THE DOOR TO FELICIA’S OFFICE was open. A Bible sat open on her desk, along with a handful of other books from which she read, then typed brief notes on her laptop. Engrossed in one book, Felicia didn’t notice Del’s approach.
“May I come in?”
Felicia peered over her reading glasses, regarded him without expression, and then gestured to the seats in front of her. As Del sat down, she folded her hands atop the desk. Though she didn’t utter a word, she studied him, giving him the chance to speak first.
“Are you busy?”
“I’m in the middle of preparing a sermon, Del.”
“Do you have time to talk?”
She removed her glasses and folded her hands again, which Del figured might be the closest he’d come to a yes.
Aside from the day of Nora’s tragedy, today was the first time he and Felicia had spoken since ending their relationship. And her current silence didn’t bode well for him.
“It’s a shame what happened,” said Del. “To Nora, I mean.”
“I feel so bad for her,” said Felicia, who relaxed her shoulders. “I hate seeing people in those predicaments, where they feel they can’t escape.”
“We got there in time, though.”
“Thankfully, God had His eye on her.”
“It seemed like divine Providence, yes.”
Del noticed Felicia had pulled her hair into a ponytail. He picked up a trace of her perfume, airy and floral. He still thought her beautiful. He regretted the unfair, self-centered outbursts he had made outside this building. Why had he lashed out at her that way? Even in the heat of the moment, he’d recognized she had sterling intentions.
“So where does that leave us?” he asked.
Felicia blinked. Otherwise, her face remained carved marble. “Us?”
“Well, sure. I mean, I’m here. You’re here. The question is, what’s between us?”
“I think you made it clear where you stand, Del.”
She wasn’t making this easy for him. Then again, why should she? He’d assumed she’d be willing to talk, but maybe she didn’t want to see his face again and was too polite to say so. Maybe he was wasting his time here, but he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t deny how he felt about her, or the way she’d drawn his heart to hers.
“I misjudged you,” he said, “and I’m sorry for that. I’ve kicked myself ever since.”
She stared at him, wordless. Okay, she wanted to hear more. Whether that was a good or bad sign, Del didn’t know, but he kept going. After all, if he didn’t try to win her back, he stood to lose everything.
“I admit, I’m settled in my ways,” he continued. “I’m self-absorbed, and I don’t even know why or how I got that way. Years have stacked upon years, crusted over, and calcified. That doesn’t prevent a man from amending his ways; it just means change doesn’t come without tremendous effort.”
Felicia continued to stare at him, but the initial guardedness in her glare had begun to retreat. He might as well press forward and hope for the best, he figured.
“If you’re looking for a perfect man, Felicia, you won’t find one in me.” Nervous, his belly fluttered. He craved a bottled water, if for no other reason than to occupy his hands, which had slickened with sweat. On the other hand, the bottle would have slipped from his grasp and spilled over her desk and into her lap. Del cleared his throat.
“This whole season—everything about it and all the individuals involved—has gotten me thinking about dreams. I’ve examined my life. Not the way an accountant analyzes things, but the way you examine your circumstances when you’re stuck. When you find yourself in the middle of a forest and nighttime settles in. The batteries in your flashlight have died, so you try to navigate by feel, desperate to find your way. You hear wolves howl in the distance. Your breath goes short. You hope you’ll make it through to dawn. That kind of examination.” He paused. “The kind where you discover you took everything important in life for granted, and if you hadn’t, you’d be spending the evening with the woman you love instead of wandering in circles in the woods.”
“That sounds like a movie, Del.”
“My life is a movie, Felicia. It’s fiction,” he replied. “I’m not real. I’m a ghost. Invisible. I know I’m here, but nobody else does. And so I surround myself with a fictitious world, complete with a plot, every day scripted, all the props in the right places. And when the production day wraps, all the players depart to their homes and loved ones and their broken lives, and I’m left alone with my dreams, the same ones that sat there unfulfilled when I awoke that morning.” Now he fixed his eyes on hers, and they communicated in their mutual gaze. “All the fame and glamour, all those big dreams. And now, at seventy-eight years old, I’ve come to realize that maybe I’ve been dreaming too small all along.”
Felicia pursed her lips. Fighting tears, perhaps? Her hands had parted. Her entire demeanor spoke of hesitation. Indecision. The risk of getting her heart broken all over again. She swallowed, then exhaled, her eyebrows raised in resignation.
“I can’t stop you from dreaming,” she said. “If you want to rebuild your career—”
“Stop,” he murmured, rising from his seat. “Please stop.”
Del took a step forward, paused to allow his lower back to loosen—that nuisance, never hitting him at a convenient time—and eased around the side of the desk. She swiveled to face him. He reached for Felicia’s hand, which she allowed him to take into his. He gazed at the sight of their intermingled fingers and discovered hers were as damp as his own.
Del lowered himself to one knee and held her hand with the care he would give to a large ruby.
“I don’t want the material stuff, Felicia,” he said, putting into his words all the affection his soul could muster. “I want you. Whatever that takes, I want you.”
Felicia’s eyes had grown moist. Her lips moved but no sound came forth. She blinked once. Slowly.
She pressed her lips together, bit back tears. And when she smiled, life traveled into her eyes.
She leaned forward, cupped Del’s face with her hands, and stroked his cheekbones once with her thumbs.