Maeve's Symphony (9 page)

He drew back his arm and…

Maeve edged close, blew whisper soft into his ear just as Josh released the ball.

The pigskin ricocheted off the right edge of the tire, sending it swaying. The kids groaned, Josh turned in shock and came upon a smoky gaze that reflected none of Maeve's earlier shyness.

“Well done, Andrews. Well done.” Following that whispered decree, she delivered a long, slow wink.

Josh stared, enchanted and haunted by a bone-melting ache. He slid deeper under her spell. The kids scampered after the ball then returned it to Josh's grip. This time he barely glanced at the dangling, rubber target before sending the football flying. This time it zipped straight through the center of the opening.

Laughing, Maeve stood. But before she left, she gave his cheek a quick caress. Josh watched after her, senses on high alert as she walked inside and closed the sliding glass doors.

He needed to cool off and recover, so he stayed outside with Doug and the kids who started to run dash patterns along the side fence. Josh found he could pass like an MVP quarterback now that he wasn't gripped by Maeve's presence and a desire so acute it caused his gut to coil tight.

Fortunately, Doug stepped into the void, unaffected by atmospheric undercurrents. “You've always been such a natural. Man. No one can even touch you, Josh. You're amazing.”

“I've had a lot of really great coaches who helped me along.”

“True—but what's the old saying? You can't put in what God left out. Leadership, mental finesse, and an arm like a rocket are your gifts. I like that you haven't fallen into the trap of overindulgence and arrogance. You're the same old Josh you've always been. I think that's cool.”

“Hey, don't go all grandiose. All I expected to do at UCLA was earn a degree and win a few football games. Sure, I dreamed of pro ball, and I figured I might get lucky enough to play a little, but this is insane. This is beyond anything I ever dreamed of.”

Doug sent the ball into a spiral. Josh snagged it, took off at a trot and shot it back to his friend. “You've got the skills. It was meant to be.”

“If you get a chance, spend a couple weekends in the city while we're there. You can stay with me, there's plenty of room. You can help me during my training sessions.”

Doug tossed him the ball. “You serious?”

“Absolutely.” Josh launched the ball right back, and Doug caught it with smooth, ready ability.

“When the”—Josh made a set of air quotes—“star quarterback goes down, rehab and day-in, day-out strength conditioning is just part of the recovery game. Come sweat with me.”

Doug shuttled the ball from hand to hand but his motions came to a stop. “Wow. A full-blown sports training center at your disposal. Cool.”

“C'mon. It's just part of the deal.”

“If you say so.” Doug snapped to then let loose with a fast, hard pass.

Josh caught the lob and grinned wide. “I'm set up at Quantum Leap. You can join me any time you're able while I'm here. Like I said, I'd love the company.”

Doug hiked a shoulder, closed the distance between them. “I'd never be able to keep up with you.”

“Yeah, you can. You've always been a great athlete.” Josh shoved him. “Besides. I can take it down a notch or two for an old friend.”

“Thanks for that.” They shared a laugh. “You know? What you were saying—about UCLA—kind of mirrors what happened with Maeve and Sisters in Spirit.”

Josh tilted his head toward the tire. “Put one through the target.”

Doug nodded but moved a little closer than the twenty-yard mark. That made Josh grin. Such was another timeless memory. Doug had always been the receiver—the Westerville High football player with hands of glue—not a quarterback. Josh allowed the forward movement without comment.

Instead, he continued their conversation while Doug scored a win against the tire. “It's incredible what God's spun into place for those four. They've always been such a compelling unit. I admire them. Always have.”

Doug retrieved the ball, tossed it from hand to hand. “Do you mind me asking? What ever happened with you and Maeve? I mean…you guys seemed like you were on the fast-track to marriage and kids and the whole white picket fence deal.”

Josh's muscles seized, but he schooled his features into smooth lines. “Time apart and distance aren't friendly elements. Romance is tough—especially when you're young, and still trying to find your way.”

“Maybe. But you and Maeve were different. It's like you two were born married or something. You were going to try. You said as much at graduation.”

Josh couldn't form a reply. He didn't dare. So, he shifted emphasis. “Is she dating anyone? Does she have a, ah, relationship going or anything?”

They tossed the ball back and forth once again. “There's been nobody since you, man. Nobody. I mean, not that it's her fault. She graduated all hung up on you, of course; college took her by storm, and then, toward the end, there was that six-month stint in
Love Me Always
at the Ambassador Theater in New York.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Doug shot a fast look over his shoulder before sizing up another pass attempt. “You know?”

Josh froze for an instant, performed an inner-dodge of the topic. “Yeah, sure. I kept up.”

“I'm not surprised. The two of you were always so perfect.”

Not always, Josh thought. And that, he realized with fresh clarity, was precisely the problem.

 

****

 

Evening flowed in, shadows falling deep and rich beneath a quietly fading sky lit by amber, orange, pink, and yellow. When folks began to leave, Maeve gathered with her friends in the foyer, her heart breaking a little when Josh began his round of goodbyes.

“It's been great to reconnect, Josh, and we're so excited to join you on Wednesday.” Siobhan flicked a fingertip against a stray wave of Maeve's hair. “For the record, this one stops solid whenever your soft drink commercial comes on.”

Aileen snugged close to Maeve's side. “Busts out your jersey on game days.”

“He already knows that, wench.” Maeve speared Aileen with a venomous look. “I told him all about it.”

Josh grinned at their antics in a way that melted Maeve at the knees and struck an arrow to the softest, most vulnerable point in her heart.

“Didn't you start using that airline credit card after Josh became a spokesperson?”

This time Kassidy stepped forward and delivered a wicked grin, a shoulder bump.

Heat rose against Maeve's cheeks. “Oh, I've had it.” She stepped away from the meddling trio and slid her arm through Josh's. “Why don't you just go ahead and tell him about the cold I had last month, when I used that medicine he does commercials for.”

Josh stifled a chuckle behind his hand. Maeve's eyes narrowed, and she glowered at him.

“I only hope it made you feel better.”

Maeve issued a thrumming growl and shot scathing looks at her friends, sorely tempted to resort to violence.

“As you can see, Josh, our Maeve's Irish temper hasn't been completely smoothed away by the passing of time.”

“Aileen Brewer Douglas, I swear—”

“Ailee, you call it temper. I call it a feisty spirit packaged within a remarkable woman who both challenges and entices.”

Maeve's hot-headed retort to Aileen was quickly equalized—then eradicated—by the seductive cloud of Josh's words. Words that slid through her world in the most refreshing form of sweetness and intoxication. The girls formerly known as her besties visibly swooned.

The corner of Josh's mouth tipped upward, drawing her complete attention as he took hold of her hand. Their eyes met and held in a private exchange before he nodded toward the entryway. “I really need to get to the airport,” he said quietly. “I'm already cutting it close.”

She tucked just a bit closer and followed him outside. Once at his car, she spied a huge duffle in the rear seat along with an oversized suitcase. His life from Michigan seemed ready for transplant to New York City. Too bad the arrangement was only temporary…

“Doug rocks.” Josh's unexpected comment drew her from wistfulness and melancholy.

“He's missed you.” A dog-walking couple ambled down the sidewalk. A pair of cars zipped past. “I suppose I shouldn't have been so bold when you were playing with the kids.”

“Not to worry. I loved it, even if I ended up being humiliated.”

“You weren't humiliated. After all, you beat the target the second time around.”

A flash of insight caused her eyes to widen as a double meaning set in. Josh arched a brow, the brush of his knuckles soft as cashmere against her cheek. “I sure hope so.”

Taking her by surprise, he secured her hands and danced her into a light pin against the side of the car. Maeve's pulse jumped. She tipped her head to meet his eyes.

And her world transformed from gray-cast shadows into an explosion of delicious, Technicolor light.

“I always loved being here, Maeve. We're on our own now, in our own lives, but this is home. This is the place I'll always associate with you and so many happy memories. It's a comfort zone.”

“Beautifully said, and I appreciate that. My folks will, too.” Her voice trembled.

“It was always such fun to hang out at your house. Just like today, it was always full of laughter and music and teasing and games.”

“It was crowded and boisterous and insane. Too many people crowded into cramped space.”

“It was the best.” His smile came alive. “Remember St. Patrick's Day our junior year? The party your parents threw was amazing. Siobhan and Liam leading the kids in an Irish dance in the middle of the living room—”

“Which had to be cleared of furniture so there'd be at least a small square of space to use. Everything we owned was pushed against the walls.” She laughed, considering the small, aged, love-filled space of her youth.

“I remember the way you felt, even the scent of your skin when I held you and we took our turn dancing. I remember fiddles, and pipes, and piano. The way you and Aileen and Kassidy sang that rendition of Danny Boy that brought people to tears.”

“It was after that song that—”

Josh nodded slowly, holding her attention and meeting her unwavering stare head on. He knew what was coming—she could see it in the depths of rich mahogany eyes that haunted her to this day.

“It was after that song that we shared our first kiss.” She completed the thought. Barely. The exchange had been brief, and sweet, so innocent. She quivered, wrapped in the warmth of his presence, yet stung by a past full of regret and a secret shame shared only between the two of them. “What a Pandora's Box that opened.” She couldn't keep a sharp edge of hostility from her words.

“You blame me.” His tone, by contrast, was calm, but firm.

“No. I don't blame you. I don't blame me. I blame us. I blame the two of us together, bent on falling into an aspect of our relationship that we had no business going near. I've paid the price for that decision in so many ways, and—”

Out of breath, choked up, she stopped speaking, aghast at how much she had confessed, how much she had revealed. Reining control, Maeve clenched her fists. “Why are we doing this, Josh? What are you trying to accomplish with all of this?”

He lifted a hand that she noticed wasn't altogether steady and touched his fingertips lightly against her cheek. He drew out the caress, gentle and slow. “Resolution, Maeve. One way or another. Resolution.”

“We can't do this, Josh. Don't even try. It'll kill me. Too much time has passed. We're two different people, living two different lives.”

“Not so different, Maeve. Look around. Listen.” Josh countered her freeze play with the warm baritone of his voice, a gentle, instinctive caress of her arm. “That's what I've been doing all day, and every image that passed, every taste and smell, brought me back to the truth that nothing, ever, has made me as happy as being with you. Let it sink in for a few seconds. This is timeless. This is us, and it's the foundation of everything you and I became together.”

For a few beats of time, he followed his own advice, and Maeve did the same. She looked around—breathed—she listened to the sounds coming through the open front door as kids called, adults laughed, as chatter, birdsong and tree chat filled the air. Through it all, one word alone filled her heart, and her soul.

Home.

“Don't use differences as an excuse to push me away. Won't work. The argument holds no water.” He cupped her chin, forcing her into confrontation. “Instead, try talking to me about what you really feel so we can start over again.” His voice dropped a level, quieting. “Did you hear and absorb what you sang about during Mass today? Did you let the words and meanings of your verse sink in, Maeve?”

Dreams danced through her head—of sinking into strong, ready arms, of a touch, and a kiss that moved her like nothing else ever had—or ever would again.

But that realization stirred layers of bitterness that had drifted over her heart in a form of sooty, acrid, black ash that, despite poisonous properties, formed a protective shield.

Until he moved even closer. He released her hands only to cup her face. The intensity of his eyes ripped her raw, caused a yearning that weakened her knees, left her mind dizzy.

With smooth aplomb, he dipped his head. His breath whispered against the flush-heated skin of her neck, danced against her jaw, her cheeks, gently, tenderly lifting away that spirit debris. A soft, plaintive exclamation passed her lips just as heavy lids fluttered closed. He smelled of spicy, evergreen soap, of woods and earth; his breath carried a sweetness she craved; his mouth provided a call she yearned to answer at once, and with finality. She angled slightly, tilting her head, desperate for taste, for connection…