A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (51 page)

“I think we all know how plans like that work out, don’t we?” Jo looked at Denny. But this time there was nothing funny about her tone. In fact, if Abby wasn’t in such a hurry she would’ve taken more time with Jo. Because the look she and Denny shared was almost sad.

The couples bid each other good-bye, but later that night Abby couldn’t shake what Jo had said. She and John helped Sean with a Native American flathouse he had to complete by Monday. When they were done, she motioned for John to follow her out back.

Without saying a word, they strolled hand-in-hand to the pier. When one of them had something on their heart, knowing what to do was as instinctive as drawing breath.

When they reached the end of the pier, they sat on a small bench John had placed there a month ago. Abby waited a minute before saying anything, gazing instead at the ribbon of light across the water. She loved this lake, loved the fact that they’d lived there since the children were young. Way back since their tiny baby daughter Haley Ann died suddenly in her sleep.

There was never a time when they sat here together that Abby didn’t remember their second daughter, the one whose ashes they’d sprinkled across this very water. Over the years they’d come to this spot to share the highs and lows of life. When Abby’s mother was killed by the Barneveld tornado . . . when John’s father died of a heart attack . . . when John led the Eagles to their first state title—and when the parent complaints got to him.

They would sit until words came. Then, when they were done talking, John would take her by the hand and sway with her, back and forth. Not the kind of dancing that required lessons. Rather the kind that required listening. Leaves rustling in the trees beyond the pier, crickets and creaking boards. The whisper of the wind. The faint refrains of distant memories.

“Can you hear it?” he would ask.

“Mmmm.” She would rest her head against his chest. “The music of our lives.”

“Dance with me, Abby . . . don’t ever stop.”

Abby drew in a long, slow mouthful of the cool night air. It tasted of the coming winter, cool and damp. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have to bundle up on evenings like these. And Abby had a feeling there would be several of them, between John’s coaching troubles and their concerns about Kade.

She turned to John and reached for his hand. He was looking at her, watching her. Abby held his gaze for a moment. “I wonder if he’ll admit it.”

“Probably.” John stared out at the water. “He doesn’t usually keep secrets from me.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“I think he’ll tell me.”

“I’m nervous about it.”

Their fingers were still linked, and John soothed his thumb over the top of her hand. “I’m not. He’s a good kid, Abby. Whatever he’s doing on the Internet . . . I doubt he’s addicted to it.”

“I know. But what if he gets angry that we know?” She tried to will away the knots in her stomach. “Things like this could cause a rift between him and us. A rift that could take him away from God, even.”

“Abby . . .” John faced her again and gave her the same look he gave the children whenever a bad thunderstorm came up. Calm and confident, gently understanding. “We’ve prayed for that boy since he was born. God’s not going to let him go that easily.”

She nodded and something in her stomach relaxed. “You’re right.”

“What else?”

“You know me too well.”

“Yep.” He flashed her the grin she loved best. “So what else?”

“Remember that kid you told me about? Nathan Pike?” Her thoughts were all over the board tonight, but John wouldn’t mind. He was used to conversation like this. Random neural firings, he called them.

“How could I forget him? He’s in my class every day.”

“I don’t like it.” Abby’s heart rate quickened. “He worries me, John. What if he does something crazy?”

“He won’t. Kids like that aren’t the ones who buy a gun and go ballistic.” John released her hand and laced his fingers behind his head. “Nathan wants attention, that’s all. The gothic look, the casual threats— those are his way of getting someone to finally notice him.”

“I don’t like it.”

They were quiet again, and overhead an eagle swooped low over the water, snagged a fish, and soared over a thicket of trees. John watched it disappear. “He must be taking food back to the nest.”

“Probably.” Abby leaned her head back. The moon was full tonight, dimming the brightness of the stars. Abby felt herself relax. John was right. Everything was going to be okay with Kade . . . and with Nathan Pike. Even with the football team. God would work it out somehow.

“You don’t think Nicole’s pregnant, do you?”

John stood and stretched, twisting first to the right, then to the left. When he was finished, he exhaled hard and held a hand out to Abby. “No, I don’t think Nicole’s pregnant. They want to wait awhile before having kids, remember?”

“I know.” Abby clutched tightly to his fingers as he pulled her to her feet. “But what if Jo’s right? Now that I think about it, she has had a kind of glow about her.”

“Believe me, Abby—” John eased her into his arms—“if our daughter was pregnant, she’d tell Matt first, and you second. She’s just happy, that’s all. Who wouldn’t be glowing?”

“You’re right.” Abby hesitated. “But if she was . . . wouldn’t that be something? You and me,
grandparents?”

John chuckled. “I guess I’d
have
to be mature then.”

Abby studied John’s features, the subtle lines across his forehead, the hint of gray at his sideburns. “It’s weird to think we’re getting old.”

“Weird?” John drew her closer. “I don’t know; I think it’s nice.”

“Yes.” Abby pictured them together this way, dancing on the pier, laughing and loving and finding strength from each other. “It’ll be fun to grow old with you, John Reynolds.”

“One day we’ll put our rocking chairs out here.”

“So when we’re too tired to dance, we can rock?”

“Right.” The corners of his lips raised, and Abby felt tingles along her spine. “Remember our first date?”

“You came with your family for a Michigan football game.” He raised his eyebrows. “Finally.”

“I was seventeen, John.” She lowered her chin, remembering the shy girl she’d been. Their families had known each other forever, but John was older than her. Abby hadn’t thought she stood a chance until that pivotal football game. “How could I believe that John Reynolds, star quarterback for the Wolverines, wanted to date me?”

“I’d been planning it for two years.” He traced her jaw line, his eyes locked on hers. “I was just waiting for you to grow up.”

“Now the tables have turned.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhhmm. Now I’m waiting for you to grow up.” Abby sent a playful kick at John’s foot. “At least on the dance floor.”

“I can dance when it matters.” He glanced up and out at the lake, taking in the beauty of this favorite spot. Then, ever so slowly, he began to sway. His gaze fell to hers, as it had so often over the years. “Dance with me, Abby.”

His tender words melted her heart. “Always, John.” She moved with him. “Forever and always.”

She nestled her head against his shoulder, drawing strength from each beat of his heart. They moved together to the far-off cry of a hawk and the lapping of lake water against their private shore. Abby closed her eyes. What would life be like without her husband? A life where they couldn’t come to this place, this pier they both loved, the spot where their daughter’s ashes lay and where they’d shared so much of each other? A life where they wouldn’t have nights like this one?

It was impossible to imagine.

Yet there was no denying they were getting older. And one day— when their years of being grandparents and great-grandparents were finished—the music would stop. The dance would be over. It was inevitable.

Abby pressed her cheek against John’s chest once more, savoring his closeness.
Thank You, God . . . thank You for saving us from ourselves.

Later that night, before she fell asleep, Abby uttered another prayer. One she’d said more often in the past few months.

God, I’ve never been more in love with John. Please . . . let us have a
thousand more nights like this one. Please.

Nine

T
HE CONFRONTATION WAS SET FOR
S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON
.

Kade didn’t know it, of course, but John had long since had the day planned out. The Eagles had won their football game the night before, so it was a light practice that Saturday morning. Kade had come along, enjoying the chance to catch up with dozens of his former teammates.

“Hey, Dad, I think I’ll go throw a few balls for the freshmen.” Kade motioned to the adjacent field, where the younger Eagles were practicing.

John watched from his place near the varsity squad. The moment Kade appeared in their midst, the freshmen gathered around him, shaking his hand, looking awe-struck at his presence. Big college quarterback Kade Reynolds back from school. It was enough to make their week.

John’s gaze shifted to his older players. “Okay. Line up; let’s do it again. This time I want you linemen shoulder to shoulder. You’re a wall, not a picket fence. Let’s remember that!”

When the drill was underway, John glanced once more to the other field. Kade was throwing passes for the young receivers, airing them out in a way that made even John’s mouth hang open. The boy had potential, for sure. John couldn’t be prouder of him.

Later that day, though, Kade wouldn’t be Mr. Big-time Athlete. He would simply be John Reynolds’s boy. And the father-son conversation wouldn’t be about Kade’s talents.

Give me the words, God . . . how I handle this could affect his life forever.

Two hours later they were at home and finished with lunch. Sean needed new soccer cleats, and Abby had arranged to take him to the store. That way John and Kade could be alone.

When they were by themselves, Kade headed for the television. “Ahhh . . . Saturday football. Time to check out the competition.”

Before he could grab the remote control, John cleared his throat. “Let’s take the boat out instead. You and me.”

Kade hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I can catch the highlights on
SportsCenter.
”

The day was unseasonably warm, as though fall was doing its absolute best to steal a few hours from the impending winter. A light cloud layer kept the sun’s glare down, but there was no rain in the forecast. It was the perfect afternoon for a few hours on the lake.

They made idle chitchat at first, joking about the time when Sean was four years old. Abby had been at the supermarket, and John was in charge of the children. He, Nicole, and Kade were playing Frisbee on the grassy hill behind their house, when Sean snuck off, donned a life jacket, climbed into their family rowboat, and loosed the moorings. By the time John realized Sean was missing, the child had drifted a hundred yards out onto the lake. He was standing up in the boat screaming at them for help.

“I was scared to death.” John worked the boat’s oars as he laughed at the memory.

“You thought Sean would drown?”

“Are you kidding?” John huffed. “He had a life jacket. Besides, he knew how to swim.” He winked at Kade. “I was scared of your mother. She would’ve killed me if she’d gotten home and found Sean out in the middle of the water by himself!”

The lake was a private one, frequented mainly by the homeowners whose houses sat along the three-mile shoreline. Today, the water had only a few other boats on the far side. John rowed out a bit further and then pulled in the paddles.

Kade leaned back and positioned his face toward the thinly veiled sun. “I forget how good it feels. Quiet. Peaceful.” He sent John a quick grin. “Good idea, Dad.”

“I can think out here.” John hesitated. “Or have a real conversation.”

It took a moment, but Kade sat forward again and met John’s gaze. “Something you wanna talk about, Dad?”

“Actually, there is.”

“Okay, shoot.”

John searched his son’s features for a sign . . . some flicker of apprehension or guilt. But Kade’s expression was the picture of trusting innocence. John’s heart tightened. Was Kade so far into this thing that he didn’t feel even a hint of guilt?

Here I go, Lord . . . give me the words.
John rested his elbows on his knees and looked deep into Kade’s eyes. “After your visit last time, your mother and I found some questionable Web site addresses on her Internet history page.”

Kade’s face was blank. “Questionable?”

“Well, worse than questionable, really.” John resisted the urge to squirm. “What I’m saying is, we found a list of pornography sites, Kade.”

“Pornography?” His eyebrows lowered into a baffled
V.
“Are you . . . accusing me of checking out porn sites?”

Doubts assaulted John. “Look, son. Your mother thought
I’d
looked them up. And I know it wasn’t me. Obviously it wasn’t your mother. Sean hadn’t been on the computer for a month, and even then he has his own screen name that wouldn’t allow those types of sites.” John motioned to himself. “What am I supposed to think?”

For a beat or two, Kade’s mouth hung open. John could see the battle in the boy’s eyes. He wanted to deny it, wanted to yell at John to stay out of his business and quit nosing around. But with each passing second, the anger fell from his face. In its place was a hodge-podge of emotions, led by a strong and undeniable shadow of guilt. It was easy to recognize because John had looked that way, himself, not long ago.

When Kade said nothing, John dropped his voice back to normal. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

A tired sigh slipped from Kade’s throat. His gaze fell to his feet.

“We need to talk about it, son. When did you start doing this?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped and he brought his head up. “I’m not the only one.” He crossed his arms. “All the guys are into it.”

There was a hardness in Kade’s features, a defiance almost. It was something John had never seen on any of his children, and it frightened him. “That might be true, but it’s wrong, Kade. You know that better than anyone on your team.”