My Foolish Heart (28 page)

Funny that he didn't hear crazy laughter filtering out of her office upstairs.

“BoyNextDoor, are you still there?”

Two could play at this game.

“Tell me, Miss Foolish Heart, what do you think is the definition of a foolish heart? Is it someone who gives their heart away too easily?”

“Uh . . . I suppose—”

“Or is it someone who believes in the actions, the smile of another, only to find out she's been mocking him behind his back?”

He'd opened the forum and watched the discussion light up. It was almost like running a quarterback sneak—it confused the defense.

Ellery09: He sounds angry.

HeartLikeHis: Maybe she broke up with him.

He wanted to type in
Miss Foolish Heart is a fraud
, but he couldn't bring himself to eviscerate her because of his own hurt. He wouldn't out her on the air.

“Did your Girl mock—?”

“Or how about someone who just flat-out lies to you? Makes you believe she's someone, but in reality, she's another person altogether?”

Her voice cut low, added in compassion, and he would have believed her if he didn't know the truth. “What happened?”

He fought to keep the anger from his voice. “I just found out that the Girl—you know, the one you've been trying to get me to date—”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you would.” Whoops.

“I don't understand, Boy.”

“Let me clear it up for you, then. I just found out the Girl is using me. She wasn't really interested in knowing me, but only in what I could do for her.” He winced even as he said it.

He expected an indrawn breath, expected her to catch on, but . . . “That's terrible. I'm so sorry.”

“You're . . . sorry?”

“Of course. Anyone who uses someone else is . . . Well, it's not your fault, that's for sure. Let's get back to your original question. The definition of a foolish heart. I think that's a great question. What do you think a foolish heart is, listeners?”

Oh, she was good, and he'd played right into her hand. He hung up.

But she hadn't finished with him yet. Her avatar popped up and asked him for a chat.

He accepted on impulse and regretted it instantly.

MissFoolishHeart: BoyNextDoor, is there something I've done to hurt you?

He stared at the cursor. Something to hurt him?

Seriously?

MissFoolishHeart: Are you sure the Girl is using you? Why would she do that?

What if . . . what if she
didn't
know it was him?

He considered his question for a few beats before he typed.

BoyNextDoor: MissFoolishHeart, how many dates have you been on?

He watched the chat box, waiting to see her type. If she knew it was him, she wouldn't lie, would she? But if she didn't . . .

MissFoolishHeart: I've had enough dates to know a good one.

Interesting.

BoyNextDoor: What made last night's date nearly perfect?

He wasn't sure exactly why he asked that, but it
had
been a nearly perfect evening, including the kiss. Until she ran away.

MissFoolishHeart: My father is a football coach, and sometimes when he came home from practice, he'd bring a bucket of chicken with him. He and my mother and I would eat it on our front porch. There was something about those simple picnics out in the open air, waving to our neighbors, enjoying the fall colors, that felt easy. Safe. Last night, I had a picnic date, and for a while, it felt the same way.

He hadn't expected that. Nor the growing surety that she didn't know the avatar on the screen was really her boy next door.

BoyNextDoor: When did it stop feeling safe?

Please don't answer when I kissed you.

MissFoolishHeart: He asked me to go to a football game Friday night.

Right. He had.

BoyNextDoor: You don't like football?

MissFoolishHeart: I love football.

He watched the cursor blink.

Oh, Issy.

On the air, they returned from the commercial break and her voice came over the Internet player. “We're back with five more minutes. Thank you for the definitions of a foolish heart. Miss Foolish Heart has her own—a foolish heart is one that loves recklessly. Any last callers?”

Loves recklessly. Perhaps that was the only kind of love. It made him pick up the phone again. He couldn't help it. He had to hear her voice.

“BoyNextDoor, uh, thank you for calling back.”

“Thanks for taking my call, Miss Foolish Heart. I'm sorry for the abrupt hang up earlier. I want to ask you a question about the Girl.”

“Go ahead. You know I'm here to help.”

Yes, he actually believed that. And that she didn't have a clue as to his real identity. Why else would she have hesitated telling him the truth about her fears? He already knew them.

He couldn't just let her go.
She might be trying to protect you from something . . . herself.

He didn't need protecting from Issy, thank you.

“I take it back. I don't think the Girl is using me. I think she is afraid of me. Afraid of getting too close.”

Issy drew in her breath. “Yes. I agree.”

“So what if she already agreed to another date? Do you think I should ask her to keep it?”

“A lady keeps her commitments. But then again, a gentleman lets her beg out of them.”

“What if it would be good for her?” Having a slew of football players in her backyard, reminding her of all she once had?

“Are you ready to risk losing her for good if you push?”

No, he didn't want to lose her. But he had the sense that she might already be slipping away. Maybe BoyNextDoor was his last hope to hang on to her.

“What if it's my last chance?” He said it softly and let his emotions show. “What if I don't take it and I lose her anyway?”

Please, Issy, hear my words.

“Then go for it, BoyNextDoor. You gotta play with all your heart, right?”

Her words caught in his chest, and he had no response before she rolled over to her closing lines. “Thanks for the calls, Lovelorn. Remember to visit the forum and post your comments. This is Miss Foolish Heart saying, your perfect love might be right next door.”

A love song closed out the show.

He waited for her to appear online, but her avatar showed that she'd signed off.

Above him, in her office, everything went dark.

16

“Where do you think my mother would've hidden the recipe for her potato salad?”

Lucy looked over to where Issy sat on the floor in front of her mother's bookshelf, surrounded by a stack of cookbooks, recipe boxes, and three-by-five index cards. “The Thursday night football salad? You don't remember it?”

Issy stacked the books, shoved them into the bookcase, and came over to sit on a stool at the island. She wore her hair pulled back today in a long French braid and the slightest hint of makeup. She appeared, in a way, as if she'd woken from a deep sleep, a vibrancy about her face that Lucy barely recognized. “I can't remember what she called it. My mom was in the process of putting all the recipes on the computer, so who knows where she filed it. But do any of these look familiar?” She dealt them out like playing cards. “I have to find that salad recipe.”

Lucy read them over. “I thought you said you weren't going to see him anymore.”

“Oh, it's Miss Foolish Heart. She said something a couple nights ago that I can't get over.”

Lucy stared at her. “Are you having a split personality moment?
You're
Miss Foolish Heart.”

“You're right. Foolish.” She shook her head.

“Okay, what is up with you?”

Issy sighed. “BoyNextDoor called in on Tuesday night.”

“Uh-oh, here we go again.”

“His Girl dumped him. He asked if he should try again, and I told him yes. But it wasn't his call that bothered me so much. PrideAndPassion called too.”

“Isn't she the one who invited you to her wedding?”

“Yes, only now the wedding is off. She got cold feet. And I foolishly told her to wait for a ten.”

“That's foolish? It's how you live your life.”

“And look where it's landed me. Maybe having such high standards isn't a great idea.”

“I think high standards are a very good idea.”

“What if I reject a guy because I think he's not the one, but he is? What if Caleb is my last chance?” Issy got up and went to the counter, where a spray of fresh-cut red roses fanned out in a vase. “This is the second bouquet he left on my porch in two days. This one came with a card.”

“I thought those were from your garden.”

Issy handed her the card.

Please let me in. Barbecue Thursday night? I promise to be on my best behavior.

Lucy returned the card. “That's very sweet.”

Issy slid back onto the stool. “Elliot called during the show and yelled at me. Told me that just because life is scary, you don't stop living it.”

Lucy folded her hands on the table. “Profound. Wonder where you've heard that before.”

“Stop. I just think I'm finally ready to start believing it.” She studied the card, rubbing her thumb over the writing. “I left a note on his door this morning and told him that we'd have the barbecue anyway. I wish I could have apologized, too. And I wish I hadn't run away from him the other night. I was so lured by this guy who understood my situation that I totally forgot he was a normal guy, a guy who would want to do normal things. Like go to football games. Be out in public. I just can't believe he wants to be with a woman he has to talk off the ledge every time he suggests a social event.”

“Oh, Issy. I wish you could see what I see—what Caleb sees. A strong woman who is trying to put her life back together. You're better than you were a month ago, even two weeks ago. You went to the store today—on your own! And now you're actually inviting Caleb and a crowd of rowdy boys to your house.”

Issy smiled.

“The fact is, we see our own limits much more than others do.”

“Like BoyNextDoor not even caring about the Girl's disability.”

“Yeah, uh, I'm starting to wonder at your attachment to him, Issy. I think you have a real crush on him. But you know he's as close to a figment of your imagination as you are going to get. He's not really real—he has his own life, probably in Houston or Milwaukee. You're never going to meet him—and never mind that he called you because he's interested in someone
else
.”

“I know. I
know
. He just seems like the perfect guy. But you're right. He's only a name on a forum. For all I know, he's sixty-two and married.”

“Okay, now you're creeping me out. He's not real, and Caleb is. And more than that, he's everything BoyNextDoor seems to be and more. He's sweet and encouraging and a good listener, and . . . Caleb is a good guy. A guy worth making two gallons of potato salad for.” Lucy leaned over to sort through the recipes. “Which, I might add, is a pretty big step for you. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It doesn't freak me out at all. They're in my house. I grew up with football players in my house. Shall we start with how many times Seb ate Saturday breakfast with us? No, this isn't hard. It's the idea of attending the game that makes my chest tighten. I can't control the game. I
can
control dinner. If I can find that salad recipe.”

Lucy picked up a recipe. “Try this one. It says,
Salad for the Hungry
. If that's not a football player, then I don't know what is.”

Issy took the card, read it over, and looked at Lucy with a triumphant smile. She pulled a pot from under the stove and set it in the sink, followed by a ten-pound bag of potatoes.

“Hey, your dad's playbook.” Lucy reached out and snagged a bound, thick book with
Presley Plays
scrawled on the cover.

Issy opened the bag of potatoes, dumping them into the empty side of the sink, then fished out her potato peeler. “I was thinking I'd show it to Caleb. He might like to see some of the plays Seb might cook up.”

“The magic Presley plays. Yes, I'd bet Caleb would give his right arm for these. Especially since . . .” She glanced at Issy, who had begun to wash the potatoes.

Issy paused. “Especially since?”

Uh-oh. Issy would have mentioned Caleb's disability if she knew, wouldn't she? “Since . . . he's never run them.” Caleb should be allowed to tell her, right? “Has . . . has Caleb talked about his scars at all?”

Issy turned off the water, grabbed a towel. “No. But I think he will, when he's ready. I haven't even told him about my parents' accident yet.” She came back to peer over Lucy's shoulder. “Oh, I remember this one. The Quarterback Chaos play.”

Lucy read it through. “Are you serious? Is this legal?”

“Yeah—he did it in the state championship game. Don't you remember—the last play? Seb ran to the sideline shouting that Deej didn't know the play? Totally baffled the defense. It's funny and completely legal. Dad thought it up himself—didn't have the guts to call it until Seb came along. But I don't think he's used it since because everybody in the league has heard about it.”

“That's hilarious. Your dad was so funny.”

Issy looked at her, her face pale. “
Is
so funny. Is. He's not dead.”

Oh. Yes. “I'm sorry, Issy. Of course he's alive.” Lucy closed the playbook, cleared her throat. “I think Seb is worried about my business plan. He spent last night drawing up plans for my walk-up window.”

“Have you heard anything from the bank?”

“No. But Seb said the meeting with Bam on Monday went well, so I have high hopes. He's already talked to Gary about starting work on Saturday. He thinks if the crew works hard, they could finish it over the weekend, in time for Labor Day. I'll probably have to hire more help, but according to his plan, we'll make enough to pay for my current back debts as well as go into the black.”