Life on the Porcelain Edge

by C. E. Hilbert

  “You don’t have to help.” Tessa offered, but spoke to the floor, yearning for the scarred wood surface to open. “You should go watch the DVD with Daddy and Emma. Eat pie. Anything but put your hands and fingers in jeopardy of a bloody mess from my eternal clumsiness.”

  “These hands made it through three years in the Big Ten and four in the NFL. I think they can survive one drinking glass—but I appreciate the forewarning.”

  Holding the largest pieces, she rested back on her heels and lifted an eyebrow. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “True.” A smile lit his face.

  Her heart twisted with the warmth and welcome reflected in the now charcoal depths of his eyes.

  “Found it!” Lily tip-toed back into the dining room holding the broom and dust pan as if one were a snake and the other was a dead rat.

  Swallowing against the growing lump in her throat, Tessa reached for the cleaning supplies.

  Ryland swiped them from her grasp.

  “Hey…”

  “You are not cleaning up glass barefooted.” His voice dropped to coach-in-charge tone.

  She glanced to her feet, surrounded by sparkling shards. “And just how do you think I will extricate myself from the sea of glass without a broom and dustpan? Fly?”

  “Sure.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and tugged her to his side, lifting her feet a good six inches above the floor.

  Against his solid length, she felt small and delicate. His touch was light, and yet she never feared he would drop her. Needle pricks rose and fell in waves where their bodies touched. Her cheeks warmed—but she would be kidding herself if she thought she was suffering the lingering effects of Lily Mae’s dinner.

  Balancing her to his side, he toddled to the edge of the steps leading upstairs. With the grace of a dancer, he tenderly lowered her until her toes touched the bottom step. His fingers lingered against her side for a moment, his palm on her waist emanating heat.

  Twisting to face him, her hands dropped to his shoulders. She drew her gaze up his broad shoulder to his sinewy, muscled neck. Licking her lips, she lifted her gaze to his. Standing just under eye level on the step, their mouths were less than a breath apart. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “No problem. Glass. Feet. Bad.”

  “Daddy,” Emma called from the living room.

  Pushing a long sigh through his lips, he released her waist and slid a step from her.

  “Comes watch the new princes DBD Pastor Tom’s gots. She has hairs just like mines.”

  “Honey. I’m helping Miss Tessa.” A smile tugged at his full lips. “I keep trying with her grammar. My mom drilled it into all six of us, but sometimes when she messes words up—like ‘D B D’ or adds an extra ‘s’— my heart twists. I try and lock the memories deep because I know she’ll be proper in the flash of an eye, and I’ll long for her horrible grammar and wonder at the world.”

  Tessa nodded. Unable to speak, her heart was doing some twisting of its own.

  ~*~

  Pie with the pastor and his biggest fan—Emma Jessup—was turning into the most delightful evening.

  Ryland had doubted the wisdom of accepting Pastor Tom’s invitation for dessert, but when Emma overheard, he had zero viable excuses for vacating the generous offer. After losing her mother, his daughter struggled with any changes in her routine. And Pastor Tom’s sudden heart attack in front of the congregation shot fear into his tiny daughter’s soul. No number of Daddy’ll-make-it-better kisses eased her panic. Each time Emma was able to physically touch Pastor Tom, she was reassured he wasn’t going to fly away to heaven like her momma.

  Ryland swiped the floor with a wet paper towel to ensure the final glass shards were in the trash bin. His mind flashed to the vision of Tessa wiping her neck with the glass, and his mouth went dry. The feel of her against his side lingered and filled him with a rising smoke of passion. He shuttered his eyes, resting his forehead against his fist. Lord, help me. I can’t do this alone.

  “The floor’s not going to mop itself, Yankee.” Lily’s southern demand rolled over his spine.

  His fingers clenched against the rag. Lifting his gaze to her, he forced a broad grin. “Almost finished. Just saying a quick prayer.”

  “In the middle of the floor?” Her hand rested against her hip jutting her elbow out like a sail. Maybe she’d fly away sooner than expected. One could dream.

  “Never a bad time to pray, is there?”

  “Hmmm. Well, make sure you wipe up one more time. Glass can be a slippery little sucker. You never know when a shard’ll sneak out, poke through, and make a big old mess.” With a flip of her hair, Lily stepped over him and snagged a piece of pie on her way to the living room.

  A final shove of the rag convinced him the floor hadn’t been this clean since the day Mrs. Tarrington passed away. Pushing to stand he was reminded of why he opted to retire from the NFL. He wanted to be able to run with his grandchildren one day, but his knees and hips had other plans. He creaked like an old rocker against a cedar porch. “Ouch.”

  Tessa descended into the room. “Was that your knee?” She’d slipped her bare feet into cozy sheepskin boots and twisted her long hair into a lopsided bun.

  He nodded. “What the NFL doesn’t tell you is you enter with the body of a twenty-one year old and leave with the body of a fifty year old.”

  “Do you miss it?” She slid a piece of chocolate pie on a plate and offered it to him in exchange for the rag.

  Accepting the pie, he sat on an empty chair, thankfully avoiding the princess DVD of the evening. A single twenty-six-year-old man could only handle so many hours of singing cartoons before losing street cred.

  Wiping her hands against her jeans, she slid onto a chair beside him. “So, do you miss it? I’ve had several former athletes as clients and walking away—retiring—is universally the hardest thing most of them do.” She reached for her own piece of pie.

  The room echoed with the distant high pitched twang of a cartoon sing along.

  He shoved a large bite into his mouth, giving his mind the opportunity to process her question. For some reason, he didn’t want to give her his standard reporter worthy answer: I gave the NFL everything I had, and the NFL reciprocated. My time was done. I made the best choice for my family.

  The answer was solid and beautifully scripted to make a Sports Center clip, but the answer wasn’t the truth. In reality, his body played a full season, maybe a season and a half, longer than its expiration date. He’d been shot up with every known substance to help him quickly heal. Pain killers were as common with his breakfast as coffee and vitamins. In the whirl of his career, his baby daughter saw him at photo shoots, or during an occasional off weekend. His marriage was an empty shell of what he’d thought it had been. The only glue holding it together was his professional athlete status. That was his truth. But was he ready to share his truth with Tessa? Was he ready to be weak and show her more flaws—real flaws? His fork tinkled as he tapped to the rhythm of the distant princess melody. Tessa’s gaze tugged at him.

  “If it’s too hard to talk about you don’t have to.” Picking at the end of her pie, she lifted a shoulder. “I used to get paid to discover the heart of my clients’ stories. I can be a bit nosy.”

  Dropping his fork, he massaged his temple. His eyes drifted shut as the last year washed over him like a stinging summer rain. “I just don’t talk about it much.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Macy’s death is so tightly woven into the fabric and timing of me retiring from football. It’s hard to separate the two.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t ready to share.”

  He scooped a heaping bite into his mouth and allowed the creamy richness of the chocolate to slide across his tongue as he wrestled with unlocking the secrets he held so close to his chest. Would Tessa think less of him?

  Macy had said that giving up football made him less of a man. “A warrior fights, Ry. You’re just a quitter. I can’t be marrie
d to a quitter. Your choice. The NFL and me. Or retirement and nothing.”

  Her threat drove him to play—relying on chemical support to sprint towards three hundred pound O-Linemen designed to crush him. But nothing could save his marriage. Could he trust Tessa with all of his failure? Could he trust her with the wounds of his heart? Could he leap and land safely? With half shuttered eyes, he lifted his gaze to her clean green scrutiny; it offered no judgment, only comfort.

  “When I graduated early, the move was fairly strategic. My body was beginning to show signs of wear. I was concerned I wouldn’t make it through another brutal Big Ten beating without a career-limiting injury. My mom wanted me to quit. Get my Masters. Teach. Coach. Move home. She kept telling me it was just a game. The Lord had a bigger plan for me. But I convinced myself the Lord needed me to have the big stage of professional sports to tell His story. Can you imagine the arrogance?” He chuckled. “God needing me to tell His story.”

  “God can use all situations and callings to His glory. I’m certain you’ve heard that from Pastor Tom a time or two,” she said with a wink.

  “True, but my heart was deceiving my mind. And my heart was being twisted by Macy. Don’t get me wrong; she didn’t have to bend far for me to be convinced her path was the right one. More money meant more mission work. More fame meant more glory for God. Bigger stage, bigger voice. When you want to believe a lie, there doesn’t need to be a whole lot of convincing.

  “I was beyond blessed to be taken so early in the draft—guaranteeing a signing bonus and a substantial rookie contract. Macy was right about the timing. The following year, ten potential top round linebackers entered the draft as juniors and three fell to the fifth round, one to the sixth and the others went undrafted.” He pushed at his pie as the images of those years came flickering back.

  “God definitely blessed my first year in the NFL. We had Emma and the veteran middle linebacker I was two deep behind was a man after God’s own heart. Rick had a scripture for every experience, emotion or episode. He claimed God’s power and mercy in a near miraculous way. I would rush home after practice bursting to share something I’d learned from Rick—either on the field about the game or off the field about the Lord—but Macy was too consumed with the charitable organizations of the other wives and girlfriends. She was busier than I was, and she asked if we could hire a nanny a few days a week to help her with Emma. Pretty soon two days turned into every day and every day became full time. My daughter knew two people extremely well: Mabel, and the driver who took them places. I was traveling, and Macy was…” Shaking his head he wanted to spit out the bitterness filling his mouth. He didn’t want to hold anger towards his wife. He was afraid one day his mistrust and dislike of her would bleed into his conversations with his daughter—tainting the fading image she held of her mother.

  He trailed a finger around the edge of his plate. Silence shrouded the dining room. The high pitched chirping of the sing-a-long video punctured the space like pinpricks, painfully reminding him of the commitment he’d made to The Lord, and to Macy, not to disclose. The weight of her secrets tethered him to her. Would he ever be free if he held tight to the life Macy fabricated?

  “Macy was?” Tessa’s voice, barely above a whisper, was a rope down the pit where he’d tumbled. Reaching for the lifeline, he hauled himself upward toward the light and glanced at her. The compassion, mixed with curiosity gave him pause. The question that kept him silence for nearly a year lingered. Could he trust anyone? Could he trust her? His throat constricted with growing thickness. A small trickle of cool perspiration raced down his back. He dropped his focus to the smooth glossy finish of the table.

  “Ryland, you don’t have to tell me, but you need to tell someone. Pain only has power when we hold onto it. But when we give a wound air, let it receive the treatment it needs, the pain lessens and that’s where God does His finest healing. Even the best doctor can’t cure a pain if we don’t tell him where it hurts. He needs you to share with Him where you hurt. Let Him heal you.”

  A wave of calm knowing washed over his spirit. Pastor Tom had been gently nudging him to share since his return to Gibson’s Run, but every time he was on the edge of exposing his failure in marriage and fatherhood, the weight of shame shut his mouth. What would his family say? His friends? Macy’s friends? How could he face his daughter? The eddy of doubt nearly drowned him.

  “That’s a pretty hefty speech.” His lips curled, the pressure in his chest growing and burning to be released.

  “You learn a thing or two growing up a PK.” She winked. “I may have stolen the sentiment—packaged it in my own dialogue.”

  “Good writing.” His voice trailed on the breath of exhaustion. He was tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of protecting a life that was nothing more than carnival glass—warped and distorted images of reality.

  “Macy was in love with the life of professional sports. She didn’t care the price. Addicted to the rarified air breathed by the circle of premier athletes and celebrities. The more she consumed, the more she needed. But I loved her. Worked hard to give her the dream. She seemed happy and that made me happy. Playing was OK—different than high school or college. I love football for the game, but more for what the game represents. Eleven guys on the field all working together for the same goal. Layers of support from the bench all cheering in the same voice. Hearts beating together.

  “The pros are different. Some guys love the sport. But it’s like any other job. Many people are just in it for the money. Makes mission and purpose a far cry from everyday. After my second year, the team doctor gave me a clear warning. I should think long and hard about playing. The next hit would likely be last. My mom was right. Football wasn’t worth my life. Before the door closed to his office, I called my agent and asked him to draw up my intent to retire.

  “My determination was short lived. When I told Macy I wanted to stop playing and start coaching, teaching—get back to what I loved about the sport my father gifted to me—she didn’t respond exactly as I planned. She gave me an ultimatum: football and her, or retiring and divorce.”

  “Oh, Ryland…”

  “Divorce doesn’t happen in the Jessup family. God first. We take commitment very seriously. So I did what I had to do. I went to the ‘unapproved’ doctor and started getting extra help. It started small. A shot in my knee by the team doc, and then a visit to Dr. Dex for some extra push through the pain pills. By the end of season three I was in a haze most of the time. Angry for no reason. Crying in rage. Going days without sleeping. Then crashing for twenty hours straight.” His thick fingers zoomed against the smooth wood with enough force he was surprised a divot didn’t follow in their wake. Bravery eluded him. He refused to lift his gaze to the anticipated judgment blended with pity in Tessa’s eyes.

  “I failed a random drug test at the end of the season, but because most of what was in my system was a mix of prescribed meds, the team and the league offered me private counseling and a one game suspension—listing me on the IR. I remember sitting in front of my locker. Packing my bag and knowing I shouldn’t ever return. I called Rick and sought his counsel. He boxed my ears through the phone, but confirmed what I knew: I needed to stop before I couldn’t.

  “Macy’s ultimatum was still in place, but she added to her threat. She said she would file for sole custody, claiming I was an unfit parent and a drug addict. Keep Emma from me, my mom, and my sisters. I couldn’t let that happen, not if it was within my control. I went back to Dr. Dex but refused any oral pain medication. Just wanted shots. I could push through the pain if my swiftly aging body could stay in one piece. But I also had my agent working on a counter plan. I wouldn’t be handcuffed without a way to have my child in my life.

  “To the outside world, we appeared to be the perfect couple, cutting ribbons at Children’s Hospital and eating pie at the State Fair; but behind closed doors the Cold War was friendlier. We stopped speaking during mini-camp. When training camp started, I thankfully lived onsi
te and was never so grateful for the guise of hotel room living than when the season started. On our first bi-week, Macy flew to the Bahamas with some friends and my mom came for a visit with Emma. She knew something was wrong, and in her infinite meddling wisdom she told me to fix it or let go. ‘The shadow lands of doubt are no place to live, little boy.’ And the message was cool relief in my barren soul.

  “I went to our team chaplain and asked him for guidance. He gave me Luke 6:37 as a touchstone. ‘Do not judge and you will not be judged. Do not condemn and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.’ I knew I need to forgive myself and forgive Macy for the decisions that led us to where we were. From that moment I kept missing her. I’d pick up Em for dinner and Macy would be at a fundraiser. I left tickets for a game and found one of my sisters or Macy’s parents in the stands instead of her. Two weeks before the end of the season, I decided to just drop by. I knew Mabel would have Emma at a play class downtown and the house would be empty. I needed to pray in the place where our marriage broke and hope the Lord could intervene. What I found…what I found…” The final notes of his tragic love story waned and his stomach curdled at the thought of rejection and disgust he would see reflected in the eyes he had loved his whole life.

  How could he tell Tessa his wife, the woman who’d promised God she would love Ryland above all others had chosen someone else? That he wasn’t man enough to keep Macy’s love safe and protected. He sucked in a deep breath—filling his lungs to the point of burning. His fingers pressed against the table, the pressure flipping the tips to white.

  Splat.

  A tear dropped beside his hand. He swiped at the escaping emotion. How had he succumbed to the wickedness of his past yet again? Crying in front of Tessa. He plummeted. Head first into the pit.

  “She was wrong.” Tessa slid her hand across the table and squeezed his fingers sending soft billows of heat mixed with comfort through his spirit.