by Jillian Hart
“I’ll see you on Monday, Ben.” It was easier now to walk away. “Take care of your leg. I hope your head feels better. I really am sorry about the softball.”
He didn’t say anything. He just waved in acknowledgment. She lost sight of him as she found her car and backed out of a space while several other cars were waiting to vie for it.
On the way out she spotted him again, a lone man standing at the edge of the ballpark with sunset streaking the sky above him. A lone man watching the world around him—families and friends and everyday life.
The image of him alone, a man apart, remained long after she could no longer see him in her rearview mirror. Long into the evening in her cozy little town house. Deep in her dreams through the night.
When she woke with the dawn’s light, he was there in her mind. The two of them, his life and her life, each and separately alone.
Chapter Seven
She was not watching for Ben to arrive. Really. At least, that’s what Cadence told herself at the end of her eleven-o’clock advanced beginners class.
As her students shivered at poolside, waiting their turn to dive in and practice their backstroke, she paced alongside the swimmers and offered helpful comments—with one eye on the bleachers.
Okay, she was watching for him. There was no sense in not being honest with herself. He wanted the past buried. It helped knowing he had the same regrets she did. And the same sense of loss that though she’d loved with all her heart and soul, theirs was a love that could never have worked. If they’d married, how would they have made it? Would they have been a divorce statistic? Or would they have managed to hold tight to their holy vows in a tough world, with nothing but failed hopes and unrequited dreams between them?
Would she have resented him if she’d never had the chance to compete for gold? Would he have resented her and been restless and unhappy being a short order cook in his family’s diner for the rest of his life? Probably. They would be like some sad families she saw, moms overworked and overburdened, who’d lost joy in their lives. They came with their children, were fine mothers, had nice kids, but during the lesson and when the lessons were over they were the moms who did not smile and wave at their little ones. Who seemed weighed down by sadness and the stress of their lives. Instead of the ones who found better ways to cope with the tough work of being a wife and mother.
She didn’t know. Maybe those sadder women were not sad over lost dreams the way she imagined them to be. She only knew that she could never have been whole unless she’d found out what she could do in life. She’d hoped it would make her a better mom when the time came. Not that it looked as if she would ever get the chance now. Or will I, Lord?
As the pair of students reached the far end and climbed out, dripping and breathing hard, she nodded to the next pair standing in line. They dived into the water. One splashed as feet smacked against the surface and the other made a whopping belly flop.
Not the best diving technique. They’d have to work on that later, she decided as she watched the kids roll over. Their faces were scrunched up against the water trying to cover them as they kicked feverishly.
“Arms over your heads,” she called, demonstrating. “Reach way back.”
One—Andrea—managed to fling her arms back, thereby straightening out her body and popping her right to the surface. The girl began her unpracticed backstroke. “Great, Andrea! Travis? Travis, put your head back in the water.”
He looked at her, helplessly folded in two, his feet at the surface, his arms flailing to keep his face above water.
“You’re doing good. Just reach back.” She lifted her arms again so he could imitate her, and it seemed to help. He stayed rigid, bent in the middle, but at least he was lying back on the water.
Except he was also submerging. He came up sputtering, treading water.
“That’s good. Try it again from the wall. You’re getting it. It just takes practice, okay?” She said it kindly, because she knew the other kids were trying not to snicker and failing. She shot them a firm glance, arching one brow to look more imposing. “You may have the same trouble, you know. That’s great, Travis. Reach behind you. Don’t look at your toes!”
He struggled, but he moved sluggishly across the pool. Andrea had already climbed out and was dripping on the deck.
Ben’s here.
She could feel his presence like a touch. Her heart skipped a beat. It was as if the world froze in time for one fraction of a moment as she gazed upward exactly to where he stood in a middle aisle of the half-filled bleachers. She wanted to scold herself for having such a strident reaction to Ben’s arrival. Was it old feelings long buried? Or was it because she could look at him and no longer feel the pain of regret?
He caught her gaze and gave her a small, tight salute, the dimples cutting into his cheeks as he slouched down onto an empty bench. He looked away, breaking their connection.
The moment faded, leaving only the present—the call of other instructors’ voices on the other side of the pool echoing overhead, the slosh and splish of the water, the rush of kids swimming, the glare of sunlight through the skylights. Travis reached the far end and she congratulated him, then called in the last pair for the last swim of the day.
By the time she made promises for practicing their dives next time and said goodbye, her next class was lined up on the wooden benches along the wall, shivering from their shower. Ben’s nephew was among them, lean and spare, looking wide-eyed at the water as if he thought swimming lessons were the worst idea ever.
Remembering how his family had said he’d nearly drowned in the river last month, she didn’t blame him one bit. She hopped in to help switch the ropes, dividing the pool widthwise rather than lengthwise. Peggy rolled her eyes in silent misery. She liked teaching the deep end of the pool the least, but Cadence loved it all. Every class, every stage, every student.
Because of the work they did here, the chances of these children drowning in a preventable incident were drastically reduced. She’d never know how many lives she saved by teaching kids to swim and swim well, and it heartened her as she clamped the final rope, ducked beneath it and approached the shallow end of the pool.
Eight little kids stared back at her in various stages of eagerness. From confident Kaylie in her pink ruffle suit and hair in neat little braids, to Jacob with a glint of trouble in his eyes ready for the class to be over, to Westin who’d gone pale when he realized other classes were being called to the water’s edge. His class was bound to be next.
Yep, she had her work cut out for her. And she liked it that way. Placing her hands on the deck, she studied her cute little students. “Hey, I’m so jazzed to see you guys again. Did any of you remember to practice like I asked you to?”
Kaylie’s hand shot up. “I did! I did! I blowed the biggest bubbles ever!”
“Right.” Jacob rocked back to stare at the ceiling, as if he were contemplating shimmying up to the rafters and seeing if the skylights opened—his only chance of escape.
Westin swallowed hard. His hand waved. “Do I hafta put my face in?”
“We’re only doing it halfway,” she answered. “Don’t worry. I promise to help you. Kaylie, do you remember how to use the ladder?”
“Do I!” Eager to be the first one in, the little girl walked importantly the few feet to the access ladder, gripped the big metal rails and backed down into the water. Cadence caught her by the elbow and steadied her while Kaylie gripped the edge of the wall.
“Excellent.” Figuring she’d best get Jacob into the pool before he implemented an escape plan, she called him next.
Highly uninterested, he climbed into the water and took his place beside Kaylie. No big deal.
“Don’t splash, hotshot,” she reminded him as she called her next student, a quiet little girl.
Madison was tentative, but she did a good job. As did the next four students.
She’d left Westin for last, so he could watch the others and see nothing scary
had happened to them.
He looked at her with big eyes, so dark and familiar it was like looking at Ben when he was that age. “Do I hafta?” he whispered so only she could hear, while darting glances at the kids already in the water beside her.
“I’ll be right here. I won’t let you slip, okay?” she reassured him, holding out both hands to help Westin down. “Jacob, no splashing,” she called over her shoulder.
“You know my mom and my uncle Ben.” Westin nodded as if he were coming to a decision, and gripped the ladder rail with all his might. His entire hand turned white. He shifted weight uncertainly and stretched to find the next step with his right leg.
“You’re going great. Just keep coming.” She cupped his elbow, gripping him firmly so he wouldn’t fall.
Tension quaked in his tensed muscles, and his little arm felt so frail. But like Ben at that age, he was tough. He shifted his weight again, reaching downward to the next step before his toes hit the water.
“See? Almost there.”
“This don’t grab like the river.” A smile brightened his face and the tension eased somewhat.
Victory. Cadence helped him to the edge and made sure he was holding on tight. As soon as he discovered his feet touched the ground and his chin was just out of the water, he relaxed and joined in with the other kids hopping and splashing a little in place.
“Let’s see your bubble faces!” she called out. “Everyone show me.”
She puffed up her cheeks with air and made sure Westin knew to join in. With only a look he was puffing up, too, like a cute little blowfish, and they practiced blowing bubbles in the air first.
As involved as she became teaching her beginner class, she could never quite forget the tall, lean man in the upper row watching her.
Ben couldn’t take it anymore. The big clock on the far wall read 11:50. He’d lasted twenty minutes. He’d given it his best, but he was done.
Another minute of watching Cadence and he was going to break the promise he’d made to himself. No more regrets. No glimpses back at old failures. Which was easy enough to do as long as he wasn’t anywhere near Cadence Chapman.
She seemed to be the only person he could see. Every time he deliberately tried to watch Westin nervously lowering his face to blow bubbles on the water’s surface or holding tight to the side of the pool and learning to lie out on his stomach and kick until he splashed, Ben’s gaze strayed to Cadence. Every time. What was wrong with him? He commanded himself to look away. But his eyes kept finding her no matter what he did, and there seemed to be no willpower strong enough to stop him.
Her dark hair gathered high into a single braided ponytail, she waded between the kids, giving them pointers and encouragement. The blue one-piece she wore was modest, but the color matched her sapphire-blue eyes and the sight of her took his breath away. Her heart-shaped face was softened by the water droplets flung her way as the kids kicked harder and harder. They were all laughing, because whatever Cadence was saying to them, she obviously was making it fun.
She was clearly a great teacher. The kids were engaged, watching her with eagerness. She swiped at the splashes hitting her square in the face and clapped her hands for the good job they’d done.
That’s when he straightened from the bench and marched down the aisle, moving around the bleacher benches on his crutches to avoid moms and smaller kids sitting together in various stages of contentment. He didn’t look over his shoulder as he hit the doorway to the stairs leading down to the main floor. He knew if he did look back, then everything he had said to Cadence in the shadow-filled parking lot would have blown up in smoke.
Put the past behind him. Sure, how was he going to do that when he couldn’t stop noticing the woman she’d become? Because she’d followed her destiny, he reminded himself as he navigated the concrete stairs. She’d followed the path God had put before her, and that path was a world apart from the one he’d been called to follow.
The good Lord had known what Ben had needed, and the moment he’d signed up for the physical stamina test to qualify for the pararescue jumper program—similar to the brutal week of training for SEALs—he’d been hooked. It was a perfect fit, as if all his life he’d been training for this job in the military. He was a natural outdoorsman; he could track, hunt, shoot, evade, swim, run and dive.
After finishing the Pipeline—the series of schools in his year and a half of training—he’d been happy. He loved training. He loved his first real combat mission so much, he’d been certain he’d found his destiny.
And had left Cadence to find hers.
Questions troubled him, but what had happened to her life since they parted was not his business. He was here because he couldn’t say no to his sisters. Because he knew Amy’s budget was tight with making ends meet. She had to manage Westin’s medical bills, largely from the hospital stay after he’d been swept away in the river, and plan a wedding.
He was glad to watch the kid and save her the cost of a babysitter. He’d been equally happy to pay for the lessons—not that he’d told her yet that he’d laid down his own cash.
Ten more minutes. He’d meet Westin in the boys’ locker room, get him dressed and they’d hit a burger place. He’d seen a drive-in just down the street. He didn’t get a lot of bacon cheeseburgers where he’d been deployed. But the thought of food didn’t prove a good substitute for his earlier thoughts.
The main entryway was loud with the sounds of kids hauling rolled towels, coming and going with little supervision—or so it seemed. Moms with infants and toddlers struggled to dole out enough change for the pop machine or search through their bag for some necessary item for swim class.
The front desk was busy. A line had formed, but he didn’t pay the folks there much attention as he passed. Until he heard a snippet of conversation that seemed to rise above the background din. “I had heard Cadence Chapman would consider taking another student, and we’ve driven all the way up from Wyoming.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman and her daughter. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, with braces on her slight overbite and her dark hair pulled back into a ballerina kind of bun. She was coltish and lean, and reality punched him in the gut.
Cadence’s years of competition diving were not behind her. She was a coach now. A teacher. She’d never left the sport, even here in this rural spot on the map. Why? She’d probably retired from the fast-track life and had opted for a simpler life.
But that still didn’t explain why she was working at the county pool, at the county’s pay scale, which he would guess was far from impressive.
Stop wondering about it. Wondering would lead only to thinking about her more. She might have grown up and come back to her roots, but she was still the same, he realized. Competitive, driven and looking for glory. Why else would a former world-class athlete coach others, if not to compete vicariously through them?
He didn’t know. And he was half ashamed of his less-than-complimentary-thoughts about her. The past isn’t buried as well as you think, man. He had his own issues, he knew. It was hard being second best to her dreams—so much so that it still hurt. Maybe that was why he’d never been able to have a long-term relationship with a woman.
He was a great dater. He’d been on a lot of first dates and second dates. Third dates and tenth dates. But he’d never gotten to a higher level than that. He always blamed it on his job. He’d been deployed nine months out of the year for most of his career.
But since the recent Iraq war he’d been home to Florida only once before being wounded in combat. Relationships took time and commitment, and he’d never had that to offer any woman.
Now he wondered how much his perpetual bachelor state had to do with being burned so hard and so bitterly when Cadence chose her diving. Of course, he’d pushed her away first, but a part of him knew that if it were real love, nothing could break it. Guess it wasn’t real love. At least not on her part. Love brought with it too much hurt. Too mu
ch loss. And enough rejection to sour a man on love for a lifetime. He never wanted to be second fiddle again.
Since he had time to spare, he studied the pool schedule. Maybe he’d bring Westin in for public swim time so the kid could have fun in the water again without worrying about a river’s powerful current. He noticed the mom and young teenage girl had been given a pamphlet of information, which they were busy reading.
Time was up, so he headed for the boys’ showers. Through the open door onto the deck he could see a large slice of the pool. There was Cadence, her back to him as she helped her students climb the ladder. She waved goodbye to them. Eyes shining as they went to their respective shower rooms, the kids clearly had had fun.
Westin burst through the door. “Uncle Ben! I blew the biggest bubbles. Did ya see?”
“I saw some big bubbles, buddy. And a few really cool kicks, too.” It was good seeing his nephew excited again.
“Did you know that the middle of galaxies are just like a drain?”
“I know. Go take a shower. Go on.”
“You do? It’s cuz of gravity.” Westin hopped into the showers, which were all running thanks to the stream of boys coming in and out of the pool.
Westin dunked his head and called it good, water dripping down his face as he grabbed Ben’s crutch. Ben had to be extra careful not to slip. A pool employee came in, took one look at him on crutches on the wet floor and went pale. The man didn’t know that walking like this was a piece of cake, considering. He worked his crutches expertly on the slick floor without a single skid.
Westin led the way to his locker, while Ben got out the kid’s dry clothes and wrapped up the towel and dripping swimsuit. Westin was talking a mile a minute about everything he’d done in class, how he’d already made a friend named Jacob and how nice his swim teacher was.
