If Wishes Were Horses (17 page)

T
WO DAYS LATER,
Reverend Jacobson was once more about to deliver his weekly sermon to the congregation at St. Andrew's. Every pew was full, and today's collection would be a good one. After making the sign of the cross, he told the parishioners to sit. As they did, he said a silent prayer that his gravelly voice might prevail yet again.

“There once was a minister who occasionally shirked his holy duties,” Jacobson began. “He usually accomplished this deceit by feigning sickness on Sunday mornings. Rather than conduct the church services, he left the responsibility to his assistant, and he went and played golf.” Pausing for a moment, Jacobson watched his flock settle into the pews.

“One Sunday morning, God and St. Peter watched from heaven as the irresponsible minister played golf alone,” Jacobson
said. “After a while, God turned to St. Peter. God winked and said: ‘Watch this.' When next the minister teed off, God ensured that he shot the first hole in one of his life. Then God saw to it that the same thing happened three more times in a row. As one might expect, the minister was beside himself with joy. God seemed pleased by what he had done, but St. Peter was clearly puzzled.

“‘That minister should be in church, attending to his flock!' St. Peter said. ‘Instead, he's down there playing golf, and you granted him four straight holes in one!'

“God smiled at St. Peter. ‘That's true,' God said. ‘But who can he tell?'”

Some twenty minutes later, Jacobson finished his sermon. He looked to the pew in which Gabby Powers usually sat. Like the last eight Sundays in a row, she was absent. He then looked to the other side of the aisle in search of Wyatt Blaine. Wyatt was dressed in a dark suit and was seated in his usual place.

The reverend cleared his throat. “Would anyone interested in celebrating a birthday, an anniversary, or any other special day please come forward for the blessings?” he announced. Wondering for the thousandth time whether this would the day, Jacobson again looked at Wyatt.

Wyatt stood and walked to the back of the church. After handing some cash to one of the ushers, he left.

 

AS JACOBSON WALKED
to his office, he realized how truly tired he was. During the service he had performed two baptisms, and the ensuing coffee hour had run especially long. Fortified with
caffeine and sugar cookies, a pair of elderly Boca widows had buttonholed him about St. Andrew's upcoming silent auction. He had chatted with them politely, but what he wanted most was to return to the quiet comfort of his office. As he neared the office door, he saw a familiar figure waiting for him.

Like that eventful Sunday nine weeks ago, Wyatt Blaine again sat on the reverend's wrought-iron bench. Jacobson noticed that Wyatt seemed weary.

“The prodigal son returns!” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I know how tiring Sundays are for you, but can you spare me some time?”

“Of course,” the reverend answered. “Would you like some coffee? If I know Stella, there's a fresh pot waiting.”

Jacobson unlocked the door, and the two men walked inside. Although Stella wasn't there, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. After pouring two steaming cupfuls, the men entered Jacobson's inner office.

“What's on your mind?” Jacobson asked as he sat down behind his desk.

Wyatt took a seat in one of the guest chairs. He then looked over at the other chair, remembering when Gabby had first asked him to help Trevor. Sometimes that day seemed like a lifetime ago; other times it felt like yesterday. For a few moments Wyatt looked down at his shoes and rolled his coffee cup between his palms. When he looked back up, his expression was searching. After explaining Gabby's riding accident to Jacobson, he was quiet again.

“Is she okay?” Jacobson asked.

Wyatt nodded. “A sprained wrist,” he said. “But she's angry and avoiding my calls.”

“Hard to believe,” Jacobson said sarcastically.

“Yeah, I know that I screwed up,” Wyatt answered. Silence reclaimed the room as Wyatt considered the greater reason for his coming here.

“I have a foolish question to ask you,” he said. “I'm sure that you've heard it a thousand times before, but never from me.”

Jacobson sipped his coffee. “There are no foolish questions regarding the eternal verities. Only foolish answers. What is it, my son?”

Wyatt took a deep breath. “Do you believe that our departed loved ones watch us from the afterlife?”

Jacobson raised an eyebrow. “You can use her name. This time we both know who you're talking about.”

Wyatt nodded. “Okay. Do you think that Krista watches over me?”

Jacobson sighed. “I have indeed been asked that question before, and more times than you might imagine. Personally speaking, I don't know. Nor can these things be proved. But what
I
believe isn't important. All that matters is what
you
feel in your heart.”

“I don't know either…,” Wyatt said.

“Then it doesn't matter.”

“How could it not?” Wyatt asked.

“For the very reason that I just mentioned,” Jacobson answered. “Because it can't be proved. Instead, cling to what you know for sure.”

“And what is that?” Wyatt asked.

“That Krista loved you. And that no matter where she might be, or whether she watches over you, she would want you to be happy. Denying your future because you worry that Krista is watching you isn't an answer, Wyatt. It's an excuse.”

Silence reigned again as Wyatt considered Jacobson's words.

“Now may I ask
you
a question?” Jacobson said.

Wyatt nodded.

“Did you and Krista ever discuss this subject?”

“No. We thought that there'd be lots of time for such things.”

“Young couples always do,” Jacobson answered. “During the early years, the future seems limitless. Had she given you her blessing to move on in the event of her death, your heart would be free to love again. Instead you're here with me, asking questions that have no answers.”

“But it went unsaid between us,” Wyatt replied. “And so I'm left to wonder.”

“If you wonder about it for too long, you'll wonder your life away.” Sighing, Jacobson placed his palms flat on the desk. “May I be blunt?”

Wyatt thought for a moment. “All right.”

“You have to choose, Wyatt. Either choose the past or choose the future, but
choose.
You're living somewhere in between, and it's killing you. You've allowed your heart to become imprisoned by a ghostly memory. And if I may say so, you're acting much like you did right after Krista and Danny died.”

“That's not fair,” Wyatt said.

“I can't bestow fairness on your life. Only God can do that.
All I can offer you is what I believe to be the truth.”

Wyatt rubbed his face with his hands. “It's not that simple, James.”

Jacobson narrowed his eyes. “Go on…”

“I believe that I'm just as responsible for Danny's and Krista's deaths as Jason Powers.”

“Why do you feel that way?” Jacobson asked.

“If my birthday party had never happened, they'd still be alive,” Wyatt said. “The day's entire sequence of events would have been different, and they would never have taken that car ride. But there's more to it than that—something that I've never told anyone.”

“Go on, my son.”

“Danny and Krista went out to buy ice cream that day because I
asked
them to,” Wyatt answered, his voice a barely audible whisper.

And there it is,
Jacobson realized.
After five years, he finally reveals why he still grieves so badly.

“But that's no proof that they'd still be among us. Or you either, for that matter.”

“It's proof enough for me,” Wyatt answered.

“Have you always felt this way?”

Wyatt nodded. “From the very moment Morgan told me they were dead.”

“I don't mean to be harsh, Wyatt, but stop blaming yourself!” Jacobson said. “You didn't ask for that party! And above all, you didn't cause Jason Powers to crash into your wife and son! How can you feel this way? If nothing else, the lawyer in you should know better!”

“My head understands those things,” Wyatt answered. “But my heart can't accept them.”

“Like I said, if it's forgiveness you seek, you've come to the wrong place,” Jacobson replied. “As your minister I can absolve you of sin, but I can't bestow forgiveness on you for something you didn't do. You must forgive
yourself,
rather than ask for it from others. But why tell me this now?”

Jacobson believed that Wyatt knew the answer, but Wyatt remained silent. As the seconds ticked by, the reverend decided that if Wyatt wouldn't say it, he would.

“That reason,” Jacobson said softly, “is Gabrielle Powers.”

Wyatt still didn't answer, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

“It's no coincidence that you tell me these things only after Gabby entered your life,” Jacobson said. “I think that you've fallen in love with her, even though you won't admit it. And you fear that loving Gabby is wrong because it would somehow betray Krista. You believe that you need permission to be happy, and that you might find it in this office. But it's not here, Wyatt. It never has been, and it never will be. You must search out
forgiveness
rather than permission. And the only place you'll ever find the forgiveness that you need is in your own heart.”

Wyatt stood and looked Jacobson in the eyes. “Thank you, James. I guess that I never really expected you to solve this for me. But I'm glad I finally told someone my secret, just the same. I may never find happiness again. Perhaps that will always be my lot in life, I don't know. But as badly as I want it, I still can't forgive myself for what happened.”

Jacobson nodded. “You're a good man, Wyatt.”

Wyatt shook Jacobson's hand then walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned and looked back. “I'm denying my own future, aren't I?”

“Yes,” Jacobson answered. “And the future of the woman you're keeping yourself from.”

“And because of my own stupidity, I may have just lost her, too,” Wyatt said softly. “Good-bye, James.”

“Good-bye, my son. And go with God.” Jacobson sat in silence as Wyatt left the room and crossed the outer office.

J
ESUS, CELIA!” GABBY
said. “Every time I think about him, I get so mad I can't see straight! Why the hell did he make me do that?”

Two days had passed since Gabby's riding accident. Tomorrow would be Monday, and another week of New Beginnings would start. Gabby and Celia were eating an early supper at Legal Seafood in the Boca Towne Mall. They both liked the place, and if they wanted they could shop afterward. Before answering, Celia appreciatively slurped down another raw oyster.

“I know you're mad, Gabbs,” she said. “And I can only imagine how much it scared you. But what happened wasn't Wyatt's fault. My guess is that he thought he was helping in some way.”

Gabby scowled. True to her word, she had stubbornly marched the entire way back to the ranch. Still unaccustomed to
her cowboy boots, by the time she arrived her feet were blistered and killing her. But she'd be damned if she'd admit that to Wyatt.

Her wrist hadn't been broken but it was badly sprained. The Blaine family doctor that Wyatt had rushed her off to see placed it in a soft cast, and said that she was to avoid using it for the next ten days. After Wyatt graciously paid the bill, he drove Gabby and Trevor home. Gabby's good-bye to him had been extremely brittle and equally terse.

Because Gabby's Honda was a stick shift, driving was nearly impossible—not to mention all the other things she shouldn't do. She felt helpless, and she hated it. Blessedly, Celia had offered to drive her and Trevor to and from school.

Gabby defiantly held up her cast. “It wasn't his fault, huh?” she asked. “Tell that to my swollen right hand! How'm I supposed to use the blackboard, for Chrissake?”

Gabby was truly angry with Wyatt, and she thought she had every right to be. He had apologized profusely, but it hadn't gentled her mood. Despite the confidences she had already shared with Celia, she wasn't even sure whether she wanted to see him again.

For the first time since leaving Jason, she felt truly betrayed. This new and unexpected wound had gone deep, and her fantasy had been shattered. Despite her anger, she had to admit that she'd always enjoyed visiting the ranch. Being there had grounded her and helped to make her feel that she was a part of something again, however temporary it might prove to be.

But Wyatt's actions had unexpectedly cut her emotions loose from all that. So much so that she could almost feel her heart
floating away and becoming as errant and homeless as it had been before all of this had started. It was an uncomfortable and lonely feeling, to be sure. Even so, she didn't know whether she wanted her original feelings to ever return. Because of her anger, she was screening her calls and had so far avoided talking to him.

Gabby was having clam chowder, although eating it with her left hand was proving more difficult than she had imagined. As she fumbled with a package of crackers, she might as well have been trying to raid Fort Knox.

Celia laughed. “Give it here, you cripple,” she said. She opened the crackers then unceremoniously dumped them into Gabby's chowder.

“So are you ever going to forgive him?” Celia asked.

Gabby shrugged her shoulders.

Celia smiled. “If you ask me, I think it's kind of romantic.”

“Romantic?”
Gabby asked. “Are you nuts?”

“Well, let's review,” Celia answered. “A handsome cowboy kills the deadly snake, and then rescues the fair maiden who escapes the ordeal with little more than some bruised emotions. And then comes the really good part! Instead of riding home, you insist on walking and giving yourself blisters, to boot! You're right—that's showing
him
a thing or two!”

After smiling for a moment, Ceclia nodded. “Hell yeah, it's romantic! If you were in my shoes, you'd agree. And by the way, if you ever talk to Wyatt again, you can tell him that I'll go riding with him anytime!”

“None of it's funny, damnit.”

“Actually, it kind of is,” Celia answered. Pausing for a moment,
she got the waitress's attention and ordered her third iced coffee. “Want to know what else I find funny?” she asked. “In return for squiring you and Trevor back and forth to school, you're buying dinner.”

Gabby sighed again and clumsily ate some more chowder. Sometimes the urge to forgive Wyatt tried to sneak into her heart. After all, he hadn't known about the snake. But he hadn't respected her fear of horses, and that was what hurt most.

She had told Wyatt that she didn't want to go, but he hadn't listened. To her chagrin she had gone against her better instincts, just to spend time with him. She needed to be more levelheaded, she realized. She was all that Trevor had now, and she couldn't afford to behave recklessly. Worse, giving in to Wyatt had made her angry not only with him but also with herself. And given how upset she was, returning to the ranch was unthinkable. Gabby angrily finished her chardonnay then promptly ordered another.

“Drowning your sorrows?” Celia asked.

“I'd rather drown in wine than be bitten by a rattler,” Gabby answered. Her fresh drink arrived, and she took a sip. “I need another favor from you, girlfriend,” she said. “And it's a big one.”

“Let me guess,” Celia answered. “You also want me to drive Trevor back and forth to the ranch for you. And given how mad you are at Wyatt, I'd bet that you won't be joining us. You're right—it is asking a lot. But I'll do it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“It's that snoopy nature of yours, isn't it?” Gabby asked.

“Mostly I want to help you and Trevor,” Celia answered. Then
she let go with another of her crafty smiles. “But I must admit that I wouldn't mind seeing the place.”

Gabby suddenly felt an unexpected pang of jealously because Celia would now be visiting the ranch in her place, and she found the revelation confusing. But her mind was made up, so she shoved her feelings aside.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You're welcome,” Celia answered. “But you're taking a big risk, Gabbs.”

“How?”

“The longer you stay away, the harder it will be to go back if you want,” Celia said. “I think your pride hurts more than your wrist, and you're letting it get the best of you. And there's something else to consider. Even if Wyatt cares for you, his feelings might change while you're gone. The old saying isn't always true, you know.”

Gabby put down her glass. “Which one?” she asked.

“That absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Celia answered.

Gabby sat back in her chair and sighed.

Maybe you're right, Celia,
she thought.
But I'm no longer sure that I really care…