A Time to Dance

by Karen Kingsbury

  There were nights when his dad was there, talking to his mother, long after Jake turned in. And in the mornings, his father would be in the kitchen making coffee. The whole situation felt strange. After all, his folks were divorced. But sometimes—when Jake wandered downstairs before breakfast and found his dad in the kitchen—it was sort of nice to pretend that his family had never really split up. Or that they’d somehow gotten back together.

  It was possible, wasn’t it? After all, they were out together tonight.

  Jake flopped down on his bed just as the phone rang. He caught a glimpse of the alarm clock on his dresser. Nearly nine o’clock. Only a few people could be calling this late. His attorney, or his mother.

  In fact, Jake was almost positive it was his mom. Lots of times when his mother was out late with his dad, she’d call and give him some kind of explanation. Dinner was served late . . . or they’d gotten into a long conversation.

  Jake didn’t care.

  As long as they were together, there was a chance they’d work things out. He stretched across his bed and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake . . . Casey Parker.”

  Casey Parker? “Hey.” Jake sat straight up and dropped his face in his hands. He hadn’t talked to Casey since the accident. “What’s up?”

  “I shoulda called you sooner.” There was a hitch in Casey’s voice, like he was trying not to cry. “Listen, Jake. I’m sorry. About asking you to race and all. Really, man. I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  Jake searched his mind, trying to imagine why Casey would call now. “We need to move on, I guess.”

  “You’re out at that continuation school, right?”

  “Right. It’s okay. I’ve got straight As.”

  “You gonna get to come back to Marion in the fall?”

  It was the question his mother asked him at least once a week. The counselor had said it was okay, as long as he wasn’t in a juvenile detention center. By then Jake would be finished with his mandatory house arrest—a time when he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere but to continuation school and home again. If he wasn’t locked up, he’d be involved in community service, telling teens at other schools why they needed to avoid street racing.

  Everyone seemed to think he’d be better off at Marion in the fall, spending his senior year at his own school, being a living reminder to his peers that racing could have tragic consequences. But Jake wasn’t sure. It was one thing to talk with Coach Reynolds in a courtroom. It would be another entirely to watch him wheeling his way around Marion High.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah, well. I don’t blame you. It’s tough being at school.” Casey hesitated. “Coach is still at home. Everyone says he’ll be back in the fall.”

  “Yep.” Jake felt sick to his stomach. Where was the conversation going? “Hey, thanks for calling. I gotta get some rest before—”

  “Wait.” Casey’s voice was urgent. “That’s not why I called.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re having a meeting for Coach Reynolds.”

  “A meeting?” Jake’s heart skipped a beat. “What kind of meeting?”

  “I guess Coach sent in a resignation letter, saying he was done with football because he didn’t have—” Casey’s voice cracked some and it was a while before he could speak again. “He didn’t have the support he needed.”

  Jake’s heart broke at the news. Not only did Coach have to deal with his injury, but he had to live with the fact that right before he’d gotten hurt, the parents had ganged up against him. “What’s the meeting for?”

  “A lot’s changed since Coach got hurt, Jake. We’ve had a chance to . . . I don’t know, maybe look at ourselves a little closer. I think we realized—even the parents—that it wasn’t Coach after all. It was us. You know what I mean?”

  “I do. So it’s a good meeting?”

  “Absolutely. Anyone who wants Coach to stay with the Eagles next year is supposed to come and talk. The guys’ll start spreading the word tomorrow at school. I think a lot of kids are gonna go. A lot of parents, too.”

  Jake was certain he could get permission from the judge to attend. He had just one question. “Has anyone invited Coach Reynolds?”

  “Well . . .” Casey paused. “We were kind of hoping you could do that.”

  After all that had happened, Jake felt nothing but honor at the chance to call Coach Reynolds and invite him to the meeting. “I’ll do it as soon as I hang up.”

  “Okay. The meeting’s Thursday night at seven.”

  “See ya there.”

  Jake hung up and imagined Coach Reynolds surrounded by a huge room full of people who loved him. The thought gave Jake more peace than anything had in months. He smiled to himself, thinking of what he’d like to say if he could get up the courage. Then he did something he never expected to do again as long as he lived.

  He dialed Coach Reynolds’s phone number and waited.

  Twenty-five

  THE MARION HIGH AUDITORIUM WAS FILLED WITH police officers.

  Chuck Parker took the microphone and started to talk, but the officers threw things at him and shouted for John. Slowly, uncertainty in his eyes, John wheeled himself up onto the stage, but the entire auditorium booed him. The moment he reached for the microphone, a dozen officers rushed the stage and handcuffed him. One of them looked at the crowd and said, “Coach Reynolds knew his players were drinking . . . he knew they were street racing. Now it’s time for him to pay.”

  They pushed John off the stage, and not once did he speak up for himself.

  “John . . . tell them what really happened!” Abby stood and yelled at him from the back of the room. “Tell them you didn’t know about those things.”

  But John only turned around and waved at her. “It’s my fault, Abby . . . it’s my fault . . .”

  She tried to run after him, but an officer grabbed her arm and began telling her something about having a right to remain silent.

  “Don’t touch me! My husband did nothing wrong . . . nothing! This whole meeting is a setup and—”

  Something caught her attention. A buzzing or a hum of some kind. It grew louder and louder . . .

  Abby sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath. She glanced at John. He hadn’t been taken away by police. He was asleep beside her. The sound came again and suddenly she realized what it was.

  John was snoring.

  She fell back against the pillow. The week’s emotional chain of events was almost more than Abby could bear.

  First, the doctor’s determination that they could operate on John’s back, and the knowledge that maybe—just maybe—he might regain use of his legs. Then the call from Jake Daniels. The team, the parents . . . nearly the entire school planned to turn out for a meeting on John’s behalf.

  But what exactly did they want to say? Abby felt her heart rate return to normal. Obviously she was worried about it. Whatever it was, the idea of meeting with the very people who had tried to ruin John did not sit well with her.

  The day passed in a blur of housework and other errands until finally it was six o’clock and the meeting was in just one hour. John was shaving upstairs, and Abby stared at the telephone. There was time for a quick call to Nicole. The poor girl had wanted desperately to go to the meeting, but she’d already made plans to have Matt’s parents over for dinner. Besides, she was seven months pregnant and more tired than usual.

  Neither Nicole nor the other kids knew about John’s impending surgery. Abby and John wanted to tell them on the weekend, when everyone was at the house. Then as soon as the details were out, they could place a speakerphone call to Kade and share the news together.

  Nicole answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey. It’s Mom.”

  “Oh, hi. Aren’t you supposed to be at the meeting?”

  “It’s not till seven.” Abby poured a bit of lotion on the palm of her hand and worked it into her fingers. “How are
you, dear? It worries me that you’re so tired. Usually the seventh and eighth month aren’t like that.”

  “I don’t know, Mom.” Nicole lowered her voice. “I don’t want Matt to worry, but this afternoon while I was making spaghetti sauce, I had some of those false contractions. Only this time they were pretty strong.”

  “Is the baby moving around okay?”

  “Not so much this evening. But earlier it felt like she was doing backflips.”

  “She?” There was teasing in Abby’s voice. Matt and Nicole had decided not to find out whether they were having a boy or girl. They wanted to be surprised. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “It’s just a guess. I have a hunch it’s a girl. Matt thinks it’s a boy. So I guess one of us’ll be—” Nicole groaned.

  “Nic, what is it?”

  “Ugggh.” Nicole grabbed a few quick breaths. “Just another false contraction. See what I mean? They’re getting harder all the time.”

  Abby worked to keep the concern from her voice. “Honey, you need to write down the time and keep track of them. If they get stronger or start coming more regularly, have Matt take you in. Please, sweetie. That’s nothing to mess with.”

  Nicole promised she’d keep track of the pains, and then she asked Abby to pass a message on to John. “Tell Daddy Matt’s been praying for him. That whatever’s said at this meeting will be an encouragement.”

  “Matt’s been praying? What about y—”

  “Don’t start, Mom.” A sigh sounded across the phone lines. “You know how I feel about it.”

  Abby did know, and she still couldn’t believe it was happening. Life was tragic enough when having her husband lose his ability to walk. But watching Nicole lose her ability to pray? They chatted a bit more and Abby was careful not to be critical of Nicole. She needed Abby’s love, not her condemnation. The phone call ended, and Abby closed her eyes.

  God . . . work on her heart. Please . . .

  Have peace, daughter . . . no one can snatch her out of My hand . . .

  The words were like a balm to her soul, filling in the worn-out places of her assurance with a peace that was beyond description. No one can snatch them out of My hand. It was a Scripture from Abby’s college days. She had memorized it after having a discussion with a youth pastor about salvation.

  Nicole wasn’t rejecting her faith. She was merely struggling. She thought about her daughter’s contractions. Certainly God would meet her where she was, one way or another, and see her through this season of doubt. And someday very soon, Abby believed with all her heart that Nicole would pray again.

  Maybe even yet that night.

  The meeting was already underway when John and Abby snuck in through a back door in the auditorium. The lights were low, and John had been certain the action would come to a complete halt the minute they arrived.

  Instead, Abby opened the door and slipped in first, while John wheeled in behind her without a sound. Abby found a chair against the back wall and John positioned himself beside her. They stayed there in the shadows near the back while Herman Lutz took the podium.

  “You’re gathered here tonight for a parent-staged meeting. As you know, our district makes school buildings available for such discussion times.” He held up a piece of paper and read its contents in a slow, unpracticed manner. “As athletic director at Marion High, I wanted to make sure you’re all clear on the boundaries. Please keep your comments as positive as possible, and let’s avoid any name-calling. In addition, you should know that the opinions expressed here tonight are not those of the administration or staff.”

  The man seemed bored and condescending. The same way he acted around the coaches and students at Marion. John tried not to let his attitude bother him.

  Lutz shaded his eyes and gazed at the front row of seats. “Mr. Chuck Parker, you called this meeting, so please get the discussion started.”

  So it was true. Chuck Parker had called the meeting. The very man who had argued with John before the season about whether his son should play quarterback, and—according to Jake, anyway—the one who had spearheaded the attack against his character. John leaned back in his wheelchair. As he did, he felt Abby’s hand alongside his. He held it, glad for her presence, and even more glad that they hadn’t been spotted.

  Now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see the auditorium more clearly. It was packed. Hundreds of people had turned out. What in the world could all those people have to say?

  Chuck Parker made his way to the microphone and, for a long while, said nothing at all. He cleared his throat and glanced at his shoes. When he looked up, his cheeks were deep red. “I called this meeting for one reason. To apologize publicly to Coach John Reynolds.”

  Abby squeezed his hand, her voice barely audible. “It’s about time.”

  John strained to hear. He didn’t want to miss a word.

  “Many of you remember how I acted last season. To satisfy my own agenda, I tried to convince you Coach Reynolds was not the man our Eagles needed on the football field.” He glanced down once more. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.”

  Chuck looked up and paced a few steps in either direction. “What happened with our boys this past season was my fault.” He pointed at the audience. “And the fault of any of you parents who tried to turn your kid against Coach Reynolds.” He hesitated. “What hope did my boy have as an Eagle when all he heard from me were cuts against his coach? The more I attacked the man, the more Casey lost respect for him. Once players lose respect for the coach, it doesn’t matter what the man might do or what kind of talent the team might have. Everyone loses. It’s that simple.” He paused. “But it took a tragedy for me to sort it out and see it for myself.”

  John wondered if he were dreaming. Never in his wildest imagination had he thought Chuck Parker would face the Marion faithful and admit he’d undermined John’s coaching authority. He shot a quick look at Abby. There were tears on her cheeks, but she was quiet, soaking in the things being said.

  “I tried to get Coach Reynolds fired. But I was wrong.” Parker shrugged and seemed at a loss for words. “Coach sent in his resignation letter this week. I guess if there’s another reason I called this meeting, it’s to convince Coach we want him back at Marion High. The program won’t be the same without him.”

  Chuck opened the meeting up to whoever wanted to speak. Several parents went first, and John’s astonishment only grew. These were people he’d always assumed had supported him. Yet one at a time they apologized for siding with a handful of parents who’d had an agenda against him.

  One parent said, “What we did to Coach Reynolds last year made us losers, and it made our sons losers. I’m ashamed of myself, and I’m glad for the chance to tell the rest of you how I feel.”

  John shifted in his chair. No wonder he’d felt such pressure. Even parents who smiled at his face had talked behind his back. He and Abby exchanged a look. It was easy to see she was thinking the same thing.

  Next at the podium was a wave of parents who had publicly opposed John. They, too, expressed sorrow at what they’d done.

  “Not just because he’s hurt now,” one father said. “The reason we’re here today isn’t because we pity Coach Reynolds. It’s because we’re ashamed of ourselves and the way we treated him.”

  Thirty minutes into the meeting, the first of several players stood to speak. He was a lineman, a soft-spoken athlete named Buck, whose intensity came out only on the field.

  Until now.

  “Coach Reynolds was not a regular coach, not the kind of man you take for granted.” Buck looked uncomfortable at the small podium, but he continued, passion ringing in his voice. “Coach had us to his home for movies and dinners. One time he told us if we ever needed a place to go so we wouldn’t drink at a party, we could come to his house.” Buck’s voice lifted louder. “He loved us that much. See, that’s the thing I want you parents to know. You took a stand against a man who cared about us more
than any coach I’ve ever heard of. We were the luckiest athletes in the state of Illinois. Because Coach loved us.” He hung his head for a moment. “All I’m saying is, now it’s time to get the message back to Coach . . . that we love him, too.”

  A lump formed in John’s throat and refused to budge. He blinked back tears and listened as, one after another, his players took the podium and echoed Buck’s thoughts. So they did care, after all. It was worth more than John could have imagined. He brought Abby’s hand to his lips and gave it a tender kiss.

  She smiled at him and mouthed, “They love you, John.”

  Finally there was a lull in the action and a ripple of whispers fanned across the spectator section. All eyes were on someone, but John couldn’t make out who it was. Finally the boy came into view.

  Jake Daniels.

  John hadn’t seen him since that day in court, and he looked different now. Older, more grown up. He was no longer the carefree star athlete he’d been back in November.

  Abby leaned closer. “What’s the commotion about?”

  “Jake hasn’t been back at Marion High since the accident.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. “I didn’t know.”

  “This must be hard for him.”

  Jake was neither shy nor awkward. Instead he handled the microphone like a professional, making eye contact with different sections of the audience.

  “I’m here to tell you the truth regarding some rumors that went around about Coach Reynolds last year.” He paused, his eyes intense. “First of all, yes, some of us guys on the team drank during summer camp last August. I was one of them. And a few guys raced.”

  John exchanged a look with Abby. So, Jake had been one of the drinkers. John was fairly sure the boy hadn’t raced, though. At least not back then. It wasn’t until his father bought him the Integra that he’d been tempted to do that. And even then he’d done it just one tragic time. Still, he didn’t claim innocence, nor did he point out which players had violated rules.

  Jake slipped one hand in his pocket. “I look at our team last year, and I know what one of you said earlier was true. We were losers. Not just on the field, but off the field. Most of us were rule-breakers. Drinking, racing, getting into pornography.”