10
Sobs keep catching in my throat as we step into the crowded lobby.
Joel half-raises his arm, as if to comfort me, then lets it drop to his side. It’s clear he has no idea what to do with me. To be fair, I’m not sure what to do with me either. For the life of me, I can’t seem to stop crying.
“Kenzie,” he says helplessly, looking torn between concern and amusement. “How can I help? What can I do?”
“I’ve run out of tissues,” I tell him, like it’s the end of the world, swiping at my cheeks with the heels of my hands.
He exhales in relief, as though I’ve finally presented him with a problem he can fix. “Okay. Let’s see if we can find you some toilet paper.”
We both head in the direction of the women’s restroom, only to discover a line stretching halfway to the popcorn counter. Most of the ladies are sporting blotchy faces and streaked makeup. I’m guessing I look as wrecked as they do.
“I can’t wait in that line.”
“It’s all right,” Joel reassures me. “We’ll make another plan.”
Since my eyes are still blurred with tears, Joel places a steady hand at the small of my back and guides me out of the theater, down the steps, and into the cool night air outside.
The strong, sweet scent of the magnolia trees lining the street washes over me.
Even at this time of night, Main Street still hums with life.
Although the coffee shops are closed, the restaurants are busy.
Unfortunately, Joel’s car is parked in a lot at the far end of the street.
The plan had been to walk the length of Main so people would see us together.
Right now, with my red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks, I wish we’d parked closer.
Judging by the tight set of Joel’s jaw, I’m guessing he does too.
“I’m sorry, Kenzie,” he says suddenly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought the movie would be a charming, literary story about C. S. Lewis. I didn’t know it would be so sad.”
“I didn’t either,” I choke out, fresh tears spilling over.
The ache inside me twists deeper. Poor C. S. Lewis, who nursed his wife through cancer. Poor Joy, who suffered so much before she died. Poor Douglas, who lost his mom.
And poor Joel, who has to put up with the emotional wreck that is me right now.
“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you home.”
We’ve barely gone ten steps before Jaya Callahan, who runs the antique shop, spots us from her sidewalk table at Giovanni’s. She freezes, her eyes darting between my upset expression and Joel’s hand at my back. She whispers something to her companion.
“Everything okay, Kenzie?” she calls out.
I nod and muster a watery smile, but I can feel Joel’s hand flex against my back, like he’s bracing for more questions.
Two storefronts later, we bump into Summer, whom I’ve known since grade school and who now runs the front desk at the library. Her surprised gaze flicks between Joel and me. “I didn’t know you two were an item.”
Discomfort flickers across Joel’s face. “This is just a date. We’re not an item.”
Summer’s lips press into a thin line as she takes in my wet cheeks. “Clearly, this is the first time Kenzie’s hearing the news.”
“He’s not... We’re not...” I try to explain, but I’m still crying too hard to form any kind of coherent sentence.
Summer squeezes my shoulder. “He’s not worth it,” she whispers in a fierce voice. “No man is.”
With one last death stare at Joel, she stalks away.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Joel.
“I’ve dealt with worse,” he replies with the barest hint of a shrug.
I want to ask what he means by that, but I’m distracted by the growing number of people shooting me concerned looks and then glaring at Joel, as if holding him responsible for my distress.
“Why don’t you try to think about something else?” Joel suggests.
I bite my lip. “I’m trying.”
And I am. But every time I blink, I see the grief etched in C.
S. Lewis’s face. I’ve watched my share of sad movies, but Shadowlands has touched me in a way no other movie has.
Lewis is an author I’ve admired my whole life, and it was devastating to learn how his real story unfolded—how he met Joy Gresham, fell in love, and found happiness, only to have it stolen when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
I can’t pinpoint why this movie has affected me so much. I may draw whimsical, hopeful cards, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the bittersweet side of love.
I noticed even Joel wasn’t unaffected by the movie. At one point, I saw him looking down and swallowing hard. But then I was too caught up in the tragedy playing out on the screen to notice anything else.
I draw in a deep, bracing breath. “I don’t believe there are any tears left in my body, so I think I’m okay now.”
“Are you sure?” he asks cautiously. “You don’t want to take another minute to, uh, compose yourself?”
“No, I’m okay. Really.” I mean, not really, but saying the words is believing them. I’m sure I read that somewhere.
We set off down the street again, the light breeze carrying traces of grilled meat and garlic. Joel is suspiciously silent.
“Are you laughing at me in your head?” I ask him.
“Absolutely not,” he says, a little too quickly.
I sigh. “I don’t blame you.”
Main Street is dotted with restaurants and shops on both sides. When we come to the bookstore, I stop in my tracks. The window is filled with a display of The Chronicles of Narnia , the C. S. Lewis series that first made me fall in love with reading.
Joel spots the display and tries to steer me away, but it’s too late. My throat swells and I burst into fresh sobs, burying my face in my hands.
He lets out a tortured groan. “Kenzie, you’re killing me here.”
I try to speak, to apologize for what feels like the hundredth time, but all that emerges is an embarrassing half-sob, half-squeak.
I hear him mutter something that sounds like, “I really shouldn’t be doing this.
” And then I find myself pulled into his chest, his arms coming around me as he tries his best to shield me from curious passersby.
He tucks me under his chin and simply holds me while I cry.
I don’t know how long we stand like that.
I only know I don’t want to leave the comfort of his arms.
Finally, though, I force myself to straighten and take a step back. My eyes widen when I glimpse the wet patch on his shoulder. “I’ve soaked your shirt.”
He waves this away. “Don’t worry about my shirt. It’ll dry.”
My gaze is caught once again by the Narnia display. My lower lip trembles, but I get it together enough to say, “That poor man. His faith was tested so much by suffering.”
And then, because small towns have impeccable timing, Nick from the hardware store materializes next to us. His worried eyes cut to me, then Joel.
“She said she’s suffering. Have a heart, man!”
“We watched a movie—” Joel starts to say.
“No one cries this much over a movie,” Nick interrupts, his tone laced with suspicion.
“I thought so too,” Joel says with a sigh. “Until now.”
I turn to Nick and, in between shuddering breaths, I try to explain. “She was the love of his life—”
That’s when Max, the grizzled owner of the tattoo parlor, appears and frowns at Joel. “Why are you going out with Kenzie if someone else is the love of your life?” he demands.
“Wait, what?” Alarm ripples through Joel’s voice. “It’s not like that.”
“Now he’s just coming up with excuses,” Nick says, his frown deepening.
Max narrows his eyes at Joel. “If there’s someone else, young man, you should have the guts to tell Kenzie the truth.”
“He is telling the truth,” I finally manage to get out, my voice coming out a little strangled. “It’s not him, it was the movie.”
Max pats my arm. “Ah, Kenzie, sweetheart, always a good word to say about everyone, even people who don’t deserve it,” he adds, throwing a contemptuous glance Joel’s way.
Joel keeps silent, any arguments he has dying on his tongue since no one is willing to hear him out.
After wringing a promise out of me that Joel isn’t taking advantage, Max and Nick finally leave us alone, though not without tossing a parting shot at Joel about modern men being allergic to commitment.
Embarrassment floods my veins. I stare in dismay at Joel. “Why am I like this? Now everyone thinks you’re awful and it’s all my fault!”
He gives an unbothered shrug. “I honestly don’t care what people think of me. What I do care about right now is that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” Or I will be. Once I climb into bed and pull the covers over my head and try to pretend this mortifying night never happened.
Unfortunately, that’s when my hiccups start. And there’s nothing remotely delicate about them. They sound like, I don’t know, a tractor in its dying throes of machine life, because that’s the worst sound I can think of right now.
“Just when I thought this evening couldn’t get any worse,” I moan.
Joel blinks. “You hiccup like a six-foot-three linebacker.”
“It’s hereditary,” I say, punctuating it with another loud hiccup. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he tells me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “At least I won’t lose you in a crowd. I just have to follow the sound.”
“Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” He touches my elbow lightly. “Come on, let’s get your dehydrated, hiccupping self home.”
We make our way to his car. By now, Joel doesn’t even try to defend himself from the glares and muttered accusations hurled his way. Much to my chagrin, I think he’s realized that anything he says only makes him look guiltier.
When he finally pulls into my driveway, I feel wrung out. My head aches and my eyes are swollen.
“Thank you for making our first fake date so memorable,” he says as he walks me to my door.
I briefly close my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what came over me. I don’t usually get so emotional over a movie.”
“In your defense, it was a real tearjerker. I should have opted for an action film instead. Lesson learned.”
“What happens now?” I ask.
“You tell everyone you’ve dumped me and that we’re just friends.”
I gather up the courage to ask, “Would we be?”
“What?”
“Friends?”
He leaves a long, quiet pause. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to be friends.”
My throat tightens. Because of the kiss. Because of the way I sometimes catch him looking at me. And the way my heart trips at the deep rumble of his voice. A part of me already knows he’s right.
I nod, disappointment sitting heavy in my chest. In a town like Brown Oaks, I’ll still see him. Maybe from across the street and he’ll give me that polite smile you give someone you almost knew well.
I tell myself that it will be fine. It turns out, I’m not even particularly skilled at lying to myself.