My Foolish Heart (35 page)

Her perfect romance. Right next door. Driving away her fears. Then why did they still churn in her chest? Why—?

She saw Caleb then, lying in the ditch in Iraq, and heard his voice, soft, solid in her head.
In fact, God's love is perfect, and He puts that into us, so we can love the way He loves. Most of all, because of His perfect love, I can trust Him, whatever happens.

Yes, “perfect love expels all fear.
”
Yet the perfect romance wasn't with Caleb . . . but with God. The God who loved her perfectly, even when she was a mess. The God who hadn't forgotten her.

The God who had brought the one man who could help free her from the darkness and placed him right next door. The God who had a perfect future for her.

The God she could trust.

She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry for my fear, how it's held me hostage, how I've let it determine my life. I want to break free; I do. Help me to stop fearing what is out there and trust in You.”

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear . . . but of love.”

And she loved Caleb.

She turned on her car engine. Time for a game-changing play.

Easing out of the garage, she tightened her hold on the wheel as she backed into the driveway. The clouds had parted, a glorious, red-streaked sky pressing into the darkness. She drank in the smells of the summer evening as she rolled down her window for fresh air.

She passed Caleb's house, turned onto the street, and crept to the intersection at the highway. Pressed her brakes long before she reached the dangling stoplight.

Not a car on the stretch of highway that parted the town, the asphalt shiny as it unrolled around the corner, then down the hill to the school.

She put on her blinker.

Deep inside, she heard the echo of her screams, felt her mother's hot blood over her hands.

“I love you, Mama.” She said it as she turned the corner and pushed herself down the road.

Sure enough, a Thai restaurant had taken over the taco shop, a couple of Buddhas peering from the window. The fitness place had had a face-lift, a new studio space beside the treadmills and ellipticals. And next door, Bree's Hair Salon. So that was her new place.

Issy passed the Java Cup, where the road opened up to run along the harbor. The lake, as if spent, lay still, the sunset seeping into it, resigned to the twilight, the tide barely tickling the rocky shore.

It seemed the entire town had vacated their posts for the big game.

She drove past the fish shack, the Realtor's office, even the Footstep of Heaven coffee shop and bookstore. How she missed Mona's coffee, the smell of new books. Someday.

Someday soon.

She turned right at the entrance to the combined elementary, middle, and high schools. Cars jammed the parking lot, but perhaps she could squeeze her compact into something close to the gate.

The roar of the crowd tharrumphed into her breast, igniting her adrenaline. She swallowed, hard, to still the roil of her heart. She'd gotten this far. And she couldn't decide if the pressure inside might be panic or . . . joy.

She squeezed her car into a space between the ambulance and an SUV near the gate. Hopped out.

At once, the smell of the field, the cheers, the camaraderie that embodied a small-town football game engulfed her. She drank it in, opting to find strength in it.

The booster club member at the gate didn't even ask for her ticket as she wandered in, gritting her teeth.

Fans lined up at the concession stand, the redolence of a game captured in the smells of pizza, popcorn—and Lucy serving up donuts.

Issy turned away before she caught Lucy's eye. That would be a moment she didn't have time for.

She found Caleb instead. He stood on the far sideline, his team huddled up for last-minute strategy before the second half kickoff.

Quarterback Chaos. She just had to get the play to him, then shrink back into the crowd. How many times had she run out to her father during practice, cutting through the end zone?

She took a breath, put her head down, set off in a jog.

“Hey! Get off the field!”

When she turned, she saw a man gesturing to her.

“Yeah, you. What are you doing? Get off the field.”

What are you doing?

She drew in a breath, froze. What was she doing? She looked at the stands, at the mass of people, all probably staring at her, watching, waiting. Issy, the hermit, out of her house. Issy, the coach's daughter, the one who never left Deep Haven. Issy, the town embarrassment.

Her chest tightened. Her breath left her.

No. Not here. Please—

She reached out, found the damp ground even as it came up to meet her.

And inside her head, the roaring began.

* * *

Caleb should have told his team about his challenges two weeks earlier. Two weeks of struggle, two weeks of misunderstanding, two weeks of hiding from them what it took to push past the pain and fight.

Adrenaline tremored through him as he watched his receiving team take the field. Especially as Ryan, beside him, shot him a look, something steely in his eyes.

Caleb had inspired them. And no matter what the second half held, he could leave them with something solid, something of value.

Now he just had to confess the truth to the school board. As soon as he'd seen the hardened respect on Ryan's face, he'd known: he should have listened to Dan. Deceiving the school board had nothing to do with wanting an even playing field, but with his own lousy pride. He had been like Peter, refusing to let Jesus have His way in his life. Insisting on getting the job on his own terms, not trusting in . . . well, God's perfect love for him. Why did he have to keep learning these lessons?

The referee placed the ball in the kicking tee, then moved away and held up his arm.

Ryan danced next to him, ready to take the field.

Ready to trick the Brewsters with Caleb's Rough Rider play, the one he'd tried to run with Dan. He'd earned their respect a little with that, too.

Maybe enough to win the game.

The whistle blew, but as the ref lowered his hand for the kickoff run, Caleb heard the crowd, the shouts, the dark voices. “Get her off the field!”

Who—?

“Oh no, it's Miss P.,” Ryan said. “What's wrong with her?”

Issy. She'd shrunk into the grass, looking pale even from here, her hand clamped over her mouth, as if she might be trying to control her breathing.

No . . .
no
 . . . Caleb glanced at his team, but the Brewsters had their backs to Issy and had already started running toward the ball for the kickoff.

“What's she doing?” Ryan said.

It appeared she was attempting to scoot back, behind the end zone, where she stopped, drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around herself, began to rock.

“Call the play, Ryan.” Caleb started to walk down the sideline, eyes on Issy. What was she doing here?

She seemed to be searching for him, or perhaps he just hoped she searched for him. But she gave up as he cleared the end of his scattering of players, then broke out into a jog. He had to compensate for the slick grass, and a spectator would have to be blind not to see his limp. “Issy!”

The whistle blew, but Caleb didn't turn to watch the play, just kept his eyes on Issy. He heard cheers and prayed that Ryan had made the handoff, cut around the line for the pass.

Then Caleb turned, cutting through the back of the end zone.

Just like that, his world shifted. His leg slid out beneath him and hooked on an end zone cone, tearing the suction away between his prosthesis and his limb. He fought to right himself as his good leg slipped away from him, pitching him onto the turf.

He hit hard and rolled. For a second, his breath huffed out with the blow.

He lay there, staring at the darkening sky, the crowd wild behind him.

Wild, because even as Issy reached out her hand to clasp his, even as he realized that she had shaken herself free of her panic to run to him, to kneel at his side, even as he realized that his prosthetic leg lay separated from his body five feet away for the entire town to gasp at . . . Jared Ryan ran in for a touchdown.

Tie game.

20

Issy knelt beside Caleb, her jeans mopping up the wet grass. Why had she believed that rushing to the football game like some sort of running back with a late game play might be a good idea? That walking out of the house into the world would help Caleb win his game, win his job?

He didn't need her help. And because of her, he'd fallen right in front of the town, in front of his team, and his leg had—

She couldn't even think it as she leaned over him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded as he pushed himself off the ground, but his face said it all when Ryan picked up his prosthesis and brought it to him.

Oh, she had humiliated him in front of the entire town. She pressed her hand against her chest. “I'm so sorry, Caleb. I'm so—”

“Shh, Issy, I'm fine. Thank you, Ryan.” He put the leg down beside him, almost an afterthought as he turned to her. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“I—oh, why did you run out here, Caleb?”

He gave her a look as if her question might have been posed in a different language. “I think you know why.” He reached up to touch her face. “Your darkness can't keep me away. I told you—I'm not letting you go. No matter what the cost.”

No matter what the cost.
She glanced at his leg.

“Kiss her, Coach!” This from Ryan, and Issy came back to herself and found a frown.

Caleb shook his head. “Only if we win.”

Win. Right. She cut her voice low. “My dad sent you a play.”

“What?”

“Yes, he—well, he's rooting for you, Caleb.”

“I think he's rooting for the Huskies.” He looked at Ryan, then held out his hand. “Help your coach to the bench?”

Ryan handed Issy the ball, then reached out and pulled Caleb off the turf. He wrapped Caleb's arm around his shoulder, and another player lifted the other arm, hoisting him off the ground.

McCormick picked up the prosthesis and Issy jogged behind as they ran to the bench.

The crowd had died to murmuring. Now, they began to cheer—although Issy guessed they had no idea what was going on.

They sat Caleb on the bench and Dan came over. “You okay?”

“I have to get this prosthesis back on. So . . .”

The team turned around, their backs to Caleb, and formed a pocket. Issy wanted to weep at their faces, stoic—or perhaps proud? Something pulsed in their expressions she couldn't place, but she felt it too as she turned. This was their coach.

They gave Caleb a moment to pull himself together.

The ref ran in. “You ready, Coach?”

Caleb stood. Grabbed Ryan and pulled him into a huddle. “Get the ball back. We have a game to win.”

“Right, Coach.”

The lights shone now upon the field, pockets of gold puddling on the turf, a freshness in the air, the night crisp and bright. The town cheered as Caleb's team charged back onto the field to an even score.

Issy shoved her hands into her pockets, a warmth in her stomach, thick and rich . . .

Freedom.

She tasted it, pushed it through her teeth, let it seep into her pores. Freedom. He had come in after her, drawn her out to freedom.

As the team took the field, she sidled up next to Caleb.

He looked at her. “So, Miss Foolish Heart, what next?”

She grinned. “How about a little Quarterback Chaos?”

* * *

The moment Ryan hooked around the offense to receive the pass from McCormick, the moment Caleb Knight slid into the end zone, tearing his leg in two, the moment Issy unraveled herself from the fetal position to launch toward him, Lucy wanted to close her donut shop.

After all, one could hardly watch the game
and
count out change.

If only she didn't have a rush on donuts. Over the space of ten minutes, a line formed outside the stand that snaked around the end of the field, everyone handing in their coupons.

The coupons Seb had stolen.

“Where did you get this?” she asked Mindy from the library.

“One of the Brewsters gave it to me during halftime.”

Seb's football players. She had no words. Especially when Bree entered the small hut, followed by Monica Rice and Abby Fieldstone.

“What are you doing here?”

“Seb told us to help you.” Bree reached for an apron. “He said you needed more hands on deck, and that if we didn't help, the donut shop just might go under.”

Seb said that?

Monica picked out two cellophane gloves. “This town wouldn't be the same without World's Best Donuts. Put me to work.”

“Really?”

“Where would we meet, exchange the latest gossip? Get our sugar fix? World's Best is an institution, and we'd be lost without it.” Abby turned to the first person in line. “What'll ya have?”

He pointed to the last two glazed raised on the tray, and Abby scooped them up while Bree took his money.

“We need another tray of glazed, and you'll find another tray of chocolate cake donuts in the fridge,” Lucy said to Monica. Then she considered the crowd. “First come, first served, and if we run out, they can use their coupons through the Labor Day weekend.”

“You don't need to be here, Lucy,” Bree said, taking another person's money. “I think Seb would like you to watch his game.”

“Really?”

“We can handle selling donuts. It's inspiring Seb Brewster that takes work.” Bree dropped the change into the customer's hand. “But then again, he only ever got his inspiration from the donut girl.”

The words settled inside Lucy, filling her. Untying her apron, she wadded it into a ball and escaped the concession stand. She pushed through the crowd on the sideline in time to see the Knights haul Caleb to his feet—er, foot—and carry him off the field, back to the bench.