A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (4 page)

They both laughed and their foreheads came together. “You’re funny—” he wiggled his nose against hers—“did you know that?”

“And you’re a brat.” Her voice was a whisper, their faces still touching, and in an instant the mood changed. Matt cradled the back of her neck, adjusting her head so that their mouths met in a kiss that started out sweetly but filled with urgency in very little time.

Flee!

The Lord’s voice was clear, as it always was in times like this. An empty house, a warm fire, snow falling gently outside with no one expected back for more than an hour.

They pulled away and studied each other, their faces inches apart.

“Let’s take a walk . . .” Matt’s voice was thick.

“Now? I thought you wanted to talk?” Nicole caught her breath and sat back in her chair.

He nodded, motioning toward the backyard. “Out there. On the path.”

Nicole shrugged. “Okay.” They moved in reverent silence into the backyard and onto the trail, each enjoying the presence of the other, remembering their kiss minutes earlier. Then as though he’d planned it, Matt stopped and kicked the snow off a fallen log. He took his scarf from around his neck, laid it over the soggy wood, and looked deeply into Nicole’s eyes.

“Sit.” It was not a command, but part of some sort of mesmerizing ritual Nicole couldn’t recognize and had never taken part in.

She dropped slowly to the log and stared at Matt. “Okay . . .”

Moving in what seemed like slow motion, Matt reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny package wrapped in gold paper. It glittered in the shadows, and suddenly Nicole had trouble feeling her arms and legs, like she was floating somehow, living out a dream she’d carried with her since she was a little girl. Tears stung at her eyes, and she moved her gaze from the package to Matt’s face. “Matt?” Her voice was barely audible, but full of love and questions and disbelief.

Without hesitating he bent down and planted one knee firmly in the snow as he held out the gift for her to take. Gingerly, her gloved hands shaking, Nicole took the box and stared at it. Could it be? Had he chosen today to ask her?
Dear God, help me open the ribbon . . .

She worked her way through the paper, pulled out a blue velvet box, and opened the lid. The diamond ring inside captured the light and sprayed brilliance in a thousand directions as Nicole’s breath caught in her throat. It was a wedding set, a single solitaire engagement ring and a matching wedding band with a trail of tiny diamonds across the top.
Oh, Lord, I can’t believe it.
Tears clouded her vision and she blinked, sending a steamy trail down both cheeks. “Oh, Matt . . .” She pulled him to her and held on until he gently freed himself and caught her gaze with his eyes.

“Nicole Michelle Reynolds, I love you more than life itself.” He gently brought his hand to her face and brushed away her tears with his gloved thumb. “I’ve loved you since our first day . . . and I love you more each time we’re together.”

He paused, and two more tears spilled onto her cheeks. So this was it . . . he was asking her the question.

Thank You, God. Thank You for this man.

She waited while he considered his words. “All my life I’ve been afraid of commitment, afraid that if I promised myself to a woman I’d wind up like my father one day . . . angry and alone and . . . well, pathetic, I guess.” He smoothed a tendril of hair from her eyes. “Then I met you.”

There were a hundred things Nicole wanted to say, but she was silent, memorizing the moment, soaking it in because she knew she’d never forget it as long as she lived.

“I see the way your parents have built their love for . . . what, twenty-one years now?”

Nicole nodded, a smile punctuating her tears.

“Twenty-one years.” Matt shook his head. “Amazing.” Tenderness shone in his eyes. “What they have together, Nicole, I want that for us, too. A family and a house where traditions and memories are built, where we can make a life together that will last until God calls one of us home.”

Her happiness spilled over and a gleeful laugh escaped her. “Oh, Matt . . . I love you so much!” She tried to hug him again but he put his hand up, stopping her from coming closer. Studying him, she saw that his eyes were wet. In all the days and months they’d spent together, she’d never seen him so serious.

“Nicole, I want you to be my wife.” He framed her cheekbones with his fingertips, and she felt so safe in his powerful gaze. “I’ve asked your father, and he’s given us his blessing.” He paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Will you marry me?”

The tears came harder now, and she threw her arms around his neck, holding on as she would the rest of her life. How precious and perfect and beautiful were God’s plans for His people. To think that her mother had prayed for her future husband hundreds of times over the years and now here he was. She was ready—pure and whole the way God intended—to cleave to Matt and become his wife. Just like her mother had prayed. She could hardly wait to tell her parents.

Oh, Lord, thank You . . . I’m overcome with gratefulness. We can tell
my parents at the family meeting this week!

“Yes, Matt.” She would remember this moment as long as she lived. “Yes. I would love to marry you . . .”

Four

I
T WAS
F
RIDAY NIGHT, HOURS BEFORE THE FAMILY
meeting, and Abby was exhausted beyond belief. Despite a series of joint sessions with their counselors, she and John had refused to come to any sort of last-minute agreement. Instead, they’d met at a restaurant outside of town and talked through the details, finally settling on a scenario that would work well enough for the future.

Abby would stay in the house; John would find a place of his own. The kids were old enough that custody wouldn’t be an issue. Sean would stay with Abby during the week and with John on weekends or holidays—whenever he liked, really. Otherwise life would go on pretty much the same. Kade would move to a dorm at the University of Iowa sometime that summer, and Nicole would continue living at home while she took classes at Southern Illinois University.

Abby’s tiredness was understandable. For years she and John had been merely going through the motions, pretending to be happily married, but these last few weeks Abby had been repulsed by their charade. She’d found herself wanting to scream at John, the kids, anyone who would listen that she was sick of her life being little more than an act. The children had been caught up in their Christmas excitement, what with Sean’s new skis and Kade’s specially made class ring, complete with the insignia declaring him state football champion. Nicole was wrapped up in her life, working through the tougher classes that came along with being a junior and spending nearly all her free time with Matt.

As John had predicted, the excitement of a state title was still very much the buzz of family conversation. He continued to field weekly calls from reporters and other coaches wanting to congratulate him and compare plays, hoping perhaps that some of Coach Reynolds’s success might rub off or spark an idea that would play out in their own lives. People seemed to think John had the answer for everything, everyone.

Everyone but her.

Abby exhaled slowly and pulled an old flannel nightie from her dresser drawer. She and John still shared a living space, but not a bed. Not for months now. She would dress in the bathroom, brush her teeth, and when she was sure the kids were asleep or too busy to notice, she’d sneak down the hall to the guest room. She’d always been the first one up in the morning, so none of them had ever caught on.

It was early and John was at a league meeting that would last until after ten o’clock.
Just as well. I’ll be asleep before he gets back.

A bitter wind howled outside as she slipped out of her clothes, donned the nightgown, and realized her feet were cold.
One of these
days I’ll have to buy my own socks.
But for now, this one last night anyway, she could use his. They were bigger and thicker and kept her feet warm even on the coldest nights.

After they told the kids about the divorce, John was going to talk to one of his coaching buddies about staying at his house for a while, until the whole thing was final and he could find a place of his own. Either way, he planned to be out of the house within a week. Abby slid the drawer open and dug her hands inside, looking for the thickest pair of socks she could find. Instead, her fingers felt a folded piece of paper. She pulled it out, staring at it. Hadn’t she just cleaned the drawers a few weeks ago?

Her heart began pounding in her chest, shouting at her to drop the wrinkled note and avoid the message inside. She ignored the warning. Perching on the edge of her bed, Abby unfolded the piece of paper, which bore handwriting that—though not her own— clearly belonged to a woman. She began to read.

John, thanks for talking with me the other night. I don’t know what
I’d do without you. I mean it. You’re the best friend a girl could ever have. Abby doesn’t know what she’s losing. Anyway, I’ll meet you early Friday
like usual. Can’t wait to see you. Love, Charlene.

Abby stared at the note as angry feelings galloped about in her gut. Unable to stop herself, she read it a second time—then she ripped it in half and in half again, and again and again until she could no longer recognize any of the woman’s words.

She couldn’t decide whether to race for the bathroom or punch a hole in the wall. In the end she did neither, only stayed there on the edge of the bed, imprisoned by the hurt in her heart.
How could you, John? Can’t
you wait until after the divorce? Isn’t what we shared worth at least that?

Abby could hear her husband’s voice, indignant and defensive whenever she’d brought up Charlene’s name:
“She’s just a friend . . . just a friend . . .”

She huffed as her eyes scanned the shreds of paper. Just a friend . . . what a joke. Booster club members had reported to Abby several times that they’d seen John and Charlene together in his classroom. And at least once a person had walked in and found the two locked in an embrace.
“She was having a hard day . . . she’s all alone . . . she’s
just a friend.”
The excuses were endless.

Fine. John could be all the friend to Charlene he wanted after tomorrow. As long as he moved out and stopped the terrible lie he’d been living these past few months.

She scrunched the pieces up and moved into the bathroom, dropping them in the toilet and flushing them. On the way out she caught her reflection in the mirror. Was she not pretty enough? Had she gained weight in the past few years?

Abby studied herself and knew it wasn’t a weight problem. She wore the same size-seven jeans she’d always worn, and at five-foot-eight she was thinner than most women half her age. She walked the treadmill early each morning and was careful about what she ate.

It has to be my age.

She scrutinized her skin and saw the visible pores and fine wrinkles that hadn’t been there ten years ago. How old was Charlene, anyway? Thirty-two, thirty-three? Abby anchored her fingertips along her hairline and lifted up, watching as her face took on a look she was more familiar with, the look she’d had as a teenager and young woman.

Was that what their love had come to? After surviving so much, celebrating so much, after raising a family together . . . had it really come to this? To losing her husband because the skin on her face showed wear?

I gave you those years, John . . .

She took a step back and studied herself again. Her hair was a mass of short stylish layers that still turned men’s heads. Old men, maybe, but men all the same. And with a little help from the salon, her hair was still blonde. Abby angled her face this way and that, trying to see herself the way John saw her. Okay, so she’d just turned forty-one, so what? Charlene would turn forty-one someday, too. That couldn’t be the reason things hadn’t worked between them.

Abby frowned. She was being ridiculous. Their breakup had nothing to do with looks. It was because their marriage had become an old sock years ago, threadbare in all the important places and too worn out and stained to bother saving.

She turned away from her reflection and padded through the bedroom door, down the hall to the guest room. Without turning on the light, she shut the door and climbed into bed.

She was fast asleep in a matter of minutes.

An autumn wind blew through the trees knocking leaves of every shade and color onto the walkway that surrounded an oversized stadium. Abby was inside yelling,
“Go, Blue! Come on, John, you can
do it!”
He waved at her from the huddle, an impressive six-foot-four quarterback with dark hair and aqua blue eyes—by far the best-looking player on the field.

“Wait a minute, Abby . . . I have something to tell you . . . something
to tell you.”
John drew his arm back and threw the football into the stands where it soared and dipped and finally landed in Abby’s hands and became a bouquet of pink-and-white baby roses. A grin worked its way across John’s face, and Abby noticed that the other players seemed frozen in time. Then, as though it were the most normal action in the world, John raced up the stadium steps toward her, his uniform clanking and jostling about as he came. He drew closer, and the crowd and bleachers and football team disappeared. In their place was a well-dressed congregation staring straight at them, smiling and motioning for her and John to move closer to each other.

“So, Abby, will you marry me . . . huh? Will you, Abby?”

She looked, and instead of his uniform, John was wearing a black tuxedo. She glanced nervously at her jeans, then shrugged and began reciting her vows.

“I, Abby Chapman, promise to love and cherish—”

But before she could finish, a doctor ran into the church waving his hands and shouting,
“It’s a girl! It’s a girl!”
Behind him came three nurses, the middle one carrying a tiny baby. The church crowd vanished, and they were in a hospital room. Abby was sobbing, crying as though her heart was being torn in two and she took the baby from the nurse. But it wasn’t the baby at all, because now Nicole was standing at her side, and John was holding their daughter’s little-girl hand. The new baby, the one in Abby’s arms, wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.