Status: Finished
Matt Sanders
23
Matt thought, by deciding not to call Aubree ever again, by deciding not go give her that ring, he could manage to cheat grief.
Instead, he found out his acquaintance with grief thus far had only touched the surface of where that emotion could go.
With Valery and David, there had been no second chances, no second-guessing, no going back…
He'd been forced to say goodbye.
But Aubree lived. She breathed. her presence in his town, just minutes away from him, beckoned and called.
It made him question himself, his decisions, his sanity.
Ace, who normally forgave him everything, was not forgiving him him. Living with her holding a grudge against him was a form of torment he could not have imagined. And yet to back down, what would that mean?
What would it mean in the long run if he encouraged his daughter to believe in impossible dreams?
Gee, Ace, go ahead. Believe your'e going to be the Christmas Angel. Believe it right up until the moment it doesn't happen. Go ahead.
It wasn't the responsible thing to do.
Falling for Aubree had not been the responsible thing to do, either.
To add to his sense of grief he was furious at himself. He was in a pit of recrimination and failure.
He thought he had known darkness before. But he had not even touched the surface of that place that was so black it could swallow a man's soul, whole.
Christmas Eve. Ace had been dropped off in her choir angel costume at the school. She had not looked at him, nor kissed him goodbye.
The absence of the words, I love you, Daddy made the world he moved in dormer.
Brian and Michelle had asked him to join them at the community hall to watch the live feed of the concert, but he wasn't going to go.
He was going to sit at home, in his darkness, revel in it, relish it.
And that was exactly what he was doing, when his doorbell rang.
And then, when he chose to ignore it, again, and then again
Finally, when whoever stood out there made it evident they had no intention of giving up, Matt went and answered it ready to let all his bad temper out on a unsuspecting someone.
But he was astonished that it was Wesley Wellhaven standing here.
Wesley was already in the dark tux he would perform in. He looked wildly uncomfortable. And at the same time, as he shown by ringing the doorbell over and over again, determined.
"Mr. Sanders, you need to come." His voice carried urgency. "I have a place for you at the concert."
Matt looked down at the way he was dressed, jeans and a T-shirt. He looked at Mr. Wellhaven's tuxedo. his mouth moved. He tried to say no, he was choosing darkness, but the words wouldn't come out.
"Please don't make me late," Wesley pleaded. "We are live tonight. A foolish idea. I can't tell you how I hate live."
It was apparent to Matt that Wesley Wellhaven, for some reason only known to himself, was prepared to keep the whole world waiting while he talked Matt into coming to his production.
He remembered already thinking, once this week, he could not deprive the world of the gift of this man's voice.
With a sigh, he grabbed his jacket out of the coat closet and allowed Wesley to guide him down to where the long stretch limo waited at the end of his walk.
Once in the limo, Wesley ducked his head, fiddled with his bow tie, glanced at Matt. "I have a confession to make."
"To me?" Matt said. This must be some kind of mistaken identity.
"Yes, to you, Mr. Sanders. I was there."
"Excuse me?"
"I was there. When you argued with your daughter. I like to sit in the seats of the empty auditorium before a performance. I like to see the stage as the poorest audience member will see it. And then make changes to try and make their experience more enjoyable.
"And so, I am embarrassed to say, I saw your very private moment with your daughter."
"Oh," Matt said. "I think it's me who should be embarrassed."
The limo pulled up to the school. Wesley pressed a ticket into Matt's hand.
"Yes, indeed you should at least share the embarrassment, Mr. Sanders. How could you tell your daughter there is no such thing as a miracle? Why, they happen all the time."
"With all due respect, Mr. Wellhaven, no they don't."
"Really? Then see if you can explain how a humble and mild man such as myself was given such a voice," he challenged. He waited. Matt did not have an answer to that. "Enjoy the performance, Mr. Sanders. And have faith. if you teach your daughter nothing else, teach her to believe in miracles."
And then he was gone.
And Matt looked at the ticket in his hands, and knew he had no choice but to go in. Or walk home.
But that day, sitting on the stage, his head in his hands, he'd asked for a miracle. What if this was it.
Oh, sure, Matt, he chided himself. Believe one last time. But the truth was he could not have prevented himself from going into that auditorium.
Of course he was the last one in there, and had to shove his way past all the people already seated to what seemed to be the only remaining chair in the whole place.
And of course, it had to be right beside her.
Instead, he found out his acquaintance with grief thus far had only touched the surface of where that emotion could go.
With Valery and David, there had been no second chances, no second-guessing, no going back…
He'd been forced to say goodbye.
But Aubree lived. She breathed. her presence in his town, just minutes away from him, beckoned and called.
It made him question himself, his decisions, his sanity.
Ace, who normally forgave him everything, was not forgiving him him. Living with her holding a grudge against him was a form of torment he could not have imagined. And yet to back down, what would that mean?
What would it mean in the long run if he encouraged his daughter to believe in impossible dreams?
Gee, Ace, go ahead. Believe your'e going to be the Christmas Angel. Believe it right up until the moment it doesn't happen. Go ahead.
It wasn't the responsible thing to do.
Falling for Aubree had not been the responsible thing to do, either.
To add to his sense of grief he was furious at himself. He was in a pit of recrimination and failure.
He thought he had known darkness before. But he had not even touched the surface of that place that was so black it could swallow a man's soul, whole.
Christmas Eve. Ace had been dropped off in her choir angel costume at the school. She had not looked at him, nor kissed him goodbye.
The absence of the words, I love you, Daddy made the world he moved in dormer.
Brian and Michelle had asked him to join them at the community hall to watch the live feed of the concert, but he wasn't going to go.
He was going to sit at home, in his darkness, revel in it, relish it.
And that was exactly what he was doing, when his doorbell rang.
And then, when he chose to ignore it, again, and then again
Finally, when whoever stood out there made it evident they had no intention of giving up, Matt went and answered it ready to let all his bad temper out on a unsuspecting someone.
But he was astonished that it was Wesley Wellhaven standing here.
Wesley was already in the dark tux he would perform in. He looked wildly uncomfortable. And at the same time, as he shown by ringing the doorbell over and over again, determined.
"Mr. Sanders, you need to come." His voice carried urgency. "I have a place for you at the concert."
Matt looked down at the way he was dressed, jeans and a T-shirt. He looked at Mr. Wellhaven's tuxedo. his mouth moved. He tried to say no, he was choosing darkness, but the words wouldn't come out.
"Please don't make me late," Wesley pleaded. "We are live tonight. A foolish idea. I can't tell you how I hate live."
It was apparent to Matt that Wesley Wellhaven, for some reason only known to himself, was prepared to keep the whole world waiting while he talked Matt into coming to his production.
He remembered already thinking, once this week, he could not deprive the world of the gift of this man's voice.
With a sigh, he grabbed his jacket out of the coat closet and allowed Wesley to guide him down to where the long stretch limo waited at the end of his walk.
Once in the limo, Wesley ducked his head, fiddled with his bow tie, glanced at Matt. "I have a confession to make."
"To me?" Matt said. This must be some kind of mistaken identity.
"Yes, to you, Mr. Sanders. I was there."
"Excuse me?"
"I was there. When you argued with your daughter. I like to sit in the seats of the empty auditorium before a performance. I like to see the stage as the poorest audience member will see it. And then make changes to try and make their experience more enjoyable.
"And so, I am embarrassed to say, I saw your very private moment with your daughter."
"Oh," Matt said. "I think it's me who should be embarrassed."
The limo pulled up to the school. Wesley pressed a ticket into Matt's hand.
"Yes, indeed you should at least share the embarrassment, Mr. Sanders. How could you tell your daughter there is no such thing as a miracle? Why, they happen all the time."
"With all due respect, Mr. Wellhaven, no they don't."
"Really? Then see if you can explain how a humble and mild man such as myself was given such a voice," he challenged. He waited. Matt did not have an answer to that. "Enjoy the performance, Mr. Sanders. And have faith. if you teach your daughter nothing else, teach her to believe in miracles."
And then he was gone.
And Matt looked at the ticket in his hands, and knew he had no choice but to go in. Or walk home.
But that day, sitting on the stage, his head in his hands, he'd asked for a miracle. What if this was it.
Oh, sure, Matt, he chided himself. Believe one last time. But the truth was he could not have prevented himself from going into that auditorium.
Of course he was the last one in there, and had to shove his way past all the people already seated to what seemed to be the only remaining chair in the whole place.
And of course, it had to be right beside her.