Chuck Kirkland, left forward, trapped the ball and crossed it to the left side. Marshall Townsend, striker, passed the ball back to the defender, who passed it to the right forward.
“That’s a clear shot,” Harv shouted, jerking his arms to his sides. “Take it, Spooner! Take it.”
Spooner trapped the ball and shot it back toward Townsend. Marshall took the shot. The Comets’ keeper blocked it with his fist, smacking the ball off to the left side.
Harv pounded his fist against his open palm to accentuate each word. “No. No. No! Spooner, what were you thinking? Townsend couldn’t make that shot!”
Buddy commented offhandedly. “If he’d made it, you’d have been slapping him on the back and taking both those guys out for a New York strip dinner.”
Harv growled. “I would have let him have a piece of my mind. For a chance at stardom, he turned down a sure thing. The only player I’ve ever had who could make those shots was you.”
The halftime discussion was peppered with Harv’s colorful phrases and a handful of diagrams on a dry-erase board on the sidelines. Buddy stood rigidly by his boss’s side, feeling that he had nothing to contribute. A few minutes into the discussion, he turned his head sideways a bit and, for one moment, he thought he saw a vision. He saw her climbing up the steps in the stands not far from him, wearing a bright red dress, carrying a bag of popcorn. “Andy…” But she wouldn’t be here, not after the way he’d treated her, not after everything that had gone between them.
But there had been a time when she believed in me more than I believed in myself. There had been a time when she believed in God more than he did, and maybe that had helped her see things he couldn’t.
Buddy straightened his back, shifted his gum to the other side of his mouth, and turned to the players. Harv had already moved down the line after finishing with Townsend. The team was just starting back on to the field. “Hey, man,” Buddy hollered at Townsend, a teammate he’d played beside not so very long ago. “I only have one thing to add to that chewing out you just got from Siskell.”
“Well,” Townsend tensed, he was waiting for Buddy to heap the criticism on, too.
“If you try a shot like that next time—” Buddy shouted, smiling “—just be sure you’re going to make it.”
Chapter Eight
The next morning, as Jennie lay in bed halfway between sleep and wakefulness, the telephone rang. “It’s me,” Michael said without preamble. “Cody’s doctors just called. Can you meet us at the hospital some time today.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What is it? Is he sick again? What’s wrong?”
“He’s fine, Jen. But his doctors have written an evaluation on him. They’re presenting the results and they want us there.”
“What time?”
“They’d like us there about nine-thirty.”
“I’ll see you then.” She threw back the covers and started in on another day caring for her son.
When she arrived at the hospital, Michael was waiting for her in the lobby. “Am I late?”
“No,” he said. “Just on time.”
They stood there, looking at one another.
“We probably should sit down,” he said, breaking the silence between them. Yesterday, the silence had been comfortable. The laughter had been so spontaneous. Today, it was not.
They sat as though frozen, within hands’ reach but not touching, barely breathing.
The seconds ticked by, until Andy entered the room and motioned for them to follow her. As they walked toward the doctors’ conference room, Michael didn’t take Jennie’s hand the way he had yesterday and the day before. The easy rapport between them was gone.
Michael had wondered if Cody would be at the meeting. He was glad now that he would not be. This wasn’t the place for a child, certainly not one whose dreams hung in the balance of what the doctors might tell them.
The interns filed in one by one. Jennie glanced at Michael, wondering if he could still see himself in these somber young people who stood waiting to declare a verdict on their child. One of them handed Michael a manila folder that contained the typed report.
“This outlines Cody’s progress and will tell you what we expect from him during the next months,” the intern began. “We will go over it with you verbally now. Tonight you can go over it together and contact us if you have questions.”
So cold. So clinical. A little boy’s limbs…their little boy’s life…
“We can’t promise you anything,” the intern continued.
“Well,” Michael said impatiently. “Tell us what you can. Please.”
“We believe Cody’s muscle control may come back over time, especially in his arms.”
“And…”
“His legs may be more difficult to bring back.”
“Which means?” Michael took a step toward them, daring them to tell him the worst.
“We believe Cody will not be able to walk again.”
“What?”
“We don’t believe that your son will be able to walk in the future.”
“No.” It was too much for Jennie. “Don’t say that.”
She took one step forward and Michael grabbed her arm. “Nobody knows, Jennie. You mustn’t lose heart. They have to give us their opinion, but it might not mean anything. Not really.”
And because it’s part of the profession the intern continued. “We recommend surgery on the left leg. The muscle tightness there could pop your son’s hip out of joint. We’d recommend severing that muscle before it causes a problem.”
“No,” Jennie whispered. She turned tear-filled eyes toward Michael.
“But you’ve got to know that while severing the muscle will solve the problem with the bone, the resulting damage to the muscle will leave it permanently weak.”
Michael turned back to the interns, knowing from the sudden slump of Jennie’s shoulders that he had to get her out of the room fast. “Thank you.” He tucked the folder under his arm and steered her toward the door. “We’ll go over this. Then we’ll get back to you.”
He didn’t let go of her elbow. They walked out side by side, their heads held high, past the row of interns and doctors who thought they knew Cody’s fate.
How could you have ever been so pompous, Michael thought. How could I have ever been so sure that I knew someone’s fate?
“You want to go in and see Cody?” he asked her.
Jennie shook her head. She couldn’t bear that right now. “No. I can’t.”
“Come on, Jennie. Let’s go for a walk.” He wanted to take her outside into the beaming sunshine and into the fresh air, any place that might bring them peace after the news they’d just received. But he knew they wouldn’t find peace anywhere. Oh Father, he prayed. Help us. As they started toward the stairwell, they passed the small gymnasium where Andy conducted her sessions.
“Simon says,” Andy’s voice rang out, “put your finger on your nose.”
Five children, all happy and sitting in line in wheelchairs, touched their noses.
“Good,” she said. “Very good. Now. Simon says wiggle your right hand.”
Five right hands wiggled.
“Now, wiggle your left hand.”
One left hand wiggled.
Jennie halted in the doorway, riveted to the scene. Michael gripped her forearms and hung on to her. He wanted to be her life preserver. “Michael.” She looked up at him like someone drowning. “Please. Take me somewhere. Get me out of here.”
“Come on.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, propelling her to safety. They raced down the steps and burst through the polished glass doors.
She took her first desperate, labored breaths of fresh air while Michael held her up.
“How can they say that?” she said, her voice raspy with pain. “How can they stand there and say that to our faces and expect us to accept that he won’t walk again?”
He gripped her shoulders. “They had to do it, Jennie. They’re docto
rs. They have to assess the situation as they see it.”
“Who gave them the right to pronounce that sort of sentence on his legs? Who gave them the right to tell us what Cody can or can’t do? Who gave them the right?”
“Jennie.” He held her at arm’s length. “Stop and think about it. We did. We gave them the right. We wanted to know what they had to say.”
She looked into his eyes, his dear gentle eyes that had calmed her during so many storms, that had been as cold as death once, looking at her from across a courtroom. Today, in the blaring sun, they held every bit as much pain in their sea green depths as they had held then. Pain. And frustration. And anger.
Anger. She stopped short, realizing it for the first time.
“You aren’t accepting what they’re selling, either.”
“I’m not accepting it.”
“Why?” And, in the moment she asked it, she saw him flinch. She could answer the question for herself. She could see it in his expression, too. “You’ve done the same thing to someone.”
He struggled to make her understand. “It’s a judgment call. It’s one of the most difficult things a doctor has to do.”
For the first time, she saw what he had been up against all along in his work, and their marriage. She hadn’t known that he’d had to make these kinds of calls when he’d left her every day. That realization came as another blow. He failed me in our marriage. But maybe I failed him, too. How much of a buffer could I have been for him then?
He hugged her around the shoulders as she went to him, nestling against him as he held her there. Despite her sorrow or, perhaps, because of it, she clung to him without reservation now, without restraint. And the emotion that soared within her made her feel as if she were balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.
Here was the attractive fair-haired boy she’d fallen in love with once.
Here was the grown man she’d grown disillusioned with and disappointed in.
Here was the man she wanted to kiss her more than she’d wanted anything in her life.
He hadn’t shaved this morning and the prickles of hair left dark contours around a jaw that had once been less severe, not so firmly set and a mouth much more prone to widen into a smile. His eyes, the true green color of the grass after spring rains, spoke volumes. They told her what she instinctively had already known. He wanted a kiss just as much as she.
He whispered her name. “Jennie.”
When she felt him holding his breath, it was as if time had stopped, as well. Ten years ago…six years ago…four…
He bent toward her. His touch, not as soft as it once had been but grittier now, was more demanding. He purposefully moved toward her mouth, and she turned slightly, knowing how well their lips fit together.
For a moment she was nineteen again and he was twenty-one and it was the first time they’d touched each other. He held her so close she could scarcely breathe.
Neither of them was the same as they’d once been. They were tied together by a painful past, and by their love for the little boy who lay in the bed on a floor above them.
His hands went to her shoulders and he held her slightly away. When he did, she saw the empty indentation on his finger where his wedding ring once had been.
She saw a broken marriage and years of pain.
She saw the nights Michael hadn’t come home and the ways she’d accused him of abandoning her.
She saw all the ways they had failed each other.
“Michael?” she asked reluctantly. “What are we going to do about the surgery?”
He broke their gaze for a moment. He stared up at the clouds drifting by above them. “We’re going to let them do it.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and looking determined. “We can’t.”
“What do you mean ‘no’? You heard what they said. The surgeon recommended it.”
“She recommended it. Dr. Phillips didn’t say it was something we had to do.”
“Believe me, Jennie. The woman knows what she’s talking about.”
“But you said yourself it was a judgment call.”
“An educated judgment call. Jennie, we’ll have a meeting with her and discuss it. But I already know what she’s going to say. The orthopedic surgeon here has a wonderful reputation. She’s trained for years to deal with situations like this one.”
But Jennie wasn’t giving up. “I was in Cody’s room when the surgeon examined him. She came Tuesday morning at seven-thirty. Andy hadn’t even had a chance to come in and work with Cody’s legs yet. He was stiffer than I’ve ever seen him. The doctor didn’t see him at his best.”
“Fine, then. We’ll get a second opinion. Is that what you’re telling me you want?”
“I’m telling you that even if we get a second opinion, I won’t be able to agree to let them damage a perfectly healthy muscle.”
“Jennie, the doctors wouldn’t suggest it if they didn’t think it was the best thing for him.”
“Twenty minutes ago you told me there is always hope. Now you tell me there isn’t any.”
For the first time, Michael’s impatience was evident in his voice. “That isn’t what I’m telling you at all. If Cody’s hip comes out of the socket, he could be in pain for the rest of his life.”
“But what if it doesn’t happen?” she insisted. “What if we ruined Cody’s leg muscle for nothing?” Why, just once, couldn’t they agree on something as important as their son?
“You’ll have your way no matter what happens. We have joint custody. They won’t agree to surgery without both of us consenting.”
“The surgery would make it so much harder for him to keep moving forward. Everything in me says we should avoid surgery at all costs.”
“And everything I know,” Michael told her stiffly, “leads me to believe we should follow a doctor’s guidance.”
She stood before him, nose to nose, bristling with defensiveness. “Because you’re a doctor, too,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You may be a doctor. But you’re also human,” she stated. “Humans make mistakes.”
“Yes. You seem to always need to remind me of that.” He stared at her angrily, his eyebrows in a tightly knit curl, his face as hard as granite. “You aren’t going to let me forget that, Jennie, are you?”
“Not—” she said quietly “—as long as my son’s future hangs in the balance.”
Chapter Nine
Cody couldn’t have asked the question at a worse time. He looked right up at both of them that afternoon, his eyes wide and full of hope, and asked, “Do you like each other again?”
Michael stared down at his son, covering his pain with a blank expression.
Jennie stared, too. “Honey…” she said after a long, awkward silence.
“Cody…” Michael said just a half beat later.
“I said, ‘Do you and Mom like each other again?’”
“Why would you ask a thing like that?”
“Because you’re being funny around each other. You look at each other and then you don’t look at each other.”
Michael glared across the bed at Jennie. He’d look at her all right. He’d look at her with all the blame he could muster in his eyes.
Jennie glared back.
Lord, Michael prayed. Help us know what to say to him.
Jennie’s pinched expression softened somewhat as she touched Cody’s hand and sat on his bed. “Darling.”
Michael knew she spoke slowly because she was searching for words, trying to be as honest as she could with him. “Your dad and I will always care about each other, mostly because we share you.”
She glanced at Michael and then down again.
At that exact moment, Michael and Jennie faced everything they needed to face. It was time to stand before Cody and answer the questions they’d been asking themselves each time they’d been drawn to each other these past few days.
The answer came swiftly. “The together part of our lives is ov
er, Cody,” Michael told his son with an air of finality, steeling himself not to look at Jennie. At last, at last, she would know for certain where she stood with him. “Your mom and I tried to be married once and we couldn’t be. That’s how we have to leave it.”
The little boy’s eyes, eyes that had been sparkling with happiness only moments ago, began to fill with tears. “But—y-you come here t-together all the t-time and laugh and I thought—I thought…”
“We’re here together because of you, Cody,” Jennie told him in no uncertain terms.
His little face twisted with pain. “But I don’t like you being d-divorced all—the time. I want us to live in the same h-house. I want us to live in the same p-place. I get—mad having to move around all the time—and none of my friends know where I—a-am—when they want to come p-p-play.”
“They know where you are,” Michael said, but even in his own ears the words sounded insincere.
“They know you live at my house on some days and at your mom’s house on others. Lots of kids do that.”
Cody’s voice rose to a wail. “B-but—I d-don’t w-w-want t-t-tooooo.”
Jennie tried to gather him into her arms but he wouldn’t go.
“I w-w-want…to…b-b-be in our old h-h-house when we were all together,” he sobbed.
Michael stood above them, feeling more helpless, if it could be possible, than he’d felt when Cody had first gotten sick.
Tears slid down his cheeks, as if he’d been waiting for this minute to express his full grief. “Please like each other again and then me and Mason can stay in the same p-p-place…”
A nurse stuck her head in the door. “Is everything okay in here?”
“No.” Jennie’s voice stayed firm as she held Cody’s little head on her knees. “He’s getting really upset.”
Michael and Jennie sized each other up. Michael could feel everything built between them during the past few days, every faint hope, every vague possibility, shattering into bits.
“I’ll go,” Michael said. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Jennie said as Cody wept into the lap of her denim skirt. “I think you should go.”
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