But the phone continued to ring. An anxious, broken mist welled in his eyes. “Answer!” he cried aloud. Was she just lying there beside it, listening and refusing to pick it up? Was she that determined to lay their feelings to rest?
He counted out three more rings and told himself that he would get dressed, hightail it to her house, and break in again if he had to, if she didn’t answer in the next thirty seconds. . . .
Suddenly the ringing stopped, and he heard her presence on the other end, though she didn’t speak.
“Julie,” he said, bending over suddenly as if she would hang up if he stood erect. “Julie, don’t hang up. Please.”
She didn’t hang up, but she said nothing, and he found himself groping for the right words. It was several moments before he came up with anything. Rubbing his moist eyes, he sat on the edge of his bed and closed them. “Julie, I wish I’d never seen that sweepstakes ticket. I wish I could just turn back time to the night in the restaurant when you ate my soup and brightened my night. The best thing about winning that money was that I got to know you in the bargain. And now that’s the only important thing.”
The sound of her muffled sob broke his heart, and he tried to steady his voice. “Julie, you’ve got to trust me. You’ve got to trust yourself.”
“But I can’t do that,” she rasped, “because my judgment always stinks.”
Blake opened his mouth to speak, but before the argument could leave his tight throat, Julie had hung up again.
Defeated, he threw down the phone and slumped over it, shoving a splayed hand through his wet hair. There must be something he could do, he thought miserably. There must be some way to prove his love for her.
Tell me what to do, Lord. Show me how to fix this.
But nothing came to mind. He paced his house—back and forth, back and forth—running scenarios through his mind, alternately begging God for help, then concocting schemes of his own. But he couldn’t see any good outcome from any of them.
I need closure, Julie thought as she held the box of chocolates in her lap and navigated her way to his house. She needed to undo the tender memories that seemed to hold her captive.
She reached his house in the secondhand car she had recently bought and pulled quietly up to the curb. She got out in the rain, clutching the box to her heart, and opened the gate on his fence. Then she stole up to his front porch and laid the box of chocolates down in front of the door.
She straightened up and looked at the door, knowing he was in there, just on the other side. All she had to do was knock, and this misery could end. But she would never know if it was her or the money. She would always wonder.
She turned and hurried down the steps and back across his wet lawn. As she got into her car to drive away, she wished she’d never won the sweepstakes. How different might things be if they’d had a losing number? Would he have sold that coffee table, come to pay off his IOU, and started a relationship without the complications of millions of dollars?
With all her heart, she suddenly began to hate the millions of dollars she had won. None of it was worth the loss of a relationship that could have been so good. The money had become a master over her, even though she would have vowed she was above that.
“No one can serve two masters.”
She began to weep as she drove home, realizing that in hoarding her money and protecting it from Blake, she had forgotten about her relationship with God. The money had even ruined that.
“Forgive me, Lord,” she said aloud. “Please forgive me, and show me what I need to do.”
After an hour or so of pacing and thinking, Blake knew there was only one thing to do. He had to go to Julie’s house, see her face-to-face again, declare his love for her, and not leave until she believed him.
He grabbed his keys and rushed to the front door, threw it open . . . and almost stepped on the box of chocolates. Frowning, he stooped down and picked it up. He looked around for some sign of Julie, but she was gone.
Was this really the end? Was it her way of saying that she wished she’d never met him?
Suddenly sapped of his energy, he went back in and sat at his table. He opened the box, remembering the sweepstakes card that had been inside it. The card that had changed his life.
Things had been so simple just before that. He had given her the box, and she had gotten tears in her eyes. He had realized that God was in this. He hadn’t gone there by chance, hadn’t stumbled on this special woman by accident.
And if God had led him to her, wouldn’t God help him find a way to get past the money and win her back?
An idea came to mind, perking him up instantly. He tore through his drawer for a business card he’d kept, then dialed the number of the public relations director at ABC in New York. He asked for her extension, then waited for her to answer.
“Jeanine Stegall.”
“Mrs. Stegall,” he said in a rush, “this is Blake Adcock. The one who won ten million dollars a few weeks ago?”
“Yes, Mr. Adcock. How are you?”
“Well, not so good,” he said, heart pounding as if the end of his dark tunnel was in sight . . . but still just out of reach. “But I think you can help me. You see, I’d like to give the money back. At least, the part I haven’t already been paid. Is there some way I can just cancel the rest of those payments and throw my money back into the jackpot for next year’s Valentine’s drawing?”
Mrs. Stegall was apparently stunned. “Mr. Adcock, have you been drinking?”
“No. I’m stone-cold sober. Scout’s honor.”
Mrs. Stegall cleared her throat. “Well, this is highly irregular.”
“But can it be done?”
“Absolutely not. We gave you that money. The amount of paperwork was astronomical. The IRS is involved, and several banks and governmental agencies. We can’t undo it!”
“But I don’t want it!” He messed up his hair, trying to find the words to explain it to her. “See, it’s kind of a God thing. I mean, I don’t think I’m the guy God meant to have all this. Maybe he just gave it to me to hold for a while, maybe to teach me something. I’ve learned, okay? I can’t deal with this money.”
“Then I suggest you give it to a charity of some sort, Mr. Adcock.”
“I’d do that, Mrs. Stegall, except how do you know which ones are legitimate? I mean, maybe God actually had me holding it for somebody else, you know? Like, somebody who really needs it, somebody who can do something with it that would help Christ’s Kingdom and meet people at the point of their need. . . .” Even as he spoke, it became clearer to him.
“I wouldn’t know about that, Mr. Adcock.”
“Well, I just mean that there’s got to be a person or group or foundation or something that could do a lot more with this money than I could. If I could figure out who that is . . .”
“That’s your responsibility, Mr. Adcock. I just dispense the winnings. I can’t tell you how to spend them.”
He groaned with frustration. “Well, thank you very much for your help! You’re all friendly and gushing when you’re giving me money, but the minute I try to give it back, it’s all business!”
“Mr. Adcock, do you hear yourself? This really isn’t making a lot of sense.”
“Oh, just forget it.” He clicked the phone off and threw it across the room. It hit the back of the couch, then bounced to the floor. He stood there a moment staring at it, then snatched it back up. It still worked, so he hit Paul on speed-dial.
“Hello?”
“Paul?” Blake’s voice cracked as turmoil wobbled in his voice. “I need somebody to talk to, buddy. Can you spare a couple of hours?”
“Sure, Blake,” his friend said. “I’ll be right over.”
JULIE NEVER WENT to sleep that night, so when she rose the next morning, she looked in the mirror and moaned at what stared back at her. She looked like a phantom, was nauseated from crying, and her head ached as if she’d been banging it into a wall. For a while, she blamed Blake. But it w
asn’t his fault, she realized finally. It was the money.
The stupid money that she’d never even wanted in the first place. The money that had brought the two of them together and had ultimately torn them apart.
Two masters.
“I don’t want to serve money,” she told the Lord. “I want to serve you. I trust your will so much more than my own. If I didn’t have to keep wondering if the money was the motive . . .”
If she could just get rid of this money, things would be clearer. It wasn’t making her happy. Maybe it could make someone else happy, instead.
The Spring Street Hospice Center.
Not so long ago, she’d told Blake that she was going to donate a big chunk of money to them. They needed it. Their work was crucial. They could share the Good News of Christ and give peace and even joy to terminal patients. If she gave them the money, they’d never have to raise funds again, never have to wonder if they’d still exist from month to month.
Joy like Julie hadn’t felt in weeks sprang up inside her, and she knew this was God’s idea, not hers. Hope grew within her as the day rolled on, and she called her lawyer to draw up the necessary documents to have her money donated to the hospice. All she kept for herself was the seed money she needed to keep her business going.
And as the finality of what she was doing became clear to her, she felt as if the weight of ten million dollars had just been lifted from her shoulders.
Paul did everything in his power to talk Blake out of what he was about to do. “Aw, don’t do it, buddy,” he pleaded as they found the building with the sign that said Spring Street Hospice Center.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Blake said with more verve in his voice than he’d had in weeks.
“Give me one good reason why you should,” Paul returned.
“Because,” Blake said, “you wouldn’t take it all.”
“I let you give me only what I needed, but I think this is crazy. Give me another reason.”
“Okay. Because they need it. They led Julie’s mom to Christ before she died. Think of all the people they could help. They meet people’s physical needs so people will trust them with their spiritual ones. Isn’t that what we’ve always said we’d be about in our own work?”
“Blake, for heaven’s sake, there are other ways to help them.”
“For heaven’s sake is precisely why I’m doing this.”
They parked the car, then sat and let it idle for a moment.
“You’re doing this for Julie,” Paul accused. “But what if you make this grand, sacrificial gesture and you still don’t get her back?”
Blake set his teeth and swallowed at the blunt question. He’d given that a lot of thought. “Paul, I’m doing this because the money has made me lose the only things that matter to me. Julie was right. I don’t know how to handle it, any more than I knew how to handle her. It caused me too much pain.”
Paul set his elbow on the window and rubbed his face with his hand. “But, Blake, if you give it away, you won’t ever be able to get it back.”
“I don’t ever want it back,” Blake said. “All this money has taken away my pioneer spirit. That grit that made me shuck my job and try designing those cars. When I had the money, all I wanted to do was sit back and let somebody else do the thinking for me. And that’s not the way I want my life to be. Struggling is part of the challenge. It’s also part of the reward.”
Paul moaned and looked fully at his best friend. “Are you sure, man?”
“I’m sure,” Blake said. “Are you with me or not? You can wait in the car, you know.”
Paul opened the door and wrestled his chair out of the backseat. “How often does a guy get to watch his best friend give away a fortune?”
Blake only laughed as he got out of the car to set his life back on the right track.
Julie wore her biggest smile since she’d won the sweepstakes as she signed the last of the documents that turned over her winnings to the Spring Street Hospice Center. It had taken a full day to take care of the tedious business. She drove back to her house, and as she pulled into the driveway, she saw a familiar car waiting. She looked up to her porch, and there was Blake sitting on her steps.
Her heart began to hammer. What would he think when he learned what she had done? Would she regret doing it if he reacted badly?
She got out of her car and slowly walked toward him. When he got to his feet, she saw that he held the box of chocolates in his hands.
They faltered for a moment, absorbing the sight of each other with remorseful eyes.
“Blake, what are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to you,” he said carefully. “Can we go inside?”
She nodded and unlocked her door, and he followed her in.
Just get it over with, Julie thought. Either he wanted her, or he didn’t. “I need to talk to you too,” she said.
Blake’s defense barriers sprang up at her cool voice, and that vulnerability in his eyes seemed to vanish. Instead, he looked guarded. She sat down and gestured for him to follow, but he remained standing. One hand slid into his pocket, and the other clutched the heart-shaped box.
“You first,” he said.
Julie gulped back her tension. “You were right,” she said, her raspy words tumbling out too quickly. “About my changing because of the money. So I figured there was only one thing to do.”
He waited, his body tense as a bowstring, as she struggled for the words.
“I can’t help wondering if you want me for my money. So I got rid of it. I’m a little better off than broke right now, but I have no hope of getting my ten million back. It’s gone. Take me or leave me.” Tears filled her eyes as she mumbled the words, for the astonished look on Blake’s face told her that he would leave her.
But instead of watching him walk away, she watched the guarded expression fall from his eyes as a smile slowly stole across his face. Before Julie knew what was happening, he had covered his face with both hands and was laughing hysterically.
“What’s so funny?” she bit out.
Blake stopped laughing and reached for her hand. He pulled her up and stepped close to her, still laughing. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . . It’s just that . . . so funny.”
Julie jerked her arm free. “It is not funny!”
“Yes, it is. Don’t you see?”
Julie planted her fists on her hips. “No, I don’t see! Why don’t you tell me?”
“You gave up the money so you could have a fighting chance with me!”
Fury pumped through her veins. “I did not. I gave it up because I couldn’t serve two masters. Because the Lord showed me that I had changed. That the money was making me miserable. Other people needed it more than I did. . . .”
“That’s priceless!” Blake shouted, doubling over again. He banged his fist on the table as he shouted with laughter. “I can’t stand it!”
Julie took a deep breath and wondered if she should call someone, if the pressure of the money had finally made him snap.
He wiped his moist eyes and tried to speak. “See . . . mine’s gone too.”
“Of course it is, Blake. That’s why I thought you wanted my money.”
“No!” His gales of laughter almost blew her over. “You don’t understand. I didn’t spend it all. I invested some in Paul’s business and some in mine.” He sniffed and leaned back against the table as if the laughter had taken too much from him. “And the rest . . .”
A deep frown wrinkled her forehead. “You spent the rest, didn’t you? Even what they haven’t paid out yet.”
“It’s not where you think.” He took both of her hands in his and brought one to his lips. He kissed it, then touched her face, so gently that it brought tears to her eyes.
She gulped back her emotion. “Then we’re both broke.”
“Right,” he said and started laughing again. “And if you thought I’d turn and run because I couldn’t get yours, you’re wrong. I’ve nev
er been so happy to hear anything in my life. Now I can prove to you that I wasn’t after your fortune. Now I have a chance . . .”
Her face changed. “Then you still want me? You still . . .”
“I still love you,” he whispered, the mirth still dancing in his eyes. “But you may not want me.”
“Of course I want you! I’ve always wanted you. I’ve been miserable thinking about all the trouble you were getting into with all that money.”
Blake began to laugh again. “Well, you were right. See, I gave mine away too. Even what I haven’t gotten yet.”
“What?” She pictured him handing thousand-dollar bills to everyone he saw, until there were no more left. “Blake! Who on earth did you give it to?”
“The Spring Street Hospice Center,” he said. “Your story about your mother coming to Christ there kept harping on my mind. I thought it was the best use of my money.”
Julie stepped back, awestruck. “The hospice center? You gave it to the hospice center?”
“Have you seen their building lately?” he asked. “They desperately need a bigger place, and they need all kinds of equipment. They need more staff members, more beds—”
Julie flung her arms around Blake’s neck, and he stopped midsentence and lifted her from the floor, holding her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go again. “Oh, Blake,” she whispered against his ear. “You are the man I hoped you would be. I love you. I think I loved you from the beginning, that first night when you talked about Christ with me, and I knew that you were the kind of man I’d prayed for, but the money muddied the water and I was so afraid . . .”
He breathed out a long sigh of relief, and she felt a tear run between their faces. She wasn’t sure if it was his or hers.
He set her carefully down, then wiped her face and gazed at her with wet eyes of his own. Then he handed her the heart-shaped box, the one that had started all this trouble. “I wanted you to have this,” he said. “Open it.”
She pulled the top off, as she had done just weeks ago, and saw all the uneaten pieces of chocolate in their little brown cups. But pressed down into the center one was something that hadn’t been there before. It was the sweepstakes ticket that he had left her that first night, the one the television station had laminated and allowed them to keep as a souvenir, with the fifteen-dollar IOU and the note that had made her so angry.
Chance of Loving You Page 10
