Love. It was the theme of the fourth Advent service. As I sat in St. Luke’s choir loft, looking down at the congregation, the words of the sermon all resonated in private, personal ways. Ways that were all to do with my own love. With Margo.
Our reverend pointed out how the nativity tableau was focused on Mary and the Wise Men and the Baby Jesus, with Joseph off to the side. And how, without his quiet act of faith that his love for his God put him on the right path, even though it was unexpected and extraordinary, the whole Advent story would change. He’d had the power to destroy Mary’s young life, which spoke to a societal misogyny that wasn’t as changed now as it should be, but he’d set that aside and worked with his new reality.
I wasn’t Joseph. But I was a man who’d thought my life was heading in one direction, and along came love. Would I let it upend everything I’d worked for?
Margo wasn’t all I’d been contemplating. I’d also thought about how I’d organized my life around my goals. About missing out on joy by being so focused on my own desires. About if I’d barricaded myself from the rest of the world with my music.
About how Margo had pulled away from me.
About how I’d watched her go.
And now she stood, to all appearances peacefully, with the handbell choir. I was at the piano, accompanying the hymn. I couldn’t concentrate, and hoped the uplifted voices of the congregation hid my flubbed notes. Nothing passed over her beautiful face to indicate she’d caught my mistake.
She was young and radiant and full of life, and when she took up her handbells, her focus on the music was absolute. As if nothing urgent and devastating tugged in her, screaming about this being the last song I would ever conduct for her.
As if, as far as she was concerned, I could just retreat after today. Take my music up into my tower of solitude, while she set off to live her life to the fullest.
We closed the service with Carol of the Bells. It should have pealed out bright with the love of Christmas, the excitement of Christ’s birth, the joyful promise of a better world to come. I didn’t know if it rang as hollow to Margo as it did to me, because she continued to avoid my gaze. And instead of following everyone else to the rehearsal room after services, she stopped just inside the parish house to pass her robe and gloves to Matt the Grace, and slipped away before I reached the threshold.
She hadn’t answered my texts by the time I met with the Church Council on Monday. Not that I’d expected a reply. Not after her silence each time I reached out, striving to be open without smothering her. Nothing had ever made me feel so old; I’d almost given in and called Aiden for advice, but his serial dating skills weren’t what I needed.
“Karl, thanks for accommodating this change of our meeting schedule.”
I smiled at the reverend, hoping it was genuine and attentive. “I was a little surprised you wanted to squeeze it in, with everything happening this week.”
She smiled back, so that was good. “When am I not busy, though?”
“Good point.”
“Besides, this shouldn’t take long. Or your part of the meeting shouldn’t, I should say.”
“I want those parking lot lights,” Grace said.
“So do I. It’s why we’re here. But I also want to balance our budget.”
Before their conversation devolved into old territory neither would shift from, I interrupted. “Did you approve my non-budgeted folders?”
It wasn’t like me to get straight to the point like that. Margo’s influence, maybe. Or my impatience to get back to mournful, meandering drives in my pickup truck with my trusty dog at my side, whichever.
“Yes, we did. The council has voted, and I’m happy to say that your folders are already on order.”
I bowed my head in thanks, feeling funny sense of loss settle in my chest, even though I’d been given what I wanted. “I appreciate it.”
“Now, the parking lot issue …”
I tuned out the rest of their conversation, letting my mind drift, inevitably, back to Margo. I wished her all the best, even as I mourned what could have been. She’d been my brightest spot in a long time. My ray of hope that maybe I could find the happiness I craved. But if she wouldn’t let me in, if she kept her distance, what did that say about my chances?
I left after promising I’d review the paperwork about the new fiscal year when it hit my inbox. I was tempted to set off on another aimless drive, but that was just delaying reality. I had a job to do, even if it didn’t bring me the joy it once did. Until I found it again, I would have to settle for being content.
When I got home, the first thing I saw was the Christmas present I’d found for Margo at the Market Days event we’d once planned to visit together.
It wasn’t much; a token, really. I could return it. Or find someone else to give it to. Or stick it in the back of a drawer, and hope that the next time I ran across it, it carried the good memories of being with her. The knowledge that our brief relationship had shifted my perspective, led me to think more deeply about my faith, taught me new songs.
I hadn’t given up on us.
The odds were against a way forward for us, at least in the immediate future. And I didn’t know if I could chart a new course that wouldn’t detract from what we both needed. Either way, I knew one thing for sure.
Margo had changed my life, and I would never forget her.