Dream Keeper (Indigo)

by Gail McFarland

  “Hey, man, you knew what I was when you brought me out here. No shame in my game.” Smoothing a hand over his cap, AJ sat straighter. “Besides, now I’m just a humble physical therapist.”

  “By day.”

  “Yeah, well, you’d have to ask Marlea about my nights. I’m too humble to speak on it myself,” he sniffed.

  Dench blew out and rolled his eyes. On the road in front of him, traffic slowed as it merged onto I-985. “And yet you were out there signing autographs like a pro—an old, retired pro.”

  “I am what I am. But, brother, you were out there taking charge like a real coach—gettin’ results and everything. You looked good. I’m thinking Sunday will be a win for you.”

  “You think?” Dench hit the brakes when kids in a convertible cut him off. “For real?” When AJ nodded, Dench’s grin lit his face. “That’s high praise, dude. High praise, indeed.”

  “You deserve it. I saw you, I saw your team, and considering the time you’ve had with them, you did good.” His eyes cut across the cab. “Have you thought about playoffs? Playoffs and Rissa?”

  “Playoffs, Rissa, and a baby? Yeah, dude. I’ve thought of almost nothing else.” Concentrating on the road ahead, Dench thought again. “She’s a complicated woman and she’s smart, but I know she’s watching the calendar, counting down the days for this baby. Dude, she made me promise to pick up paint samples for the nursery.” His eyes met AJ’s. “Was Marlea like that?”

  AJ shrugged, eyes on the road. “I think they all do that. It’s natural.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Gripping the steering wheel, Dench made his way onto I-285. “Makes it hard to keep my head in the game sometimes.”

  “Gotta watch that.”

  “Dude, you think I don’t know that?”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “I know.” Dench’s mouth was suddenly dry, even after he found his bottle of water and brought it to his lips. He tried to think of how to say what was on his mind. AJ fiddled with another CD, and Dench tried to frame his thought. “Has she said anything to you—about the baby?”

  “You know Rissa,” AJ snorted. “Every chance she gets, she’s talking about the baby. I thank God that she lives in your house instead of mine—even if it is only down the street.”

  “Yeah, I do know Rissa. Maybe that’s why I think that there’s something that…she’s not telling me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Aw, come on AJ, don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to be all, you know, in touch with my feelings. I just know Rissa, and something’s off.”

  “Marlea hasn’t said anything—she would have told me if Rissa said anything to her.”

  “Huh. You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Huh.” Dench slowed and drove thoughtfully down the exit ramp. “She tell you what happened with her client?”

  “Which client?” AJ drawled. “What happened?”

  “James Clarence, she calls him Jimmy. He called after you all left on Christmas Eve, right? He had talked to her earlier, then he talked to me. Well, something one of us said must have been right because we woke up a couple days later with a chauffeur at the front door.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, dude, for real. It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, and Rissa was buried under the covers when the doorbell rang, so I grabbed my robe and went to the door.”

  AJ snickered. “Probably shuffling like an old man in those leather house shoes the kids gave you for Christmas.”

  “Whatever, dude. I like the shoes. Anyway, by the time I got to the door, Rissa woke up and came running right behind me. You know how your sister is. I barely got the door open before she started asking questions.” His voice rose to imitate hers. “Who is it? Is that a limo out there? Why is a limo out there? Is that man dressed as a chauffeur? Why is a chauffeur at our front door?”

  “And she never took a breath in between, right?”

  “Don’t laugh, dude, you know she didn’t. But when I opened the door there he stood, a chauffeur, uniform and all. He was even wearing these high, polished black boots like you see in the movies, and I promise, he bowed and all but clicked his heels when the door opened. I asked who he was and he handed over these two long white boxes. ‘Courtesy of Mr. James Clarence,’ he said.”

  Turning in his seat, AJ didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “So what was in the boxes?”

  “You’re as bad as Rissa. He was a chauffeur, dude, pulled up in front of my house—that was enough for me.”

  AJ gave up and laughed.

  “Dude just smiled, touched the brim of his cap and got back in the limo. By the time he drove off, Rissa had her box open. Red roses, a split of champagne, and imported chocolates—mine was the same. Don’t ask, I guess he was so happy that it was all he could think of. Anyway, both cards had the same note. Seems the boxer is getting married, after all. Private ceremony, and oh, we’ve been invited to be godparents.”

  “Godparents, huh?” AJ’s laughter simmered to quiet. “That’s why you’re wondering about Rissa? If this is too much for her, with her own pregnancy and all?”

  “Yeah, and she’s all over the godparent thing. Thinks it’s sweet, thinks she can maintain professional distance as his agent and still be there for him and his wife.” Making the turn off Cascade, Dench let his truck slow as he neared the gate to his own street. Pulling close to the electronic sentry he stopped the truck and sighed. Punching in the code, he watched the heavy gate slide open and drove through.

  “You think it’s too much,” AJ finally said.

  “And you know I’m right.” Dench nosed the truck up the winding stone driveway and stopped at the side door of AJ’s home.

  “You say anything?” Sitting in the truck in the midst of the winter-bare stone courtyard, AJ saw the things that made his home his own: the rose garden he’d planted with his wife, the small blue boy’s bike tilted on its training wheels, a Big Wheel with plastic rainbow streamers parked next to a pink-hooded doll stroller, and a pair of adult bikes neatly racked beside the narrow porch. At the door, several pairs of adult running shoes waited on a shelf next to plastic children’s boots.

  He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped when Dench’s glance answered his question. This man was as close as a brother, closer. And he married my sister. Wish I could help, but…“What did she say?”

  “She’s your sister, man. You already know what she said.”

  “And she’s your wife. What did she say?”

  “That she wanted to do it. That after everything we’d been through, it was a sign that things were going right for us.” Dench slid low in the seat and finished off the water left in his bottle. “I opened the champagne and finished it off, then I said I thought it was a bad idea.”

  “Working up your nerve, huh?” AJ saw the fire build behind his friend’s eyes. “What did she say?”

  “Fine.”

  “Damn! That’s all she said?”

  Dench crushed the empty water bottle and nodded. “Dude, you know that’s the one word women use to end an argument when they’ve decided to be right…”

  “And you need to shut the hell up.” AJ looked across the courtyard and whistled softly.

  “I told her that I was going to call Clarence and tell him to count us out, that we had too much on our plate already.”

  And now I know what a dead man looks like. AJ looked at Dench and shook his head. “What did she say to that?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You know that was a dare and not permission, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. But at least I got her to agree to think about it.”

  “Or at least that’s what she’s going to let you believe, for now.” AJ shook his head. Across the courtyard on the porch, pretty white eyelet curtains moved in the window next to the door. He saw his sister’s curious face appear, eyes bright, lips curling in a smile when she recognized the truck. “Speak of the devil…”


  “…and the imps appear,” Dench finished, reaching for his door. “My Aunt Linda used to say that.”

  “Hope she was wrong this time,” AJ muttered, climbing out on the passenger side.

  The door opened and Rissa slipped out. She pulled the door closed behind her and stood waiting, her jeans and sweater shrouded in the blue afghan she’d pulled around her shoulders. Dench smiled and she smiled back. It amazed him how still she could be sometimes, and how perfect she could be in her stillness—like now. Poised with the dark slash of her hair and the warmth of her eyes contrasting against the rosy gold of her skin, she waited for him as if he were the only man in the world. When her full lips parted, flashing the brightness of her teeth, he felt his heart clench.

  “Hey.” Behind him, he heard AJ’s voice. “It’s my house, how come you get the hero’s welcome?”

  “Dude, ’cause I got it like that.” Long steps took Dench to Rissa’s open arms and he forgot all about AJ.

  Knowing when his presence was not required, AJ stepped past them and pushed the door open. He grinned when his wife and children looked up at him from the middle of a room filled with women and children. Play date, he remembered.

  Nia promptly stood from her seat on the bright-colored plastic see-saw, tipping another child over in her rush for her father. Jabari was close behind, and a laughing Marlea just shrugged as she came toward him. It’s good to be the king, AJ thought, scooping up his daughter and son.

  A king in his own right, Dench strolled in with his arm around Rissa’s shoulders and surveyed the room. “What’s with all the little people?”

  “Play date,” Rissa answered. “I’m not sure why Marlea thought the King holiday would be a good time to bring children together, but since Yvette and I closed the office today, I thought I would help.” Her lips brushed his ear to whisper, “Besides, it’s good practice.”

  “Speaking of practice,” AJ leaned in and whispered into Dench’s other ear, “let me show you what to do in a roomful of kids.” He planted a loud wet kiss on Nia’s cheek and one on Jabari’s before letting them slide to the floor. They looked up at him with adoring eyes, then melted into giggles when he winked at them. Lifting his hands to the room at large, he looked at Marlea. She made a “mommy face” and the children took the hint.

  “I’d better go help,” Rissa chuckled, peeling away from Dench’s side.

  “And that’s all there is to it,” AJ grinned. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Baldwin? You know she’s got a thing about her kitchen.”

  “She’s probably hiding in her apartment, or maybe on the phone in the den. You know she’s got a boyfriend now.”

  “No kidding?” Dench followed AJ into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. “Same guy she was with Christmas Eve?”

  “Far as I know.” AJ set plates and glasses on the high granite counter. Turning to the range, he lifted lids from the pots and made a face. “Looks like the kids had spaghetti.”

  “I like spaghetti.”

  AJ shook his head at the pot. “Man, this is little kid spaghetti, all sweet and bland. No garlic, no oregano, no real seasoning. Trust me, this is not the spaghetti you want.”

  “How about this, then?” Dench popped a Tupperware container open. “Baked chicken?”

  “From last night. Cool.” Looking over his friend’s shoulder, AJ pointed. “Grab that one, that one, and that one.” Taking the containers from Dench, AJ opened them and approved the contents. “A couple of beers, and we’re in business.”

  Heaping plates took minutes to heat in the microwave while the two men sat with their longnecks. In the rooms beyond the kitchen, they could see Connie lightly tossing a ball to Jeannette as a trio of three-year-olds chased them. Rissa sat in the middle of the floor with a thumb-sucking child in her lap, reading aloud, while Marlea sang about the wheels on the bus.

  AJ shoveled in a mouthful of garlic-laced mashed potatoes, then pointed his fork at the scene before him. “Not sure why Marlea thought the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday would be a good time to bring children together, but when you marry a teacher, even one who holds world records as a runner, you have to expect childhood enrichment.” He dug his fork deeper into his potatoes. “Just think, in a few months, you’ll be sitting here with one of your very own.”

  Dench swallowed hard and had to reach for his beer.

  AJ jabbed his fork into the chicken. “Of course, they don’t start out like that, running around, talking, eating spaghetti. Yours will be little, an infant.”

  “Right, all round and smooth and…”

  “And then you’ll have to feed it and burp it and change it, and man, when they need changing…whew!”

  “Dude, you sure know how to take the joy right out of it, don’t you?” Dench sucked at his beer again.

  “Hey, I’ve done it twice. Just consider me the voice of authority.”

  “But you didn’t do it alone.”

  Halfway to his mouth, AJ’s fork stopped. “No, I didn’t, and truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Marlea made it so…right. That made it cool, a lot easier, and when your own baby looks up at you with eyes that trust you for everything…there’s nothing like it, nothing like it in the world.”

  Imagining, Dench watched the other man’s face. “Dude, you’re just soft. You sound like a man in love.”

  “Hey, I am what I am.” AJ laid his fork across his plate, his eyes fixed on his family. “Give it a minute. The woman, the children, they get to you like that.”

  “And what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

  “I like how strong she makes me, man. I like it a lot.”

  “Whipped,” Dench whispered.

  “Like puddin’,” AJ agreed, taking up his fork again. “I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I can’t imagine anything better.”

  “I wanna be just like you when I grow up.” Eyes on Rissa, Dench tilted his bottle to his lips and drained it.

  “Keep on living,” AJ promised, finishing the last roll on the plate between them.

  “It’s a good thing you two didn’t mess my kitchen up any more than those children did, or you’d be lucky to keep on living,” Mrs. Baldwin muttered from the doorway. “I leave here for five minutes and you two come in here like twin tornados—and look at the food. Ought to change your last names to ‘Hoover.’ You suck up food like vacuums.”

  Dench made a face. “Where’d she come from?”

  “Sneaky,” AJ whispered.

  “With really good ears,” Mrs. Baldwin huffed. Whisking the men’s empty plates from counter to sink to dishwasher took seconds. Mrs. Baldwin reached into the refrigerator and withdrew cold beer and set the tall bottles in front of the men. “Remember that the next time you want to discuss me.”

  “Okay.”

  Dench flinched, his shoulders rising. “Oh, you’re just gonna take my life in your hands. You know that’s a dangerous statement, coming from a woman.”

  Mrs. Baldwin pressed her lips together and looked over the top of her glasses.

  “Not saying that I know all about every woman in the world,” Dench amended, trying to mitigate the damage. AJ wrapped long legs around his high stool and looked from his friend to the housekeeper. “See, what I really meant was,” Dench tried again and stopped when words failed.

  AJ brought his fist to his mouth and succeeded in not laughing. “All I know is, I love my wife.”

  “So now you’re going to throw me under the bus?” Dench’s eyes filled with brief reproach that gave way to something more vital. “I love my wife, too. Even if she can be crazy sometimes.”

  “Marlea gets crazy, too. And stubborn, especially when it comes to doing what she thinks is right.”

  The lift of Mrs. Baldwin’s eyes was an unspoken prayer for patience.

  “Okay,” AJ admitted, “we love them, we married them, and we will definitely keep them, no matter what. Maybe it takes some imperfection to
make a woman perfect.”

  “Here comes the bus again.…”

  “You’ve got more nerve than a brass-assed monkey.” Hands on her broad hips, Mrs. Baldwin let her eyes lift again. “You both do. Neither one of you has got the sense to realize that those two women would probably be sane if they didn’t have two slightly screwed up men to contend with. After all, I’ve had the chance to see you at your best and your worst.” She looked directly at AJ and pushed her lips together. “Like that screaming fit you all went through when Marlea ran the race in New York that time. And I can always tell when you two have had a falling out because she wants to eat pancakes—like it’s my fault.”

  “Dude, she called that, got you cold!” Dench hooted.

  Mrs. Baldwin turned on him. “You’re not much better: Rissa gets on your nerves and you practically move in here because you can’t bear to be unhappy in her presence. Got that woman so spoiled she thinks the sun rises and sets on you, dares anybody to tell her different, and won’t admit it to your face. Crazy, that’s what it is.”

  “She told you, didn’t she?” Dench watched the housekeeper’s face soften.

  “I might have heard something about you two adding a baby to the mix. Good luck with that.”

  Dench looked into the next room, to find Rissa looking back at him. “Yeah,” he said, watching her blush and drop her eyes. “We’re hoping for good luck with everything.”

  Connie caught the swift exchange, saw the look on Dench’s face and the responsive flush of Rissa’s skin. Her lips lifted. “Something’s up.”

  Jeannette rolled the red, yellow, and blue ball across the floor and into the little hands of a delighted toddler. “What? What’s up?” Capturing the returned ball, she looked from Connie to Marlea and Rissa.

  “I don’t know, but something’s been in the air for the past few weeks. At first, I just thought it was you and Dench just doing what you do—rolling all over each other like puppies. But it’s more.” Connie’s gaze narrowed, appraising Rissa. “What don’t we know?”

  Surprise washed across Marlea’s face and she stopped singing, though the children continued, mangling the words as they went along.