Dream Runner

by Gail McFarland

  “Well, I do, and I know why, too.” Rissa dropped heavily onto the bed and wrinkled her nose. She patted the comforter, inviting company. “You’re both control freaks, can’t let anybody else help you out. He’s always been like that, even when we were kids.”

  Crossing her legs, she looked at Marlea. “Big kid picked on me, said he was gonna beat me up because I couldn’t keep a secret, and AJ made him eat dirt. I told him not to, but he said he had to because I was his little sister. Kid was bigger than him, too, but he never hesitated. Said it was ’cause he loved me.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Marlea eased herself to sit.

  “Never said it was bad.” Rissa looped her folded hands over her knees. “AJ is just one of those people who have to know how things are going to turn out—have to find a way to control the outcome. Like with you. Okay, I’m talking too much again, but it’s true.” She lifted her chin and studied Marlea’s face. “He coulda let you go on your way, but that would have meant that your full recovery was out of his hands, and there’s no way my brother would ever let that happen.”

  “It’s easy to see that you adore your brother, and that’s sweet.” Marlea sounded sad and a tiny bit jealous.

  “I could give you a lot of other examples,” Rissa grinned.

  “I’ll bet you could.”

  “Oh, child. Could I ever.” I could start by telling you about my brother and the women in and out of his life, Rissa thought. But I wonder how you’ll fit?

  Marlea took a deep breath and looked away. Rissa rocked, fingers still locked around her knees.

  Bianca Coltrane, bless her pointy little head, had never fit. The girl was so into material things that she made Madonna look like a nun. Glad she’s out of the picture. Rissa rocked and sighed, and hoped it was true. Bianca is like a poster girl for Murphy’s Law—if it could go wrong, she probably caused it.

  And poor AJ. When that witch sank her claws into him, it had taken every ounce of her brother’s formidable integrity to walk away from her. That had to be hard. If there was any truth to the rumors, Bianca was a fierce competitor when it came to men, and it was said that her sexual arsenal was downright awesome.

  And I think he really loved her…he wouldn’t listen to me. Rissa glanced at the woman sitting beside her. She was still staring intently at the print on the walls.

  Maybe this is the right one, Rissa sighed, and maybe I’m going to have to help him figure it out. Not that love was foreign to AJ; he just didn’t fall easily. He hadn’t brought home a lot of women, didn’t even do a lot of dating—especially not since he got the news about his contract.

  “AJ hasn’t brought home a patient since Robert Crown,” Rissa murmured.

  “Who’s Robert Crown?”

  “Oh, did I say that out loud?” Rissa’s eyes slid low and she stood slowly. Crown was unexpected, too. A twenty-year-old UGA running back, he needed help recovering from a stroke. AJ did it gratis, said that working with the young man was an investment.” Moving across the room, Rissa picked up a pair of sweatpants and folded them over a hangar. Sneaking a glance at Marlea, she slipped the matching jacket onto the hanger. “Crown was an investment, but you’re different.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure yet. For now let’s go get some lunch. Maybe I’ll fill you in when I know.” Rissa closed the closet door and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Rissa smiled. “I only said maybe.”

  * * *

  “You know you can’t take me, Dench.”

  Pointing a thick finger across the table, he shook his head. “You’re going to get enough of teasing me, Rissa.”

  “Oh, yeah. Like you gon’ school me.” She threw back her shoulders, managing to look runway ready in spite of her jeans, tee shirt, and lack of makeup. She dug into the pocket of her jeans and came up with a bill. She placed it flat on the table, her hand beside it, and let her eyes drill Dench. “I’ve got a twenty here, and Ben Franklin says you can’t take me in eight ball.”

  Dench checked his pockets and pulled out his own twenty. Eyes on Rissa, he held the bill to his ear, then pressed it to the tabletop. “Ben says he’s lonely and he always wanted a twin.” He stood. “Let’s do this.”

  “Oh, we gon’ do it, all right.” Rissa stood and led the way from the room.

  “This won’t take long,” Dench muttered, behind her back.

  “I heard that,” Rissa shouted, heading down the stairs.

  “Are they always like that?” Marlea asked when it was finally quiet again.

  “Always. They’re in love and don’t even know it.” AJ leaned his elbows on the table and pushed his unused knife closer to his empty plate. “They think they’re friends, though I think Dench is starting to figure it out.”

  “In love and not know it? That’s a funny notion. Where did you get an idea like that?”

  “It happens, I’m told.”

  “Hmm, I don’t see it. You’re either in love or you’re not.”

  “Ever been in love?”

  “No time for it. How about you?”

  “Once. It didn’t work out, so I settled for being in love with football.”

  Marlea’s eyes fell, and she seemed to reach a decision. “Dr. Reynolds said you were a football player, and I saw the pictures. Sorry to say, I didn’t remember your name before.”

  “That’s okay…”

  “Nicest man in the NFL…” she grinned.

  “Yeah, I really was an NFL player. Running back,” AJ told her. “That’s the big man who’s expected to get down the field and get the job done fast.”

  “I thought that was the quarterback.”

  “Glory boys,” AJ chuckled, liking the bright flash of her teeth when she smiled with him. “That’s what they would like for you to believe, but I’ve outrun many of ’em in my day.”

  “So how did you come to football, if you were so fast?”

  “How did you come to running?”

  Her lower lip jutted out. “No fair; you can’t answer a question with a question.”

  “Sure I can, if it’s the best possible answer.”

  “Okay. Well, it was just the best thing for me. It was the thing I did to feel alive and like…it was like a blessing.” She shrugged when no more words came.

  “I feel you. It was the same for me. Catching the ball, flying across the field, even running down someone on the other team…it was what I was born to do. The field was where I was most alive. The rest of it—school, hobbies, other kids, eating, sleeping—that was just stuff to do until it was time for the next game.”

  “I feel you, too.” Marlea smiled wistfully. She reached for her cloth napkin and began twisting the ends. Suddenly aware of the nervous gesture, she let the napkin fall to the tabletop. “Josh, my brother, actually he was my cousin, but I didn’t find out about that until some wretched neighbor kids blabbed…but he used to run with me.”

  “Family’s good that way,” AJ agreed, leaning toward her. “You said, ‘was’…”

  “Long story.”

  “I can wait.” He leaned back in his chair, prepared to do exactly that.

  Marlea dropped her eyes to the dining table between them. “Well,” she sighed, “since you seem so determined to get into my business, and I am living in your home…Josh was…he was really my cousin, but I mostly grew up thinking he was my brother. His mom was really my aunt, but I thought she was my mother.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “Is this making any sense?”

  She waited for his nod before continuing. “It’s not a long story, or a pretty one. My father was a musician, and he was a gambler. My mother was a beautician. They fell in love and made me, end of story. What about your family?”

  “Come on, Marlea. How many times do I have to tell you to play fair? Finish the story.”

  “My daddy was probably a better musician than he was a gambler, ’cause he was caught cheat
ing. Cheating got his throat cut and sent my pregnant mom out looking for revenge. My mother was no Foxy Brown, and she was brutally beaten for her trouble. She died of her injuries ten days after I was born. That left me with her sister, my aunt Cyndra, who became the only mother I have ever known. She’s the only woman I’ve ever called Mom.”

  “A little family, with a whole lot of love.”

  “Yeah, until I lost them. Josh was killed in Iraq, a peacekeeping mission they called it. Mom died last year, I think of a broken heart. So…” she blinked back a tear, “I run…ran.” The tear rolled free and Marlea brushed at it with a slash of her hand.” What about your family?”

  “Not much to speak of,” AJ said slowly.

  “Oh, come on. I told you about Josh and my mother.”

  “I love my mother, I’m crazy about my weird sister, and I wish I had found a way to love my father better.” He threw an arm over the back of his chair and drummed his fingers. “That’s the biggest regret of my life, that I didn’t get along better with my father when I had a chance to.”

  “I suppose we all have something in our life that we regret.”

  “Mine starts out kind of stupid. My name.” Her face hinted at the question she didn’t ask. He drummed his fingers harder. “My father was like most men—first born kid, a big, healthy son. It was his chance to ‘man-up,’ his chance for immortality. He insisted on naming me after himself. Tagged me a ‘junior.’ Antoine Jacob Yarborough Jr. It’s funny now, but as a kid, I felt robbed of an identity. I spent most of my life feeling like my father treated me and my name like leftovers.”

  “All kids have identity crises,” Marlea offered.

  AJ sucked hard air through his nose. “Maybe, but my dad made it clear that he wasn’t trying to entertain my psychological trauma. My old man worked construction. It was hard, honest work, and he figured that if it was good enough for him, then it was good enough for me. He wanted me to follow him. He was good at what he did and made good money. He figured that it was as good as it would get for a black man workin’ in the South.

  “Don’t know if Rissa told you or not, but all those pictures in the library were taken by my mother. My pops thought that my running and football were just games. ‘What good does all that playing do a black man?’ he used to say. Even when I got the football scholarship, he thought it was useless. He said, ‘Break your back, break your legs, then what’ll you have? Nothin’, that’s what!’ ”

  Marlea looked around, taking in the expansive kitchen and the view beyond the terrace and pool. “You could have done worse.”

  “Yeah, I could have, but my dad wasn’t trying to hear it. He never supported my ballplaying, not even when I got drafted. That’s when I changed my name: twenty-one, with a pro contract, I changed my name legally and learned to keep some distance between my father and myself. I can still hear him sometimes: ‘You shamed a’ me, boy? Gave away my name like it was nothin’.’ ”

  AJ shook his head and sniffed. Marlea watched his eyes for tears and saw none. “Guess you could say I gave away his name so I could be something, so I could be my own man. It had nothing to do with hurting him.

  “My dad’s gone now, five years, and I still regret not having found a way to make some kind of peace with him. Still, I learned a lot from him: that a man needs work he can be proud of, to respect and take care of your family.” AJ pulled his arm from the back of the chair and straightened in his seat. “I learned something else, too. I’m resolved to be a better father, when the time comes. In the meantime, Rissa works with me, and I get to concentrate on her and our mother.”

  “Will I get a chance to meet your mother?”

  “Sooner or later. Mostly Moms is off being the merry widow, and she deserves the privilege. Not to play my dad cheap, but she was the one who bulldozed me through school, made me promise to get the degree even after I went pro, and stayed on me to be sure I kept the promise. She’s enjoying travel and freedom after a thirty-year marriage. This month, she’s in Puerto Rico.”

  “She sounds like the reason for your drive and one of your reasons for pushing me.”

  “Could be.” Relaxing again, AJ propped his elbows on the table and leaned close. “What is the one thing you wanted most in the world?”

  Marlea lifted her glass and took a sip, her gaze steady over the rim. “That’s easy. A gold medal in the 400. How about you?” She set the glass down. “If I remember correctly, you earned a Heisman, then you played with the big boys, so…what? What else is there for you? Something like…a Super Bowl ring?”

  “Well, yeah, but more than that,” he explained, his face taking on a boyish cast. “So far, fewer than ten men have rushed for more than 2,000 yards in a season—O.J. Simpson, Eric Dickerson, Barry Saunders, and Terrell Davis—I wanted to be one of them, but I guess I ran out of time. Knees couldn’t take it.”

  “Hall of Fame,” she whispered reverently. “So what did you put in place of the game?

  AJ thought about Bianca, and wished he could say that he had put his family, his wife and children in place of, and in fact ahead of, the game. But hey, that wasn’t meant to be. “I put my physical therapy practice in that place.”

  “And right now, in your house, that means me?”

  “Yeah,” he said, thinking about it for the first time. “I guess it does.”

  Marlea carefully placed her hand flat on the tabletop. “Then that gives me some responsibility for how things turn out, right?”

  “Huh?”

  “If your practice, what you do with me, has to replace the most important thing in your life, then I guess we had better get it right.”

  His voice softened when he looked at her, and he tried not to think of ripe and lurking possibilities. “Yeah, Marlea,” he agreed, his hand closing over hers. “We’d better get it right.”

  Chapter 18

  Rissa musta heard wrong. No way a woman who looks like this doesn’t date often. AJ kept his eyes on his plate. My sister can’t keep a secret, and she does have a tendency to talk too much sometimes, but she’s usually right in what she reports. He looked at Marlea. Wonder why?

  Sitting across from AJ, Marlea tried to look comfortable. Kind of an effort, considering where they were going after lunch, but it was nice of him to offer to spend the time with her. Ray’s on the River was scenic and kind of romantic—lots of crisp white napery and a full view of the Chattahoochee River. The food was wonderful and the company was good, but she was a little nervous about the suit Rissa had talked her into. Is this really an appropriate outfit for a visit to a podiatrist?

  A podiatrist, no, that was wrong. AJ said that this guy was more than just a foot doctor. The thought of a doctor made her skin crawl. I don’t think I could take another doctor right now. An icy sliver of betrayal stabbed her, and she reached for her wineglass. The quick swallow of Chablis didn’t do much for her, so she tried another.

  He didn’t exactly spring the trip on me, but…she caught her breath and let it out slowly across her wineglass. This man is a pedorthist, not a podiatrist—and this is certainly not a trip I was looking forward to. She sipped again, then set the glass aside, glancing at AJ. I don’t want him thinking I’m a drunk on top of everything else.

  Everything else. I don’t suppose I would ever really be ready, and now Rissa has me all dressed up…She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table, knowing that she would have been just as willing to have worn one of her Nike wind suits. A passing waiter filled her glass, and Marlea tried to keep her hands still. She didn’t know what to do with them; slipping them over her lap again would only betray her nervousness.

  Like he doesn’t know already. Rissa probably told him that I don’t get out much, and he’s a nice enough man to spring for this mercy date. Marlea cringed inwardly. Humph! This is not a date, and I don’t need to forget that. This is just a good-looking man trying to be nice. She forgot her resolve and fingered the lapel of her borrowed suit. Slate blue and faced with matching silk, the
Dreen original hugged her curves and rested suggestively against her breasts and hips. Rissa said that the color brought out the red in her skin and made her eyes more exciting.

  Like I need exciting eyes! Stealing a glance at AJ, she was pleased to find his eyes on her. At least, I look good—sitting. Marlea pushed her feet further under the table and wished for something other than the clunky surgical shoe that encased her damaged foot.

  Pushing her fork into the tender stuffed tilapia, she looked up, catching AJ’s eyes on her again. “Something?”

  “No.” He pretended interest in his scalloped potatoes, then gave up and put his fork aside. “Yes.”

  Steeling herself, Marlea forgot the fish. “What?”

  “You’ve got something on your mind. No, don’t deny it. I figured it out after I spent five minutes talking to you, and you just sat there looking out the window.”

  “Did I…AJ, I…”

  Leaning close her, AJ planted his arms on the table. “I know that with everything that’s happened to you, time has to be skewed and your life has to feel crazy, but what we’re doing today, this is a good step. Have you given any thought to how this is going to affect your teaching?”

  Trying not to look at the cane resting on the chair next to her, Marlea shook her head.

  “What about your children?”

  He’s seen the cards and letters from the Runyon School. She remembered his walking in on her. I don’t know what made me think that I wanted to watch that damned video in his theater. I could have just as easily watched it in my sitting room. But the idea of seeing the faces she knew and loved so well on the big screen had been irresistible. And he walked in on me. One of the parents had helped the children to produce the video and he had caught her watching it. They’ve sent me cards and letters, and I haven’t answered a single one.

  “At the rate I’m going, I don’t know when I’ll get back to teaching.” Her lids fluttering, she swallowed hard. She tried to lighten her tone. “AJ, whether I walk or not has nothing to do with the children.”

  “You’re lying to yourself, Marlea, and you don’t have to.”