Home Field Advantage (22 page)

"Taggart would like to
meet with you," Frank said. "Let's see, you go to Cleveland this
week. Why don't you fly to New York tomorrow." It was a statement, not a
question. "You can go on from here."

What the hell...? "Are
you going to tell me what this is about?" John asked.

"Let's save it for a
face-to-face," Frank said blandly.

John leaned back in his
office chair and swung his feet up on the desk. "Do I need my agent?"

"Why don't we see
whether our proposition interests you first?"

Translated: they thought they
were giving him good news, not bad. Okay, then, he'd fall in line.

"All right," he
said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Good." Never one
for the amenities, Frank hung up without a good-bye. John did the same.

Okay. Why the mystery? The
only thing he could think of was the Super Bowl. Well, that was one job he'd
like to have. Why not? He'd been there on one side of the camera. Being there
on the other...

"What the hell," he
said aloud. He wouldn't get the same charge out of it as when he was playing,
but he wouldn't mind confirmation that he'd made it to the top in this
profession, too.

He tracked Marian down in the
living room, where she was dusting. Her hair was bundled up sternly, she had a
streak of dirt on one cheek, and a pair of faded jeans so snug he wanted to
tear them off her. Instead, he leaned casually against the doorframe and told
Marian about the call, watching closely for her reaction.

She said only, "Then
you'll have to leave today?"

"Or middle of the
night."

"You don't want to do
that. Hadn't you better call the travel agent?"

He found he was looking at
the back of her head. She'd gone back to swiping at the top of the fireplace
mantel.

He swore inwardly, but did as
she suggested. Of all times to have to leave! He'd wanted another day, another
night. However long it took to hold her and bind her.

And, by God, he'd wanted to
be here when that check from her jerk of an ex-husband showed up. He did some
rough calculating and decided he ought to be safe until Monday. If the bastard
had waited damn near three years, he wasn't going to use Federal Express now.

But when the moment came to
leave and he'd tossed his suitcase into the trunk, John was seized with an
irrational dread. She might be gone by the time he got home on Sunday. No, she
wouldn't desert Emma. But she might be ready with her notice and already have
started to pack.

The kids were bouncing on the
front porch and pretending to ride Rhodo, the big black shepherd, even Emma
hardly paying attention to John's departure. Only Marian stood dutifully at
the bottom of the porch steps, still wearing those jeans but her hair slipping
from the knot. She looked just as she did every Friday—like a wife seeing her
husband off.

"I'm going to miss
you," he said.

"You'll call?"

"So often you'll have to
unplug the phone."

Her smile dawned, and a wave
of hunger washed over him. He didn't care why she stayed, just so she did. He'd
take her any way he could have her.

"Will you marry
me?" he asked roughly. The minute the words were out, he knew they'd come
too fast.

Marian's eyes widened, and
she stared at him with what looked like consternation.

"Don't say
anything." He stepped forward and gripped her upper arms. "Just think
about it. Will you promise to do that?"

Her tongue moistened her hps.
"I... Yes, of course. Of course I will."

"Good." He gave her
a quick, hard kiss, then made himself turn away. "I'll see ya." He
raised his voice. " 'Bye, pumpkin. Bye, J and A."

The twins giggled, his
daughter flew to him for a hug, the dogs barked, and he got in the car and
drove away. Until the house was out of sight, he could see Marian in his
rearview mirror, just standing there at the bottom of the steps, gazing after
him.

Marian stood in the driveway
long after John's car was out of sight. A pickup truck pulling a horse trailer
turned in shortly afterward, rattling as it passed her, but she scarcely
noticed the driver's curious stare.

John had actually asked her
to marry him. The second chance at love she hadn't even wanted was hers. John
loved her. She was staggered by his proposal, even if he'd said before that he
loved her.

The truth was, she hadn't
quite believed him. Love was an easy word to say in the heat of passion. She'd
opened her mouth to say it, too, but he had stopped her. Why? she wondered
again. Why, if he really loved her, hadn't he wanted the words, too?

And what about the way he had
proposed? No candlelight and wine, but instead, "Will you marry me? By
the way, I'll see you in a few days." Would he be there when she needed
him? Or would Friday afternoons spell the tenor of their lives?

But football season wasn't
far from over, she reminded herself. Then came the playoffs, of course, and at
last the Super Bowl. Still, even with exhibition games added in, professional
football lasted less than half the year; the other half would be theirs. She
could bear that. Couldn't she?

Or did her biggest fear run
deeper yet? Marriage was such a huge step. She would be completely vulnerable
again. Could she trust John? Could she trust any man again?

"Hey, Marian!" Emma
called. "Watch!"

Marian turned to see the
twins sitting astride the too narrow porch rail, where they teetered while Emma
said, "Giddyap!"

Marian sprinted for the porch
while Jesse started to wail. She took the steps in a couple of bounds and
snatched her son and daughter from their perch. "Emma, that wasn't
safe," she said as calmly as she could, setting them to their feet.
"I know you sit up there sometimes, but Jesse and Anna are too small."

"Don't blame me,"
Emma said mulishly.

"I'm not blaming
you," she said. "But I hope you'll watch over them. They're too
tittle to know what'll get them into trouble."

"Well..." Her frown
faded. "I guess..."

"Fun," Anna said,
struggling free of her mother's arms and heading for the railing.

"No," Marian said
firmly. "Shall we go saddle up Snowball for a ride?"

"Cool," Jesse said
in a little voice.

Marian's tension dissolved,
and she chuckled. She gave Emma a hug, then reached for her son and daughter's
hands. "They're even starting to sound like you."

"I'm like a big sister,
aren't I?"

You just might be a big
sister, Marian thought but didn't say. There would be time enough for that
later. If...

Her heart caught in her
throat. There didn't have to be any ‘if’. John had proposed. All she had to do
was say yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I'll marry you. In sickness and in health.
Your children and mine. Forever and ever.

"Just like a big
sister," she said softly, and blinked back a prickle of tears. Happy
tears, the kind she hadn't cried in a long while.

*****

The return address on the
envelope meant nothing to Marian; she didn't know anyone in Georgia. But the
handwriting... It was sharp-pointed, an angular scrawl that she did know.
Before she even consciously identified it, her heart began to slam. Her hands
were shaking when she ripped the envelope open. Inside was a sheet of
cream-colored lined note-paper. There was something else in the envelope, too,
but she was riveted to the jagged writing.

"Dear Marian,

I'm sorry isn't good enough,
so I won't even say it. I can't make up for what I did, but I can at least help
support the children I'm responsible for. I've contacted the state registry to
find out what I owe you. Here's the start. I don't expect— No, I guess I should
be honest, I don't even want visitation rights or anything like that. I just
want my conscience clean. So I'll be sending you monthly checks. Let me know if
you move.

Yours truly, Mark."

Marian still sat in the car,
parked in the garage. She had dropped the twins off at playschool and shopped
for groceries. Rows of brown paper bags occupied the rear seat. The ice cream
was probably melting.

She took a deep breath and
pulled the check from the torn envelope. It wavered before her eyes, that same
dark writing blurry for a moment. When the number came into focus, she gasped.
She read it over again and again. Two years' worth of child support payments.
The difference between desperation and life.

Still, she sat there until
the wave of dizziness had passed. It took her a moment to realize what she
felt. Not relief, gratitude, even sadness. No, she was mad. Furious. The son of
a bitch. He wanted his conscience clean. Clean!

"Let him fry in
hell," she muttered. Her fingers tightened on the check and she was
tempted—God, she was tempted—to tear it up and send him back the shreds. But
bitter pragmatism stopped her.

He did owe his children. He
might not want them or even give a damn what they looked like, but he owed
them, and he was going to pay. Let him think he was clean. She didn't care. If
there was a God up there, He knew better.

Maybe He had even moved in
His mysterious way to make Mark pay. She couldn't think of any other reasonable
explanation.

On the way to pick up Anna
and Jesse, Marian deposited the check in her formerly meager account. When John
called after dinner, she didn't mention it. She still had to come to terms with
what the money meant to her. Until bedtime, she almost succeeded in forgetting
it, particularly since John had continued to be mysterious about his meeting in
New York.

After the children were
asleep that evening, the house silent, Marian was washing her face for bed when
a sudden realization paralyzed her. Lightheaded, she stared at herself in the
dazzling brightness of the mirror. Her decision about the future was no longer
complicated by financial desperation. With Mark's checks added to what she made
for her daycare business, she had no more excuses. The choice was truly hers.

She leaned her forehead
against the cool, slick mirror and closed her eyes. She had been lying to
herself, she saw. She hadn't stayed with John and Emma for the security or even
for her children. And, deeply though she had come to love Emma, the child's
clinging had only given her an excuse to do what her heart demanded: share as
much of John's life as he would allow her.

"I love him," she
whispered, then lifted her head to look at herself again in the reflected
honesty of the mirror. "I love him. I love him, I love him, I love
him."

*****

John's flight was a late one
and he arrived home Sunday evening after eleven. Nervous and exhilarated,
Marian waited up for him. She heard the garage door, then his footsteps in the
kitchen.

She went to meet him hesitantly,
but when he saw her in the arched entry to the living room, the weariness fled
his face and he crossed the distance between them in a couple of long strides.

"God, I'm glad to see
you," he said huskily, his cheek against her hair and his arms tight
around her.

"You didn't call this
afternoon."

"There were rumors the
losing coach had been fired. I chased everybody concerned around. Manager,
owner, coach... They all denied it was true. But I knew damn well it was."

"But why would they deny
it?" Marian asked, perplexed.

He sounded tired. "They
always do. Haven't you noticed?"

"You're a cynic,"
she said in surprise.

He snorted. "A
realist." Then, "To hell with football. I want to kiss you."

She murmured agreement just
before his mouth covered hers. When he lifted his head several long, languorous
moments later, his mouth curled into a grin.

"You missed me."

"Well..." Teasing,
she drew the word out.

John smothered it with a
heady kiss. Then he pulled her into the living room and sank down on the couch
with a groan, drawing her with him.

"Okay, tell me all about
your meeting," Marian said, reveling in the warm circle of his arm.

"Oh, maybe
tomorrow," he countered lazily, then grinned when she glared at him with
mock ferocity. "Okay, okay!"

"So?"

He sat up and his arm dropped
from her shoulders. "They want to expand my role," he said.
"They say viewers like me. I have a high Q rating, or whatever the hell
they call it." The tiredness had left his voice, and he sounded elated by
his news. "The network wants me to cover other sports. You know they won
the right to broadcast the next summer Olympics. They want me there, one of the
back-up anchors. That's the chance of a lifetime! I'll be at the Super Bowl,
the NBA playoffs, maybe the Kentucky Derby. Do you know what this means?"