Everlasting Love

by Linda Ford

  His phone buzzed.

  She withdrew.

  He pulled her back, ignoring the sound but whoever it was didn't hang up. The sound went on and on.

  He grabbed the phone from his pocket, checked the display. Mike. "I better get this."

  She nodded and turned away.

  He wanted to reach for her, pull her back, explain it was only a pause. Instead, he took the call. "Hey, Mike. What's up?"

  "Man, where are you? Doesn't matter. I can't take any more."

  Steele tensed at the desperate sound in Mike's voice. "What are you talking about?"

  "Today is my wedding anniversary."

  Steele pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He'd forgotten. He'd been so busy letting Holly and her romantic notions affect his thinking he'd forgotten his own brother. This romance stuff was a landmine to a man's reason.

  Holly moved away, keeping her back to Steele so he wouldn't see her frustration and disappointment. Don't be silly, Holly. The evening had exceeded expectations. Only this wasn't about the evening. This was about Steele and her. He'd kissed her. And she'd welcomed it. Enjoyed it even. Something had shifted between them. She couldn't say when it had occurred, or what it meant, only that it felt both fragile and strong at the same time.

  She wandered past the bare tables. The banquet had gone well. Steele had been attentive and charming. She touched the orchid on her wrist. Flowers even. The man was changing. Did he realize it? She'd hoped they'd have some private time to enjoy the aftereffects of the banquet, the glow of success, and talk about what was happening between them. Would it end now that they had no compelling reason to be together? She hoped not. She had grown to be genuinely fond of him. She snorted. Fond? What kind of word was that? Not the sort to describe the fledgling, demanding emotions within her chest.

  She realized Steele had ended his conversation and headed toward her. She trailed her finger across a nametag left behind on the table as she waited and wondered if he would pick up where they'd left off.

  "Sorry about that. It was Mike. My brother."

  She nodded still not able to face him.

  "I forgot today would have been his anniversary."

  She heard something in his voice. Something she'd never heard before except for hints when she mentioned siblings. She turned, saw the harsh lines around his eyes. "I take it Mike was married."

  "For a few years. And now divorced. That woman practically destroyed him. She might succeed yet." As he talked he gathered her things and handed them to her. "He's talking real stupid. I have to find him and calm him down."

  She'd never heard so much emotion in his voice nor seen so much pain in his eyes. "I'm going with you." She knew he'd argue. Knew he didn't want anyone to see him vulnerable. "I'll keep you company on the drive."

  He hesitated then headed for the door. "I don't expect I'll have time to entertain you."

  She ignored his blunt words, knew he was worried about his brother, felt grateful he hadn't dismissed her, hadn't insisted on taking her home.

  They headed out of town and were soon on the highway. "I let music and flowers make me forget what really matters. If something happens to Mike—"

  They arrived at a construction site, piles of dirt pushed up into hills. They bounced along a rugged trail. Steele seemed to know where he was going. They arrived at some trailers. Steele shone his headlights at one, jumped out and raced to the door. He wrenched it open and hit the inside lights. "Mike," he roared. He disappeared inside, returned in a few minutes and bolted back to the SUV. "He's been living on the site but he isn't in there."

  He was about to jerk the vehicle into gear when he stopped. "Do you hear that?"

  Holly heard nothing but the SUV's engine.

  Steele cut the motor and stepped out. "He's over there." He jumped back under the wheel and spun away with no regard for the rough ground.

  The sound he'd heard soon grew audible to Holly. A deep throated roar of a big machine. Steele pulled to a halt beside a huge yellow Cat. "Stay here," he murmured.

  Like she had a choice. No way would she go out and wander around in this dark moonscape. But before she could answer, he was gone.

  She hunkered down to wait. Sometime later, the roar of the big motor ended. She waited but still Steele did not return. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  "Holly, wake up."

  For a moment she thought she must be dreaming. Why else would she hear Steele's voice calling her from sleep? Then she felt the seat belt digging into her neck, the tingle in her legs from being crammed against the door, Steele's hand heavy on her shoulder as he shook her awake.

  She sat there a moment, hesitant to drag herself back to reality.

  "Holly?"

  She could feel his breath on her cheek. "I'm awake." His hands were firm on her shoulders, a patch of warmth against her chilled body. She shivered. "I'm cold."

  He pulled off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her.

  Still half asleep, she sighed. "Warm. Smells like you. Good."

  He chuckled. "Holly, are you really awake?"

  She yawned. "Getting there." She yawned again. "Is Mike okay?"

  "Yeah, I guess so but I don't think he should be alone right now. Can you drive the SUV and follow us?"

  "Anywhere you want." Oh my. She sounded like she meant the words as part of wedding vows or something.

  "Just to my parents' house." His voice rang with amusement, which filled her with a delicious sensation of enjoyment.

  "Are you sure you're awake?" he asked. "Maybe you better get out and walk around for a minute."

  She stepped outside, the cool air jolting her brain closer to alert. But she didn't intend to take one more step than required on the rough ground and clutching the Jeep edged around to the driver's side.

  Steele held the door open, touched the back of her neck as she climbed in, then leaned in the window to speak to her. "I really appreciate this."

  She nodded and started the motor. He strode over to a half-ton truck. As he drove away, she followed, gritting her teeth against the bouncing of the vehicle on the rough ground.

  They reached a gravel road, much less rough and she settled back. Realizing the jacket still hung around her shoulders, Holly breathed in his masculine scent. She wondered if he used an aftershave or was the hint of ocean breezes and pine trees uniquely his?

  He pulled to a halt in front of a house with wide cement steps. She stopped behind him. He hurried around to open the passenger door and wave his brother out. She got her first glimpse of Mike. He was as tall as Steele and as muscular. In the lights from the jeep she saw he had the same angular facial structure. Lights came on inside the house then the yard flooded with light. The door jerked open and a man and woman hurried out. Steele's parents. His father looked like a younger version of Henry and his mother—she tried to guess what the woman would look like not pulled suddenly from her sleep. She wore pajamas. Seemed rather squarish built, her hair as short as her husband's. In the harsh lights she seemed almost masculine. Holly wondered if it was a true evaluation or her own prejudice at the way Steele described his mother as practical and businesslike.

  Steele spoke briefly to them before they went to Mike and on either side of him, led him toward the house. Steele hurried back to the SUV.

  She climbed out to switch sides, so he could take the wheel. "Do you want to stay? Because if you do, I could sleep in the SUV or go back to Missoula and return for you in the morning."

  "He'll be all right now. But thank you for the offer." He touched her cheek. "You've been very patient. Thank you."

  His fingers lingered, making it hard for her to think. "What are friends for?"

  "Friends? I guess that's progress from being pretty much on the opposite side of things." He stepped aside so she could hurry around to the other door.

  She welcomed the cool air on her face and hoped it would clear her brain. Friends? Was that what she wanted? She shook her head, sucked in a
deep breath at the longing that filled her. She had to be suffering from sleep deprivation. Please, God, help me be sensible. She smirked at her choice of words. She, the confirmed romantic, praying for sense—my how things have changed.

  She climbed in beside Steele and they headed back to the city.

  "Mike and I had a long talk." Steele spoke slowly as if sorting out his thoughts. "He's a little turned off by love and marriage and all that kind of stuff. I guess we were all raised to think it was foolish. Mom has no use for anything like flowers and what she calls romantic nonsense. You remember the little boy I told you about?"

  "The one that is you?"

  "Yeah. Me. I remember why I was crying."

  She sensed he'd remembered something profoundly significant and hardly dared breathe. She wanted to say something supportive but feared to drive him back into denial. Instead, she prayed for wisdom to know when to speak and when to listen, and for Steele—healing for this distant pain.

  "It's all about pink flowers which probably doesn't surprise you."

  Actually it did but all she said was, "Tell me about the pink flowers."

  They came to the first traffic light. He turned right into an empty parking lot and pulled to a stop. He reached out and took her hand.

  "Mom and Dad often took us along to their work sites. We played while they worked. I remember how I liked this new place. There were a few old buildings we weren't allowed to go in, but there were lots of other places to explore. We spent hours of fun there. I found an old garden. I remember the grass had grown into the plants. I had to push aside the tall blades to see the flowers that seemed to me to be hiding as if they had a secret. There was a whole row of pink flowers. I have no idea what they were. I just knew they were beautiful and I thought special. I decided to pick them. I thought I'd give them to Mom and she'd like them. But she rode her Cat toward me, waved me away and plowed them all down. I tried to stop her. When she saw me waving, she stopped long enough to tell me to stay back. I sat at the edge of the field and cried."

  He stared straight ahead. His voice grew hoarse. His hand tightened.

  She welcomed the way it made her fingers press together. It hurt ever so slightly. Made her feel she shared his pain. And she continued to pray that God would lead him through this. She knew the memory carried far more pain than he would likely admit. She guessed he'd never shared this before. Perhaps never allowed himself to remember it. She felt as privileged as if he had picked all those pink flowers and brought them to her. She didn't dare move for fear of making him pull back into himself and yet her arms ached to comfort the little boy Steele had been, but would the child—clothed in the body of a man taught to be manly—know how to accept such an gesture?

  A car passed on the street, the sound muted and lonely. The headlights sliced across the tree at the edge of the parking lot. The leaves, grey and colorless in the night, fluttered like birds in a courting dance, seeking to gain attention and approval from their desired one. She pressed her lips together. Oh, Steele, if only I could kiss away your hurt, make it all better.

  Where had his mother been when he needed hugging? Why had she denied her child this basic motherly duty? Wouldn't most mothers consider it a privilege? For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of anger at Steele's mother, then she pictured the way the woman had taken Mike's arm and led him into the house. Knew she cared and showed it in her own way.

  "When she found me crying she said flowers didn't matter. And men didn't cry. I don't know how many times we were told men don't cry. Tonight Mike cried. And I realized Mom was wrong. Men can cry."

  She sensed he struggled with something momentous and squeezed his hand hoping he felt her support.

  "I remember telling Mom that Grandpops liked flowers. He was always buying them for Grandma. She said Pops acted foolish sometimes. Said no man should make a fool of himself over a woman."

  He paused. His fingers twitched against her palm.

  "That's why I don't want Pops marrying Jean. I'm afraid he's making a fool of himself over a woman."

  Suddenly so many things were clear to Holly. "Steele, I think you and Mike made a very important discovery tonight. Several of them in fact. You realize men can have and express deep emotions." As she spoke, she prayed for the right words to help Steele.

  "Mike is all man."

  "Exactly. And I'll bet he found the tears healing. Sometimes, maybe, to deny something inside ourselves that God has put there is to tell God He made a mistake. And it robs us of being all God intended."

  She shifted so she could watch his face, saw a play of emotions—doubt, stubborn refusal, acceptance, confusion. She thought of that little boy who had been Steele. "I think you have a very tender heart that you've been taught to deny. A little boy who likes pink flowers is the man who would rather pretend he hates them than have to face the hurt of that moment."

  "I admit it. My feelings were hurt by Mom's remarks. I guess I got used to it. She loves me. Loves us all. But she thinks only tough feelings are masculine enough for her boys." He turned to face her, lifting his arm over the back of the seat to rest across her shoulders.

  She tried not to miss the touch of their hands, the connection that had communicated his feelings even better than his words.

  "It's all confusing and I don't like the feeling. I want things to be sorted out. Cut and dried."

  "Sometimes we have to take one step at a time, in faith, knowing God loves us and will show us what is best for us."

  He cupped her cheek. "I wonder. What is best for us?"

  "Us?" She could hardly get the word out past the sudden spasm of her lungs.

  "A little surprising maybe but don't you think there's something between us? Something we should explore?"

  Her lungs continued to draw inward as if guarding her surprise, her joy at his sudden realization and her own blaring truth. She loved this man who had just revealed a touching tenderness. Her love had been growing secretly day-by-day as he did sweet things for her that he would no doubt have called practical. She'd seen bits of romance in him too, which served as rich nutrients to her emerging love. She forced her mouth to work. "I think there is definitely something that should be explored."

  She leaned toward him, feeling so many things at once--a sorrow for the sad little boy, anger at the many years Steele had denied his real feelings, needing romance as much as she. Knowing it gave her the boldness to touch his cheek with her fingertips. His whiskers were rough beneath her hand. "Steele, you're a man with deep emotions both tough and tender. And they make you very appealing."

  He needed no more invitation to pulled her close and kiss her. She felt the answer of a lifetime of need and longing in this man who had admitted to hating pink flowers just because he liked them so much.

  10

  The next couple of weeks were a delicious exploration of their relationship. They spent long hours walking and talking. Steele started showing up each day at closing time to help her push the planters and tables away. He took her for dinner and surprised her by choosing the most romantic place in town. On her part, Holly slipped over every day with a flower in a vase. She carefully avoided pink ones sensing he still had some work to do in coming to grips with his feelings about them and all they signified for him. She knew he was changing but didn't want to push it. But she rejoiced to see him open up more and more about his feelings.

  Nan and Henry had gone home.

  "Are you two getting married?" Holly asked as Nan prepared to leave.

  "We love each other but we want to take our time. Not too much time, mind you. We aren't getting any younger. But there are some matters to take care of. Practical things."

  Holly laughed as she told Steele. "There you go. Romantic and practical together."

  There remained only one thing that stole from her happiness—her parents' continuing separation.

  "Mom," she said. "Dad's trying hard. He's doing all the little things you like. Why don't you give him a chance?"
/>   Her mother would only say, "I've gone too far to come back."

  When Holly discussed it with Nan, she voiced her confusion. "I don't understand. Dad's being romantic. Why isn't Mom accepting that?"

  "Sometimes love needs more," Nan said. "Something else, like forgiveness."

  "I'm sure Dad forgives her. After all, it wasn't like she committed the big sin."

  "Maybe your mother needs to forgive herself. We will continue to pray for God to reach her heart and show her she's forgiven simply by confessing."

  "She has to believe it. This can't be the end of their marriage."

  But despite the bad, and the good, life went on.

  She glanced up from giving a middle-aged couple a pink carnation and a card with the inscription by Martin Luther, There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage. She saw a man enter the building across the street. "No way," she muttered.

  "Excuse me," the man at the table said.

  "I'm sorry. I thought I saw my father go into that building." Out of loneliness, Holly supposed, her father had come to town to visit her.

  "Then I expect he'll come over and have coffee with you when he's conducted his business."

  "Of course." She moved away, putting a planter between herself and her customers, and stared across the street. Dad had met Steele on two occasions and voiced his admiration of him but what business would he have over there? The light bounced off the dark glass of the windows of Steele's office. No way. But her insides froze into sharp icy spears.

  She pretended to be busy pruning the flowers and picking off dead leaves. Several times she washed the tables that allowed her a view of the street. Mostly she neglected her work for the next hour as she watched for her father to reappear. As the minutes ticked by the icy spears melted with the dreaded suspicion that there was only one reason for Dad to see Steele. She thought of the business he conducted there. Divorce by request. But surely he wouldn't do that in this case. He'd send her father to a counselor, advise him to reconsider. Anything else was unthinkable. Yet—she knew it was part of his job. He only offered what any lawyer would. Still, she developed a slow simmer as she waited.