A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (47 page)

The couple back one spot in the line bumped into them and then danced their way around.

“Keep moving, people.” Paula clapped her hands, her eyes fixed on John and Abby. “This is dance class . . . not the prom.”

They fell back into line with the others once more. But no reprimand from the instructor could stop Abby and him from locking eyes, from allowing the rest of the world to fade as they danced in a way they’d always meant to. But for the grace of God, where would they be right now? For that matter, where would God be in the mix of things? And who would John be sharing his bed with?

A shudder gripped his gut.

God . . . thank You that I didn’t fall the way I could have. Let me
always love Abby like I do right now. Don’t ever let us wander from each
other again. Or from You . . . please.

A chord of three strands is not quickly broken, my son.

The silent whisper in his soul, the reminder of a Scripture he and Abby had used at their wedding, was enough to break John’s concentration. Almost in perfect time to the music, he stepped on Abby’s foot again.

This time she let out a quick squeak and jumped. Behind them in line, two other women did the same sort of jump, apparently thinking it was part of the dance. When Abby realized what was happening, she lost it.

Her laughter was silent, but relentless. And John was helpless to do anything but join her. Several times Paula shot them a look of pure frustration, shaking her head as if to say Abby and John would never be mature dancers. Not in a hundred years.

By the time the lesson was over, Abby was limping.

They were halfway to the car when John hunched down in front of her. “Your chariot, my dear.”

Her laugh sounded like the wind chimes on their backyard deck in spring. John savored the sound, reveling in her nearness. She played out a gentle beat on his back. “You don’t have to do that, John. I can walk.”

“No, come on. I damaged your toes. I can give you a ride.” He reached back for her legs, and as he did, she hopped onto his back. At first he walked, but the harder she laughed the faster he went until he was galloping. He went past the car and did a small circle around the parking lot. Everything about the moment felt free and undefined and alive. As though time had stopped for them to celebrate the joy of being together. He let out a shout that echoed against the wall of the school. “Yeeee-haw!”

“I wonder—” Abby’s words were broken up by the bumpiness of the ride—“what old Paula would think of
this
dance move?”

Finally he ran back to their car and set Abby down near the passenger door. The parking lot was empty, all the mature dancers having gone home to chamomile tea and early sleep. Abby leaned against the car door, breathless from the ride and the laughter. “What a night.”

John grew quiet and he moved up against her, leaning close so their bodies were molded in all the right places. Passion colored the moment, and he studied her in silence. The only sounds were the occasional drone of a car on the distant road and the intoxicating whisper of Abby’s heartbeat against his. He traced her chin, the delicate line of her jaw. “I feel like a teenager in love.”

“Well . . .” She tilted her head back, her throat slim and curved in the moonlight. There was a raspy sound of desire in her voice, the way John had heard it often these past months. “Maybe that’s because we’re in a high-school parking lot.”

“No.” He angled his head so he wouldn’t block any of the light. He wanted to see her face . . . all of it . . . wanted to memorize everything about her. “That’s not why.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nope.” He ran his fingers lightly down the length of her arms. “It’s you, Abby. You make me feel this way.”

They were quiet a minute, their bodies moving subtly until they were even closer than before. John nuzzled her face, breathing in the scent of her perfume as he dusted his lips along the side of her neck.

When he looked up, he saw her eyes were watery. Fear stabbed at him—he’d sworn to never make her cry again. “What’re you thinking, baby?”

A single tear made its way down her cheek. “It’s a miracle, John. What I feel . . . what we feel for each other. Six months ago . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence, and John was glad. He held his finger to her lips. “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”

“Yes.” She lowered her chin and gave a few slow blinks. It was a look of both shyness and flirtation, a look that had driven him mad since he was a college boy.

“When did I tell you?”

“During the dance lesson, remember?” The corners of Abby’s mouth lifted and her eyes twinkled.

“That was a long time ago.” He placed a soft kiss, one at a time, on each of her eyes. “I mean lately. Have I told you
lately
how beautiful you are?”

Another tear fell, and she uttered a sound that was more laugh than cry. “I guess not.”

“Well . . . you’re more beautiful than a sunrise, Abby Reynolds. More beautiful than spring. In case I don’t tell you often enough, I want you to know. I couldn’t think about anything else in that dance lesson.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Not when all I wanted to do was . . .”

He was suddenly out of words. In their place, he moved toward her in a dance step he was far more familiar with. Then he kissed her as he’d been longing to do for an hour.

When they came up for air, both their heartbeats had quickened. “Hey . . .” He kissed her twice more and then held her gaze. “Wanna come back to my place?”

“Not for dancing, I hope.” One of her eyebrows lifted just a bit, the way it always did when she teased him. “My feet are sore enough.”

“No—” he framed her face with his fingertips, letting a slow smile ease across his mouth—“not ballroom dancing, anyway.”

“Hmmm.” She gently brushed her lips against his, then put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a few inches. “Lead the way, Mr. Reynolds. Lead the way.”

They crept into the house like a couple of delinquents breaking curfew. Not that it mattered. Sean was spending the night at a friend’s, so they had the house to themselves.

Abby felt better than she’d felt in years as she followed John into the living room. “Okay, so where’s the ballroom for this dance?”

“I’ll show you, Mrs. Reynolds.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs toward their room. “Follow me.”

The hour that came next was more wonderful than Abby dared dream. She had heard from other women that after rocky times in their marriages, physical intimacy was never quite the same. Especially if another woman had been in the picture.

But from the moment she and John stood on their backyard pier in the hours after Nicole’s wedding and recognized the impossibility of walking away from each other, Abby had fallen in love with her husband all over again. It really was a miracle. Their relationship now was like an intense, passionate release of all the feelings they’d buried for those three awful years.

Now they spent their intimate moments making it up to each other. Celebrating the joy of having rediscovered something that was almost lost for good. Never mind that conventional wisdom would have them struggling in this part of their relationship, taking a year or more to build back what those bad years had cost them.

Abby trusted John completely. And he trusted her.

Before they fell asleep, John rolled on his side and studied her. “Have I told you lately . . .”

The moonlight played across his face, and she smiled. “Yes . . . you’ve told me.”

“You know what I liked best about tonight?”

She inched onto her side so they were facing each other. “The dance?”

He chuckled soft and low. “Always that. But you know what else?”

“What?”

“It made me forget about coaching. Even just for a night.”

A pain sliced through her heart. “It’s that bad?”

“Worse.” His smile faded. In its place was a look that was more sad than frustrated. “Know what I read in the paper yesterday?”

“What?”

“Some high-school basketball player’s parents are suing his coach for seven million dollars.”

“Seven million?” Abby propped her elbow up on the pillow. “For
what?”

“For costing the kid his chance at an NBA career.”

“What?” The story didn’t make sense. “How is that the coach’s fault?”

“Because—” John drew a slow breath—“the coach put the kid on JV instead of varsity.”

Abby gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” John’s chuckle was so sad it almost broke Abby’s heart. “I’m serious. That’s what it’s come to, Abby. Sometimes I don’t think I’ll survive the season.”

“I’m sorry.” She moved her elbow and let the side of her face rest on the pillow. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“I keep thinking about that note. How one of my player’s parents wants me fired badly enough to go to the district level to see it happen.” He rolled onto his back again. “Me? Letting players drink and race their cars? Don’t they know me at all? Don’t they appreciate what I’ve done for that school since I’ve been there?”

The pain in Abby’s heart spread to her soul. How could they possibly attack this man’s character? If she could, she would walk into the school, take over the public address system, and tell the entire school population that Coach Reynolds did not and never would have done anything unethical where his players were concerned. She would demand they recognize his efforts and treat him with the respect and gratitude he deserved.

But she couldn’t do that.

She couldn’t even write a letter on his behalf, though she wanted to. Badly. “There’s only one thing I can do, John. But it’s the most important thing of all.”

“Pray?” He turned his head so he could see her again.

“Exactly.” She ran her fingertips lightly through his hair. “Pray that God shows you how much the kids still love you, the kids who wouldn’t play ball for any other coach.”

“Okay.” He smiled, and for the first time since he’d brought up the topic, his features relaxed. “You pray. It’s only because of your prayers that I’ve coached there this long.”

“You know what I think?” She laid her head on John’s shoulder and snuggled close to him.

“My season’s falling apart?”

“No.” She rested her hand above his heart. “I think something very big’s about to happen.”

“Like we win three games straight?”

“No, again.” Abby gave a muffled laugh. “Something spiritual. Like God’s got something major going on. Maybe that’s why the season’s starting so rough. We may not see how all the pieces fit right now. But maybe we’ll see it soon. You know?”

John was quiet.

“You awake?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” His chest rose as he inhaled. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“About God having a plan?”

“Mmmhmm.” He hesitated. “It must be that.”

“Yep. And whatever it is, it’s going to be huge.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s something I feel.”

“Oh. Okay.” John’s breathing was slower, his words running together the way they did just before he fell asleep. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For stepping on your feet tonight.”

“That’s okay. We have another lesson next week.”

“I love you, Abby. G’night.”

“Goodnight . . . I love you, too.”

She drifted off to sleep, her head still on John’s shoulder, her mind filled with a dozen happy memories from the evening.

And with the increasing sense that somehow, someway, God was up to something very big at Marion High School. Something that involved football and parents and most especially her wonderful husband.

Coach John Reynolds.

Six

N
ICOLE WAS AFRAID
.

There was no other way to say it. After the whirlwind weekend with Kade home, she wasn’t merely tired; she was exhausted. Too exhausted. Now it was Wednesday, and she and Matt had plans to eat dinner out. But as Nicole slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater, her arms and legs felt like they were made of lead. Every movement was a colossal effort.

It couldn’t be the flu. She didn’t have a fever or a cough or an upset stomach. She raised the zipper and studied her reflection in their bathroom mirror. Pale . . . ashen, even. True her summer tan had faded, but Nicole couldn’t remember her face ever looking this white.

She sighed. Maybe the events of the past few months had finally caught up to her. After the honeymoon they’d come home and immediately helped Matt put together his résumé for a position with the district attorney’s office. Now that he was hired, Nicole was knee-deep in studies, trying to balance running their home with the demands of being a college senior.

On top of that, there were constant discussions with Matt about his parents’ impending yearlong missionary trip. And then there was her younger brother Kade.

Last week, when he was home, something about him had been different. Older maybe, quieter. He was anxious to get playing time at the University of Iowa and he had a lot on his mind. On Sunday night he stopped by Matt and Nicole’s apartment. They talked until 3 A.M. about whether he’d made a mistake taking the scholarship at Iowa when he’d rather be playing closer to home at Illinois.

“It’s too far away,” Kade said an hour into the conversation. Matt had gone to bed back at the beginning, leaving Nicole and Kade in the living room. Kade had tossed his hands in the air. “I feel like I’m on another planet.” He sat on the floor, his back against the wall.

“It’s only a day’s drive from here.” Nicole didn’t want him pulling out of Iowa just because he was homesick. “It’s always hard the first semester.”

“Yeah, but Dad’s been my coach forever, Nic.” His knees were up, legs wide apart the way he always sat when they’d had these conversations over the years. “I’d at least like to see him in the stands, you know?” He rested his forearms on his knees. “This was the first weekend he and Mom have been to a game.”

Nicole could see his point. “Why didn’t you consider Illinois before? They sent you a letter didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Kade frowned. “A bunch of letters. I thought being away from home would be fun.”

“Maybe it will be. You’ve only been there two months.”