Just to See You Smile

by Sally John

  Alec shook his hand. The man was younger than Anne had described him, despite the gray in his reddish brown beard, despite the fact that he was reed thin and a widower. “Charlie! Nice to meet you. I was wondering if I might steal your employee away a little early.”

  The man’s face softened into an easy smile. “No problem with me. Anne, show him around. I’ll be in the gallery. Nice meeting you, Alec.” He ducked back into the office. Literally ducked. The guy was tall.

  Confusion still covered Anne’s face, which had turned rosy. “Alec, I have work—”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “I wasn’t planning on this.”

  “You look great.”

  She looked exasperated. “I’m not talking about my clothes. You weren’t going to be in all evening. I was going to bring home a sketchbook.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  The hands of a normally cool, calm, collected Anne flapped wildly. “And sketch!”

  She hadn’t sketched in how many years? He sensed it wasn’t the question to ask at this point. “Let’s be spontaneous. How about dinner first?”

  Charlie reappeared. “Excuse me. Anne, may I show you something in here? It concerns tomorrow when I’ll be gone. Just take a moment.”

  “Of course.” Anne followed him.

  And Alec twiddled his thumbs, wondering if he had time to step outside for a breath of arctic air…wondering if he should just keep on going and forget about the date stuff. Was it really worth it? Peter claimed it was, but then he hadn’t gone into a Plan B: What to do if the wife balks.

  “Alec.” She came up behind him. “Do you want to see the gallery? I know this supply store side doesn’t interest you.”

  “Lead the way.”

  “We’ll go through the office here.”

  He followed. It was a tight squeeze of an office. Charlie smiled from behind his desk as they passed through.

  The gallery was light and airy. Anne showed him a variety of paintings by local artists, telling him about the ones she had met. Clearly she felt at home. “That’s most of it.” She faced him. “Shall we go?”

  “Do you want to go?” He forced himself to meet her eyes. There was a glimmer of smoke gray within the black perimeter.

  “I’d love to go.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “I thought we’d start with a movie. Unwind, forget about the kids. At dinner maybe we could talk about the movie instead of the kids.” He didn’t want to talk of real life. He was tired of real life, schedules, a disordered home, and resentment at work.

  “The kids! What have you done with the kids?”

  “Grammy’s in charge of getting the girls home and fed. Drew and Amy can take over from there.”

  “You asked my mother?” Surprise and a hint of admiration crept into her voice. “A movie? On a Thursday night?”

  He nodded. “I like your hair.”

  She blinked. “You got used to it.”

  “No. I just finally saw it in the proper environment. The one where you’ve sprouted wings.”

  Annie smiled. “Thank you.” Her eyes sparkled. Only the gray was showing.

  Sitting on the team bench during halftime of Saturday night’s varsity game, Anne concluded that the turning point occurred that morning. A thoughtless word by Alec effectively unraveled the fragile bond that had begun to develop between them Thursday night. She shook her head in disbelief. There she sat—in the midst of thumping basketballs and rock music and high-strung girls with a one-point lead and chattering fans—pondering her and Alec’s relationship.

  Beside her, Britte was quiet. Out on the floor, the girls and their opponents were shooting. Inside of her, built-up emotions pounded in her chest, threatening at that very moment to cut off her air supply if she didn’t somehow release them.

  Yes, she admitted it, emotions. Those abstract things she recognized only at the shop because that was the only place in her life where they made any sense. Take the phone conversation that morning, the one of Alec’s she overheard.

  The two of them had been in the kitchen discussing the day’s schedule when the phone rang. He answered it. The conversation was work related, and so she cleaned up break-fast dishes while he talked. While he laughed. While he said “sweetheart.” Into the phone.

  He had first begun calling Anne that when they were newlyweds. She cherished the special name he had chosen for her. It was hers alone. For keeps.

  Until today.

  It wasn’t that she suspected Alec had a girlfriend. For goodness’ sake, she was standing right next to him when he said it into the phone. No, it was that the name was no big deal. It was just Alec talking in that casual, friendly way of his.

  Alec had a girlfriend And she wanted to throw the pancake griddle at him. Which made no sense whatsoever. Such emotions weren’t right. They weren’t safe. Therefore, she ignored them. Instead of discussing them with Alec, her ex-best friend, she bottled them up. While she was at it, she might as well admit that adding fuel to the combustible mix was her Super-woman struggle. Although she had been denying it, guilt that she couldn’t properly take care of everything weighed more heavily day by day.

  Thursday’s surprise date had been nice, fun, a temporary reconnection, a respite. She might have missed it if Charlie hadn’t pulled her into the office and pointed out that when a husband offers, it’s a shame if the wife turns a cold shoulder. However, now, two days later, the date was ancient history. There was a growing chasm between her and Alec, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Actually, even if she did know what to do about it, she wouldn’t have the time to do it. The new lifestyle they had chosen was in the way, gobbling up precious moments like a rabid cuckoo clock.

  The buzzer blared harshly, startling her back into the present. Britte was standing already, surrounded by the girls layering their hands together in the center of the huddle and shouting, “Go team!”

  Five girls ran out onto the court as the others settled onto the bench. Tanner sat at the far end, his freshmen girls behind him. The other team was Hawk Valley, nemesis, contender for second place in the conference. It should have been no contest, but then Anne had thought that more than once this season. Something was off-kilter, and that something’s name was Britte.

  Tonight her friend coached hesitantly, relying on her five starters to pull it off without much direction from her. Anne had spent the first half interceding more than she thought proper. It was Britte’s team, and taking over for her wasn’t being her assistant, nor was it being her friend.

  Those pounding emotions went into triple time as Cassie smacked the tip-off into Liz’s hands and Britte didn’t budge. She resembled sculpted stone. Anne flew to her feet, unable to keep the lid on her emotions a moment longer. She shouted encouragement and direction.

  So what that three dads had filed a complaint that week? So what that Britte had been physically attacked? So what that Joel had inexplicably tangled up her friend’s heart? All of that was real life! None of those things excused Britte’s behavior at the last few games. In Anne’s opinion, the woman needed to grow up. As a matter of fact, maybe she needed a little shove in that direction right now before she totally lost her team.

  Anne focused on one of the referees. His calls against them had been borderline all night. As he blew his whistle now, Anne’s vocal cords tingled in anticipation. As he signalled his reason, she loudly sang out, “Aww, crummy call, Ref!”

  It was better than throwing a pancake griddle.

  “Annie!” Britte yelled from the bench.

  Practical Anne Sutton, wife, mother of three, faithful follower of Jesus, PTA officer, and respected community presence was nose-to-nose with a referee.

  The man in the black-and-white striped shirt stepped back, turned stiffly toward the official scorekeeper, flung his hands together into the shape of a “T” and pointed toward Anne.

  Britte jumped up. “Annie, you just got a technical!”

  “Sorry. I know it’s not eno
ugh.”

  “Not enough!”

  Anne grinned at her in a strange way. “Got you off the bench. Are you in the game yet?”

  Britte stared at her.

  “No?” She turned and, as a girl from the other team headed to the free-throw line, Anne shouted to the ref, “You owe us three of those!”

  It was an instant replay. He made his “T” signal again, along with a few words. He was kicking Anne out of the game. The crowd was going ballistic, most loudly in favor of Anne.

  “Annie!”

  “Listen, hon, this is your team. This is your game.” Her words were rushed, her eyes boring into Britte’s. The referee was approaching, the game halted until the troublemaker left the gym. “Coach it your way. Sub a little more. You know how to do it. They need you, Britte. Help them win. And in case you haven’t noticed, this ref is hurting us.” She glanced over her shoulder and held up a hand. “Okay.” She raised her voice. “I’m going.”

  Amidst booing, Anne walked graciously toward the exit. Passing Tanner, she called out, “Let her do it! Don’t help.”

  As Anne disappeared through the open gym doors, a burst of anger ignited in Britte. How dare she! Anne was her last holdout. Joel was gone even if he was standing across the court. Brady was gone. Albeit on a honeymoon, still he was gone. The parents of her players were physically present, but gone nonetheless. Tanner was gone. Ordered not to help, he leaned back now, elbows propped on the bleacher behind him, legs crossed, a smug little smile on his face.

  Gone. All of them.

  “Coach!” Liz yelled from the court. Her arms were raised, blocking a possible pass to the girl she guarded.

  Correction. Not everyone was gone. The girls were here. Her girls were here.

  Britte flipped her a thumbs-up sign. “Let’s go, ladies!”

  Across the court, midway up the bleachers, Alec sat frozen in horror. His wife had just been evicted from the game. Not his son, the hotshot player. Not his brother, the mouthy coach. But his wife from a girls game. He knew Anne could be outspoken, but this was…this was…ludicrous! What was she thinking?

  He hustled down the bleachers, rattling them and bumping people. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” My wife has lost her mind. Why, oh why, had Drew’s game been an afternoon one rather than evening, allowing Alec to return in time to Valley Oaks to witness this?

  He found her in the nearly deserted commons, just outside one set of gym doors…laughing. “Anne!”

  “Quick, Alec! Hide me. If that ref sees me, he might make me leave the building!”

  “Anne! What are you doing?”

  She giggled. “Trying to see the game. Scoot over. Woo!” she shouted and raised a fist. “Yesss! Cassie scored! Turn around, Alec. You missed it.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The game!”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Oh, Alec.” She glanced at him, but quickly diverted her gaze above his shoulder toward the gym. “Britte needed a little kick in the pants. She’s been wallowing in fear long enough. I figured if I made her mad, she’d snap out of it. Go, Liz! Oops, I better not yell and draw attention to myself, huh?”

  “You did that on purpose? You got kicked out on purpose?”

  “Of course. And it feels pretty good!” She met his eyes now. “Did I embarrass you?”

  In high school he had been the jock, the one with the popular friends. She had been the artist, the one with the friends who wore strange clothing and didn’t join in normal activities. She quietly ran cross-country, but didn’t play basketball until after he had graduated. At first he had been embarrassed to admit he was attracted to her. After finding the nerve to ask her out, he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Eventually he figured out that the reason he was nuts about her was because she was who she was. He’d only been 18. He had an excuse.

  Now he was 39, and he had begun to lose track of who she was. He had no excuse.

  Alec smiled and made a show of brushing her shoulders. “No. I’m just having a hard time getting used to those wings.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Joel poured coffee beans into the proper slot, set the timer for 5 A.M., and wondered what Britte would think of the General and his most prized possession, a coffeemaker that not only ground the beans but brewed them when he dictated?

  Then he wondered why he wondered about Britte. He shoved aside that dead-end thought for the umpteenth time and flipped off the kitchen light. His mind went to the night’s game, definitely more solid ground than that other line of thinking. Although it was now after midnight, he still chuckled over the spectacle in the gym. Anne Sutton had been thrown out of the game, and Britte had come alive and actively coached the girls to a solid win. It gave the team a good shot at tying for second place in the conference. Not bad for a rather inconsistent season.

  The phone rang. His heart kicked in as if a starting pistol had fired. Nicky? Dear Lord.

  He ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless from its cradle. “Hello.”

  “Joel, it’s Cal. Do you know where Britte is?”

  “No. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m in the ER at the Rockville Hospital. Gordon Hughes beat up his wife.”

  Joel sank onto a chair. “How bad is she?”

  “I hope bad enough to file charges. She was barely conscious when Jordan called 911, but she’ll be okay.”

  The incident probably wasn’t the first for the family. What was it he had said about Hughes? That he was a typical parent? So much for his ability to read character. “Cal, how’d we miss this?”

  “It’s the norm. Families cover it up. She’s probably gone to different doctors, different urgent care facilities. Listen, Joel, Britte’s not answering her phone, and Hughes hasn’t been found yet.”

  The implications hit him like a blow to the stomach, and he couldn’t breathe.

  “Jordan said he was drunk. An aunt just picked her up here. Trevor wasn’t home when it happened. He’s at a friend’s. I called that family, so he’s accounted for. Point is, I’m 20 minutes away, and Hughes threatened to finish what his son started.”

  “I’m out the door.”

  Like an Indy 500 race car driver, Joel tore across the sleeping town. Ignoring stop signs, he flung bursts of prayer toward an overcast sky and felt that they bounced right back at him. He started making deals with God, not caring that he sounded like a confused child.

  “Father! Keep her safe! Oh, God, give me another chance. Keep her safe, and I’ll stop running away. I promise!”

  Britte’s house came into view. The lights shone through the front windows. She was home!

  No, not necessarily. The outside lights were on, too. She had developed the habit of leaving all the lights on when she wasn’t home. He knew that from those times he had walked her inside.

  He screeched to a halt, parked on the street, and jumped out. The snow had been scooped from the sidewalk leading to her front door. Did she shovel her own snow? Shouldn’t someone help her do that?

  He rang the doorbell and pounded on the storm door. He tried to open it, but it was locked. He pounded again and jammed his thumb into the doorbell.

  She wasn’t home. The lights wouldn’t be on.

  Unless Hughes got her when she pulled into the garage.

  Joel ran to the attached garage. There was a small window, covered like front windows with opaque curtains. He couldn’t see inside.

  He plunged into the snow, going from window to window, hammering his fist against each one, working his way around the house. No neighbors turned on a light or came outside. No one heard him. No one would have heard her either. He had to get inside. She had to be home. Why wouldn’t she be home by now? Could she sleep with all the lights on, through all his pounding? He’d get the tire iron out of the car, break a bedroom window and climb in, and— Find her?

  Back on the driveway, his heart thumping erratically in his ears, his breath frosting the air, he cried out, “Oh, God! Please, don’
t let anything happen to her!”

  Britte tooted the horn as she drove from Anne’s house.

  “Oops,” she spoke aloud to herself, “guess I shouldn’t honk in the middle of the night on Acorn Park Lane!” She laughed. It felt so good that she laughed again, heartily.

  After the game she and Anne decided they needed some serious coaches’ bonding time away from everyone they knew. Before the gym had emptied, they were in the Jeep, on the road to Rockville.

  Britte smiled, imagining what she and Anne looked like at the 24-hour restaurant, sprawled for hours in a booth, eating copious amounts of food, laughing and crying. They had apologized for losing sight of their teamwork as coleaders in the basketball program. Annie confessed to losing sight of that very same thing at home with Alec and the kids. Britte confessed that she had lost it in regard to the girls.

  They concluded that they’d lost their way and didn’t have routes plotted for the way back…that they’d been lousy ambassadors for Christ lately, not displaying much love and compassion…that it was past time they started praying for each other along those lines.

  Now, as Britte drove through the midnight town, she began to pray. “Jesus, I’ve taken my eyes off of You. I’m sorry. I wanted to win so badly! The whole kit and caboodle. State champs. Well, at the least, be a Sweet Sixteen contender for the championship. You gave me this passion, right? This team? Oh, Lord, I get it. It was a test. What can Britte do with extravagant gifts? How about make such a mess of them I’ve got parents filing complaints? And while we’re on the subject of complaints, what was that business with Joel all about? You get my attention with this guy and then—”

  The words caught in her throat as the Jeep’s headlights fell on a car in front of her house. Someone was bending over its opened trunk. She slowed and the man stood, turning toward her. When the lights picked out his familiar black jacket, relief flooded through her. Dread quickly followed on its heels. It was 12:30…the middle of the night.

  At the driveway she braked and put down the window. “Joel! What are you doing here?”