Crystal Stovall - With All Josie's Heart

“Nonsense, it’s beautiful,” Josie said. “Besides, someday, when you’re an old married man, you’ll sit around that big table with your children and grandchildren and think life couldn’t get any better.”

The second Josie met Michael’s gaze, she wished she could have taken back the words. Was she crazy bringing up the subject of marriage? The sooner this meal was over, the better.

“Always the optimist,” Michael said. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.” Michael held out a chair for her, but before seating himself, he clumsily searched through the bottom hutch drawer.

Josie waited quietly, thinking there’d been a time when she would have responded to his comment with honesty. But today she was content to let him think her optimism had remained intact.

Just as she started to ask what he was looking for, he produced two tapered candles and wrought iron holders she recognized as having once belonged to his mother.

In patient silence, Josie watched Michael strike the match and light the ocean-blue candles. Even though the sun hadn’t set, the flames flickered in the early evening light. Instantly, she recalled how their love had burned out, but unlike a candle it wasn’t something that could ever be rekindled with the strike of a match.

Josie sighed with relief. She shouldn’t have avoided Michael for so many years. Because it wasn’t until she’d faced him tonight that she could really be certain of her heart. She no longer loved him. In this moment, all she felt for him was the lingering fondness anyone would feel for their first love.

“Shall we pray?” Michael asked.

Reaching across the table, Josie held his hand and closed her eyes.

“Dear Father,” Michael prayed. “Thank you for this food and that we could be together to enjoy it. Please, protect Sharla, who I already consider as my daughter, and let her feel how much her grandmother and I love her. And grant Josie the restful hiatus she seeks.” Then a little more loudly, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “May Your will be done during these next few weeks.”

“Amen,” Josie said. “I always like a man who knows how to say a short prayer.”

Michael grinned; and for a moment it was just like old times. Except for the silence that followed. Josie struggled to think of something to say, otherwise it would be a long meal.

“Mom told me about your accident the day before yesterday. She said Sharla wasn’t hurt.” And Sarah Marshall had told her a lot of other things through the years, as well. Thanks to her mother’s newsy e-mails and telephone calls, Josie knew the high points in Michael’s life. She knew who he had dated, when he’d bought the house from his retired parents and when Sharla had come to live with him.

“Thank God, Sharla’s fine,” Michael said with much relief. “She’s been staying at her grandmother’s this summer, and we were lounging in the front yard when she chased a neighborhood cat into the street.”

“That must have been a horrible moment.” Josie had chills just thinking about the child and the speeding car.

“I can’t tell you how terrified I was. I didn’t think I could reach her in time.” But he didn’t have to explain his horror, because the fear still clung to his face. “Sharla never saw the car.”

“You were lucky your injuries weren’t more serious.” Josie closed her eyes for an instant, knowing how close Michael had come to tragedy.

“The driver had slammed on his brakes, so by the time he hit me, he wasn’t going very fast.”

“But fast enough.”

Michael shook his head as if his cuts and bruises were nothing. He was obviously uncomfortable being the focus of attention.

“Thank God, it’s summer and school’s out. How long before you’ll be back on your feet?” Even though he wouldn’t have to teach until the end of the summer, he most likely had a busy agenda planned for his vacation months. Michael considered teaching a year-round job, whether he was teaching his third-grade class or Sunday school.

Michael nodded. “The doc said I should take it easy for a couple of days. My injuries are more inconvenient than anything.” Michael gracefully rose from the table, as if to prove his point. Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he showed her the photograph on top.

“Sharla’s first-grade picture,” he said.

Michael’s eyes burned bright with love and fatherly pride. The moment stole Josie’s breath.

“She’s your cousin Denise’s daughter?” Josie said, even though she knew the answer. When Sarah had written about Denise Rubee’s tragic death, Josie hadn’t been surprised to learn Michael had wanted to raise the orphaned child.

He nodded.

“She’s beautiful,” Josie said.

“And a spitfire, too.”

Michael continued to stare at the smiling photo. With her long black hair, dark-blue eyes and lightly tanned skin, the young girl physically resembled Michael.

“I was sorry to hear about Denise’s death last fall. The fact that she was so young makes it even harder to accept,” Josie said. The words were inadequate, but then there were no words to heal the pain death left behind. She’d witnessed too many tragedies with her work to think a few words could possibly give real peace and comfort.

When Michael shrugged his shoulders and his eyes misted over, Josie wanted to hug him, but instead she clasped her hands under the table. Michael opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind.

Josie reached for the wallet, flipping through the photographs. There were two more of Sharla, both taken recently, as well as a family shot with his parents, sisters, nieces and nephews. At one time, she’d considered herself part of this great bunch.

“How are your parents doing?” she asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

“They enjoy Florida, and they especially love being near their grandchildren.” She thought she detected a wistfulness in Michael’s voice. He’d always adored his older sisters.

“Have you ever thought of moving closer to them? I’m sure you could get a teaching job anywhere.” And any school would be lucky to have him. No one was better with children than Michael.

He shook his head. “You know me. Tulsa’s my home. I can’t see myself living anywhere else.”

“Of course,” Josie said, avoiding his gaze. She knew that. His refusal to leave Tulsa was one of the reasons they’d broken up.

“And your sisters?” Josie said, once again filling the awkward tension. “They’re doing fine?”

“Couldn’t be better. They love living in Florida.”

Josie popped the last bite of potato into her mouth, then took her plate to the sink. She’d stayed too long already. There was nothing left between her and Michael except old memories, and she didn’t want to stir them up too much for fear she would release the old anger and bitterness as well. She would wash the dishes and leave.

Without asking if she wanted any, Michael cut the cherry pie.

“None for me,” Josie said. “I’m trying to cut back.”

“Really? You look great to me.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised by how good his approval made her feel. Yet a little leary, too. It was almost as if he were being too nice. She shook the feelings off quickly, but noticed he still served her pie.

Stubbornly, Josie continued to wash the dishes. As she gazed out the window, a small structure, under construction in the backyard, caught her attention.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

Michael came up behind her. His breath was warm on the back of her neck as he spoke. “Yeah. It’s a playhouse for Sharla.”

“Oh,” Josie exclaimed. Grabbing a hand towel to wipe her hands, she left the dish suds and uneaten cherry pie behind. Michael followed her into the backyard.

The June sun hit the horizon as they crossed the thick Bermuda grass. Orange-red fingers blazed across the sky, heralding the end of the day. Evening songbirds welcomed the rise of the moon as darkness approached.

“You’re really building her a playhouse,” Josie said with wonderment.

At the moment, it was little more than a few studs and nails. Close by lay a pile of bricks for the winding walkway, wood shingles for the roof and fancy trim pieces to complete the gingerbread look. She closed her eyes and knew exactly how the finished playhouse would look. Or at least, she saw the playhouse she’d always wanted as a child.

As Michael watched Josie, he pressed his hand against his side to ease the pain. It was silly, but he hadn’t wanted her to know how much he hurt. This wasn’t the reunion he’d always envisioned. In those daydreams, he was strong and healthy and ready to prove he was doing just fine without her. And he was. He’d gotten over Josie a long time ago. The trouble was he needed her help, and from the moment she’d unexpectedly appeared on his doorstep, he’d been trying to find a way all evening to broach the subject.

Perhaps the direct approach was best.

But before he could say anything more, Josie began inspecting the trim pieces and the tiny stained-glass windows he’d located at an antique store last week. She picked up the delicate multicolored glass and let the last rays of light filter through, coating her face in muted blues and pinks.

When the breeze pushed her light brown hair off of her face, Michael silently gasped at the tender beauty of her profile. Her creamy skin and pale red lips looked so lovely, and he was reminded of what might have been. And that made him edgy. Knowing it might be wiser to walk away before he said something he’d regret, he stepped up onto the plywood platform and took the window from her hands.

“I didn’t realize how much you love her until I saw this,” she said. As Josie met his gaze, he would have sworn she knew how it felt to love a child as her own. But then she loved a thousand children. She had put her love for children before her love for him. And now he was going to ask her to do it again.

“Yeah, she’s like my own. I remember the day Denise asked me to be Sharla’s godfather. Though I took the responsibility seriously, I had no idea of the commitment I was truly making. Denise and Eddie had already broken up, and so I was Denise’s birthing coach. I was there when Sharla was born. I held her in my arms when she was only minutes old. I heard her first cries and saw her first smiles.”

Josie nodded. She knew this. Her mother had written about Sharla’s birth in detail and how Michael had stayed with Denise those first few weeks, helping her with night feedings and diaper changes. And then he’d started keeping Sharla on weekends and making sure she had her required shots and clothes for school.

“Little by little, I became her father. I didn’t even see it happening. It was the most natural thing in the world.”

“I can see she makes you happy.”

Michael smiled. “That doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings. She’s the reason I get up in the morning. She’s the reason I look forward to the future.”

And now it was the future that worried him.

“When Denise asked me if I would become Sharla’s legal guardian, I was scared by the responsibility, but deep down I knew God had placed me in this child’s life for a reason. She needed me. She needed the stability and love I could give her. I think deep down Denise somehow knew she would never beat her drug addiction. You know, she died of an overdose?” Michael’s voice cracked, and he paused to regain control.

Watching Denise succumb to her illegal drug addiction had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d tried to help her, but his best efforts combined with the help of family and friends hadn’t been enough. “Loving Sharla is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”