My Stubborn Heart (28 page)

Once alone in his car, Matt debated going to the gym. He felt too raw to be surrounded by people. But what else was he going to do with himself? Hide at home alone? Drive the highways too fast? He made himself go and proceeded to push his body with such bruising force that everyone in the place cut a wide path around him.

Repeatedly, as he worked out, he told himself to quit panicking. Kate wasn't cutting him off completely. They had a couple more days together before she left, and she'd said they could continue long-distance. Except that his own hopes for their future had been so drastically different. Her choice struck him like an outright rejection, a crushing disappointment.

He'd thought she felt the same way about him that he did about her. He'd thought that she'd stay or that she'd want him to move there. He'd been way off. Once again, his perceptions were out of whack. He was a man out of touch with what was normal, with what everyone else already understood.

Why did you think she'd want you?
he asked himself.
What exactly do you have to offer her?

He wasn't a hockey player anymore. He wasn't famous anymore. No doubt she hoped to find someone to date who, like her, hadn't been knocked around by life. He'd been married before, which no girl in her right mind would want in a boyfriend. And he had a truckload of baggage, which he knew had been a big pain for her to deal with.

Of course she wanted to take things slow. He should be overcome with gratitude that she wanted to continue with him at all.

But he didn't feel grateful. He felt like his anchor had been ripped away. Aimless, unsure of himself, worried.

Kate noticed right away that Matt wasn't the same.

She'd thought, or maybe she'd just wanted to think, that he'd taken her decision to return to Dallas really well. But the very next time she saw him she could tell that she'd hurt him.

To give him credit, he worked hard to keep up appearances. Over their final few days, they still spent almost all of their time together, he was still attentive toward her, he still looked at her with the same fiery intensity.

But something had changed. Diminished. There was a gauntness in his face. His smiles weren't as sincere. And he was too . . . careful. As if, when he was near her, he had to think about everything he said and did before he let himself say or do it.

He'd trusted her, and she'd dealt him a blow. She knew she deserved whatever he dished out. Even so, his reaction devastated her. She'd treasured how easy he'd been with her. The way he'd let her inside himself. She'd lost that now. She told herself it shouldn't make any difference. She was about to lose him entirely anyway. But it
did
matter. It mattered desperately.

Around midday on the day before their departure, Matt officially finished the last of his work at Chapel Bluff. Gran and Kate made a huge fuss over him, thanking him, repeating over and over what an amazing job he'd done and how much they appreciated it.

When he went home, Kate and Gran walked through the house arm in arm.

The grande dame looked beautiful. They'd finished what they'd come here to do, and Kate couldn't have been prouder of their work. The honey-colored hardwood floors gleamed. The creamy paint looked rich and tasteful and also perfectly complemented the patina of the wood at the windows, moldings, and baseboards. Everywhere you looked, family antiques preened. The long-forgotten paintings had been mounted, the Depression glass displayed, the old quilts pressed back into service as bedcovers. All of the new pieces they'd acquired had been carefully chosen to flatter instead of detract from the old. They'd added simple furniture with clean, bright lines. Rugs. Throw pillows. Curtains. Tasteful lamps.

Chapel Bluff had become a home again. Warm and inviting, stately and charming, restored to its former glory. Gran had announced that from now on she'd be spending about half of every year here, and Kate herself was determined to come back often and bring the rest of their family along. This house had woken from its decades of sleep.

The two of them were slightly tearful and wholly sentimental by the time they finished their tour. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to sit around reminiscing about the past three months. They had to run errands in preparation for their trip. And they needed to finish the sad, sad business of packing their suitcases.

That night, Kate's last night in Redbud, fell on a Friday. Poker night.

Had it been any other night of the week, Kate and Matt could have spent it alone. But in honor of Gran and Kate's departure, the seniors had planned a special poker night celebration.

Velma and Peg brought over dish after dish of their homemade specialties. They arranged a centerpiece of evergreen and gold ribbons and served dinner on festive Christmas plates with matching napkins. Gran poured sparkling cider in champagne flutes and everyone took turns making toasts before dinner and again before the gingerbread cake dessert. When it came time for poker, Morty was delighted when the others, in deference to the occasion, let him raise the buy-in from five to ten dollars.

Kate and Matt had decided ahead of time to bow out of the poker early so they wouldn't have to spend all of their final night with the others. According to plan, they both faked a respectable showing before losing big.

By the looks on the faces of the seniors, not a single one of them had been fooled.

Kate stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I guess we'll just go up and watch some TV,” she said.

The seniors gave them knowing smiles.

When they got up to Kate's attic room, they propped pillows against her headboard and reclined facing each other with their legs stretched out, feet tangled together, and their fingers intertwined. Her suitcases sat around them on the floor, filled but not yet zipped. Neither of them made any move to turn on the TV.

A weight settled squarely on top of Kate's heart, and it was all she could do not to break down and cry. They talked quietly about the drive back to Dallas, about what she would do when she got home, friends she'd see, family, restaurants, and shops she'd missed. They talked about him and which job on which house he might want to do next. She laid out, again, her reasons for wanting him to pursue hockey. Matt deflected her gently. And the entire time, every second, she wanted to tell him that she'd changed her mind. That she wasn't leaving. Ever. She wanted to plead for his forgiveness and beg him to trust her again.

Yet the words, jumbled together with her own selfish needs, were held back by what she knew—
knew
—to be right.

You'd never believe me,
she thought, looking at his face.
But I'm doing this for you. You don't know it yet, but you're going to play hockey again, Matt Jarreau. And you're going to be great. I'm only holding you back.

When the seniors finally called upstairs to say they were wrapping things up for the evening, Kate was almost relieved. She truly didn't think she could bear another instant of being with him and knowing their time was running out.

Kate and Matt went downstairs and said good-night to the others. His truck was the only vehicle left on the drive when Kate bundled herself up and walked him out. Stars gleamed above them, hard and bright.

“So you're leaving around nine in the morning?” Matt asked. “I'll come an hour ahead to load up your car.”

They'd reached the side of his truck. “Actually . . .” She took both of his hands in hers. Neither had put on gloves and already their skin was turning cold. She gripped hard. “I think it would be better if we made this good-bye.”

His face registered blank surprise. “What? No . . . I—”

“Matt,” she whispered, “I can't stand it.” Moisture did pool in her eyes then, wavering her view of him. “I can't stand to say good-bye to you again tomorrow, especially not with everyone watching.”

He looked stunned, unwilling.

“Take pity on me.” She attempted a smile, failed. Her heart twisted with sharp pain. “Take pity on me, okay? This is really hard.”

He hugged her tight, cradling the back of her head against his chest. “Don't look like that,” he murmured. “Don't, Kate. I'll do whatever you want.”

She released a trembling breath that frosted the air.

He rocked her in silence. When he pulled away, he frowned down at her, visibly upset. “Are you all right?”

No. No!
“Yes. You?”

He nodded, but his face was ashen, and she knew he was lying.

“Look,” she said, past the painful lump in her throat and the nauseous pounding of her blood. “I know you've been disappointed in life before. And I know that I've disappointed you. I didn't want to. I'm so sorry—” Her voice broke. “Even though you can't trust this world, or our relationship, or me to be perfect, I just wanted to say that you
can
trust God.”

“Kate.”

“I had to say it.” She squeezed his hands, brought one up, and kissed it. “And I want you to remember it.”

He groaned and dragged her to him for a kiss that held an edge of desperation and cascades of sadness. When they broke apart they rested their foreheads together, breathing hard.

“Don't forget me,” he said, so low she barely heard.

“I won't.”

He pulled back, chest heaving, and she saw the turmoil in his face.

Walk away, Kate. He needs you to go now. He's struggling, and he doesn't want you to see.

She lifted on tiptoes for one last fierce hug. One last press of lips. Then she turned and walked fast, head down, toward Chapel Bluff. She let herself in and sat heavily in the empty, darkened dining room. Her energy had gone, drained away.

She sagged against the chair's back, waiting, listening. Minutes ticked by.
Don't come in after me,
she silently pleaded with him.
I can't handle it. I won't be able to resist. I'll do what I know is wrong and stay. Don't come in.

Finally, she heard his truck engine turn over and the sound of wheels crunching rocks as he drove away from her into the night.

Matt got up the next morning, dressed warmly in workout clothes, and set off from his house at a run. He ran off the roads, then off the footpaths and directly through the icy December woods. He finally reached the edge of trees surrounding Chapel Bluff. He paused. He'd purposely arrived early so that Kate and Beverly wouldn't see him, and as he'd planned, he could see no evidence that anyone inside the house had woken. He continued quietly across the meadow to the clapboard chapel.

Beverly had asked him to watch over Chapel Bluff while she was gone, so she'd left him his own set of keys. He used them now to open the chapel's door and steal inside the small building.

He waited for a few hours, freezing his butt off, leaning against an inner wall of the chapel. He had a good view out a small side window toward the place where they'd load Kate's car.

She'd asked him not to come back today. He wasn't going to intrude, or bother her, or ignore her request. But she was leaving, and he flat couldn't let her go without at least
being
here.