here knowing there was no chance for Kade and me to ever be together. I thought I would go home and that Alex and I would get married, not end our relationship. I can’t deny that I’ve thought about Kade, even though I’ve tried not to think of him. But I have to figure out who I am . . . what God expects of me. That’s new for me . . . to ask God what he wants from me.”

  “And does he ever mention Kade?”

  Caron couldn’t help but laugh. “You are so persistent.”

  “Well?”

  “I miss him. I regret the choice I made two years ago, trying to make my father happy. I was so wrong.”

  “Then do something about it.”

  “I have been doing something about it. I’ve been praying. Asking God what I should do.”

  “I’m telling you what you need to do.” Margo leaned forward. “You have to make the first move.”

  “Margo—”

  “You still love him, right?”

  “I . . . might . . . Margo, don’t rush me.”

  “Then prove it. Go after him. Put it all on the line for love.”

  “Now you sound like some sort of country song—”

  “You know what I’m saying. You’re the woman with the destination wedding. If you want a chance with Kade Webster again, risk it all.”

  “What? I’m supposed to ask the man to dance tomorrow and then propose?”

  “That’s one idea—”

  “Oh, right. And what if I risk it all and he doesn’t want me?”

  “Then you’re right back here, trying to figure out what to do with your life. But at least you made your own choice. You went after what you wanted. You didn’t worry about your father’s approval—or anyone else’s.”

  Is that what God wanted of her? Not to worry about her father’s approval—or anyone else’s? To love Kade enough to admit to him that she still loved him . . . wanted a future with him . . . even if all she ended up with was a rejection?

  What would she do tomorrow when she saw Kade again? Would he ignore her? Would she find a way to talk with him, to let him know how much she’d missed him? Ask him if there was any chance he still loved her?

  Given the chance—and the slightest hint that he’d missed her—she wouldn’t hesitate to ask him to dance with her. But anything else? Maybe . . . if she caught the bouquet.

  • • •

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Mitch’s voice pierced the stillness of the office building, his form backlit by the hall light.

  “Hey.” Kade kept one hand on the computer keyboard, offering his friend a wave with the other.

  “You didn’t go to the wedding, did you?” Mitch advanced into the office, his gait so normal most people wouldn’t have suspected he wore prostheses.

  “Yeah. I got tied up with some things here. Lost track of time.”

  “Lacey said not to believe you if you said you lost track of time and missed the wedding. She said if you were here that you were avoiding Caron Hollister.”

  “Really?” Kade swiveled his chair to face forward. “Well, you can tell your fiancée that she was wrong. Besides, I’m Margo and Ronny’s Realtor—an acquaintance, really.”

  “Oh, I think my fiancée is one hundred percent right. But a guy covers for his best friend.” Mitch set a plate covered with plastic wrap on the desk. “And he brings him something to eat, too. Lacey made chicken salad.”

  “Thanks.”

  “To be honest, that was Lacey’s idea, too.”

  “Then you can tell her I said thank you.”

  “So you’re just going to let Caron go back to Florida?”

  Kade knew Mitch wouldn’t just drop off the chicken salad and then leave him be. They’d always spoken their minds with one another. “Yep. Didja bring me a fork, too?”

  “It’s in there.” Mitch settled into a chair, linking his hands in front of himself. “I expected better of you, Kade.”

  Kade unwrapped the paper plate, tossing the plastic wrap into the trash can beneath his desk. “Expected better of me? Look, the woman chose her father over me not once, but twice. Went back to her boyfriend. And you think I should go after her? How stupid do I look?”

  “From where I’m sitting, pretty stupid.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome. You would say the same thing to me.” Mitch shifted his weight. “Feeling sorry for yourself is about the stupidest waste of time—”

  “I am not feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Oh no? Then why aren’t you going after Caron Hollister? You love her, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I love her. Even after she walked away from me, I never stopped loving her.” He ignored the food sitting in front of him. “But I know when I’m not wanted—”

  “Do you hear yourself? Not wanted. You’ve worn that label ever since I’ve met you like some sort of medal of honor. Had it long before Caron Hollister came along. The thing’s pinned straight to your chest, man, and even if Caron and you were to ever get together, it would affect your relationship.”

  “Caron and I are not going to—”

  “Fine. Let’s leave Caron out of this.” Mitch gripped the arms of the chair. “If anyone knows what self-pity does to a guy, it’s me. People say unforgiveness is like drinking poison—that the only one you’re hurting is yourself. Well, self-pity is like burying yourself alive. Every poor-me thought is like a shovelful of dirt on your grave—the grave you’re digging for yourself. You’re dying this slow death because instead of seeing everything—everyone—you do have, you’re reckoning what you don’t have.”

  “I’m fine, Mitch.” He took a bite of chicken salad, only to have it lodge in his throat. Why hadn’t his friend brought him something to drink?

  Mitch continued as if Kade hadn’t spoken. “When I lost my legs . . . there were days I wished you’d left me to die.”

  His friend’s admission caused sour bile to rise up the back of Kade’s throat. “No, Mitch—”

  “Yes. If I couldn’t have my life back—my life before the firefight—I didn’t want it. Every negative thought was a lump of dirt thrown in my face. Suffocating me. I tried to shove you away. Lacey. My family.”

  “I wasn’t going to desert you.”

  “Exactly. You wouldn’t let me quit. And Lacey . . . she came back and told me she didn’t care if I had two legs or four legs . . . or no legs. She loved me. And then we realized we couldn’t do it on our own. It wasn’t just about our relationship being strong enough for whatever the future holds. Our faith has to be strong enough, too.”

  “You don’t talk about God much.”

  “Never have. God accepts I’m kinda quiet about my faith, but it’s there. Lacey told me what happened to me wasn’t because God lost sight of me that day.” His friend’s voice broke. “Look, I know you’ve lost a lot of people in your life. Your dad . . . that family you were close to growing up . . . even Russell Hollister . . .”

  Kade refused to react as his friend counted up his losses. “It happens—”

  “Yeah, it happens to all of us. But don’t lose sight of what you still have—who you still have in your life. You helped me learn that truth, now I’m returning the favor.”

  How could Kade make Mitch understand how he saw him? “You’re my hero—”

  “I’m no hero. I’m a guy, just like you. Trying to make sense of life. Trying. If that makes me a hero, then you’re one, too.”

  “Life’s not making a whole lot of sense right now, Mitch.”

  “Here’s a question for you, then. Does life make more sense with or without Caron Hollister? Start there. Everything else will fall into place.”

  “Simple as that, huh?”

  Mitch picked up the
plastic fork and motioned for Kade to send the plate his way. “I didn’t say it would be simple. I just said it’s where you start.”

  FORTY

  Alex had kept up his side of the bargain not to tell his parents about their breakup.

  At least Caron assumed he hadn’t told them. She hadn’t spoken to him in days, allowing Alex the space he requested.

  That’s what friends were for.

  She’d survived Margo’s wedding and then boarded the plane back to Florida without a glimpse of Kade. There was no reason not to tell her parents that she and Alex weren’t getting married.

  She couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable. And she couldn’t sit through another Sunday meal with their families, trying to explain Alex’s absence.

  Her text to Alex was brief: Going to talk to my parents. Pray, please.

  His response arrived just as she pulled up to her parents’ driveway: Praying for you, friend.

  Friends.

  Yes, that’s what she and Alex were, and there was no reason to be ashamed of it. And there was also no reason to pretend their friendship was enough of a reason to get married.

  As she expected, her parents were finishing up a leisurely Saturday breakfast. She followed the sound of their voices, along with the aroma of fresh-cooked bacon and toasted bread, to the dining room.

  “Good morning.”

  “Caron, what a surprise!” Her mother rose and gave her a hug. “Have you had breakfast? I can fix you something.”

  “I had some yogurt and fruit before I came over. But some iced tea would be nice.”

  As her mother exited to the kitchen, her father acknowledged her with a nod, reaching for his newspaper. Now that she was here, was he going to retreat behind the headlines?

  “Dad, if you don’t mind, I wanted to talk with you and Mom. That’s why I stopped by.”

  “Hmm.” Her father refolded the paper.

  She would take that as a yes.

  Her mother returned carrying a frosted glass of iced tea. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Caron wrapped her hands around the cold glass, as if anchoring herself to something that could hold her steady in an approaching storm.

  “How are you doing?” Her mother took her place at the table again.

  “Fine—” Caron forced herself to stay focused. She wasn’t here for casual conversation. “To be honest, I need to tell you and Dad something about Alex and me.”

  Now she had both her mother and father’s full attention.

  “We broke up.”

  “What?” Her mother’s fork clattered against her plate. “When did this happen?”

  “Why would you break up with Alex Madison?” Her father’s question tangled with her mother’s.

  Caron chose to answer her mother’s question, knowing her father would never truly understand the reasons why she and Alex weren’t getting married. “We broke up several weeks ago. I asked that we wait to talk with you and with his parents until I had a little time to recover from being away for a month—and to get settled working for Dad again.”

  Her father shot another question at her. “And why did you walk away from a future with Alex Madison?”

  Why did her father assume she was the one to end the relationship?

  “I didn’t walk away from him. Alex and I made a mutual decision. To be honest, he came to me and told me that he wasn’t ready to get married—that he needs to handle some family issues on his own.”

  “Family issues.” Her father waved the words away. “We all know what he’s talking about. His mother’s drinking shouldn’t stop you two from getting married—”

  “Well, it does—that, among other things.” Caron eased her grip on the glass of iced tea. No need to break anything . . . well, anything else. The thought almost made her laugh. “As I said, Alex and I made a mutual decision that we are friends. And we are good enough friends to know we do not want to marry each other.”

  “Oh, now you’re talking nonsense, Caron Amelia.” Her father reached for his newspaper again.

  “No, she’s not, Russell.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I disagreed with you—respectfully.” Her mother patted her father’s hand. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. You know I still love you even when we disagree. Caron and Alex made a decision. What are we going to do, force them to get married?”

  “Somebody needs to talk some sense into our daughter.”

  “Caron is an adult. She can make her own decision about who she wants to marry. You and I did.”

  “She just wasted two years with him—”

  Caron needed to regain control of the conversation before it deteriorated into an argument between her parents. “And that’s no reason to marry Alex, either. You don’t marry someone just because you dated for a certain amount of time.”

  “So you came here this morning to tell your mother and me that you and Alex have made up your minds not to get married—no matter what we think about your decision.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you—” Caron caught herself before she uttered the word again. She was walking through terrain littered with invisible land mines.

  Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Caron, of course we’re not disappointed in you.”

  Her father stood, picked up the paper, and left the room.

  “That went about as well as I expected.” Caron’s first sip of her tea eased the tightness in her throat just a little.

  “Your father will come around. You have to admit this is a bit of a surprise. And he wants you to be happy—”

  “And he has very strong opinions on what my happiness should look like.” Caron forced a laugh. “I know my choices lately haven’t met with his approval.”

  “He still loves you.”

  “I know he does.” But even to her ears, the words sounded mechanical. Rote. “If you’ll excuse me, Mom, there’s one other thing I need to talk to Dad about.”

  As expected, her father had retreated to his office, hidden behind the pages of the morning paper.

  “Dad—” Caron waited for a response. “Dad, there’s something else I needed to tell you. It’s work-related.”

  “Caron, it’s Saturday. I’m trying to relax. Can’t this wait until the Monday-morning staff meeting?”

  “No, I’m afraid it can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I won’t be at the meeting.”

  Her father set aside the newspaper. Then he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All Realtors are expected to be at the meeting, Caron. No exceptions.”

  “I spoke with Nancy on Friday and . . . gave her my resignation.”

  “You spoke with Nancy—”

  “I told her that I was going to quit. I asked her advice about whether I should wait until Monday.” Caron twisted her hands together. “She said no, that speaking to her was sufficient, and since I’d only been there a few weeks, there was no need to go through the usual two weeks’ notice.”

  “What gives Nancy Miller the right—”

  “She’s your partner, Dad.”

  Her father gripped the arms of his chair, an odd smile twisting his lips. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “No, actually I didn’t.” Caron hid her hands behind her back. “I hope Hollister Realty Group succeeds in ways you never imagined. But it’s best that I’m not a part of it.”

  “If this is about the home staging suggestion—”

  “This is about me making my own decision about where I want to work. And about realizing that my being your employee isn’t a good idea.”

  “And that’s that?”

  “Yes. Please don’t take this out on Nancy. She’s a tremendous asset. You made a smart business move when you made her your partner.”

  “I’ll handle Nancy as I think is best.”

  “Of course. It was just a request—daughter to father.”

&nbs
p; Her father reached for the newspaper again. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Before she’d even made it to the door, her father had disappeared behind the paper again.

  • • •

  It was an odd sort of summer when her first day at the beach didn’t happen until August.

  Caron’s soft laugh broke the stillness of the morning, along with the faint beat of her footsteps along the boardwalk leading through the sand dunes to Henderson State Beach.

  An odd sort of summer.

  That would be one way to sum up the last couple of months.

  She shifted her canvas beach bag on her shoulder, inhaling the Gulf breeze. At eight o’clock in the morning, she was one of the few early arrivers to the beach. She’d stake out a spot along the sugar-white sands. And then she’d walk.

  Maybe the time spent allowing the music of the waves to set the rhythm of her heart would help her to pray. To hear God’s voice. She’d walk in one direction until she decided to turn around and head back, and then she’d repeat the process. She could stay at the beach all day if she wanted to. And if her life wasn’t any clearer by the end of today, she could always come back tomorrow and walk and talk with God some more.

  She wasn’t wasting time. She was making time. For herself. For God.

  Talk to God. Listen. Wait.

  FORTY-ONE

  Was it too soon?

  Alex slowed the car as Jessica’s house came into view, one hand gripping the steering wheel, one hand downshifting. Was she even home? And if she did answer the door, would he be able to say anything besides “I hope you like sausage and pepperoni”?

  The aroma of fresh-baked pizza filled his car—yeasty dough, tomato sauce, baked meats and cheese—but he’d refrained from snitching a piece on his way over even though he’d ordered a second basic cheese pizza as a backup. If Jessica wasn’t home—or if she refused to talk with him—he’d be sitting in his apartment eating pizza for the next few days.

  Okay, God, I’m here. If it’s your will, at least give me a chance to say what I want to say.

  Alex balanced the pizzas with one hand, heat radiating through the cardboard boxes, and rapped on Jessica’s front door, even as he resisted the urge to turn around and walk away. But if the first month of counseling had taught him nothing else, it was to begin to speak up for himself. Say what he wanted to say, and accept he had no control over the outcome. He’d already told his parents that he and Caron had broken up.