Just to See You Smile (6 page)

If he were to rank coaches, he'd place Britte number one above the clown leading Hawk Valley. While that guy ranted and raved, Britte remained calm and controlled. From what he'd witnessed at her practices, he knew her girls were in top-notch physical condition. She pushed them as hard as any male coach would a group of boys. Now those girls were scarcely breathing hard compared to the huffing and puffing opponents. Mentally, it appeared she could rein in their focus with a word or two with her voice that easily carried across the court.

All right, he was surprised, if not somewhat impressed. They still ran and shot like girls, but it was a competitive
happening, a positive for the school. Of course from a strictly financial point of view, forget it. The gym wasn't half full. An entire season like this wouldn't bring in enough revenue to pay for the referees, let alone coaches' salaries, team uniforms, bus transportation, referees, and extra custodial services.

The boys were a different story altogether. They'd hosted a Thanksgiving week tournament, packing out the place every night they played. It was a town event, not a social outing for friends and families.

Naturally the politically
incorrect
reason for that difference was that one team was made up of guys, the other females. The politically correct reason was… Well, off the top of his head he couldn't think of one.

He smiled to himself, remembering Britte's dig at him yesterday. She knew as well as he did how to shoot a free throw and wasn't about to let him get away before she had informed him of that fact.

He'd better keep all of his politically
in
correct reasoning to himself. Come to think of it, he probably shouldn't have laughed at her comment.

Now, as the team walked back out onto the floor, Joel cheered along with the students. The right thing to do was to be the example, and the example was always about
team
work. Always about
semper fi
.
Semper fidelis
. Always faithful.

Always.

Britte, in the school weight room with her back against the bench, raised the bar until her arms were completely extended. On a good day she could bench-press 130 pounds. This was a good day.

It was Friday. As she had driven to school, the early morning sky was star-studded, promising the appearance of a long-absent sun. Two nights ago her team had beat Hawk Valley, perennial nemesis of the Vikings. Wonderful athletic scents filled her nostrils, scents emanating from rubber mats, disinfectant on the machines, and a stack of unclaimed, used—
very used
—sweatshirts and jerseys. Christian rocktype music blasted from the weight room's portable CD player, leading Britte in a private, albeit loud, session of worship as she worked out. To Britte, it was a taste of heaven.

“Miss O! Morning!”

She cried out and the 130 pounds above her head wobbled.

“Got it!” Hands grasped the bar alongside hers, instantly absorbing the load. Mr. Kingsley's face came into focus above her. He stood behind her head. “Let go.”

“I can do it,” she grunted the words through clenched jaw.

“Fine. I'll spot you. Ready?”

She blinked. Heart pounding erratically, she knew her concentration was gone. “Take it.” She let go.

He laid the bar on its rack and then walked over to the CD player to lower the volume. “Guess you didn't hear me open the door.”

She pressed a towel to her face, trying to catch her breath.

“Sorry I startled you.”

She lowered the towel and saw him standing beside her, hand extended. She placed hers in it, and he pulled her to a sitting position. “I don't get much company in here at 5:30.”

“Company. Is that what you would call a spotter?”

The “General” was reminding her that it was against the rules to lift alone. When students weren't around, she did it all the time. “If you give me a detention, I'll give you one.”

He smiled briefly. “Touché, Miss O. I don't have a spotter either.”

“The kids would have a field day with this one.” She exhaled noisily. Her heartbeat was slowing to normal.

“No doubt about that. I can see the headline in the
Viking Views,
‘Coach and Principal Break Rules.'” He went over to a mat and, hands on hips, began stretching. The man evidently knew his way around a workout. His white T-shirt revealed well-toned biceps and shoulders.

“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked.

His quick laugh resembled a shallow cough. “You do speak your mind.”

“So I've been told.” She remembered Anne's caution to lighten her tone, an echo of her mother's lifelong advice. “I don't mean to be disrespectful.” She grinned. “Just outspoken.”

“I'd say you've met that goal with flying colors.” His warm-up pants rustled as he sat down on the mat and stretched out a leg. “Normally I work out at the Community Center. The school seems a more convenient place.”

“The girls will be here at 6:30.”

“Yes, Miss O. I'm well aware of that.” There was amusement in his tone.

She bet he knew every detail of the schedule for the entire season.

“I'll be out of here by 6:15.”

Britte slid from the bench and headed to the door. Music from the CD still played softly, but her little taste of heaven had soured. She would shower before the girls came in and gather papers to grade while she supervised their lifting. “Oh.” She turned back. “Mr. Kinglsey. About the varsity girls going to State.”

“State?” He was breathing deeply, rhythmically.

She bit back words on the tip of her tongue. This wasn't the time to be outspoken. So what if they'd already had this conversation? He was new here. Routine business was still unfamiliar to him. “The state tournament in February. We always attend as a team. Not to play, of course, but to watch. The school board needs to approve the trip. It's just a formality, but the request has to come from you at this month's meeting.”

“Better write me a memo. Put it in my box.”

“Sure.” She flicked the volume control up and hurried out the door, closing it against words that threatened to fly off her tongue. Words that were most definitely not respectful.

Walking down the hall toward the locker room, she replayed scenes she had witnessed in recent months. The male coaches of the boys teams asked him detailed requests at lunch, at football pep assemblies, in the hallways, in the parking lot, in the midst of other people and conversations. They weren't brushed off with “better write me a memo” replies.

True, the prejudice wasn't what it was when she was in high school 12 years ago, but it was still there. For all his propriety, Mr. Kingsley couldn't hide what he really thought. Girls sports weren't worthy of his full attention. If she weren't careful, she could someday easily call him on it.

Of course if she did, she'd be able to figure out the color of his eyes then because, without a doubt, at the moment of calling him on his attitude, she would be in his face.

Joel's smile turned into a grimace as he bench-pressed. Britte Olafsson never would have made it in the Marine Corps with that attitude.

Physically she might be in shape. And, too, she appeared intensely disciplined as far as coaching and teaching went. Although she recognized when she was becoming disrespectful, that wasn't about to stop her from speaking freely.

He let the music drift into his consciousness. Loud and upbeat as it was, it wasn't what usually emanated from the weight room. The words were about Jesus… Hmm. They were…worshipful.

Joel set the bar in its rack and listened for a moment.

The memories came then. They were why his church attendance was sporadic, why his worship remained…measured.

He understood that he was in a right relationship with God because some years ago he had put his trust in His Son, Jesus. That choice had brought him purpose and hope and sanity. His slate was wiped clean.

But he didn't know what to do with the memories. And so, he avoided them.

Now he sat up and shook them off.

Alec parked his car in the garage and sat. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but he was home, three hours ahead of schedule. He had been driving around the countryside since noon.

He should go catch Peter at the church office, talk to him. This was a spiritual matter, wasn't it?
All
of life was a spiritual matter. This didn't feel like a spiritual matter. It felt like an unforeseen beating by an invisible assailant. His head felt as if he'd been wearing a football helmet and someone had grabbed it and jerked him to the ground. His ribs ached as if they'd been kicked while he was down. Red flags should be floating in the air, calling it against someone, penalizing
someone
.

He made his way across the backyard and walked heavily through the porch and the kitchen door. “Anne!” he called out.

Friday afternoon. What was her schedule? His mind wouldn't focus. “Anne!” he shouted loudly. She was never home. There was PTA, room mother stuff, basketball practice, now Val's extra needs, the pharmacy job—

“Alec! What's wrong?” She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “Why are you home?”

They held each other for a long time.

“Alec?” She undid his tie. “What happened? Who died?”

“Nobody died. Let's sit down.” They went around the breakfast bar and settled onto the couch. “That promotion I expected?” He blew out a breath. “Didn't get it.”

“Oh, honey.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “What happened?”

He slouched against the back of the couch. “I went in this morning as a corporate trainer, expecting nothing this first day of the month. Maybe in two weeks I expect to be named manager, make the change at the end of the month. Start out January with a little raise, a little different day-to-day challenge. Just a natural progression. It's what happens to men with my seniority, my reviews, my goals, my company, and above all, with my ability to play their game. I come home, still a corporate trainer for the remainder of December. For the remainder of the entire next
year
. Maybe until I turn 65.”

“Didn't your boss get promoted to VP?”

“Frank got
his
promotion, all right, his new office, his raise.”

“What about his current position? Who gets that?”

“They're bringing someone in from plant management. Someone they want to put out to pasture until he has the good sense to retire. That's just between Frank and me and you, by the way. As if that helps.”

“Then this is a demotion for this man? Why would he take a backward move to Rockville?”

Alec shook his head. “Who knows? Who cares? And to top it all off, there will be no bonuses this year.”

She rubbed his shoulder. “We kind of expected that though, didn't we?”

“But we expected a raise, too!” His wife snuggled against him, and he put an arm around her. “I'm glad you're home, sweetheart.”

“Ordinarily I'd still be at the pharmacy, but it was empty this afternoon. Lia sent me home. God's timing, huh?”

“Must be.”

“Alec, you like your job, don't you?”

“I did. Now I'm not so sure. As manager, I expected I'd be traveling less next year. I expected on getting out of the routine. And I expected a raise! That's not even in the picture now. I want to pay off the van and get Drew a car. I want to buy you something extravagant for a change. I want—”

Anne placed a finger on his lips. “You know the money part will work out. It always does. And I don't want something extravagant.”

He pulled her close. She fit so naturally against him. “I've been doing the same thing for ten years. There's nowhere else to move into except manager. You can't become vice president until you've been manager. You know how much Kevin makes?”

“Kevin's a podiatrist. We wouldn't want his headaches or his lifestyle. And yes, unfortunately I know what he makes because Val has given me all the dreary details of what two households cost. Speaking of headaches, do you want some ibuprofen, honey?”

“Yes, thanks. But Val works a full-time job. They can't be hurting too much.”

She sat up and rubbed his temples. “In our economy, no, they're not hurting much, but it'll probably turn into a big, ugly issue in the divorce.”

“Mmm, that feels great.”

“Are you calming down?”

“I've been driving around since I left the office at lunchtime.”

“Oh, Alec. This isn't against you personally, you know. It's just politics.”

He closed his eyes. What did she understand? She was a woman. “I thought I might call Peter.”

“Good idea. Why don't you invite him and Celeste over for pizza tonight? I'll be home from practice early.”

“Do you have something you can cook? Pizza gets expensive.”

“Alec, our money situation hasn't changed, has it?”

“Not yet. It might if I resign.”

Anne hadn't seen Alec this strung out since he was studying for his master's, working full-time, and attending Lamaze classes with her.

It was a typical chaotic Saturday morning in the Sutton household. At the moment she wasn't sure where the kids were. All she knew was that as she and Alec crossed paths in their bedroom, she made an idle comment about intending to paint the room in the spring, maybe put some paper on one wall. How opposed was he to something floral?

“Anne! We've got to stop spending money.” He hadn't shaved. He wore a sweatshirt he had pulled from the laundry hamper. “That pizza last night cost—”

“We don't buy pizza regularly, Alec. It's a treat. And it was a treat for Peter and Celeste. House maintenance is an ongoing thing. These walls haven't been painted in five years. The pittance I make at the pharmacy will buy the paint.”

“You said wallpaper.”

“That too. One wall won't cost that much.”

“Val makes more than a pittance.”

“Yes, and between managing the Community Center and teaching aerobics, she practically lives there.”

“Your pharmacy job is more like volunteer. And coaching per hour probably nets you two bucks.”

“You're not allowed in the den with the checkbook before dawn again. Come on, Alec! Nothing has changed.”

“Don't you get tired of our tight budget?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I'll be 40 years old in a few months, and I'm still counting nickels and dimes.”

“So do our parents.”

“They're retired. They have to.”

She sighed in exasperation. “We don't go without anything we need. Except for the van and the house, we're not in debt. I only shop for necessities, and that's fine with me. I don't like shopping except at Christmastime. I don't need any more money!”

“Don't buy me anything for Christmas this year.”

She burst into laughter. “Oh, Alec! I am not joining your pity party.”

“You could get a job like most women. Like Val.”

Her smile disintegrated. He was serious. She sank onto the bed. “We agreed from the start that I would be a stay-at-home mom. It was as much your desire as it was mine.”

“That was 17 years ago. A lot has changed, especially since yesterday. Since two of our kids became teenagers.”

“I didn't finish college.”

“I realize that. I know you put me through grad school.”

They stared at one another.

He sat beside her. “Anne, I'm just thinking out loud, exploring options here.”

“Do you know when the last time was I soaked in a bubble bath?”

“What's that got to do—”

“The first of November. That was the last time I had a spare 30 minutes.”

“What if you dropped your part-time work and volunteer stuff?”

“And worked full-time? Forget bubble baths. There wouldn't be enough hours in the day to clean, cook, do laundry, and grocery shop.”

“The kids need to be given more responsibilities. They can help more with all that. Maybe that's why God let this happen. So we could all pull together and learn from it. Otherwise He's having a good laugh at me.”

“Alec, God doesn't work that way.”

“I don't know anymore.”

She poked a finger in his chest. “You're losing it, mister. Why don't you go soak in a bubble bath?”

Late Saturday night, the old yellow school bus rumbled down the road toward Valley Oaks. The interstate surface was relatively smooth compared to the two-lane county highway which they should hit in about ten minutes. In the front seat across from the driver, Anne felt her bones jar and wondered if, as a late thirty-something woman, she had outgrown her capacity for such treks.

But then, she'd begun questioning every jot and tittle of her life since Alec's career went on hold 24 hours ago. She pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail and absentmindedly fingered the strands loose.

As usual after an away game, the bus was nearly empty. Most of the sophomores and freshmen rode home with their parents. Britte required her varsity girls to ride the bus. By junior year, all of them either had a car or a friend with a car parked back in the school lot. They didn't grumble about their coach's rule.

Anne suspected another reason they didn't gripe was because Britte treated them well. Fast-food restaurants were plentiful along the far-flung routes they traveled. It was tradition to stop as a team and eat on the way home.

“Annie.” Britte slid onto the padded bench seat beside her. She had been making her rounds—another tradition— talking individually with the 11 members sprawled about the darkened bus. Rehashing successful plays. Instructing. Listening through their headsets to a curious mixture of music. Joking.
Connecting
.

“Annie,” she repeated. “I am so sorry about this schedule.”

“Don't worry about it. The schedules don't conflict like tonight's except three times during the entire season. Drew can play three times without his mommy watching.”

Britte's face was in shadow, turned as it was from the dimly glowing dashboard, but Anne imagined her friend's eyes. A cartoonist could easily make them dominate her face, poke fun at their proximity. It was that nearness, though, and the royal blue color that made them so arresting.

Britte said, “But can Mommy survive missing him play?”

“Yes, I can. One down tonight, two to go, and Alec's videotaping.”
If he remembered.

“Well, Tanner can take over for you the next two times. I don't mind if you don't mind. He's capable, and those games shouldn't be our toughest.” She slapped a hand against her own thigh. “If you're sure it's not basketball, then what's up?”

What was up was Britte, pumped as usual after a game. Anne smiled. Did the community know the treasure they had in this young woman, tucked away in her high school role, growing gracefully into the big shoes of her Great-Aunt Mabel? “You are perceptive, my dear.”

“Not really. You just didn't complain once to the refs, and you let me run poor Whitney ragged.”

“Alec's job is what's up. He didn't get a promotion we assumed would be automatic.” She explained the situation.

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. It's a major bruise to his ego, no matter how much they downplay it and blame the economy or politics.”

“Alec is so likable. And he's always struck me as solid in his faith. He's not going to go wacko on us, is he?”

“You mean, pull a Kevin Massey on us?”

“Yeah, that type of thing. He's too young for a midlife crisis. Too centered.”

Anne thought of Alec's demeanor that morning. Centered? Solid in his faith? She pulled her winter jacket more tightly about her shoulders.

“Anne?”

“No, he won't pull a—” She paused. Wasn't it time to admit that her peachy view of Christian marriages smacked of fantasyland? “The fact is, I can't say he won't anything. He's shook up, but God is faithful. God will see us through this.”