My Stubborn Heart (29 page)

At last, the seniors began arriving. Kate's friend Theresa and Theresa's kids also came.

He waited for a glimpse of Kate, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other and blowing warm air into his gloves. When she finally emerged from the house, wearing her familiar quilted jacket and her red hair in a ponytail, his heart hitched at the sight of her. She pulled her car near the back door, then opened her trunk. Morty and William carried suitcases, bags, and boxes from the house to her Explorer, and the three of them worked together to make everything fit. He wanted to be the one to do that for her—carry her stuff, pack her car.

The process of leaving took a long time. Everyone came out and went in again numerous times. After Beverly had locked, checked, and rechecked the back door, the group stood around talking. Despite the cold morning, they talked for quite a while, reluctant, he figured, to say good-bye. Whenever Theresa wasn't looking, her kids took turns shoving each other.

At last, Kate and Beverly moved around the circle giving everyone a hug, then they climbed into the car.

Matt set his jaw. His fisted hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweat shirt. He loved her. He desperately wanted her to stay. He hadn't slept last night. He'd only paced, driven his car, paced. His body was half sick, half numb.

Beverly and Kate rolled down the car's windows and waved. Everyone waved back. As Kate drove off, he could hear the calls back and forth between the two groups—the one leaving and the one left behind. He watched intently as she steered her car slowly away, then disappeared.

Gone.

For long moments he looked at the place where her car had vanished, making himself believe that she'd left. The other cars belonging to the other people gradually left, too.

Loss settled over him with crushing weight. Sadness. Anger at her for going and leaving him behind with nothing. He couldn't deal with all the emotions inside him. He didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to hold himself together without her.

At length, he turned and sat in the pew where he'd sat the last time he'd been in the chapel, the day he'd come to repair the place. He regarded the stained-glass window and the artist's rendering of Jesus.

He remembered how Kate had told him that God had brought her to Redbud and Chapel Bluff for him.

What bull. Why would God do that only to take her away again? It was cruel to finally give him something that mattered only to take it—and whatever peace he'd found with Kate—away again.

“Thanks a lot,” he growled at the stained-glass window. He pushed to his feet and locked the door behind him on his way out.

What was that thing people liked to say? That “if you love something let it go” thing?

Ah. Kate remembered. If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was.

That philosophy was absolute unadulterated crap. Someone should wipe that saying out, delete it entirely from America's consciousness. If you loved something you should—
obviously
—dig your nails into it and never let it go.

Kate smiled without joy, in the way of someone who was exhausted, frayed, and on the verge of a meltdown into tears.

She'd been home for almost a week, safely back in her two-bedroom Dallas duplex next door to Judy of the plants and cats. During these last few days before Christmas, before she was expected back at work, she'd envisioned herself being industrious. Shopping, sending out cards, catching up with friends.

Instead, since returning home, she'd done nothing.

Nothing.

Today she had on drawstring pajama bottoms, an old sorority sweat shirt, and an ugly pair of ski socks. It was Sunday, and she should have gone to church. But the thought of church, just like the thought of nearly everything else these days, depressed her. She didn't feel like praising God or being surrounded by a lot of other people praising Him. Honestly, she didn't feel like talking to God, either. Or even thinking about Him.

From the top shelf of a hall closet, she pulled down her box of Christmas decorations. She lugged it to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

Sighing, her hands motionless on top of the box, she surveyed her surroundings. She'd always loved decorating, and the interior of her duplex was exactly as she'd left it in September, not a picture askew or a throw blanket out of place. She'd done a great job, she thought dispassionately. The color scheme of ivory, pale blue, and brown soothed. The mix of antiques, art, and comfortable furniture hit just the right note of coziness balanced with sophistication.

So why didn't it stir her? Why didn't her house bring her any pleasure anymore?

Forcing down a niggle of panic, she opened the box. Yep, there they were. The same familiar Christmas decorations that she set out year after year.

She lifted a carved wooden nativity set from the box. The three containers of tree ornaments she set aside. She wouldn't be using them this time around—too close to Christmas to hassle with a tree. She made piles of the white lights she usually strung on the bushes outside. Wrinkling her nose, she decided to pass on those, too. The winter wreath with fake greenery and red ribbon looked crimped and lopsided. She hung it on her front door knocker without bothering to fuss with it. Finally, she displayed her collection of glass snowflakes on the mantel above the fireplace and set out the Santa mugs that her aunt Sally gave her every year.

Several items still waited at the bottom of the box, but Kate had run out of steam and didn't feel like putting the rest of them out. She laid the ornaments and lights back in the box and returned the whole thing to the hall closet.

She padded into her bedroom and slipped back under the covers of her unmade bed. Lying in a fetal position, she thought of Matt. Saw him running toward her shirtless, with his iPod strapped to his bicep. Saw his face above hers in the hallway the day he'd kissed her, his eyes a dark, fiery brown. Saw him sitting barefoot in his apartment, his hair wet, his expression shuttered after she'd told him she was leaving without him.

What had she done?

She'd been obedient to God, that's what. Yet she felt no peace in it. No joy or contentment. Only heartbreak and emptiness and yawning loneliness. This wasn't the first time her heart had been broken, but it was the worst time. Never had she been knocked this low.

Matt called her every night, and thank goodness he did, because she was living to hear his voice. Even though she spent the entire conversation pretending to be fine. Even though her spirits plummeted the second the call ended.

Already he'd asked her when he could come see her. She yearned to see him, and yet she knew it wouldn't change anything, that it would only make it all more brutally painful. So whenever he asked, she put him off by making up excuses, or changing the subject, or lightly saying they'd plan a date later.

He wouldn't stand for it forever, and she knew it. One of these days he was going to write her off entirely.

She probably should have broken up with him cleanly back in Redbud. Maybe it would have been better that way, easier than this slow death of their relationship that she was putting them both through. But she hadn't broken up with him then. And she didn't have the guts to ask him to stop calling now. Her stubborn heart was determined to cling to the slender thread that remained between them for as long as she possibly could.

Two days before Christmas, Matt returned to the chapel at Chapel Bluff. He sat again in the same spot in the same pew looking at the same stained-glass window.

Kate didn't want to see him. He'd sensed her hesitation before she'd left, when he'd mentioned commuting to visit each other, but he'd convinced himself it would be all right. Then he'd tried to wait a couple of weeks before saying anything about flying to Dallas to see her. But he'd been so lost without her that he'd brought it up just days after she'd gone.

Every time he mentioned it, she shot him down.

She didn't want him to come. He couldn't
believe
she didn't want him to come. But clearly, she didn't. She was cutting him loose.

Sickness rolled in his stomach.

“I know that I've disappointed you.”
Her words whispered out at him from the freezing silence of the chapel.
“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.”

God.
God.
He had the sense that he'd been running and that he'd finally come to the end of that running. No further to go, no more energy, no more options to try, nothing left to hope in.

The figure of Jesus in the pastel glass window was still waiting patiently, arm outstretched.

The wooden pew creaked as Matt pushed to his feet. He walked to the open space at the front of the chapel and lowered onto one knee. He leaned over, pressing his palms into the floor.

His mind went frighteningly blank. Where to start? He tried the Lord's Prayer but only got halfway, then realized he didn't remember the rest. So screw it, he was just going to have to let his mind be blank for a minute until something came to him.

What came to him was Beth. It surprised him and he almost, reflexively, shoved the thought of her away. Almost, but not quite. He fought back the barriers that he'd developed and let the memories come. Guilt pressed in on him, just like it always did when he thought of Beth.

Forgive me
, he silently prayed. It was all he could manage, two small words that encompassed so much. Everything he wished he'd done for her, should have done, regretted. All the ways he'd screwed up.

In answer, a clean wind blew through his chest.

He thought back over the past years and how angry at God he'd been. The ways he'd ignored Him, hated Him, insulted Him.

Forgive me.

More wind. More space inside himself opening up. Freeing.

Things came into his head that he'd never even considered before. The way he'd broken his word and his contract when he'd left his hockey career. How he'd injured his family and friends by pushing them away. The selfishness and pride he'd been holding on to and using like a weapon. His shame over loving Kate when he should have loved Beth forever. All of it came bubbling up like bad sewage, and he just kept letting it come. On and on and on. Until he'd emptied himself and there was nothing left.

Forgive me.

It seemed impossible, but he felt God's response immediately.
You're forgiven.

Just that quickly and simply. No lectures or blame. Only the feeling that God had heard everything and forgiven everything in one fell swoop. Just like that.

Gratitude filled him. He stayed exactly where he was, unsure what to pray next. Except that it was more than that. He was unsure what to do with
his life
next.

Over the past week he'd purposely taken a short and easy job, something he'd already started and finished. He'd hated it. The house hadn't been Chapel Bluff, and Kate hadn't been there.

Since Kate had gone, he'd been letting himself into Chapel Bluff night after night, staring at the bare places where she'd been, missing her. He couldn't keep this up. He had to do something.

“I want you to play professional hockey again.”
He could clearly remember the way she'd looked—standing tall and determined—when she'd said those words to him.
“You're never going to be completely happy unless you can go back and finish what you started the right way.”

Matt shook his head. Anything but that. Maybe he should go away and travel for a while. Or take college courses. Or meet with one of those people who helped you figure out what career would be best for you.

“I believe that you can do this. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”
Kate's words were every bit as persistent as the woman herself had been in the flesh.
“Hockey wouldn't have the power to hurt you anymore unless you still loved it.”

Did he? Did he still love it?

It didn't matter. He couldn't go back now. Chances are he no longer had what it would take and he'd blow it—

He stopped himself. Underneath his automatic denial, underneath his fear of failing, did he still love it? And if he did, did he have enough faith in himself and in God to try to get it back? It would take more than just a little faith to put himself out there and face the overwhelming odds that he'd humiliate himself.

No, he didn't have that much faith. He was new at this God thing and what had happened with Beth and Kate hadn't exactly increased his ability to trust people. . . .

Maybe that was the point, though. God wasn't a person. He was God. And just like Kate had said to him, that made God way more worthy of trust.

His brain staggered. He couldn't believe he was even considering this.

He wasn't considering this.

Was he?

How much did it cost to have an enormous box delivered to someone on Christmas Eve? Kate wondered. Lots. Crazy money. Money that Matt had apparently paid.

The UPS guy wheeled the package into her duplex on a dolly, had her sign her name on his handheld computer, and wished her a merry Christmas before leaving.

She blinked at the rectangular cardboard box. It stood waist high and about four feet wide. Thank goodness she was running late for the family dinner her parents hosted every Christmas Eve. If she'd been on time, she'd have missed this.

Quickly, Kate got her scissors and went to work unwrapping. Whatever it was had been professionally and carefully packed. It took her a few minutes to slice away the sides of the box and wrestle off the Styrofoam padding. Finally, she pulled off the last slab of bubble wrap and uncovered an antique table. A very particular Pembroke table with a satinwood top, cabriole legs, and paintings of green garlands and white ribbons. She recognized it instantly from the day she and Matt had gone antiquing together. She'd seen it in one of the shops on Main and loved it, but it had been
so
expensive. . . .

Matt had remembered and bought it for her.

A big red bow with a little white tag attached to it stretched around the top of the table. She angled the tag toward her.

Merry Christmas, Kate.
—Matt

She pressed a hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks. The delicate table gleamed in the light from the overhead fixture, every bit as gorgeous as she remembered.

She loved him. And somehow, against all odds, he cared about her. What had she been thinking? She was going to call him this minute and tell him that if he'd have her, she was moving back to Redbud for him.