A Time to Dance

  “I need to see him, talk to him.”

  John whispered the words and slowed his pace. He’d logged in five miles that day, but the relaxing sense of euphoria that usually accompanied his workouts was missing. In its place was a sense of confusion, uncertainty.

  In the end, of course, the state title had come. Less than six months after his father’s death, the Marion Eagles finished their season undefeated. It was as though the terrible seasons in the mid-eighties were only a bad dream, for there John stood, high on the winner’s platform, accepting a trophy that was half the size of six-year-old Kade.

  John remembered the moment like it was yesterday. He leaned over, stretching the muscles in his legs as he closed his eyes. Everything about that night was as sweet now as it had been back then. When it was his turn to speak, his message was simple. “I wanna thank God for giving me a wife who never once stopped supporting me.” He gazed into the stands, knowing she was there somewhere, crying no doubt, cherishing the moment as deeply as he was. “I love you, Abby. I wouldn’t be here without you.” Then he raised the trophy into the night sky and stared up toward heaven. “This is for you, Dad!”

  The memory faded. John stood up, wiped his brow, and headed for the car. How could he spend the rest of his life with Charlene, a woman who’d never met his father? A woman who hadn’t ridden out the Marion tornado with him, or stood beside him while the ashes of his baby daughter danced in the wind and settled across the lake he loved best. A woman who was in love with a man that Abby Reynolds helped create.

  If there’s another way, God, show me . . .

  The silence told him there was none. They were down three touchdowns with less than a minute to play. It was simply too late in the game. But even though that was true, John couldn’t deny what he’d finally come to realize: taking up with Charlene would be like allowing a part of himself to die.

  The part that still belonged—would always belong—to a blonde, blue-eyed pixie who had captured his heart on the sandy shores of Lake Geneva the summer he was just seventeen.

  Fifteen

  THE IDEA OF A COUPLES’ WEDDING SHOWER had been Matt’s. He reasoned that since Abby Reynolds was daughter of the famous Coach John Reynolds, she was very nearly royalty— at least by Marion’s standards. So certainly there ought to be at least a barbecue to celebrate the fact that she was getting married.

  Abby wasn’t about to disagree since the whole reason they’d postponed telling the kids about their divorce was to give Nicole this season of happiness.

  “Absolutely!” She’d looked expectantly at Nicole the moment Matt brought it up. “We could invite half the town of Marion.”

  Nicole’s eyes had sparkled at the thought, and Abby’s heart ached for her. Regardless of how happy these six months were, they would never make up for the hurt she and John were about to cause Nicole and the boys.

  “Can we really, Mom? You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all, honey. Invite whoever you want.”

  “Sort of like a couples’ wedding shower.” Nicole nudged Matt. “Like your friend Steve had last year, remember?”

  “Right. Something like this can take the place of another wedding shower later on.” He grinned at Nicole, teasing her.

  “Now wait a minute—” Nicole poked him harder this time, gig-gling—“ I never said anything about that.”

  Abby watched them. They look like us twenty-two years ago, Lord.

  Love does not fail . . . love never ends, My daughter.

  The words were dim at best, but they were there all the same. A constant reminder of how she and John had missed the mark.

  Nicole cast a smile at her mother. “I can’t help it if my friends throw me an all-girls’ shower later on, right, Mom?”

  With that the idea had taken root. They invited John’s coaching staff and a dozen of Nicole’s longtime friends, girls she had cheered with at Marion High and with whom she still kept in close contact. Matt asked several of his law school buddies, and Nicole insisted on inviting three families who had been closer than relatives as far back as she could remember.

  John agreed to the party, but privately he didn’t like the idea from the beginning. “It’s hard enough pretending around the kids,” he told Abby one evening. “Let alone with the world watching us.”

  Abby felt hatred bubbling to the surface again. “Don’t talk to me about pretending. I’m not the one parading around with a lover on my arm.” She disappeared into her office before he could return fire.

  They got along best when they avoided each other, and in the days that led up to the party, they managed to do just that. John spent more time working out or grading papers at school, and she kept busy helping Nicole make guestlists and pick out wedding decorations. Afternoons were spent with Sean, hauling him to indoor soccer games and baseball practice and lap swimming at the club.

  When Abby was absolutely forced to be home with John, she found reasons to be in her office. And in that way they survived the first two months.

  It was pouring rain the evening of Nicole’s and Matt’s party, and Abby glanced at the table. Cheese and crackers, fruit and cookies, everything was in order. Even the wrapped family Bible from John and her.

  A Bible was the standard Reynolds family wedding gift, and even though John had argued with her about buying it, Abby had decided on a leather copy engraved with the couple’s names.

  “That way Nicole can always look at the Bible and remember how we lied to her during her engagement.” John had tossed out the comment from where he sat in the living room, flipping between ESPN and Fox Sports. “Great gift idea.”

  “Maybe if we’d read ours a little more often we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  The barbs between them were getting more frequent, and Abby had no idea how they were going to survive until July. She laid a stack of decorated napkins on the kitchen table. It was no wonder John was more irritable than before. He wants to be with Charlene, not us. The thought pierced Abby’s heart, and she pushed it away. This was Nicole’s and Matt’s day, and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t wallow in pity for herself.

  Just get through it, Abby. Keep smiling and get through it.

  John had dreaded this day since he’d first heard about it. It was one thing to honor Nicole’s season of happiness. But this . . . this couples’ shower idea was a joke. Let someone else throw them a party.

  The doorbell rang, and John rose to greet the guests, helping them with their raincoats and stashing umbrellas in the entryway. At this point he had no choice but to put on a smile, go along with the plan, and pray he could steer clear of Abby for the next five hours.

  Nicole’s friends arrived first, but within a half-hour the house was full of dozens of familiar faces. As was usually the case when coaches gathered together, the Marion Eagles staff congregated in the living room not far from the television and a sports news program. But with thunder clapping outside and the banter of so many other people in the room, the coaches finally gave up and turned off the set.

  John studied his buddies, guys he’d been with through long hours of training and planning and celebrating. Joe and Sal and Kenny and Bob. The best friends a man could ever hope to have. Maybe if he could keep his thoughts on football, the night would fly by and no one would notice anything different between Abby and him.

  “How long’s it been, guys, the five of us?” John leaned back in his easy chair, feet up, grinning at the men around him.

  Joe stroked his chin and cocked his head. “You know I was just asking Alice that the other day.” He gazed toward the ceiling in deep concentration. “The five of us weren’t together until 1987, right?”

  “Yeah, I waited until Rod Moore’s kid graduated before applying.” Kenny laughed hard at his own joke and patted his round stomach. “There’s only so much the old ticker can take.”

  “I think that was it, 1987. First year we were all Eagles.” John shook his head. “So it’s been fourteen years. Where in the
world did the time go?”

  “Think about it . . . all the highs and lows.” Bob grinned, his eyes glistening with a million memories. “That first state title . . . Tell ya what, there’s never been nothing like it except this last one, watching you and Kade. Now that was something else.”

  Kenny chuckled softly and slapped John on the knee. “Yeah, the Reynolds family’s always been something else. I mean, really, how many of us have wished over the years we had a marriage like John and Abby’s?”

  “Yeah, Abby’s a kick all right. I wish my wife understood the commitment to coaching like Abby does.” Bob tossed a pretzel at John and winked at him. “She’s a one-in-a-million, John. If you hadn’t kept her I woulda married her myself.”

  A tingling sensation worked its way from John’s scalp down his spine. Did everyone have to put his marriage to Abby on a pedestal? Couldn’t they talk about something else? He took small, steady breaths and tried to look natural.

  Bob was still going on about Abby’s many merits. “And just so you know, John, Kenny’s next in line after me, right, Ken?”

  Kenny grinned and nodded once for emphasis. “She’s a keeper.”

  Bob and Kenny were both divorced, and Sal had never been married. Only Joe had a wife at home, and from everything John knew they were happy together. He racked his brain trying to think of something else to talk about. “We’ve had our ups and downs like anyone else.”

  Joe laughed out loud. “That’s right, like the time Abby tumbled down the stairs at Sea World.” He looked at each of the faces around him. “Remember, guys?” He gestured his hand in a downward sliding motion. “Those must have been the ‘down’ moments.”

  Despite himself John smiled at the memory. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, still embarrassed for Abby after all these years.

  “Come on, John, tell us again.” Kenny leaned forward and took a swig of ice tea. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a good laugh at Abby’s expense. Besides Sal’s never heard the Sea World story, have you, Sal?”

  “No, I think I missed that one.”

  “Yeah, well we used to get stories all the time.” Joe grabbed another handful of chips and waited expectantly. “You know . . . Abby’s latest driving story, Abby’s latest shopping story, Abby’s latest run-in with the neighbors . . .”

  Joe’s comment struck John like a blow. When had he stopped talking about Abby with his coaches?

  “Come on, John.” Joe stuffed several chips in his mouth. “Wasn’t she carrying an ice-cream cone or something?”

  The memory became clear and vivid. Sean had been something of a surprise baby, born the fall of 1990. It was the following spring and they’d taken a drive to Ohio to visit Sea World. Nicole was ten that year and Kade, seven. The trip was a comedy of errors from the beginning.

  They’d decided ahead of time that John would carry Sean in a baby carrier and Abby would tote the family’s sweaters and belongings in a backpack. John glanced around the room and saw that the guys were waiting expectantly for a story. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his hands. “All right, all right. Most of you know the story. We were at the park, and Abby wanted to watch the sea lion show.”

  “Not the dolphins or whales, but the sea lions, right, Coach?” Joe was great for adding color whenever John told a story.

  “Had to get to the sea lions . . . before we could do anything else.” John hesitated for effect. “Anyway, we’ve got five minutes before the show starts and we see this ice-cream stand right next to the sea lion stadium. It’s a hot day, the kids are hungry, so Abby decides why not? Let’s get the kids cones before the show. That way they can eat them inside.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Joe had heard the story several times before and he knew what was coming. He leaned back in his seat and grinned.

  “Right, so we get to the front of the line and order three cones. There were two teenagers working the booth so we thought we had a pretty good chance of getting waited on. But the guys just looked at each other real slow, then looked back at us, and back to each other again. ‘Ice-cream cones?’ the one guy says.”

  “These were linemen, no doubt.” Joe elbowed Kenny in the gut. Kenny had been a lineman years earlier and it was his specialty as a coach.

  “Hey, don’t pick on us linemen. We get a little goofy around ice cream.”

  “Yeah, well these guys were at least one crayon short of a box because they spent the next several minutes deciding between themselves whether we had actually ordered three cones.” John was smiling now, enjoying the story, caught up in the memory of that summer a decade ago. “The whole time Abby’s glancing at her watch and saying things like, ‘I can’t miss the sea lion show, John. We’ve got to get these people to hurry.’ So I’m like, ‘Yes, dear, I’m doing my best.’ Because of course there was nothing I could do to make them move faster. So then—I’m absolutely serious here—the one guy goes to the ice-cream machine, takes a cone, and pulls the lever. The ice cream piles higher and higher until it flops over onto the floor. Without missing a beat the guy stares at the mess, tosses the cone in the trash, and takes down another empty cone.”

  “Ended up being about three for seven, isn’t that right, John?” Joe chuckled at the thought. “Forget the fact that the line’s out past the sea lion stadium now.”

  “Right. So finally we have the three cones, and Abby realizes we need napkins. The guys point to a service counter thirty yards away and Abby takes off sprinting. I mean, Abby was quite an athlete in her day. Track, tennis. Even now she could take most of you guys in a footrace. But that day her footwork wasn’t as smooth as it might have been and, with three yards to go, the ice cream toppled from the cone she was holding and landed splat on her foot.”

  Joe was laughing harder now, rocking slightly in his chair. “Eased right into her nice shoes. Can you see it, guys? Abby Reynolds? Dressed just so, with soft chocolate ice cream melting between her pretty toes?”

  John began laughing at the picture. “People were staring at her, wondering why this woman had run so hard and fast with an ice cream cone in the first place. And there she was, a shoe full of ice cream, empty cone in her hand, the rest of us watching from the other side of the rest area and the sea lion show just about to start. So Abby grabs a stack of napkins, wipes the ice cream out of her shoe, and sticks her foot back inside.”

  Kenny grimaced at the thought, and Sal began laughing so hard he had to set his drink down. “What about the sea lions?”

  “So she runs back to the ice-cream booth, cuts in line, and tells the guy she needs another cone, only this time put it in a bowl. The guy does it, and now the music is playing for the sea lion show. ‘Come on, let’s get seats,’ she tells the rest of us. And she’s off . . .”

  “Leading the way like a woman at a Nordstrom sale.” Joe’s face was red from trying to contain himself.

  “We followed right behind, weaving our way through the crowd, determined to get seats before the first sea lion took the stage.” John took a breath and chuckled harder at the images in his head. “So there we are at the top of the stadium, and Abby spots a row halfway down the stairs. ‘Follow me,’ she says. And those were her last words. The stairs . . .” he tried to catch his breath and realized how good it felt. Sitting here with his friends, barely able to breathe for the laughter and the way Abby had looked that summer afternoon. “The stairs were kind of like—” he gestured—“big, small, big, small. No idea why, that’s just the way they were. But Abby must’ve only seen one size because the first step went just fine, but the moment she tried to get her foot to land on that second step, she wound up stepping on nothing but air and she began to tumble.”

  All the men were laughing now, putting down their food, bent over, struggling for air. John found his voice and despite the way his body shook he continued the story. “Not just any tumble, mind you. The backpack rode up onto the back of her neck and . . . and it pushed her down further and further . . .”

  “She look
ed like—” Joe’s voice was shrill from the lack of oxy-gen—“ she looked like a turtle, right, John? Sliding down the stairs, one after another . . . the backpack . . . on her head.”

  “Right.” John drew a deep breath and tried to control himself. “Her head was peeking out just a little from the backpack and finally . . . finally a man put his hand out and stopped her.”

  Kenny was a big man, and when he laughed as hard as he was now, he began sounding like a sea lion himself. The realization made John chuckle even harder than before. Between breaths he was able to finish the story. “Of course the whole . . . the whole stadium was full of people and the show had already . . . started.” He inhaled sharply. “At first the people thought it was part of the act . . .”

  “A few women started clapping.” Joe could still barely get the words out for the laughter that shook his body. “She actually stopped the show. Even the sea lions waited to see what was going to happen.”

  John nodded, the memory so funny he was starting to giggle like a girl. Abby had looked so pathetic. “Anyway, this man reaches out and stops her and . . . trying to look casual . . . she gets up all quick and waves at the people. Then she turns around and looks at me, and that’s when I see the ice cream . . .”

  “The bowl of ice cream she’d been holding.” Joe was almost bent in half now, and the other guys were laughing so loud they were attracting the attention of everyone in the room. “Remember, the one she’d lost down her shoe the first time!”

  “So there she is, knees and elbows all skinned and bleeding, backpack caught up in her hair and ice cream smeared down the entire front of her shirt.”

  Sal hooted out loud. “I woulda bought tickets to that all right. Little Miss Perfectly Dressed Coach’s Wife looking like that . . . with a whole stadium of people watching.”

  “We sat down and the show started up again.” John caught his breath and forced himself to calm down. “She didn’t say a word until the show was over, then she turned to me and said, ‘Okay, how’d that look?’ And I absolutely lost it.”