A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

by Amy Vastine

  A few people paused to stare at Clinton, as if trying to decide if a famous player was really in their midst.

  “Pretty much.” He turned his head and whispered in her ear so only she could hear. “I was pissed that I was injured and I wanted to win.”

  She was reminded that he liked to keep his personal life private, but knowing things about him few others did gave her a warm feeling inside. “One more hit and you’d have punctured a lung.”

  “That’s why I told my line not to let anyone touch me.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and faced forward once more.

  Brenda had seen that game. In the final seconds, he’d thrown a beautiful spiral pass to his receiver, who’d made the catch in the end zone for the win. Only thing was, upon review, the touchdown was overturned due to a technicality and they’d lost.

  Brenda didn’t dare eat the entire croissant because they were calling people to the starting line. “Wish me luck.”

  He stood and pulled Brenda to her feet. “Pace yourself. Keep Lila in your crosshairs and make your move at the end.” He kissed her nose.

  She tried for bluster in her voice. She really did. “I think I know how to run a race.”

  His grin sent adrenaline to her toes. “If you did, you’d never have eaten that croissant.”

  Smiling, Brenda went to line up, only belatedly realizing she was still wearing Clinton’s ring. She called out to him, “Let me give you the ring.”

  Before she took a step his way, Clinton waved her back. “Wear it. For luck.”

  The gun went off to start the race. Instinctively, Brenda lunged forward. She started out stronger than she had in years, buoyed by the impact of Clinton’s confidence in her. At least through the flat parts of town. And then the real work began—ten switchbacks up the hill and ten back down—and she didn’t think much at all. She just kept Lila’s pink running shorts within twenty feet ahead.

  By the bottom of the hill, Brenda’s legs were feeling like rubber, but somehow Clinton’s faith in her kept her going. In no time, they were turning onto the town square again.

  “Make your move,” Clinton called, waving her on from the curb.

  Brenda ran faster. She wasn’t going to be able to move later, but she could make her limp muscles move now.

  Uncle John and Aunt Evie were applauding, but they were applauding for both women. Clinton was applauding just for her. He sprinted across the grass dodging the crowd to cheer her through the last section, elbowing spectators aside and finally just stepping off the curb and holding out his phone to take her picture as she closed the distance to Lila.

  Clinton was an obstacle for runners who weren’t looking up. An obstacle for Lila it turned out, who stumbled and slowed as she dodged around him.

  Because she’d competed for years, Brenda took advantage of Lila’s misstep to charge forward to the finish while Clinton jogged after Lila, apologizing.

  Had he cheated for her? If so, he shouldn’t have. But…she’d won!

  Seconds later, Clinton caught up to Brenda and put his arm around her waist. “That was a tough race. You look beat.”

  No one had ever helped her after a race before, not even her anti-sports parents. She hugged him.

  Being married wasn’t so horrible. Especially when he treated her to another croissant.

  * * *

  “Look at what I bought,” Holly said to Brenda as they were getting into the cars to drive home. She and Evie had shopped the boutiques in town. “A baby quilt.”

  Clinton spared the women a glance before getting behind the wheel of Brenda’s car. The older women had the triumphant look of happy shoppers. Brenda’s cheeks were still pink from the race, but she smiled with unabashed longing at her mother’s find. She wanted to have kids.

  “Is that for Raymond?” Brenda traced her finger along the blue and orange patchwork lines. “He and Mary are going to love it.”

  “It’s for you.” Holly touched Brenda’s cheek. “For the baby you and Clinton are going to have someday.”

  Brenda’s gaze found Clinton’s. Her cheeks flushed with as much color as she’d had at the end of the race. She had to be thinking accepting the quilt was a lie. She had to be thinking she and Clinton would never have a baby together. Whatever she was thinking, he wished she wouldn’t. He wished he could make it so she never had to compromise from doing what was right.

  “Thank you, Holly,” Clinton said. “Blue and orange are the colors of the Wolves.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Holly hugged the quilt to her chest. “This means something to you. Now I’m glad I didn’t pick the yellow and green one.”

  The color of the Vipers.

  The two older women sat in the back seat on the drive to the judge’s house. Clinton took Brenda’s hand, merely for the sake of appearances. Although her hand felt right in his.

  When they arrived at the ranch, Brenda moved stiffly out of the passenger seat, groaning. “I should have walked the ten miles back. My muscles are cramping.”

  Clinton swept her off her feet and into his arms. To the glee of their audience, he carried her up the stairs, waiting on the front porch for Evie to unlock the door.

  “You can put me down,” Brenda said, blushing once more.

  He kissed her nose. “I don’t want to.” He was surprised to find it was true.

  He carried her all the way up to their room.

  * * *

  Evie and Holly put on Thanksgiving dinner in the afternoon, right in the middle of football.

  When the call came out that there was five minutes before everyone was expected at the table, the judge pulled Clinton away from the others and the two of them headed to the bar.

  “Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” The judge had that stern voice thing down, which to most people, when accented by the deep frown wrinkles on his face, would unravel their composure.

  Being used to coaches yelling at him, Clinton wasn’t going to be pushed into losing his cool from a hostile voice. “Haven’t you hounded us enough, sir?”

  “You’re a cheat.” The judge bounced ice cubes in his tumbler. “I’ve been thinking about your car. Why was it so important you get to it that night? I called in a favor to have someone search it. Does that rattle you?”

  Three hundred pound pass rushers rattled Clinton. One thing the police report didn’t say was that he’d already been to his car when the tow truck driver saw him. He’d thrown the bag of pills underneath another car.

  “Cheater,” the judge whispered. Clinton’s silence only seemed to make the judge more upset. He spilled whiskey while trying to fill his glass. “I saw what you did at the race. Don’t make Brenda a cheat, too.”

  “I didn’t mean to get in the way, sir. There were so many people lining the course.” And Clinton had never come out in support of someone before, at least not someone who wasn’t on his football team. He’d always been a party of one with his own fan club.

  The judge lowered his voice, trying to target Clinton’s weak spot. “If this gets out…this…this…false marriage. It’ll ruin her.”

  Bullseye. Clinton didn’t want what they’d done to get out, but he wasn’t entirely sure the judge wouldn’t expose them if he had any proof or a confession.

  “I can already see it’s eating her up inside. I’ll protect her, if you confess.” The judge gestured with his drink toward Brenda, who was working her way around the dining room table filling water glasses. “Look at her. She’s moving like an old woman.”

  Clinton laughed, the sound drawing Brenda’s gaze and a soft smile. “Of course, she’s moving slow, sir. She just ran a killer race.” He left the judge at the bar and went to join his wife at the Thanksgiving table.

  “Clinton, we have a tradition in this house of saying what we’re thankful for on this holiday,” the judge explained when everyone was seated. “You’ll need to come up with something loving to say to your wife.” The judge raised his half empty tumbler in salute. “As for me, I’m thankful for a
ll of you, but especially for my wife, Evie.” He gripped his wife’s hand. “She’s my rock and my moral compass.”

  Evie kissed her husband’s hand, eyes misty. “I’m just so thankful that everyone could make it here. I bet we’ll be driving to Los Angeles this weekend to see Raymond’s new baby. And I’m also thankful for Clinton—”

  The judge scoffed.

  Evie raised her voice. “Who so clearly dotes on our Brenda. It’s wonderful when true love finds you, isn’t it?”

  While he listened to other tales of love and joy, Clinton took Brenda’s hand. He could see himself falling in love with her. She was kind and logical, and just cutthroat enough to bend the rules to win. But what if she couldn’t fall in love with him? What if the judge was vindictive enough to ruin her reputation in order to bring Clinton to task?

  When it was his turn, Clinton turned in his chair to face Brenda. “I can’t believe someone like you just walked into my life and didn’t walk back out. You make me realize how selfish I am and how good you are. You and I…” He felt the table’s eyes upon him. “You and I…We have something special. I know you feel it, too.”

  Her smile softened and she gave the barest of nods.

  But was it love that was blossoming between them? How could he be sure?

  “I…” Clinton couldn’t say he loved her. He felt like it could happen, but he didn’t want to lie. Not to her. Not when the emotion he read in her brown eyes made it hard for him to breathe. And so, he told the truth. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  “What did he say?” Evie asked, alarmed.

  “He should love her,” Holly said in a voice that broke. “Brenda? Brenda, what’s going on?”

  The judge was grinning as he drained his glass.

  “We’re not married,” Clinton admitted. “I took advantage of Brenda’s kind nature in the courtroom the other day. But make no mistake, I left her no choice.” He didn’t want her to be blamed for any of this. “I wanted to play in the game on Sunday more than I wanted to be the kind of man that Brenda could love—an honest one.”

  Brenda still held his hand, but her head was bowed.

  “You lied?” Lila looked shocked, and then she began to laugh. “Well, that explains it. The universe isn’t totally cracked after all.”

  “Brenda, why did you go along with this?” her father demanded.

  “I…I…” Brenda couldn’t seem to find the words that would reassure Clinton he was making the right choice by coming clean.

  The judge lurched to his feet, bumping the table.

  Evie grabbed his arm. “John, what are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the sheriff.” He jabbed his finger at Clinton. “I want him back in custody before nightfall. I knew it. I knew you lied.”

  * * *

  From the living room window, Brenda watched the patrol car take Clinton away.

  “I can’t believe that horrible man was able to coerce you into pretending to be married. What has the world come to?” Brenda’s mother had her arm around Brenda’s waist. “You’ll press charges, of course. Kidnapping sounds good. That’ll get him locked up for years.”

  “He didn’t kidnap me.” Brenda turned around and faced her family. “Do you think so little of me that you’d believe I could be bullied like that? In the middle of the courthouse? In front of Uncle John?”

  They all looked sheepishly away.

  “Mom, Dad, you and Uncle Joe taught me about equal rights and justice for all. And yet, you pre-judged my clients in New York and Clinton based on what they do for a living. Where’s the equality in that? For years, I’ve let you talk down what I do, all because I charge clients for services.” She swallowed and took one last look outside at the disappearing taillights. “I help people. I’ve gotten settlements for retired players. I’ve helped clients who were injured on the job receive proper medical coverage. I’m out there fighting for justice, fighting for truth.”

  “Then why did you lie?” Uncle John asked softly.

  Brenda hesitated. “Because there was something about him—”

  Lila laughed.

  Anger had Brenda clenching her fists hard enough she felt Clinton’s ring around her finger. “He has the sincerity and desperation of a competitor. I understood that, more than I understand any of you.” She forced her stiff and aching muscles upstairs and collapsed on the bed.

  A short time later, there was a knock on the door. “Can I come in?” It was Uncle John.

  Brenda sat up. “If you’re going to file contempt of court charges against Clinton, you should also file them against me.”

  “Let’s talk about that in the morning.” He smiled, but it wasn’t sincere or apologetic. “It’s Thanksgiving. Come downstairs. You should be with family.”

  “I feel like you took my family away from me.”

  “Now, Brenda—”

  “Don’t “now, Brenda” me. What do I have to do to get Clinton out of jail?” She was still his lawyer. She could make sure Clinton played on Sunday with the right leverage. She just needed to know what it was.

  Uncle John shrugged as if she should have known the answer. “Annul the marriage.”

  * * *

  “Hadley, you’ve got a visitor.” A sheriff’s deputy opened Clinton’s jail cell door.

  It was Friday morning. Had his agent come back to town? Had his phone message to Coach Eggert gone through? Had the elder Mr. Wilson returned from the Bahamas to bail him out? Despite him taking a stand for what may or may not be love, Clinton still held onto hope that someone would get him out in time for the game.

  Clinton hurried after the deputy, approaching the station he was directed to. And then he stopped.

  His visitor gestured for him to pick up the phone, flashing a diamond as big as the state of Texas in the process.

  Clinton lifted the receiver. “Brenda, what are you doing here?” And thankfully, you’re still wearing my ring.

  “Mr. Hadley, I made a deal to get you out.” She held up a sheet of paper to the glass separating them.

  “What’s the deal?” She looked heartachingly beautiful. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her something to make her smile.

  Brenda dropped her gaze and bit her lip before answering. “Annulment. Uncle John will set you free in time to play the game if you sign these annulment papers.”

  He noticed there was no signature at the bottom of the document where her name was. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that?”

  She did. There was determination there. But it countered the ring on her finger. “You know our marriage was a lie.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be.” Clinton set the phone back in its cradle and left her.

  But he could still hear her yell, “I’m quitting as your lawyer.”

  * * *

  Saturday morning, the deputy returned to Clinton’s jail cell. “Hadley, you’ve got another visitor.”

  “Are you getting out?” his cell mate asked. He was a small, wiry old man incarcerated for shoplifting. “I already bet against your team. You told me you weren’t getting out until Monday.”

  Clinton again sat at a station and picked up the receiver. “Judge, if you’re here about the annulment papers, I don’t have anything to say.”

  “I’m here to offer you a deal.” The judge’s gaze shifted sideways. “Annul the marriage and I’ll release you for Sunday’s game.”

  The competitor in him was tempted, but he had a bigger win in mind. “Brenda didn’t sign the annulment papers, did she?” In their situation, it would only take one of their signatures to annul the marriage—a fact he’d learned via the legal advice of an advocate who’d stopped by yesterday. The question was: had Brenda refused to sign because she was protecting her reputation and job, or was she refusing to sign because she felt like Clinton? As if they had a chance at something important.

  “I have an annulment document here,” the judge said. “Sign and you can play in your precious game.”


  “I already told Brenda. I’m not signing.” Clinton stood.

  “I don’t understand,” the judge said in his sternest voice.

  “You should.” Clinton shrugged. “She’s worth it.” More than any grudge he held against the Vipers.

  * * *

  Sunday morning dawned. Clinton’s roommate was ecstatic because the Vipers were favored to win by ten points without Clinton playing.

  “Hadley!” the guard on duty shouted as he opened the cell.

  Clinton didn’t even get up. “Just tell me who it is and I’ll tell you if I want to talk to them or not.” By now, his agent should have returned. And the Wolves organization was probably trying to figure out how to get him out of jail. How big of a fine would Clinton be hit with for doing this? He didn’t care.

  “It’s your lawyer,” the guard said.

  Clinton hurried to see Brenda. Only it wasn’t Brenda. It was her mother, Holly.

  “Mr. Hadley, I’m your lawyer of record.” Holly shifted uncomfortably. “Since Brenda quit.”

  “I’ll make a donation for your time, but you can leave. I’m representing myself.” Clinton made to hang up the receiver.

  “Please. She won’t talk to me.” Holly reached out to touch the glass. “She won’t talk to any of us and I…I suppose we deserve it.” Her hand slid slowly down the pane. “She seemed so happy with you. I didn’t believe it was a lie.”

  Clinton sighed. “I think we recognized something in each other, something we trusted even when we were doing something crazy.”

  “I’m here to offer you a plea deal.”

  He shook his head. She couldn’t possibly offer him the deal he wanted.

  “This is a good deal.” Holly pulled a sheaf of papers from her lap. “All you have to do is agree to time served and public service at the impound lot for eight hours.”

  “No annulment?” He studied Holly’s face for any sign something hinky was going on, but she seemed sincere. “Did Brenda put you up to this?”

  “No. I told you she’s not talking to us.” She leaned forward and whispered, “It was John’s idea.”

  Clinton’s jaw might have dropped to the floor.