Chapter Twelve
Danny
INDIAN SUMMER IN Chicago was bright and beautiful, with a hint of coolness. Danny shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare as he dashed into St. Vincent DePaul, the campus church of DePaul University. By dropping a false lead, he’d evaded the reporters, sending them scurrying to St. Raymond’s in northwest suburban Mount Prospect.
Danny almost tiptoed up the side aisle to the sacristy. Nervously, he awaited a glimpse of his bride. Much had taken place since he’d proposed to Cathy two months ago, throwing them both into a whirlwind of activity. They’d decided to get married right away, before the fast approaching basketball season. By some miracle they’d thrown everything together, including the many things women found so important: the wedding gown, bridesmaids, the works.
Such touches added to the solemnity of the occasion. Vows before a justice of the peace would not do for his Cathy. He wanted this to be a special day to remember. That meant an official ceremony in a church, conducted by a priest and witnessed by close friends and relatives.
Through it all, he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to think, much less be scared. Now, as he stood waiting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the right thing. Maybe he should have given her up, but it was too late for regrets and doubts.
He shook off a feeling of uneasiness as, on cue, the music began. Petite Marianne, Cathy’s college friend, led the parade in an ankle-length gown, tightly clutching a bouquet of daisies and chrysanthemums. Next came Dora, head held high, advancing regally up the aisle. Her long, black locks offered a startling contrast to her lemon hued gown. It clung like a designer’s creation, emphasizing her perfect proportions.
Even from a distance she looked way too tempting for his peace of mind, especially since Dora was not the woman he was marrying. As she drew near, he could make out wet eyelashes and shiny cheeks. Biting her lip, she stared ahead, apparently not seeing him. Obviously she was moved by the sentimentality of the occasion. It wasn’t every day her sister got married.
He’d avoided her lately. Dora was dangerous. She radiated sexual attraction and she knew too much.
The familiar chords of the wedding march marshaled Danny’s thoughts into line, reminding him there was but one woman in his life. His eyes scanned the back of the church, searching for a glimpse of his bride.
At the sight of her, all sparkly and bright, his heart leapt. Ted McGuire gently held Cathy’s arm, as if she were a figurine. She approached Danny, looking so lovely she seemed otherworldly, too perfect for this earth.
As Cathy stood beside him, the enormity of the step he was taking hit home.
God, please let this be the right thing, he prayed as he gazed into the childlike eyes of his bride. He loved this woman. He wanted only the best for her.
The service began. He tried to pay attention, but his mind drifted back to a few days earlier. In a final attempt to relinquish his past life, he’d visited St. Peter’s Church in downtown Chicago. Through the anonymity of the confessional, he’d admitted to sins of hatred and intentions of murder. Father Francisco hadn’t pressed him for his identity or the intended victim’s, but had given Danny this advice: “Son, remember the Bible: ‘...do not avenge yourselves; leave that to God’s wrath, for it is written: Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord...Do not be conquered by evil but conquer evil with good.’”
He’d gone on to say, “By wishing harm on others, you harm yourself. On the other hand, if you make others happy, you’ll by rewarded by happiness.”
The words made sense. After absolution, Danny emerged, feeling cleansed and whole, determined to follow the good priest’s advice.
He was now at the crossroads. Today he was altering his life. A different priest stood before him, asking him to exchange vows. As he repeated the words, “I, Danny, take you, Cathy, to be my wedded wife,” he was pledging more to her than she’d ever know. By consecrating himself, he was embracing peace and joy and thrusting aside hatred and bitterness.
Through a wet blur, he slipped the gold ring onto Cathy’s finger. The sun shone brightly through the stained glass windows, illuminating his angel’s face, a sign of the sacredness of their pact. Almost afraid to sully her perfection, he bent to kiss his bride.
The reporters had caught up with them by the time the wedding party reached the Savoy, where the small reception would take place. As he helped Cathy out of the limousine, myriad light bulbs flashed. He shielded her as best he could from the onslaught of pressing bodies. It was difficult not to be annoyed, especially when he saw the disappointed look on his bride’s face. This was a private occasion, not meant to be shared with everyone.
Where were the security guards he’d ordered from Alert Advantage? Lots of the other players used them. This was the first, maybe the last time he’d hire them.
“I’m sorry, Cathy,” he apologized.
A bright mask slipped over her face. “That’s okay, Danny. It’s not your fault.”
Of course it was. If he had a regular job, this wouldn’t happen. Damn it, he couldn’t do that. Basketball was his lifeline. It had seen him through too many tough times.
They got to the door. The reporters pressed, trying to follow the couple inside.
“Hey, give us a break,” Danny said, firmly shutting the door in their faces. Inside, he found the guards racing down the hall.
“I’m sorry, sir. Someone told us you’d be using the other entrance,” one of them said.
That’s right. The original plans had been to enter by the front entrance. He and Cathy had changed their minds and decided to go around the back, forgetting to relay the change in plans. Well, what was done was done. Breathing a sigh of relief, he left the guards stationed at the doors.
He and his bride walked arm-in-arm into the hall. Now they could relax and enjoy themselves.
As the rest of the world retreated, Cathy’s face glowed. The guests enthusiastically tapped their wine glasses. Her lips grew red from his kisses.
He managed to eat a few bites, then was treated to a performance by the O’Malley step-dancers, a surprise arranged by Nancy McGuire. As the Irish jigs played, an earnest, dark-haired boy caught Danny’s attention. With startlingly white shirt and vibrant vest, he couldn’t have been more than six, yet he kicked up his heels with the best of them.
Danny whispered to his wife, “Maybe we’ll have our own little dancer soon.”
With a wide smile, Cathy nodded.
Then the lights dimmed and the band played. The evening passed in a happy blur. All too soon he was holding Cathy tight, moving in time with the familiar chords of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” followed by the last dance. Pressing his bride close, he realized how fortunate he was.
One day maybe he’d have enough courage to ask Cathy what she saw in him. For now, all he could do was marvel at the vibration of her heart beating in unison with his while they whirled around the dance floor.
Then it was over. Exiting through the back door, they slipped into a waiting limousine. They sped down the Kennedy Expressway to O’Hare International Airport. Under assumed names, they boarded a plane.
Nine hours later they arrived in Maui. With leis dangling around his and Cathy’s necks, Danny sat contentedly in a cab winding its way up the verdant hillside to the Christina Hotel. When they reached the penthouse honeymoon suite, in keeping with the time-old custom, he carried his bride over the threshold. Gently he set her down on the plush lavender carpet.
They silently faced each other. His heart pounded fiercely.
The lovely Cathy smiled back at him with trembling lips. Beneath the gauzy, cream colored dress, her breasts rose and fell rapidly.
“Cathy, darling.”
He bent to kiss her open lips, then reached to gently knead her shoulder blades.
At that, a sigh escaped her and her body swayed toward him. Reaching out, he luxuriated in the texture of his bride’s sparkling curls. With a slight touch, he turned her
face to his and gazed into the lovely, passion-filled eyes.
Still watching, he inched his fingers slowly downward, unfastening her zipper. At that point, she closed her eyes, too embarrassed to reveal her innermost thoughts.
He laid feather light kisses across his darling’s smooth skin. Soon the dress shimmered to the floor, yet there were other encumbrances to remove. Cathy’s pert, confined breasts swelled above her lacy bra. Nervously Danny reached for the clasp, fumbling with clumsy fingers until it gave.
As his hands caressed the freed creamy mounds, a moan escaped her. His tongue traced a downward path within the freckled valley. More obstructions awaited him, which he removed with moist hands matching his body’s temperature. Soon she stood, face flushed, in all her radiance.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he hurriedly divested himself of his clothes.
Reverently he touched her. She sighed and reached out for him with shy fingers turning ever bolder. He whisked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
There he lowered his new wife onto the velvet comforter of the four-poster bed.
“Now, Danny, please,” she begged.
He plunged in, feeling the wet smoothness close in around him like a moist glove. She gasped, whether from pain or pleasure he had no idea. He began slowly, savoring the precious moments.
Doing his best to please Cathy, he held out as long as he could. Soon her breath shot out in loud spurts, matching his. Outside the waves ebbed and surged in time with the rhythm of the earth.
He couldn’t wait any longer. In a dizzying paroxysm, he released himself inside of her. Cathy surrounded him with answering quivers.
When it was over, they clung to each other. She kissed and tasted him, her lips moving slowly downward.
He tentatively asked, “Cathy?”
She fulfilled his half-spoken wish.
Cathy was such a giving person. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. He was hers for the taking as her lips claimed every inch of him. He didn’t know if he deserved such happiness, but he dared not question it.
A riotous explosion shook him and he cried out with pleasure.
That was not enough. Soon he was plunging back inside her, as close as he could get. This was heaven on earth. Perhaps if they were lucky, a reward would be theirs in nine months. If so, he’d welcome the extension of their love.
Locked in her arms, he fell asleep to awake to a perfect morning. When room service rang, they hastily threw on their robes. The bell hop wheeled in huge plates of scrambled eggs, melons, sausages, bacon and crescents.
Danny instructed him to leave breakfast on the balcony table. He and Cathy nibbled as they sat overlooking the ocean. Soon the food was abandoned as they hurriedly disappeared inside.
Time sped forward until only two days remained. They’d spent most of their honeymoon indoors.
“Honey, why don’t we go down to the beach?”
She smiled and nodded.
Like the newlyweds they were, they held hands in the elevator going down. After they’d spread their towels on the sand, she lay face down. He protectively applied lotion on her back.
With his fingers skimming across the soft flesh barely covered by the turquoise bikini, he felt the tension mount. She shivered beneath his touch. He gently turned her over and saw her eyes darken with passion.
Furtively he glanced around. “How about it?” he whispered.
She bit her lip, but didn’t protest when he draped the towel over them. He divested himself of his trunks, pulled off the bottom of her suit and entered her, with the sand beneath them, surrounded by the glories of nature. As the waves pounded and their bodies merged, the once demure Cathy responded with abandon.
Afterward, she replaced her suit with shaky fingers, then looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. That was too much.
“I better cool off,” he said, throwing on his trunks.
She laughed knowingly. Cathy was no longer an innocent, but a full-fledged woman. On her, it looked terrific.
They ran into the waves, splashed and taunted each other under the sun, then strolled along the water’s edge, laughing as their feet sank into the sand.
With such fair skin, it wasn’t long before Cathy’s shoulders turned pink.
“We better get you indoors,” he said.
Danny prided himself on being her protector, though, at the moment, he had more than protection in mind. He proved that time and again during the remainder of their honeymoon.
All too soon, they were forced to abandon their make-believe world and pack for the flight home. One consolation was that on their return, they had something to look forward to. Between exhibition games and Cathy’s work at her new floral shop, they’d squeezed in enough time to discover a dream home in the quaint, tree-lined Sauganash section of Chicago.
The brick country-style house rested on three acres of land, affording ample space for any new additions to the family, plus the garden of Cathy’s dreams.
When they arrived at the front door, he again carried her over the threshold. They happily settled in, he tackling the wallpapering, she planting bulbs in anticipation of spring.
Minding the flowers, Cathy was in her element. When she wasn’t at home, she lost herself amidst the nosegays and greenery of her florist shop. Conscientiously she tended her domain, not only puttering with arrangements, but also performing the tiresome minutiae of utility bill payments, bookkeeping and cleanup. It wasn’t Cathy’s style to sit at home and let Danny provide for her.
She was perfect. He didn’t have to remind himself how lucky he was. Whenever he ventured out with his wife, men stared at her in admiration. Her beauty drew guys like a magnet, yet she seemed unaware of her power. Her eyes were only for him. The knowledge of her love made him humble yet proud. And to think, he’d almost given her up. Thank God he’d come to his senses.
Danny’s good fortune extended everywhere. He was now dubbed the team’s sixth man, the next best thing to being a first stringer. Life was wonderful.
At Christmas, the family congregated for dinner at Cathy’s parents’ home. His wife sparkled in a tartan silk vest over green toreador pants. He caught short glimpses of Dora in a cranberry sweater as she sped back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room.
After a delicious roast lamb and accompaniments, they all retired to the family room and sat contentedly. Dora volunteered to clean up, refusing Cathy and Danny’s offers of help. As soon as she’d rejoined them, Ted, removing his arm from Nancy’s shoulders, asked, “What about those presents?”
“Sit back…I’ll hand them out,” Dora said in a cheerful voice, though her eyes glinted brightly.
Why was she keeping so busy? Did she feel out of place in her own family?
Danny eyed Dora as she reached for the presents beneath the tree. Her earrings sparkled in the semi-darkness. The Christmas tree lights cast a twinkling glow, illuminating her face, making her appear sexy and mysterious.
“Here, Danny.”
He let go of his wife’s hand. Dora’s fingers brushed his as she handed over Cathy’s present. Ignoring the unexpected tingle, he turned and extended the gift-wrapped package to his wife.
At home later that evening he and Cathy exchanged their own private gifts beneath the seven-foot tree they’d picked out themselves at the forest preserve. Among its ornaments was one labeled Our First Christmas, which Cathy had discovered at a craft fair. They glanced at it and exchanged smiles.
Pushing aside disturbing thoughts of the lonely figure beneath the other Christmas tree, Danny gathered his wife into his arms. He made love to her amidst the twinkling lights of their own tree, while the aroma of pine needles tickled his nose. Life was good.
BY THE START of February, basketball season was in high gear. Now that Danny had become a valued member of the team, he was awarded more playing time. Things were going along great, but there was a down side. With success came recogn
ition. He was often besieged and interrupted at inopportune times. It wasn’t easy to play the gracious star, but he did his best. He remembered what it felt like to be an underdog.
After a particularly horrendous trip to the grocery store where they were mobbed and jostled, Cathy asked, “Danny, can’t you find another job?”
“You don’t mean that,” he countered. “Isn’t it fun being famous?”
In his heart he knew Cathy didn’t want the spotlight, just him. Well, compromises had to be made. Stuff had to be put up with. Nothing was perfect.
A WEEK LATER, HE sat on the bench, eagerly awaiting his playing time. It was an uninspiring game, five minutes into the first quarter, when Coach Dexter pointed to him. “Danny, get us some points.”
He sprinted out. Ronnie White stood surrounded by Blazers, so he passed to Danny in the back court.
Danny pivoted away from the Blazers’ center for a reverse dribble. As he spun back, the Blazers’ point guard blocked him. Cornered between the opposing center and guard, Danny had no room to maneuver. His right foot landed hard on the other guard’s. A shooting pain flashed through his ankle. His right foot crumbled beneath him. In a cold sweat, he sank to the floor.
Dr. Jack Halman, the team physician, rushed onto the court. After a cursory exam, he said, “We better get you to the hospital.”
Danny felt like bawling, but not from pain. In the bounce of a basketball, his career may have ended and his dreams died. He bit his bottom lip as he was carried off in a stretcher.
Cathy appeared beside him, frowning with concern. “Danny, are you all right?”
A fresh wave of pain hit him, making him grit his teeth. “My foot hurts like hell. I have to go to the hospital.”
“I’ll go with you.”
They quietly rode in the ambulance, amidst the wail of the siren.
When Danny arrived at Northwestern Hospital, he got the VIP treatment. A technician whisked him into a cubicle, took x-rays, did an ultrasound, and sped off. Danny awaited the results, nerves wreaking havoc on his stomach. Had his career ended before it had begun? What would he do without basketball?
It seemed forever before Dr. Halman approached. “Mr. Callaway, you’ve got a badly torn tendon. Healing such an injury can be more difficult than a broken bone. You’re going to need surgery.”
Fighting waves of disappointment and pain, Danny swallowed hard. “When can you operate?”
“I’m flattered by your confidence, but you need a specialist. He’ll be along soon.”
Maybe Dr. Halman had painted a worst-case scenario. Maybe the foot doctor would have better news. Half an hour passed before a middle-aged man in jeans and a polo shirt strode in and shook Dr. Halman’s hand. “How’s it going, Jack? I came over as soon as I heard.”
He turned to Danny and shook his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Callaway. I’m Dr. Warren Mason. Okay, let’s have a look at that foot.”
Unfortunately Dr. Mason’s diagnosis concurred with Dr. Halman’s. Danny need surgery, but it would have to wait until the swelling had subsided. In the meantime, Dr. Mason applied a temporary splint.
An hour later, armed with anti-inflammatories and pain pills, Danny exited the hospital in a wheelchair.
As he waited for a taxi with Cathy, the enormity of his situation hit him. This might be it. His career could be over. What would he do? Basketball meant almost as much to him as his wife. His life had been just right the way it was. Damn it, he better not lose basketball. The disturbing prospect haunted him, keeping him awake well into the night.
He wanted the surgery over, yet cringed at what could be the final result. The two weeks inched by. Finally, he again lay in a hospital room, this time getting prepped. Soon his fate would be decided.
He prayed, but wondered if God would listen to him. He wasn’t blameless. After all, he’d plotted to kill a man. How much weight did repentance carry? As the Demerol in the IV entered his bloodstream, he resigned himself to fate. He had no choice. What would be would be.
PAINKILLERS FOGGED DANNY’S brain. A wavy figure approached. It had to be Dr. Mason, which meant the surgery was over. There was something Danny had to ask, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Suddenly it came to him, along with a stabbing fear. How was his foot? Was it whole or had it suffered irreparable damage?
The doctor said something, but Danny couldn’t make it out above the pounding of his heart. “What did you say?”
“Mr. Callaway, I did the best I could, but it was tricky. I can’t guarantee a complete recovery. We’ll have to wait and see.”
That didn’t sound good. Danny glanced around wildly, his gaze settling on Cathy to his right. Her eyes held pity and something else that looked like relief. He knew she disliked his road trips, also his popularity.
Her reaction seemed like a betrayal. Maybe if he were a better man, it wouldn’t bother him. What had happened wasn’t her fault. It was only an accident. Only his life.
He’d never liked whiners, yet this time, he couldn’t help resorting to self-pity. His injury couldn’t have come at a worse time. He’d just begun to make a name for himself. If he didn’t recover, he’d never know how far he could have gone. He pursed his lips to keep from crying from frustration.
Dr. Mason patted his arm. “Don’t give up. You’ve still got a chance. In a few weeks, we’ll see about therapy.”
The man knew what Danny was going through. Maybe he was a sports fan. Danny flashed him a grateful look. He’d cling to the slim hope and run with it. Okay, maybe in his present condition that wasn’t the right terminology. He smiled wryly.
As he was wheeled out of the hospital and helped into Cathy’s Infiniti by the nurse’s aid, his foot throbbed mercilessly, almost mocking his determination to get better.
On the way home, he broached the subject with his wife. Without taking her eyes from the road, she said, “Danny, remember there are other things besides basketball. You’re healthy. You’ve still got your foot, though it may not be as strong as before. It might be something you’ll just have to accept. Everything happens for a reason.”
In a way she was right, yet her attitude seemed overly simplistic. The familiar irritation rose inside him. She’d be happy if he never stepped foot on a basketball court again.
She pulled into the driveway and opened the passenger door for him. Frowning, he balanced himself on the new crutches and hobbled into the house. The damn things were a nuisance. He hoped they wouldn’t be permanent.
The peal of the telephone jangled his spastic nerves. Cathy rushed to grab it. “Oh, hi, Dora, we just got back. Everything’s going fine.”
She didn’t seem too upset about his injury itself, only the fact he’d made it through surgery okay. Her attitude was getting to him. Did she have any idea how devastated he was?
Cathy handed him the cordless phone. “Honey, why don’t you tell Dora you’re okay? She sounds worried.”
He felt lightheaded and his foot killed him. Still he had enough strength left to yank the phone from Cathy’s hand. “Hello, Dora,” he said.
In the background, Cathy cheerfully said, “I’ll get some soup going.”
Fighting a feeling of desertion, he concentrated on the caller.
“Danny, are you all right?”
Dora’s concern was palpable. She really cared.
He couldn’t control the quaver in his voice. “Well, not really. I’m worried.” He told her about the doctor’s prognosis, then said, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t play basketball.”
“That’s terrible. I know what playing means to you. I’d give anything to help. The best thing to remember, Danny, is: don’t give up. If you try hard enough, you can make it back.”
After the sting of Cathy’s traitorous words, her sister’s advice was like a soothing balm. She really understood. He wasn’t alone. Having Dora’s support meant more to him than she’d ever imagine. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Thanks,
Dora. I needed to hear that. You’re right. I’ve got to try.”
Despite that, after he hung up, his spirits plummeted. It was hard to be optimistic when deep inside he had a horrible feeling.
Tony and Ritchie dropped by the following afternoon, momentarily succeeding in distracting him with jokes and antics. As soon as they’d left, depression set in. The familiar questions sped through his mind. What if he couldn’t play? What if basketball were taken away from him? What would he do?
The phone rang all weekend, driving him crazy. Reporters, friends, ex-schoolmates, everyone wanted to know what he didn’t know. He wished to God he could enlighten them.
Sunday night, the phone again interrupted their dinner. Cathy moved to answer it. She returned with a pleased expression on her face. “Danny, I’m having Dora drop by tomorrow to keep an eye on you.”
His heart banged as swift fear vied with riotous elation. “But Cathy, I don’t...”
“I know you don’t think it’s necessary, but I’d feel better if she were here. Dear, it’s important I get to the shop. An audit plus lots of other things are waiting there for me. I don’t want you alone.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she placed her finger over his lips.
“Honey, it’s too soon for you to get around. We can’t take a chance on your getting worse.”
He relented, but felt uneasy. Cathy thought she was doing him a favor, but she might be causing more harm than good. If she could read his mind, its contents would not be pretty. He still felt unhappy about Cathy’s unspoken relief over the possibility of his leaving basketball. He didn’t want to resent her, yet he couldn’t help it.
He loved his wife, yet at this point he felt extremely vulnerable. It was not a good time for Dora to be around. The seeds of doubt had been sown and he was powerless to ignore them. Cathy’s sister understood him. Right now he needed to be with someone like that, someone who’d encourage him and tell him he still had a chance.
He glanced at Cathy, but her innocent face revealed no idea of his torment. He’d keep it that way. She must never guess. There had to be a way out of this. “Doesn’t Dora have law school?”
“Yes, but remember, she’s through early on Mondays, so she can get over here by three-thirty. I told her the key will be under the flowerpot, so you won’t have to get up. You’ll see. It’ll all work out fine. She’ll fix dinner and that’ll give me a break too. I may have to stay late at the shop.”
He almost choked on his food. Feeling like a craven coward, he badly wanted Cathy here to protect him. Appetite gone, he pushed aside his plate.
That evening he couldn’t sleep. No matter which position he tried, he was uncomfortable. His foot hurt despite the medication. On top of that, anticipation welled inside of him at the thought of seeing Dora. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas and next week was already Valentine’s Day.
A picture stole into his mind of Dora wearing the cranberry sweater, sitting alone under the McGuires’ Christmas tree. The ornament-shaped earrings glinted in her ears, catching the reflection of the flashing tree lights. Her eyes flashed with unshed tears. Her full breasts strained as she passed over the brightly wrapped presents.
He’d told himself then, as he did now, it’s wrong to lust after your wife’s sister.
He and Cathy had made love that very night under their own Christmas tree. The urge had been strong, but had he given into it to block out the image of Dora? How would it have felt to have Dora beneath him instead?
As soon as the traitorous thoughts slipped into his mind, he wished he could take them back. It wasn’t right to think of Dora as he lay beside his wife.
His ears caught the sound of Cathy’s soft breaths. She was his angel. She’d put up with a lot. To be honest, he had to admit his road trips were rough on her. After a long day at the shop, she had to feel lonesome stepping into an empty house. He shouldn’t blame her if she wished he had another job. Yet he did. And he knew Dora didn’t share Cathy’s feelings. Resentment flared. Why couldn’t Cathy be more like her sister? Swearing inside, he punched the pillow.
The next morning, after his wife had left, he sat upright with anticipation in the wing chair, his bad foot braced on the ottoman. A thin afghan placed by Cathy lay across his lap to ward off possible chill.
By two o’clock, though it was too early, he was already listening for the sound of a car engine. The television was on, but he couldn’t concentrate on it. He was bored with sitting around. Dora would be a welcome distraction.
The sleep he’d lost the night before finally caught up with him. He didn’t hear the key turning in the lock.
Suddenly she was beside him, her hand reaching to lift the fallen afghan. When he moved, she jerked her fingers back. Her full breasts hung almost even with his mouth and jiggled inside the gold turtleneck sweater.
She caught the direction of his gaze and blushed. Her flickering eyes turned the same burnished gold as her sweater. It was no use pretending everything was fine. He was deathly afraid of this woman.
“I’m sorry I woke you up. Does your foot hurt a lot?”
God, she was magnificent. He could only stare at her. The silence stretched. He had to say something. This was embarrassing. “I’ve got drugs. I’m managing,” he finally answered.
She nodded, assuming a cloak of professionalism. “Well, I better get started with dinner. Cathy told me she’s got a pot roast around here somewhere.” She almost ran from the room.
The vibrations remained. He sat in his chair, bewildered and upset, wishing for, yet not wanting, Dora to come back into the room. After all, there was only so much a man could take.
With the familiar sound of pots clanging, reason returned. The kitchen was Cathy’s domain. Dora was an interloper and didn’t belong there. His face hardened. He loved his wife. He would not let anyone destroy their relationship.
Fortunately, Dora didn’t test him. Only once did she assist him into the bathroom, then wait discreetly outside. Other than that, she kept her distance, preparing their meal, occasionally sticking her head into the family room to check up on him.
By five-thirty, she announced dinner was ready. Fear shot through him. He wasn’t prepared to sit across the table from her. What truths would he be tempted to blurt out?
Just then the front door opened.
“That smells wonderful. Did everyone eat already?”
Danny saw Dora frown, then compose her face. “Hi, Cath. We’re just getting ready to sit down.”
“How’s my patient?” Cathy asked, bending over to brush Danny’s cheek.
He kissed her with surprising intensity, breathing in her fresh floral scent. “I missed you,” he said, relief flooding through him. Thank God his sweet angel had rescued him.
“Well, now I’m back. I finished earlier than I thought. Why don’t we all sit down and eat? It’s not every day we have Dora here to prepare a nice meal for us. We can’t let it go to waste.”
He hobbled to the table and concentrated on doing justice to Dora’s cooking. As he did so, he focused on his wife. Cathy was his all. He loved her. He mustn’t forget that.
After apple pie á la mode, they all retired to the family room. Before long, Dora rose to leave. “Well, I’ve got another three chapters to read for a test tomorrow.”
Amidst high praise for her culinary skills, she took off. As soon as the door closed, Danny felt himself relax. He’d had a close call. He’d never put himself in that position again.
“Cathy, can you help me?” he asked his wife, who was seated next to him at the table.
She frowned in concern. “What is it honey? Does your ankle hurt?”
“No, something else needs attending to.” He shot her a leering grin.
“What about your foot?”
“We’ll work around it,” he said, reaching for Cathy, his only salvation in a crazy, mixed-up world.
THE FOLLOWING WEEK he saw Dr. Mason. “Danny, let’s start with that therapy and
see how it goes.”
Danny uncomplainingly practiced all the foot exercises and fitness routines. If he didn’t succeed, it wouldn’t be for want of trying.
That still left the remaining hours of the day to fill. He found himself thinking too much. It didn’t help to read the blurb in the Chicago Tribune about Kevin filing an appeal and demanding a DNA test. Mary Alice’s rape and murder, as well as Danny’s own role in Kevin’s conviction, were outlined in detail in the article as well.
Apparently, after all this time the missing DNA samples had been relocated in the evidence room.
Danny snorted. Kevin was definitely guilty. Why did he even bother with an appeal? Didn’t he know how sophisticated the tests were?
He hobbled up and tossed the paper into the recycle bin. Thank goodness Cathy hadn’t seen it. He still hadn’t told her what had happened and didn’t want her to learn this way. She had no idea of the suppressed hatred and bitterness that lingered inside him, threatening to burst out at the slightest provocation. She thought he was different.
The back door swung open. Guilt flashed through him.
“Should you be on your feet?” Cathy asked.
He sat down awkwardly. “You’re right, but it’s already Monday. All that Sunday paper stuff was getting in the way.”
“Darn, I never have time to read that,” she said, reaching into the fridge to prepare dinner. He could make it himself, even with a bad foot, but she enjoyed playing homemaker.
“The therapist said my foot’s getting better. There’s still hope I might play.”
A frown crossed her face as she pulled out two Cornish hens. “Danny, like I’ve said before, it’s not the end of the world if you don’t go back. There’re plenty of other things you can do.”
He watched her rinse the poultry. Basketball meant a lot to him. She just didn’t get it. Maybe he shouldn’t have married her. Lately they didn’t seem as compatible as he’d thought.
Dora understood. In fact, she’d encouraged him to get back to basketball. Why couldn’t Cathy? Had he married the wrong sister?
“What did you do today?” Cathy asked, straightening up after placing the birds in the oven.
“Not much, as always.” Maybe that was it. He needed something to occupy himself with. Then he wouldn’t get these crazy ideas about ditching his wife.
The next morning, he grabbed the phone and dialed Dean’s Computers. A temporary job as a software technician was available. With his solid computer skills, the company was only too happy to take him on.
After a two-week brush-up, he hit the trenches. When distraught callers presented their problems, they had no idea they were speaking to Danny, the basketball player. To them, he was a savior rescuing their computers. Their undying gratitude gave him satisfaction, but it was a poor substitute for his fans’ approbation.
He still watched the games, even though it hurt to see his teammates play without him. He ached to rush out and help, but could only sit impatiently with his foot propped.
For the first time he understood what it meant to be disabled. It was depressing to think some people had no hope of recovery. The thought made him doubly appreciate what he’d taken for granted. If his condition did improve, he’d be forever grateful to God. Father Francisco had said something to him in confession about making others happy. When his condition stabilized, he’d definitely do some charity work.
In the meantime, he continued with therapy. The cast was cut off.
Who knew it would be so hard to do such simple things as wiggling his toes or bending his foot? It was amazing how the nerves and bones were connected together in such a fashion that, if one part hurt, the pain traveled to another.
AN ARDUOUS SIX months of alternating depression and hope passed. The swelling began to subside, as did the pain. The crutches were abandoned. Tentative steps became confident ones.
Then one day with a smile, his therapist, Marie, said, “Mr. Callaway, you’re amazing. Your ankle’s almost back to one hundred per cent.”
Dr. Mason was so pleased he released Danny without restrictions. Barring unforeseen circumstances, he could continue on where he’d left off.
He could play again. It was like a miracle. Danny’s heart pounded with joy. He couldn’t wait to get back into the game.
He had to. The season was over. Practice wouldn’t begin for two long months. Three-fourths of a year had passed since he’d set foot on a basketball court. Would his game suffer? Would his ankle hold up?