After draping his towel over the tub, Rex padded naked down the hall to his master suite where the soft hum of Sunny’s steady breathing greeted him. No point in waking her at midnight since both of them would be getting up in a few hours for their early morning workout. Their personal mini-gym had been a godsend, the equipment courtesy of Clark Baxter who bought an extra set he didn’t really need.
Rex climbed into bed, laced his fingers behind his head, and revisited the Pegasi roster. Dammit, Zach and Oliver should’ve come back and given him one more year, a last hoorah before calling it quits. Stupid kids, when it came to the privileged bond between a coach and his favored players what had they learned? Not a damn thing.
CHAPTER 6
Francesca had spent the better part of Tuesday in a couch potato stupor, the position well suited to her current lackadaisical state and one she’d learned to enjoy. Still, soccer mom duty called and by evening she welcomed the bite of crisp air and bright lights Show Me Soccer Park offered.
“We need to sit in the bleachers,” Ria told her, “so the other parents can see you.”
“I’m not here for them,” Francesca said.
“But it shows you care.”
After Francesca chose a front row seat, she nodded to the parents from Thunderbolt and those she recognized from opposing soccer clubs. All shared a common bond, watching their sons scramble for those precious openings on Pegasi United. Ria disappeared, Francesca figured for her usual spy mission, and didn’t return until the tryouts were almost over.
“There’s talk about Matt,” Ria said, her eyes focused on the glaring pitch.
Francesca shifted on the cold aluminum, sat on her gloved hands. “Next time remind me to bring a blanket.”
“Mo-om, you’re supposed to ask what they said.”
“Okay, give it to me straight, without prejudice.”
“Not bad. Gutsy kid. Whoa! Way to go, Canelli. Dang, he’s better than I thought.”
Francesca cracked a modest smile, as much for Ben as for herself. After the session ended, Ria grabbed Sybil’s keys from her hand and ran ahead to remote the doors, leaving Francesca to walk alone while Matt lagged somewhere behind. She didn’t turn to check on him, having been warned before that he was capable of finding the SUV (not Sybil) where they left it. Nearing the parking area, she heard someone yell her name. She stopped and turned to see Rex Meredith approaching.
“Now what,” she muttered too low for his ears to catch.
He slapped his hands together to keep them warm, just as Matt had done after the last session. “You didn’t call,” Rex said.
What call? Oh yeah, the other night, it must’ve slipped her mind. What excuse would Ben have given, maybe the truth with a touch of drama. She smacked the heel of her palm against her forehead, and let a flood of words spill from her mouth with surprising ease. “Oh my god, Rex, I totally forgot. But after watching Matt on the field, I can’t see how a discussion would make any difference. Matt seems so natural, like he belongs with Pegasi. Did you notice the improvement or am I letting the biased feelings of a proud soccer mom cloud my judgment?”
Rex chewed on his lower lip. He massaged the annoying cleft in his chin. “I don’t mean to crush your spirit, Francesca, but all of these soccer parents consider their sons Pegasi worthy, even those who once rode the bench for a basement team.”
He had to be kidding, right? She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and met the gaze of his blue eyes. “Matt didn’t ride the bench, not once. He started every game and rarely came out unless it was a sure win.”
“You’re not hearing me, Francesca. Every one of these boys has improved since last year, some more so than others.”
“In that case I’d better say a few Hail Marys.”
“It can’t hurt but it probably won’t help. I still want to give Matt every possible chance before I make my final decision. Perhaps we could meet somewhere tonight, unless you’ve made other plans.”
Of course, she hadn’t, other than going to bed, her favorite part of the day. But this about Matt and she owed him her best effort. “How about stopping by my house on your way home?”
Rex shook his head. “No point in alarming Matt. The kid has enough on his plate already. Besides, what with Sunny having a night out with the girls, I’m stuck with taking Payton and Angel home.” He snapped his finger as if a sudden thought popped into the big head he’d been carrying around for years. “How about that White Castle down the street, say around nine?”
White Castle, those belly bombers Matt and Ria were always bugging her to buy, knowing she’d never stop at three or four. Oh well, this wasn’t about her. Francesca agreed to Rex’s suggestion, even though it meant another thirty-minute roundtrip drive. More gas, more money, more headaches. Pass the aspirin; she just wanted some relief.
Later on the way home, Matt asked her about the conversation with Coach Meredith.
“No big deal,” she said, faking the nonchalant attitude. “Just the usual chitchat about my well being, you know: the sympathy routine.”
“See, Matt,” Ria said. “Didn’t I tell you: everything in life doesn’t revolve around you and your precious soccer?” She leaned forward and smacked her lips. “What’s for supper, Mom?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Not again.”
Yes, again. Did everything in life have to revolve around the purchase, preparation, consumption, and cleanup of food. Not to mention the aftermath of acid indigestion.
When they got home, Francesca even surprised herself.
“Mom’s international buffet,” Matt called the pizza, enchiladas, and spring rolls she transferred from the freezer to the oven to the table, all under her previous record of thirty-five minutes. At least she hadn’t resorted to the microwave, its less than perfect results for crispy items. Dessert presented a more difficult though not impossible challenge. She dug around in the pantry and tossed out three opened packages of stale snacks before discovering the perfect solution hiding behind a row of cereals. Ben’s private cache, for weeks before the accident she suspected he’d been cheating on her.
“Do I have a treat for the two of you,” she said, holding up the crumpled box of Twinkies. “Strawberry jam and ice cream on these babies will make a great English truffle.”
Ria folded her arms and sighed. “That’s not fair.”
“Shut up, Pickle Face.”
“Knock it off, both of you.”
After assembling two desserts in as many minutes, Francesca pushed her culinary efforts across the table to the disgruntled offspring who gobbled them up faster than vultures feasting on road kill. The kids were scraping their bowls before she’d finished licking jam from her fingers. What perfect timing. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, grabbed her purse, and opened the back door.
“Do me one favor, please. No more fighting while I make a quick trip to Wal-mart.”
“Can I come too?” Ria batted her eyes, an exaggerated gesture which used to melt Ben but didn’t faze Francesca.
“Not at this hour on a school night, Sweetie.” She silenced Ria with the show of her palm. “No arguments, I know your homework is done. You can watch TV but I want you in bed by the time I return. You too, Matt, but not before you take a shower.” On her way out the door Francesca caught their reflection in the window, Matt pretending to cry and Ria thumbing her nose at him. Ben would’ve loved the spontaneous exchange between siblings who knew the right irritation buttons to push.
Ten minutes into her drive to White Castle, Francesca’s cell phone rang. She answered it with the hope of Rex canceling their meeting.
Instead he hit her with a new wrinkle. “Sorry, Francesca, I got sidetracked. Angel needs help with his geometry, which just happens to be my best subject, not that I’m bragging, you understand. Anyway, we’ll have to postpone Matt’s future with Pegasi until tomorrow night. Same time, same place.”
“I’m sorry too. Ria has gymnastics then.” Not that Francesca e
xpected her to go. “Look, Rex, I really appreciate your willingness to give Matt an extra boost but—”
“Hey, no problem. Payton can help Angel and I’ll see you at the Castle in a few minutes.”
“But—” An abrupt click from Rex’s end terminated the call. She stuck out her tongue to the cell phone as she closed it, only to hear the damn thing ring again. This time she answered with a curt, “Yes.”
“Mom, you need to get home right away,” Matt said in a voice straining to stay calm. “It’s Ria. I think she broke her arm.”
All thoughts of Rex Meredith and Pegasi were dismissed from Francesca’s mind as she executed a quick U-turn. Not once during those next ten minutes did she consider calling Rex, not with her hands gripping the steering wheel while she ignored the speed limit through three consecutive suburbs before slowing down at the traditional sign welcoming her return to Richmond Heights. As soon as she pulled into her driveway, the red Tudor door swung open, shaking the mourning wreath so hard it fell into Matt’s hands on his way out. Cradling the arrangement as if it were a baby, he came running to meet her.
“It happened so fast,” he said, backpedaling as Francesca nearly plowed over him while making her way up the flagstone walk. “We were in the kitchen goofing off when all of a sudden Ria decides to turn a cartwheel. I guess the floor was wet or something because her arm kind of skidded out from under her, and wham! She crashed faster than a sparrow with a broken wing.”
Francesca found Ria in the foyer, sitting on the stairs, her head resting against the banister. She was cradling her left arm in a plastic bag filled with ice. Dried tears streaked the cheeks of her pained face and when she spoke, a fresh set spilled from under the pink of her glasses.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t be mad at me. Or Matt ‘cause it wasn’t his fault—I mean the back flip.”
“The back flip?”
“His, not mine. The whole thing was an accident.” Ria removed her hand holding the icepack and crossed her heart. “I’m telling the honest-to-gosh-truth.”
One look at the bone protruding from Ria’s forearm brought tears to Francesca’s eyes. She blinked them away, leaned over, and kissed Ria’s salty cheeks. “Not to worry, Sweetie. We’ll talk about what happened later but right now we’d better get your arm checked out.”
“You mean the hospital?” Ria screwed up her face again. “I want my daddy.”
“Give it a rest, Pickle Face.”
The expression on Matt’s face said he wanted Ben too. So did Francesca, now more than ever. Instead she drew on Ben’s strength and the calm manner he’d always managed to project during any crisis, major or minor.
“Matt, you warm up the car while I help Ria into her coat and shoes.”
“Oh, no,” Ria said with a groan. “Does this mean he’s driving?”
Matt lifted his eyebrows and grinned.
“Please, on top of everything else do you think I’ve gone completely bonkers,” Francesca said. “He doesn’t even have a driver’s permit.”
“I will in six months.”
Matt behind the wheel six months from now, another milestone Francesca would have to face alone. But first, Ria, who never came in first for anything, had now suffered her first calamity. The hurry-up-and-wait trip to the emergency room of Children’s Hospital eventually resulted in a preliminary examination followed by multiple x-rays. Both of which confirmed Ria had indeed suffered a compound fracture of the left radius, this according to an orthopedic resident who didn’t appear old enough to drive his date to the senior prom, let alone diagnosis a sparrow’s broken wing. It was almost midnight before the Canelli survivors left the hospital with Ria’s arm in a temporary sling and instructions to contact their pediatric orthopedist the next day. As if every child has an orthopedist; of course select soccer players do, if for no other reason than having their bones measured for growth potential.
Except for a security guard making his rounds, the parking garage was deserted when Francesca maneuvered Sybil through a tight zigzag of aisles. At the exit gate she nodded to a second guard, pulled onto a short street and from there, Kingshighway Boulevard. A row of contemporary street lamps illuminated the stately boulevard separating the vast complex of Washington University’s medical center from Forest Park, site of the city’s 1904 World’s Fair, and one of Ben’s favorite areas to picnic with the kids. Shortly after exiting West onto Interstate 64, they passed beneath an overhead bridge linking the park to the Saint Louis Science Center. “We should go there again,” Matt said, “when you’re feeling better.”
“I’m okay,” Ria replied through a yawn.
“I wasn’t referring to you, Pickle Face.”
Which only left Francesca; she ignored the comment.
“And don’t forget the zoo. Daddy loved the penguins.” Ria yawned again. “So, Mom, do we even have an ortho-whatever?”
“As a matter of fact we do. Right, Matt?”
“Yeah, from two years ago, that stress fracture on my right foot. I had to lay off soccer for a lousy four weeks before Doc Mandrell gave me the okay to play again. What a bummer.”
“It’s not like soccer is your whole life,” Ria said.
“Yeah, Pickle Face, it really is, not that I’d ever expect you to understand. I’m talking dedication, passion, excellence, a winning season and the respect of my teammates.”
“Mo-om, he’s started to sound like a coach.”
“Not any coach, Pickle Face, and not Coach Meredith. Those words came straight from Dad.”
Francesca knew. She’d heard the words more than once.
*****
The next morning Matt had forgotten to knock on her door or Francesca didn’t hear him because she woke up to the ringing of her bedside phone. She answered it with a dry mouth and stuffy head, followed by a wince when the caller all but shouted his words.
“Francesca, Rex. What happened last night? I told you to wait for me, I know I did because you agreed, am I right? But no-o, Matt’s welfare just wasn’t where it should’ve been, on the top of your priority list. You stood me up like a flimsy piece of cardboard.”
Francesca sat up, rubbed sleep from her eyes, and tried to sound as if she cared. “Oh my god, Rex, I am so embarrassed. Right after we talked, I got another phone call and had go back home because my daughter broke her arm. Matt and I took her to the hospital.”
With that, the tone of his voice switched one hundred and eighty degrees. “Now I’m the one who’s embarrassed. What can I do?”
“Not a thing, but thanks for asking.”
“Of course you’ll need the best orthopedist.”
“We have Dr. Mandrell. I’m calling his office this morning.”
“Leonard Mandrell? He’s … okay. But my boy’s listed among the top docs in the country. Don’t do anything until I talk to him first.” Rex being Rex hung up before Francesca could protest.
He called back within the hour to give her the orthopedist’s name and the location of his office in Children’s Hospital. “Bring your daughter there at ten-thirty this morning and don’t be late. As a favor to me, Hal agreed to see her without an appointment.”
Wouldn’t any orthopedist have done the same, considering the circumstances? Still, she appreciated the intercession. “This is so kind of you, Rex. What more can I say.”
“For now, not a damn thing, but you owe me, Canelli, big time.” He followed up with a laugh so creepy it jarred her back to reality, especially when he ended with a phony baloney disclaimer. “Just kidding, what the hell. Have a good day, and an even better one tomorrow.”
How could she? Tomorrow would be February 14, her first Valentine’s Day without Ben.
CHAPTER 7
Three days passed since Rex blessed Francesca with the Harold Olson recommendation and she hadn’t heard another word from him, not that she missed his badgering but she wanted to make sure her son wouldn’t suffer any fall-out from what Rex perceived as lack of inte
rest. She’d changed her clothes and was prepared to chauffeur Matt to the next Pegasi tryout when he told her not to bother since Ian would be picking him up.
Her stomach turned a triple flip-flop but she answered in a casual manner. “Ian drives?”
“I meant his dad.”
“Right, Dave the assistant coach. He thanked me for giving Ian a ride home, which I thought was quite nice. Nevertheless, isn’t this the final tryout? I should really be there.”
“What are you saying: in case I don’t make the team?” Matt grinned, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Come on, Mom. It’s freezing out there. I don’t need you shivering in the stands or in Sybil with the motor running. It’s not like I’m still a kid you know.”
“You’re a punk until you’re eighteen, Bro,” Ria said, having entered the living room without being noticed. “That’s what Daddy used to say.”
“Who asked you, Pickle Face?”
“Well, if Mom’s going, then so am I.”
“Enough, both of you. Matt’s right, he doesn’t need me.”
“Come on, Mom. That’s not what I meant.”
Since the hullabaloo over Ria’s arm had subsided with it now encased in a cast, life in the Canelli household had evolved into a new normal, an almost bearable life without father and husband. The harmless bickering between siblings gave Francesca a comfortable measure of the old security. If this was as good as life would ever get, it might be enough get her through the next decade.
A flash of headlights pierced the front windowpanes. Matt’s ride. Francesca went to the door, opened it and waved to a shadowy figure positioned behind the wheel, hopefully a grown-up even though she couldn’t make out the face. “Good luck,” she said to Matt as he brushed past her.
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