“That’s good.” He was laughing harder than her, even. So hard there were tears in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“But you do need dance lessons.”
“Apparently.” His laughter grew. “It reminds me . . . of the time you . . .” He tried to catch his breath. “The time you fell down the stairs at Sea World.”
“That’s right.” Her ribs hurt from laughing so hard. “I had to get that seat.”
“I’ll never forget the sea lions.” John imitated how the animals had swung their heads in Abby’s direction that day.
“Don’t . . .” Abby sucked in a breath. “You’re killing me.”
“People sticking out arms and legs trying to stop you.” John sat up and rested his elbows on his knees.
She exhaled, finally catching her breath. “We’re . . . quite a pair.”
John struggled to his feet and leaned against the wall. “It worked.” He stuck his hand out and helped Abby to her feet.
“What?” Abby’s heart felt lighter than a summer breeze. How good it was to laugh like this, rolling around on the floor, being silly with John.
“I know you don’t think I’m mature now.” They linked arms and entered the kitchen.
“Definitely not.”
“Starving, maybe.” He rubbed his backside. “But never mature.”
Three
DINNER WAS IN FULL SWING. IT WAS WEDNESDAY, AND every seat at the table was taken. John and Abby and Sean filled out one side, while Nicole and Matt and Matt’s parents, Jo and Denny Conley, took up the other.
Abby loved nights like this, when the gang gathered at the Reynoldses’ house, laughing and sharing updates about their lives. Across from her, Abby admired the glow on Nicole’s face. Thank You, God, for bringing Matt into her life. Don’t ever let them go through what John and I did . . .
The group was giggling about something Denny had said, something about a fishing hook getting caught in the pastor’s hairpiece the previous weekend.
“Thing is—” Jo set her fork down, her face red from laughing— “none of us knew about the hair thingy. I mean Pastor stands up there every Sunday as honest as a trout in summertime.” She gestured around the table. “You know what I mean . . . the man’s not one of those big-hair types you see on TV. He’s the real deal. Gen-u-ine.”
Abby didn’t know the man, but she felt for him all the same. “He must’ve been mortified.”
Denny shrugged, but before he could respond, Jo leaned forward and held up her finger. “Know what he told me. He says, ‘Jo, don’t you go tellin’ no one at church about this. The good Lord took my hair, but that don’t mean I can’t wear a hat.’” Jo slapped the table and the water in her glass jostled over the rim. “A hat! Isn’t that the funniest thing y’all ever heard?”
Abby studied the red-headed woman, tiny and full of fire, a woman Abby never would have chosen for her daughter’s mother-in-law. But Jo had grown on Abby and Nicole, and now they found her charming. A bit talkative, and maybe a little too interested in fishing, but wonderfully real and full of love. Their family get-togethers weren’t the same without her.
Nicole wiped her mouth and looked at John. “Heard anything from Kade?”
“Nothing new.” John shrugged. “School’s going well, football, too.”
“He’s a redshirt this year, isn’t he?” Denny anchored his elbows on the table.
“He is. It’ll give him an extra year of eligibility.”
“The whole redshirt thing doesn’t sit well with me.” Jo made a face.
“Like a bad bucket o’ bait.”
Abby smiled. “It’s a coach’s call. There’s a lot of talent ahead of Kade on the depth chart. He’s okay with redshirting.”
“I don’t care.” Jo’s tone grew loud, more passionate. “Young Kade’s good enough to start, after all, and I’d tell ’em so myself if I had the coach’s number.” She cocked her head in John’s direction. “You don’t have it, do you?”
Everyone laughed except Jo, who glanced about the table as though they’d all taken leave of their senses. “I’m serious as a thunderstorm on Lake Michigan. The boy’s good.”
“It’s okay, Jo.” John grinned at the woman, and Abby savored the effect. Lately, John’s smile did wonderful things to Abby’s heart. His voice was kind as he helped Jo understand. “Kade agreed to redshirt. He has a lot to learn before he takes the field.”
“Yes—” Nicole looked at Abby—“and he’s coming home soon, right?”
Abby admired the way her daughter handled herself around Jo. In the few months since marrying Matt, Nicole had become expert at dealing with her mother-in-law, knowing when to steer the conversation and how to distract Jo when she became too excited.
“That’s right.” Abby nodded. “Iowa plays at Indiana, October 20. It’s only a four-hour drive from here. The school has that Monday off, so Kade’ll come home with us, stay Sunday, and fly back to school Monday.”
“Yep.” Sean looked up from his dinner. “Ten days and counting.”
“Well, don’t you know I want in on that surer than a flea on a billy goat. Me and Denny, here, why we’ll be tagging along right behind you down the turnp—” Jo gasped. “Wait.” She jabbed her elbow into Denny’s ribs, and the man jumped. “That’s the weekend we have the mission thing, isn’t it?”
Denny thought for a moment. “I think it is.”
Matt looked up, his fork hanging in the air. “Mission thing?” He loved Abby’s cooking and usually spent dinner letting the others talk while he worked on cleaning his plate. Abby had made stuffed pork chops and glazed potatoes, and Matt was already on his third serving. His eyes twinkled as he met his mother’s gaze. “What mission thing?”
“Aw, shucks.” Jo exchanged a look with Denny, and then exhaled hard. “We weren’t going to tell you young folks yet. Wanted it to be a surprise.”
Nicole leaned forward so she could see her in-laws more clearly. “You’re taking a mission trip?”
“Actually—” Denny reached for Jo’s hand—“it’s a little more involved than that.”
Abby could feel the anticipation building around the table. After all, Matt’s parents had divorced when Matt was a small child. They’d lived separate lives until Matt and Nicole’s engagement. Then—in a series of events that was nothing short of miraculous—first Denny, then Jo became believers. Two months ago they remarried and got involved at church. Now they spent Saturdays fishing with their pastor.
“Mom—” Matt set his fork down and leaned on the table—“what’re you guys talking about?”
“Dag-nabbit.” Jo shot an apologetic look at Denny. “I must have the biggest mouth this side of a steelhead.” Then she turned and faced her son. “The truth is, your dad and I are thinking about spending a year in Mexico. Working at an orphanage down there and . . .”
For maybe the first time since Abby had known Jo, the woman was silent. The news was so amazing, so unlike anything Jo had ever done, even she could think of nothing to add.
Nicole squealed. “That’s amazing!” She bounced up from her chair and positioned herself behind Jo and Denny, placing an arm around each of them. “You’ll love every minute of it.”
Jo shrugged, her cheeks suddenly red. “Well, it’s not like we can do much for ’em, you know. But we’re willin’. Pastor says that’s what matters.”
Denny cleared his throat. “We’ll help build a second room for babies and do general maintenance. Sort of act as caretakers for the place.”
“Dad, that’s great.” Matt reached out and shook his father’s hand. “I guess I can’t believe it. I never thought my parents would spend a year in mission work.”
John flashed Abby a quick look. “We serve a God of miracles— that’s for sure.”
Abby let her eyes fall to her plate. She understood the secret meaning in John’s words, and at times like this, she wanted desperately to tell the kids about their own miracle. How they’d almost divorced and then someho
w, found the way to the old pier in their backyard. How, there and then, in the hours after Nicole’s wedding, God had opened their ears to hear the music once more—the music of their lives—and they’d remembered again how to dance.
The miracle was this: they’d stayed together and made something beautiful of their marriage. It wouldn’t have happened without God’s divine hand, and as such, it was a miracle worth sharing.
But they couldn’t. Abby and John had never told any of them about what had almost happened. The kids would have been too shaken, especially Nicole. No, the kids had no idea. She doubted they ever would.
Abby looked up and let the thought go. Congratulations continued around the table, and Jo and Denny answered a host of questions. If all went well, they would leave for Mexico in July and return a year later.
“They asked us if we could teach the children anything while we were there.” Jo winked at Denny. “I told ’em I’d have those kids baitin’ a hook in no time.”
Matt gave his mother a warm smile, his tone light and teasing. “If I know you, you’ll probably bring back a couple of little fishermen.”
“Right.” The tips of Jo’s smile faded and her laugh sounded suddenly forced.
The change wasn’t enough for everyone at the table to notice, but Abby caught it. Something about Matt’s mention of the orphans had caused Jo’s heart to stumble. Abby would have to look for opportunities in the coming months when she and Jo could talk. She was almost sure the woman harbored deep feelings on the topic, feelings she maybe hadn’t shared with Matt or Nicole.
“Wait a minute—” Denny nodded his head in Matt’s direction— “your mother and I aren’t looking to be parents again.”
“What he means is, I wanna be a grandma. Sooner the better.”
“A grandma?” Nicole’s mouth hung open in pretend shock. “Sorry, Jo. We’re years away from granting that wish.”
“I’d say.” Matt slipped an arm around Nicole’s shoulders. “I think the game plan is four years, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.”
Abby had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. “If only it worked that way.”
“Yeah.” John narrowed his eyes. “We got married July 14, 1979. And what was our plan on children?”
“Five years, I believe.”
“And when was Nicole born?”
“April 16, 1980.” Abby gave Nicole a quick smile. “But that’s okay, honey. You can pretend you have a plan. Less stress that way.”
On the other side of the table, Jo was still working out the math.
Her fingers moved one across the others, then came to an abrupt stop. She gasped and stared at Abby. “You mean Nicole was born nine months and two days after the weddin’?” The light in her eyes was full strength once more. She leaned across Matt’s plate and patted Nicole on the hand. “No wonder you’re so sweet, darlin’. I always thought it was your upbringing.” She sent a quick look John’s way. “And it’s that, too, of course.” She looked back at Nicole. “But I had no idea you were a honeymoon baby. Honeymoon babies are better than a week on the lake. All gushy and drippy and believin’ in happily ever after.”
Jo sucked in a quick breath and shifted her eyes to Matt. “You better take good care o’ her, son. She ain’t no ordinary girl. She’s a honeymoon baby.” She lowered her voice, and the others had to strain to hear it. “Good for you, son. You got yourself a catch better’n anything a rod and reel will ever land you. Besides, honeymoon babies beget honeymoon babies. That’s what I always heard, anyway.”
“Excuse me.” Nicole held up her hand, her smile sincere. “This honeymoon baby will not be begetting anytime short of four years.” She leaned against Matt and gazed at his eyes. “My brilliant husband has a law career to launch first.”
It was only then that Abby noticed John’s eyes. They’d grown distant in the past few minutes, like he’d already left them and headed up for bed, leaving his body behind as a means of being polite.
Abby looked harder. No, it wasn’t distance. It was depth . . . depth and pain. Then it hit her. He was thinking about football again. The topic hadn’t come up all night, and Abby was glad. They’d both spent most of their recent days battling the questions all people in coaching have to ask themselves if they stay in long enough: What’s it all for? Why are we involved with this? Isn’t there more to life?
The dinner wound down, and Nicole and Matt left with Denny and Jo behind them. Sean turned in with promises to finish his math homework. Abby followed John up to their bedroom.
“What’s on your mind?”
Only then, when they were finally alone, did his feelings find words. They were words she hadn’t ever expected John Reynolds to say. He simply rubbed the back of his head and studied her. Then in a voice filled with conviction and fatigue, he said it.
“I’m quitting football, Abby. This is my last year.”
The statement knocked around in her mind and rattled its way down to her gut. She had always known the day would come. But she had never expected it to come now. Not on the tails of a championship season. Oh, sure this season was harder than others. But John had dealt with complaining parents before, handled bad attitudes and unexplainable losses. Those things happened to every coach. But the idea that he might hang up his whistle now, with so many years of teaching left, was more surprising than anything John could have said.
Almost as surprising as the feelings rising within her.
All her life, in the cellar of her heart, Abby had dreaded the day when football would no longer be part of her routine. But here, now . . . with her eyes locked on John’s, she felt no dread whatsoever.
She felt relief.
Four
EVEN PARKED, THE CAR LOOKED FAST.
Jake Daniels and a handful of his teammates were leaving practice Saturday morning when they spotted it. A red Acura Integra NSX. Maybe a ’91 or ’92.
Unable to keep from gawking, the group stopped. Casey Parker was the first to recover. It was the nicest car Jake had ever seen.
“Tight, man.” Casey slung his gym bag over his shoulder. “I’ll bet that baby can run.”
The car was so shiny Jake almost had to squint. It had two doors, a spoiler in the front, and a riser across the back. The body hugged the ground, snug against a hot set of Momo wheels.
Suddenly the black-tinted passenger window lowered, and a man waved in their direction. Jake narrowed his eyes even more. What the . . . ?
“Hey, Daniels, isn’t that your dad?” Casey punched Jake in the arm. “Where’s the blonde?”
Jake gulped. It was his dad, all right. He’d showed up at last night’s football game—the first he’d attended since moving to New Jersey.
Beside him had been some blonde girl in a spandex shirt, leather pants, and spiked heels. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Big-time bimbo, working a wad of gum and batting her eyelashes.
The other guys razzed Jake about her all morning at Saturday’s practice.
“She available, man . . . or does your dad have first dibs?”
“Your dad into sharing, Daniels? That’s the hottest stepmom I’ve ever seen.”
“She’s not his stepmom . . . she’s his girlfriend. He and his dad take turns.”
The comments had gotten old after the first hour, but the guys kept at it. Still, whoever the blonde was, she wasn’t in the Integra. Jake nodded to his teammates, shouldered his bag, and headed for the car. Normally his mother met him after practice in their old van, faithful and sure, always on time.
But not today.
“Hey . . .” His father waited until Jake was closer before he said anything. “Climb in.”
Jake did as he was told. The car must be a rental. Apparently his dad was making big bucks at the radio station. Back when he worked for the Marion paper, before the divorce, his father never would have rented an Acura NSX. But then, he wouldn’t have had an airhead for a girlfriend either. A lot had changed.
“W
ell . . . what do you think?” His father’s smile was practically bursting through his skin.
“Where is she?”
His expression went blank. “Who?”
“The girl. Bambi. Bimby . . . whatever her name was.”
“Bonnie.” A shadow fell across his eyes, and he looked older than Mom. They were the same age, but there were more lines on Dad’s forehead now. He worked them with his thumb and forefinger and cleared his throat. “She’s getting a massage.”
“Oh.” Jake wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks for picking me up.” He patted the dashboard. “Nice rental.”
His dad leaned forward, sunglasses in one hand, his arm resting on the steering wheel. He looked like one of those guys in a Sports Illustrated ad. “What if I told you it wasn’t a rental?”
It took a moment for Jake to remember to breathe. “Not a rental?”
The grin was back on his father’s face. “Remember last summer, that conversation we had about cars?”
“Cars?”
“That’s right.” An unfamiliar chuckle slipped from his dad’s mouth. Something about it made Jake feel like he didn’t know the man. Almost like he was trying too hard to be cool.
“Uh . . .” Jake tried not to be bugged. Where were these questions going, anyway? “You asked me which cars were hot right now, right? That conversation?”
“Exactly. You told me the hottest car would be a used Acura NSX . . . maybe a ’91. Remember?”
“Okay . . .” Jake’s heart rate doubled. It wasn’t possible, was it? After all, he would be seventeen next week. But would his dad really come all the way from New Jersey to bring him a—
He swallowed hard. “Dad . . . whose car is it?”
Moving his arm off the wheel with more flare than usual, his father turned off the engine, pulled out the key, and handed it to Jake. “It’s yours, son. Happy birthday.”
Jake’s mouth hung open a moment. “No way.”
“Yes, way.” His dad grinned again and slipped on the sunglasses.