Family Matters (7 page)

He was so far out of touch with the world of Major League Soccer that he hadn't even known what to wear when he came to visit Harv Siskell.

Harv Siskell. The man who had come to watch him play soccer at R. L. Turner High School his junior year and who had wooed him onto the team. Harv Siskell, who was too good a friend now to ever give up on him.

Buddy straightened his tie again, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“Harv is ready for you,” the secretary told him.

He practically jumped out of his chair and grabbed the packet of videos with both hands. “Thanks, Margaret.”

She winked at him, which calmed him down just a bit. “It's good to see you back in this office, Buddy.”

“Thanks, Margaret.”

Harv stood beside the desk waiting for him when he entered. “Buddy. Come in. Have a seat.” And then the man did a double take. “You look like you got dressed for somebody's funeral!”

“I couldn't decide what to wear.”

“How about number fourteen?” He gestured toward one of Buddy's old jerseys hanging against the wall amid the many team photos and trophies. In big green numbers it said 14, with DRAPER above. After he had left the team, they had retired his number.

Both he and Harv stood looking at the jersey for a minute. “Brings back memories,” Buddy said, feigning nonchalance.

“So.” Harv took the videos from Buddy's hands. “You want to tell me what's been going on lately? How are things going with that beautiful woman in your life?”

Buddy shot him an astonished look. “What?”

“You know what I'm talking about. The pretty dark-haired lady you used to bring around to all the games before you forgot how to drive your car and crashed it.”

Oh, Buddy knew, all right. “I don't see her anymore.”

Harv sighed. “Sorry, kid. Guess she was just a groupie, huh? Did she only want you when you were a famous Burn soccer player?”

Buddy thought about Harv's question for a long time. That hadn't been Andy's motivation at all. Andy wasn't like any other woman he'd ever known. “I wish,” he said to Harv, smiling sadly. “It would have been easier that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Andy's a PT, she works with the kids at Children's Medical Center. When she heard I quit playing soccer, she let me have it. She didn't know that the front office pulled my contract. She thought I gave up because I wouldn't be the best anymore.”

“Interesting.” Harv took a swig from his water bottle. “Very interesting. And you never bothered to set her straight.”

“She'd worked so hard to help me play again, Harv. It meant everything to her because she knew it meant everything to me. I couldn't tell her that all the hard work she put herself through for my sake just wasn't enough. All she could see was
me
giving up. And I'll tell you right now, Andy learned a long time ago not to let people give up.”

Harv sighed. “She was a nice-looking girl.”

“Still is.”

“I'd sure like to see you moving ahead with your life instead of having to let so many things go.”

“I'm going to be okay, Harv. I thought God had a certain calling on my life, but he didn't. Or it changed. Or something.”

“You could say it changed.”

“I just have to find my new direction. The place God wants me to go next.”

“Maybe I can help you do that,” Harv said.

Buddy pointed to the packet of videos on Harv's desk. “Maybe you already have, Harv. It's been a long time since I've been this excited about anything.”

“So? That mean you're interested in the job?”

“If I wasn't, I darn sure wouldn't have come all the way down here in this suit and tie.”

“I want you to remember one thing while we discuss this,” Harv told him, his eyes crinkled up in a smile. “I want you to know what you're getting into before you tell me you'll do it. Coaching from the sidelines is a lot different than being a player. Sometimes it's easier. Sometimes you see things a whole lot clearer. Other times it's more frustrating than you ever thought possible,” Buddy said.

“I've had my share of that already,” Buddy said.

He took out his notepad while Harv turned on the VCR and slipped in a game tape. Together, they spent the rest of the afternoon absorbed in watching the runners moving around the field.

M
onday morning, almost two weeks after Cody had taken ill, Jennie returned to work for good. She had a million and one things to do; sketches to complete, staff to manage and an editor to assuage. But she could not stop thinking about Michael as she sat behind her desk with a thousand responsibilities weighing down on her.

Number one, I wanted Michael to hold me.

Number two, standing in that kitchen, in my ex-husband's arms, I didn't feel alone anymore.

And, number three.

Most important, this number three.

We had six years to make things work between us and we couldn't do it. What would be any different now? If Cody hadn't gotten sick, we never would have come back into each other's lives.

She absentmindedly shot a rubber band across the room. It hit Art Sanderson on the shoulder as he passed by. “I hope that wasn't intended for me.”

“I always intend them for you, Art.” She aimed another one.

At that precise moment, Art disappeared into his office and the object of her previous thoughts stepped in, neatly dressed in an open-necked turquoise shirt that complemented his eyes and wavy blond hair. She froze, the rubber band still in hand. “Michael?” she whispered even though she didn't need to. “What are you doing here?”

“I've come to see if you want to hang out with me today,” he said with breathtaking nonchalance.

“Hang out? Now?”

“Now is as good a time as any. Six Flags is open all afternoon.”

“Six Flags?”

“I want to go somewhere with you, anywhere with you, that we can both relax and have a good time for a few hours. We deserve it.”

She stood up and looked at him as if he were absolutely bananas.

“Is that so crazy? Is that so wrong? It's been so long and I…I just…” He walked over to her desk. “I needed to prove something to myself.”

“Like what?”

“Like…what happened between us on Saturday wasn't just a figment of my imagination.”

I'd give anything
, she thought,
for someone to tell me what's right…what's wrong.

Then,
I don't want to hurt over this man anymore.

“Jennie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Suddenly he smiled. “It scares you, doesn't it?” he said very softly. “It scares you just as much as it scares me.”

“What would I have to be scared about?” she asked. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she lied.

He went down on one knee. It was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever seen. “Go with me this afternoon. Please? I'll win you something. I'll get you the biggest, tackiest animal on the midway. I'll ride all your favorite rides twice.”

“Michael,” she reminded him. “This is my first day back at work. I'm swamped here.”

“Is she giving you a hard time, Michael?” Art stepped out of his office.

“Well,” said Michael, “apparently she's loaded down with work.”

Art surveyed her desk. “Everything already waited a long time. There's nothing here that can't wait one more day. Just go, Jennie. Give yourself a break.”

Art and Michael left her no choice. Michael brought the car around and they went on their way. They walked hand in hand among what seemed like hundreds of kids and teenagers. “What shall it be first?” he asked her as they stood watching the six flags of the different countries that had once claimed Texas for their own. The flags of France, Spain, Mexico, the independent Texas flag, the Confederate flag and the United States flag all snapped and rippled in the breeze.

She thought a minute. “The go-carts. I always liked the go-carts the best. Then the Log Flume and the Runaway Mine Train and the Spinnaker…”

When he stopped laughing at her enthusiasm, he had to ask her. “When's the last time you were here?”

She narrowed her eyebrows and thought back. “I must have been a senior in high school. We came here on a senior trip.”

“We never came together, did we?”

“No. Remember? We were always going to bring Cody when he got old enough.” But, when Cody had finally been big enough to ride all the rides, they'd been pursuing their divorce.

“I'm glad—” he said quietly “—we've found a spot on neutral ground.”

“Neutral ground nothing,” she said, suddenly smiling mischievously. “I'll take you on at the shooting gallery. Then you'll figure out we're not on neutral ground.”

“Okay,” he said, letting her take his hand and drag him. “You show me.”

They rode rides all afternoon. She beat him three times at the shooting gallery. He teased her incessantly because one of the rides she wanted to ride wasn't there anymore.

“They've torn it down,” he kept saying, “to make way for bigger and better things. That should make you feel old.”

“Hush, you,” she said, waggling a finger at him. “Today's been wonderful. It's made me feel young instead.”

“But they've torn down the Flying Jenny!”

“It always was my favorite when I was a little girl,” she admitted, honestly saddened.

“Probably—” he laughed “—just because it was named after
you.
”

“Leave me alone.”

“Maybe I don't want to leave you alone.”

They went to the Mexican section and he bought her a huge tissue-paper flower. They sat on a deck, watching twinkling lights flicker on all over the park, stuffing themselves full of enchiladas and refritos at El Chico's. After the waiter took their plates, he dared her to ride the enormous spinning Mexican hat they'd been watching across the way.

“After eating enchiladas?” she asked him, eyes huge. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” he said. “I can handle it. Can you?”

“You're a doctor,” she teased him back. “You shouldn't let people do this to themselves.”

They paid for their dinner and giggled all the way to the giant sombrero. And, after it was over, they both wobbled off, panting and laughing, hand in hand.

“You look a little green,” he commented.

“So do you.”

He grabbed her hands again. “We'd better help each other along.”

She said out of the blue, “We should have brought Cody here.”

He looked at her sadly, remembering everything now that stood between them. “We should have.” He changed the subject. “I promised to win you an animal, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Come to think of it, that's exactly what you promised me.”

“Well, come on, then.”

They walked to the midway, where he spent a fortune buying chances to throw balls at milk bottles and shoot darts at balloons and throw dimes in bowls. Finally he was victorious. The man behind the booth handed Jennie a fat plush pig with a flourish. “There you go, young lady.”

Michael counted his change. “I think I just paid fifty bucks for that thing.”

“Thank you, Michael.” She shot him a little sideways grin that made her look sixteen years old. “I love him. I'm going to name him Petunia.”

“Him? Petunia?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Really laughed. But she didn't laugh with him. Tears welled in her eyes instead.

“Do you know how badly I needed this?” she asked him.

He asked, “Are you okay, Jennie? Why are you crying?”

It was everything he could do to keep from bundling her against him again. But he wasn't going to do it here beside the ring-toss booth while she cried over Petunia the male pig. So he told her the truth. “I knew.”

During their afternoon at Six Flags, they'd decided Jennie would start teaching Michael some of Cody's therapy the next day, at lunchtime. Michael parked the car, then stopped to admire one of the brightly colored paintings on the cement wall along the lot. Children staying at the hospital had done the paintings themselves, wonderful primary-color renditions of hopes and hurts.

How long
, he wondered,
will it take Cody to be able to draw pictures again?

As he boarded the elevator, Michael hated to admit he felt a little bit let down today. He'd been eager for some time to start learning Cody's therapy. But it was hard coming here after he and Jennie had gotten away yesterday. For a few hours he had forgotten all the challenges his son was facing. He felt guilty for forgetting. Guilty and afraid, because he'd held Jennie the other afternoon and he hadn't wanted to let her go.

The first person he saw when he walked into Cody's room was Jennie. Suddenly, he wasn't just scared anymore. He was terrified.

Their relationship had subtly changed over the past few days. He was attracted to her again.

Father, I never intended to feel anything for her again.
It didn't matter. After Cody got well, Jennie would go back to drawing cartoons and ignoring anything that didn't advance her career. He'd go back to long hours with his practice and the hospital, taking duty calls at all hours of the night. Despite what had happened to Cody, he and Jennie were still the same people who'd divorced each other. Nothing would ever change that.

At the sight of her, he remembered the day four years ago, when they had faced each other in the courtroom. Jennie had sat quietly, tears and anger in her eyes.

“Your honor,” his lawyer had said. “The grounds for this divorce are irreconcilable differences. Both Michael Stratton and Jennie Stratton have informed the court that the marriage cannot continue. There is no fault involved here, although Michael Stratton is the party who actually filed in court.”

“Does Jennie Stratton agree with that statement?” the judge had asked.

Her lawyer looked at Jennie. Michael looked at Jennie. She hesitated ever so slightly, then nodded.

“Yes, your honor,” her lawyer had said.

And so, their marriage had ended. Michael's heart had flooded with relief and guilt and grief. Once upon a time, maybe they had loved each other. Or maybe, they had only thought so.

“Hi, Jennie,” he said quietly now as she turned toward the sound in the doorway. “Hello there, little guy.” He took Cody's hand and focused all his attention on his son.

Andy Kendall arrived, looking brisk and cheerful. “Therapy time,” she sang out. When she saw both of them standing together, she smiled at her little patient in the big hospital bed. “Ah. Today my student is a teacher. So I just get to sit and watch.” She sat down in the plastic chair and propped her feet up playfully. “Go for it, Jennie.”

“You have to critique,” Jennie told her. “I want you to watch me and tell me everything I'm doing wrong.”

Andy inclined her head with a knowing smile. “Oh, I will.”

Jennie laid her notes on the bed and surveyed a page before she started. Then she began to demonstrate shyly to Michael as she spoke. “This is how you do it. As you sit and talk to him, at least three times a day, you need to work his leg muscles like this.”

Michael watched her for a while, then she stepped back so he could try it. It was almost funny, being so formal with each other today. Michael moved Cody's leg up and back, up and back, with one hand pressed firmly against the ball of his foot, the other gently bent around his knee.

“You're doin' it, Dad,” Cody said. “You're doing it just right.”

“You sure are.” Andy nodded, too.

“That
is
just right,” Jennie told him. “Perfect.”

“Aw,” Michael said, not quite so afraid anymore. “Of course it's perfect. I wouldn't have it for Cody any other way.”

“Now,” Jennie instructed him. “Next we do this…and this…and this…” The lesson went on for over half an hour, while the two of them worked side by side. By the end of the session, Andy had left, giving them her approval, and Jennie was blowing streams of iridescent bubbles through a tiny blue wand.

“Get 'em, kid, let's get 'em,” Michael egged Cody on, relaxed now and totally engrossed in the movements as he and Cody tried to pop as many bubbles as they could as they wafted up over Cody's head.

Cody was giggling then, finally, laughing, a great belly laugh as the room filled with bubbles. And just as Michael was deciding that this therapy session was almost as much fun as the day before at Six Flags, one of the biggest bubbles landed right on Jennie's head and sat there.

“Mom's got a bubble on her head,” Cody cried. “Look, Dad. Mom's got a bubble sitting right on top of her.”