Heart-strong (3 page)

“Off-side? You’re crazy!” Rachel screamed, her face bulging
an alarming shade of red like a balloon ready to explode. The referee stalked
over to the sidelines.

“Lady, if I hear one more peep out of you, I’ll penalize
your team. Do you understand?”

No words came out of Rachel’s mouth. She simply nodded. As
the teams lined up, she snuck a look back at Jim. He wasn’t in the same place.
He’d moved next to the blonde and was holding an animated conversation with
her. Rachel unfolded her blanket and sat down. She spent the rest of the game
in total silence, sometimes lying on her stomach, sometimes wrapping her arms
around her knees. A newly separated father of twins on the team tried to
initiate a soul-to-soul sob session, but indifferent Rachel gazed off into the
distance until he abandoned the attempt.

Jim spent the rest of the game chatting as animated as a
sideshow barker with the blonde. She was the mother of one of the boys, he
learned, divorced, working as a computer operator. Yes, she loved contemporary
art. Yes, she thought the education system needed a major rehaul. She smiled
and crossed her arms with satisfaction as her son made the team’s only goal to
win the game one to nothing.

The walk home seemed much shorter than the walk to the game.
For one thing, almost all of the oranges and drinks were gone, so the loads
were lighter. For another, Scott bubbled about the team’s win, and his
excitement covered the lack of conversation between the adults. Jim dropped the
sacks just inside the apartment door. No, he didn’t want coffee. No, he
couldn’t come to dinner that night.

“I’ll call you,” he told Rachel, who figured he was pouting
masculine-style over her inexpert, yes, even possibly disruptive support for
the team. As Rachel mentally snapped her fingers under Jim’s nose, he ruffled
Scott’s hair. “Good game, sport, See you later.”

Over the next few weeks, Rachel wondered what had gone wrong.
“I don’t know what to do,” Rachel complained one night to Sharon as they sat in
the living room playing double solitaire and watching reruns of
Gilligan’s Island
. “I’ve phoned Jim
several times. At his office he’s always in a meeting. At home he’s always in
the middle of a project or just going out the door. I feel like I’m chasing
him, and he doesn’t want to be caught. He was the one who was all hot and heavy
at first. Remember? He wanted to see me every day.” Rachel reached for the
popcorn and crunched down as if chewing lumps of coal.

Sharon studied her cards and placed a red seven on a red
eight. “I wondered what was wrong with him,” she said. “You always head for the
guys with some fatal flaw. At least he’s not an alcoholic or borrowing money from
you. Is he?” Sharon stared hard at Rachel, who shook her head.

“This I don’t need,” said Rachel. “A boyfriend I have to
humor. Be careful around. I have one child. I don’t want a second disguised as
an adult. I need a stable guy as well as a romance.”

Sharon blinked. “Wow! You’ve been evaluating this guy, I can
tell.”

“Yes. He’s soooo normal in most ways, I wondered what his
attraction is. Then I decided that’s his appeal. He can hold an interesting
conversation, he shows up when he says he will, he’s got a great sense of
humor, and he’s gorgeous. Once I accepted the fact of his normal-ness, the
oddball or erratic guys didn’t interest me anymore.”

“Know what I think?” asked Sharon. “I think he’s running
scared. Afraid of commitment.” Sharon had never been married but had had lots
of boyfriends, all of whom had proposed, some even proposed marriage. “That’s
that. I can’t play anymore.”

“You mean you can’t cheat anymore. I saw that illegal move
you made.” Rachel flung her cards down. “But go ahead. I don’t e
v
en care who wins. Life’s so boring with no men
around.”

Sharon picked through the popcorn old maids to find the last
popped kernels and considered. “Boring, smoring. You need to think about what
you
want for once. For now, just leave
him alone. If he doesn’t care enough to come back, you’re well rid of him. If
he returns, ask yourself if you’re ready to move to the next stage. Consider
that possibility.” She dusted her hands together. “Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

The truth? Jim was pursuing another interes
t, a less flawed woman
. Donna, the blonde. She was
everything Rachel wasn’t. Tall
,
not shor
t
. Thin, no
t
plu
m
p. Calm, n
ot
hys
t
erical. Qu
i
e
t
, not loud. He didn’t need to limit himself to
one woman anyway, he reminded himself. That’s how he landed in hot water
before. Exclusive relationships only led to unreasonable expectations from the
woman—for engagement, marriage, kids. He wasn’t ready for that commitment.

He
was
ready for
ski season, though. Several of his friends were planning their annual outing to
Vail, where one of them had a time-share condo. And fortunately Donna was a
keen sportswoman. Unlike Rachel, who, when they discussed the activity in the
fall, had admitted her lack of skills, then added, “Isn’t skiing terribly
expensive? I couldn’t let you pay for everything, and I can’t afford it.” He
mentioned the ground rules to Donna—chip in on expenses, companionship with no
strings, share housekeeping and cooking chores. Donna said she made a good
living, plus child support from her ex. She could cover her own costs. He and
she set off for a long platonic weekend.

* * *

That was the same weekend as the soccer team farewell
potluck. Rachel and Scott followed the scattered group of players ambling into
the school lunchroom where long tables decorated with cut-outs of fall leaves
and soccer balls waited for the hungry. As Rachel toted her beanie-weenie
casserole to the buffet area, she surveyed the room. Somehow soccer and Jim
were associated in her mind, and she’d hoped against hope he’d be at the event.
Still their irregular dates convinced her the possibility was small. Most of
the team and their parents had made the event. The tall blonde—was her name
Donna?—wasn’t there. Her son, one of the star players, was with a man, probably
his father.

After everyone went through the line with the maximum
courtesy, taking moderate servings and avoiding spillage, thanks to reminders
from parents, Rachel and Scott joined several families to intersperse bites of
food with reminiscences about the fall’s skirmishes. The boys compared teams on
their roughness and toughness, how many oversized players they’d faced with
courage and trembling in their hearts. The parents chatted about sportsmanship
and team spirit. Rachel recalled, with a twinge of guilt, her scolding from the
coach at the last game.

The coach stood by his chair at the head table. Coach Duffy,
a blocky balding man, had the demeanor of a former sports star, the epitome of
masculinity, a man who paid more attention to physical fitness than wardrobes.
His chest nearly burst the bounds of his light blue button-down shirt, and his
muscled thighs strained the fabric of his slacks. As he began to talk about the
soccer season and the significance of the game on the young lives he touched, a
mom sitting next to Rachel told her something about Duffy’s personal life—how
he’d lost his wife and son in a car accident several years ago. Rachel winced
when she recalled her previous rudeness to the man. Could she have been more
scummy?

The final straw was the presentation of the award to the
most improved player, which went to Scott. Now Rachel felt about two inches
high. Coach Duffy deserved an apology. All he’d done was try to direct the team
the best he knew how. She squelched the thought when Scott returned to the
table after accepting his trophy. As she hugged him and gave him a high-five,
he said, “I wish Jim could have seen this. He’s the one who helped me a lot.”

Fat chance, Rachel thought. “I’m sure he’d be proud if he
knew,” was all Rachel said.

After the event, Rachel approached the coach where he was
surrounded by well-wishers. She waited until the others left, then extended her
hand while saying, “Congratulations on a great season.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Kinsey. I know we didn’t always agree on my
approach,” Duffy said, but without a trace of malice.

“I tend to let my emotions get the better of me. Sorry. The
important thing is the team. We and our boys have been lucky to have you.”

“I appreciate your comments. And Scott is doing well,
considering.”

Considering what?
Considering
he was so uncoordinated? Considering he didn’t have a father to work with him?
Considering he has a pushy mother?

“Considering this is his first year playing soccer, right?”
Amusement crinkled the corners of Duffy’s eyes. “How about I drop by your house
occasionally to kick a ball around with him? Keep him in shape for next
season.”

“We don’t have a house. We’re in an apartment. And do you
make the same offer to other boys?” She looked, really looked at the coach with
the sharpness of a laser beam, and noticed his total attention was on her. They
could have been the only people in the spacious room.

“No, you’re the first.”

A suspicion crossed Rachel’s mind to which she immediately
gave voice. “Are you trying to find an excuse to see me, Coach Duffy?”

“I just may be doing that,” he said. “My life gets empty
after soccer season.” The slightest curve to his mouth revealed humor.

“You have our address and phone number on the team roster,”
said Rachel. “Maybe I’ll finally learn all the rules.” As she turned to leave,
Rachel thought, life might not be so boring after all.

* * *

The weekend in Vail had gone very well, Jim thought. Donna
proved to be a competent downhill skier and a congenial evening companion. In fact,
when Jim had been unable to get the gas fireplace going, Donna accomplished the
task within seconds. Of course, he reminded himself, she probably never had
exploded a gas oven the way he had during a disastrous baking session as a
teen.

The sole ungenerous thought he had about her was his
aversion to her backseat driving on the route home. As usual, I-70 headed east
through the Eisenhower Tunnel was bumper to bumper, and the road was slick from
a sudden snowfall. She didn’t screech or yell, but her careful enunciation and
calm demeanor were almost as unnerving as having his mother in the car
providing point-by-point commentary on road conditions.

“Just to my right is a semi, coming up rather quickly, with
an RV immediately in front of it. You’ll want to be prepared for the truck to
attempt to pass by moving into your lane.”

The monologue continued nearly one hundred miles, from Vail
all the way downhill to Denver. Jim tried flicking on the radio and singing
along with an oldie or two. Donna just rummaged through his CDs and pulled out
a jazz recording, then resumed her guidance. It was enough to prevent Jim from
suggesting a quick bite for dinner at a pizza place, although Donna’s slight
hesitation before she got out of the car showed she may have been anticipating
a dinner offer.

Still he enjoyed her company enough to call her the
following week and make plans to catch a movie. Donna selected a sentimental
chick film rather than the action thriller Jim preferred, but that was to be
expected from most women. He couldn’t help wondering if Rachel immersed herself
in action flicks, their suspense, special effects, high energy. He imagined she
did.

* * *

During the same week, Rachel prepared to meet Coach Duffy
for a concert of local folk musicians at Swallow Hill Music Association. “One
problem. I can’t keep calling him
Coach
Duffy
,” she said as she brushed her hair into a loose ponytail. She was
addressing Sharon, who had no date herself and was taking Scott-duty. “But I
don’t know his first name.”

“Can’t you find it on the team roster? Or call another
parent to ask?”

“I misplaced the roster before the end-of-season potluck.
And I don’t know anyone’s full name to call Information.”

The doorbell rang. “Ooops, too late. I’ll figure something
out. Distract Scott, would you?” Rachel dashed for the door and popped out,
closing it behind her before Scott could appear. She didn’t want any awkward
questions about Coach Duffy and why he was here.

The post-date wrap-up came early, shortly after ten. Rachel
caught Sharon mixing a relaxing cup of cocoa just before bedtime and joined her
sister at the kitchen table.

“Why are you home already?” Sharon asked. “Did the coach
turn out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

Rachel tore open a packet of cocoa and poured the still-steaming
water into her own mug. “No, he was a perfect gentleman. He seems very stable.
And his name, by the way, is Ryan.”

“Ah, very Irish.”

“Yes, and he’s very Irish in his way with words, too.”

“Full of the blarney?”

“No, he comes across as sincere and down to earth. He
teaches biology for Denver Public Schools.”

“Think you’ll see him again?”

“Yes. He’s kind of a mystery. I get the sense he’s still
feeling his way after the deaths of his wife and son.”

“What! You never told me that bit about his history.”

“Guess I forgot. They were killed in a car accident, hit by
a drunk driver.”

“Oh, my God. How terrible.” Sharon covered her face with her
hands. She’d been a rabid supporter of strong liquor control laws since she’d
lost a friend to an alcohol incident as a teen. When she removed her hands, her
face was shiny with tears. “The poor poor man. Yes, you have to go out with
him. Anything to cheer him up.”

“He’s really a nice guy. I could trust him. I won’t be going
out with him out of pity. But...” and she paused.

“But what?”