She shook her head, but her gaze never left her husband and Charlene. “No, I’ll wait.”
Her eyes were dry now, and anger pulsed through her, glazing her heart with hard, empty bitterness. Get away from him, lady. This is our moment, not yours. Abby stared at Charlene, hating her. John’s voice echoed in her heart once more, but this time his words had nothing to do with dancing.
And everything to do with divorce.
This was the weekend they’d agreed to tell the kids. The weekend they would shatter their family’s mistaken belief that Abby and John were perhaps the most happily married people in all the world. Abby sighed. No matter how it felt to see John with Charlene, the reality was he could talk to the teacher or any other woman for that matter. In a few months, John would be single, after all. As would Abby. She hugged herself tightly, trying to will away the nausea that swirled around inside her. Why does it still hurt, Lord?
No magic answers came to mind, and Abby wasn’t sure if she wanted to disappear or bolt down onto the field and join them so that Charlene would feel too uncomfortable to stay.
I thought I was past this, God. We’ve already agreed to move on. What’s happening to me? Abby tapped her foot against the concrete stadium floor and shifted positions, hating the way the other woman seemed unfettered, lovely and young and without the burdens of two decades of marriage. What was this feeling assaulting her? Jealousy?
No, it felt more like regret. Abby’s pulse quickened. It couldn’t be, could it? What was there to regret? Hadn’t they both realized the place they were in, the place they were headed?
Or was this how it would always feel to see John with another woman?
Her vision clouded over, and again she heard John’s voice from long ago. “Dance with me, Abby . . . dance with me.”
The silent words faded from her mind and she blinked back fresh tears. One thing was certain: if this was how being divorced was going to feel, she’d better get used to it.
No matter how much she hated it.
Two
THE STADIUM WAS EMPTY, STREWN WITH CRUSHED Gatorade cups and half-eaten hot dogs. Assorted remnants of blue and gray hung from the student section, proof that the Marion Eagles had indeed been there, that John and Kade had accomplished their lifelong dream and won a state championship together.
Abby wandered down the steps to the field and across the grass toward the locker room. John would still be inside, talking to the press, going over the game’s great plays with the other coaches, picking up after his team.
Savoring the moment as long as possible.
There was a bench just outside the visitors’ door and Abby sat down, gazing across the empty field. Kade, Nicole, Matt, and Sean were holding a table for them at Smokey’s Pizza a block down the street from the stadium. Abby’s father was waiting in the car. She studied the muddied lines and the way the goalposts stood proudly erect on either side of the field. Had it only been an hour ago that the place had been packed, an entire crowd holding its collective breath while Kade threw the final touchdown?
Abby shivered and buried her hands deep in her pockets. The temperature had fallen, but that had little to do with the terrifying cold that reigned in her heart.
A Marion assistant coach walked out and stopped when he saw her. “Hey, Abby.” A smile took up most of his face. “How ’bout them Eagles.”
She chuckled softly. No matter what painful twists her life was about to take, she would remember their football days as absolutely wonderful. Every player, every coach, every season . . . all of it a mosaic of memories she would cherish forever. “Amazing. A dream come true.”
The man huffed slightly and shook his head, gazing into the winter sky. He was the biggest coach on staff, a former lineman with a reputation for getting in kids’ faces. But here in the quiet shadows of a stadium void of cheering fans and the guttural grunts of sixty teenagers in full warrior gear, Abby noticed his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and caught her gaze.
“If I live a hundred years, I’ll never forget the way John and Kade worked together tonight. They’re magic, those two.” He crossed his arms and stared up at the stadium lights, trying to compose himself. In a moment, he looked at her again. “What a ride, Abby, you know? I’m just glad I got to be part of it.”
“Me, too, Coach.” The corners of Abby’s mouth lifted slightly as a layer of tears clouded her vision. She gestured toward the locker room. “Is he almost finished?”
“Yep, last reporters left a few minutes ago. He’s just getting his things.” The coach smiled at her again as he set off. “Well . . . see ya next year.”
Abby nodded, afraid her voice would betray her if she tried to speak. There won’t be a next year for us . . . for me.
When the coach was gone, Abby thought about John, about their wedding more than twenty-one years earlier. What had happened to the people they were back then, the people who had walked through fire together and come out stronger on the other side?
Forget it, Abby. The coach was right. It was over now; she was just glad she’d been a part of it. Abby wished with everything in her she could go back in time, even an hour back to the moments before the final touchdown when John’s long-ago dreams all were coming true.
All but one.
Five minutes later, John came through the door and saw her there. Abby thought of Charlene, her arms around John after the game. Do I hug him like she did? Do I nod politely?
There was an uncomfortable silence while he held her gaze.
“Abby . . .” He spoke softly, but every word was coated in exhilaration. “We did it!” His eyes sparkled with an electricity that would take days, weeks to diffuse, and it beckoned her in a way she was powerless to resist. As sure as gravity, they came together, and Abby circled her arm around his neck, burying her head against his shoulder.
“I can’t believe it! State champs!” She savored the comforting feel of his heart thudding inside his chest, and it occurred to her that months had passed since they’d hugged this way.
“I know.” He pulled back, his eyes as full of life and hope and promise as they’d been two decades earlier.
There was a smudge of mud on his cheek, and she erased it gently with her thumb. “Best in the state, you and Kade. Amazing.”
He drew her to him again and they stayed that way, their bodies close, swaying slightly. His arms securely around her waist, hers holding on more tightly than usual.
Every moment was steeped in a desperate finality.
John pulled away first, and Abby hugged herself to ward off the sudden chill. “Could you believe that last touchdown?” He grabbed his gym bag from the bench and grinned at her. “Kade was something else . . .”
Abby smiled back. “Beautiful.”
John stared out at the field as if he were watching a replay in his mind. “I’ve pictured this day ever since Kade first learned to throw.”
They started walking toward the stadium steps, their feet keeping time in a familiar rhythm. John swung the bag up onto his shoulder. “Abby, about this weekend . . .”
The rock in her stomach grew. “What?”
He studied the ground. “I don’t feel right about it . . . what I mean is, the kids . . .” His eyes found hers as they kept walking. “I don’t care what the counselors say; we can’t tell them now.” His forehead was creased with concern. “Not after tonight. They’ll be celebrating right through Christmas, Abby. They have a right to that.”
Abby felt her shoulders tense as a burst of nervous tension spewed into her veins. “They have a right to know the truth.”
His eyelids were heavy with sorrow. “We’ll tell them soon enough.” His steps slowed and he stared hard at her, begging her to understand. “Come on, Abby. This is the happiest day in Kade’s life. And before you know it, Christmas’ll be here. Can’t it wait?”
She stopped walking and stared at her husband, one hand on her hip. “What are we supposed to do, John? Pretend forever?�
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His jawline hardened but he said nothing.
Stop, daughter. A kind word turns away anger.
Abby heard the still, small voice somewhere in the distant corners of her soul, but she shook her head. John had brought this on, after all. Why cover for him now?
“What good does waiting do?” She crossed her arms and huffed. “We should’ve told them last month.” She hesitated. “You can’t be the good guy forever, John.” Don’t say it, Abby . . . “Even if you are state champs.”
“Here we go.” John removed his Marion High baseball cap and dug his fingers through his damp, dark hair. “What do you want, Abby? A fight? Right here on the fifty-yard line?”
She thought of a dozen quick comebacks but held her tongue. “I’m just saying we should have told them by now. For goodness sake, John, we’re filing in January. They won’t know what hit them if we don’t say something soon.”
His face twisted, and she thought he might cry. He looked like a little boy who’d lost his best friend, and for a crazy instant she wanted to take him in her arms and beg him to stay, beg him to break it off with Charlene and love only her, Abby, for the rest of his life. Her heart softened. We’re both wrong, John. Isn’t what we’ve built worth another try? But before she could find the courage to voice the words, the feeling vanished. I must be crazy. We’re too far gone for second chances . . .
Nothing is impossible with God, My child.
Abby closed her eyes. That time she was sure the silent voice in her heart belonged to the Lord. We tried. You know we did . . . But even You would grant me an out in this situation . . . Your word says so, doesn’t it?
I hate divorce, daughter . . . Nothing is impossible with—
It’s too late . . . Her eyes opened. “Listen, I just want to get through this.”
He was still watching her, but his sadness had changed to determination. “We can file in February. We’ve waited this long. Let’s get through Christmas.”
The image of John and Charlene taunted her. “Ho ho ho,” she whispered.
“What?” John’s voice rose a notch.
She cocked her head. “Let’s just say I’m not in the mood for the holidays.”
John gritted his teeth. “I swear, Abby, all you ever think about is yourself. It’s Christmas, remember? That used to mean something to you.”
Don’t do this to me, John. Don’t pretend like it matters when it doesn’t. Images came to mind of her and John wandering the hallways of their house in recent years . . . silent, tense, loveless. “Yeah, back when I used to mean something to you.”
They stood planted there, face to angry face, the chasm between them growing with each breath. Abby broke the silence first. “Don’t make me the bad guy. I don’t want to ruin their Christmas, either.” She gestured at herself. “I’m just trying to be realistic.”
“Selfish, you mean?” He was struggling to keep his voice down.
“No, realistic!” Her words were little more than a hiss. “I hate pretending!”
The muscles in John’s jaw flinched. “You think I like it? I’m not talking about us here, Abby. I’m talking about the kids. We’ll tell them after the holidays, and that settles it.”
He started walking and Abby wanted to scream. “Wait!”
John stopped and after a beat, turned back to her. “What?”
She exhaled, struggling to control the emotions that rocked her heart. She couldn’t imagine another moment trapped in a house with John while he was in love with another woman . . . and through Christmas?
Then it occurred to her that the holidays were apt to be busy, anyway. Her shoulders slumped. Oh, what did it matter? Maybe John was right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if the kids had less time to get used to the idea. Maybe she could survive waiting for their sake. As long as the divorce came quickly after that. “Okay . . . fine. After Christmas.” She hesitated. “But keep your hands off Charlene in public, will you? At least until after we’ve told the kids.”
John’s eyes widened and his anger became indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on . . .” Her mouth hung open. Why did he insist on lying to her? What was the point? “It means I have no intention of looking the other way while you run around with your girlfriend just so we can give the kids a happy Christmas.”
John took a step toward her, his expression growing hard as flint. “You know, I’m sick of you blaming this on Charlene. Our decision to divorce is separate from my friendship with her. It’s because you’ve changed . . . we’ve both changed.” He sighed and stared into the moonlit sky, and she wondered if he were searching for answers—as she’d done so many times. She watched his jaw work and knew he was trying to control his temper. “We’re not the same people we were, Abby.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s not about Charlene. No matter how much we’ve changed we could’ve worked it out; we had an obligation to work it out. But when you took up with Charlene, it was time to get out.” She uttered a short laugh. “I mean, come on, John. Don’t tell me you aren’t having an affair with her when I walked into your classroom and found her in your—”
“That was a hug!” John spat the words at her. “I told you she was upset about her . . .” His voice trailed off, and Abby felt her blood pressure rise a notch. How dare he deny it when she’d caught him in the act? When she’d been hearing about John’s relationship with Charlene from a dozen different sources ever since then?
“A hug? Really?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “And what was she upset about tonight when she was hanging all over you in front of ten thousand people?”
John’s body hunched forward, as though the fight had left him. “Forget it.” He buried his hands deep in his pockets and resumed walking, his strides long and purposeful. “Believe what you want.”
Abby was furious. He was lying, of course. Like he’d done a hundred times before. She jogged the few steps to catch up and fell in place beside him again. “I believe my friends, and they’ve seen the same thing I have.”
He said nothing, his eyes straight ahead as he continued up the stadium steps toward the car.
Jerk. “Fine, don’t talk to me. Just don’t make a scene with her, okay? If we wait ’til after the holidays, at least give me that.”
They were at the top of the stairs. John stopped and glanced at his watch. “Whatever.” His voice was void of any emotion. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel in a few hours.”
“What?” Abby’s heartbeat doubled. Don’t do this to me, John, not tonight. “You’re coming with me. The kids are waiting for us.”
Even before John answered, Abby knew she’d pushed him too far. Her husband was staring down the street, lost to her and their children and all that had given them reason to celebrate an hour earlier. “The coaches are meeting at the pub down the block. Tell the kids I’ll see ’em later.”
Then without making eye contact, without the slightest appearance of remorse or regret, without even a single look back, John walked off into the night. Abby stood stone still, watching him go.
Turn around, John. Come back and tell me you love me; tell me this is crazy and that somehow everything’s going to be okay.
He kept walking. Make him stop, Lord; the kids need him tonight.
Silence.
She watched as John looked for traffic in both directions, jogged across the street, and headed further down the sidewalk. Fine. Let him leave. Turning, she blinked back tears and refused to entertain the ache in her heart. It was time she got used to seeing him walk away. This was all they had left now, all they would ever be: two people, two strangers, walking alone in separate directions into the cold, dark night of their future.
She knew it; John knew it.
And sometime after Christmas, the kids would know it, too.
Three
THE MOST WONDERFUL THING ABOUT GROWING up on a private lake, at least as far as Nicole Reynolds was concerned, was not the endless grassy hills
ide that spread from their back door toward the water or the old wooden pier where they gathered so often for diving contests and sing-alongs. Those things were wonderful and would always be a part of the fabric of her family’s lives, of course. But the most amazing benefit was the trail that wound its way through shadowy thickets of trees and brush, then back out into the open along the water’s edge. As children, Nicole and Kade would ride their bikes around the water pretending they were explorers in a foreign country or journeying across enemy territory to reach a safe place—usually the lakeside home of one of their friends.
At twenty, Nicole was too old for imaginary play and romps through the woods, but she still cherished the old trail. Nowadays it was the place where she and Matt Conley could get away from the demands of college life and walk hand in hand, sharing ever more about themselves.
Years earlier, Nicole had liked the path best in summer when the ground was warm and the leaves in full display. But now, with Matt by her side, there was something magical about walking the three-mile trail even in the heart of winter.
That afternoon, a Wednesday nearly three weeks after Christmas, Nicole got home from classes early, started a fire, and fixed lunch. Matt would be there in less than an hour with something important to tell her. Something very important. She pulled the bread from the refrigerator and ripped two paper towels from the roll. His voice came back to her, urgent and certain, telling her that no matter what else happened that day, they must meet right after classes.
Her palms were sweaty and she rubbed them on her jeans.
I’m not worried. She thought about that for a moment. What did she have to be worried about? She and Matt had been inseparable since meeting at the university’s debate club two years earlier when he was a senior. Every day since then had been more wonderful than the last, and the relationship they’d started had been filled with romance and laughter. Their struggles were typical for people their age— people determined to serve God and put Him first. For that reason they’d set boundaries soon after their friendship turned to dating. But never—not once in two years—had Nicole feared Matt might break up with her.
A Time to Dance Page 2