Still the One (28 page)

She pulled away. “Let’s see what the bedrooms are like.”

She led the way through the hallway to Gracie’s room, which looked just the same as before the storm, except for the view
out the window of the overturned tree’s roots. “Thank God,” she breathed. Gracie’s things, at least, were intact.

She made her way down the hall to her room. Half of it was gone. The wall on her side of the bed was missing, smashed by the
tree. The other half of the room looked weirdly normal.

Zack stepped in behind her. “Jesus.” He wasn’t looking at the leveled wall. He was looking at the things on Paul’s nightstand—a
baseball cap, a key chain, a book about the NFL. A trouser press holding a man’s jacket rested beside it.

Her face heated. She suddenly saw the room from a fresh perspective, the way Zack must see it. She could only imagine what
he thought—that she was pitiful, that she was weird, that she was stuck, that she couldn’t move on. All of which might be
a little true, but mostly—at least, lately—she simply didn’t notice the stuff on Paul’s nightstand, because she was so used
to it being there. At first she’d agonized about what to do with it. When she cleaned house, she’d just dusted around it.
And then, after a while, it was a habit, and she didn’t even really see it.

One thing she knew for sure: She didn’t want Zack standing there, looking at it.

Apparently he didn’t want to be there, either. “I’ll go bring in some more boxes.”

He turned on his heel and left the room.

His stomach wadded into a giant spitball as he headed out to the truck. He’d known Katie kept pictures of her husband all
over the house, but keeping his things on the nightstand, as if he still slept with her…

Well, it was pathetic. Downright pathetic. He knew she’d loved the guy—he could see it in the way her eyes went all soft when
she talked about him, and the way she still wore her wedding ring—but something about seeing Paul’s stuff on the nightstand
had hit him right in the gut. Did she look over at that stuff before she turned out the light and pretend he was in the other
room, about to come to bed? Did she lie there and fantasize about how they would make love when he joined her in the queen-sized
four-poster? Did she touch herself and pretend it was her husband doing the touching—the way Zack thought about Katie?

Yearning, sharp and intense, hit like a hunger pang. What would it be like to be loved like that? To know that a woman like
Katie cared about you so thoroughly and completely, to know that she carried you in her heart and soul? The thought bounced
around an empty place inside him like an echo in the Grand Canyon.

He muttered a curse, grabbed a box, and stalked into Gracie’s room, where he packed up her things in record time, then carried
them to the U-Haul.

A few minutes later, he stepped back into Katie’s room to see how she was progressing.

She’d cleared off that shrine of a nightstand, thank God—along with the top of the dresser across the room. But he found her
in the walk-in closet, holding a man’s shirt as if it were a religious artifact. One entire side of the closet was filled
with men’s clothing. Apparently she hadn’t gotten rid of any of her husband’s belongings.

His muscles tensed. He cleared his throat to alert her to his presence.

She whipped toward him, her face alarmed. He felt like he’d interrupted her in the middle of a prayer or meditation or something.

He put a hand on the closet doorjamb, trying to look casual, and forced his voice into what he hoped was a normal tone. “Want
some help?”

“No.” She folded the shirt as if that was what she’d been doing all along, instead of gazing at it like it was the Shroud
of Turin. “I’ve got this covered.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need more boxes.”

He stalked toward the living room, trying not to think about her in that closet, trying not to think about the look on her
face or the way she’d held that shirt. That empty spot inside him stretched wider and deeper. He tried to reason it away.
Why did he care, anyway? It wasn’t any of his business.

But it felt like his business, and he couldn’t get it off his mind.

He waited half an hour, then went back in to check on her. A stack of boxes stood outside the closet. He gestured toward them.
“Want me to take these to Goodwill or something?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll take them to the storage unit, then.” He’d rented one for her furniture when he’d picked up the U-Haul.

“No. I want to keep them with me.”

“All of them? Everything that was in this closet?”

She tilted her chin up, as if daring him to argue. “Yes.”

She wasn’t ready to let go. A lump the size of the moon lodged in his throat. Okay, it was no skin off his nose. Why should
he care? And yet, part of him wanted to punch his fist through the wall.

Which made no sense. He was crazy about Katie, but he wasn’t planning on doing anything drastic or permanent. It wasn’t like
he seriously wanted to take her husband’s place.

He needed to get a grip. If she wanted Paul’s stuff at his house—why the
hell
did she want to bring her dead husband’s stuff to his house?—then that was where he’d put it.

He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll load these boxes with Gracie’s stuff.”

Zack picked up one of the four boxes carefully labeled “Paul”—not “Paul’s Pants” or “Paul’s crappy suits.” Just “Paul,” as
if the man himself were in there—and carried it out to the curb.

Thirty minutes later, a blue Toyota parked in front of the house as Zack started to load the pile of boxes into the bed of
the truck. A familiar lanky man climbed out. “Thought maybe you and Katie could use some help.”

“Dave—hello!” Zack climbed down from the back of the truck and shook his hand. Dave had come by yesterday afternoon to check
on Katie and Gracie, and he’d offered to come back today to help clean things up.

The older man surveyed the house, then shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Looks even worse in the light of day.”

“Yeah.” Zack nodded. “It’s a mess.”

“Let me give you a hand with those boxes,” Dave said.

Zack hesitated. “Are you supposed to be lifting things with your heart condition?”

“As long as they’re not too heavy, I should be fine. My doctor wants me to exercise.”

Dave bent to pick up a box, then froze when he saw the name “Paul” scrawled on the side in neat magic marker. “Is this the
urn?”

“Oh, no. Katie wouldn’t leave the house without it last night. It’s at my place.”

His frown relaxed into relief, then his brow furrowed again. “So what’s in here?”

Zack waved a hand at the other boxes. “Paul’s clothes and stuff.”

“Wow. She’s still got all his things?”

“Looks like it.”

Dave blew out a sigh and shook his head. “She needs to let go and move on.” He ran a hand over his head. “Maybe this disaster
is just what she needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes we have to lose the things we’re attached to before we can see the stuff that really matters.”

“She already lost the only thing that ever mattered.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. Hell, he hadn’t really
intended for them to come out at all. He was talking to Paul’s father, for Christ’s sake. At least Dave didn’t seem to take
offense.

“Katie’s stuck in the past,” Dave said. “She’s hiding behind it.”

“Hiding, how?”

“Well, when people are afraid of something, they divert their attention so they don’t have to face it. Some people hide behind
booze or work or computer games. Others use hobbies or shopping or parties or a defeatist attitude, or staying busy all the
time—or traveling and dating lots of beautiful women.”

Zack chose to ignore the obvious jab at his lifestyle. “What do you think Katie’s afraid of?”

“Of moving on. Of getting her heart broken again.”

Zack picked up a box and shoved it into the truck. “Do you think she’ll ever be able to feel about someone else the same way
she felt about Paul?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question; it just kind of burst out. What was with him today? He climbed
into the bed of the truck and pushed the box to the back.

“Oh, I think she’ll fall in love again. But I suspect every love is different.”

Meaning what? Any other love would be second-best?

“But I’m not really qualified to answer that,” Dave continued. His mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “I’ve only loved one
woman my whole life. I just did a really bad job of letting her know it.” He lifted a box and shoved it into the truck, breathing
hard.

Zack looked at him, worried about the older man’s heart. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just not in as great a shape as I used to be.”

“Tell you what—why don’t you go inside and give Katie a hand packing things up? I’ll handle these boxes.”

“Okay. Guess I’ll do that.” Dave clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for being here for Katie.”

“Where else would I be?”

Wherever the hell you were between 1992 and now,
Zack’s brain chided him. He watched the older man amble toward the house, his words replaying in Zack’s mind.

Apparently Dave thought Zack was afraid of something, too—probably commitment. He’d had plenty of women tell him he was a
commitment-phobe.

And hell, he was, but that didn’t mean he was hiding from anything. Just because he chose not to get all tied up and emotionally
entangled didn’t mean something was wrong with him; it just meant he was smart. He’d spent the first seventeen years of his
life trying to get his parents’ affection, and all it had gotten him was pain.

He’d seen too many people carry neediness from a bad childhood over into adulthood, only to get hurt again and again. He refused
to stay stuck on that hamster wheel.

But nearly losing Katie yesterday—well, it had scared him to death. When it came to her and Gracie, he damn sure hadn’t felt
detached and uninvolved. He felt involved up to his eyeballs.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lulu and a gangly man in cowboy garb. “Hey there, Zack!” Lulu waved as she
stepped out of a red pickup truck, wearing pink jeans, pink sneakers, and an orange-and-pink shirt. “My husband and I came
to help out.”

Rachel and Bev and their husbands drove up right behind them, and were promptly joined by eight of Katie’s neighbors and the
youth group from the Methodist church.

By twelve-thirty, the tree had been sawed and removed, and all of the retrievable possessions had been boxed up, carted away,
and stored. The volunteer effort had apparently been well coordinated, because someone had brought a tray of sandwiches, someone
else provided a cooler of cold drinks, and yet another person had baked several dozen brownies. Lulu set the feast out on
the tailgate of her red pickup and everyone ate their fill.

“Thank you so much,” Katie called as everyone trooped back to their homes or cars.

“Glad to help. Just a little payback for how you helped me out during Hurricane Katrina,” one of her neighbors said.

“And you’ve saved my sorry ass from more messes than you can shake a stick at,” Lulu said.

“You were a rock for me when Sydney got sick,” said another.

Katie’s eyes grew misty. “Aw. You guys are the best.”

“You have some great friends,” Zack said when they’d left.

“Yeah,” Katie said. “I’m really lucky.”

“There’s no such thing as luck. You’ve got good friends because you’re a really good friend yourself.”

She lifted her shoulders. “That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Caring for others.”

“It’s that simple, huh?”

“Pretty much.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Just that simple, and just that complicated.”

She really believed that. To Katie, life wasn’t about achievement or challenge or winning or money or any of the things that
drove most people—the things that had always driven him. To Katie, life was about caring for others.

The very thing he’d spent his whole life avoiding.

A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Was it possible she was right? Was it possible that keeping his distance was the
bigger risk? He’d always been a loner, figuring that you couldn’t get burned if you didn’t get near the fire. Maybe always
feeling cold was an even worse fate.

Maybe Dave had been onto something, after all.

“Annette—are you sure about this?” Katie asked for the umpteenth time four days later.

“Yes, dear. It only makes sense.” Annette zipped her makeup bag and set it in her purse, then placed her purse beside the
packed suitcase on the floor of her room in the rehabilitation wing. “Besides, I’m making such good progress that Blake says
I’m likely to only need two more weeks of therapy instead of three.”

Katie regarded her with worried eyes. “If you change your mind at any time…”

Katie was such a mother hen. Annette smiled at her reassuringly. “I know, dear. I can call you. And if I need to, I will.”

“Don’t wait until you need to. Call me if you feel the least bit uncomfortable.”