A Searching Heart (12 page)

“You mean they were willing to . . . sell you out for . . . a winner?”

“I wouldn't be that condemning. Sure, they wanted a winner. But I think they considered being a professional player would be an advantage to me, as well.”

“But you don't like it?”

“I don't like it. It's taken all the fun from the game.”

They sat in silence, their faces reflecting their troubled thoughts.

“Oh, I admit it has its advantages,” Jamison finally said. “At first it rather went to my head, I think. I mean, here's everyone on campus noticing the big guy. The quarterback. The winner. Guys slap you on the back and want to buy you drinks. Oh, don't look so shocked. I haven't started drinking.”

Virginia's horror changed to relief.

“Girls hover around and let you know they would be free on Saturday night. Hero stuff. As long as you are a winner. But it's all so false. It soon gets old. And empty. I wasn't raised to wallow in that kind of stuff, Virginia.”

She nodded. It was true. Jamison's small-town background did not lend itself to celebrity status.

“Have you talked to your folks?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk with you first.”

She tightened her grip on his hand again. She was pleased, but she also felt so helpless. She had no idea how to advise him.

“I think we need to talk to them,” she said. “And to my folks, too.”

“My folks will be so disappointed,” he admitted. “They encouraged me to be an accountant, and I threw that away. Now if I throw away a football career, too . . .”

“There's a way out of this,” Virginia assured him, trying to make her voice light and promising. “You're young. You can start again.”

“Yeah” was all he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

He reached for a pebble at his feet and, with a quick flick of his wrist, sent it skimming across the creek. It pinged when it hit another rock on the other side.

The woods were already becoming shaded. Virginia stood up. The summer sun was leaving to light another part of the universe.
Always on duty, the sun, she mused distractedly. Moving from one needy area to another. Shining the light. Warming the earth. Supplying crops. Sustaining life.

God is like that, Virginia concluded. He's always on duty. Moving from one need to another. Always there—for everyone. He'll get us through this. He has a way.

She reached out a hand to Jamison to pull him to his feet, but he did not respond. So she lowered herself to the ground beside him. She even tried a smile.

“Don't worry,” she encouraged, maybe for herself as much as Jamison. “We'll get through this—somehow. Mark it down to a learning experience. Someday we might even see good come from it.

“For now, it'll be different once I am at college with you. We'll find a good church. There must be one somewhere. And if you decide to go back into accounting, we'll work it out. I could even get a job and—”

“That's the hardest part, Virginia.” He looked up at her, and his eyes looked so filled with pain they frightened her. “I . . . I don't think that I am ready for . . . those kinds of plans. Any kind of plans with you now.”

CHAPTER 9

W
hat do you mean?” Virginia's bewilderment made her voice shaky. “We already have plans. We've had since—”

“I mean, not anymore.”

“I don't understand. What are you saying?”

“You and I. Our plans for our future. The future has changed. . . .”

“But that's all right. It doesn't bother me. I—”

“It bothers me.”

Virginia stood up, the world spinning about her. “Just what are you saying, Jamison? I don't—I'm afraid I don't understand. When you left for college we . . .”

He stood then, his face drained of color, his eyes still shadowed with pain.

“When I left for college . . .” He dropped his head, then lifted it to begin again. “When I left for college, we were both kids. Our worlds have changed, Virginia. We've changed.”

“I haven't changed,” she argued quickly.

He lowered his head. “Maybe you're right. Maybe that's part of the problem. I don't know. I'm so confused. . . .”

Virginia stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Look, Jamison. Everything is all topsy-turvy for you right now. I can understand that. But you'll get it sorted out. I know you will. I can wait. I'll help you. Honest. When the fall term starts we can . . .”

“I don't think you understand,” Jamison said, brushing her hand gently aside. “It's not ‘we' anymore, Virginia.”

The words finally struck home. Virginia began to understand just what Jamison was trying to tell her. She stepped back, her face white, her body beginning to tremble.

“You mean, you don't want to . . . to be a couple anymore.”

Jamison worked at swallowing. He managed only a nod.

“Why?” Virginia's demand for an answer came out in only a whisper. “What have I done?”

“No, it's not like that,” he was quick to say, and then he stepped forward to place a hand on her arm. “You've done nothing. I still respect . . . and . . . and love you, Virginia. Believe me. It's just that with . . . with everything that is happening in my life, I don't . . . don't feel like the same person anymore. We don't . . . don't fit like we used to. Can't you see it? Don't you feel it? We're not . . . connecting.”

“No,” said Virginia, shaking her head. “No, I don't feel it. I . . . I still care, Jamison.”

“I care, too,” he answered, his voice low and muffled.

“Then what is the matter?”

He turned from her.

“Is there someone else?” Virginia addressed the question to his back.

He whirled around. “No. There is no one else. Don't you think I would have told you if there had been? No.”

“Then why?”

He took her by both arms and pulled her closer to him, looking deeply into her eyes. “I wish I could make you understand,” he said. “This is not . . . not my choice. Not how I had planned this to be. My whole life is . . . is out of control right now. I've got to step back, sort it out, find out who I am again.”

“Then . . . then once you get it figured out, we'll be—”

“No.” He spoke very softly now and looked pleadingly into her eyes. “I know, deep inside, that when I get this sorted out, I'll be an even more different person than I am right now. I'm not sure yet just who I'll be, but it won't be the little schoolboy from Hugh Carson High, Virginia. I know that. Please. Please try to understand. This wasn't my intention. My desire. I would have done anything to keep from hurting you. Anything but lie to you. I don't feel the same way anymore, Virginia, and I can't let you go on thinking that I do.”

Virginia could no longer deny the truth she was hearing. Jamison, her beloved Jamison, was stepping out of her life. Pushing her away. She lowered her head so he couldn't see her eyes and the tears that were spilling down her cheeks. He drew her close and held her. She could feel his own tears wetting her forehead where his cheek rested. He was weeping, too.

Why?
her heart kept crying.
Why has this happened? What has made us grow apart? Would things have been different if I'd been able to go to college as planned? Yes. Of course. That's it. Things would have worked out if I had been there with him.

But would they? Could she really have kept Jamison from the exposure to life in the bigger world? The making of tough decisions? The calling to account?

No. Likely not. It was true. They had changed. Jamison much more than she. They were not in step anymore. Jamison had moved on to a new life. A new world. Whether he became an accountant or a football star, he would never be the same again. There was no way she could hold him back. Make him return to being that hometown boy she had learned to love.

But she would always love him.

That realization brought a fresh burst of tears. He let her cry, and when the worst of it had passed, he lifted her chin and forced her to look up.

“Virginia,” he said through tear-filled eyes, “I never wanted to hurt you. Believe me. This has been the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I have loved you, Virginia. Still do, but in a different way. Maybe always will. You've been the best thing that has ever happened to me. But I know—just know that all those plans—those dreams—they wouldn't work out now. Not for us.”

With his thumbs he wiped the trail of tears on her cheeks, then continued, “I want us to be friends, Virginia. I would be so . . . so saddened—would lose so much—if that is taken from me. I need you, Virginia—as a friend.”

Virginia reached up to brush aside his hands from her face. Her back stiffened and her head lifted. She couldn't find the words to express her hurt. Her anger. Maybe there were none. She just looked at him. Straight and steady. Then she shook her head and turned and fled.

———

Virginia did not know at what hour she stopped weeping and fell into a troubled sleep. She still could not believe it. Did not understand it. Surely . . . surely Jamison would be back to tell her that he had made an awful mistake. That he still loved her. Really loved her. All through the following day she kept one eye on the street, one ear tuned to a knock on the door.

But Jamison did not come.

She was tempted the next morning to plead a headache or an upset stomach, something—anything to excuse herself from the morning church service. She was sure Jamison would be there with his family and knew she could not face him.

But even though her head did ache and her stomach did feel upset, it was not enough to keep her from church. With a great deal of determination, she forced herself to be ready when her folks ushered the family out the door for the trip to join the local congregation.

“Virginia, you look pale,” her mother commented. “Are you feeling all right?”

Virginia nodded numbly. She was glad her mother had not overheard her nighttime weeping. There would have been questions, and she did not feel ready to talk about it.

But with Jamison at church, sitting apart and aloof, everyone would soon know their circumstance. Virginia cringed at the very thought. She wondered if she would be able to bear it.

But Jamison was not with his family. Word soon passed that he had already left for college. Something came up that was pressing. Something he needed to tend to. Virginia felt relief at the same time that she felt deep disappointment. He was gone. Really gone. Now her only hope was a letter. A letter saying that he was sorry. He had been all mixed up in his thinking. Virginia promised herself that she would not write until she heard from him. He must be the one to make the first move toward reconciliation.

But day after day passed and no letter came. Virginia kept telling herself, “Maybe today,” as she went to the local post office and faced another disappointment. Jamison was not going to write. Night after night her pillow muted her sobs.

———

Rodney and Danny were making preparations for university. Belinda bustled about assembling bedding, checking over clothing items, and ticking off lists. The whole household seemed to pick up speed as the days for their departure neared. Once again, there didn't seem to be quite enough hours in the day.

“Virginia,” Belinda exclaimed one morning, looking at her daughter in consternation. “You have been so busy helping with the boys that you've had little time to prepare for your own departure. I appreciate your help, but I think things are under control. You go ahead and work on your own packing,” she encouraged as she folded a towel into a case.

Virginia paled. Before her mother could make further comment, she hurried to speak, hoping that her voice was controlled and casual.

“I'm not sure I'm going.”

“What?” Her mother's full attention was on her now.

“I've been doing some thinking,” Virginia hurried on. “I'm not sure Webster is the place for me. At least not . . . just now.”

Belinda looked surprised but answered calmly, “Well, you don't need to choose Webster, dear. I had no idea you were having second thoughts. We could have been making arrangements elsewhere. Have you spoken to your father?”

Virginia shook her head. Her mother knew full well that if she had spoken to her father, he would have passed word on to Belinda.

“So what has . . . ?” Belinda stopped short, looking at her daughter's anguished face. “Has something happened?”

Virginia began to cry, the hot, salty tears running freely down her cheeks. Her mother was there in an instant, holding her close, caressing her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“What happened?” she asked when the sobs began to subside.

“I'm not sure,” said Virginia, accepting the offered hankie. “Jamison just feels that . . . that we've changed. Grown apart. He's . . . he's so confused about a lot of things.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

“I kept hoping—maybe—he'd . . .” The tears started again.

“I'm so sorry,” said her mother, running fingers over her hair again.

Virginia blew her nose.

“When?” The question from her mother was short and direct.

“When he came home a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you've carried this . . . this burden alone for all that time?”

“I kept hoping . . .”

“Oh, Virginia, I feel so bad for you.”

Her mother finally released her, still holding one of her hands. “Come,” she said, indicating the nearby sofa. “Sit for a minute and talk to me.”

Virginia moved to the sofa, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

“So what do you want to do?” was her mother's first inquiry.

“I don't know. I've been thinking about it and praying about it. But I just don't think that I can go to Webster.”