Between Sundays

by Karen Kingsbury

  Megan smiled. “Then I guess God answered her prayers.”

  Cory stared at the soapy water. He liked the way that sounded, and even more, he liked how it felt inside him. Because that’s exactly what had happened. Two years after she died, God answered the prayer that mattered most in his mother’s whole life. Now he only hoped that wherever she was in heaven, his mother was watching.

  Because Cory had a feeling the answers had only just begun.

  SEVEN

  He hadn’t read the letter; Megan was sure of that much. The nerve of the guy to show up and lie to Cory, and for what reason? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was hitting on her, that the whole invitation was more about that. Whatever it was, the lie made Megan furious.

  That Monday she made sure she left with enough time to walk the whole way to Bob’s Diner. She needed the fresh air to clear her head. The conflict between her real thoughts about Aaron Hill and the sheer adoration Cory had assigned the guy was driving her crazy. When Cory was home, all she could do was smile and nod and agree that Aaron was the greatest man ever. Why else would he have come to the pizza party?

  But Megan saw through the guy from the beginning. If Aaron had read Cory’s letter, if he knew Cory thought that Aaron was his father, he wouldn’t have made a casual appearance at a pizza party, talking about how Cory’s letter had touched him. Rather, he’d be panicking. He would’ve either ripped up the letter and never given it another thought. Or he would’ve called and tried to clear up the whole mess. At the very least, he would’ve pulled Megan aside and explained how Cory’s beliefs were mistaken. Instead, he said nothing about it, which could only mean one thing. He hadn’t read the letter.

  Megan dodged a group of people gathered outside a liquor store.

  “Hey pretty lady,” one of them called out.

  Megan ignored the comment. The city didn’t scare her. She delivered papers before dawn. She knew her way around every bad alley and gang territory. A couple of catcalls from a bunch of winos weren’t going to make her skip a step.

  So had Aaron actually been interested in her? The idea was ridiculous, but why else would he pick the two of them to be his guests? She slowed her pace. Guilt maybe. He might’ve been feeling badly about not reading Cory’s letter. Still, the way he’d watched her all night made her suspicious. Then, when Cory had the run-in with the older kids, Aaron stepped up and seized the moment. Rescuing Cory from punishment and meeting her all at the same time.

  Now Cory was absolutely certain that the invitation meant Aaron was claiming his role as Cory’s father.

  Megan had ten minutes and only two blocks left. She stared up between the buildings toward the blue sky beyond. God, I don’t get it. If Amy prayed about Cory meeting Aaron Hill, why didn’t she tell me? Cory must have his facts wrong. He must. He was only six when Amy died.

  She kept to the outer edge of the sidewalk. Fewer pedestrians to veer around. So we go to the game and then what? Should I pull Aaron aside and tell him the content of the letter? Or just let him stumble along until Cory says something?

  Her heart felt a wave of peace as she silently voiced her concerns to God. He was her Savior and her friend. He listened whenever she had things to work through. Thanks for being there, God. I need Your help on this one. I can’t stand by and watch Cory get hurt.

  There was no answer this time, no Scripture that came to mind. But a sense of God’s bigness came over her. She would stay quiet and let the details play out at this week’s game. God would take care of the details because He cared deeply for each child.

  Including Cory Briggs.

  Megan’s work at the youth center that afternoon put her emotions on a rollercoaster. There was the success of helping Rudy Booker study for his math test retake, and knowing he was ready to ace it first thing tomorrow morning. Then came the breakdown by the bruised teenage girl, as she told Megan about the difficulty in transitioning to her new foster home.

  “I don’t want to be a boarder,” she admitted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want someone to love me.”

  “God loves you, sweetheart. He has plans for you, even if they’re hard to see right now.” Megan whispered her response. If the legislators could see this, foster reform would be a cinch. Megan sighed. She pulled the girl into an embrace and let her cry.

  On the way home, Cory was quieter than usual, and even now with dinner over and the dishes nearly done, Megan could feel a tension between them. Normally Cory would help with the cleanup, but he had homework. Megan didn’t mind. She was still thinking about Aaron Hill and his motives. She wasn’t interested in Aaron Hill, no matter what he had in mind. In high school she’d dated a guy from a wealthy family, and in the end she’d walked away more jaded and independent than before. Society had drawn lines and Megan understood her place. Pro football players didn’t date women on food stamps.

  Not that it mattered. Megan had no interest in committing her heart to a quality guy, let alone a playboy like Aaron Hill. Even if he lived in Nob Hill.

  Bottom line, on Saturday the delusions Cory was carrying around were going to come crashing down around him. Because Aaron Hill wasn’t Cory’s father, and she wasn’t interested in dating him. So this Saturday would likely be the last time Aaron would invite the two of them to be his guests at a 49ers game.

  She thought about her high-school romance again. Her life had never been normal, not in the way it was for other girls her age. Now she was twenty-five, and nothing scared her more than the idea of relying on someone else.

  Even the right guy.

  The dishes were finished, so Megan dried her hands. She wandered into Cory’s room and found him sitting on the floor near his bed, working on math. He didn’t look up as she approached, and Megan was worried. Maybe her skepticism was seeping through, troubling Cory more than she’d realized.

  “Hey, buddy.” She sat on the edge of his twin bed. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Times tables. Fours and fives.”

  Oreo walked into the room, meowed, and came to Cory. “Good boy.” Cory patted his black and gray face. “You’re a good friend.” The cat curled up on the other side of Cory.

  Megan smiled at the picture they made together. She pointed to the math paper. “You can count by fives, right?” She put her hand on his head and softly twirled a piece of his hair.

  “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty…” Cory looked up at her. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Then you know your fives times tables. Five times three, count three fives. Five, ten, fifteen.” She held up her hands and smiled. “See? Three times five is fifteen.”

  The corners of his lips lifted a little. “Hey, that’s cool. I get it.” He thought for a bit. “Six times five, count it six times. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty! Six times five is thirty.”

  “Right.” She brought her hand back to her side. “You’re a good boy, Cory. I’m happy for you. About the game this Saturday.”

  “Really?” He wrinkled his nose and looked at her. “You don’t seem like it.”

  She slid down onto the floor beside him. “I’m sorry.” She took hold of his hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

  “I won’t get hurt. I can’t.” Cory smiled at her as if he were the caring parent, trying to comfort her. “Aaron asked us to be his guests so he could talk to us about what happens next.”

  Megan kept herself from any show of disbelief. “And what do you think will happen next?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m thinking about.” He drew a small football on the corner of his math paper. “’Cause if he wants me to come live with him”—Cory looked up, his eyes glistening—“then what about you, Megan? You’re all the family I have.”

  Never mind that the idea of Aaron Hill asking Cory to live with him would never happen. The dilemma was a real one for Cory. Megan squeezed his hands twice, their sign for “Love you.” She kept her tone even. “Don’t you think Aaron would know th
at? How I’m the only family you have?”

  “Yeah, but…” Cory bit his lip. “I always wanted my dad too. So I don’t know what to do or who to live with. You know?”

  Megan closed her eyes. God, are You catching this? She held her breath and then let it out slowly through her tight lips. All of a sudden she remembered the verse from the last time she didn’t know how to answer Cory. She opened her eyes. “Remember how we talked about not worrying about anything more than we can handle in any one day?”

  “Yeah.” Cory didn’t sound sure. “What does that mean for today?”

  “Well…” Megan pulled Cory’s math paper a little closer. “It means today we work on times tables. And Aaron Hill can wait till Saturday.”

  Cory nodded. He still had his hand in hers. “Can I tell you something, Megan?”

  “What?” She felt her heart breaking over the child’s angst.

  “I love you.”

  Megan understood. This was his way of saying he was still worried about whatever might happen Saturday, but for her sake, he wouldn’t talk about it right now. Not more than to simply let her know what was in his heart. “I love you too.”

  For now, that was all that mattered.

  EIGHT

  They were running forties when Derrick felt a snap in his right knee. Like a sudden wild fire, the pain exploded through his leg and up into his gut. He fell to the ground as a rush of legs passed him in a blur, and from somewhere near the middle of the field he heard a whistle.

  “Stop. Everyone stop!” It was Coach Cameron.

  No, God…not now. Please…

  Coach was coming closer. He was a big guy, a former tackle, and he didn’t so much run as waddle toward Derrick. At the same time, Jay Ryder was at Derrick’s side, kneeling beside him. “What happened, man? What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Derrick grimaced and held his knee, gripping it, willing the pain to subside. Even so, he couldn’t say the words, couldn’t articulate that the worst possible scenario was playing out. His right knee already bore scars on both sides from those times when a surgeon put back together what a linebacker had dismantled.

  “One more injury to that knee and you’re done,” the doctor had told him last time.

  So this couldn’t be it, not here at the beginning of his last season. He released his knee and sat upright. By then, Aaron Hill and a few other guys were making their way slowly back to him.

  Coach Cameron reached him, huffing hard, his face creased with concern. “What happened, Anderson, talk to me.”

  “I…I took a wrong step.” He felt the sweat beading up on his forehead, felt the nausea that came with the worst injuries. But he wasn’t giving in to it, not this time. He straightened his legs out in front of himself. “It’s nothing.” He ordered his lips to lift just enough for the slightest smile. “Really, Coach. I promise. Give me a few seconds.”

  Doubt flickered in the coach’s eyes, but he gritted his teeth and took a step back. He waved at the others. “Keep running!”

  Derrick leaned back on his hands and nodded to one of the trainers. “I’m fine, man. Really. Go on.”

  Aaron watched from his place in line, but when their eyes met, he looked away. Even in the midst of a series of pain waves that took his breath, Derrick felt his frustration rise. Aaron had kept his distance since the pizza party, and once Derrick overheard him talking to a receiver about some hot brunette he’d met at the event. If that’s all he got from the outing, then where Aaron Hill was concerned, Derrick still had his work cut out for him.

  Looking reluctant, Jay stood and joined Aaron. The two walked off, and Derrick stared at his right leg. Come on, God…let me move it. Please. He focused all his energy on the knee and then bent his leg and straightened it again. It hurt like crazy, but his ligaments weren’t torn. The injury was nothing like the two others that had sent him to the hospital—one during his third year in the NFL, and the other on the eve of his ten-year anniversary in the league. He’d been playing seventeen years now. Seventeen years. He knew better than anyone what his body was capable of.

  The late afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders, adding to the sick feeling in his stomach. You can do this, Anderson. Get up. He pulled his good leg underneath himself, and with all his weight on that foot, he stood. The blood pounded through his injured leg, a half second slower than the pounding in his heart. Please, God…

  He looked across the practice field at the team. Everyone taking long swigs from their water bottles between their sprints. Off to one side, the coaches were gathered, talking, watching him. They’d paid a big chunk to get Derrick Anderson as their backup quarterback. So was this it? Was he through? Even from half a football field away, Derrick knew what they were saying.

  Derrick still stood on just his left foot. The weight of his dangling right foot put pressure on his knee, as if his foot were being stretched away from his leg by some sort of mechanical vice grip. He rested his toes on the grass. How did it happen, anyway? They were running forty-yard dashes. The most basic drill in all of football.

  The guys were starting their last set, so it was now or never. He was going to make his knee work, whatever the pain. The first few steps he stayed light on his right foot. The pain radiated out from his knee with any bit of weight, but it was a pain he could tolerate. Nothing was ripped or torn or broken. Derrick was convinced. One foot in front of the other, he moved toward the team and took the last twenty yards at a jog. No wincing, no tears. Nothing but forward movement.

  Coach Cameron met him first. He stared at Derrick’s knee and then into his eyes. “You feel as good as you look?”

  “I’m fine.” He ran a few steps in place. The pain throbbed through his body, but he could tolerate pain. He was a pro football player. The only question was whether the knee would hold him up, and it was. It would.

  “Okay…” Coach raised his voice. “But get it checked out today.” He gave Derrick a final wary look, then turned his attention to the team. “Let’s line up…same groups.”

  Derrick’s group was last, and he was glad for every minute of the break.

  The quarterbacks ran in the same group with the kickers. They had four groups before it was their turn. Aaron came up beside him. “You okay?” His tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but his interest seemed genuine.

  “What’s this? Aaron Hill gone soft?” Derrick laughed, and the release felt good. It was better than screaming.

  “Never.” He gave Derrick’s shoulder a shove. “I want you at the top of your game, that’s all.” They were stepping up to the line, waiting for the whistle. Aaron winked at him. “Someone’s got to push me.”

  The whistle blew and the group was off. The pain took Derrick’s breath, but he could still run. He finished middle of the pack and then jogged off to the sidelines for a drink. His season was still intact. If he had to play the next four months with pain in his knee, he would do it. Because this was his last chance. God had brought him here for a dozen reasons—but none of them would take place if he was on crutches.

  Practice was long that day, and even without the injury Derrick would’ve felt the drain of it. That’s not what he was thinking about, though. For the past two weeks, with his family gone to Southern California, he’d come home from practice, sat in the hot tub for an hour, and then watched Sports Center while he stretched on the living room floor. Then he’d eat chicken and vegetables and hit the sack.

  But not tonight.

  Derrick pulled his Ford into the driveway of his hillside home. He’d been looking forward to this moment all day. His family had flown in during practice, and tonight he would see them for the first time in way too long. He babied his right leg as he swung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the front door. But before he could reach it, the screen swung open.

  “Dad!” Larry, the oldest of his kids at almost sixteen, flew through the doorway, his arms outstretched.

  Derrick braced himself and caught the boy in a full embrace. “Mmmm, you don
’t know how good this feels.” He pulled back and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Look at you! You’re an inch taller!”

  “Really?” Larry straightened himself. “Mom measured me. I’m almost six foot.”

  Before Derrick could respond, the door opened again. His thirteen-year-old twins, Lonnie and Libby, came bursting out at the same time. There were more hugs and joyful shouts as the kids celebrated the fact that they were all together again. As they headed into the house, Libby circled her arm around his waist. “I met a boy at our hotel, Daddy.”

  Derrick raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re thirteen, young lady.”

  “Yeah, and the guy was seventeen.” Larry rolled his eyes. “He barely noticed she was alive.”

  Relief eased his fears. He grinned at his daughter. “You trying to give me a heart attack, or what?”

  Libby batted her eyelashes at him. “He was cute, that’s all.”

  “Cute boys can wait.” Derrick kissed the top of her head. “Till you’re thirty-five or so.”

  “Daaaaddy.” Libby giggled. She was straightening her hair now, and the little-girl look he so dearly loved had been replaced by a beauty that hinted at the way she would look as a woman. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered near his ear. “Mom can’t wait to see you. She bought a new pair of pants just for you.”

  Butterflies danced around Derrick’s heart, and he realized in the rush of emotions that his knee didn’t hurt as bad as before. The pain would probably be gone in a few days. He caught a glimpse of blue sky as he walked into the house. Thank You, God…for all of this, and my knee too. Thank You.

  They walked straight to the kitchen, and there she was. Denae. The love of his life. She was tall and shapely, not one of those skinny women who usually made up the group of players’ wives. Denae carried a little extra on her hips, but the curves only made her more beautiful. She wore a pair of black slacks that flared out at her ankles. The moment she saw him, her eyes lit up. “Derrick, baby…” She had a dishtowel in her hands, and she tossed it on the counter.