A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (15 page)

John hated the way her innocent questions underlined the fact that he was trapped, stopped against his will from doing the one thing he wanted to do—start over again with the fun-hearted, beautiful woman sitting across from him. “I have to. We owe it to the kids.”

Abby would have fought him on the issue, but not Charlene. She settled back in her chair and let the information sink in. “What if . . . what if Abby wants to work it out?”

John chuckled sadly. “The only thing Abby and I are going to try and do is not kill each other.” His eyes met hers again. “Lately we can’t say two sentences without it getting ugly.”

Charlene angled her head in a pretty gesture that always tugged at John’s heart. “I’m sorry. I . . . well, I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Yeah, you could convince me to run away with you and never—

Flee, My son . . . Flee.

I’m not doing anything wrong!
The voice in his heart fairly shouted at the whispered warning echoing in his soul. He tried to keep his thoughts on a more honorable level. “It’s just one of those things. We’ll get through it somehow.”

Questions continued to flash in her eyes. “What you asked me . . . you know, about giving you space . . . is that true for the whole time, the whole six months?”

She looked so young and lovely, so lonely and in need of someone to take care of her. John tightened his fingers into fists and forced himself to answer her. “I have no choice.”

For a moment she said nothing, but John was sure she was wrestling with her emotions. Clearly she wanted to be with him, and finally, after nearly a minute, she reached out and wrapped her hands around his. “I’ll stay away.” She paused, allowing her thumb to rub small patterns of empathy across the back of his hand. “I didn’t really have to talk about fifth period today.” She dropped her gaze. “I just missed you.”

John tightened his grip on her hands and lowered his head so he could connect with her gaze once more. “I miss you, too. And once in a while we’re bound to spend time together. But otherwise it has to wait until—”

At that moment his classroom door swung open, and Kade walked in carrying a notebook and a stack of papers. His eyes fell to the desk where John’s and Charlene’s hands were still linked. “Dad? What’s going on?”

Charlene was immediately on her feet. “Your dad was praying for me.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “I was just leaving.”

Praying for her? Charlene’s words hit John in the gut like a prizefighter’s fist. Charlene was not a praying woman; they’d never even discussed his faith.
What kind of witness have I been to her, Lord . . .
what am I doing here?

Kade stepped aside as Charlene hurried across the room and out the doorway. “See you later,” she said, casting John a pained look before she disappeared down the hall.

“What was
that
all about?” Kade’s face was still flooded with confusion. “Since when do you and Ms. Denton pray together?”

John’s throat was suddenly thick, and he struggled to find his voice. “She, uh . . . she needed someone to talk to. She’s having some trouble at home.”

“Isn’t she divorced?” Kade moved into the room, set his backpack down, and took the chair Charlene had been sitting in. The boy wasn’t accusing, just curious and more than a little bothered.

“Yes, for a while now.”

Kade shook his head as though the situation didn’t make sense. “Weird.” He reached into his backpack, pulled out his notebook, and set it on the table. “Do you think it’s a good idea to pray with her like that, Dad?” He leveled his gaze at his father. “Might give her the wrong idea.”

John laughed but it sounded tinny and forced even to him. “Son, Ms. Denton and I have been friends for a long time. I don’t think anyone’s going to get the wrong idea.”

Kade studied him a moment longer. “Okay. But what would Mom think if she walked in and saw you two holding hands like that?

It’s kind of . . . I don’t know, just weird, you know?”

God, give me the right words here.

Repent! Remember the height from which you have—
“Everything’s fine between me and Ms. Denton,” John interrupted the scripture flashing in his heart. “Besides, your mother knows we’re friends. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Sure . . . whatever.” Kade shrugged, and John was struck by how much the boy looked like himself twenty years earlier. Almost like history repeating itself. “It just didn’t look good.”

John shifted positions, desperate for Kade to change the subject. “I’m sorry. She needed someone to talk to.” He fingered his son’s notebook. “Did you want something?”

Kade opened the book and took out a bundle of stapled papers. “I had to pick a topic for my senior project.” He turned the paper so it faced his father.

John let his eyes scan the sheet. “Habits of Eagles? That’s your topic?”

A grin spread across Kade’s face. “Yep. You know, like kicking tail all season long, winning the big games, standing up to adversity. Habits of Eagles. Marion Eagles, get it, Dad?”

John laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as hollow to Kade as it felt. The memory of Charlene’s hand in his still burned deep in his belly, stirring feelings he desperately wished he could control.
She’s
like a drug, God . . . get her out of my system
.

Repent! Flee immorality! Remember the height . . .

It was like a broken record. Wasn’t there anything more comforting God could whisper to him? Something about how he and Charlene could be together when this unbearable time with Abby was over and Nicole and Matt were married and on their own? He shut out the warnings and focused on his son’s paper. “I like it, Kade. A study on eagles.”

Kade eased back in his chair, confident and comfortable, all signs of his earlier concern gone. “Yeah, only not the Marion Eagles, Dad. I don’t think they’d let me do a report on that. I’m gonna study real eagles. I can go on-line and read books, and then I have to put together a graphic display. Mr. Bender said someone did a report on eagles last year and the stuff he found out was amazing. Like, listen to this . . .”

He rustled through his notebook until he found a slightly crumpled sheet of paper. “The eagle is the only bird that doesn’t run from trouble. Instead it uses the storms of life to take it to a higher place.”

John nodded, trying to seem interested.
Is Charlene waiting for me
down the hall? Has she gone for the day? When can we finish our conversation
. . . ?
He forced the thoughts from his head and focused on his son.

“Isn’t that tight, Dad? He uses the storms to take him higher. Just like a Marion Eagle.” Kade waited for his father’s response. “Remember . . . when Taylor Johnson went down with a torn ACL and everyone thought we’d fall apart. But we didn’t.”

John worked to see the connection. “We rose above it; is that what you mean?”

“Right!” Kade’s eyes sparkled. “And know what else? Eagles are in the Bible a lot, too.”

Just the sound of the word “Bible” put John’s innards into knots. “The Bible?”

“Right . . .” Kade rustled through his papers once more until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is. We shall mount up on wings as eagles. See, Dad, God didn’t say we’d be like chickens or crows or parakeets. He said we’d be like eagles.”

John smiled at his son’s enthusiasm and tried to ignore the conviction strangling his heart. “Marion Eagles, no doubt.”

A look of mock humility flashed in Kade’s eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to make the connection, but since you brought it up . . .”

John pushed his fist into his son’s shoulder playfully. “Sounds like the report’ll be a winner, son. Just like . . .”

They finished the sentence in unison. “The Marion Eagles.”

Kade grabbed his dad around the neck with the crook of his elbow. “That’s my dad, sharp as a whip.”

“Sharp as a tack . . . quick as a whip.” John rubbed his knuckles against his son’s head. “That’s my boy, the dumb jock.”

Kade was giggling now, sounding more like the little boy he’d been ten years earlier than the full-grown man-child he’d become. “Whatever.” He rubbed his father’s head until they were both locked in the embrace, laughing and struggling to get free.

John pulled away first and inhaled sharply, catching his breath. “Are you on your way home?”

“Yeah, wanna join me?” Kade sat back, not even breathing hard despite their roughhousing. “Mom’s making homemade pizza.”

The thought of Abby made John lose his appetite and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. “Better not. Tests to correct.”

Kade loaded his belongings back into his bag and swung it over his shoulder. For an instant he leveled his gaze at his father, as though there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Hurry, okay.” His grin faded some. “Mom likes it when we’re all home for dinner.”

John nodded, grateful Kade couldn’t read his mind. “Okay, tell her I’ll be there.”

When Kade was gone, John exhaled and realized he’d been holding his breath since Kade’s comment about dinner. If they were going to survive the coming months, Kade was right. He should make an effort to be home once in a while. Otherwise the kids were bound to figure out something was wrong.

He pulled out the papers from sixth period and began grading them.
Don’t think about Abby or Charlene or any of it. Just work. Get
it done so you can go home.

Though he successfully fended off thoughts of the women in his life, he couldn’t shake his mind of one very powerful image: an eagle midflight, climbing higher and higher while storm clouds brewed in the background. The harsher the storm, the higher the eagle flew, and John couldn’t help but realize that regardless of the embroidery on his coach’s shirt, he was not an eagle.

Not even close.

Eleven

A
S WAS OFTEN TH E CASE THESE DAYS,
A
BBY’S
father was asleep, and she sat alone in his room, no longer repulsed by the medicinal, nursing-home smell or the way the man she’d once thought bigger than life had wasted away to little more than skin and bones. She held his hand, stroking it gently with her thumb and wondering how long it would be now. Parkinson’s did not keep a schedule, and the doctors had told her he could leave her this year or not for another five.

Abby’s eyes fell on a wooden sign hanging near the foot of his bed: “I’m only passing through . . . this world is not my home.”

Oh, but the passing through can be so painful, God. Like watching
Dad disappear before my eyes . . . or seeing John with Charlene.

There was no whispered assurance or instant scripture to fill her mind, and Abby sighed, leaning back in her chair. She’d been busy most of the week, absorbed in household details, cleaning bathrooms, and folding laundry. And of course her writing assignments. She’d had three major pieces that needed finishing by Friday, and she hadn’t submitted them via e-mail until after midnight the night before.

Now, for the first time since her walk in the snow, she actually had time to herself. Time when she didn’t have to worry about where John was and what they might say to each other and how best to avoid him in the house they still shared. The entire week they’d done nothing but fight with each other, either about Charlene or about her writing or her editor. They hadn’t said a kind word to each other, and Abby realized only now how draining it had been.

Six months of this, Lord? How am I going to survive?

What God has joined together let no one separate.

Abby sighed. God’s warnings were like a broken record. They were trite and forced and lent no application whatsoever to her life today. Clearly there was nothing left between John and her. Why did God insist on bringing to mind scriptures of idealistic behavior? She and John were separating. Period. Now they had to find a way to survive the process.

Closing her eyes, Abby remembered her walk the week before and how good it had felt to spend time in the past, in the place where she and John were in love beyond anything she could have dreamed. A time when just waking each morning offered more excitement and promise than young Abby could bear.

Where had she left off . . . ? Abby concentrated, and her mind filled with the image of herself, black jeans, white turtleneck, sitting with her family watching the game—the first time she’d seen John play for Michigan. With every play she’d held her breath, desperately praying he wouldn’t be hurt and at the same time mesmerized by the way his body moved. The Wolverines won handily that day with John throwing for three touchdowns and running for another.

“Show-off,” she told him later as they strolled along the campus just before dusk. The temperature had dropped, and he had lent her his lettermen’s jacket. Snuggled inside it, she felt like Cinderella at the ball, afraid that midnight would strike at any moment and she’d be forced to wake from the dream.

He had walked alongside her, as comfortable as if they’d spent every day for the past three years together. “Did I have a choice? You blow me off all those years and now . . . finally . . . you make it to a game. I mean, come on, Abby. The pressure was on big time.”

His grin warmed her insides so that it felt like midday deep in her heart. For two hours they talked about his classes and hers, their goals and dreams. “It wouldn’t surprise me if I end up coaching someday, when my playing days are over . . .”

His father was a successful banker, and Abby tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not going for the big bucks like your dad?”

She was teasing, and it was obvious he could tell. He smiled and shrugged. “There’s more to life. I think if Dad had it to do over again he’d coach, too. Like your dad.” John gazed at the sunset through the trees, keeping his steps in time with hers. “It’s a hard game to walk away from.”

Abby thought about how intricately the game had been a part of her life growing up. “I know.”

They had made their way across campus to a bench under a shady, ancient oak tree and John stopped, turning so he faced her squarely. “You really do know it, don’t you? You understand, Abby. Football, I mean. How important it is to guys like me and your dad.”