Maeve's Symphony (2 page)

The first thing Maeve noticed was a stack of paperwork spread across an ottoman in front of the couch. Beneath the documents was the tip of what looked like an overnight envelope.

Maeve let go of his hand and went directly to the couch. Her heart ripped in two when she spotted a familiar scripted logo. UCLA.

Josh didn't look at her. Maeve registered that fact then dismissed it. Paging through the pile of scholarship legalese, she reached the page in the back. Head bent, Josh ambled to the docking station for his iPhone, and soon the music of “You're the One” by Tyrone Wells poured from the speakers. The plaintive ballad was a favorite of theirs.

Maeve's eyes roved across the signature block of the document, and she fought the urge to scream. It was fully executed. Josh's scrawling signature leapt from the page in bold, blue strokes. The lines of his name were so familiar from the bevy of notes he had written her over the course of the years, each of which were stored carefully in a shoe box beneath her bed.

What now? She railed in silence. What next?

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for an instant and swallowed over a hard lump. “You've signed the scholarship commitment.” Her head throbbed with the effort it took to hold back tears that were ready to overwhelm. She hazarded a bleary glance toward Josh, but he kept his back to her.

“The letter of intent is beneath the delivery envelope. I'll sign that next Wednesday at four o'clock for the local press and sport channel cameras.” He didn't sound proud, or pleased; he sounded defeated. “Maeve, the opportunity is everything I've ever dreamed of. A full ride. A starting QB position at a premier school.” When he spun and met her gaze, the agony she detected further shredded her composure. “But how can I possibly walk away from you? I'm trapped, because, how can I walk away from them, either?” He approached the couch, every step labored and slow. His voice was rough. “How can something that's such a blessing be such a nightmare?” He growled fiercely. “I can't do it, Maeve. I can't leave you. I can't! It's not what I want. You're what I want. You're what I've always wanted.”

“But so is this, Josh.”

Maeve set aside the documents and tightened her hands into fists. She lifted her chin, knowing they needed to be strong and brave. They needed to accept and work within this inevitable call to separation. Her lips trembled, but she firmed them into a line, composing herself before she dared to continue. “God will see us through, right? We can survive this, right?”

For four years?
an evil little voice jibbed.
With Josh as the star quarterback at UCLA? Sure you can, sweetheart. Like he isn't going to have hundreds—thousands—of gorgeous women falling at his feet…

Josh didn't sit. He stood before her, so strong and so incredible. He was a prince—her prince—handsome and full of heart. They belonged together.

Josh held out his hand. “Dance with me, Maeve.” His expression was pained, ridden by sadness. “Please, dance with me.”

Tears welled against her lashes and spilled fast down overly warm cheeks. She nodded and accepted his hand. He guided her gently to her feet, and they moved to an open space of the basement.

It was the beauty of homecoming all over again. When she stepped into the familiar sensation of his arms winding around her, Maeve breathed deep of his scent, comforting herself with the solid feel of his body. She snuggled against his shoulder and closed her eyes. How could anything split them apart?

He rubbed his cheek softly against hers, absorbing her tears. He kissed her neck, his mouth like satin against her skin as next he tasted her jaw, her cheek…then her waiting lips.

The kiss they shared was like none other they had allowed in the past. This kiss ripped away pain and filled her with the promise of fulfillment, of joy and love. This kiss ripped away thoughts of restraint and filled her senses with a completeness that she knew—absolutely knew—would only come from the receipt of his love. This kiss ripped away reason, logic and conscience.

This was Josh, her Josh, pouring through her terrified, needy heart like an intoxicating and fragrant balm. This was right, because this was love, as true as it could be.

Surely…surely…this was OK…

The kiss continued and she spun into a world of mind-dizzying bliss. She slid deeper and deeper into the moment, and so did Josh. She sensed as much in the urgency he displayed. Emotion boiled over, translating into a touch more intimate than any they had ever shared before. His hands slipped warm against the sweatshirt she wore, gliding against her waist…then slowly up her back.

Her knees gave; she sank against him.

The kiss continued on, so rich, so satisfying, yet everything in her body prodded her to seek even more. She wanted everything from Josh, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. She craved unity before an uncertain future pulled them apart.

Gasping, grabbing for a last-ditch semblance of control, Maeve peeled away from his hold, staring into his eyes, chest heaving as though she had just run a marathon. Heat vanished in the face of cooler air. They stared at one another across the slight distance.

“I…”

“Maeve.” He stepped close again. “Dance with me.”

The words were a softly spoken plea that lifted from his depths. She sensed as much in the way his eyes held hers, the way he trembled, as overcome by the idea of leaving as she was. This wasn't casual. This wasn't meaningless. This was a bonding, a most thorough giving of one heart to another.

God understood that, right?

Josh was her forever love. She knew it without any semblance of doubt. This was their moment. A commitment to the love they knew they would always share.

God understood that, right?

When she circled his neck with her arms, when their lips met once more and everything else in the world spun away, she had a fleeting thought. Everything would change if they saw this moment through to culmination. Everything would be different, and the world would be seen through different eyes. In another fleeting instant she happened to catch sight of her purity ring, recalling the vow she had made with her three best friends—Aileen, Siobhan, and Kassidy.

She and Josh tumbled onto the basement couch, cocooned privately within the spot where they had watched movies and studied, held hands and danced, laughed and dreamed—where they had nurtured their love for years. As they surrendered to a moment that nothing could hold back, Maeve tamped down God's guidance and truth with all the certainty in her heart. After all, nothing could be more pure and more real than the love she felt for Josh.

God understood that, right?

 

****

 

A short time later, Maeve rolled as quietly and unobtrusively as possible from Josh's sleep-loosened hold. She scooped her clothes into an untidy ball, quaking as she stumbled into the powder room of the basement and quickly secured the door behind her. She splashed cold water into a small paper cup and gulped it down. She looked into the mirror then released a shaky breath.

Terror struck her spirit. This terror, however, had nothing to do with Josh's acceptance to UCLA. This terror came as the result of something brand new she saw within the deepest reaches of her eyes. Knowledge. Good and evil. Right and wrong.

And in this battle, wrong had most definitely won. She knew better. She had known better than to surrender physically to any man outside the bonds of marriage.

She yanked on her clothes as fast as she could. She wanted to be covered. Hidden. All of a sudden, her self-righteous views of Adam and Eve struck her low and left pride crumbled to dust. What on earth had she allowed to happen?

She touched her cheeks and light from overhead glinted off the band of silver on the ring finger of her right hand.
I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine.
Purity. A commitment to God, and to her very best friends. Maeve's chin quivered. She leaned heavily against the sink.

What had she done?

Passion's cloud had evaporated, leaving her mind clear, and she began to weep. Uncontrolled trembling weakened every stronghold of her character as she very slowly, very deliberately slid the purity ring off her finger. No way could she wear it now. No way could she face her friends bearing the stain of shame that now tainted her spirit. A soft knock sounded at the door, causing Maeve to jerk.

“Maeve?”

She swiped tears away and tried to regain her composure, but the tears kept coming as she tucked the beautiful, glimmering ring into the front pocket of her jeans.

“You can come in.” Her voice was so thick and husky it sounded foreign to her ears.

The door opened and Josh stepped inside. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She shook like a leaf in the breeze. She had blown it. Sinned in a way she had promised never to do.

In the instant he took her in, Josh's eyes transformed from curious to compassionate and loving—so beautifully tender. “You OK?”

Maeve could only shrug, turning her back to him, her head bent low. Seconds later, Josh slipped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. Maeve tried to stay distant, and stiff, but the strength of his arms melted her to a puddle.

“Are you mad at me?”

Maeve shrugged for a second time. “I'm mad at me. I'm mad at life. I hate the idea of graduation, I hate California, and I hate what we allowed to happen, and…and…”

Emotion overrode her ability to speak. Josh's hold tightened against her as quickly as one of his bullet-speed, spot-on passes could hit the arms of ready receiver. “Maeve. Listen to me.” His voice rang with firm authority. A leader's authority. He waited to speak until she turned and stared into his beautiful, clear eyes of dark brown. “I love you.” His fingertips dove gently through the thick, tumbling curls of her hair. “Nowhere I ever go will take away the feelings I have for you. Nothing will change. I promise you that. Forever.”

Unexpectedly he lifted her right hand and kissed the bare spot where the ring had resided. Slightly discolored skin paid testament to its tenure, and although she was surprised he had noticed its absence, she adored him anew for sensitivity and a caring spirit.

“You can still wear the ring.” No, she couldn't, but she didn't interrupt. “I love you. I will always love you. Nothing changes that. Not California, not your amazing acting and singing career. You can wear it because I won't let you down. We're as good as married in my heart.”

Maeve studied him for a long, intent moment. Through new eyes. Through a life forever changed. Through a heart that had grown, broken, fallen, and would now attempt to rise again.

She pulled the ring from her pocket and settled it carefully into place. Not because he was right, but because she had done a grievous wrong. Now and forevermore the ring would be a reminder, a weight to be borne. And yes, also because Josh seemed so earnest and hurt, so eager to do what was right.

But if they had truly wanted to do what was right, they would have backed away after the first round of heated kisses. They hadn't.

The ring would be her reminder of that love, and of the irreparable loss of precious innocence. Besides, she'd never be able to explain its absence to her friends. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not ever. Heaving a sigh, she twisted the band and absorbed its shimmer through a layer of tears. Everything was different now. Everything had shifted. Good and evil. Adam and Eve. That's what made her sick inside—realization and a woman's knowledge.

For always, always, there was a price to be paid for sin.

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

Present Day

After securing the trunk of her car, Maeve Callahan wheeled two suitcases through the garage that adjoined her condo and bumped them up a pair of cement stairs leading to the entry door. Balancing the luggage against her hip and a nearby wall, she extracted her keys from the depths of a cavernous purse, praising God for the small miracle of finding them right away. Following a six-hour flight from Dublin, Ireland to New York City, then a bouncing clipper from LaGuardia to Westerville Municipal Airport, she was exhausted—but delightfully so.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. What a fabulous trip. In the quaint, picturesque village of Clifden, in county Galway, one of Maeve's dearest friends, Aileen Brewer, became Aileen Douglas. Memory reels of the wedding still delivered a thrill.

Maeve maneuvered her suitcases inside and trudged through the kitchen, embracing the stillness and pleasure of returning home. All at once, a long-haired calico cat burst across the threshold between the living room and kitchen, legs pumping furiously as it skittered across amber hued ceramic tile in a mad charge for Maeve's legs. Maeve laughed deep and hard. “Well hello there, Miss Coco Chanel. Did you miss me?”

Coco answered with curves, swerves, and a resounding purr.

“Let me get inside, silly lady.”

Passing through the kitchen, Maeve took note of full food and water dishes on the floor near the mud room; her feline family member was well tended, as expected. Next, she spied a hefty stack of mail on the spotless green-veined granite counter along with a thin spiral notebook decorated on the cover with handcrafted doodles of kittens and the words ‘Coco's Cat Diary' scripted across the front in vivid blue marker.

For the time being, Maeve ignored the mail and lifted the notebook instead, knowing it would be much more fun to explore. Her sixteen-year-old house sitter and pet-loving neighbor Melanie O'Brien always left behind a chronicle of Coco's life while Maeve was away, full of sketches and comedic stories about the cat's daily antics.

Coco continued to weave figure eights around Maeve's ankles. “Well, Coco, it certainly seems you kept Melanie entertained.”

Overtaken by a huge yawn, she set the notebook aside then tugged her luggage straight to the bedroom and tucked it into a corner. She'd unpack later. First things first.