A Time to Dance

by Karen Kingsbury

  He swallowed the last bit of water. “I don’t care what time it is; you need to go. Believe me, Nicole.”

  Times like that had them on the verge of fighting, when all he wanted to do, all every part of his body wanted, was to love her totally and completely. Lord, get me through these next three months without compromise.

  Honor one another above yourself . . .

  Honor. That was the key. He’d read the verse earlier that morning but it only now hit him. Why hadn’t he thought of the truth there earlier? Victory could only be found by seeing Nicole the way God saw her, as a child of the King; not as the gorgeous, godly girl who was about to be his wife.

  Honor one another . . .

  Matt set out toward the school, still thinking about the idea. That had to be it, the reason God had guided him to that verse in the first place. By the time he got to school he was determined to talk about it with Coach Reynolds. He knew from Nicole that her parents had avoided physical intimacy until after they were married. If there was one person who would understand what it meant to honor a woman, it was John Reynolds. And since Matt didn’t yet have that kind of relationship with his own father, he could think of no one he’d rather talk to that afternoon than Nicole’s dad.

  The Marion High football field came into view. The team was spread out across the grass, and Nicole’s father was on the sidelines with . . . was it Nicole’s mother? The woman looked shorter, with darker hair. The closer Matt got, the easier it was to see that she wasn’t Abby Reynolds, even though she stood arm to arm beside Nicole’s father.

  Matt studied the way Coach Reynolds seemed to be enjoying the woman’s attention. The way they smiled at each other, their elbows touching . . . If he didn’t know better, Matt would have been concerned. But she was probably just a girls’ coach, someone he worked with.

  He was still studying them, drawing closer, when the woman brushed past Nicole’s father and walked purposefully across the field, back toward the school buildings. A few seconds later, Matt was at the older man’s side, breathless and sweating from his run. “Hey, Mr. Reynolds.”

  Nicole’s dad had been watching the brunette as she left, and he swung around, eyes wide. “Matt! Where’d you come from?”

  Matt bent over to catch his breath. “Home. I jog by here every day. Thought I might catch you.” He pointed at the kids on the field. “You whippin’ these guys into shape?”

  Nicole’s father uttered a strange-sounding laugh and hesitated a beat. “Every year. Same routine.” He took a step toward the playing field. “Get some air under the ball, Parker. Give your receivers time to get downfield!”

  Waving in the direction of the woman, Matt cocked his head. “Is she one of the coaches here?”

  Nicole’s dad licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “The woman, you mean? The one I was talking to?”

  Again his reactions seemed odd. Probably preoccupied with coaching . . . “Right. A few minutes ago.”

  “She’s a teacher here, a friend.” He barked another command at his team. “What brings you by?”

  Matt took up a similar stance as the man beside him, his attention focused on the playing field. “Honor, I guess.”

  He glanced at Nicole’s father. Was it Matt’s imagination, or had the man’s face gotten paler since Matt’s arrival? Maybe he was sick. “Honor?”

  Moving his foot in small figure eights in the grass, Matt thought about his choice of words. “Nicole and I are fighting a lot lately. I don’t know, I don’t think it should be like this right before our wedding.”

  Coach Reynolds’s brow wrinkled. “Fighting? You mean you’re not getting along?”

  Matt exhaled through pursed lips and shook his head. “No, it’s the other way around. We’re getting along too well, if you know what I mean.” He leveled his gaze at Nicole’s father. “It’s like I can’t even be near her. I’m so tempted I can’t see straight.”

  There was a flexing motion in the man’s jawline. Great, now he thinks I’m a dog. Why did I want to talk to him about this? Give me the words, God. I’m sure this man has insight . . . if only I can get him to share it with me. Mr. Reynolds looked like he was afraid to ask the next question. “But you’ve . . . I mean so far you haven’t . . .”

  Matt was quick to answer. “No, that’s just it. We’ve stayed away from each other. We promised God, each other for that matter, that we’d stay pure.” He shook his head and stared at the ground for a moment. “It’s a lot tougher than I thought it’d be. Like there’s this constant tension where we want to be together, but we know there’s only so much we can take.”

  Nicole’s father nodded. “Gotcha. Wish I could tell you it’ll get easier.”

  “Maybe I need to change my thinking, you know?” Matt shifted his position so he could see the man better. “This morning I read a scripture about honoring others, putting them above yourself. I think there’s truth there, something that might help me get through this without breaking my promises.”

  The coach swallowed hard and seemed to struggle with his words. “Honoring others, huh?”

  The cheerleaders had been working out on an adjacent field, and two of them ran up, slightly out of breath and giggling. Their entire attention was focused on Matt. “Mr. Reynolds, you’ve been holding out on us . . .” a tiny blonde said, tossing her ponytail.

  “Yeah, who’s the new coach?” The taller of the two blushed and giggled, elbowing her friend.

  Matt contained a chuckle. It had been a while since he’d been on a high-school campus, but girls like these didn’t affect him. There was only one girl who had power over him anymore. He held out his hand politely to one cheerleader, then the other. “Matt Conley, and I’m not a new coach.”

  Nicole’s father cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows sarcastically at the girls. “Matt’s marrying my daughter in a few months.”

  Both girls’ eyes grew wide, and they repressed a bout of nervous laughter. “Oh . . . right. Okay.” The blonde grabbed her friend’s arm, and the two headed off, giggling over their shoulders. “Bye, Matt. Nice to meet you.”

  Coach Reynolds leveled a humorous gaze at him. “Is this a daily problem?”

  Matt laughed softly and shrugged. “Sometimes, but that’s true for most guys.” He grew serious. “After meeting Nicole it’s like they’re not even there.” He looked at the man beside him. “Sort of like you and Mrs. Reynolds.”

  Nicole’s father crossed his arms more tightly in front of him, and Matt noticed that his fists were clenched. “Keep that feeling, Matt. Whatever you have to do, keep that.”

  “Was it, you know . . . did you and Mrs. Reynolds struggle with staying pure before you got married?”

  A sigh slid out through the man’s clenched teeth. He looked at Matt and angled his head as if caught up in a dozen memories. “It wasn’t easy. I guess it was like you said: I honored Abby. I loved her for who she was, not what she could do for me. Not for the feeling I got when we were together.” He paused. “When I had my focus right, it wasn’t so bad.”

  He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him. Matt played that over in his mind again and felt like someone had turned on a light. Hope filled him and he knew that next time he saw Nicole, he would see her soul and not only her body. Maybe that’s why God asked couples to wait. So they could learn to love each other. Because over the years it would take that kind of love to make their relationship a beautiful thing.

  “You have the best marriage, Mr. Reynolds. I want you to know how much your example has helped me.” Matt shook his head, amazed at the wisdom the years had developed in Nicole’s father. “I want to love Nicole the same way you’ve loved her mother. The last thing I want is the mess my parents made of their marriage.”

  Nicole’s father changed his footing. “Your parents split up a while ago, huh?”

  “Back when I was a little kid. Mom was busy with me, and Dad . . . well, he had a hard time telling the girls no. Same thing with the bottle.
After a while he took up with someone else and left us.”

  Coach Reynolds swallowed hard and stared at his football team. “He’s, uh . . . been in contact with you lately, that right? That’s what Nicole said.”

  “Yeah, it’s amazing. He gave his life to God, and the changes have been something else. Still, he missed out on me growing up. Missed out on a lot.” Matt let his gaze fall on the tree line in the distance. “Makes me wonder how different it might have been if he’d been a believer before. You know, like you guys. Then divorce wouldn’t have been an option, and they’d have found a way to make it work.”

  Nicole’s father took a deep breath and bellowed toward the field. “All right guys, bring it in.” Immediately the players stopped what they were doing and jogged toward their coach. Mr. Reynolds looked at Matt. “Don’t know if I was much help, son, but I need to talk with the team. You wanna hang around?”

  Matt reached out and shook the man’s hand. “That’s okay. I gotta get back and study. Actually, you helped me a lot.” It was all Matt needed, knowing that this man had faced temptation and succeeded by learning to truly love his wife-to-be. “See ya, Coach.”

  And with that Matt jogged off toward home, certain between God’s help and Mr. Reynolds’s example he could survive the next three months.

  John had been trembling inside from the moment Matt walked up, deeply afraid his daughter’s fiancé had seen something between him and Charlene, a nuance or glance or flirtatious look. A sign that John Reynolds was not the man he appeared to be, but rather a cheap, two-timing hypocrite.

  He talked to his team briefly and dismissed them to the weight-room, where Coach Kenny would be in charge. By the time the last player had made it off the field, John’s trembling had become full-blown shakes.

  Liar, John Reynolds. Liar, phony, hypocrite.

  He shook off the taunting voice and began making his way around the field, collecting cones and gathering equipment.

  You’re a snake, a worthless excuse of a man.

  John gritted his teeth and forced his body to relax. Nausea caused his lunch to well up somewhere near his throat and he gulped several times to keep from losing it. I need to talk to someone, get this off my chest. Maybe Abby’s father. He thought about the man as he had so often lately, his father’s best friend, lying ill in a nursing home without the benefits of his son-in-law’s regular visits.

  He wouldn’t want to see me now, anyway.

  An aching filled his heart, and again John knew deep in his bones it had nothing to do with his health. Suddenly his words to Matt came back loud and clear, as if someone was shouting at him.

  “I honored Abby. I honored Abby . . . honored Abby. I loved her for who she was, not what she could do for me. Not for the feeling I got when we were together. I loved her for who she was . . .”

  He chided himself. How could you talk to that boy as if you understood love? You don’t know real love from lust anymore.

  An oppressive feeling settled over his shoulders bringing with it a burden he could barely stand up under.

  One after another, Matt’s statements flashed in his mind.

  “You have the best marriage, Mr. Reynolds . . . your example has helped me . . . I want to love Nicole the same way you’ve loved her mother. Makes me wonder how different it might have been if he’d been a believer like you guys. Then divorce wouldn’t have been an option . . . wouldn’t have been an option . . . wouldn’t have been an option.”

  John hauled a bag of cones across the field. Without realizing it, everything Matt said had been wrong. All of it. And you let him believe it was all true. Suddenly he understood the nausea; he was making himself sick. He was so far gone he ought to get Charlene and leave town tomorrow. Forget about his family. They wouldn’t want anything to do with him once they learned the truth. The burden in John’s heart grew heavier until he dropped the equipment bag and eased himself onto his knees, falling forward, his face buried in the musty grass.

  God, help me! I can’t leave them now, not yet. Oh, Lord, how have I failed You so badly?

  Hear Me, son. The voice was so strong, so real, John sat up and looked around. Love one another . . . as I have loved you, so you must love one another.

  He glanced in a handful of directions, but there was no one else on the field and a chill ran down his arms. God still cared, still heard his cries. Otherwise He wouldn’t have answered that way. I can’t do it, Lord. She hates me. It’s too late for love.

  Silence.

  John turned his face to heaven. Cure me of the desire I feel for Charlene, Lord. My body wants her like . . . like . . .

  Then it hit him.

  He wanted Charlene the same way he’d once wanted Abby. The exact same way. But when he thought about the advice he’d given Matt, it simply didn’t apply to Charlene. He didn’t love her that way, didn’t love the soul and spirit deep inside her. There was only one thing he loved about her: the way she made him feel. Emotionally and physically.

  But definitely not spiritually.

  It hit him there on the forty-yard line, as his heart pled for God’s intervention, that what he sought in Charlene Denton was a shadow, a counterfeit. Because the real thing, the love he had longed for all his life, could only be found in Abby Reynolds.

  The woman who had first taught him what it was to love.

  Eighteen

  THE PHONE CALL ABBY HAD DREADED ALL her adult life came at 4:15 in the afternoon the first week of May. John was at practice; Nicole and Sean were playing catch outside; Kade was working on his senior project at the school library.

  “Hello?”

  There was a hesitation on the other end. “Mrs. Reynolds? This is Helen at Wingate Nursing Home. I’m afraid your father has had a stroke.”

  Abby’s breath caught in her throat. No, God. Not now. Not with Nicole’s wedding so close. I need him, Lord. Please. “Is it . . . is he okay?”

  “It happened about thirty minutes ago, and he’s been in and out of a coma ever since. He doesn’t seem to have control of his extremities.”

  What? No control? The words rang like a series of alarms in Abby’s mind. “I’m not sure I understand. You mean he’s too tired to move?”

  The woman at the other end sighed. “The stroke may have left him paralyzed, Mrs. Reynolds.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone.”

  Dear God, no. A series of images flashed on the screen in Abby’s heart: her father running the sidelines at one of his games, doing sprints alongside his players, playing tennis with her the year before his diagnosis. Her father thrived on being active. If his legs were gone, his spirit to live would quickly follow. No, Lord . . . please. Help him.

  “I’m on my way.” She thanked the woman and hung up the phone. Then as if by being in control she could keep her dad from dying, she went outside and calmly explained the situation to Sean and Nicole. Next she called Kade on his cell phone.

  “Grandpa’s had a stroke.”

  Kade’s voice reflected his shock. “Are you sure? I was just there last weekend. He seemed—”

  “It’s true.” She forced herself to remain composed. “Your dad’s at practice. Get him and meet me at Wingate.” She swallowed back a sob. “Hurry, Kade.”

  There was one last phone call, to her sister on the East Coast.

  “How serious is it?” Beth had not been close to their father since before her divorce twelve years earlier. Now, though, there was concern in her voice.

  “It’s bad, Beth. Get on a plane, quick.”

  Abby, Nicole, and Sean piled into the van, and the drive that usually took fifteen minutes took ten. They hurried inside and Abby saw that Kade and John had not yet arrived. Don’t blow this one, John. He hadn’t been in to see her father in more than a month.

  She banished the thought. There was no time for negative feelings now, not with her dad fighting for his life down the hall. “Nicole, stay here with Sean and watch for your dad and Kade. I’ll go see Grandpa
first.”

  Nicole nodded, her eyes damp, face drawn and filled with sadness. She had always been close to her grandpa. Especially in the eight years since he’d given up his home in Wisconsin and moved closer to them. It was the same way with the boys. He’d been a part of their lives almost as far back as they could remember.

  Abby hurried down the hallway and quietly opened the door to his room. What she saw brought tears to her eyes. Her father lay prone and utterly still, his face slack, hands motionless as though he’d aged twenty years overnight. A nurse stood nearby taking his vital signs.

  “Should we call an ambulance?” Abby was at her father’s side immediately, taking his hand, shocked at the way it hung limp in her own.

  The nurse shook her head as she adjusted his intravenous needle. “He’s stable now. There’s nothing more they could do for him. We’re giving him a medication to undo the damage done by the stroke. It’ll take time, though.”

  “To work?”

  “To know if it did any good. Sometimes a major stroke can set off a series of strokes. With someone as ill as your father, the chances of him recovering without damage are slim, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  She tightened her grip on her father’s hand. “But it’s possible, right? I mean he could come out of this and be the way he was before the stroke, right?”

  The nurse looked hesitant. “Not very likely.” She finished working on him and straightened, leveling a sympathetic gaze at Abby. “We think it’d be best if the family came now, Mrs. Reynolds. Another stroke could be the end for him, I’m afraid.”

  More tears filled Abby’s eyes and she nodded, unable to speak. The nurse took the cue and left them alone. Abby waited until the woman was gone before she found her voice.

  “Dad, it’s me. Can you hear me? We’re all here, Dad. The kids are in the other room.”

  Her father’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth, dry and cracked, began working without sound.

  “Dad, I’m here. If you wanna talk I’m right here.” Tears spilled down Abby’s cheeks, but her voice was stronger than before. “I’m listening, Dad.”