A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (72 page)

Neither Nicole nor the other kids knew about John’s impending surgery. Abby and John wanted to tell them on the weekend, when everyone was at the house. Then as soon as the details were out, they could place a speakerphone call to Kade and share the news together.

Nicole answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey. It’s Mom.”

“Oh, hi. Aren’t you supposed to be at the meeting?”

“It’s not till seven.” Abby poured a bit of lotion on the palm of her hand and worked it into her fingers. “How are you, dear? It worries me that you’re so tired. Usually the seventh and eighth month aren’t like that.”

“I don’t know, Mom.” Nicole lowered her voice. “I don’t want Matt to worry, but this afternoon while I was making spaghetti sauce, I had some of those false contractions. Only this time they were pretty strong.”

“Is the baby moving around okay?”

“Not so much this evening. But earlier it felt like she was doing backflips.”

“She?” There was teasing in Abby’s voice. Matt and Nicole had decided not to find out whether they were having a boy or girl. They wanted to be surprised. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“It’s just a guess. I have a hunch it’s a girl. Matt thinks it’s a boy. So I guess one of us’ll be—” Nicole groaned.

“Nic, what is it?”

“Ugggh.” Nicole grabbed a few quick breaths. “Just another false contraction. See what I mean? They’re getting harder all the time.”

Abby worked to keep the concern from her voice. “Honey, you need to write down the time and keep track of them. If they get stronger or start coming more regularly, have Matt take you in. Please, sweetie. That’s nothing to mess with.”

Nicole promised she’d keep track of the pains, and then she asked Abby to pass a message on to John. “Tell Daddy Matt’s been praying for him. That whatever’s said at this meeting will be an encouragement.”

“Matt’s
been praying? What about y—”

“Don’t start, Mom.” A sigh sounded across the phone lines. “You know how I feel about it.”

Abby did know, and she still couldn’t believe it was happening. Life was tragic enough when having her husband lose his ability to walk. But watching Nicole lose her ability to pray? They chatted a bit more and Abby was careful not to be critical of Nicole. She needed Abby’s love, not her condemnation. The phone call ended, and Abby closed her eyes.

God . . . work on her heart. Please . . .

Have peace, daughter . . . no one can snatch her out of My hand . . .

The words were like a balm to her soul, filling in the worn-out places of her assurance with a peace that was beyond description.
No
one can snatch them out of My hand.
It was a Scripture from Abby’s college days. She had memorized it after having a discussion with a youth pastor about salvation.

Nicole wasn’t rejecting her faith. She was merely struggling. She thought about her daughter’s contractions. Certainly God would meet her where she was, one way or another, and see her through this season of doubt. And someday very soon, Abby believed with all her heart that Nicole would pray again.

Maybe even yet that night.

The meeting was already underway when John and Abby snuck in through a back door in the auditorium. The lights were low, and John had been certain the action would come to a complete halt the minute they arrived.

Instead, Abby opened the door and slipped in first, while John wheeled in behind her without a sound. Abby found a chair against the back wall and John positioned himself beside her. They stayed there in the shadows near the back while Herman Lutz took the podium.

“You’re gathered here tonight for a parent-staged meeting. As you know, our district makes school buildings available for such discussion times.” He held up a piece of paper and read its contents in a slow, unpracticed manner. “As athletic director at Marion High, I wanted to make sure you’re all clear on the boundaries. Please keep your comments as positive as possible, and let’s avoid any name-calling. In addition, you should know that the opinions expressed here tonight are not those of the administration or staff.”

The man seemed bored and condescending. The same way he acted around the coaches and students at Marion. John tried not to let his attitude bother him.

Lutz shaded his eyes and gazed at the front row of seats. “Mr. Chuck Parker, you called this meeting, so please get the discussion started.”

So it was true. Chuck Parker had called the meeting. The very man who had argued with John before the season about whether his son should play quarterback, and—according to Jake, anyway—the one who had spearheaded the attack against his character. John leaned back in his wheelchair. As he did, he felt Abby’s hand alongside his. He held it, glad for her presence, and even more glad that they hadn’t been spotted.

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see the auditorium more clearly. It was packed. Hundreds of people had turned out. What in the world could all those people have to say?

Chuck Parker made his way to the microphone and, for a long while, said nothing at all. He cleared his throat and glanced at his shoes. When he looked up, his cheeks were deep red. “I called this meeting for one reason. To apologize publicly to Coach John Reynolds.”

Abby squeezed his hand, her voice barely audible. “It’s about time.”

John strained to hear. He didn’t want to miss a word.

“Many of you remember how I acted last season. To satisfy my own agenda, I tried to convince you Coach Reynolds was not the man our Eagles needed on the football field.” He glanced down once more. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.”

Chuck looked up and paced a few steps in either direction. “What happened with our boys this past season was
my
fault.” He pointed at the audience. “And the fault of any of you parents who tried to turn your kid against Coach Reynolds.” He hesitated. “What hope did my boy have as an Eagle when all he heard from me were cuts against his coach? The more I attacked the man, the more Casey lost respect for him. Once players lose respect for the coach, it doesn’t matter what the man might do or what kind of talent the team might have. Everyone loses. It’s that simple.” He paused. “But it took a tragedy for me to sort it out and see it for myself.”

John wondered if he were dreaming. Never in his wildest imagination had he thought Chuck Parker would face the Marion faithful and admit he’d undermined John’s coaching authority. He shot a quick look at Abby. There were tears on her cheeks, but she was quiet, soaking in the things being said.

“I tried to get Coach Reynolds fired. But I was wrong.” Parker shrugged and seemed at a loss for words. “Coach sent in his resignation letter this week. I guess if there’s another reason I called this meeting, it’s to convince Coach we want him back at Marion High. The program won’t be the same without him.”

Chuck opened the meeting up to whoever wanted to speak. Several parents went first, and John’s astonishment only grew. These were people he’d always assumed had supported him. Yet one at a time they apologized for siding with a handful of parents who’d had an agenda against him.

One parent said, “What we did to Coach Reynolds last year made us losers, and it made our sons losers. I’m ashamed of myself, and I’m glad for the chance to tell the rest of you how I feel.”

John shifted in his chair. No wonder he’d felt such pressure. Even parents who smiled at his face had talked behind his back. He and Abby exchanged a look. It was easy to see she was thinking the same thing.

Next at the podium was a wave of parents who had publicly opposed John. They, too, expressed sorrow at what they’d done.

“Not just because he’s hurt now,” one father said. “The reason we’re here today isn’t because we pity Coach Reynolds. It’s because we’re ashamed of ourselves and the way we treated him.”

Thirty minutes into the meeting, the first of several players stood to speak. He was a lineman, a soft-spoken athlete named Buck, whose intensity came out only on the field.

Until now.

“Coach Reynolds was not a regular coach, not the kind of man you take for granted.” Buck looked uncomfortable at the small podium, but he continued, passion ringing in his voice. “Coach had us to his home for movies and dinners. One time he told us if we ever needed a place to go so we wouldn’t drink at a party, we could come to his house.” Buck’s voice lifted louder. “He loved us that much. See, that’s the thing I want you parents to know. You took a stand against a man who cared about us more than any coach I’ve ever heard of. We were the luckiest athletes in the state of Illinois. Because Coach loved us.” He hung his head for a moment. “All I’m saying is, now it’s time to get the message back to Coach . . . that we love him, too.”

A lump formed in John’s throat and refused to budge. He blinked back tears and listened as, one after another, his players took the podium and echoed Buck’s thoughts. So they did care, after all. It was worth more than John could have imagined. He brought Abby’s hand to his lips and gave it a tender kiss.

She smiled at him and mouthed, “They love you, John.”

Finally there was a lull in the action and a ripple of whispers fanned across the spectator section. All eyes were on someone, but John couldn’t make out who it was. Finally the boy came into view.

Jake Daniels.

John hadn’t seen him since that day in court, and he looked different now. Older, more grown up. He was no longer the carefree star athlete he’d been back in November.

Abby leaned closer. “What’s the commotion about?”

“Jake hasn’t been back at Marion High since the accident.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. “I didn’t know.”

“This must be hard for him.”

Jake was neither shy nor awkward. Instead he handled the microphone like a professional, making eye contact with different sections of the audience.

“I’m here to tell you the truth regarding some rumors that went around about Coach Reynolds last year.” He paused, his eyes intense. “First of all, yes, some of us guys on the team drank during summer camp last August. I was one of them. And a few guys raced.”

John exchanged a look with Abby. So, Jake had been one of the drinkers. John was fairly sure the boy hadn’t raced, though. At least not back then. It wasn’t until his father bought him the Integra that he’d been tempted to do that. And even then he’d done it just one tragic time. Still, he didn’t claim innocence, nor did he point out which players had violated rules.

Jake slipped one hand in his pocket. “I look at our team last year, and I know what one of you said earlier was true. We were losers. Not just on the field, but off the field. Most of us were rule-breakers. Drinking, racing, getting into pornography.”

Abby flashed John a look of alarm. She kept to a whisper. “In high school?”

“I guess.”

“Was Kade involved last year, too?”

“No.” John was careful to keep his voice low. His conversation with Kade that day on the fishing boat was still fresh. “Not until he got to college.”

“It’s that rampant?”

John nodded. “And getting worse.” He had a thought then . . . Why not ask Kade to talk to the team about how pornography progresses and becomes addicting, about breaking free from it and getting help? It could have a real imp—

Then he remembered. He wouldn’t be coaching next year. The new coach might not be interested in having the boys stay clear of pornographic material. And it would be up to him to plan speakers for the team.

Jake was still talking. “If that wasn’t bad enough, we walked around campus thinking we ruled the school, treating other people like dirt. Making Marion High a miserable place for anyone who didn’t play ball.” Jake stopped and squared up to the edge of the stage, his eyes searching the audience. “We thought we were better than everyone. Even Coach Reynolds.”

Jake paused. Even from the back of the room John could tell he was trying not to cry. Finally he cleared his throat and found voice enough to speak. “Coach wanted us to be upstanding, moral young men. Men of character. Anyone who’s played for him has heard him say that a hundred times. He led by example.”

The image of Charlene came to mind, and an arrow of guilt sliced through John’s gut. He hadn’t always been moral. But because of his faith, because of God’s strength and not his own, he’d walked away from that situation, and steered clear of others that would have led him down the wrong path. Only by God’s grace did Jake and the others see in him the type of character they now wanted to imitate.

“We had the best coach in the state. Like Buck said, a coach who loved us. And we let him get away.” Jake sniffed and again seemed to be trying to get hold of his emotions. “I’m still believing that somehow God will heal Coach Reynolds, but maybe not. What I did by racing that day might have ruined Coach’s legs forever.” A single sob caught in Jake’s throat, and he placed his fist over his mouth until he had control again. “But I think what our team did by going against him last season is worse, because we ruined his desire to coach.” Jake shook his head, his voice strained. “I can only pray that someday Coach will come back and some lucky group of guys will be smart enough to know how good they’ve got it. Smart enough to listen to him, act like him, and play for him with all their hearts. The way I wish we would have.”

John blinked back a layer of tears and looked at Abby.

“He’s grown up.” She had tears in her eyes.

“Yes.” John turned and watched Jake leave the stage. “He has.”

For several seconds there was a lull, and finally Chuck Parker took the podium. “I had hoped Coach Reynolds might be here tonight, but I think it’s understandable why he isn’t. Not just because of his injury, but because of the way we treated him last season. Why would he come?”

Abby nudged him. “Say something.”

“Not yet.” John felt awkward shouting out while Chuck was at the microphone. “Wait till he’s finished.”

Chuck shaded his eyes again and scanned the front of the auditorium. “So if no one else wants to say anything, I’ve brought a petition asking Coach Reynolds to reconsider and come back as coach for the Eagles. If each of you could sign it before you—”