A Passion Denied (28 page)

Her eyelids flickered closed. In slow motion, she pressed a palm to her face and began to cry.

He jumped up to circle the table.

“No!” Her hand quivered as she warded him off, and her eyes glinted with wet anger. “Don’t you dare touch me again, ever! You have hurt me for the last time.”

“Beth, please—”

She fled from the room, and he cut her off at the door. He gripped her arms. “Can’t we talk, please—”

She twisted to break free. “Let me go, I can’t bear for you to touch me!”

“No! I am not letting you go.” He scooped her up and carried her to the back, his jaw set like rock as she thrashed in his arms. He dumped her in the chair and squatted before her, maintaining a tight hold. “Stop it, Beth! You’re acting like a spoiled little girl. Why don’t you act like the woman you profess to be and calm down and listen to reason?”

“I’ll start acting like a woman when you start acting like a man who’s not afraid of his feelings. You’re a coward, John Brady, through and through.” She thrust her chin in his face. “But I’ll bet your brother’s not.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and stood to his feet. Rage pumped in his veins, but he fought to keep his tone deadly calm. “Beth, you know that I love you and want what’s best for you. But I’m telling you flat out—what’s best for you doesn’t include me or my brother, so get both ideas out of your head right now.”

“Or what?”

His lips clamped tight.

“What, Brady? What are you going to do? I’ll tell you— nothing, absolutely nothing. Just like always. Because you can’t—you don’t own me, not my heart and not my soul. At least, not anymore.” She rose to her feet, her manner as deliberate and cold as his. “In fact, I think it’s best if we just end our friendship right here and now.”

She may as well have slapped him full across the face. The impact of her words had the same effect: his heart was reeling. Without a word he pulled her to him with an intensity that silenced her. He tucked his head against the crook of her neck and closed his eyes. Pears soap and lilac water flooded his senses, renting his heart at the thought of losing this woman forever.

Woman.
His heart turned over.
God help me.

No longer his “little buddy.” But still, God willing, his friend.

He could hear his breath, shallow against her throat, keeping time with his pulse, and he willed both to slow to a place of calm, where wisdom and self-control took reign. He suddenly became aware of the strain of his palms against her back and slowly relaxed, sliding his hands up to rest on her shoulders. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, not as a mentor, but as a man pleading for mercy. “Beth, I need your friendship, your prayers. Now more than ever before. Please . . . please don’t shut me out.”

Tears welled and her mouth trembled open. One short heave shivered her chest before she flung her arms around his waist and began to cry. He stroked her hair and soothed her with low whispers until her weeping stilled and she lay spent in his arms. With a gentle kiss to her brow, he steered her to the chair, then knelt beside her. He pulled his handkerchief out and began to wipe the tears from her face. “Beth, if you love me—”

“Oh, Brady, I do—”

He silenced her lips with a touch. “Then be my friend and only my friend.”

A lingering heave shuddered her frame, and she looked away. Her shoulders fell. “All right, Brady, whatever you want.”

He brushed a finger to her chin, lifting her gaze. “I love you, Beth, make no mistake about that. So much so that everything I say and do is filtered through that love. I’m asking you to trust me and know that I am only looking out for your welfare.” He paused and shifted from his knees to a squatting position. “That said, I’m asking you to stay away from my brother—”

“I’m not interested in your—”

“No, I know. But you’re a beautiful girl, Beth, and I don’t trust him. He’s got a jaded past—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Like me, I guess, only Michael has no faith in God to save him. And you and I both know that faith in God is everything. It’s the air we breathe, the pulse of our soul. Promise me, Beth—with all of your heart—that when you fall in love, it will be with a man who seeks God.”

She cupped his face in the small of her hands and gave him a trembling smile. Wetness shimmered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, making her look so much like the little girl he longed to protect.

“Oh, Brady, I already have. And he does. With all of his heart.”

11

“You look exhausted, darlin’. Why don’t you go to bed?”

Lizzie looked up to glance at the clock. Ten fifteen. She sighed and closed her book with a thud, then gave her father a weary smile. “I am tired, but I’m not sure I’ll sleep.”

He squinted over his newspaper. “Because of Tom?”

“No, I’m fine about that. I’m glad I broke it off.”

“What, then?”

She rose and hugged the book to her chest. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just a bit blue tonight, nothing a good night’s sleep can’t cure.” She leaned to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Father. You coming up soon?”

He squeezed her hand, then disappeared behind the paper once again. “In a bit, darlin’. Sleep well.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

She needed to. It had been a grueling day. Not because of her breakup with Tom. No, that had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders, dispelling a heaviness that had mounted over the last three months. She was grateful it was over, although Tom apparently felt otherwise. He had called a number of times, but she had refused all calls, asking her mother to turn him away.

With a tired sigh, she headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then tiptoed into her bedroom. She listened for the sound of Katie’s even breathing. As quietly as possible, she undressed and put on her nightgown, then slipped under the sheets. She curled into a ball and let her thoughts drift to the true source of all her sadness.

John Brady. A man she loved but couldn’t have. Elusive as the wind.

Wind. The Scripture they’d studied last week came to mind.

O
LORD
my God, how great you are! . . . You ride upon the wings
of the wind. The winds are your messengers; flames of fire are your
servants.

She stared at the ceiling. John Brady to a T.

A man aflame for God and a mighty wind, one who carried the Word of God to all who would listen. She, too, had ridden on the wings of that wind, allowing him to breathe hope and change into her life. And in the process, he had become for her a flaming fire, a man who’d set her heart ablaze, along with her passion.

Wetness pricked at her eyes and she let it have its way, sluicing down her cheeks until it soaked her pillow. She shivered. If only she could dispel her longing as easily. A broken sob escaped her lips.

“Lizzie? Are you crying?”

She froze. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t mean to waken you. I’m sorry.”

Her sister sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, moonlight spilling across her face. “What’s the matter? Do you miss Tom?”

“No, darling, I don’t. Not even a little.”

Katie maneuvered her legs over the side of the bed and lumbered to her feet. She padded over to Lizzie. “Good. I don’t miss him, either. He always called me ‘kid.’ ”

A smile tugged at Lizzie’s lips. “You know, Katie Rose, when it comes to maturity, I do believe you may have it all over Tom Weston.”

Katie’s teeth flashed white in the dark. “Lizzie? Are you lonely? ’Cause if you want, we can cuddle.”

More wetness rimmed Lizzie’s eyes, but this time it felt good. She lifted the covers. “Sure, Katie, I would really like that.”

Her sister burrowed in, and Lizzie gave her a tight hug. She rested her head against her sister’s soft hair. “I love you, Katie Rose,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Lizzie. You’re way too good for Tom.” She yawned and nestled close, releasing a contented sigh.

Lizzie smiled in the dark with Katie snug in her arms, and wondered what she would ever do without her family.

Or God.

Or Brady.

Katie’s even breathing finally resumed.

Lizzie sighed.

So had her heartbreak.

Patrick waited a full thirty minutes after Lizzie went upstairs before he set the paper aside and stood to his feet. At long last, everyone was in bed. He checked the kitchen door and turned out the lights, feeling well beyond his years as he slowly mounted the steps. Sleeping at the
Herald
was taking its toll, but no more so than the wound in his heart. The couch at the
Herald
robbed him of a decent night’s sleep, to be sure, but his bitterness robbed him of far more. And yet, for the first time in his life or his marriage, he had no will to fight it.

Marcy’s love had been sustenance to his soul and strength to his bones. Without it, he was empty, weak, a shell of despair that grew more brittle each day. The love he once thrived on was now tainted, and it was difficult to be in the same room with her, let alone the same bed. In the beginning, she had pleaded and begged, shedding more tears than she had in their lifetime together. The sight of his wife’s tears had once pierced him beyond measure, but now they only fell on a hardened heart, one too wounded to care.

And so they’d come to terms. She would give him time—to stew, to pray, to heal. And he would give her a semblance of normalcy. Home for dinner, time with the family, and then leave when his children were in bed and all was right with their world.

While Marcy and his ripped apart at the seams.

Patrick was certain his children sensed the tension. It couldn’t be helped with a family as close as theirs, but a mundane routine settled in, assuaging his worry. They now expected the hours he kept—up late at night and gone before they rose in the morning. Once, Katie had informed him, she’d fled to their room after a nightmare, but Marcy had quickly ushered her back to her bed, where they apparently snuggled until dawn. Patrick sighed as he trod down the hall. Marcy was a wonderful mother, no question about that.

And a wonderful wife?
He stiffened as he opened their door. He no longer cared.

He moved to his closet to retrieve the clean clothes he’d set out, noting the silence of the room. He knew she was awake; he could feel it in his bones. Living with a woman for a quarter of a century did that to you. Sharpened your senses, made you aware. Like an unspoken language between once-kindred hearts.

He stilled as she stirred in the bed.

“Dinner will be early tomorrow because of Katie’s play—five o’clock.” Her voice sounded lifeless and far away.

Like their marriage.

“I’ll be home early, then,” he said.

“Then the children are having dinner at Charity’s on Friday, so you can work as late as you like. Charity says it’s to give us a night off.”

He hesitated, fingering the clean clothes draped over his arm. “I have plenty I can do.” He turned toward the door.

Her voice reached out, little more than a frail whisper. “Patrick, I love you.”

He paused, hand on the knob. A flicker of response flared and quickly died out. “Good night, Marcy.”

He opened the door and jolted at the sight of Lizzie in the hall.

“Father, I’m so glad you’re still up. Is Mother awake?”

Marcy sat up in the dark. “Lizzie, is that you? Are you all right?”

Patrick’s pulse skipped a beat. He quickly stashed the clean clothes on the bureau. “What’s wrong? Can’t you sleep?” He steered her to his side of the bed. She crawled in next to Marcy while he sat beside her, his arm encircling her waist.

She shook her head while Marcy scooted close.

“What’s the problem, darlin’?” Patrick asked.

“The same old thing, I’m afraid,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Feeling sorry for myself because I’m in love with a man who won’t love me back.”

“Brady? We’re back to that again?” Marcy brushed the hair from Lizzie’s eyes and stroked her face.

“It would seem so.”

“Did something happen to stir the pot?” Patrick kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the bed, cupping her closer.

Her laugh was bitter. “Yes, Father, Tom happened. Proving quite neatly that no other man can even come close.”

“Darlin’, one relationship is hardly a measure. There’ll be plenty more.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Father, how do you get over someone who’s held your heart in their hands for so long? And what do you do when they constantly turn your love away, leaving you battered and bruised?” A sob broke free from her throat to pierce the darkness.

His arm stiffened, paralyzed over her shoulder.

Marcy’s voice rose, quiet and strong, to counter her daughter’s pain. “You run to the arms of the Almighty, Lizzie. ‘Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.’ That’s the only place our hearts are safe, the only place they can heal.”

Patrick watched as Lizzie fell into her mother’s arms with another hoarse sob. Marcy held her tightly, her eyes squeezed shut and her own face sodden with tears over her daughter’s shoulder.

Pain seared his heart and he turned away, unwilling to witness his wife’s grief.

He startled at the touch of her hand on his arm. “Patrick, will you pray? That Lizzie can be set free from this torment? And that God will restore her joy?”