Page 101 of What Matters Most

Determinedly, he started for the door, but Abby’s hand delayed him. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.” Her fingers tightened around his arm, wanting to bind him to her forever, beginning with this moment. “I love you and…and if you love me, then you’ll trust me.”

“Love?” he repeated in a contemptuous voice. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Stunned, Abby dropped her hand and with a supreme effort met his gaze without emotion. “If that’s what you think, maybe it would be better if you did leave.”

Logan paused, his troubled expression revealing the inner storm raging within him.

“I may be wrong, but I was brought up to believe that love between two people requires mutual trust,” Abby added.

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “And I assumed—erroneously, it seems—that love requires honesty.”

“I…I bent the truth a little.”

“Why?” he demanded. “No.” He stopped her from explaining. “I don’t want to know. Because it’s over. I told you before that I wouldn’t be kept dangling like a schoolboy while you made up your mind.”

“But I can’t explain now! I may never be able to tell you why.”

“It doesn’t matter, Abby, it’s over,” Logan said starkly, his expression impassive.

Abby’s stomach lurched with shock and disbelief. Logan didn’t mean that. He wouldn’t do that to them.

Without another word, he walked from the room. The door slammed as he left the apartment. He didn’t hesitate or look back.

Abby held out her hand in a weak gesture that pleaded with him to turn around, to trust her. But he couldn’t see her, and she doubted it would’ve had any effect on him if he had. Unshed tears were dammed in her throat, but Abby held her head up in a defiant gesture of pride. The pretense was important for the moment, as she calmly moved into the kitchen and turned off the stove.

Only fifteen minutes before, she had stared lovingly into Logan’s eyes, letting her own eyes tell him how much she wanted to share his life. Now, swiftly and without apparent concern, Logan had rejected her as carelessly and thoughtlessly as he would an old pair of shoes. Yet Abby knew that wasn’t true. He did love her. He couldn’t hold her and kiss her the way he did without loving her. Abby knew him as well as he knew her. But then, Abby mused, she had reason to doubt that Logan knew her at all.

Even worse was the fact that Abby recognized she was wrong. Logan deserved an explanation. But her hands were bound by her promise to Tate. And Tate had no idea what that pledge was doing to her and to her relationship with Logan. She couldn’t believe he’d purposely do this, but Tate was caught in his own trap. He viewed her as his friend and trusted teacher. He felt fiercely protective of her, wanting in his own way to repay her for the second chance she was giving him by teaching him to read.

Logan and Tate had disliked each other on sight. The friction between them wasn’t completely her fault, Abby realized. The ironic part was that for all their outward differences they were actually quite a bit alike.

When Abby had first met Tate that day in the park she’d found him compelling. She’d been magnetically drawn to the same strength that had unconsciously bound her to Logan. This insight had taken Abby weeks to discover, but it had come too late.

—

The weekend arrived in a haze of emotional pain. Tate phoned Friday afternoon to tell her he wouldn’t be able to meet her on Saturday because he was going to the bank to sign the final papers for his loan. He invited her to dinner in celebration, but she declined. Not meeting him gave Abby a reprieve. She wasn’t up to facing anyone right now. But each minute, each hour, the hurt grew less intense and life became more bearable. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself.

She didn’t see Logan on Sunday, and forced herself not to search for him in the crowded park as she took a late-afternoon stroll. This was supposed to be their day. Now it looked as if there wouldn’t be any more lazy Sunday afternoons for them.

Involved in her melancholy thoughts, Abby wandered the paths and trails of the park, hardly noticing the people around her.

Early that evening, as the sun was lowering in a purple sky, Abby felt the urge to sit on the damp earth and take in the beauty of the world around her. She needed the tranquility of the moment and the assurance that another day had come and gone and she’d made it through the sadness and uncertainty. She reflected on her feelings and actions, admitting she’d often been headstrong and at times insensitive. But she was learning, and although the pain of that growth dominated her mind now, it, too, would fade. Abby stared at the darkening sky and, for the first time in several long days, a sense of peace settled over her.

Sitting on the lush grass, enjoying the richness of the park grounds, Abby gazed up at the sky. These rare, peaceful minutes soothed her soul and quieted her troubled heart. If she were never to see Logan again, she’d always be glad for the good year they’d shared. Too late she’d come to realize all that Logan meant to her. She’d carelessly tossed his love aside—with agonizing consequences.

—

The following afternoon Abby called Dick Snyder about Wednesday’s softball game. Although she was dying for the sight of Logan, it would be an uncomfortable situation for both of them.

“Dick, it’s Abby,” she said when he answered. She suddenly felt awkward and uneasy.

“Abby,” Dick greeted her cheerfully. “It’s good to hear from you. What’s up?”

An involuntary smile touched the corners of her mouth. No-nonsense Dick. He climbed mountains, coached softball teams, ran a business with the effectiveness of a tycoon, and raised a family; it was all in a day’s work, as he often said…“Nothing much, but I wanted you to know I won’t be able to make the game on Wednesday.”

“You, too?”

“Pardon?” Abby didn’t know what he meant.

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