A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (46 page)

But not today.

“Hey . . .” His father waited until Jake was closer before he said anything. “Climb in.”

Jake did as he was told. The car must be a rental. Apparently his dad was making big bucks at the radio station. Back when he worked for the Marion paper, before the divorce, his father never would have rented an Acura NSX. But then, he wouldn’t have had an airhead for a girlfriend either. A lot had changed.

“Well . . . what do you think?” His father’s smile was practically bursting through his skin.

“Where is she?”

His expression went blank. “Who?”

“The girl. Bambi. Bimby . . . whatever her name was.”

“Bonnie.” A shadow fell across his eyes, and he looked older than Mom. They were the same age, but there were more lines on Dad’s forehead now. He worked them with his thumb and forefinger and cleared his throat. “She’s getting a massage.”

“Oh.” Jake wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks for picking me up.” He patted the dashboard. “Nice rental.”

His dad leaned forward, sunglasses in one hand, his arm resting on the steering wheel. He looked like one of those guys in a
Sports
Illustrated
ad. “What if I told you it wasn’t a rental?”

It took a moment for Jake to remember to breathe. “Not a rental?”

The grin was back on his father’s face. “Remember last summer, that conversation we had about cars?”

“Cars?”

“That’s right.” An unfamiliar chuckle slipped from his dad’s mouth. Something about it made Jake feel like he didn’t know the man. Almost like he was trying too hard to be cool.

“Uh . . .” Jake tried not to be bugged. Where were these questions going, anyway? “You asked me which cars were hot right now, right? That conversation?”

“Exactly. You told me the hottest car would be a used Acura NSX . . . maybe a ’91. Remember?”

“Okay . . .” Jake’s heart rate doubled. It wasn’t possible, was it? After all, he would be seventeen next week. But would his dad really come all the way from New Jersey to bring him a—

He swallowed hard. “Dad . . . whose car is it?”

Moving his arm off the wheel with more flare than usual, his father turned off the engine, pulled out the key, and handed it to Jake. “It’s yours, son. Happy birthday.”

Jake’s mouth hung open a moment. “No way.”

“Yes, way.” His dad grinned again and slipped on the sunglasses.

“I’m busy next weekend so I brought it down now. That way you’ll have it for your big day.”

A million thoughts crowded Jake’s ability to think. Was his father serious? A car like this had to cost forty grand! And what about Jeni and Kindra and Julieanne? For that matter what about Kelsey? The superbabes would all be after him once they got a look at this thing. Man, she could probably do zero to sixty in five flat. Probably reach one-thirty, one-forty in a street race.

Jake gulped. What would Mom think? She didn’t want him owning
any
car yet—let alone the hottest street racer this side of the Illinois state line.

His father was staring at him, the grin still in place. “Well . . .”

“Dad, it’s awesome. I’m in shock.”

“Yeah, well . . . it’s the least I can do.” He removed the sunglasses again, his eyes serious. “I’ve missed a lot, being gone, son. Maybe this’ll make it up to you. At least a little.”

“A little? How ’bout a lot.” Jake’s fingers and toes tingled; the flesh on his arms and legs all but buzzed with excitement. He wanted to stand on the roof and shout it to the world.
I own an Acura NSX!
His dad might have changed, but the man did love him, after all. He must. And Jake loved him, too. Especially now.

His father was watching him again, waiting. But what could Jake say? How did a kid thank his dad for something like this? He lifted his shoulders a few times. “I don’t know what to say, Dad. Thanks. It’s perfect. I . . . I can’t believe it’s mine.”

His dad laughed again, the kind of polished laugh he probably did often on his radio program. “I think you’re in my seat, son.” His father released the hood latch and climbed out. Jake did the same. They met near the front of the car, and Jake couldn’t resist. He slipped his fingers beneath the hood and popped it open. Jake pulled in a sharp breath. No way! He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Did his dad know this wasn’t a stock engine?
Act normal
, he told himself.
Don’t give it away.

The engine block was raised, with a reshaped combustion chamber and a custom intake manifold. Forget fast. This car was going to fly.

“Good stuff, huh?” His dad patted his shoulder and left his hand there. The feel of it made Jake miss the old days. Back when there wasn’t this . . . this awkwardness between them.

“Yeah . . . nice.”

His dad did a little cough. “It’s a fast car, son.”

Jake twisted around and met his father’s eyes. He probably had plans to take the engine back to stock first thing next week. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s keep that little detail from your mother, okay?”

“Really?” Jake’s mouth was dry. What would the guys say about this? They’d want to hang with him every weekend, for sure. He’d be the most sought-after kid at Marion High. Mom would be furious if she knew how fast it was . . . or how much it cost. But Dad was right. No point bothering her with the details. “I won’t say a word.”

Dad raised a finger and pointed it close to Jake’s face. “But no tickets, now, you hear?”

“Not a one.” Jake nodded, serious and certain. This was a car he could have fun with, but he’d be careful. No risk taking. No street racing. Well . . . maybe a little street racing, but nothing dangerous. A few of the guys on the team had started racing lately. But even if he did, it wouldn’t be much. Once a month, maybe. Besides, he had a reputation for being one of the safest drivers at school. “You can trust me, Dad.”

“Good.” His father dropped the sunglasses back in place and glanced at his watch. “Better get you home. Your mom’ll wonder what took us so long.”

Besides, Bunny—or whatever her name is—is waiting.
Jake let the thought go. He moved to pass his father en route to the driver’s seat. It was a moment when, in years past, Jake would have hugged his dad hard, or crooked his elbow around his neck and given him a few light, playful punches in the gut.

But not now.

Since his parents’ divorce, everything had changed. First his father’s address and job title, then his clothes and the ways he spent his Saturday nights. Girls like what’s-her-name were a dime a dozen for his dad. And why not? His dad was a looker. Handsome, strong, former jock, smooth voice . . .

Girls liked men like his dad.

What Jake didn’t get, though, was what his dad saw in the girls. Especially with someone as wonderful as Mom living at home alone.

With each passing second, the moment grew more awkward, and finally Jake thrust his hand forward. His dad did the same, and the two shook hard. “Thanks again, Dad. It’s awesome.”

Jake made his way around the car, climbed in, and started the engine. As he drove back home, careful to keep to the speed limit, the car felt like one of those racehorses chomping at the bit in the moments before the big event. Something told him his Integra wouldn’t hit stride until it was cruising well over a hundred.

Of course, he didn’t share that thought with his dad. In fact, he doubted he’d share it with the guys. This car would blow away anything they drove, so what was the point? Racing would only get him in trouble. It was enough merely owning a car like this. He smiled. His father had nothing to worry about. He would be the most careful Integra NSX driver ever.

The moment his mother walked out of the house, her feelings were obvious. First shock, then awe, then a fierce and pointed anger aimed directly at his father. She barely shot a look at Jake as the two of them climbed out and anchored themselves on either side of the car.

“What’s this?” She gestured at the car the same way she gestured at his math papers when he fell short of a C.

“This?” Dad looked from the car back to Mom. “A birthday present for Jake. I’m out of town next week, so I brought it a few days early.”

“You mean the cruise you and
Bonnie
are taking?” His mother’s smile made Jake’s skin crawl . . . it was practically evil. “Your girlfriend talked, Tim. Word gets around.”

Jake winced at the pain that cut him deep in his gut.
It’s because of
Mom’s tone,
he insisted to himself. Not because his father would rather take a cruise with some blonde than be there for his own son’s birthday. He lifted his eyes in his father’s direction.

Dad’s mouth hung open, and he seemed to search for something to say. “How’d you . . .” He crossed his arms. “Look, what I do on my own time is my business, okay?”

“So that’s what this is.”

“What?”

“The fancy sports car.” Jake’s mother laughed once, but there was nothing funny in her voice. The pain in Jake’s gut worsened, and he thought he might be sick. He hated when she acted like this. His mother waved at the car and continued. “I get it, Tim. It’s some kind of atonement for everything you’re not doing for Jake this year. A makeup for all the hours you’re spending with the girlfriend.”

“You have no right saying that in front of—”

“In front of who? Jake? Like you care.” She huffed. “No boy Jake’s age should be driving a car like that.”

Wait a minute . . .
Jake wanted to interject but one look at his mom’s rage-filled face and he decided against it.

“You’re crazy, Tara. The car’s perfect.”

“What do you take me for, a fool? That’s an
Integra.”
Her voice grew louder. Jake clutched his stomach. His parents were acting like kids fighting over some stupid toy. Only
he
was the toy—and it wasn’t so much that they wanted him, really, but that they each wanted to win.

“So what?”

“It’s too fast, that’s what.” She paced a few steps back toward the apartment and then spun around. “If you want him to have transportation, Tim, buy him a Bronco or a truck.” Her eyes narrowed. “But an Integra?”

Jake had heard enough. He swung his bag over his shoulder and slipped past his parents without either of them seeming to notice. This was why they’d divorced. The fighting and yelling. The name-calling. Jake hated it, especially today. Hated the way it shot darts at his good feelings.

He flopped on his bed and buried his face in the pillow. Why couldn’t they love each other like they used to? And why’d they have to fight all the time? Didn’t they know how much it hurt him? Other kids had divorced parents, but at least they tried to get along. Not his parents, though. Every time they were together it was like they hated each other.

Jake rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Why was he letting their problems ruin the day? Nothing would change the thrill of what had just happened. The car was his, and it was a dream. Tons better than the heap of rust that dork Nathan Pike drove.

His parents’ fights were their problem. No matter how determined they were to ruin the weekend, Monday would be the greatest day of Jake’s life for one simple reason.

He was the proud owner of a shiny red Integra NSX, a car faster than just about anything in Illinois.

Five

M
ATURITY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT
.

Thirty minutes into the dance lessons at the Marion High gymnasium, John felt like a freshmen struggling through gym class, bumbling about on two left feet and not sure of his next step.

The instructor was a white-haired woman in her late fifties named Paula. She wore a microphone headpiece and was dressed in thick tights and a leotard. Her tone was condescending, with a forced cheerfulness that made John feel anything but mature. On top of that, she clapped her hands often. “Okay, class.” She let her eyes drift down the line of fifteen couples.

Two, maybe three cups of coffee too many.
John grimaced.

Paula clapped her hands again. “Line up.” Her eyebrows seemed permanently raised. “Let’s try that again.”

Abby was holding her own, except when he stepped on her foot. Trouble was, he’d been doing that often enough to make it part of the dance routine. He gave Abby a quick grin. “Here we go again. Hope your feet can take it.”

“Stop it, John.” She giggled. “The teacher will hear you.”

“Perky Paula, you mean.” The music had started, and already they were struggling to keep up with the other couples. John kept his voice to a whisper. “She’s too busy counting out the beat.”

John twirled Abby, and she nodded once in his direction. “Very nice.”

“Sure, next thing you know I’ll be up there with Paula.” John danced a bit straighter and tried the next series of steps without looking. As he did, he came down on Abby’s foot, sending her shoe skittering across the gym floor.

Paula shot them a stern look—the type usually reserved for students who shot spit wads. She clucked her tongue. “Please . . . hurry back in line.”

Abby’s lips were tight, the last line of defense before she burst into laughter. She ran after her shoe with tiptoe steps, ducking down as though that might help make the two of them less of a distraction. When the shoe was back on her foot, she returned to John’s side, and they did their best to blend back into line with the others.

It was no wonder John couldn’t concentrate on the dance steps. Abby looked simply radiant. She could easily have been a decade younger, and the sparkle in her eyes made him feel as giddy as it had back when they first started dating. Why hadn’t he seen her beauty last year or the year before? Or the year before that? How could he possibly have allowed himself to be distracted by another woman?

What could have made him think anyone might fill that place in his heart the way his precious Abby did?

“What are you thinking?” She whispered the words, and they found their way straight to his heart.

It no longer mattered that their dance steps weren’t perfectly in time with the other couples around them. “That you’re beautiful. That you’ve always been the most beautiful woman in the world.”

A blush fell across Abby’s cheeks. “I love you, John Reynolds.”

His feet stopped, and Abby danced her way up against him. As she did, he leaned down and kissed her. “Thank you, Abby . . . for loving me.”