Just Joe (7 page)

A little over a week
later, ribs healed and the past Sunday's game won, Mattie and Joe were together
again, this time in his car.

"Where are you taking
me today, Joe?"

"Someplace we haven't
been before," Joe answered absently.

"Well," Mattie
began to count on her fingers, "That cuts out the zoo, the art museum,
every park in this city, the ice skating rink—" here she stopped to rub
her hip in wry remembrance "—the stadium, the reservoir, the rodeo, the
sewage plant—"

"All very
educational
ventures," Joe interrupted righteously.

"Especially the
sewage plant," Mattie agreed, wrinkling her nose. "My vocabulary was
broadened considerably when you dropped your sunglasses into that tank."

"Mattie—" Joe
began warningly.

"And then when my
heel got stuck in that grid..."

"Well, who wears high
heels to visit a sewage plant?" Joe demanded with perfect logic—male
logic.

Mattie sat up straight.
"If you care to recall, you will remember that I was not informed that we
were going to visit a sewage plant. You told me we were going somewhere
'refined.' You could have told me you meant refined sewage! Anyway, it could
have been worse," she insisted cheerfully. "I could have made you
carry me back to the car when my shoe followed your sunglasses into the tank."

"Mattie, I didn't
mean for that to happen!"

"I know, you told me.
You were yanking at my shoe, and it just slipped-"

"At least you weren't
still in it," Joe pointed out helpfully.

"At least,"
Mattie agreed dryly. "All of which tells me nothing about where we are going."

"Where we are,"
Joe corrected, pulling up in front of a large two-story house that appeared to
have been converted into some type of meeting center.

"Jameson House,"
Mattie read the neat sign in front thoughtfully. "A Learning Center."
She turned to Joe inquiringly. "What kind of learning center?"

Joe smiled slightly.
"I guess it's a place where children and their parents learn to deal with
what life hands them."

Mattie considered that
briefly while they both got out of the car and headed up the walk. "You
come here often?"

Joe turned to her
earnestly. "One of the things that I really enjoy about football is the
fact that it gives me the opportunity to become involved with community
affairs. This place was founded about three years ago to help children who had
been 'damaged' in some way adjust to that damage. From that sprang a counseling
program for their parents. It works, Mattie," Joe told her proudly, eyes
shining. "I mainly dedicate my time to the kids. It's very
rewarding."

Mattie shook her head wonderingly.
"How did you get involved in this, Joe? And how often do you come here?
Where do you find the time? What do you mean by 'damaged'? And—"

"Whoa!" Joe
laughed. "One question at a time. Okay. How did I get involved? The wife
of one of my teammates was killed in a car accident about three years ago.
Kevin and

his son were devastated.
They were both so lost without Annie. That's what gave me the idea."

"You mean you founded
this place?" Mattie asked incredulously.

Joe shrugged. "Kevin
did most of the work. It was a kind of therapy for him, a way to keep busy but
still deal with the loss. You see, he was permanently crippled in the accident.
He'll never play football again."

"So you provided the
financial backing," Mattie interpreted.

"It was no big deal,
Mattie," Joe murmured slightly awkwardly.

Mattie knew differently
but said nothing. She understood that Joe would be embarrassed by her
admiration, but in her own mind she marveled at his tireless efforts to help
children.

Just the other day, she
had gone with him to a local television studio, where he taped a commercial for
the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. As a local hero, he was inundated with such
requests, and from what Mattie had been able to gather by the conversations
around her at the studio, Joe had never refused to lend his time, money or name
to any worthy effort.

She had just opened her
mouth to form another question when Joe opened a door leading into a huge
playroom full of youngsters. Mattie's eyes were immediately drawn to a few in
wheelchairs or wearing braces, and her tender heart went out to them. Now she
knew what Joe meant by "damaged." Still, the great majority of
children had no apparent physical handicap, and Mattie wondered if they
had—like Kevin Jameson's son—lost a parent and were trying to deal with that
loss.

"Brace
yourself," Joe advised cheerfully, then called out a booming, "Hi,
kids!"

Mattie was caught in the
middle of the pandemonium that ensued. There was a general joyful outcry of
"Joe!" from a score of childish voices, then a mass rush toward their
hero. Mattie almost went down in the onslaught— would have, in fact, had it not
been for Joe's protective grip around her waist. Mattie didn't even think about
being afraid of his touch. She just felt... warm.

Joe, meanwhile, was
greeting each child by name with a smile and a special comment. "Jimmy,
have you been practicing your pitching? One of our Texas teams is sure going to
need you in a couple of years." Or, "Mandy, you got your shoes on the
right feet! But I see you saved me the honor of lacing them up, at least.''
And, to one of the children in a wheelchair, "Tomas, I hear you've got
that chair doing wheelies and burning rubber. Practicing for the Indy
500?"

The children plainly
adored him. Mattie felt her heart melting and forming a puddle at her feet. He
had probably spent his whole life healing birds with broken wings in one form
or another.

Mattie turned away to scan
the room with intense interest. She inched closer to Joe to make herself heard
over the excited babble of children hanging on him.

"She doesn't appear
to have joined your fan club." Mattie nodded to a little girl, perhaps
seven or eight years old, who sat alone on the opposite side of the room. She
exhibited no interest in their arrival, not even raising her eyes to them. It
was as though she were in a separate room and alone within its walls.

"That's Janie."
Joe's voice was steady, but grim enough to draw Mattie's eyes to his face
questioningly. There she saw the tightness of his jaw and a kind of fierce
anger banked in his eyes. "And no, I wouldn't say she's a fan of mine—or any
man."

"Is she a problem
child?" Mattie probed tentatively.

"No more than she's
been forced to be," Joe answered enigmatically.

"What do you
mean?"

Joe did not immediately
answer. Instead he bent down to the clutch of children surrounding them and
instructed them to choose sides for what was evidently a well-worn tradition
when Joe visited—a football game. They went scurrying outside with shrieks of
joy. Only then did Joe turn back to face Mattie.

"Joe...?"

"Janie was sexually
abused by her father from the time she was four years old," he told her
with a kind of restrained grimness that only served to emphasize his fury.
"She does not communicate well with people as a result of that abuse. She
is terrified of men in general, and perhaps me more than most, they tell me,
because of my size." Joe's tone, if possible, became even grimmer.
"Her father was evidently my height and weight, so naturally she feels I'm
going to hurt her the way that bastard did."

There was real pain in
Joe's voice, but Mattie, pale and trembling, barely heard it.

"Her father?"
she repeated hoarsely. "Her own father did—that to her?"

"Janie's mother
finally found out what was going on," Joe continued flatly. "Oh, not
because Janie told her—the scum told Janie her mother would be angry with her
if she found out that he loved Janie more than he loved her mother. Janie's
mother just came home unexpectedly, and—" Joe broke off in disgust, his
eyes focused on Janie across the room. "They divorced. Janie's mother was
brave enough—or foolish enough—to press charges. He was convicted, and now on
top of everything else, Janie lives with the fact that her father is in prison
because of her. At least, that s how she sees it. There are no winners in a
situation like that, just losers. They lost all the way around. Janie lost a
father, her mother lost a husband, and he killed something inside of that child
that could have been so beautiful—"

Joe broke off abruptly as
his eyes moved from Janie to Mattie. Her face was white, completely drained of
color, and her lips, pressed tightly together to prevent them from trembling,
were bloodless.

"Mattie! Are you all
right? You look like you're going to faint." His arm moved to support her
but dropped immediately as she struggled from his hold.

"Mattie?" Joe's
voice was wary now. It had been a long time since Mattie had flinched from his
touch. Not since the evening he had come to her cottage after losing the game
had she run from him. What hell was she revisiting now?

"I'm fine,"
Mattie answered, her voice strained and pathetically unconvincing as she tore
her eyes from Janie's hunched little figure to meet Joe's concerned gaze.
"I'm fine. Let's go meet some of these kids of yours. They seem like a
pretty lively bunch." She all but ran outside after the children and never
looked toward Janie.

Joe studied her stiff back
with grave eyes, then turned to look at Janie. What had Mattie seen that had
frightened her so?

It was more than thirty
minutes later when Joe emerged from a cheerful and highly competitive football
game and noticed that Mattie was no longer cheering both teams on from the
sidelines. With a pang of concern, he searched the yard for her. Where could
she be? A change of quarterback was quickly accomplished, and Joe slipped away
from the rowdy contest.

He found her in the
playroom, sitting across from Janie. They were separated by a table, not
touching, not talking to each other, although Mattie's voice could be heard as
she contemplated the child's puzzle in front of her.

"No... that won't fit
there. But if I move it here—" her hand shifted the puzzle piece to
another corner "—then I can't put this here." She frowned and rested
her chin on her hands. She had obviously been working at this for a while.

Neither moved for a long
moment, and Joe, from his position in the doorway, had the impression that
Mattie was holding her breath. Then slowly, very slowly, Janie slid toward the
puzzle and silently fit the pieces together.

"Hey, no fair! I bet
you've done this puzzle before."

Janie's eyes rose to meet
Mattie's with a small, tentative smile in their depths. But the smile died
instantly as her eyes lighted on Joe in the doorway.

Joe could almost feel her
withdrawal and flinched inwardly. Mattie swung around to locate the cause.

"Joe! I thought you
were playing football."

Joe shifted awkwardly in
the doorway, wanting to stay but torn by the need to leave and erase the swift
fear in Janie's eyes. Mattie read the situation quickly. Drawing a deep,
steadying breath, she rose and walked to Joe's side, then took his hand in hers.
She felt that strange bolt of emotion that was becoming fearfully familiar to
her but refused to drop his hand under Janie's watchful gaze.

"Janie, this is my
friend, Joe. Have you met him?"

Janie watched with wary
eyes as they drew closer, but said nothing, studying their clasped hands.

"Hi, Janie," Joe
tried tentatively, his tone gentle.

Janie did not answer, did
not even appear to hear him as her eyes fixed on some object over his left
shoulder.

The tension in the room
was thick, and Joe's hands tightened unconsciously around Mattie's, crushing
the delicate bones. She flinched involuntarily, a small cry forced from her
lips, and Janie's head snapped around. She saw the pain in Mattie's face and began
to tremble, sliding back on the floor. Tears poured from her eyes, yet she made
no sound. Her gaze was locked on Joe in abject terror, and Mattie flinched at
the sight. It was the same look an animal, dying of abuse, cast its tormentor,
and in a child it was agony to witness.

Although Joe had released
Mattie's hand instantly when she had cried out, he could not move. He was
frozen to the spot as he witnessed Janie's terror.