Fireproof (21 page)

He tracked it down.

Swung again.

Watched it crack open. Saw the CD/DVD tray splinter.

Another swing. Another. And one last time.

That's right. You see that! This love is worth fighting for.

He pressed his mouth into a grim line, lifted the bat, and dropped it in disdainful victory onto the wreckage. Brushing off his hands, he headed toward his truck. He had an idea, a little something for Catherine. Except this time, he wouldn't go cheap.

As he walked off, he overheard Mr. Rudolph's gruff voice.

“Irma, I don't want you talking to that guy. He is
weird
.”

The old woman muttered back, “Takes one to know one.”

CHAPTER 29

C
atherine parked in the garage and stepped from the air-conditioned car. At work earlier, she'd received a number of compliments on her pleated gray skirt and jacket, but the attire was stifling in this weather. Dougherty County was fairly flat, blanketed with fields and orchards, and the summer humidity hovered, as though too lazy to get up off the couch and go to bed.

What was that near the trash container?

Despite the heat, she had to see this for herself. She strolled to the mouth of the garage and contemplated the busted computer pieces poking from the garbage.

Okay, Caleb. What's this all about?

She thought of their confrontation a few days back, of her livid accusations about his online distractions. Maybe this was his way of striking back at her, like a child breaking a toy that he had been told to put away.

Well, that wouldn't surprise her. Guys could be so juvenile.

In fact, men in general were not high on her list right now. She'd tried to join Gavin at lunch today, hoping to explain why she wore no wedding ring, but he'd left in a hurry with some excuse about being late for his rounds. They hadn't spoken much since the scenario with Caleb in the hospital alcove, and the doctor probably thought she had been messing with his heart.

Maybe Gavin had never had those feelings for her anyway. Maybe it was all part of some fantasy she'd been courting in her own head.

Tomorrow, she would talk to him and determine where they stood.

Turning her back on the destroyed computer parts, Catherine strolled into the house and set down her keys.

No sign of her husband.

Except for his half-empty water glass on the coffee table.

She started toward it, to clean up—again—after this man she lived with, but then the cleared computer desk across the living room snagged her attention. It wasn't the absence of machinery that made an impression so much as the handwritten note beside a fluted vase of a dozen red roses.

Her favorite.

Were they for her? They had to be. She picked up the note.

In Caleb's handwriting, the note read, “I love you more.”

A warm sensation moved from her fingers up through her arms and into her chest. She caught her breath. Caleb had made a choice today, and this was what remained: fragrant flowers in place of his computer.

CALEB, SWEATING AWAY any extra calories, was on the final stretch of his late-afternoon jog. He kicked it into another gear as he neared the house, spurred on by the sight of the white Camry in the garage.

She was home.

She should've found the bouquet by now.

The first time he'd given Catherine a dozen roses was on their third date,Valentine's Day of 2000. That's when he had known he was in love with her.

Of course, it'd all started that first day in the bay. The chemistry was instant, but he had waited a full year before acting on that attraction. He saw her occasionally around the station, was invited to barbecues at the Campbell home, and wooed her slowly. They were fierce combatants in the volleyball sandpits at the park, and she shared his love for Georgia-based rock bands.

Their first date was ice-cream cones and a walk along the Flint River. The second was a Third Day concert in Atlanta. Then came Valentine's Day, with roses and dinner and a first kiss.

Twelve months later, they had tied the knot—
“for better or for
worse.”

So how could it be they were now teetering on the brink of divorce?

He walked through the front door into the kitchen for some ice water. No sign of Catherine. He ducked into the living room and saw the roses still on the desk. His note was moved from its original position, indicating she'd given it a glance.

He moved toward the master bedroom and almost knocked on the closed door. But no, that seemed too invasive. Too pushy. He'd made his gesture, and it would be best to wait for her reaction.

For now, it looked like another night alone in the spare bedroom.

At his bedside, he prayed, “Lord, whatever it takes. I want the chance to love my wife again—body, soul, and mind. Please, I need You to show me how.”

DAYLIGHT WORKED ITS way through the window and woke him up. Caleb lifted his head, saw that the bedside clock read 6:47 a.m. He sat up in his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, listening for the sounds of his wife—showering, cooking, humming.

There was nothing.

He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then applied new gauze to his arm. On his way down the hall, he noted the open master door.

“Catherine?”

He tried two more times, but she was gone. Maybe she had a morning work meeting. That happened sometimes.

The flowers and note were still on the desk, and he smiled at the thought of her discovering them yesterday. Surprises had always been special to her, and he was trying to demonstrate love in ways that were meaningful to her.

On the table, beside a bowl of fruit, an envelope bore his name.

A slight smile tugged at his lips. So, she
had
been thinking of him.

He lifted the envelope and pulled out the contents. He imagined, briefly, that she had written him a full confession of her feelings. Would she mention that it was his recent thoughtfulness and dedication that had won back her heart?

Instead, he found a several-page legal document titled “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.”

“What?”

He flipped to the second page, then the third.

It was all right here, a request for a divorce, notarized and stamped with an official seal. He gasped, shaking his head. He couldn't breathe. He stood stunned, blinking against emotions of denial and knee-buckling grief.

Why was she doing this? Why now?

“No, Lord.
Nooo
.”

He backed away from the table, tears flowing as he slid down the wall. The papers dropped from his hand and scattered across the floor.

JOHN HOLT PRESSED the End button on the cordless phone and leaned forward in the cushioned armchair. Though the sun was already warming up here in Savannah, spreading an amber glow through the sheer curtains over the window, he felt nothing but heaviness.

Cheryl was seated across from him. She rubbed his arm.

“She's filed the papers,” John said.

“How's Caleb taking it?”

“He could barely even talk.”

“Oh, honey.”

John cupped a hand around his chin, the prayers in his head finding it difficult to make it all the way down to his mouth.

STREET SIGNAGE ADVERTISED RMS Homecare, as well as Bobby Lee Duke's Lollipop Shop and the Biscuit Barn. Though the pairing of these storefront properties seemed odd, Catherine often found herself stopping in for a watermelon lollipop after the gloomy financial situations she faced in RMS. She couldn't deny that the brief sugar rush helped.

The Lollipop Shop also featured framed news articles about local football teams, which she thought gave the place a homier, more personal flavor—forgive the pun.

And the owner? He was a stocky man with a crew cut, a former high school coach who always sported a lollipop of his own.

As for the Biscuit Barn, they served some of the best breakfast around, even if they did wear goofy biscuit-shaped hats. A few years back, she'd bought a run-down Hyundai coupe from the assistant manager, but he was no longer in the used-car business.

Catherine stared through her windshield at the RMS entry-way. She knew there'd be no goodies or biscuits for her today. She'd left the papers for Caleb, then left the house early so that she'd have time, on her way to work, to make another payment on her mother's home-care supplies and physical therapy.

She strolled into the building, past walking aids and motorized wheelchairs. At the corridor's end, she propped her purse on the counter. This was where she paid in person each month, and the staff knew her by name.

“Good morning,Mrs. Holt.”

“Hi, Mrs. Evans. How are you?” After greetings, Catherine said, “I wanted to come and talk to you about some of the equipment we've been looking at.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Evans replied. “I'm so glad you had picked some stuff out.”

“Well, it might be a while before—”

“No, it shouldn't be long at all, Mrs. Holt.”

“Excuse me?”

“I bet your parents are excited. When a patient gets the right wheelchair, it can make such a difference.”

“I'm sorry. What?”

“I'm talking about the bed and wheelchair being delivered to your parents this morning.”

Catherine was confused. “To
my
parents?”

“Yes. It should've been delivered by now.”

“But I . . . I haven't paid for anything yet.”

“Uh, it's actually already been paid for,” Mrs. Evans said with genuine pleasure. “A gentleman called and said that he wanted to pay for all that you'd picked out. He covered everything, plus some accessories.”

Catherine felt overwhelmed. How could this be? Did this mean her mother would actually have a comfortable bed and fully functional chair—at last?

This was . . . this was too much. And all because of one man's generosity.

“Did, uh, this gentleman tell you his name?” she inquired.

“Actually,” Mrs. Evans said, checking a note in a file, “he said he wanted it to be anonymous. But I think you . . .”

Catherine had already turned, hurrying back down the hall. She could hardly believe this. He had
paid
for her mother's equipment. How could she have ever doubted him?

“Uh, Mrs. Holt?”

Catherine ignored the receptionist's voice and shoved through the door. She had an apology to give, as well as a very big thank-you.

CHAPTER 30

M
an, you were hammering those weights this morning. What's going on, Caleb?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing I wanna talk about.”

“Sure,” Simmons said. “I understand. Just remember what I told you, though . . .”

“What's that?”

“We're brothers. You got something you need to get off your chest, you can talk to me. It ain't going nowhere.”

“Thanks, Michael.”

Caleb hit his turn signal, steering the big red pickup down East Lullwater Road to drop off the lieutenant on his way home. They'd put in a good workout at the station, and now Caleb had a long, lonely day ahead—hour upon hour to think about the impending divorce. Sure, Simmons was a good friend and listener, but this was too close to the heart. As a man, Caleb wasn't certain he could risk opening this sort of wound.

Medically, he knew things worked just the opposite. A wound had to be opened, cleansed, and tended to. Ignoring such things only made them fester.

Here goes, Lord. Give me strength . . .

“You know, Michael,” he said, “you can just pray for us.”

“You and Catherine?”

Caleb nodded, flicking his eyes between the road and his mirrors.

Simmons said, “I can do that, man.”

Rearview, side view . . . all clear. Caleb pulled into a cul-de-sac and edged into his friend's driveway.

“Hey,” Simmons said as he grabbed his bag and stepped down from the cab. “Don't forget there's another enemy out there who's just as determined to tear you down, by hook or by crook.”

“What do you mean?”

“The enemy of your soul.”

Caleb stared forward, his arm draped over the truck's steering wheel.

“You hear what I'm saying, Caleb?”

“I grew up in the South. Believe me, I've heard my share of hellfire and brimstone.”

“True.” Simmons gave a wry grin.“Well, I'm not saying you need to live in fear, but to stay alert. To be ready when the fire comes.”

“And how do I do that, Michael?”

“You remember the story in the book of Daniel, about the three guys in the fiery furnace? They walked through the flames without even a singe. Right there in the middle of it all, God stood with them.”

“Then why didn't He stop
this
?” Caleb wiggled his bandaged arm.

“You're alive, aren't you? I'd say He was with you in that house.”

“Yeah, I think you're right.”

“So, then, stop whining about a minor flesh wound.”

“
Flesh
wound? Oh, thanks, man. Thanks for the sympathy.”

They shared a short laugh.

“I better get inside and say hi to Tina,” Simmons said.“I appreciate the ride, Caleb. I know you got a lot on your mind, but don't you forget—I got your back. That's what brothers are for.”

A PAIR OF white-jacketed RMS Homecare technicians were in the front room at Catherine's parents' place. She stepped through the open front door, dodging a bed rail that was being carted inside. Her eyes took in this top-of-the-line equipment that would simplify and stabilize everyday life for her mom and dad.

Mrs. Campbell was already propped up in her new chair,while the tech squatted to attach a cable between the motor and armrest controls.

Catherine felt tears well in her eyes. This was too much.

Her mom was fiddling with the touch-panel, familiarizing herself. Her father was watching every move as the other tech attached a rail to the adjustable bed.