In This Together

by Patti Berg

  The crowd roared again, and Elena looked back at the court just in time to see Cesar nail a three-pointer.

  Elena jumped up, thrusting both arms in the air. “Way to go, Cesar! Way to go!” She clapped so hard her palms hurt. All of a sudden the score was Cops 15, Docs 10. Each team might have had more points if they hadn’t stopped so many times to laugh, complain to the referees about being fouled, or to take time out to catch their breath. They definitely weren’t NBA–class players; but they were fun to watch, and they were doing this for a cause—which was all that truly mattered.

  “Having a good time?” Anabelle asked, as she and her husband Cam sat beside Elena on the bench, their hands full of goodies from the bake sale, plus steaming cups of cider.

  “The best.”

  “Maureen—that’s Evan’s girlfriend—you’ve met her, haven’t you?” Anabelle asked, scooting close to Elena.

  Elena nodded. “A time or two.”

  Anabelle leaned in and whispered. “She and Evan are getting closer and closer all the time. And I just love her children.” Anabelle’s smile couldn’t be any more radiant. Like Elena, she loved being a grandmother.

  “Are they coming to the game?” Elena asked.

  “They’re already here,” Anabelle answered. “They should be here any minute.”

  “After they load up on cookies,” Cam said. “I had a tough time deciding what I wanted from the bake sale, but once Annie”—he patted his wife’s knee—“gave me the okay to pick out a few things, as long as I go easy and save some to take home, the decision was easier.”

  “His cholesterol was a bit high at his last checkup,” Anabelle said. “We keep cutting back on fats at home; now we’re having to cut back when we go out too.”

  “It’s tough,” Cam admitted, “but I’d rather eat less fat than pop pills morning and night.”

  Elena smiled at her friends as cheers rose in the crowd and people yelled, “Way to go, James!”

  “Oh no,” Elena cried out. “What did we miss?”

  The person sitting in front of Elena, a man she didn’t know, twisted around, his beady eyes frowning at her, and abruptly said, “He stole the ball. You might have seen it if the three of you hadn’t been gabbing so much.”

  When the man turned away, Elena rolled her eyes and watched James dribble the ball to the other end of the court and then lob it to his son Gideon, who took a three-point shot and hit the basket dead on.

  Elena, Anabelle, and Cam clapped and shouted, until Cesar ran to the side of the court and looked up at his wife, a grin on his face. “You’re supposed to be cheering me and the Cops on, not the Docs.”

  “Then get out there and play,” she tossed back, laughing at her husband. Sweat dripped down his face, and his damp shirt clung to his body—which, thank heaven, was still in great shape. “Make some points and I’ll cheer.”

  “Boy, the things a man has to do to get his wife to appreciate him.”

  Cesar twisted around, bumped into Dr. Kelsey who dramatically flopped to the floor, and Pastor Tom blew his whistle. “Foul!”

  Cesar shook his head. He attempted to argue with the pastor, who was wearing his clerical collar even now. But Pastor Tom was having none of Cesar’s protest and, with a grin, told him to get back with the rest of his team while Dr. Kelsey shot his two free throws.

  He missed both.

  Elena smiled.

  The game continued, back and forth, back and forth, while the bleachers filled almost to overflowing. Elena sneaked a few quick peeks at the bake sale tables. Izzy was in her element—dramatically pointing out the different items for sale—dressed in the sparkly COPS RULE sweatshirt Elena had decorated for her. Elena and Sarah both wore matching sweatshirts, although Elena’s was covered by her sweater.

  Why on earth did it have to be so cold tonight?

  As if Izzy knew her Buela was watching, she looked out to the stands and smiled, proudly showing off her gap-toothed smile. She’d lost her first tooth last night at Baldomero’s, right in the middle of their celebration.

  She was growing up too fast. Soon she’d be too big to carry around. Elena might have sighed at the thought, but her dismay drifted off with the noise of her sudden cheer.

  Cesar stole the ball from Dr. Hamilton.

  He lobbed the ball to Rafael.

  Rafael slam-dunked the ball for another two points.

  The score was tied at 20 when the teams took their next break. At long last, Anabelle and Cam’s son Evan, his girlfriend Maureen, and her daughter Olivia walked up the bleachers and scooted in next to Cam.

  As they shared a few hellos, Elena realized that she’d forgotten how athletic Maureen looked, not to mention how lovely. Her hair was short and in a boyish cut, which seemed to suit her perfectly. And right this minute, her grayish-green eyes sparkled as she looked from her daughter to Evan.

  Olivia—a three-year-old with long, silky blonde curls—couldn’t be any cuter in a Cinderella T-shirt and sparkly pink tennis shoes. She crawled up in Evan’s lap the moment he sat down, looking right at home. Elena took it all in and couldn’t for a moment miss the smile on Anabelle’s face.

  “Where’s Jacob?” Elena asked Maureen, leaning forward, ignoring the little twitch of pain that hit her for just an instant. Maureen leaned forward too, so they could see each other around Anabelle, Cam, and the Evan/Olivia combo.

  “When he saw Isabel working at the bake sale, he asked if he could help out too,” Maureen said, combing her fingers through her hair. “Did you know the two of them are in the same class at school?”

  Elena frowned for a moment, thinking about the kids Izzy chatted about in the evenings. “Oh. He must be the Jacob who’s so good at arithmetic and reading, and can run faster than any other boy in first grade.”

  Maureen and Anabelle laughed. “His teacher has asked me if I’d consider moving him up a grade,” Maureen said, “but I’m not sure yet. He isn’t bored, and he loves his teacher; so Evan and I think it would be best to keep him where he is for now.”

  Elena had definitely heard the phrase Evan and I think. That was couple-speak. These two were definitely an item, connected at the hip. No doubt Anabelle would be hearing wedding bells in the near future.

  “Oh, look,” Anabelle said, nudging Elena lightly. “There’s Fern. Think we can make room for her to sit with us?”

  Elena spotted Fern Bell, James’s wife, walking into the gym with their youngest son Nelson, her cane at the ready in case she became fatigued or lost her balance. She’d had multiple sclerosis for so long, Elena could hardly remember a time when the diminutive fortysomething woman with silvery-brown hair worn in a pixiecut hadn’t used either a cane, a walker, or a wheelchair.

  And Elena had never heard her complain. What a miracle.

  “Of course we can make room for her,” Elena said, patting the empty seat just to her right, and getting another dirty look and a shush from the balding man in front of her.

  “I’ll go get her,” Cam said, putting his packages of cookies in Anabelle’s lap and setting his cup of cider by her feet.

  “If she doesn’t feel she can climb up to the fourth row,” Anabelle said to her husband, “don’t make a big deal out of it. Just see if we can find an empty spot in the bleachers where all of us can fit.”

  Fern waved when she saw her friends, and when Nelson ran off, probably to be with some of his friends, Fern wrapped her hand around Cam’s arm when he offered it to her.

  “She looks great,” Anabelle said, whispering close to Elena’s ear. “I haven’t seen her walking that steady or seen that much pink in her cheeks in ages.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Elena said, feeling a bit ashamed of herself for wimping out over the few aches and pains she’d suffered from the last two days, when Fern had, at one time or another, almost completely lost her ability to walk because her muscles were too weak, or her speech had slurred or her vision had blurred. Today, though, she looked like a new woman. The picture of
health, even though she took the steps slowly.

  “Hi there,” Fern said to the gang, when Cam helped her sit on Elena’s right. He then proceeded to squeeze in front of Elena and Anabelle to sit once more by his wife.

  Fern looked so pretty. She couldn’t possibly stand more than five feet tall and Elena, at five eight, felt like a giant next to her. She was dressed in a pretty orange sweater set with a string of pearls at her neck, so totally…cute. Yes, Fern Bell was cute.

  And right now she was all smiles. “I hear I missed James stealing the ball.”

  “You’ve missed quite a few hijinks,” Anabelle said, bending forward to see around Elena, “and a few good plays too. But I’m sure the men—who’ve been acting like little boys—will delight us with a lot more entertainment before the game’s over.”

  “Great. I’m so in the mood for fun.”

  “You’re feeling good then?” Elena asked, unable to hold back the question.

  “Better than I’ve felt in years, although James is still being the mother hen.”

  “I imagine it would be difficult for him to switch that off and on,” Anabelle said, her words possibly sounding a little blunt, but she was right.

  “I suppose so,” Fern said, and laughed. “With him nine years older than me, I once thought I’d end up taking care of him instead of the other way around. But…God has a plan for both of us. I’m sure I fight it far too often; but, thankfully, the good Lord’s been very patient with me.”

  Elena hoped the good Lord would be patient with her too, because, quite honestly, she was getting a little tired of feeling out of sorts.

  After the ten-minute halftime, the teams came back on the court, the men flexing their muscles, egging on the crowd, getting everyone to stand and cheer. That was Elena’s cue to go down on the floor and give her spiel, pretty much the last thing she had to do for this event. Monday she’d get back to planning the main event—the actual Walk for a Cure. The big day, when cancer victims and survivors would be honored, speeches would be given, and people from all over Deerford would walk, run, or in some way ambulate around the track, all for charity.

  The chairwoman’s job was never done—but she loved it.

  As she scooted down the row of bleachers, she stepped on Evan’s foot, nearly tripped over someone else’s knee, and was hit by pain when her first foot hit hardwood. She sucked in a deep breath, hoping no one would notice anything more than a woman who needed to build up her courage before talking to the crowd. Cesar, however, must have noticed something. He frowned and took her arm. “Are you okay?” he whispered. She nodded and took the microphone Pastor Tom handed to her.

  You can’t wimp out now. Give it all you’ve got.

  She faced the crowd and smiled. “Thank you all so much for coming out today to watch the cops and docs play for charity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think some of our favorite citizens had taken basketball lessons from the Harlem Globetrotters. They’re that good…sort of.” She grinned. “And they’re that fun! And they’re doing all of this to raise money for the American Cancer Society’s Walk for a Cure.”

  The crowd roared, the cheers echoing around the gym.

  “And we can’t forget our bake sale crew—the kids, big and little, who are selling cookies and brownies and tarts, not to mention the citizens of Deerford who donated the goodies, and, of course, the members of the Church of the Good Shepherd who donated these wonderful facilities.”

  The hurrahs were almost deafening; when they quieted, Elena talked about the walk itself: how it would be held the weekend before Thanksgiving and how they still needed volunteers. “The names of our coordinators, plus their e-mail addresses and phone numbers, are on the flyers you were given when you came into the gym. Please think about volunteering in some way. If you can’t volunteer, please donate and definitely come out and enjoy the big event and all the activities surrounding it.”

  Pastor Tom took the microphone from Elena, gave her a quick hug, and added his thanks before blowing his whistle. “Let the game begin again!”

  But before it did, Cesar hustled Elena off to the side of the gym. The laughter in his eyes had disappeared, replaced with worry. “You’re not okay, are you?”

  “It’s nothing. Really, hon. Just a slight muscle spasm.”

  “Maybe you should see the doctor.”

  “It’s not that bad, Cesar. Now please, go back to the game and win one…for me.”

  Elena kissed him softly. She could tell that even though he wasn’t placated—that her “It’s nothing” comment hadn’t appeased him—he went back to the game. Somehow or other, she was going to have to tell him what was going on; but she wanted to hold out, needed to make it through the weekend. It could easily be a bug that was plaguing her, something minor, and it could be gone before she headed back to work on Monday.

  That’s what she prayed for before heading back to her place in the bleachers, where she cheered on her team and her friends, wishing the game could simply end in a tie. In fact, she prayed for it to end in a tie, so neither team, both of which were filled with her friends and her family, could claim bragging rights.

  In the end, 38–38 was a mighty fine score. She also scored a few volunteers. She managed to down most of a small hot fudge sundae at Germain’s Ice Cream afterward, and she’d spent the rest of the evening pain free.

  “Feeling better this morning?” Cesar asked the next morning, standing at the kitchen counter—barefoot and wearing faded blue jeans and a T-shirt—blending a fruit smoothie for Elena to drink before she went to church.

  “Much.” She tried to stifle her yawn, then gave in and covered her mouth with her hand as she reached into a cabinet next to the sink for a morning multivitamin. “You’re the one who played ball last night, yet I’m the one who’s exhausted.”

  “Why don’t you kick back today,” Cesar said, pouring the smoothie—mostly strawberry and banana—into a tall iced-tea glass. “Put your feet up; read a book.”

  “Sounds lovely. I might even think about it when I get home from church, but I have too many things on my to-do list, and if I put anything off until tomorrow—”

  “I know…” Cesar grinned and handed her the drink. “Your schedule will be a mess, and you’ll have to work twice as hard tomorrow.”

  “You know me well.”

  “Buela! Tito! Guess what?”

  Izzy flew into the kitchen, her long black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Instead of her usual girly-girl Sunday best, she wore pink running shoes, skinny black jeans, and a Tinker Bell T-shirt. Was this a new fashion statement?

  “I suppose you’re going to have to give us a clue,” Cesar said, while Izzy skipped toward the kitchen cabinets and reached for the cookie jar.

  “No cookies this morning, Izzy,” Elena added, and smiled when her granddaughter spun around, a why-can’t-I-have-them-for-breakfast frown on her face.

  “Just one cookie,” Izzy said, “then I’ll give you a clue.”

  “How about a clue,” Cesar said, “and then a bowl of cereal?”

  “Actually,” Rafael said, yawning as he walked into the kitchen, “we’re going out for breakfast. The Corner’s having a special—all-you-can-eat bacon and sausage, if you buy their Country Bumpkin Big Boy Breakfast.”

  Elena thought about lecturing her son about cholesterol building up in his arteries, but she’d just rather avoid talking about food.

  Izzy skipped around her grandfather. “And after breakfast, Daddy and Mommy are taking me to the harvest fair, and we’re going to—maybe—buy a homemade kite and enter the fancy pumpkin-decorating contest, and look at bird feeders made out of gourds.”

  “And,” Rafael continued, “eat churros and funnel cakes.”

  “And turkey legs!” Izzy roared, jumping up and down.

  “Sounds like fun,” Elena said, “but what about church? Did you forget this is Sunday?”

  “I already told God I wouldn’t be at church today,” Izzy said, matter-of-factly, as i
f she had a good excuse, “and I told Him I’d be a good girl all week to make up for it.”

  Elena shook her head, a little disappointed; Rafael shrugged his shoulders. He—and even Izzy—knew how important it was to her for them to go to church together. It was bad enough that Cesar rarely went.

  “The fair’s in Peoria,” Rafael said, opening the fridge, grabbing the jug of orange juice and then putting it back down, as if he’d suddenly remembered they were going out to breakfast and were just about to leave. “It’s a long drive and I’d like to get there before noon.”

  “Do you think God would mind if we just said a prayer before eating our turkey legs?” Izzy asked, climbing into Elena’s lap.

  Elena hugged her granddaughter. “You’ll have to ask God about that, sweetheart. But if I had to venture a guess…” Elena sighed softly. Izzy was so excited—how could she possibly put a damper on the little girl’s day? “I’m sure God will understand.”

  “Good.” Izzy gave Elena a rushed kiss, hugged Cesar, and grabbed Rafael’s hand. “Come on, Daddy. We’d better get going.”

  It wasn’t more than a few moments later when Rafael and Izzy raced out the kitchen door, coats in hand, and Elena heard the roar of Rafael’s van backing out of the drive.

  Elena took another sip of her smoothie and then smiled at Cesar. “Would you consider going to church with me? We’re having a special harvest service, I’m going to give a little shout-out about the Walk for a Cure, and the ladies in my Bible study group are providing persimmon cookies and pumpkin tarts for fellowship after the service.”

  Cesar frowned, as if that were the craziest question she’d ever asked him. “I’ve got to pick up gasoline for the lawnmower so I can do the lawn and start winterizing the house.”

  Elena laughed and pushed up from the table. “It’s okay, hon. You don’t have to make excuses. I know full well you have your reasons for not wanting to go to church.”