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
AS WAS OFTEN TH E CASE THESE DAYS, ABBY’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 i
n 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.”
Abby basked in his nearness. Is this really happening? Am I here a million miles away from home and inches from John Reynolds? She nodded shyly. “Yeah, I do.”
John shook his head, his face incredulous. “And the best part is, you actually like it. A lot of girls could care less.”
She grinned. “Well, now, I’ve only made it out for one game.”
He laughed at first, then gradually his smile faded and his eyes locked onto hers. “I’ve thought about you a lot, Abby. Do you know that?”
Something in her wanted to bolt, wanted to protect her heart before it became too lost to ever find again. Instead she nodded, unwilling to break the connection between them. Then, with the winter wind sifting through the leaves around them, John placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned close, touching his lips to hers. He kissed her so sweetly, so simply she was certain she was floating a foot off the ground.
It was not a seductive kiss or one that demanded more of her than she was ready to give, but it was a kiss that made his intentions crystal clear. She had pulled away first, breathless, scanning his face for the answers she suddenly needed more desperately than oxygen. “John?”
His gaze never left hers as he ran his thumb tenderly over her eyebrows. “I know you’re young, Abby. But there’s something between us. Something I’ve felt ever since I met you.” He hesitated, and for all his fame and glory and cocksure athletic ability, he looked utterly vulnerable. “Do you . . . can you feel it, too?”
A giggle rose from Abby’s throat, and she threw her arms around his neck, allowing him to hold her close, savoring how his body warmed hers in a way she’d never known before. With his question still hanging in the air, she pulled back and angled her head, sure her eyes were sparkling with all she was feeling inside. “Yes, I feel it. I thought I was the only one who did. You know, because I was too young for you.”
A grin broke out across his face. “No, it was never just you. But back then you were too little to talk about it; I even thought maybe I was imagining it. But over the years, it didn’t go away. I would get home from a game and wonder where you were, what you were doing. Like . . .”
Suddenly confident in all she’d ever felt for him, she finished his sentence for him. “Like we were meant to be?”
He nodded and kissed her again. This time there was a fire between them, and when he pulled back he distanced himself from her. “Abby, I don’t know how everything’s going to work out. We won’t even see each other much this next year. But there’s one thing I’ve never been more sure of—I’ve never felt like this with anyone before.”
She spread her fingers across his chest and met his gaze once more. “Me neither.”
He trembled and now she knew it had been with desire. She hadn’t understood back then, but she was certain of it now in light of a lifetime of experience. How many times had she known that same trembling in their first ten years of marriage, felt him that way as his limbs spread out across hers, beneath hers, up against hers.
Yes, he’d felt deeply for her back then, their first night together, and she for him. But it would not be until after their wedding that either of them would act on their feelings.
As they made their way back to his dorm that night, Abby remembered the way he held her hand, treating her like the rarest of gems, precious and unique, convincing her with every step that his words were sincere. He had never felt this way about anyone else.
Abby’s father stirred in the bed beside her chair and she let go of his hand, instantly back in the present. Without warning, his eyes flashed open, frantic as he looked about the room until he found Abby. “Where’s John?”
The question pierced the silence, and she felt her heart sink. “He’s home, Dad. With the kids.” Her words were loud and measured, the way people talked to the aged.
“He should be with you.” There was wild fear in her father’s face, and his hands shook uncontrollably.
“It’s okay, Dad. He’s with the kids.” Abby took his fingers in hers and tried to still the shaking.
The sleep was wearing off. Her father’s expression was less shocked and fearful. For a long moment he looked deep into Abby’s eyes; then for the first time he voiced the thing that probably lay heaviest on his heart. “There’s trouble, isn’t there?”
Abby’s first thought was to lie to him, the same way she lied to everyone else these days. But then the tears came, and she knew it was impossible. She was too close to this man, this giant-hearted father and friend, to hide from him the thing that was killing her. She nodded, squeezing his hands gently in her own. “Yes, Dad. There’s trouble.”
He seemed to shrink beneath the bedcovers, and his eyes grew damp. “Are you . . . have you prayed about it?”
Abby felt a gentle smile play across her lips. Her father meant well. Dad, if only you understood how bad things were . . . “We have.”
Her father’s emotions played across his face as clearly as if they were written on his forehead. Sorrow and confusion, followed by frustration and deep, boundless pain. “It’s not . . . you aren’t getting a . . .”
The tears spilled onto Abby’s cheeks. Had it really come to this? Wasn’t she the same girl who had stood beneath the oak tree with John, barely able to think while he kissed her for the first time? Wasn’t she the only girl he’d ever loved? Her tears came harder and the words lodged in her throat. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Now it was her father’s turn to comfort. He held her hands close to his heart and ran his frail fingers over the tops of them. “Oh, Abby, you can’t, honey. There’s gotta be a way . . .”
Abby shook her head and struggled to find her voice. “You don’t understand, Dad. There’s more to it.”
Darkness clouded her father’s eyes. “That woman? The one on the field after the state title game?”
So even her father knew the truth. John had taken up with Charlene and in the process left everyone but Abby’s blindly devoted kids aware that he was cheating on her. She hung her head and a fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes onto her father’s bedsheets. “He says they’re just friends, but it’s a lie, Dad. I’ve found notes.”
With all the effort he could muster, her father raised a single hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Have you tried counseling? Christian counseling?”
Abby exhaled and caught her breath, lifting her gaze to her father’s questioning one. “We’ve tried everything. It’s more than a faith issue, Dad.”
Her father’s hand fell to his side and he stared sadly at her. “Nothing is beyond God, Abby. Maybe you’ve forgotten.”
She met his gaze. “Maybe we have.”
Questions flashed in his eyes, and he cleared his throat, probably trying to stop himself from breaking down and crying. After all, John was the son of his best friend. The news was bound to be devastating, regardless of his earlier suspicions about Charlene. “Have you . . . told the children?”
Abby leaned back in her chair. “We tried, but the morning we were going to tell them, Nicole announced her engagement. We decided to postpone it until after the wedding.”
“So it’s final; you’ve made your decision?”
Again Abby hung her head. “We’ve talked to each other, talked to counselors, tried everything, Dad. We don’t see any other way.”
There was silence for a moment as her father took in the news. When he didn’t comment, she continued, desperate to fill the space between them with something that might help him understand. “Maybe it’ll be better this way.”
Anger flashed in her fat
her’s eyes for the first time since she was a small child. “It can never be better to divorce, Abby. Never. That’s a lie from the pit of hell; mark my words.”
The tears came harder now and Abby felt her own anger rising. It wasn’t her fault after all. “Don’t blame me, Dad. I’m not the one seeing someone else.”
Her father raised an eyebrow enough so that she noticed. “That right? What about your writing friends, your editor?”
Alarm raced through Abby’s veins. How in the world . . . ? “Who told you that?”
Her father waited a beat. “John. Last time he was here. I asked him how the two of you were, and he said something about you spending more time e-mailing your editor than talking to him.” Her father stopped to catch his breath, and Abby realized the conversation was draining him. His arms and legs were trembling harder. “He made light of it so I didn’t think it was a problem. Until now.”
Abby stood up and folded her arms, staring at the ceiling. “Oh, Dad, I don’t know how it all got so ugly.” She lowered her gaze to him again and wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “I need my friendship with Stan. Sometimes he’s the only one who understands what’s happening in my life.”
Her father’s anger was gone, and in its place was a sadness unlike anything Abby had seen before. “The only thing you need is faith in Christ and a dedication to each other. If you have that . . . everything else will fall in place.”
He made it sound so easy. “He’s having an affair, Dad. He admitted to kissing her. It isn’t as simple as you think.” She made her way back to the chair and sat down again, taking his hands in hers. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to get you so worked up.”
This time the tears that filled her father’s eyes spilled onto his cheeks, and he wiped at them self-consciously. “That boy’s part of our family, Abby. Don’t let him go. Do whatever it takes. Please. For me, for the kids. For God.”