Sway (31 page)

As Caleb hands off the gift to the little boy, his head comes up. Even if I hadn’t been watching him, I would have noticed the stillness that settled over everyone in the room when he spotted me.

I wait. Hold my breath. Have second thoughts and wonder if I should leave.

But I won’t.

He doesn’t say anything and neither do I.

My being here says it all, and I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that Caleb thinks so, too.

*

Caleb

One minute everyone is laughing and everything is like every other Christmas I’ve experienced here for the past four years, and the next minute the sound of music drifts from the back of the room and spills into my chest. I know that laugh. I’ve heard the laugh. I didn’t think I would ever hear it again, but I look up, straight into the eyes of Kate.

Kate, with her beautiful smile. Kate, with her blonde curls. Kate, with her ugly pink coat that I fully intend to either burn or convince her to donate to charity before the night is over. Except charity won’t take something so hideous. Of that I am certain. So I’ll just have to step up and take her—and it—instead.

I let the bag fall and walk toward her, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on the two of us. Parents. Children. Case workers. Baffled co-workers wondering if I’ve lost my mind. I have. Plus my heart. I lost them both five weeks ago inside a seedy bar in downtown Oklahoma City and I haven’t gotten them back. At this point, I’m one-hundred percent, all the way certain I never will. I’m in this for good. And because she’s here right now, in spite of everything we’ve been through, it’s easy to assume she is too.

It’s also easy to assume she’s changed her mind about God, but maybe I shouldn’t assume so much.

“What are you doing here?” I say. It occurs to me that Santa’s baritone voice has moved on an upward slide, but I can’t fake anything. Not here. Not now. And definitely not with her.

“Nice suit.” Her words sound bold, but I hear the tremor in her voice. She eyes me up and down to cover it, and even though I know what she’s doing, and even though the velour fabric is as itchy as it is uncomfortable, I feel her stare like a zap to my spine. “I came to see you,” she says.

That’s all I need to hear. I grab her hand and pull her around a corner, away from prying eyes. Once we’re out of earshot, I pull her to me so that I can look at her…really look at her…when I say everything I want to say.

“You came to see me?”

She nods. It’s the prettiest nod I’ve ever seen.

Without removing my gloves, I pull off my hat and yank down my fake beard and reach for the awful white fur that lines her coat.

“It’s cold outside,” I say. “And we’re inside a church, and last time we were here you ran out as fast as you could, so why would you come back?”

“Like I said, I came to see you.” Her hand goes to my chest and stays there, and I’m pretty sure she can feel my heartbeat through the red coat. Heck, if I turn around, I’m certain Scott would tell me he hears it from across the room. “And you’re right; I did run out last time I was here. But I’m back now, and I’m not leaving. If you’ll let me stay.”

I stare at her for a long moment, wanting to believe her words but also knowing that sometimes belief is fragile, especially when it’s at the beginning stages. “What about your parents? What about the lawsuit? I’m a youth pastor. That won’t change.”

“I’m glad you’re a pastor. It’s one of the first things I liked about you, I just didn’t know it until now.” Her voice is so soft as she looks down and fiddles with a button at the edge of her coat. Without looking up, she continues. “As for the lawsuit—I can’t stop it.” It takes work, but she looks up at me, imploring. “I’m sorry, and I know you probably hate me for it, but—”

“I’ve never hated you for a second, not even the day I drove you to that rally and found out who you were.” It’s the truth. I might have been angry. I might have been offended. But I never, ever, hated her. From practically that very first day, it’s been the opposite. And frankly, I’m tired of fighting it.

“And your parents?” It’s the only question she hasn’t answered—the one I still need to hear. I lost my parents years ago, and it’s the loneliest feeling in the world. I could never live with myself if I caused that kind of grief for Kate’s parents…or for her. I won’t take her away from them no matter how much I want her with me, no matter how misguided their views might be, because goodbyes rip your heart out and leave you feeling worse than dead, especially when they’re permanent.

“My mother is the one who told me to come here tonight,” she says. The words leave me speechless. Of all the things I imagined she might say—a hundred reasons why her parents’ approval didn’t matter, all the ways we couldn’t be together because of media scrutiny and pending litigation—this wasn’t it.
Her mother told her to come?

I don’t verbalize my surprise. “What about your father?” For the first time, her confidence slips, and a glimmer of fear slides in the vacant space. She bites her lower lip and looks past my shoulder into the gym. A few dozen kids have their eyes trained on hers, but she doesn’t see any of them.

She looks at me. “I’ll…work on him.”

“He might not ever understand.”

For a long moment she says nothing, but when she finally speaks, it’s with the fragile conviction of a woman who’s lived with the man forever. “I think he will. Actually, I’m certain of it.”

It isn’t a promise, and he may never be okay with us, but I believe her. He may hate me forever and never forgive me for taking his daughter away from everything he’s built, but I believe her, because she’s new to real belief and she’s afraid for the future and one of us needs not to be.

There’s no place for fear inside a church on Christmas Eve. She needs to understand that, and I need to be the one to show her.

I’m not sure which one of us makes the first move, but my hands are in her hair and her lips are on mine, and we kiss each other with all the gentleness of two people who’ve waited for this moment. I want to savor it, breathe it in. Not because I think it’s our last kiss, but because I think it’s the first of many. I’m in this. I’m in this all the way. I pull her even closer and move deeper, wanting to touch her and feel her and absorb every part of her fear that I can through the layers of our equally horrible clothing choices.

I’m in this. I want her to know it.

But I stop, because I know I should. First, because we need to go slow. I don’t want to risk damaging a relationship that God has handed me—only Someone with a divine sense of humor would put two people like Kate and me together—and I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening. Second, because the disgusted groans of twenty children and a half-dozen co-workers fill the once silent space behind us. I lean my forehead against hers and breathe in and out, feeling her do the same until we’re in perfect sync.

Kate smiles the softest smile. “I realize I’m not up on my Christmas etiquette, but I don’t think Santa is supposed to be kissing random girls who walk in off the street.”

“Crap.” I’ve made a colossal mistake, but there’s really no way to fix it. “What can I say, Santa’s a ladies man. A real sucker for women dressed like circus candy.” That earns me a shove, but I’ll take it. I’ll take it again and again and never complain.

“Should we go over there?” She nods toward the group still staring at us from several feet away. “There’s a couple of kids on the verge of a meltdown, and I think you need to give them a gift before it happens.”

I look over my shoulder at the faces of two kids staring down at the abandoned bag, and I know she’s right. It’s Christmas. Time to spread some joy.

*

Caleb

She’s been unnaturally quiet since dinner ended. If I think about it, I can almost convince myself that she regrets walking in here tonight. Maybe it was impulsive, maybe open curiosity. Maybe a test to see what I’m made of, or maybe just a dip into the unknown, kind of like the rush you get as you stand at the edge of an open airplane and allow yourself to fall. Sure, there’s elation. Sure, adrenaline is pumping. But then you land on dry ground and grow stunned at your stupidity. Chastise yourself for your blatant disregard for safety.

I went skydiving once, and that’s exactly how I felt.

She’s sitting under the Christmas tree all alone, and I’m pretty sure she feels that way now.

I prop a folding chair against the wall next to a row of others and make my way across the floor. The gym is abandoned except for the two of us. I can hear the faints noises the janitor makes as he cleans the kitchen, but I’ve seen the mess; he’ll be back there for a while.

It’s the second time I’ve walked toward her tonight, but this time I’m much more nervous. Part of me has known from the beginning that our differences have drawn us together—her family against God, and me His staunch ally. I’m not stupid; I know there’s something exciting about the forbidden; that like danger—in the beginning—it’s something you can’t get enough of. But something tells me the newness has worn off. Kate’s had her Christmas, and now that she’s experienced it, I’m worried she’s through.

With all of it. With me.

It’s the way my life has worked forever, and I’m prepared.

I come up behind her and lower myself to the floor. Maybe this night won’t end the way I want it to, but I’m diving in. No matter how things wind up, we need this moment.

“So what did you think? Was your first Christmas everything you thought it would be?”

She pulls her gaze from the lights and focuses on me. “No.”

My heart thuds. I give it a silent command to shape up or leave me the heck alone.

“Technically,” she continues, “Christmas isn’t for another…” she checks her watch, “…fifteen minutes. So, no. I’m still waiting to see what the first one will be like. So, what do you have planned for me tomorrow, Caleb? Because I don’t know how you’re going to top tonight, but I can’t wait to see it.” Her mouth just barely turns up at the corners.

My heart thuds again, but this time for a different reason. Tomorrow…she’s planning to stick around.

“What if I can’t wait until then?”

She tilts her head to look at me. “What do you mean?”

Without saying anything, I move toward the tree and pull out the last gift tucked inside the back. It’s hidden well, away from questioning eyes. Sparing me from the sympathetic glances I might’ve received if Kate hadn’t shown up tonight. I gambled that she would. A crapshoot for sure, but it paid off.

“This is for you,” I say as I hand it to her.

Her eyes are round blue orbs as she takes in the gift, then focuses on me. “You got me a present?”

I can’t help smile at her wonder. “I got you a present.”

“But, what if I hadn’t—”

“Then I would have burned it. Smashed it into a million pieces. Turns out I don’t have to.” I nod toward the package in her hands. “Well, are you going to open it?”

It’s all the permission she needs. Without regard to Mrs. Jenkins’ wrapping expertise—I’m a guy and can’t wrap presents to save my life—she tears into the glittery red paper, ripping the bow to shreds in her eagerness. Something tells me she’s never opened a Christmas gift before.

By the soft smile that tilts her mouth as she studies the opened present in front of her, something also tells me she likes it. “I don’t have this one.” She looks up at me, her eyes shining as a hundred different expressions cross her features at once. I love every single one of them, but I’ll save that news for later.

“I kind of figured you didn’t. You want to listen to it?”

At her eager nod, I stand up and head toward the record player that I brought from home and placed at the corner of the gym right behind the tree. Within seconds, the soft strains of Bing Crosby’s
White Christmas
begin to play. I sit next to her again, this time a little closer, knee touching knee. It isn’t enough contact, so I reach for her hand and bring it to my lap. For a long moment, neither of us speak. Kate is the first to break the silence.

“Can you do something for me?” Her voice is a whisper, laced with timidity. Yet at the same time, I can hear the resolve behind her soft words.