Red, White and Blue Weddings: Red Like Crimson, White as Snow, Out of the Blue

by Janice Thompson

  Brianna made her way past the collection of silver spoons hanging on the wall in the front foyer, beyond the Age Is a State of Mind sampler and into the living room, where the furnishings were covered in doilies. No Gran-Gran. She continued on, past the dozens of knickknacks and into the narrow hallway, where her grandmother had created a shrine of sorts out of family photos.

  “Gran?” she tried again.

  Just then her grandmother’s lyrical voice rang out from the back end of the house. “I’m in the kitchen, Bree, working on a feast fit for a king!”

  A familiar scent wafted through the hallway, and Brianna smiled as she recognized it—Gran-Gran’s fried bread.

  “Mmm. I’m coming!”

  She entered the kitchen and caught sight of her beautiful grandmother, hair as white as snow pulled up into a tight bun. Her faded yellow-checked apron, the same one Bree had seen her wear hundreds—if not thousands—of times before, made her look a bit more like Aunty Em and a little less like Martha Stewart, but Brianna wouldn’t have it any other way. She loved this image of her grandmother and hoped it would remain forever embedded in her heart. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes to capture it like a photograph, just in case.

  Gran-Gran picked up a mound of fleshy-white bread dough from a greased cookie sheet and placed it in a skillet filled with hot oil. Once settled, it sizzled and popped then started to swell. Within seconds the bottom half turned a lovely golden color. Gran-Gran flipped it over with a pair of tongs and scrutinized it. “Not bad, not bad,” she said with a girlish laugh.

  “Oh, man!” Brianna noticed the platter filled with already- fried circles of bread and snagged one right away. She shoved as much as she could fit into her mouth and talked around it as she asked, “What’s the occasion? What’s going on?”

  Gran-Gran’s eyes lit with pure delight. She lifted the piece of bread, now beautifully browned on both sides, and placed it on the platter. She then raised another ball of dough in the air and waved it triumphantly. “Football! The first game of the season is on tonight!” She set the ball of dough in the hot oil, and it began to sizzle right away.

  Brianna groaned. How many times had she told Gran- Gran—and everyone else in the city of Pittsburgh, for that matter—that she’d come to Pennsylvania to get away from the sport? But did they listen? Of course not! These Pittsburgh folks were diehards, and Gran-Gran was the leader of the pack. She’d tried for years to indoctrinate Brianna, but, at least so far, the California native remained undaunted. Football and all the hoopla that went with it were a part of her past, not her future. She’d had her fill back in L.A.

  “I’ve been scheming all day.” Gran-Gran walked over to the computer on the small desk in front of the window and typed in the Web address for the Steelers, something she did with remarkable ease, considering her eighty-four years. “It’s a good thing I’m computer savvy.” An impish giggle escaped before she continued. “Those classes at the senior center have worked wonders. I don’t know how I’d keep up with the players otherwise. Seems like every year the lineup shifts around on me, and I can’t seem to remember one handsome face from another.”

  “Gran-Gran!”

  “Well, the players jump from team to team. Harper’s back, ya know. Thought we lost him because of that blown ACL.”

  “ACL?”

  Gran-Gran nodded but didn’t explain. “No one thought he’d be able to play this season, but he’s back.”

  “Oh, yeah. I think I heard something about one of Pittsburgh’s players blowing out the ligament of his knee last spring. Football is a dangerous sport. That’s just one more reason I—”

  “Harper, Bree,” Gran-Gran interrupted. “Harper. Our star quarterback, remember?” She went off on a tangent about his excellent plays last season before the accident, but lost Brianna a minute or two into her dissertation.

  “I think I remember hearing Harper’s name from the guys at work or something,” Brianna acknowledged with a shrug. “Not really sure.”

  “Honestly. You’re hopeless.” Gran-Gran gave her a how- could-you-be-my-blood-kin look. “But since you’re standing there, why don’t you go ahead and flip that bread over for me?”

  Brianna reached to grab the tongs, then gently eased the ever-growing mound of dough over in the hot oil. Noting her grandmother had become engrossed in the computer, she shifted her attentions to the oven, where she discovered something cooking inside. She took advantage of the opportunity to open the oven door.

  “Mmm.” Gran-Gran’s famous meat loaf. After easing the oven door shut, Brianna glanced inside a pot on the stove. Lifting the lid, she discovered homemade mashed potatoes. “Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said it was a feast fit for a king, were you?”

  “Great football food,” her grandmother said with a wink. “Just in case we work up a manly appetite—hollering at the bad plays.”

  “We?” A gnawing feeling let Brianna know what was coming, even before the words were spoken.

  “I’ve invited a couple of my girlfriends over,” Gran-Gran said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  Brianna looked up, alarmed. “Who?”

  “Rena and Lora. But don’t fret now. They’ve promised to be as good as gold this season.” Gran-Gran crossed her heart then kissed the tips of her fingers, as if to offer reassurance. “None of that acting up like last year; they promise.”

  “Humph.” Another piece of bread went into Brianna’s mouth, a self-protective measure. If she spoke her mind about Rena and Lora, Gran-Gran might take offense, but the two women—each at least ten years her grandmother’s junior—drove Brianna a little crazy with their jerseys, pom-poms, and colorful hand towels. And their play-by-play commentaries didn’t help either. She just didn’t know how much she could take. Even from up in her bedroom their cheers and jeers proved difficult to ignore.

  “Rena’s bought a new jersey,” Gran-Gran said with a snicker. “Ordered it from the Internet. She thinks she’s one-upped me, but hers isn’t signed by Harper.”

  “Are you serious? A signed jersey costs a fortune. Tell me you didn’t. . .”

  “I did.” Gran-Gran winked. “Bought it from the Internet, but I signed his name myself. Do you think she’ll figure it out?” She reached across the desk for the jersey. Across the back, in rather wobbly handwriting, she’d scribbled out Harper.

  “Oh, no.” Brianna slapped herself in the head. “Now you’ve gone to plotting and scheming. You’ll have to do penance for this for sure, Gran-Gran.”

  “Aw, it’s all in fun.” Her grandmother turned her sights to her computer again.

  Brianna dropped into a chair at the breakfast table and let out a grunt. To her way of thinking, football was a game where a handful of healthy, fit men ran around a field for a couple of hours, watched by millions of folks who could probably use the exercise. A game her father had sacrificed almost everything to—time, family, relationships. The almighty game of football. Yippee.

  Wasn’t it bad enough she’d had to grow up on the sidelines in L.A., her father off coaching this game or that? Why had she chosen Pittsburgh, of all places, to get away from the sport? In this city, football consumed almost everyone.

  She sighed as she thought about the guys at work. Seemed as if they had nothing better to do throughout the winter months than place friendly wagers on the games and gossip over the various players—none of whom interested her in the least. She’d never joined in their chatter and never planned to. In fact, she never planned to participate in football in any form or fashion. . .not since. . .

  Daniel’s accident. Their senior year. She shuddered as the memories surfaced, but she quickly pushed them away. She wouldn’t think about her old boyfriend tonight. And she wouldn’t think about her more recent flash-in-the-pan boyfriend, Andy, either. His fanatical football ways had driven her to the edge. She’d finally put him behind her. Just like Nick. And Matt. And every other Pittsburgh guy she’d ever looked at twice. Not a one of them could see beyon
d the pigskin to notice she was alive. Maybe they were all like her dad.

  “Oh, speaking of news. . .” Gran-Gran glanced up from the computer with a big smile on her face. “Your mother called today to say they’re coming out for a visit at Christmastime.”

  “Really? All of them?” Brianna popped another piece of bread in her mouth. The idea of seeing her mom and brother excited her. Oh, how she wished she could get over the twinge that hit every time she thought about spending time with her father.

  “Yes. They would’ve come for Thanksgiving,” Gran-Gran continued, “but your mom said. . .” Her voice drifted off, and Brianna filled in the blank.

  Dad can’t take time away from the team at that time of year. What else is new?

  Just as quickly she offered up a prayer, asking God to help her get beyond these feelings. Maybe her father hadn’t changed much since she’d been away, but she had, right? Brianna paused to reflect on the changes in her life since arriving in Pennsylvania. Her commitment to Christ and the teaching she had received from Gran-Gran, Pastor Meyers, and the youth leaders at church afterward did a thorough job of convincing her the past was in the past. . .where it belonged. She’d worked for years to get over the pain of Daniel’s rejection after his accident. And she’d worked even harder at forgiving her father for putting Daniel at risk in the first place. Weren’t coaches supposed to look out for the best interest of their players?

  “Don’t look back, Bree,” her grandmother always said. “Press on toward the goal.”

  Yes, Bree thanked the Lord she had chosen Pittsburgh. She would never have made it this far without Gran-Gran.

  Brianna snapped out of her ponderings as her grandmother added, “Your mom said to tell you she’s looking forward to meeting your boyfriend.”

  “Gran-Gran, you know I’m not dating Andy anymore. He never had time for me. That guy was just like every other man I’ve met since I moved to Pittsburgh. He eats, sleeps, and breathes. . . .”

  Brianna didn’t say the word.

  She didn’t dare.

  ❧

  The lights above the field cast a Hollywood-like haze over the players’ heads. Watching from the glow of the big-screen high-definition TV he could no longer afford, Brandon Campbell sighed. If only he hadn’t told his agent to play hardball with Tampa, maybe he could’ve settled for a little less pay and no respect. At least then he’d be on the field and not on the sofa. But Tampa had slipped through his fingers this season, and he found himself in the one position any second-string quarterback would hate. Out of the game.

  So here he sat, nibbling stale chips, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, watching his former team members on television on a lonely Sunday afternoon. He could only stand a few minutes of outside observation before he had to change the channel. Anything would be better than this.

  Ah. The Steelers, playing their first official game of the season. Now this would be pure joy. All his life he’d dreamed of playing for Pittsburgh. Maybe someday. . .

  Brandon kept a watchful eye on Harper, Pittsburgh’s star quarterback. The guy had a bad knee, a blown ACL. Despite predictions he’d miss the start of the season, Harper had managed to rehab it and return to the game. Who would’ve guessed he’d be back this quick? But look at him now, sprinting across the field.

  The television camera focused on the scoreboard, and Brandon groaned as he reflected on the score: 0-3. “Man.” Just two minutes left in the first quarter. Would they rise to the challenge?

  Less than sixty seconds later, a yelp rose from the back of his throat as he got his answer. A roar went up from the crowd as Jimmy Harper threw the ball for a touchdown. Tight end Jared Cunningham leaped into the air, catching it in the end zone. For a second it looked as if he might let it slip through his fingers, but tenacity won out, and the scoreboard reflected the shift in power: 6-3. One swift kick later and the electric lights boasted a cheerful 7-3. Not bad for a last-minute attempt. Brandon turned up the television to hear the roar of thousands of boisterous fans. How he loved that sound!

  A commercial cut into the action, distracting him. Instead of switching back to the Tampa game, Brandon swallowed down a mouthful of soda and leaned back against the sofa, contemplating his situation. Lord, I don’t get it. I gave You my life, and I trust You, but it seems like everything is falling apart. How am I going to do all those things You’ve called me to do if I’m not even in the game?

  He pondered his recent decision to trust Christ as his Savior. That one move had changed everything. And yet nothing seemed to be working out the way he’d hoped.

  The commercial ended, and Brandon kept a watchful eye on the screen as his old college coach, Ed Carter, cheered on the Steelers from the sidelines. After a few seconds of ego-pumping and strategy planning, the players prepared for the next quarter.

  Several minutes in, with the Steelers in possession once again, Harper ran toward the goal, ball in hand. Brandon rose to his feet, ready to shout. Just seconds short of reaching the line, however, Harper took a hit, shot backward through the air, and landed on his back. He rolled over to his side, curled up in the fetal position, a look of agony on his face. The referee’s whistle blew, and the crowd grew silent.

  Brandon sat back down, his heart shifting to his toes.

  From the way Harper grabbed his knee, Brandon knew the guy was done for.

  TWO

  Brianna leaned back against the driver’s seat and focused on the road leading out of the North Hills section of Pittsburgh toward the hustle and bustle of the city a few miles south. She turned the nose of her silver SUV onto Interstate 79 and settled in for the trip.

  The strains of a familiar worship song filled the air, and she immediately reached to turn up the volume on the radio. As the words took root in her spirit, she joined in, singing at the top of her lungs. In fact, she got so caught up in the lyrics and the beautiful melody that she almost missed the turnoff for 279 South. She managed to catch it just in time.

  Worshipping with abandon on the road was not an unfamiliar routine on the drive to Allegheny Building and Design near downtown each morning. Brianna enjoyed this part of her day nearly as much as her time with Gran-Gran in the evenings. And last night’s football saga had certainly proven to be entertaining, if nothing else. She was thankful her grandmother’s team had won in the end. Seemed like the ladies had a good time, dressed in their jerseys and waving their pennants like high school cheerleaders gone awry.

  The song came to an end, and Brianna shifted her thoughts to the day ahead. She sighed as she reflected on the guys in the office. Nearly every one happened to be enamored with the one sport she was trying to avoid. And now that the season had begun, she was sure to hear of little else. Office pools were all the rage, as were arguments over plays and coaching decisions, not to mention the bantering back and forth about incoming and outgoing players. Brianna interrupted her morning reverie to glance up at the gray skies over the Allegheny River as she crossed one of Pittsburgh’s forty bridges into the area known as the Golden Triangle. “Pittsburgh has more bridges than Venice, Italy.” She recited the words she’d recently heard a newscaster speak. Still, no amount of bridges could take the place of the breathtaking Pacific Ocean or the beautiful hills of Los Angeles. She still yearned for them in her heart, even though years had passed, and she’d long since reconciled herself to living in Pennsylvania.

  “It ain’t exactly L.A.,” she muttered, as she did almost every morning. “But it’s home.”

  No, Pittsburgh certainly didn’t have that Southern California feel. A long way from it, in fact. No movie sets. No glitz and glam. No red carpets. No starlets sipping cappuccinos at local coffee shops. No paparazzi perched for the latest shot.

  Nope. Pittsburgh was just. . .Pittsburgh. A little on the gray side at times, but awfully pretty when the winter snows turned everything to a glistening white. During that magical season, the trees hung heavy with blankets of snow, their branches dipping lower, lower, as if they might
one day touch the ground.

  Of course, those same snows often resulted in treacherous driving, but she’d even grown accustomed to that. Almost, anyway.

  The people of Pittsburgh were amazing—that she had learned very quickly. Brianna had fallen in love with their tenacity, their spirit, as a college student. And she had certainly never met more dedicated business owners than John and Roger Stevenson, her bosses at AB&D.

  She smiled, even now, as she thought about them. The brothers, both in their sixties, did a fine job of managing the company and had built it into Pittsburgh’s leading high-end home remodeling company. How she enjoyed working alongside them.

  Brianna’s heart swelled as she thought about that. Her business degree, coupled with her love of people, had served the company well. Seemed like no matter where she went—the grocery store, the auto repair shop, the zoo—it didn’t matter. She always managed to run into potential customers—folks looking for a reputable home remodeling company. She carried business cards with her at all times, just in case. And her in-office skills had proven to benefit the company as well. It hadn’t taken long for John and Roger to promote her to a nicer office space in the building.

  She inched her way along in traffic. Off in the distance she caught a glimpse of the area where Three Rivers Stadium used to stand. As much as she avoided all things related to football, it was a bit sad to know that the once-architectural wonder had lived out its glory years only to be imploded when the need for a new stadium had arisen.

  For a moment she allowed herself to think about Daniel and all he had lost in one night so many years ago. A little shiver ran down her spine as she contemplated how truly temporary the things of this world could be.

  She shook off the memory and focused on more positive things. With a determined spirit, Brianna turned up the radio and sang at the top of her lungs.

  ❧

  Brandon received the call from his agent, Sal Galloway, a little before ten in the morning.