Between Sundays

by Karen Kingsbury

  The atmosphere was frenzied, foster kids packing the place as if this single event was every birthday and Christmas rolled into one. She placed her elbows on the table and leaned into them. The line of mostly boys formed a thick crowd around the veteran player, and a string of volunteers worked to straighten them into a single line. Across the room, another batch of workers came through the side doors, each carrying a stack of pizzas. Pauline’s Pizza had given them half off, and Derrick Anderson picked up the rest of the tab.

  A few tables over, a little girl sat with an older woman. Both of them looked lost, overwhelmed by the chaos. The girl had dark hair and blue eyes, and a wistfulness about her that made her seem far older than her young age. Something haunting and familiar shone in the girl’s eyes, and it took a few minutes to realize what it was. The girl looked like Megan, the way Megan had looked at that age.

  The sounds around her faded as Megan was drawn back in time, back to the days when she came to this same youth center, attended the same community pizza parties.

  “Your mother isn’t stable,” Megan’s social worker had told her just before they took her from her downtown apartment and placed her in the first foster home.

  Megan didn’t need anyone to tell her that. She’d taken care of her mother from the time she was five years old, back when she first realized how troubled the woman was. Her mom was a crack addict and a binge drinker. She loved Megan with all her heart and always promised she’d find treatment. Once in a while she did, but only for a season. Megan spent her life in and out of foster homes.

  At least until she turned eighteen. That year, she was released from foster care and returned to her mother. Megan had the highest grade point average in her graduating class, and for a year she managed to care for her mother and carry a full load of university classes. But her mother’s health deteriorated the summer before her sophomore year, and Megan had no choice but to drop out.

  By the time her mom died at the end of the next year, Megan had the paper route and the job at the diner, and college was little more than a distant dream.

  Megan blinked and searched the line of kids until she found Cory, not far from the front. Amy would’ve loved this, a chance for Cory to meet a player from his favorite team. Megan squinted against the glare of the past. Hard to believe two years had passed since her death.

  Cory looked over his shoulder and gave her a nervous grin. Her heart responded, the way it always did around the boy. What would’ve happened to him if she hadn’t taken him in? His grandparents in Southern California were both dead, and he had no father in the picture. An image of Aaron Hill filled her head. No realistic father, anyway.

  During her long talks with God, Megan concluded she’d been placed square in Amy’s life for the sole purpose of taking care of Cory. Who else in Amy’s world would’ve understood foster care the way she did? That was one of the reasons she wanted to adopt Cory—as soon as possible.

  She blew at a wisp of her bangs. Maybe Cory’s letter really would make it all the way to Aaron Hill, and maybe he’d get a message back to the boy that, well, he simply wasn’t the boy’s father. Cory believed it with all of his heart, so the truth was bound to hurt. But at least then he’d stop telling the social worker that he knew who his dad was, and in time, the adoption would go through and they’d both be happier.

  Megan took a long breath. The smell of warm cheese and pepperoni was making her hungry. But she couldn’t eat, couldn’t move or blink or do anything but watch the line of kids and the big, strapping quarterback at the front. This was the first step toward the moment of truth.

  Cory was next in line.

  Finally Cory could hear Derrick Anderson’s voice.

  Because he was only four more kids away from his turn.

  Cory put his hand over his heart like when they said the Pledge of Allegiance before a game. It was pounding hard, right close to his shirt. He swallowed and stared at his old tennis shoes. Derrick would give Aaron the letter, right? He would do that sort of thing because he was a nice guy. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here having pizza with a bunch of foster kids.

  They moved up another spot and he could hear Derrick laughing, the same sort of laugh he sometimes had when he was on TV and the news people talked to him. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he told the kid at the front of the line. “I’m there for Aaron, certainly. But I can’t say I want his job.”

  Derrick Anderson didn’t need anyone’s job. He could retire now and be in the Hall of Fame in no time. That’s what Megan said, and it was true. Derrick already had two Super Bowl rings, and that was more than Aaron Hill. Derrick was steady and dependable, year after year. The newspapers always wrote that about him. Aaron was flashy with a lot of big touchdown passes. Plus, he had good looks and a lot of endorsement deals. That’s what they said about Aaron Hill.

  Cory felt the letter in his back pocket, and his heart beat even faster. Maybe since he was closer now, he should take it out and have it ready. So he wouldn’t waste any time once he got to the front. He reached back, but then he changed his mind. Better to keep it in his pocket where it was safe.

  The letter wasn’t super long, but it had all the stuff Cory wanted to say, like how his mom always told Cory that Aaron was his dad, and how they moved to San Francisco so they could be close to him and so that Cory could meet him one day, and how this might be the year because he never was able to get a letter to Aaron until now. The letter had Cory’s phone number, plus some other good stuff at the end, but Cory couldn’t think of the exact words right now.

  He swallowed again. The nervous feeling in his stomach was worse than before any soccer game. Plus, the line wasn’t moving very fast, and he was shorter than most of the guys in front, so he had to keep leaning sideways and trying to see exactly what was happening to make it take so long. Maybe some of the kids were filling out their raffle ticket for the prize basket. All the guys were talking about it. Five ticket packages with two seats each were being given out tonight. The best gift ever. Cory had already filled his out, and he wrinkled the slip of paper up a little in his hands so maybe Derrick would feel his more than the others, and Cory’s name would get picked.

  The line shuffled a few feet closer. Two more kids, that was all. Cory gave a little wave to Megan, because she was watching him. She didn’t like it that he was giving Derrick a letter. She didn’t say so, but Cory could tell. He smiled at her and looked back at his shoes. Then he tried a trick to make the time go faster. He thought about his last soccer practice, and the drills, and he pretended in his mind that he was going around the cones and dribbling the ball and passing it to the other guys on the team.

  And then, just like that, it was his turn.

  Derrick smiled at him. “Hey, partner, how’s it going?”

  His throat was dry, but he licked his lips and stepped forward. “Good.” He stuck out his hand, proper like the way his soccer coach did when he met one of the other coaches before a game. “I’m Cory Briggs.”

  “Hi, Cory.” Derrick shook his hand. Up close, his face looked a little bit like Michael Jordan’s. He had a friendly smile and nice eyes and a smooth voice. “I like a young man who can look me in the eyes and give a proper handshake.”

  The rumbling in his stomach settled down. “Megan says you’re the best quarterback who’s ever played the game.” Cory waited a few extra seconds before letting go of Derrick’s hand.

  “Megan?” He looked behind Cory, and his eyebrows bunched together, confused.

  Cory giggled, because Derrick seemed like a guy who laughed easy. He pointed at Megan sitting three tables away. “Over there. She’s my foster mom.”

  “Oh.” Derrick waved at Megan, and then he took a photograph from a stack and signed it to Cory. “Here you go.”

  All of a sudden, Cory felt panic because maybe Derrick was going to tell him goodbye, and that it was the next kid’s turn. But he put his hands on his knees and looked right into Cory’s eyes. “You play football, Cory?”


  “I want to.” Cory felt his shoulders sink a little. “I play soccer. Megan says football has to wait.” He didn’t stay discouraged for long. “I’m gonna be a running back in high school.”

  “Running back’s a tough position.” Derrick sized him up. “I think you’ll be a good one.”

  His words made Cory feel twelve or thirteen, instead of eight. He stood super tall, and then in a flash, he remembered the letter. “Oh.” He twisted around and pulled the envelope from his back pocket. For a second he stared at it. The name Aaron Hill was across the front. God, please…let Aaron get this. He felt a little shy all of a sudden, and embarrassed because maybe he should’ve brought a letter for Derrick too. He bit the inside of his cheek and gave Derrick a worried look. “Can I ask a favor?”

  Derrick put his hand on Cory’s shoulder. “Sure, partner.” His smile looked real, like it came from inside his heart. “What’s the favor?”

  “This.” He held the letter out to Derrick. “It’s a letter for Aaron Hill.”

  Derrick took the envelope and looked at the front. “Aaron Hill…yep, it says so right there.” He gave Cory a look, the sort of look a dad might give a son. Because Cory had seen it when the dads talked to the other guys on his soccer team. That kind of look. “Is Aaron your favorite player?”

  Cory wanted to say no, Aaron wasn’t his favorite player. He was his dad. But Megan said that was the sort of detail that Aaron had to find out before any of his teammates did. So Cory shrugged one shoulder. “Kind of.” He rushed on. “Course, you’re one of my favorites too.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I liked you before I liked Aaron, and that’s the truth. ’Cause I’ve been watching football since I could walk.”

  Derrick did one of those grown-up kinds of laughs. Then he held out his hand again, and Cory shook it. “Tell you what. I’ll make sure Aaron gets it.” He leaned in a few inches closer. “Promise.”

  Everything inside Cory lit up all at once. “Really?”

  “Really.” Derrick tapped the envelope on his knee, and then slid it into his own back pocket. “I’ll give it to him tomorrow at practice.”

  “Okay.” Cory licked his lips again. “Thanks, Derrick. I mean it a lot. You’re the best.”

  Derrick nodded toward Megan. “I think she’s saving you a seat.”

  “Yeah.” Cory looked at her and waved again. “She’s good about that.”

  “Get yourself some pizza and maybe you’ll win the tickets. We’ll pick the winners in about half an hour.”

  “Okay.” Cory was going to shake Derrick’s hand a third time, but he changed his mind. Too much of that sort of stuff bugged people. So he took a step back and pointed to his letter in Derrick’s pocket. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yep.” Derrick gave his pocket a few light pats. “Soon as I see him.”

  A few kids in line were saying hurry up, and that Cory was taking too long. He took a step backward. “Thanks again.”

  Derrick winked at him, and then just like that, the meeting was over. Cory walked back toward the table where Megan was but he didn’t remember taking even one step. And he didn’t want pizza either. All he wanted was to sit there and watch Derrick and imagine that sometime tomorrow he would take the very same envelope that held Cory’s letter and hand it over to Aaron Hill.

  The whole event was a dream come true.

  “That looked like it went well.” Megan gave him a hopeful smile when he reached her. “He took the letter, at least.”

  “Yeah.” Cory’s voice was full of victory, the way it was after he scored the winning goal in the first soccer scrimmage a few weeks ago. “He said he’ll give it to Aaron tomorrow at practice.”

  Megan told him to get some pizza, and even though he wasn’t hungry, he obeyed because maybe he’d be hungry later. Plus, he had to find something to do to make the time go faster between now and the drawing for the preseason game tickets. This was his best chance ever to see the 49ers play in person.

  Cory kept his eyes on Derrick, even when he was eating his sausage pizza. Finally, the director of the youth center stood on a platform and tapped her microphone. It made a loud sound and she backed up a few inches. “Okay, kids, settle down.”

  The kids weren’t that good at settling down, not usually anyway. But today everyone settled very fast because the director was going to tell them about the tickets. Derrick came over to her, and another lady gave him a big basket of names.

  “Now boys and girls, you know there’s only five sets of preseason game tickets available tonight. But Derrick brought lots of water bottles and 49ers T-shirts and bumper stickers. So after I draw the winning names, stay quiet. You still might win something.”

  Cory crossed the fingers on both hands, and then, just for a little extra help, he crossed his hands and set them on the table next to his empty pizza plate. Come on, Derrick…pick me. You gotta pick me. That would be perfect because then he could meet Aaron, and by then Aaron would’ve read the letter and they could get right down to business and talk about how Aaron was his dad.

  Derrick swished his hand around in the basket and pulled out a slip of paper. It looked wrinkly as he handed it to the director.

  This is it! Cory held his breath.

  “The winner is…Tommy James.”

  All the air in Cory’s lungs came out. Now how would he ever get a chance to go to a game and meet Aaron Hill? Across the room, a big kid jumped out of his seat and shoved his fists straight into the air. He hooted a few times as he ran to the front of the room. Someone took a picture of him and Derrick, and then Derrick gave him a package.

  Four more times Derrick picked a name, and four more times it wasn’t Cory’s.

  When all the excitement calmed down, the director handed the microphone to Derrick. “I know there’s a bunch more of you kids out there who’d like to see a game at Monster Stadium.”

  The kids clapped and cheered.

  “So, here’s the good news. I’ll have a pizza party like this every Thursday or Friday night through the preseason—depending on whether the 49ers are home or away. And each time we’ll give away five pairs of tickets and a bunch of other stuff.”

  Cory’s heart felt light again. If Derrick gave away five sets of tickets at every pizza party, one of them was bound to go to him and Megan. It had to.

  Of course, there was one other way they could make it to a 49ers game this year. Derrick could give the letter to Aaron at practice tomorrow, and Aaron could read it, and he could be glad that he had a little boy named Cory living just a few miles from the stadium. And he could call Cory up and invite him and Megan to a game. Then he could ask if Cory wanted to come down to the locker room afterward so they could hang out. And that, Cory told himself as they left the youth center that night with nothing from the prize table, would be even better than a water bottle or a T-shirt or even preseason game tickets.

  Because that’s what a dad would do.

  THREE

  Derrick walked out onto the field at the Santa Clara practice facility fifteen minutes before any other player. Today would be light, since the past week was one of the hardest so far. Derrick headed to the warm-up track and planted his feet, shoulder width apart. He put his hands on his hips and leaned to the right for ten seconds, then to the left. Stretching took longer than it used to, his bones and muscles and tendons holding tight to the memory of a hundred NFL games.

  He drew in a long breath and stared at the place where the brown rolling hills met the sheer blue sky just beyond the field. This was it. His last chance at a game he’d loved since he was in kindergarten. He could feel the finality as surely as he felt the constant ache in his throwing arm. After a standout career and a dozen playoff wins, after two Super Bowls and the roar of the crowd one touchdown pass after another, the whole glorious ride was about to come to an end.

  He squinted toward the afternoon sun. God, show me how…

  Another deep breath and he started to jog. He took the first lap slow, just fast enough to ge
t the blood flowing through his body. Retirement would be nice, no question. His wife, Denae, had all sorts of plans for him and their three young teenage kids. Trips to Hawaii and Mexico and a cruise to Alaska. And of course, coaching. Two of the three were boys and Derrick rarely saw them without a football. He would coach them as long as the local high school allowed it.

  Derrick had a pretty good hunch they would.

  But all that could wait. Here, now, he had just one goal that mattered, one that had consumed him since he took his place with the 49ers. He had to help this team reach the big game, had to win one more Super Bowl. He’d made a promise, after all. If Derrick wanted to be remembered for one thing when he hung up his helmet, it was for being a promise keeper.

  Fans of Derrick Anderson never had to worry about opening the pages of the sports section and finding his name linked with drugs or drunken behavior or police activity. He might not be flashy like Aaron Hill, but he was dependable. God alone had given him the ability to play, and when he went out, he would do so with the sort of tribute his God deserved.

  If he could only figure out exactly what that tribute was.

  He rounded the first lap and picked up his pace. The run was easy, second nature. With every lap he felt his body waking up, falling into a familiar rhythm and quickness that he would need if he was going to make a difference this season. And he would, because God had told him so. Derrick’s only question was how that would happen.

  Near the entrance to the facility, a few other players were arriving. But Derrick kept his focus. This season was going to be special, maybe the most special of all. There was the foster program, of course. The city was inundated with foster kids, most of whom had no plan outside their eighteenth birthday. Derrick wanted to change that. The pizza parties were only the beginning. He wanted to pass on his love for foster kids to the other players. Get the whole team to embrace the city’s parentless kids.

  That wasn’t all the next four or five months were about. Coach Chuck Cameron’s job was on the line, for one thing. He’d taken the team to the playoffs four of the last seven years. But he hadn’t won a conference championship, and he hadn’t made it past the first round in five years. This year, once again, the best thing going for the team was Aaron Hill, the top-ranked quarterback in the league, but the 49ers were weak at the line and two of their top receivers had undergone surgery in the off-season. No one expected them to break records this year. Grumbling was coming toward the coach loud and clear from the front office. Win it this year, or pack up and leave. The owners expected a new stadium in five years—whether it was in Santa Clara or at Monster Park. They wanted a championship team long before that.