My Stubborn Heart (20 page)

His thoughts chased one another through his head. Thoughts of guilt, of longing. Wanting and trying not to want. Regret and hopelessness.

For those few minutes today it had been a tremendous relief to be himself again. Ultimately, though, being himself was a self-indulgence he couldn't afford.

When Matt showed up for work the next morning, Beverly met him in the kitchen before he'd even taken off his coat.

“I have a favor to ask,” she said.

“Sure.”

“I've decided that I'd like to use the chapel. I have a little daily quiet time, you know, when I read and pray and all, and yesterday it occurred to me that I ought to be spending my quiet times in the chapel. But when I went out there I saw that the floor has some loose nails and one of the pews is broken. I'm sure there are other problems, too.” She tilted her head. “Would you mind if I asked you to postpone work in here today and fix the chapel for me instead?”

“Not at all.” Though to be honest, he
did
mind. He'd been counting the minutes until he could see Kate again.

You're an idiot
, he told himself. It would be far better for him if he spent the next several weeks of this job in the chapel away from her. But he didn't
want
what his head knew was best. And that was the continuing torture of it.

Matt had to assure Beverly a couple more times that the change in plans suited him fine. Then he set out across the meadow toward the chapel with his tool belt in hand.

The small clapboard structure stood at the crest of a rise in the land. He eyed it appraisingly as he approached. The house had been built of stone, but the chapel had been constructed of wooden clapboards that should have decayed and crumbled decades ago. That they hadn't meant that generations of the family had spent time and effort to keep the place up.

He let himself in through the unlocked double doors. The inside smelled like lemon Pine-Sol, which meant that Beverly had done some cleaning yesterday. The small rectangular space held five rows of short wooden pews. At the front, someone had placed a simple cherrywood stand for a Bible. Behind that was a stained-glass window, a big round one that showed a scene of Jesus in a garden with one hand outstretched. The sunlight streaming through the pastel glass fell all across the floor in shades of yellow, green, blue, and pink.

He supposed he'd always known about the window. But from the outside it looked dark and lifeless. From the inside it was beautiful. Surprisingly bright.

Matt could easily spot the needed repairs that Beverly had mentioned. Rusty nails poked out of the floor. The side piece of one of the pews had come apart and was tilting at an angle. And a pile of debris near the door needed to be cleared out.

He strapped on his tool belt and went to work. It was weirdly quiet. The only sounds came from his muffled movements and the echo of his metal hammer against the wooden floorboards. After everything that had happened with Kate yesterday, the last thing he needed was silence and more time alone to think. He'd been up most of the night thinking.

He glanced at the picture of Jesus, staring calmly out at him from the stained glass. This chapel had the same hushed, holy feeling he always associated with churches.

He tried to pry out a stubborn nail and managed to jam his thumb painfully. He hissed an expletive and shook out his hand. Glanced again at the window.
Look, just back off,
Matt thought.
I never wanted to set foot inside a church again, but I'm here doing a job, so just cut me a break and back off.

The image in the window seemed to wait patiently. Not offended. Just waiting, with His hand out.

Matt glared at the glass depiction of the face.

I'm angry at you.
Unbidden, the words filled his head, his eyes, his ears, his throat. Following closely came a crippling flood of emotion. Endless dark fury. Bitterness. Excruciating sadness. A lust for revenge. Helplessness.

He set aside his hammer and pulled himself onto the nearest pew. His fingers tunneled into his hair and he sat, elbows on his knees, head bent into his hands.

I had everything, and you took it all away and now I have nothing. Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?
Tremors ran through him as his body battled to contain the unbearable pressure of his thoughts.

Did you take Beth from me to punish me? What did I do that was so wrong? What possible thing could I have done to you that would have made you take her? She was so young. So young.

Memories of her ripped at his heart. Matt saw her dancing, laughing, flirting with him, cooking in their apartment's kitchen. Colorfully alive. And then he saw her dying, wasted, pale, struggling for breath. And he saw himself, confused and terrified. Not knowing what to do. Struggling to hope that she'd still be okay, that she could still recover from the disease. Even when the doctors told him she wouldn't. And then she was officially gone. Dead. Too late to save, to apologize to, to love.

After all this time, he was still trying to make himself accept what had happened to her. What had happened to his life. One moment he'd had Beth and he'd had his hockey. The next she'd been taken. And then he'd buried the hockey, too. The two biggest parts of his life, gone.

A twenty-seven-year-old dying of brain cancer? How could you let it happen to anyone? But most of all, to her? To her?! She was my wife.

Matt swore aloud, furious. “Your world sucks,” he whispered. “I hate the way you've set it up.”

The image in the stained-glass window didn't change in the face of his anger. Jesus' hand was still reaching outward.

Kate had told him the other day that God hadn't forgotten about him. For the first time in years, Matt could acknowledge that maybe God hadn't. He didn't know which was worse: being forgotten or being confronted like this with nowhere to turn.

He needed to get out. His heartbeat accelerated. He couldn't do this.

His strides ate the distance to the doors at the back of the chapel. But just as he was about to wrench the doors open, he stopped himself.

What was he going to tell Beverly? Was he willing to explain why he couldn't do these few simple repairs for her?

He was breathing too fast. He tried to slow it down, to calm himself down.

He
could
do this. He had to. He might be a mess, but he wasn't a coward.

Heart still thudding, Matt forced himself to go back to work. He flat-out refused to let himself look at the stained-glass window again. But in the silence, Kate's voice grew harder to ignore.

He'll never leave you.

He loves you.

He hasn't forgotten about you.

He wanted to jeer at her words, to shut her out as surely as he had the stained-glass window.

But he treasured Kate. There were countless things in this life he no longer trusted, but somehow he
did
trust her. Her goodness. Her honesty. Matt let everything she'd said to him revolve in his head while he worked, turning each sentence like a diamond held to the light.

And ever so slowly her words began to do more than circle his memory. They began to penetrate. Past his defenses, his doggedness, and his reluctance to bend.

When Kate returned from a yoga class and some grocery shopping later that afternoon, she heard Matt working upstairs. Which meant he'd finally finished the chapel.

She'd gotten halfway through unloading her eco-friendly reusable grocery bags when she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway to the dining room. She stilled, surprised. Inside the walls of this house on a workday she was always the one that sought him out. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He simply stared at her, so long that she began to wonder if maybe he needed to work on the sink or something and was waiting for her to clear out. “Am I in your way?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Oh. Well, I'm just . . . just back from the store, trying to get these things put away.”

“I'll help you.”

“Sure.” He took the refrigerated stuff and she took the rest, working together in silence. Every particle of air in the kitchen vibrated with the knowledge of the things they'd said to each other yesterday. All she could hear when she looked at him was his voice on the phone last night.
“I like you. I want to go out with you myself.”
He hadn't wanted those admissions to change anything. And she was acting like they hadn't. But actually, for her, they'd changed a lot. The incredible realization that he liked her filled her body with electric tingles she couldn't squelch.

Once she'd finished folding the grocery bags into a neat pile, she leaned her hip against the sink and studied him. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his attention steadily centered on her. “How'd it go in the chapel?” she asked.

“The work went fine, but I was glad to get out of there.”

“Haven't been in church for a few years.”

“No, and never really planned to go back.”

Ah
, she thought. God had gone to work on him in there. He looked so miserable about it that she couldn't help but smile.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked.

“Because I'm pleased. It's a start.”

Since he didn't seem inclined to say more, she told him about her yoga class and Theresa's progress with their appraisal report, and updated him on the ongoing deep freeze between Velma and Morty. What she didn't say was a single word about the enormous things that had passed between them yesterday.

The next day a miracle happened.

Gran, Velma, and Kate were in the kitchen finishing up a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and vegetable soup when they heard the deep bass rumble of a car pulling up the drive. It drew closer and closer still.

All three of them lifted their heads, listening. They were used to the sounds of the usual cars that came around. This one sounded totally different. Distinctive.

“Who on earth could that be?” Gran murmured. She bustled to the back door and opened it, peering out. “Well, I'll be.” She motioned excitedly to them. “Come see this—hurry!”

They all rushed outside into the cold, bright day. Shielding their eyes with their hands, they watched as an amazing car drew even with them and slid to a stop.

It was Morty, driving what was unmistakably his Cadillac convertible and wearing his new leather jacket, a fedora, and a triumphant grin. The car was low and long. Painted glossy black with glittering silver trim. Twin tail fins in the back. Shiny wheels filled with silver spokes. White leather upholstery trimmed with black. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Kate that he'd kept the car in mint condition. The entire thing gleamed as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor.

“Morty!” Gran exclaimed, laughing with amazement and admiration. “What a beautiful car.”

“Wow, it's
fabulous
,” Kate agreed, smiling at him. “Really fabulous.”