My Stubborn Heart (14 page)

He was about to do some serious drinking.

Matt rummaged around in the back of his pantry, hunting for a bottle of Jack Daniels—something he never drank—and a couple cans of Coke—something else he never drank. After dropping a bag of corn chips, spilling the flour, and knocking over a whole row of spices, he located what he was after.

Back in the kitchen, he filled a tall glass with ice and sat himself, the Jack, and the Coke at the kitchen table. He hadn't bothered to turn on any lights except for the one suspended over the table, so the rest of the house remained dark.

This was
such
a bad idea.

He went to work pouring a medium amount of Coke and a huge amount of whiskey into his glass.

Drinking alcohol and competing at peak physical ability didn't go together. He'd been an athlete since, what? Eight? So he'd drunk precious little in his life.

Tonight was about to be an exception. Because, unfortunately, the fact that this was a bad idea suited him at the moment. He wanted to be self-destructive, and he sure as anything couldn't get drunk at one of the town's bars. The entire population of Redbud would know about it by noon tomorrow.

Matt didn't even wait for the ice to make the liquid cold. He just started right in, drinking deeply. Then he sat back in his chair, rested his forearms on the table, and stared blindly at the wall, waiting for it to take effect.

“Do you think this is the best way to go about your grief, Matt?
This recovery plan working out for you?”

He looked determinedly away from the wall, as if by doing so he could avoid Kate's words.

He usually came home from the gym after exhausting himself physically and then occupied his mind with TV or the computer until bed so he wouldn't have to think. It was awful uncomfortable to just sit here with his thoughts. He hated his thoughts. Yet he didn't want to watch sports or turn on the computer tonight. He wanted to make himself face his own sorry company.

“Maybe they respected your privacy too much. I'm not going to be content with that.”

He took some more pulls on his drink. Ever since Beth died, all his friends and family had bent over backwards to be nice to him, to avoid confronting or upsetting him, to protect him. Even before Beth. He'd been a professional athlete. Nothing but supporters had surrounded him. He could hardly remember a time when people hadn't agreed with him.

Kate had mightily disagreed with him tonight.

He'd thought he'd hated how carefully everyone treated him. But look at him now. One woman had called him out and it had knocked him flat. What's worse, he had a sinking feeling that he'd deserved everything she'd said. Merely remembering the angry way she'd looked at him caused his muscles to contract, tensing up. His heart started to beat loud and painfully. Fear reactions. Because she scared him.

He was afraid she could already see too much and that she'd keep coming at him, demanding more from him than he could give. He was afraid that she would fall in love with Tyler. He was afraid that he'd be desolate without her when she left.

He didn't know what to do. What could he do about her? He felt trapped, like an animal tied to a stake in broad daylight.

He frowned at his empty glass. Without bothering to refresh the ice, he poured more Jack, more Coke. If he could, he'd gladly pay Beverly twice what she was paying him, just to let him quit. Some other poor sucker could finish the house.

Except that in his life, he'd only broken one commitment. He'd broken his contract with the Barons when he'd left the team after Beth's death. Afterward, he'd promised himself that he'd never break a commitment again.

How much longer would the work take? Six weeks? The thought filled him with two kinds of panic. Panic because that was such a long time to protect himself from Kate. Panic because that was such a short time before she'd be gone for good and he'd be completely alone again.

“After what happened with your wife, you'd rather not get attached to anyone ever again.”

Well, too late, buddy. Because despite his terror of it, his determination to do the opposite, he'd gone and gotten attached to her anyway.

She was like sunshine. When she was near, the ice inside of him eased. She made him feel warmer, more comfortable, almost whole. Even these past few days when they hadn't been talking, he'd felt it and it drew him undeniably.

When she left, where would he be? He didn't think he could handle any more disappointments.

Really?
he asked himself with disgust.
After losing your wife to brain cancer, you'd think you'd be able to withstand a few small disappointments.

But instead he felt fragile. Like with one misstep, he'd crack.

Maybe he could keep a simple friendship with her going without letting her any further inside his head than she already was. Maybe she'd be satisfied with that. Maybe he could manage not to feel sick to his stomach when Tyler came by to flirt with her.

Right.
Right.

He drained half his glass.

“I think that God has blessings He wants to give you but can't until you let Him.”

She talked frequently about her church back home, and she dropped God's name into conversations as if He were a friend. But suggesting that God had blessings for him that he was refusing? No. That was going too far. He'd had faith in God once and had come away bitterly disappointed. God had nothing but heartache to offer him, and he had nothing but animosity and resentment toward God. They were pitted against each other now, and he never saw that changing.

Exhausted, he dropped his head into his hands. What was he going to do?

He couldn't care about the beautiful redhead with the big heart. And he couldn't not care.

Holidays back home in Dallas had taken on a
Groundhog Day
quality for Kate in recent years. For Halloween she'd take out the same witch, wooden cat, orange wicker pumpkin, and the wreath with the funky little skeletons hanging off it. For Thanksgiving she'd take out the same pilgrims, Indian corn, caramel-colored leaf-shaped plates, and the fall wreath made of birch branches. For Christmas she'd take out the same nativity set, tree ornaments, and white lights for the bushes out front.

Kate's sister, Lauren, had married three years ago and forged new holiday routines for herself and her husband. Which left Kate—still under the holiday umbrella of her parents—celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas with her mom and dad in the same places, in the exact same ways, year after year.

Kate loved tradition as much as anyone. But the brain-numbing repetitiveness of it all had begun to leech away a lot of the fun.

What a tangible relief to be celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving at Chapel Bluff this year. She and Gran hadn't brought any of their decorations with them. So, on Halloween afternoon, in a moment of Martha Stewart-inspired fervor, Kate went trudging into the woods in search of nuts, berries, and leaves to use as decorations. She found zero nuts and zero berries. There was an abundance of leaves, however, so she came home from her expedition with a bag full of those and an assortment of pinecones.

Gran, ever creative, arranged the pinecones inside a large glass hurricane on the dining table, then decided that they should make garlands out of the leaves. So Kate and Gran spent two happy hours in the den sipping hot chocolate and stringing fall leaves while gray clouds somersaulted across the sky outside. Once they'd completed their garlands, they hung them in swags across the windows in the front room, dining room, and kitchen.

Finished, they stood together admiring their artistry, feeling pleased with themselves. Especially Kate. The whole thing was so un-
Groundhog Day
!

Theresa's predictions for Halloween night at her house came true.

There was candy corn.

It was chaos.

After they'd all finished feasting on Chinese takeout, the kids rushed to the back of the house to put on their costumes. Gran and Kate helped Theresa clear the table of black and orange ghost-encrusted dinnerware. Theresa's husband, Doug, a tall, long-limbed man with a placid disposition, bundled up the trash and headed out the back door with it.

“You guys really don't have to do this,” Theresa said, motioning to the dishes they were in the process of rinsing and placing in the dishwasher.

“Nonsense!” Gran replied. “You have enough to do tonight. Let us help you with this at least.”

“Well, if you insist, then I'm not going to turn you down.” She gave them a grateful smile. For the festivities, Theresa had dressed in jeans, a black top with a witch on the front, and a pair of black cat ears.

“Thanks for dinner,” Kate said.

“You're welcome. I hope you don't mind that it wasn't homemade. I try to avoid cooking as much as is humanly possible.”

“Don't say that around Gran,” Kate warned. “She'll have you out at Chapel Bluff, taking cooking lessons from her whether you want to or not.”

“Exactly!” Gran agreed. “You should see how much Matt has learned.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. If Matt Jarreau's going to be at these cooking lessons, then maybe I'll consider it.”

“What's my wife saying about Matt Jarreau now?” Doug asked, returning from outside.

“Beverly here gives him cooking lessons,” Theresa answered, “and I was saying that if Matt's involved, then I might want to learn to cook after all.”

Gran looked appalled, but Doug just shook his head, smiling softly, not threatened in the least.

“Well,” Theresa said philosophically, “if he wants to run away with me, it would be good if I knew how to cook him dinner, at least.”

“Mo-omm!”

Kate and Gran both started at the sound of the high-pitched wail from the other end of the house, but Theresa and Doug appeared immune to it.

“Emma is playing with my Power Ranger nunchuks!” Jack yelled.

“I'm just looking at them” came the defensive reply.

A squeal, a grunt, a shout.

“I don't want her to play with them!” Jack screeched. “She'll break 'em!”

“It's okay for her to look,” Theresa called wearily.

“No!” Jack screamed. “She's swingin' 'em! No! Give 'em back!”

Emma said something muffled, followed by more howls from Jack.

“Oh, good grief,” Theresa muttered. She stalked from the kitchen. “Excuse me, everyone, while I go and throttle my children.”

The doorbell rang. Doug didn't make a move.

“Would you like me to do the honors?” Gran asked.

“Please,” he said. “I believe Theresa put the bowl of candy by the door.”

While Gran periodically opened the door for trick-or-treaters, Kate finished straightening the kitchen and then went to help Theresa get the kids ready.

Kate was sweating and Theresa's cat ears and patience were both askew by the time the two of them had dressed the kids, put their makeup on, arranged Emma's hair, and accomplished a frantic emergency search for Jack's treat bag. They emerged into the den with a short red Power Ranger and a Princess Leia who'd insisted on wearing five pink plastic bracelets and dangly clip-on earrings.

Theresa took lots of photos, then rooted around for flashlights. Doug, still relaxed and seemingly oblivious to the general craziness around him, escorted the kids outside onto the front walkway.

“I want to run ahead,” Emma said.

“No!” Jack cried. “She got to run ahead last year and I was always last.”

“We'll all go together,” Theresa hollered.

“Then who gets to push the doorbells?” Emma asked, her face poised for a meltdown.

“You can take turns,” Theresa answered. She finally located two mismatched flashlights. Only one had working batteries. “Figures,” she grumbled. She went and let their black lab in from the backyard, then attached his leash in the foyer while his tail beat Kate and Gran in the knees with rhythmic crushing blows.

Finally, with the dog in one hand and her flashlight in the other, Theresa swiped a curl off her forehead, then stilled to look at Kate and Gran. “Would you ladies like to come with us, or would you rather stay here and man the fort?”

“I'm happy to man the fort,” Kate answered, trying not to look too eager at the prospect of a few minutes of quiet.

“Me too,” Gran said.

“Okay, we'll see you in a little while then.” She bustled out the door and down the porch steps. “Help yourself to candy!”

Kate and Gran stood in the open doorway, watching the foursome take a right at the sidewalk.

“My oh my,” Gran breathed. “Being here reminds me of when my boys were little. Such a busy time. Such hard work.”

Kate watched Power Ranger and Leia launch into a pushing, shoving sprint toward the neighbor's door. Jack tripped over his own feet and went sprawling. Kate half expected Emma to trample him in her haste to reach the first house, but instead Emma picked him up, dusted him off, and handed him the treat bag he'd dropped.

“Hard work but the best work,” Kate said.

“Yes, that's true.”

This family's life was rambunctious and tiring and frenzied and . . .

Perfect. It was exactly what she'd always valued and hoped to have herself.

If only I had boobs
, she thought ruefully. Boobs probably would have made the difference.

Kate settled onto a corner of the couch in the den with a handful of candy corn. Theresa's comfortable and cluttered house surrounded her with a mishmash of stunning antiques and kid-worn furniture.

Gran lowered into a leather chair with a sigh. “I wonder what Matt's doing with himself tonight.”

“I don't know.” Matt had negotiated with Gran and they'd compromised. He would still show up for cooking lessons and dinner on Wednesdays and for poker night on Fridays. But the other nights he'd have off. She couldn't imagine him answering the door tonight and passing out candy. He was probably either spending the evening with friends or holed up in his house with the porch light off.

“I hope he's out having a good time,” Gran said.

Somehow Kate couldn't picture it. She hoped he wasn't a porch-light-off person. But she worried he was exactly that. A porch-light-off person who wanted to keep it that way.

“So what do you think of those two over there?” Tyler asked Kate. They were ensconced together in a booth, surreptitiously discussing all the couples around them at the restaurant.

“Those two?” Kate asked, inclining her head toward two fifty-somethings.

“Uh-huh.”

“They're not even looking at, much less speaking to, each other.”

“Exactly.”

“I'd say they're empty nesters who don't have anything in common now that their kids are grown and gone.”

“Hard times.” He looked at her with one edge of his smile hitching upward.

“Hard times,” she agreed.

Tyler sure was easy on the eyes. The hip blond hair. The outdoorsy style. The blue eyes.

“What about them?” he asked, indicating a young couple gazing ravenously at each other. Kate watched as the woman squeezed the man's upper arm with her long-nailed fingers. He said something. She laughed with unprecedented gaiety. He launched into a story, gesturing emphatically.

“Hmm.” Kate watched more, assessing. “Definitely not married.”

“Definitely not. How long would you say they've been a couple?”

“I don't know. What would you give 'em?”

“Two weeks?”

Kate smiled. “I'm inclined to be generous. I might give them two months.”

Tyler took a lazy swig of beer. “Is it going to go well for them, do you think?”

“Afraid not. He's doing all the talking. I mean, at some point in their relationship she's got to want to say
something
, right?”

“I'd think so.”

“I'm guessing they'll last six, maybe eight months before she realizes that he never shuts up and he realizes that she wears too much makeup.”

Tyler looked skeptical. “I've never known anyone who broke up with a girl because of her makeup.”

“True. Let's see, what would be more likely?” The woman continued to cling, the man continued to talk. “He'll break up with her because she's too needy. Or because he suddenly comprehends that she's hoping to rope him into a serious relationship.”

“There you go, young lady.” Dimples flashing, Tyler tipped the edge of his drink toward her. “Now,
that
is more likely.”

Kate snorted disparagingly. “Men.”

“We've just got one couple left,” he said.

“Best for last,” Kate murmured. She eyed the nicely dressed couple in their forties. They were attractive and athletic looking. They talked intently, smiled at each other's quips, and enjoyed easy silences. The wife had rested her hand on the table and Kate had watched her husband cover it with his, squeeze, and hold it for long minutes. “They're the happily-ever-after couple,” Kate said.

“Married?” Tyler asked.

“Oh yes. Note the wedding rings.”

“It's possible they could both be married to other people.”

“No way! They're married to each other and probably have been for twenty years.”

“So long?”

“Yep. A couple doesn't get to that level of . . .”

“Boredom?”

“Tyler!”

“What?”

“You're terrible.”

He looked pleased.

“I was going to say,” she continued, “that a couple doesn't get to that level of
ease
unless they've put in some serious years.”

“Ah. Ease.”

“Right.”