My Stubborn Heart (17 page)

He wished he were strong, and solid, and normal. But instead he was angry, confused, and hard inside. He was a wreck.

He had nothing, nothing, to offer her.

Matt didn't arrive for work that day until midmorning. Kate heard him the instant he came in. She stilled, holding her breath, but he went upstairs without seeking her out.

What had she expected? Nothing more, and yet she couldn't help but feel . . . what? Even hours later, her mind, her heart, her nerves were still spinning because of those few intense minutes when he'd held her hand. For that short space of time, sitting on his truck bed with him, she'd felt as if he might see her as extraordinary. That didn't seem possible now, in the light of day. Her pragmatic side said it wasn't. But her intuition and the look on his face when he'd held her hand said it was.

Could it be that he actually likes me?

No.

. . . Maybe.

She spent the next hour attempting to concentrate on packaging and addressing items she'd sold on eBay. After discovering that she'd used a permanent marker to write the wrong address on a package she'd spent fifteen minutes wrapping, she put herself out of her misery and went to go find him. She could either break the ice or go insane.

She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom and found him screwing a light fixture into the wall above the mirror. He glanced at her for the space of a heartbeat, then back to his work. He was clean-shaven and he'd changed into a beige waffle-knit henley, a worn pair of jeans, and his boots. The baseball cap—a beaten-up brown one today—that had been absent this morning had returned.

“The bathroom looks great,” she said. And it did. The floor was now travertine, the tub and sink clean, simple white. White beadboard wound around the room a third of the way up the wall, ending in molding where the latte-colored walls began. They'd chosen fixtures that were classic, in keeping with the age of the house, but not fussy.

After weeks of using the other upstairs bathroom, the avocado one with appliances circa 1950, this bathroom looked like the spa at the Four Seasons.

“Are you almost done?” she asked.

“This is it. The last thing.”

“I'll be able to fire up the bathtub tonight?”

“As promised.”

“Yes!” She did a mini fist pump.

He kept right on with the screwdriver.

Self-consciousness hovered between them, but not an unbearable amount. Anything was better than the agonized waiting she'd been putting herself through downstairs.

“What's next?” she asked. “The bathroom down the hall?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me know if you need any help in there. That wallpaper is pretty nasty.”

“Thanks. I think I'll be all right.”

“Catch you later.” She made her way back to her wrapping and addressing. Clearly, he'd flipped their relationship switch back to the “reserved and polite” setting.

Though she wanted to be miffed about it, she couldn't quite bring herself to be. He'd opened up to her earlier that morning, trusted her with his thoughts, and that was enough of a breakthrough for one day. For one week, even.

Still, as she took back up her brown packaging paper and clear mailing tape, she indulged herself imagining all the things he could have said just now and hadn't.

Kate, as you could probably tell when I grabbed your hand, I cherish you. You're a queen among women. Let's date exclusively.

Kate, your hand was so soft. You must moisturize. I'd like nothing more than to hold your hand every hour of my waking life.

Kate, touching your hand clarified my emotions. I'm no longer in love with my perfect Miss America wife. I love you now. You!

She laughed out loud at the complete impossibility of that one. “Never gonna happen,” she whispered to herself. “You're never going to be his girlfriend. Remember?”

Kate had scheduled a date with Tyler for that very same night. When they'd decided on the night, days ago, she'd picked Monday specifically because Matt didn't stay for dinner on Monday and wouldn't be around to brush shoulders with Tyler. It should have been fine.

Should have been.

However, Matt was working late, most likely because he'd started so late that morning. After what had happened between them on the truck, Kate hated the idea of leaving for a date with Tyler right in front of Matt.

Her very best hope? That Matt wouldn't notice.

Kate was in her bedroom slipping on her shoes when Gran called from downstairs in a loud and ringing voice, “Kate! Tyler's here to pick you up for your date.”

The demolition sounds Matt had been making in the bathroom below her room came to an instant and ominous halt.

Kate closed her eyes. So much for her hope that he wouldn't notice.

She felt both embarrassed and guilty, like she'd committed a serious dating foul. But what should she have done? Should she have called Tyler to cancel because “Matt held my hand this morning”? He'd have laughed her out of the building. Matt was just her friend!

When she arrived downstairs she found Tyler occupied with the business of charming Gran. Kate tried to rush him out the door once, then twice, without success. The third time she had him all the way to the threshold when Matt came down the stairs.

Her heart sank.

Matt stopped and stood dead still on the bottom landing of the stairway. He looked dark, rumpled, and foreboding.

Tyler paused with the front door cracked open and smiled in greeting. “Hi, Matt.”

“Tyler.” Matt's tone could have forced forest animals back into their burrows.

“What's been going on, buddy?”

“Not much.”

After a double beat of silence, Tyler chuckled. “Quit talking my ear off, dude!”

Matt didn't so much as flinch.

Kate shuddered inwardly.

“He's wordier than ever, isn't he?” Tyler asked her.

She tugged on Tyler's sleeve. “We'd better go.”

“Sure, let's do it.”

She glanced back at Matt, who was staring at her with an expression as hard and hot as a branding iron.

Tyler closed the door behind them, cutting Matt from view, then escorted her across the lawn to his car.

There were an ocean of things that Kate and Matt could not say to each other. It had been that way since the day they'd met. A vast, wide ocean of things that she was careful never to voice.

As they'd become friends, the ocean had gradually grown smaller. Then wider again when he'd retreated. Smaller the night they'd had their fight. Slightly wider after. Smallest of all when he'd opened up to her about Beth Monday morning. By Wednesday night, after Monday night's debacle with Tyler, the ocean seemed as wide as it had ever been. Wider.

She'd spoken with Matt on and off yesterday and today, keeping things purposefully light. Mostly, though, she'd left him alone because she sensed that was how he wanted it.

She showed up for dinner Wednesday in time to set the table and fill glasses. Gran and Matt had been busy cooking. Gran placed dishes of breaded tilapia covered with mango salsa, new potatoes, and salad on the table.

When Kate slid into her chair beside Matt, she noticed his posture tense.

Her hope dipped. She needed peppermint taffies. And not just a handful.

While Gran said the blessing, Kate snuck a glance at him. His head was bowed, his expression tight.
Are you upset about Tyler?
she wondered.
Do you actually like me? Are you considering going away again inside yourself where I can't find you? Because I won't—I can't—let you.
Her throat clogged with emotion. All those questions were lost in the ocean that separated them, impossible to ask.

The prayer ended and Kate tried to keep relaxed conversation going between the three of them. Gran chatted as happily as always and Matt managed his share, answering in his guarded way.

When she passed him the new potatoes their fingers brushed, sending currents of tingling energy up her arm. He stilled momentarily at the contact, his brows knitting with concentration and displeasure before serving himself.

Help me, God,
Kate prayed.
I don't know what to do.

When Kate returned to the sanctuary of her attic room that night, she went right to her knees beside her bed.

What should I do about him, God?
She knew now that God had brought her here to help Matt, but she didn't know what to do next. She wanted to act. Was willing. But what to do? How?

God didn't answer in any clear way. No booming voice. No giant foam finger like fans wore at sporting events to point her in the right direction.

She pulled out her Bible. She'd been given this Bible by her parents when she graduated from high school. It had a soft black leather cover with her name inscribed in gold. Cherished and familiar. Notes and creases and underlined sections in a rainbow of colors marked the inside.

She opened it to the place advised by her “Bible in a Year” plan and began to read a section of Proverbs. A particular verse jumped out and grabbed her by the throat.

16:32.
Better a patient man than a warrior.
She revolved that in her head a few times, read, and reread it.
Better a patient man than a warrior.

She had her answer. God was calling her, simply, to be patient with Matt.

Patience came hard for her. Especially in a situation like this when her instinct urged her to prod and push.

“I can only do it,” she whispered, “with your help.”

What did people do before coffee shops? Kate wondered. Where did they go for a little daily treat? A few moments of quiet to unwind? A neutral location where you could either escape from work or get work done?

Her sister Lauren's mother-in-law purported that the whole “pamper yourself” thing hadn't been part of the culture in previous generations. Back then people didn't go around thinking, as a matter of course, that they deserved a manicure at the nail salon, a massage, or a cup of expensive coffee.

Kate acknowledged the current mind-set to be a bit self-indulgent and congratulatory. And yet . . . she
loved
the occasional pedicure, hot stone massage, and venti latte. So what was a girl to do?

Main Street Coffee, located squarely in the middle of Redbud's Main Street, was especially sweet. It held barrels of coffee beans with big silver scoopers wedged into their tops. It had scarred wooden floors, walls covered in folk art and old pictures of Redbud, and a bakery case that could make a follower of the Atkins Diet weep with despair.

Kate and Theresa were splurging on buttery cranberry-orange scones sprinkled with extra big sugar granules. They'd come at midmorning and managed to snag the coveted high round table that sat in the bay window overlooking Main.

“So,” Theresa said, stirring her foamy coffee with a wooden stick, “have we known each other long enough for me to delve into your personal life?”

“I suppose so. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know the history of your love life, of course.”

Kate made a comical face.

“How many serious boyfriends have you had?”

“Serious as in . . . ?”

“As in multiple year, let's-discuss-marriage type things.”

Kate told her in brief brushstrokes about Rick and Trevor. The lack of commitment from the former and the infidelity from the latter.

“Are you lucky enough to have any single girlfriends left these days?” Theresa asked.

“A precious few. Even my younger sister's married now.”

“Ouch.” Theresa's expression turned sympathetic.

“Three years ago.”

“Everyone knows that's against the natural order of things.”

“Right.”

“In fact, it should be illegal,” Theresa pronounced, holding her stir stick aloft, “for younger sisters to marry before older sisters.”

“Yes, exactly. Lauren should have postponed her wedding until after I get married. That would only have been polite.”

“Only polite!” Theresa echoed, then paused and gave a lopsided smile. “Of course, I married before my older sister.”

“Theresa!”

“Well, she's a train wreck. She's never going to find anyone!” She laughed long and deep, and Kate laughed with her.

Outside, the day churned gray and windy. The trees were mostly bare now. Crushed and soggy leaves piled along the curbsides and under the feet of the people who passed, bundled up in neutral-colored jackets and brightly colored scarves.

“Good men,” Theresa stated, “are hard to find, girlfriend.”

“Very hard to find.”

Theresa squinted out the window. “Here comes what might be one.”

They both watched a handsome man in a business suit and overcoat walk toward the storefront. He carried a leather briefcase in one hand. As he pulled even with them, he raised his free hand to blow warm air into his fist, clearly displaying a platinum wedding band.

“Uh-huh,” Kate said.

“So clearly not him, but there
is
someone out there for you. I'm sure of it.”

Matt had said the same thing to her recently. But the words just bounced off her, shoved back by a serious case of doubt.

“What about Matt?” Theresa asked.

“Matt?”

Theresa shrugged. “He's hotness. If you weren't attracted to him you wouldn't have a pulse.”

Kate's lips twitched. “I have a pulse.”

“Well? Do you think he likes you?”

“There are moments that last about a nanosecond when I think he might.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? I mean, I'd die of jealousy, but I'd manage.”

“I don't know. Ever since I met him, I've simply been trying to be his friend. Most of the time I think that if he'll just let me be that, it'll be a miracle.”

“He's hard to talk to, isn't he? Really hard. Every time I've seen him at Chapel Bluff over the past few weeks I've tried. But he intimidates the crap out of me. Those eyes!”

“I know,” Kate said sincerely.

“Still.” Theresa tilted her head and studied Kate. “If you're willing to put in the effort, he'd be worth it.”

“As I said, if he'll just let me be his friend it'll be a miracle.”

Something was fishy in Friday Night Poker Land.

When Kate came downstairs on her way to the kitchen, she spotted the seniors in the living room clustered around a retro-looking slide projector.

“Kate, you know anything about these?” Morty asked, gesturing to the projector.

“I'm sorry, I don't.”

“I still think it must be that the bulb's burned out,” Velma said.

Morty frowned, keeping his gaze averted from Velma, which meant they were still locked in their stalemate. “I don't see how it could be the bulb,” Morty answered. “It was working at my place this afternoon.”

They'd pointed the projector at an empty wall and elevated the front of it with a hardback book. Kate could see that the On switch had been hit and that they'd plugged the unit into the wall.

“Oh, I know.” Kate went to the panel of light switches next to the front door. “You have to turn that outlet on from here.” Sure enough, she tripped the switch and the machine came whirring loudly to life, bright light shooting out the front of it.

From the direction of the kitchen she heard the back door open and close.

“Matt,” Gran called. “We're in the front of the house.”

Moments later, he appeared. His gaze sought out Kate first, locking on her for a split second that caused her nerves to sizzle. Then his attention skimmed to the others as he nodded in response to their welcomes. His hair shone with dampness. He wore cargo pants and a nubby brown sweater that fit close over the ridges of his shoulders and torso. The color of the sweater made his eyes glitter darkly.

“We decided to do something different tonight,” Gran explained to Kate and Matt.

“Got tired of you beating us at poker every week.” Morty gave Kate a roguish wink.

“We thought it would be fun to have a little slide show,” Gran said. “We're going to look at the slides Morty took at our twentieth high school reunion.”

“And then I'm going to show the slides I took on my trip to Cairo in '86,” Velma said. “Lots of sand.”

Kate regarded them with bewilderment. Why hadn't anyone told her about this torturous change in plan?

“I thought I mentioned this to you.” Gran's forehead creased.

“No,” Kate said. “What about dinner?”

“We're taking a break from cooking,” Gran answered. “We're having frozen pizzas and root beer floats. Isn't that a hoot?” She clapped her hands together, big stone bracelets clicking.

“Just in case you two aren't interested in watching the slide show,” Peg said, “I brought a movie for you.” She took a DVD out of her Gucci purse and extended it to Kate.

Kate took it.
Notting Hill.

“William and I like Julia Roberts,” Peg said.

“Thank you,” Kate replied. “But we don't have a DVD player in the house.” DVD players hadn't even been a gleam in the eye of their inventor when the borrowed TV in her room had been manufactured.