In that instant, Abby had the first glimpse of the nightmare it was going to be to tell Nicole and the boys the truth. She tried to cover up with an innocent-sounding laugh. “Relax, honey. I’m kidding.”
“Well, Matt wasn’t. He saw them together and asked me why.” She shifted her weight, her eyebrows lowered. “What am I supposed to tell him?”
Abby released a controlled sigh. “Obviously they work together, honey. Ms. Denton’s been friends with your father for years.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it. She flirts with him.” Nicole clenched her fists. “And Dad spends more time with her than he does with you.”
Abby couldn’t think of anything to say. She angled her head and resisted a shudder as she thought again of how hard Coach John Reynolds—father, hero, and friend—was about to fall in the eyes of the children who loved him most. “What do you want me to tell you, honey?”
Nicole huffed in response. “Tell me it’s a coincidence; tell me it’s my imagination; tell me Dad’s acting the same as always.” She hesitated and her eyes filled with tears. “Tell me everything’s okay between you guys.”
Abby’s heart plummeted. She stood up and pulled Nicole into her arms. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Nicole held on tighter than usual and Abby desperately wanted to ease her fears. “Everything’s—”
Don’t lie to her, daughter.
The voice rang clear in the inner places of Abby’s heart, and she stopped short.
“Everything’s what?” Nicole pulled away slightly, meeting Abby’s eyes, searching for any sign of the security she had always taken for granted.
God, give me the words. “You know how much we love each other.” Abby hugged Nicole again as her insides contorted in a wave of sadness so deep and strong it shook her to the core. “Our family’s always loved each other.”
Nicole drew back again as though she wanted to say something, but before she could speak, Abby bent close and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “How ’bout some tea, huh? Why don’t you go start a pot of water and I’ll join you in a minute.”
The diversion worked, and Nicole smiled at Abby, clearly convinced that her comforting words were proof that everything was, indeed, all right.
Like enemy soldiers easing their way across a minefield, Abby and John survived the next several weeks without anyone bringing up Charlene’s name. It was Monday night, the last week of school, and Abby was making brownies—part of a longstanding Reynolds family tradition. Every year just before school let out, the kids took plates of brownies to their teachers and shared them with their classmates. As they got older, the ritual became almost silly, but the kids still loved it. Even as a senior football player, Kade had asked her the night before if she was going to bake this week.
Abby pushed the wooden spoon through a bowl of wet brownie mix and thought how next year at this time the kids probably would have adapted to their new life, the one where their dad was no longer married to their mom. She dumped the batter into a buttered pan and slipped it into the oven. Abby gazed out the window across the expanse of green, rolling hillside and out over the lake.
Was it possible Kade was already graduating? Where had the time gone? Abby blinked back the tears that stung at her eyes. She was always fighting tears these days . . . and why not? She had a daughter getting married, a son graduating and moving away to college, and a husband who didn’t love her anymore.
It was a wonder she didn’t wake up crying.
The phone rang, and Abby inhaled sharply, switching gears. No amount of remembering could change the fact that every aspect of her life was about to change.
“Hello?” She pinned the receiver with her shoulder and wiped her hands on a paper towel.
“Uh, yes . . .” It was a woman, and she seemed nervous. Abby felt the color draining from her face. It couldn’t be . . . The woman cleared her throat. “Is . . . is John Reynolds there?”
Abby’s heart felt as though it had fallen onto the kitchen floor. Even when she tried she couldn’t bring herself to breathe. “Can I . . . tell him who’s calling?”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end. “It’s Charlene Denton. I need to ask him a question about school.”
A round of emotions exploded at strategic points throughout Abby’s body, temporarily decimating her heart, soul, and gut. Breathe, Abby. Breathe. She felt sick to her stomach and she closed her eyes. A dozen comebacks fought for position. You have a lot of nerve, lady. What kind of an idiot do you take me for? Something about school? Give me a break.
In the end, Abby couldn’t speak over the pounding sound of her heart. She gripped the phone tightly, covering the mouthpiece as her initial hurt and shock gave way to a burning rage. How dare he have her call at the house! Carrying the phone as though it were a weapon, she stormed through the living room and into the garage.
John was tinkering with a fishing pole and he looked up when she appeared. He waited for her to speak, his expression slightly baffled, as though he could feel her anger from twenty feet away and hadn’t a clue what he’d done to cause it.
She thrust the receiver in his direction. “It’s Charlene.”
The surprise on his face seemed genuine, but his eyes were immediately flooded with guilt. He took the phone, turned his back on Abby, and spoke in a muffled voice.
It was as though she were drowning at sea, and John had made the decision to let her go under for the final time. He was choosing Charlene over Abby so blatantly she didn’t know how to react, and she waited until she heard the subtle electronic tone indicating the call was over.
John held the phone but let his hand drop to his side, his back still to her.
“We need to talk.” Abby’s voice wasn’t angry or frantic; it held none of the range of emotions that had assaulted her since the phone rang. Why be angry now? It was all over but the paperwork.
A sense of finality hugged Abby close, bringing with it an unnatural calm as John spun around and met her gaze, his back stiff, eyes narrowed and ready to fight. His voice was hot from the moment he started talking. “Look, Abby, I didn’t tell her to—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She was businesslike, which clearly surprised him, as he stopped midsentence. “I don’t want to fight, John. It’s not going to change anything.” She dropped down onto the garage steps and set her elbows firmly on her knees, her eyes still locked on his. Suddenly she felt too old and tired even to explain herself. “Charlene’s your future. I can see it. I’m not going to scream at you and call you names because you’re in love with another woman. It’s too late for that.”
John released a huff and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t tell her to call me, Abby; you’ve got to believe—”
Abby held both hands up, and again John stopped short of finishing. “Don’t give me excuses.” Her tone was calm but resigned, and as she spoke John’s posture relaxed. “I’ll be honest . . . I don’t want her calling here. But I’m not blind. I can read the writing on the wall and one day . . .” The last thing Abby wanted was tears, especially now when her heart no longer seemed linked to the issue at hand. But they came anyway, filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. “One day she may be my children’s stepmother. I’m tired of hating. I don’t want to hate her or you or anyone else.”
John hung his head for a moment and then came closer, leaning against their blue sedan and drawing a slow breath. “I’m sorry, Abby. I never meant to hurt you with any of this.” He dropped his gaze once more, obviously unwilling to watch her cry.
As calm as Abby felt she was rocked deep in her heart by John’s agreeing with what she was saying. Fight for me, John. For us. Tell me you can’t stand her, that you were out here thinking of how we might find a way to make it work . . . But the truth was, at this stage of their marriage they both knew the score. There were only minutes left in the game, and there were simply no winners anywhere. Except maybe Charlene. Abby wiped away her tears. “I have a favor to ask.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his head still lowered so that only his eyes made contact with her. “Anything, Abby.”
Don’t say it, Abby. Love bears all things . . .
The voice faded and she angled her head, willing John to see that this was the only way out for either of them. “Get the paperwork done. Make an appointment with an attorney. Someone we don’t know. That way we can move quickly once the kids are married.” She hesitated, trying to read his expression and failing. A devastating realization struck her: I’m no longer the expert on navigating the deep places of John Reynolds’s heart.
His gaze fell to his feet, and nearly a minute passed before he spoke. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow.” Without looking at her or saying another word, he walked slowly past her into the house. After a few minutes, the automatic lights clicked off and Abby peered into the black emptiness, realizing it was in some ways a sneak preview of her future without John.
Complete and utter darkness broken only by frightening shapes and vague, uncertain shadows.
The week sped by in a blur of final exams and yearbook signings and preparations for Kade’s graduation. But John had kept his promise. It was Thursday, and his appointment with the attorney was set for four o’clock. He had finished entering grades into the computer and was taking down the posters from his classroom, an annual task required of all teachers. Like so often that week, as he worked he was haunted by the look on Abby’s face when Charlene had called.
He rolled up a poster and sighed out loud.
Charlene.
He still wasn’t sure why she’d called him at home. She’d said it was because she had a question about Marion High’s computer grading policy, but John thought there might be more to it. Although she’d kept her distance as he’d asked, when their paths crossed she seemed more forward, less patient than before. The last time he’d seen her prior to the phone call, she’d asked if Abby knew about them.
“What’s there to know?” John was still drawn to her, but her questions set him on edge. Whatever happened to the days when their friendship was fun and carefree? Didn’t she understand how hard this was for him? How devastating it was to watch his son graduate and his daughter get married weeks before he would walk out on all of them and start his life over?
Charlene had pursed her lips in a mock pout. “I just mean in a few months we’ll be together all the time. She has to know you have a life outside the family home. You’re getting divorced, after all. It’s not like you have to keep me a secret from everyone who matters to you.”
Her words rang in his head still, and he figured they had more to do with her phone call than any excuse about grading policies or trouble with her classroom. He remembered the way Abby’s face changed from anger to ice-cold indifference. Is it that easy, Abby girl? Letting Charlene have her way? Wanting only divorce papers from me, nothing more? He rolled the final poster and was slipping a rubber band around it when Charlene walked in.
She stopped in the doorway and grinned at him. “Do you know how gorgeous you look when you’re working?” Her skirt was shorter than usual, legs tan and toned as she made her way across the classroom. She caught him looking and smiled when his eyes made their way back up to hers. “Hi . . .”
No question John was attracted to her, but her sudden appearance made him angry at her. What right did she have to violate his solitude? Besides, he wasn’t in the mood for her questions. He thought about telling her to leave as he straightened and stretched his bad knee. “Hi.”
“The school’s a ghost town.” Her eyes burned into his, the meaning of her words far from lost on John. Classes let out at one o’clock every day the last week of school, so she was right. There were no students anywhere. She crossed the room and perched herself against the edge of the desk. She was inches from him, and her perfume filled his senses. “I’ve stayed away as long as I can, John.”
He cocked his head and thought of what he might say to hold his ground. Give me the words, God . . . please.
Flee, son! Return to your first love . . .
“You shouldn’t be here. I asked you not to . . .” John wished he could speak with more conviction, but he didn’t want to be mean. Charlene was one of his closest friends, even though she’d been getting on his nerves lately.
“I missed you . . .”
He kicked the empty poster box gently toward the edge of the room. “I’m still a married man, Charlene.”
Suddenly, his frustration shifted. It was Abby’s fault he was in this mess. She was the one he should be angry with, not Charlene. All Charlene had done was be his friend, listen to him, make him feel like he mattered.
Things Abby hadn’t done for a long time.
He looked at Charlene, and suddenly he felt drawn to her again. He took a step toward her. “No matter how much I might wish I wasn’t.”
John thought about what he’d just said. No matter how much I might wish I wasn’t? Wasn’t what? Wasn’t married to a girl I waited years to marry? Was that really him talking? John broke the connection between him and Charlene and let his gaze fall to the floor. Was he crazy?
Charlene seemed to sense that his thoughts had shifted. She angled her head and raised her eyebrows, her face the picture of sympathy. “It must be hard. Pretending all the time in front of the kids, I mean.” She hesitated. “I wish there was something I could do . . .”
John leaned against his desk alongside her. This time Charlene’s offer of help played over in his mind. When was the last time Abby cared about his feelings or wanted to help him? She hadn’t been his best friend in years. Maybe the tensions with Charlene were just the result of his inability to spend time with her. After all, these days his best friend was . . . he looked up and caught Charlene’s eyes again. “We need to take it slow.”
As naturally as if they were the ones who had been married for years, she came to him, wedging herself between his knees as her arms went up around his neck. “I haven’t waited this long because I want to rush things.” Her voice was a whisper, her eyes probing his, and John was certain she could see how weak he was. Without meaning to, his knees tightened slightly, keeping her close, not wanting to let her go now or ever.
“I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.” Desire swept John so overpowering it was frightening. It suddenly felt as though he might sell his very soul to have the object his body so intensely craved. He brought his hand to her face and traced her cheekbone. “Tell me we won’t make the same mistakes, Charlene.”
She didn’t answer. A smile filled her face, but instead of smiling back, John felt something deep in his gut. Something hesitant . . . even resistant. He couldn’t pin it down, but there was something in her smile he didn’t like . . . something wrong.
Before he could think those feelings through, she moved closer, fitting up against him . . . and he readily accepted her kiss. At first it was slow and tender, but in a matter of seconds it became filled with blazing passion, intense beyond anything John could remember.
“Come home with me, John. I need you . . .”
He was still sitting on the desk, but as the kiss continued he slid closer to the edge, closer to her, digging his fingers into her beautiful, dark hair. Help me, Lord . . . I’ve lost all control . . . it’s like she’s cast a spell over me.
A burst of loud, tinny feedback filled the room. “This is a reminder that Mr. Foster has asked all teachers to have their classrooms ready for inspection by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
The words rang loudly from the intercom at the front of the classroom, and John jerked back as though he’d been slapped.
“Also, graduation assignments have been posted on the main office door. Thank you.”
Charlene’s eyes were clouded with the intensity of their kiss, and the same smile that had bothered John moments ago returned. She nestled herself up against him again, framing his face with her fingers. “Where were we?”
He thought of Abby, of their brief but
intense encounter after her father died, how the passion then had been far stronger than this, better somehow . . . more pure. Nausea at what he’d done racked his gut. What kind of man have I become?
He turned his face and squirmed free from her, moving three feet away and easing into one of the student desks. When his breathing was stable, he looked at Charlene. “I’m sorry; that was wrong.” He rested his elbow on the desk and caught his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing his temples, praying that God would disperse the pent-up feelings he had for this woman. He closed his eyes as he spoke. “I’m not ready for this.” He opened his eyes and peered over the edge of his hand at her.
She nodded once and moved to sit behind his desk, suddenly less the seductress and more the good-intentioned friend, and he shifted uneasily. It was as though to please him she could take on any role she wished. That thought, and her smile, set him even further on edge and he felt his body cool. She met his gaze straight on and spoke gently. “I’ve missed you . . . but I didn’t come here for that.”
John was suddenly nervous, anxious to be on his way to the appointment with the attorney. Where could this meeting with Charlene possibly go, anyway? He waited for her to continue.
She crossed her arms, her face more serious than before. “I’ve been given a job offer.”
John’s heart lurched. She wouldn’t move away, would she? Charlene had finished her administrative credentials the year before and had put out feelers in local school districts. Her goal was to take an assistant principal position somewhere in Marion. “That’s great.” He searched her eyes, looking for clarification.
Charlene’s hands came together, and she dropped her gaze. “The job’s in Chicago, John. Someone at the district office told the staff up there I was looking.” She brought her eyes up again, and he could see how strongly she was struggling. “It’s a good offer.”
A Time to Dance Page 24