A Passion Denied (32 page)

She idly traced a finger through the moisture beading the side of her cool glass, her eyes lost in a faraway stare. “It’s hard, Lizzie, there’s no question about it. But if you really love someone, then you want the best for them. And the ‘best’ is clearly laid out in Deuteronomy 30, a mainstay in my life: life and death, blessing and curse. God begs us to choose life—his precepts—so that he can bestow blessings on us. If you really love someone, why would you choose death—your own lust and pleasure—and cut off God’s blessing from your relationship and the one you love? It just doesn’t make sense. So between my passion for God, my passion for Collin in wanting the best for him, and prayer—well, somehow we got through.”

“But maybe you’re stronger than me.”

Faith wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. But God is. Pray for fervor, Lizzie. Pray that God is the most important thing in your life, so much so that hurting him would hurt you. When that happens, and your choices line up with his, it produces an amazing ripple effect of blessings—in your life, that of your family, and for the man you eventually marry.”

“Oh, Faith, I—”

A knock sounded at the door. Both sisters looked up.

“Beth, hello! I hope I’m not interrupting . . .”

Lizzie blinked and touched a hand to her cheek. “Brady?”

A crooked grin lit his face. “No, it’s Michael, John’s brother. I came to apologize.”

Faith bounded to her feet and opened the door. “Sweet saints, Collin was right—you are the spitting image of your brother. Come in, please.”

She held the screen as he sauntered past, hat in hand. He was dressed impeccably in a tan linen waistcoat and matching trousers, sporting a trace of a swagger that clearly set him apart from Brady. His smile bordered on mischievous. He said he’d come to apologize, but there was a sparkle in his brown eyes akin to that of a little boy who’d misbehaved and wasn’t the least bit sorry.

Faith extended a hand. “I’m Faith, Collin’s wife and Lizzie’s sister. You were certainly a shock to all of us. Brady’s pretty tight-lipped about his past, you know.”

He grinned and shook her hand, revealing a flash of perfectly white teeth. “Yeah, well, I guess nobody was more shocked than him. I haven’t seen him since we were seventeen.” He gave her a narrow look. “Who’s Lizzie?”

Lizzie retrieved a glass from the cupboard, grateful for something to do with her hands. Michael’s similarity to Brady was unnerving. “That would be me. I used to go by Beth, but Lizzie is what everybody calls me now. Everybody except Brady, of course. He’s a bit slow when it comes to change. Would you like some iced tea?”

“That would be great, that is, if I’m not intruding.” He took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He rolled his sleeves and settled in, as if intrusion were not even a remote possibility. He plopped his straw boater down and folded thick arms on the table, displaying tan muscles beneath his white linen shirt. “Slow? My brother? That’s a bit like calling the Pope Catholic, isn’t it?” He laughed, and the low, rich sound seemed to vibrate in the air. His eyelids closed to a squint as he studied her. “Lizzie. I like it. It suits you better than Beth.”

“Are you in town long?” Faith asked, sliding back into her chair.

“I’m not sure.” His eyes flicked to Lizzie as she set his glass of tea on the table. “Depends. Thank you, Lizzie.” He took a large swollow, draining half the glass.

“Collin says you’re staying with Brady?” Faith asked.

“Well, I was until earlier this week. But I’m afraid we had a bit of a falling out. Which is why I’m here. To apologize to your sister.”

Faith set her glass down and started to rise. “Oh, well, I should be going—”

“
No!
You just g-got here and all,” Lizzie said. “I mean, you know Mother will want to see you . . .”

Faith stared, obviously reading the worry in her sister’s eyes. She glanced at the clock over the sink. “Well, I don’t have to be home for a while yet, so maybe I’ll finish my tea.”

Lizzie’s muscles relaxed, and she released the breath she’d been holding. Her relief, however, was short-lived.

“So, Michael, what is it exactly that you need to apologize for?” Faith asked.

His manner became serious, betrayed by a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, Lizzie came to see Brady last week, and I failed to tell her he wasn’t home.” His gaze wandered back to Lizzie, causing her cheeks to grow warm. “She thought I was him.”

Lizzie bounced up to fetch the pitcher of tea. “Well, I needed a shoulder to cry on after my breakup with Tom, Michael, and you supplied that. Thank you for praying with me and providing comfort. I believe you did as good a job as Brady would have.”

He watched as she poured him more tea, thumbs latched on the clasps of his suspenders. “I believe I could do better . . . if given the chance.”

Lizzie jerked, spilling tea all over the table. Faith leapt to her feet to fetch a towel.

“I’m so sorry, Michael! Did I get any on you?” Lizzie stared in horror at the dark splotches staining his slacks.

He stood and brushed his linen trousers. “No problem, but I’ll tell you what. You can make it up by having dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Oh no, I can’t! We have a family dinner every Sunday.”

“Monday, then?”

Lizzie’s gaze darted to Faith, who arched a brow.

“I don’t think so, Michael, but thank you for asking.”

He reached for the sodden towel and wiped the seat of his chair before pushing it in. He tossed it back on the table. “Because of John?”

She bit her lip. “Yes, I think so.”

He picked up his hat and held it loosely in his hands. His thumb grazed the rim. “He told me you two weren’t dating. That you were just friends.”

“No, no, we’re not dating. Just friends. My best friend, actually.”

“Then why would he mind?”

She was mortified by the heat burning in her cheeks, but she wasn’t going to lie. “He asked me to stay away from you.”

“I see. And did he say why?”

“He claims you wouldn’t be good for me.”

“Because . . .”

She released a sober breath. “He says you have no faith in God.”

He nodded, the barest of smiles curving his lips. “I see.”

He moved to the door and positioned the straw boater on his head. He gave it several firm taps. “Faith, it was a pleasure meeting you. The moment I met Collin, I knew his wife would be something special.” He gave a slight bow and pressed a hand to the screen door. He turned and squinted. “By the way, what time do you leave for church on Sunday mornings?”

She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Nine forty-five for ten o’clock Mass. Why?”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

Lizzie blinked, her body in shock. “Church? Tomorrow? B-but I didn’t think you went.”

He gave her a faint smile, and his firm gaze was so much like Brady’s that it caused her stomach to flip. He winked. “I do now.”

“Good night, Mr. Dennehy. You heading home soon?”

Mitch glanced at his watch before looking up. “Right behind you, Dorothy. Have a nice evening.”

“You too, sir.”

He expelled a heavy breath and rose to his feet, his lips twisting into a slight scowl. Yeah, a real nice evening—if he didn’t get fired first. He plucked his suit coat from the back of his chair and slung it over his shoulder, then strode to the door with one purpose in mind. To get it over with—as quickly as possible. To get the monkey off his back. He thought of his wife and sighed, fisting the knob with too much pressure as he closed his door. A beautiful monkey, to be sure, but annoying all the same.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. No, that wasn’t fair. He would have done this anyway, on his own. But it would have been on his time frame, not Charity’s. He wanted to see healing in the family as much as anyone. More, probably, given the fact that he had to work with Patrick, day in and day out. He was tired of the lonely bent of his father-in-law’s shoulders, the hollow look in his eyes. But today certainly wouldn’t have been the day he’d picked. Not when several deadlines had been missed and the paper had gone to bed late. Patrick would be in a foul mood for sure. But no more so than his beautiful monkey if he failed to get the deed done. Mitch steeled his jaw and knocked on Patrick’s closed door.

“Come in.”

He poked his head in. “Got a minute?”

Patrick finished scribbling on a paper before looking up. “Since when do you knock? You usually barge in with smoke coming out of your ears.”

“Yeah, well, I thought there’d be enough smoke in the air.” He closed the door and tossed his coat over the back of a chair and sat, elbows flat on the side arms. He jiggled his fingers nervously over the edge.

Patrick continued writing, his head still bowed over the paper. His eyes flicked up, gray and grim beneath stormy brows. “What do you want, Mitch?”

He exhaled. There was no sense in tiptoeing around. His fingers stilled on the chair. “The family knows. Everything. That you and Marcy aren’t talking, that you sleep at the
Herald
, that things aren’t right between you two.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. His eyes were as cold as the pewter pen clenched in his hand. “And how, pray tell, did they find out?”

Mitch sucked in a deep breath. “They held a meeting . . . to discuss the tension they’ve been feeling. They suspect you aren’t sleeping in your room.”

Patrick’s brow angled dangerously high.

A nerve twitched in Mitch’s cheek. “And I confirmed it.”

“I see.” His tone was flat, like the hard line of his mouth.

Mitch sprang to his feet, palms pressed white on the desk. “Look, Patrick, you put me in an awkward position, and I kept my mouth shut because you asked me to. But your family is bleeding over this, and something’s got to be done. For pity’s sake, your wife is in a depression and your family is frantic with worry. The man I thought I knew would have never allowed that. What’s happened to you?”

Without a word, Patrick rose to his feet and moved to the window, shoulders stooped like a man who’d waged a battle and lost. His voice was so low, Mitch could barely decipher the words. “That man no longer exists.”

“Patrick, you have to talk to me. Let me help you, please.”

The light from the window blazed around him, creating a surreal silhouette as he put his head in his hand. His shoulders began to shake, and with a tightening in his gut, Mitch realized he was weeping.

“Patrick, I respect you more than any man alive. What you and Marcy have, I’ve never seen anything like it. Never seen two people more in love, more in tune with each other. Charity and I and Collin and Faith get on our knees and pray for what you have. As God is my witness, I have never seen a better marriage.”

“It’s a lie.”

“What?”

Patrick turned around, his eyes raw with pain. “The marriage. It began as a lie. She didn’t love me.”

“I don’t believe that. That woman loves you so much that she can’t eat, can’t sleep. She’s a shell of her former self. Is that what you want?”

“No! And, yes, I know she loves me. But tell me something, Mitch. And I defy you to say otherwise. If you discovered Charity was in love with someone else when she became your wife, would it change the man that you are?”

Every nerve in his body stilled. The mere thought clotted the air in his lungs. A once-familiar taste of rage and jealousy tainted his tongue like a canker, reminding him how he’d felt prior to their marriage when Charity had been seeing Rigan or when she’d implied love for Brady. He closed his eyes and thought of Patrick, in love for a lifetime, only to discover a lie that could destroy it all. Mitch’s heart pounded in his chest. Would it change him? He sucked in a harsh breath and sat down. God help him, it would.

Patrick returned to his chair and shielded his eyes with his hands. “You see my dilemma, then. It’s not that I don’t love Marcy. The woman is my life. Or was. Sometimes I miss her so much that it’s a physical ache. But when I found out . . . something inside of me shut down, closed off. I’ve tried everything I know to open up again, but I can’t . . . seem . . . to do it.”

“How did you find out?”

A hoarse, bitter laugh erupted from his throat. “I suppose I can blame my own preoccupation with the
Herald
, along with an old friend who came to call. The best man from my wedding, actually, and the best friend I ever had. I’d known he courted Marcy before me, but he’d convinced me it was nothing more than friends. He came into town weeks ago, and I missed a dinner the three of us were supposed to have. Marcy hadn’t wanted to go, and now I know why. When I didn’t show, he apparently tried to pick up where they left off.”

“Did she—”

“No, Marcy’s too noble of a woman for that. She would never be unfaithful, at least not physically.” He leaned his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes, his struggle evident in the press of his jaw. “But the emotional betrayal . . . well, let’s just say I’ve been wrestling with the devil.”

Mitch sat back too. “Yes, the emotional betrayal. I remember it well. Your daughter turned me inside out seven different ways with her lies and deceit before we were married. But I almost lost her, Patrick, and my life would have never been the same. All because of a near-terminal illness of the soul.” He paused to let that sink in.