A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (66 page)

But in the end, though they didn’t see it now, God would win. God would always win. He would win over deceitful parents and spineless administrators; He would win over John’s car accident, and even his paralysis.

He would win even if John spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Jake was saying something about Casey Parker leaving the scene and then coming back to call for help. “We were so scared, Coach. We thought you were gonna die.” The boy squirmed, his tears finally splashing onto his tennis shoes. “I’m so sorry.” Jake sank into a chair across from John and let his head fall into hands. “I’d give anything to take back those few minutes.”

Casey Parker hadn’t been to see John, either. Ever since finding out that the boy’s father had written the notes about John, Abby wondered if the man was maybe glad about what had happened to John. Not that he’d been injured, of course, but that he wouldn’t be coaching. It was an awful thing to think, but Abby couldn’t help herself. She was a coach’s wife, after all. And people tended to reserve some of their greatest disdain and poorest behavior for coaches. It was a fact of American life.

If John was thinking those things, he never mentioned them.

He leaned forward now as far as he could and gripped Jake’s knees. “Jake, look at me.” John’s voice was kind, but stern. The same tone Abby had heard him use with their own children when they were down on themselves.

Jake barely lifted his head and then let his fingers cover his face once more.

“I’m serious, Jake. Drop the hands and look at me.”

Abby was quiet, watching from her place at his side. This was the John she knew and loved, the one who would see something wrong and right it with a passion that couldn’t be contrived—or resisted.

This time Jake’s hands fell to his lap, and he met John’s gaze. Tears ran down both sides of his face. “Coach, don’t make me look at you. It’s too hard.”

The sorrow in Jake’s eyes softened Abby’s heart. He really
was
just a kid, a boy drowning in a river of guilt, with no way of reaching the other side.

John leaned closer still. “Jake, I forgive you. It was an accident.”

“It was
stupid!”
Jake’s features twisted and he uttered a soundless cry. “You’re in a chair, Coach. Because of me! I can’t take that.” A single sob slipped from Jake’s throat. “I
want
them to put me in prison. That way I don’t have to pretend my life is fine when I’m the one who wrecked yours.”

“You didn’t wreck my life. There’s nothing I can’t do if I work hard enough, and I’m going to work, Jake; you better believe it. I never let you boys settle for second, and I’m certainly not going to settle for second, now.”

Abby’s heart skipped a beat. This from the man who sat alone on their pier the day before, isolated and discouraged? She wanted to raise both hands and scream in victory, but she resisted.

Jake rubbed his knuckles into his forehead and shook his head. “It isn’t right, Coach. What you did for me today. I don’t deserve it.”

“It
is
right. You do no one any good sitting in a prison cell, Jake. You made a bad decision, and your life changed in a few seconds. Mine, too. But you won’t save anyone by sitting behind bars. Not the next street-race victim, not yourself. And definitely not me. You need to be out there sharing that message, telling kids to say no if someone challenges them to a race. That way you’ll save lives.”

“Coach—” torment wracked Jake’s face again—“that’s not enough punishment. How can I look in the mirror? I mean . . . it’s crazy. You and your family . . . you could never really forgive me for what I did. You
shouldn’t
forgive me.”

“Jake . . .” John’s tone was quieter than before. “I already have.”

“Don’t say that.”

Abby closed her eyes. She could sense what was coming.
Don’t
make me forgive him, too, God. Not yet . . .

John settled back in his chair some. “The minute Abby told me what happened . . . that it was you driving the other car . . . I made a decision deep inside to forgive you.” John gave a single sad sort of laugh. “How could I hold it against you? It was an accident, Jake. Besides, you’re like a son to me. I forgive you completely.”

Abby shifted in her chair.

Speak, daughter . . . forgive as I forgave you . . .

The prompting in Abby’s soul was undeniable.
Lord . . . please. Don’t make me say it now. He doesn’t need my forgiveness.

“Abby does, too.” John turned to her, his eyes so transparent she could see straight to his heart. Whatever other feelings John might wrestle with in the coming months and years, she doubted a lack of forgiveness would be one of them. He was being honest with Jake. He harbored no resentment or ill will toward the boy. None at all. John was still looking at her, waiting. “Tell him, Abby. You forgive him, right?”

“Of course.” She had to say it for John; she could sort out her feelings later. “We all do.”

Jake hung his head again. “I hate myself.”

“Then
there’s
the real problem. Forgiving yourself.” John dug his elbows into his knees, and Abby was struck by a thought.
He can’t feel
it . . . like he’s resting his arms on a table or a desk.

Jake was silent.

“Then that’s what I’ll pray for—” John bit the corner of his lip— “that God will give you the grace to forgive yourself. The way
He
forgives you.”

“God?” Jake’s eyes lifted once more. “Someone like God isn’t about to forgive me. Coach, it was my fault!”

“Have you told Him you’re sorry?”

“Yes!” The pain intensified. “A dozen times that first night. But still . . . I need to pay my penalty. I wouldn’t expect God or you or . . . or Mrs. Reynolds . . . or anyone else to forgive me until I’ve gone to prison for a long, long time.”

“Why?”

“So I can make up for it.”

“Make up for taking away my legs?” John’s eyes showed the hint of a sparkle, and the corners of his mouth lifted. “You’d have to be in there an awful long time if that were true. Because I had some mighty fast legs, Daniels. Mighty fast.”

Again, Abby wanted to clap or shout out loud. John was joking! Playing up on an old bit of banter he and Jake had exchanged since Jake was a middle-school boy. Back in the days when his parents would come over for the occasional Sunday dinner.

Abby could still hear them, still see them the way they’d been five years earlier. Jake’s family would enter the house and John would welcome them. Jake would put himself toe-to-toe with John, his eyes wide.

You gotta race me, Coach; I’m getting faster!
And John—whom Jake had always called
Coach
—would give a soft laugh.
I don’t know, Jake. I have some mighty fast legs
. To which Jake would raise an eyebrow and pretend to punch John’s shoulder.
Come on, Coach, they’re not that fast. Nothing like mine!

Chills danced across Abby’s arms as she understood. John was tossing Jake a life rope, a chance to be rescued from the waters of guilt.

Abby stood stone still, her eyes on the weeping boy. Suddenly the lines around his eyes and forehead eased.

“Come on, Coach—” his voice cracked, and a tear slid onto his cheek—“they weren’t that fast. Nothing . . . nothing like mine.”

“Thatta boy, Jake.” John gave him a light smack on the knee. “I may be paralyzed, but I’m not dead. I don’t want you hanging your head every time we see each other. Because then I lose twice.”

“Twice?”

“My legs . . . and then you.” John paused. “Don’t do that to me, Jake. It’ll be hard enough getting my routine down without wondering whether you’re okay or not.”

Once again Jake let the tears come. As he did, he looked twelve, and Abby felt her heart grow still softer toward him. Maybe she could forgive him, after all.

“But I’m so sorry. I gotta do something, Coach. Something to make it right.”

“Listen, Jake . . . every time you walk into an auditorium packed with teenagers and tell them your story, I want you to remember something.” His voice dropped a notch. “I’m with you, Daniels. Right there beside you, step by step. And that’ll make everything right.”

Twenty-one

N
ICOLE WAS NAUSEOUS NEARLY EVERY DAY
.

Not because of morning sickness. That had passed weeks ago. Now that she was almost halfway through her pregnancy, the sick feeling came from one thing: it was almost Christmas, and her dad still couldn’t feel anything in his legs or feet.

The moment she’d heard the news about his paralysis that terrible afternoon in the hospital waiting room, Nicole prayed. Since then she’d spent hours pleading with God, believing He would work a miracle in her father. She had no idea how it would come about, just that it would. It
had
to. Every time she prayed about something and had this feeling, things went the way they were supposed to.

But as the days passed, her prayers slowed and finally stopped. In the process she’d come to grips with something that turned her stomach.

Things didn’t always go the way they were supposed to.

If they did, she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant for another three years, her parents would never have argued, never considered divorce. More to the point, Christians wouldn’t lose loved ones to illnesses and accidents. They’d never suffer from depression or pain or money troubles.

They’d certainly never be paralyzed.

No, if things always went the way they were supposed to, they’d never have anything but blue skies until the day—as a very old person— they would lie down at night and wake up in the arms of Jesus.

But that wasn’t how it worked. And the truth of that left her with a sort of sick feeling about her faith, a feeling as new as marriage and loss and disappointment.

Maybe God intended to use her father’s injuries as a way to change the kids at Marion High School. Nicole didn’t like that option, but it was a possibility. She’d heard rumors from Kade—who still kept in touch with a few kids at Marion High. Talk around school was that since her dad’s accident attitudes had improved and kids were kinder than they’d been before. There was even talk of some sort of “Coach Reynolds town meeting,” though neither Nicole nor Kade had mentioned that to their father.

He had enough on his mind, what with learning to get around in a wheelchair and coming to grips with his injury.

If that’s why God had allowed her father’s injury, Nicole should have felt some sort of quiet peace, a sense that the Scripture in Romans was right, that all things really did work to the good for those who loved God.

But she didn’t feel that way at all.

She just felt nauseous.

Her doctor had warned her that constant anxiety wasn’t good for the baby. After that she’d made a promise to Matt and herself to spend more time reading Scripture and praying, trying to ease the stress.

But every time she tried to read a favorite verse or talk to God, she found herself thinking about the accident. Why had God allowed it? Couldn’t her father have left the office five minutes earlier? Seconds later? After all her parents had been through, after their hearts and souls had finally come back together? After Dad had been going to church with them again?

The questions Nicole had for God outweighed the things she wanted to pray about, so her anxiety remained. It wasn’t that she was angry at God, exactly. She just wasn’t sure she could trust Him. The truth about these feelings was something she didn’t share with anyone. Even herself.

Because the Nicole Reynolds she’d been until her dad’s accident would never have doubted God. That old Nicole had been more aware of God’s whispered voice, more reliant on Bible verses and prayer, than anyone in her family.

Only lately had Nicole finally understood the reason for her deep faith. It had nothing to do with believing she was better than the others, or somehow having a greater need than the others for God’s peace and presence. No, that wasn’t the reason at all.

The reason was Haley Ann.

Which was something else she hadn’t shared with anyone.

No one knew she remembered losing her little sister. She might have been not quite two years old, but there were scenes from that sad day that stayed with her still, written with the indelible ink of a little girl’s tears. Haley Ann had been sleeping in her crib, taking a nap, Nicole understood now. Most of the details were fuzzy, but Nicole could still close her eyes and see big men rushing into Haley Ann’s room, working over her, trying to get her to breathe.

Everyone assumed that because Nicole was young, she didn’t grieve back then. But Haley Ann was her sister! Her only sister. Nicole remembered one conversation she’d had with her mother about losing Haley Ann.

“She’s in heaven now, darling.” Her mother had been crying the way she did a lot back then. “But as long as you love God, you’ll always be only a whisper away from her. Understand?”

Nicole had understood better than Abby could have imagined. If loving God was the way to be closer to Haley Ann’s memory, she would do so with all her heart. And she had. Every month, every year . . . until now.

Now everything had changed, and the reason was obvious. She simply wasn’t sure she could trust God anymore. Not with her deepest prayers and concerns. After all, she had prayed for the safety of everyone in her family. The very morning of the accident in fact. But that night, there she was, in the hospital beside her mother, wondering what had gone wrong.

Wondering where God had been when they’d needed Him most.

The feelings she had about the entire matter only added to her anxiety. Even worse, Matt talked constantly about God’s will this and God’s best that and God’s miraculous hand in saving her dad’s life. He would find her at the most inopportune times—when she was working on a homework assignment or folding laundry or getting ready for school.

Two nights ago they’d had their first real fight over the issue. She’d been on the Internet looking for bargains on eBay.com when he came up behind her and massaged her shoulders. His tone was even gentler than his fingertips.

“Nicole, get off the computer.”

She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Why?”