A Time to Dance

  “So, it’s true.” Kade shook his head. His shoulders slumped forward, and John couldn’t tell whether the shadows on his face were disgust or despair. “The guys used to razz me all the time and I’d tell ’em to get lost. My parents were different. They loved each other. And now . . . all the time . . . what a joke.”

  “Wait a minute, Kade. That’s not fair.”

  “Yes, it is. Porn stuff isn’t the only lie. You and Mom are, too. It’s all a lie. So, what’s the point of—”

  “Stop!” John leaned forward until his knees were touching Kade’s. “What your mother and I share is not a lie. We struggled, yes. And we came back together stronger than before.” He looked straight into Kade’s eyes, trying to see into his soul. “You know why we drifted apart?”

  Kade said nothing, his lips tight and pinched.

  “Because we forgot about being intimate. We stopped talking and sharing our hearts with each other. We let life and busy schedules rule our relationship, and because of that we almost walked away from a love that, other than God’s, is greater than any I know.” He uttered a single laugh. “No, son, what your mom and I share is as honest as anything I’ll ever have. Charlene Denton—now that was a lie. And every day I thank God for letting me recognize the fact before it was too late. For helping your mom and me remember the importance of intimacy.”

  Kade straightened some, his eyebrows still knit together with doubt. “So . . . you’re fine? You and Mom?”

  “We’re much better than fine. I think we love each other more now than ever before.” John took hold of Kade’s shoulder with a light grip. “But we’re worried about you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not. If you believe the lie now, if you convince yourself that satisfaction can be found in visual unrealities, how will you ever share intimacy with a real woman?”

  “That’s different.”

  “You’ll meet someone one day, and she’ll want to know about you. Everything about you. If she finds out you’ve had a fascination with porn sites, my guess is she’ll drop you like a bad pass. What girl wants to measure up to those kinds of images? Besides she wouldn’t respect you, not if you see women as nothing more than objects, sex slaves.”

  Kade’s expression changed. This time John was sure about it. The boy was finally listening.

  “Relationships take work, son. Hours and days and years of getting close to that person. That’s real love, real intimacy. If you train your mind to believe that the work isn’t important, you’ll not only be going against every plan God has for your life . . . you’ll lose out on a chance to experience the greatest gift He’s given us. The gift of true love.”

  “So you really think it’s a sin?”

  “Yes.” John kept his tone calm, reasonable. “Absolutely.”

  Kade looked away. “We talked about that, a few of the guys and me. They told me it wasn’t a problem because the girls agreed to have the pictures taken, and we weren’t really doing anything wrong.” Kade’s face clouded. “But inside . . . I guess I always knew it couldn’t be right.”

  “And the other thing is the temptation to get involved with it again anytime you feel frustrated with the real thing.”

  Kade sighed.

  “The question is this—” John leaned back against the edge of the boat—“how hard will it be to stop?”

  Kade squinted at a line of trees in the distance. “Hard.”

  The word hit John like a rock. “Have . . . have you tried to quit before?”

  “Once.” Kade looked eight years old again. “But my computer’s right there in the dorm, and . . . I don’t know . . . you get used to it.”

  For the first time, John caught a glimpse of why Internet pornography was so addictive. Computers were everywhere, access to the Web as easy as finding a telephone. If a person got on those sites once and experienced pleasure, the body would cry out for more.

  “There are filters you can buy. That might help.”

  “Yeah. One of the guys did that. He had to get counseling, too. Maybe he and I could help each other.”

  “We can get you help, son. Whatever it takes. You have to believe me that this is bad stuff. If you let it continue, it’ll destroy you.”

  Kade nodded slowly. “I guess I never thought of it that way. You know, like where it could lead.”

  “That time . . . when you tried to quit . . .” John let his hand fall back to his knees. “Did you ask God for help?”

  “Not really. I didn’t think it’d be that hard to stop.”

  “It’s something you need to walk away from, son, and never look back. Not ever.”

  “I know.” Kade fidgeted, his eyes glued to his hands. “I bought a book about stopping. Before I came here. It’s in my bag.”

  “A book?” Relief flooded John’s soul. “Then how come you fought me, Kade? You acted like porn sites were a good thing.”

  “I guess I felt cornered. Everywhere I turn someone’s telling me it’s bad.” He looked up, and his eyes were wet. “What if . . . what if I can’t stop?”

  John slid his way closer to Kade and hugged him. “You’ll stop, buddy. God’ll give you the strength.” He thought of Charlene again. “He can give you the strength to walk away from anything bad, no matter how trapped you feel.”

  Kade sniffled and gripped John’s neck with the crook of his elbow. There were tears in his voice. “Pray for me, Dad. Will ya, please?”

  It took a moment for the lump in John’s throat to subside.

  When it did, he let his forehead fall against Kade’s, and there in the rowboat, in the middle of the lake, he prayed for his son with an intensity he’d never known before. He asked that Kade would have the strength to walk away from the seedy, sinful world of pornography. That he would find the right friendships and counseling and support to help his eyes be opened to the horror of that world. That God would erase the images captured by Kade’s mind, and replace them with a true understanding of a woman’s beauty. And that Kade would grasp the reality of real intimacy in the example John and Abby provided. That as the two of them had learned from their mistakes, so would Kade.

  And in the end, that he’d be a stronger, more godly man because of it.

  Ten

  THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS WERE COMING MORE FREQUENTLY now.

  Not only did they accuse John of being a poor ethical example for the young men of Marion High, but they blatantly marked him as “a coach whose time has passed.” The administration, which at first had assured John that they were completely behind him, now was waffling.

  “People are worried about the program,” Herman Lutz told him that week. “As the school’s athletic director, that concerns me. I think you can understand my position.”

  Though a year ago it would have been unfathomable to think so, John now carried around the sinking feeling that before he could quit the job, he was going to be fired. That Lutz was going to let the parents bully him into a decision that would be easiest for him. John tried not to think about it. If he lasted long enough, he would resign after the season’s final whistle.

  Thing was, the team’s performance had turned around.

  John packed his duffle bag and headed for the team bus. They’d won their last four games and a win tonight over the hapless Bulldogs up in North County would send the Eagles to districts.

  All of which meant the season wasn’t nearly over.

  But that afternoon, football and fanatical parents didn’t even make the list of John’s greatest concerns. He was about to do something he hadn’t done since he’d started coaching. The boys’ athletics office was open and John stepped inside. He only had a few minutes before the bus left.

  The phone rang three times before she picked up. “Hello?”

  “Abby, it’s me.”

  “John?” She hesitated. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bus?”

  “Yeah. Hey, real quick. Don’t go to the game tonight.”

  There was another pause a
nd John prayed she’d understand. He didn’t have enough time to go into lengthy details. She finally recovered. “Why not?”

  “A threat came into the office today. Something about the game.” John steadied himself against the office desk. “The police think it’s a hoax, but you never know . . . I don’t want you there. Just in case.”

  “Was it Nathan Pike?”

  “They’re not sure. It might be.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I gotta run. Just know that I love you. And please . . . don’t come to the game.”

  “But John—”

  “Don’t come, Abby. I gotta go.”

  “Okay.” There was concern in Abby’s voice. “I won’t. I love you, too.”

  “See you in a few hours.”

  “Wait . . .” She hesitated. “Be careful, John.”

  “I will.”

  He hung up and jogged to the bus. He was the last one on. The ride to North County took fifteen minutes, and though the team was in high spirits, John stared out the window at the countryside wondering how it had come to this. He hadn’t told Abby all the details. They would have terrified her.

  Apparently the phone call came into the office about one o’clock that afternoon. A raspy voice told the school secretary that a suicide bomber would be in attendance at that night’s game.

  “It’s gonna be big, lady.” The caller had chuckled. “Ya hear me.”

  The secretary motioned for the principal to pick up the line, but he was busy talking with a parent at the front counter. “Who . . . who is this?”

  “Right!” The caller laughed again. “You’ll know soon enough. Just tell Coach it’s too late to help me now. Tonight’s the big night.”

  “If this is a prank, you better say so.” The secretary scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen. “It’s a felony to make these kinds of threats.”

  “This is no threat, lady. People are going to die tonight. You heard it here first.”

  Then he hung up.

  Pale and shaken, the secretary pulled the principal into a private office and told him what happened. Police were on campus asking questions within fifteen minutes. Had anyone made death threats at the school before? How were such incidents handled? Did anyone have knowledge of a student with access to explosives? Where was that night’s game being held? And how many entrances to the place were there? Did anyone have something against the football team?

  Time and again the answers pointed to Nathan Pike, but there wasn’t a thing the police could do. They couldn’t even talk to the boy about the phone call.

  Nathan Pike was out sick that day.

  Determined to question him, police had gone to Nathan’s house. Apparently his mother had answered the door, a bewildered look on her face. Her son was at school as far as she knew. She hadn’t seen him since that morning.

  All of it turned John’s stomach. Okay, so police would be at the game, posted at every entrance and scattered throughout the crowd. What good would that do? Suicide bombers didn’t advertise. They merely walked into a crowded setting and blew themselves and everyone around them to the moon. By the time the police spotted Nathan Pike, he’d be just another body in a line of corpses.

  It was no comfort that John and the team were a safe distance from the stands out on the field. Hundreds of teens would be at the game that night. Thousands, even. If a bomb went off amid that crowd—

  John couldn’t bring himself to think about it. Of course the person could wait until after the game when the stands emptied onto the field. Then there’d be nothing the police could do to stop a kid from—

  “Coach?”

  His fears dissipated as he turned around. It was Jake Daniels.

  The boy had been one of the bright spots in the past few weeks. He’d let up quite a bit on Nathan. Three times he’d even stopped in to talk to John about the pressures of high school and his concerns for his mother. Apparently she was furious with his father. The two fought whenever they were forced to talk, and Jake felt caught in the middle. Jake always seemed more relaxed after a half hour of sharing life with John.

  This was why John still coached, to help young men like Jake. And since they’d started talking again, Jake seemed happier, more at ease. Less likely to join in with Casey Parker and the others who thought they ran the school.

  John had even wondered if that’s why they were doing better on the field. There was no question Jake’s numbers had led them to their recent victories. Now, though, Jake looked troubled.

  John managed a smile. “Hey, Jake.”

  “Uh—” the boy glanced around as though he wanted to make sure no one saw the two of them talking—“can I sit here for a minute?”

  “Sure.” John slid over. “What’s on your mind?”

  “There’s a rumor going around that . . . well, that Nathan Pike’s going to shoot people at the game tonight.”

  John held his breath. If the media ever had to compete with teenagers for getting a news flash to the public, the teenagers would win every time. He exhaled hard. “A threat came into the office. Yes. Police have checked it out. They’re not worried about it.”

  “Serious? There was really a threat?” Jake’s eyes grew wide. “Coach, what if the police are wrong? Nathan Pike’s a freak; don’t they know that?”

  “The police are aware of Nathan.” John worked to appear calm, but inside he was as anxious as Jake. What business did they have showing up at a game where there were threats of murder and mayhem? What football game could ever be that important?

  “So no one’s doing anything about it?”

  “The police’ll be at the game.”

  “Yeah, but that won’t stop him. I mean, what if he doesn’t care about dying?”

  “The police are pretty sure it’s not a serious threat, Jake. If it was, they’d call off the game.”

  “I doubt it.” Jake held his helmet in his lap and now he hugged it to his middle. “All everyone cares about is winning this game. You know, so we can go to districts.”

  Jake was closer to the truth than he knew. “You have a point.”

  “Coach—” Jake lifted his eyes to John’s, but only briefly—“I know who’s writing the letters.”

  “Letters?”

  “Yeah, the ones that talk about getting you fired.”

  John’s heart sank. It was enough that he knew about the angry swarm of parental protests against him without his players knowing. Especially kids like Jake, who had always looked up to John. He wanted to know what the boy knew, but he wouldn’t ask. He patted Jake on the knee. “A coach will always have his critics.”

  “Casey Parker was talking in the locker room the other day. He said his dad had it out for you, bad. They’ve had meetings.”

  “His dad and him?”

  “His dad and some other parents. At first the other people didn’t want to come but . . . well, after we lost. More people came. They’ve talked to Mr. Lutz.”

  “That’s their right, I guess.” John worked his mouth into a smile. “All I can do is my best.”

  “You’re not leaving, though, are you?” Jake’s eyes were wide, and John wished he could say something to encourage the boy. “I mean, you won’t quit on us, will you? I still have one more year.”

  “I’d love to be here next year, Jake.”

  “So you will, right?”

  “We’ll see.” John didn’t want to share too much information, but he didn’t want to lie either. The odds of him coaching another season at Marion High were growing slimmer all the time.

  “You mean you might quit?”

  John sighed. “I might not have to quit if Mr. Lutz fires me first.”

  “He won’t fire you! Look at everything you’ve done for football at Marion High.”

  “People don’t see it that way. They see their sons not getting playing time, the team not winning enough games. If you get the wrong parent upset with you, well . . . sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do.”

  John refrained from saying
anything more about Herman Lutz. It wasn’t his place to undermine the man’s authority in front of a student. But ultimately John’s professional fate lay in Lutz’s hands, and he was notorious for letting parents have their way. If Casey Parker’s father wanted him out, Lutz would likely oblige.

  If John didn’t quit first.

  “If it matters any, Coach, I’ll win the game big for you tonight.”

  John smiled. If only it were that simple. “Thanks, Jake. That means a lot.”

  Jake fiddled with the chin strap on his helmet. “What can I do about Nathan Pike and the whole threat thing?”

  “Pray about it.”

  Jake’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open for a moment. “Me?”

  “Not just you—the whole team.” John lowered his brow but kept his eyes on Jake’s. “You guys haven’t exactly been kind to Nathan this year. The threat isn’t a surprise, really.”

  Jake swallowed hard and stared at the seat in front of him. “So you want me to pray with the guys about it?”

  “You asked.”

  For a moment, Jake was quiet. “Coach, I think he’s jealous of my car.”

  “The Integra?”

  “Yeah. A few days after I got it, I saw Nathan’s mom drop him off at school. She has this, like, beat-up old station wagon with a dent on the side. Right then he looked at my car and then at me. Usually he looks at me like he hates me, but that time it was more like he wanted to be me. Like he would’ve given anything to trade places with me.”

  “Is that why you’ve let up on him these past few weeks?”

  Jake nodded. “It wasn’t right. I was such a jerk before.”

  “You were.”

  “But now . . . what if it’s too late? What if he really does do something?” John searched the boy’s eyes. “I told you what I’d do.”

  “Okay, Coach.” Jake tightened his grip on the helmet. “We’ll pray. I’ll make it happen.”

  Nothing in the world could have kept Abby from the game that night.

  Yes, John would be upset with her. She’d have to deal with that later. But if someone was going to harm students or players or even her husband, Abby wanted to be there. What if there was something she could do, a student she could help, or a life she could save? What if it was the last time she saw her husband alive?