Penalty Kicks

by D. S. Dehel

  “I have to ask.” Matt moved closer. “Why did you bid on my picture?”

  “I have nothing for my walls.”

  “Oh.” She thought she could hear disappointment in his voice.

  “There’s also the fact that it’s a really gorgeous shot. I must have stopped to look at it three or four times. Something about the visual textures make me want to take off my shoes and walk into the picture.”

  “You can, after a fashion. The field is not far from my parent’s house in Milton.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to England, but Nolan hated to fly.”

  “Nolan?” She couldn’t read his tone and darkness hid his features.

  “My ex-husband.” She watched the sidewalk as she walked. “It’s funny, for so long I wanted to be free of his influence, but I still find myself marking my life by what he did or did not like. I need to stop it.”

  “That’s bound to happen, and you’ll stop in time. Were you married long?”

  “Fifteen years, though we’ve been separated for the last two. It just took forever to get the divorce finalized. This state drags things out interminably.”

  “I take it that this is a recent event?” He glanced sideways.

  “Today, as a matter of fact.” She laughed. “I thought I told you. I’ve been shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “Moving and a divorce? What a busy day for you. I just went to practice.”

  “And schmoozed at a fundraiser.”

  “True.” He gestured to a clock that glowed in the distance. Tendrils of mist seeped around its base. “We’re almost there. The parking lot isn’t far from the memorial.”

  Originally erected for the fallen soldiers of World War I, the granite obelisk now commemorated those killed in all conflicts. A one-quarter sized replica of Big Ben topped the structure, reminding everyone that tempus did indeed fugit. As they passed, India paused for a moment, her eyes were caught by a name, Gilbert Wyant. He meant nothing to her, but he must have meant a lot to somebody at some time, and she wondered if there was anyone alive who remembered the man who had died on a battlefield far away.

  Matt had continued on, so India rushed around the granite corner and walked smack into a wall of fog. “Matt?”

  “India?” The sound came from just ahead.

  When she squinted, she could just make out his shape standing under a nearby light, and she strode ahead more confidently than she felt. For a heart-stopping moment, she feared she’d walked up to a stranger, but then the fog lifted enough to see his face. “There you are.”

  “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “The memorial caught my eye. Sorry.” She moved close enough to see his expression. If she had to name it, she would say an indulgent smile appeared and then vanished.

  He hitched the bag up on his shoulder. “It’s crazy. This fog came out of nowhere, but the parking lot should be just around this curve.”

  “Great.”

  He turned, but glanced over his shoulder to see that she followed. India stayed dangerously close. If he stopped suddenly, she’d slam into him, not that it would be a bad thing if she did.

  In just a few steps, the fog enveloped them again. This time, she grabbed his sleeve so they wouldn’t be parted. “I don’t want to lose you again.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but it didn’t work.

  He reached up and removed her hand from his arm. Embarrassment crept up her cheeks, and she was grateful for the darkness. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he slipped his hand around hers and wove their fingers together. “Good idea. Now you won’t get lost.”

  Chaos broke out in her brain, heart, and various other places. It took all of what little concentration she had to put one foot in front of the other. I’m being ridiculous. He’s just holding my hand. He’s holding my hand. Am I ready for this? Hell yeah, I am.

  Round and round she went with herself, so focused inside her head that it barely registered that he’d said something. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  His laugh floated through the fog. “I said --”

  The chimes of the clock drowned out his words. India turned her head hoping to hear better, but her knee rammed into something solid and made of concrete. She could tell because little stones jabbed her skin. Her forward momentum nearly tossed her over the pillar or whatever it was -- who knew in this fog? -- Her hand slipped out of Matt’s.

  “Ah, fuck.” She grabbed her bruised and probably bleeding knee. “That’s gonna leave a mark.” Standing on one leg while grasping the other, while also in heels, threatened to take her down, so she made a strange sideways hop.

  “India? What happened?” He sounded far away.

  “I hit a pillar of some sort.” The fog enveloped her, cloying and humid.

  “I tried to warn you that the path curved.” His voice held laughter, not mean laughter, just happiness.

  “Well, I couldn’t hear you over the damn bells.”

  His laughter stopped. “Are you okay?”

  “No, my knee hurts.” That sounded really pouty. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just hurt my pride. Where are you? I can’t see a damn thing.” She took a few steps, but and the ground squished under her feet. “Why is the ground all soft?”

  “Soft?” He sounded alarmed. “The ground is soft?”

  “Yeah. My heels are getting stuck.” She pulled one out of the divot she’d created.

  “Stop. Stay where you are.”

  “Why?” His tone made her heart pound.

  “The duck pond is nearby.” He sounded closer, but the fog played acoustical tricks.

  “I’ve stopped. Now what?” She looked around, but all she could see was a wall of white. “I don’t want you to walk into the pond.”

  “Turn your phone on, and I’ll come find you.”

  “Shouldn’t I come to you?”

  “But you might walk into the pond.” He sounded exasperated, but it was hard to tell in this world of cotton.

  “So could you,” she muttered under her breath, then she dug her phone out of her purse and after a few tries, remembered how to turn on the flashlight.

  “I see you. I’ll be right there.”

  The longer she stood, the deeper her heels sank. A sound behind her made her stiffen. Was that a splash?

  A figure loomed out of the fog. “I found you.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Can I be more awkward?

  “How’s your knee?” He reached for her flashlight. “Let me see.”

  “It stings, but I’ll be fine.”

  He motioned for her to hand the phone over, and he was close enough that she could see the movement. “I’m an expert on knee injuries.”

  Part of her basked in the attention, and she handed over her phone. He knelt, making the ground squish around her feet. The light from the phone lit up the surrounding fog, giving everything an unearthly glow. She tried not to stare at the top of his head where she could just make out lovely brown waves, but was entirely unsuccessful. She did, however, manage to not run her fingers through them, a win as far as she was concerned.

  He shifted her skirt up over her knee, making her heart beat a fierce rhythm. He drew in a hissing breath. “That knee looks bruised and sore, but the rest of your legs look fine.”

  Surprised, she let out a giggle that sounded very odd in the mist. “That’s good to know.”

  “Can I kiss it and make it better?” A gentle brush along the edge of the bruise kicked her heart up a notch.

  “My knee?”

  “Hmm.” Even she could tell he was feigning thought. “Good point.” He stood up. “Can I just kiss you?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” Oh my god, I am such a dork. “I mean, yes, please kiss me.” Her face felt beet red.

  “Finally. I’ve been waiting for a chance all night.” He leaned forward, and she rose on her tiptoes to meet him partway. His lips were warm against her chilled ones, and the kiss firmer than she expected from his laid-back attitude.

  A pause. His
lips were still on hers, as if he debated whether to go on, and her heart hammered that perhaps her kiss sucked. It was definitely possible.

  Then he pressed his lips to hers again, even more firmly, and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. India dropped the blasted purse that got in the way and raised her arms to his neck as he stepped towards her, deepening the kiss, a gentle nudge that parted her lips. She titled her head up towards him, shifting her weight back. The ground slid from under her feet, and for a moment she was weightless.

  What the hell?

  India pinwheeled her arms trying to regain her balance and to integrate the shock on Matt’s face with the bliss of the moment before. Then with a crack worthy of a ten-year-old’s cannonball, she hit water, the force and the cold knocking the breath out of her. Her head went under, and instead of a mouthful of Matt, she got a mouthful of gritty -- yet somehow still slimy -- water.

  Fortunately, the pond was shallow, and once her ass hit the muddy bottom, she sat bolt upright. “Fuck!”

  Matt stood, mouth an O. Then he shook himself. “Bloody hell. Are you all right?” He looked ready to jump in, but all that would do is make more of a mess.

  She held up a hand. “Stay there. You’ll just get all wet and mucky.”

  “Are y’sure?” His accent grew stronger with each word.

  She waved a detritus bedecked hand. “Yeah. Just point the flashlight in this direction so that I can get out of here.”

  Fortunately, he had the good sense to not shine it directly at her, or she would have been blinded. Instead, he turned the beam so it created a path through the water to where he stood.

  Currently, she sat waist deep in cold muddy water. Lily pads and dead leaves stuck to her sleeves, and she didn’t want to know what was in her hair. The hand holding her up sunk deeper into the soft pond floor. She’d better get out of here before Matt had to hire a tow truck to unstick her. She curled her legs toward her and removed the one shoe she still wore. The other stood embedded in the ground near the edge of the pond.

  Matt saw where she looked, and leaned over to wrench the shoe out of the mud. She used the moment to haul herself to her feet, just in case her dress ended up over her head. The water threatened to drag her back down, but she managed to stand. Cold mud sluiced down her legs, and the longer she stood, the deeper she sank, so gathering up her courage, she made a dash for the shore, splashing and cursing her way through sludge.

  “Just a few more steps.” He held out his hands. She grabbed them and let him help her onto the grass.

  “I am sorry for my language.” Her skirt had twisted in the hullabaloo, so she peeled if off her skin and smoothed it into place with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “It’s completely justified.” He handed her the missing shoe. “Let’s get you out of here… unless you’d like to continue swimming?”

  “Don’t you tease me, Matthew Bettony. I’ve had a long day.” She wagged her finger at him, but his good humor was contagious. “And that is the absolute worst kiss I’ve ever had. If you didn’t want to kiss me, you should have said so. You didn’t have to push me into the pond.”

  He put his hand to his heart. “I’m crushed.” He leaned forward and gave her a peck on the nose. “I’ll kiss you again once you no longer smell like a fishbowl.”

  “Hmph. We’ll see.” She wasn’t really mad, though. Ridiculous things seemed to happen to her today.

  “The car is just over there.” He dug his keys out of his pockets and pressed the key fob. Not very far away, headlamps flashed. “C’mon, before you catch a cold.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her towards the path, which she could completely see.

  “Hey, where’d the fog go?”

  “There.” Matt pointed down the path where the mist sat and mocked them both. “I told you, this place is strange.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  They walked in silence. She focused on not stepping on glass or a needle or who knew what, though the park really was clean, except for the pond. The soaked rayon fabric made flapping noises when it hit the back of her calves. Even worse, gooseflesh ran along her arms and exposed legs. She could not wait to get in the car and warm up.

  The car. Under the lamplight a pretty, sporty little roadster waited patiently.

  I can’t get in that car in this state. She slowed her pace. Not only could she not get in the car, but she also couldn’t get in anything. No taxi would take her sodden ass.

  Matt bent to look at her. “What’s up?”

  “I can’t get in there.” She gestured with her head to the little blue car. “I’ll ruin it. I’m covered in mud and leaves and fish poop.” Her voice hit a pitch that hinted at hysteria. “And you probably have leather seats.”

  “It’s fine, India.”

  She peered through the window, then straightened and crossed her arms. “I was right. Beige leather seats. I can’t get in there.”

  “You’re right.” He set the bag containing her picture and her purse -- When did he pick that up? -- on the ground. “You can’t.”

  Having won, her heart dropped. Talk about a pyrrhic victory. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked around the car and popped the trunk. He rummaged around for a moment, then reappeared. “We’ll use this.” He held up a towel. “It’s already minging from practice. Does that work?”

  “If you’re okay with it.” Her heart climbed out of her stomach.

  “Perfectly.” He opened her door and spread the towel across the seat. “Milady.” A hand flourish added to his tease.

  “Thank you, Wellington.” She sat as carefully as she could.

  “Wellington?”

  “What does one call a chauffeur?” She pushed her skirt over her knees. The cold, wet fabric made her shiver.

  “I have no idea.” He shut her door, then climbed inside and started the engine. Music blared briefly, but he turned it down. India couldn’t say what she had expected, but she both knew and liked the band he listened to.

  “Fashion District, right?” He backed out and headed for the exit.

  “N-near th-there.” Her teeth began to chatter. “S-sorry.”

  “No, I am.” He flicked a switch. “Heated seats, and here.” He turned the heat on full blast.

  “Th-thank you.” Soon a soothing warmth ran across her behind and up her back.

  “I think this way is faster.” He turned left onto the broad street that cut through the city. They were immediately stopped at a light, although at this hour there were few cars about. “I’ll have you home in a minute and you can take a hot shower and crawl… Oh, wait.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll towel off and wrap myself in every blanket I have, and I have many.” Though she’d stay away from the down comforter, that thing was a bear to clean. “You can kiss me another time.” If there is another time.

  Matt flipped on the turn signal and moved his car into the turn lane.

  “Where are you going? I live that way.” She pointed toward the high rises in the distance.

  “Look, you’re freezing and covered in some vile muck. I’ll take you to the house. You can have a hot shower and then I’ll run you home.”

  “Matt --” But her protest was half-hearted.

  “If you really don’t want to, I’ll take you home.” He studied her face, but his expression was neutral. He didn’t try to persuade her one way or the other.

  “A hot shower is exactly what I need.” She pulled the towel around her shoulders. It did smell of sweaty guy, but it wasn’t repulsive, at least not as repulsive as she currently smelled. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.” The light changed, and he turned them down a street heading into the posh heart of the city.

  “What about your roommates?” Did he bring women home often?

  “They don’t care.”

  “I didn’t know if there was policy about strange women being in t
he house in the middle of the night.” She had no idea what an International House of Soccer Players might be like, but it probably wouldn’t have pancakes.

  He flicked a glance at her, then returned his eyes to the road. “We’re adults, India. This isn’t a dorm or a boarding house. The city is expensive, and most of us are on two- or three-year contracts, so the team lets us stay in Mitchell House.”

  “That’s nice.” And the city was expensive, especially the section they drove through now. Buildings that dated from before the founding of America sat side by side with brownstones the Robber Barons of the Gilded Age had built to impress the rabble.

  “As nice as living with six other guys can be.” He laughed. “I’m glad we each have our own bathrooms.”

  “Me, too.” Something occurred to her. “You said the guys who lived there were single.”

  “We are.” He frowned at the windshield.

  “But Salé said Andrea would kill him if he asked another woman for her number.” At least that’s what she thought he’d said.

  “Andrea is his girlfriend. She still lives in Italy. They met when he played for Serie A, but she does come to visit him from time to time. Damn. There are no spots.”

  Car after car strung along both sides. He sighed and drove on. When they came to the stop sign, he looked at her. “I’m sorry. I can drop you off and go find a place to park.”

  The thought filled her with horror, though she couldn’t say why. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

  Just around the corner, she spied a spot on the far side of the street. “There’s one, if you think the car will fit.”

  “Good eyes. You deserve a gold star.” His grin was reward enough. “And I’ll make it work.”

  She cringed and squinted as he maneuvered the car into the tiny space. Scant inches separated the bumpers in both the front and the back. “I’m impressed. You’ve mastered driving on the opposite side and parking like a city dweller.”

  “I like cars, so I had to learn or be without a vehicle.” He opened his door. “I’ll leave the picture in here. It’ll be safe.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” India doubted car break-ins happened within five blocks of here.

  They walked until they stopped in front of a massive brownstone that reached several floors toward the night sky. Darkened windows stared like impassive eyes, except for a bay window that jutted in her direction like the jaw of an ill-tempered grandpa, and she pulled the towel closer around herself.