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“After the first twenty-three years you survived, you deserve every ounce of luck that comes your way,” Phyllis assured her friend. “Let yourself believe in it, soak it up, and it’ll keep right on coming.”
Tory chuckled. “You’re very good for me, you know that?”
“Am I, Tor?”
“Of course! What’s up?”
Phyllis heard the immediate concern in Tory’s voice. She obviously hadn’t hidden her doubts as well as she’d intended. But then Tory was the one person in Shelter Valley who’d seen Phyllis at her worst. Fat and miserable and in mourning for her best friend. Because Tory had been living with her, Phyllis had been unable to conceal her emotions from the younger woman.
“Do you think I hide behind my friendships?”
“I’m assuming you want honesty here,” Tory said slowly. “Like before you lost the weight and you wanted me to tell you the truth about how you looked and what we had to do to fix it.”
Locking her knees, feet braced against the floor, Phyllis said, “Just like then.”
“Maybe you do hide a little,” Tory said in a rush, then continued, “But who wouldn’t, Phyllis? You’ve had rotten luck with men, an even worse marriage, and then, when you finally have a best friend, she dies….” Tory’s voice broke on the last word.
Both women were silent for an emotional moment, sharing the pain they would always share at the memory of Christine.
“But do I hide from you guys, too? Put up barriers when I might be the one who needs help?”
“Most definitely.”
No softening the blow on that one. Not that Phyllis was really surprised by the answer. She’d been doing a lot of thinking this past couple of days. Matt had revealed something important to her, something she’d refused to see. The clarity of vision she habitually brought to the problems of others she now brought to her own.
“I’ve always thought that you keep yourself busy helping everyone else so that you won’t have time to see what’s going on inside you,” Tory said, her words, though harsh, brimming with love.
“I was digging myself into a hole and didn’t even notice the dirt closing in around me,” Phyllis said, half to herself. She studied the paint on the wall, the texturing, looking for a pattern that wasn’t completely random. “I really believed that my life was finally perfect.”
Tory laughed—a rich sound that delighted Phyllis, who recalled a time when Tory didn’t laugh at all. Or even smile. “And this from a psychologist?” she asked. “You of all people know that life isn’t ever perfect. Like you’ve taught me, there’ll always be trials. But happiness comes when we can create a solid base of security and love for ourselves. That’s what sees us through those trials.”
“Physician, heal thyself, huh?” Phyllis said, chuckling a little, too.
“Is that what you’re doing, Phyl? Healing?”
Phyllis continued to glance from one swirl of paint to the next, looking for anything that repeated itself, giving even a hint of organization.
And she thought about Matt, remembering the expression on his face when he’d sat in front of her Christmas tree the night before, with only the colored lights illuminating the room—and him—as he told her how much he’d always hated Christmas.
“I don’t know,” she answered her friend. “I just know I have to try….”
THAT EVENING, after doing a couple of chores for her, Matt took Phyllis to see his house. She hadn’t asked his permission, but she’d brought along some Christmas decorations to put up while she was there. Somehow she knew she had to teach this man to believe in Christmas if they were to have any chance at a life together.
She’d dressed festively for the occasion, as well—black leggings, a long chenille sweater boldly red to show off her hair and black leather boots with just enough of a heel to be sassy. And sexy.
Although it probably wasn’t the most mature idea she’d ever had, she was hoping they were going to christen Matt’s home with more than just decorations.
“What’s in there?” he asked, glancing at the big black plastic trash bag she’d carried to the car.
Phyllis grinned at him. “A surprise,” was all she said. She refused to give him a chance to tell her no. She knew he needed this, even if he didn’t.
He was wearing black jeans and a forest-green, button-down corduroy shirt underneath his black leather jacket. His hair was mussed and inviting. And staring at him, Phyllis got the shock of her life.
She was in love with him.
She loved Matt Sheffield. Totally. Completely. As much as she loved the babies growing inside her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow creased with concern.
