“Denae…” He caught her in his arms and held her close to his chest. “I missed you, honey. So bad.”
She nuzzled against his neck. “That’s too long, Derrick. The last few days I almost jumped on a plane and came home early.”
He took a step back and surveyed her. “The pants are sexy.”
“Just for you.” She struck a pose, and the look in her eyes said more than her words. She took hold of his hands and pulled him close again. “Mmhmm. You’re a sight, Derrick Anderson. I never get tired of looking at you.”
“Mmmm.” He rocked her gently one way and then the other. “Nothing was the same with you gone.” He took a long sniff. “The house hasn’t smelled this good since you left.”
Denae flashed him a satisfied look. “The kids and I are making your favorite lasagna.” She picked up the spatula from the counter and held it in the air. “Right, kids?”
“Homemade noodles and everything.” Libby skittered past them and opened the oven door. The casserole inside looked like something from a magazine cover. “See, Daddy? Isn’t it perfect?”
“It is!” He stretched out his arms and shifted his weight. A pain shot through his knee, but he ignored it. He looked behind him at Larry and Lonnie, and then at his girls. “C’mere you guys. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
The excitement created a buzz that stayed with them through dinner. The lasagna was the best he’d ever had. Or maybe it just tasted that way since it felt so right to have his family home again. Halfway through the meal, Denae asked about the milk, but Lonnie made a sheepish face. “Sorry, Mom. I left it in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get it.” Derrick was used to helping out during the meal. If he was serving his family, he was loving them. His mama had taught him that, and she was right. But not until he pushed back his chair and tried to stand did he remember about his knee. He took a stutter step, and then settled into a more natural rhythm.
When he returned with the milk, Denae had one eyebrow raised. “Thank you, Derrick.” Her look said she was on to him, on to the fact that he’d hurt himself.
Derrick smiled and did a light shake of his head, telling her not to worry, he was fine. The silent, subtle communication between them was something else he loved. How they knew each other as well as they knew themselves.
When the boys were finished with their third servings of lasagna, Larry pushed his chair back and faced Derrick. “We have two-a-days all this week. Can you believe it?”
Two-a-days. Derrick could remember when he was in high school and the team would hold practice twice a day for a week. He and his teammates thought it was such a big deal, working out that long. It always felt something like boot camp. And now his oldest son would have his first chance at the experience. He grinned at the boy. “You excited?”
“So excited, Dad. Coach says I’ll be a starter on the freshman team, for sure.” His eyes danced. “And if I tear it up, I might have a shot at varsity.”
Derrick exchanged a high five with his son. “That’s my boy.”
“I prayed about it.” His look grew more subdued. “If God wants me on the freshman team all year, that’s fine. Wherever I can do the best for the team.”
Emotion welled in Derrick’s throat. That he was living his dream, still playing football after seventeen years in the NFL, that he had a family others only dreamed of having—all of that was enough to drop him to his knees each night in gratitude to God. But this…the faith of his oldest son…overwhelmed him. At a time when other kids were experimenting with dope and drinking, Larry was asking God to place him where he could do his best work for the team.
Derrick reached over and gave his son’s knee a squeeze. “Keep that attitude, son. In the end, that’s all that matters.”
Larry shrugged, as if there couldn’t possibly be any other way to think about life. “Like you always say, it’s how we live our lives between Sundays that really matters.” A mischievous look came over him. “Speaking of which, could me and Lonnie come to practice this week? When I’m home from two-a-days?”
“Please, Dad?” Lonnie had been quiet, wolfing down one piece of lasagna after another. The boy was going to be six-five if his appetite was any indication.
“Sure.” Derrick shot a questioning look at his wife. “If it’s okay with your mom?”
“It’s fine.” She waved her fork in the air in mock frustration. “Not like I have any say in the matter. I wanted them to play the piano, march in the band.” She made a dramatic roll of her eyes. “But no…not for my boys. Football and only football.”
“And shopping?” Libby turned a hopeful smile at her mother. “Since school’s almost here, and since the boys’ll be busy?”
“You can roll your eyes at football,” Derrick chuckled in the direction of his wife, “but you two have turned shopping into a full-contact sport.” He winked at her. “I guess that makes us even.”
The conversation continued, the good feelings of the homecoming coloring everything about the evening. Not until the children were out back, Libby on the phone to one of her girlfriends, and Lonnie and Larry tossing a football, did Derrick carry a load of dishes into the kitchen and find Denae watching him.
She put her hands on her hips. “How’d you hurt it?”
He stopped, his expression as innocent as he could make it. “Hurt what?”
“Your right knee.” She motioned for him to come closer. “Come on, lift up the sweat pants. Let me see the swelling.”
His shoulders slumped forward and a defeated chuckle sounded in his throat. “Good thing I don’t have much to hide.” He came to her and pulled up his pant leg. “You see right through me every time.”
Denae stooped down. She touched her fingertips to the swelling on either side of his kneecap. “Derrick, look at that.” She stood and stared straight at him. “How’d it happen?”
He tried to minimize the situation. “Simple sprints. Something popped, but I wasn’t down more than a minute or so.” He let his sweat pants fall back down again. “I’m fine.”
“Fine.” She tossed her hands in the air. “How many times have I heard that, Derrick.” She mumbled something under her breath. “You need to have it checked.”
“Baby, listen.” His lighthearted attitude was gone. “I did. X-ray’s fine.” He needed her on his side if he was going to get through this season. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked deep, all the way to the center of her heart.
Something in her expression softened. “Okay.” She worked her arms around his waist, and tenderly, with all the love the years had built between them, she kissed him. When she eased back, a shadow fell over her eyes. “Does it hurt?”
He could be honest with her. Slowly he nodded, never breaking eye contact. “Bad.” He clenched his jaw, warding off the pain and disappointment at the same time. “But I can play on it, Denae. I know I can. God’s gonna get me through this one last season.”
She searched his heart, his soul. “You don’t have to make good on the promise, baby.” She pressed her face against his chest. “He would understand. You know he would.”
A sea of sorrow welled inside him, but he swallowed it, held it at bay. “If I have anything to say about it…I’ll keep every word.” He kissed her this time. “It’s now or never.”
The voices of their children outside drifted through the open kitchen window, mingling with the smell of late summer, hydrangea and honeysuckle. Derrick smiled, but he could feel his chin quiver. “You have to believe, baby.”
She breathed in slow through her nose. “I do.” Her eyes closed and she held him tight, clinging to him. “I believe with everything I am, Derrick.”
For a long while, they stayed that way, swaying to the sounds of the children they loved so dearly. Sounds that wouldn’t be around forever. Life had already given them proof of that much. When finally he took a step back, he grinned at her, finding the light and happy mood from earlier. “Now let’s say we get some dishes done.”
He was about to protest, but her look stopped him. “All right.” He blew her a kiss, and moved into their bedroom for a sweatshirt. That way he could sit out on the upstairs deck, the one that offered a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay, and not feel too chilled.
As he walked into the room, his eyes fell on his family’s picture, the one framed on the wall next to the closet, from six years ago.
Derrick slowed his steps, and as he reached the picture, he studied the faces. He and Denae, in love with all the world ahead of them. Their eyes told the story, really. Confident and full of joy. As if nothing in the world could dampen the happiness surrounding them. The relaxed look of untested people.
His eyes drifted down along the faces of his children. Nine-year-old Larry, straight and proud beside him, and the twins, just seven, standing in front of their mama. And in the middle, eyes bright with innocence, was five-year-old Lee.
Forever five.
With the softest touch, Derrick brushed his thumb along the image of Lee’s arm, his face. “I miss you, son.” His words were a pained whisper. He closed his eyes, and for a minute he was back again, back at the hospital holding his son’s hand for the last time.
“You’re gonna…win it all, Daddy! The…Super Bowl.” His words were scratchy and strained, his eyes barely able to stay open.
This had been the running talk between him and Lee. Derrick had a Super Bowl ring for Larry and another for Lonnie. Now he needed one for Lee. Derrick couldn’t see for the tears flooding his eyes. “Okay, little man. I’ll win it all.”
“For me.” His breathing was labored, shallow and weak. “Win it…for me, Daddy. Like…we talked about.”
“I will, baby. I promise.”
“Daddy…” Lee’s eyes opened once more, one final time. He looked like an angel, his eyes bright with childlike love. He patted Derrick’s hand, soft and tender. “You’re my best…friend.”
The memory lifted and Derrick opened his eyes. That single promise had stayed with him every year, every spring training, and every summer camp. At the middle of every huddle, in the midst of every play, every game, he carried the promise in his heart. Win it for me, Daddy.
No one knew how hard he’d tried, but every year his teams had come up a few plays short, a few wins shy of the title. The well ran dry in Chicago, and this past February he and his agent talked about it.
“Maybe it’s time to hang it up, Derrick. Go out standing tall.” His agent was a good guy, one of the last in the business. Not once did he make a deal unless it was right for Derrick, whether it was good for the agency or not.
But all Derrick could see were Lee’s eyes and the way he looked in the hospital bed that October day, an hour before he died. “No.” He worked the muscles in his jaw and gave a strong shake of his head. “I wanna play. One more season.” His look pleaded with his agent. “Find me the right team, man. I gotta win it all. One more time.”
Derrick ran his thumb over the framed photo again. His agent had settled on the 49ers. The big game had eluded them long enough, he said. “You might be the missing factor, Derrick.”
“How do you figure?” Derrick wasn’t convinced about San Francisco. There were other teams more likely to win a Super Bowl—teams like Indianapolis or New England.
“Because…” His agent smiled a knowing sort of smile. “You’re a champion. You know how to be a champion.” He wagged a finger in the air. “If you can teach that to Aaron Hill, the 49ers will be unstoppable.”
Derrick took a step back from the photograph. He walked into his closet and grabbed the first sweatshirt on a stack halfway up a row of shelves. He slipped it on and went out through the patio slider on the far side of the room. The kids were still playing outside, grabbing at every last minute of sunlight. He sat down and gingerly lifted his right leg onto the footstool.
They’d won their first preseason game, but what would happen from here on? Especially if Aaron needed backup? As if in answer, Derrick’s knee throbbed with every heartbeat. Here in this moment, futility breathed its hot breath on him. He could hardly picture winning a league game, let alone a Super Bowl. Doubts crowded him like so many cold shadows. He was a thirty-nine-year-old man with a bum knee. What could he possibly teach Aaron Hill about becoming a champion? And how—short of a miracle—could he keep his promise to Lee in this, his final season?
Derrick drank in a long gulp of fresh air and lifted his face to the sky. I have nothing to offer, Lord. Nothing that’ll make a difference this season. But You’ve got my little boy, Father. And You know the promise I made him. He blinked back tears, just as a breeze drifted over him. It stung at his eyes, and he squinted. I want to win it for him, Lord. So bad. So very bad.
My son, when you are weak…then I am strong.
Almost as if they were carried on the wind, the words spoke to his soul, calming him, assuring him. The verse was engraved on a wooden plaque that hung in the hallway near the boys’ bedrooms. It was something he talked about with his kids often. How they shouldn’t fear weakness, because only in the impossible moments could God truly show His power.
Suddenly he was overwhelmed with a sense of hope and direction, determination and courage. He wouldn’t let an injury discourage him for all the games yet ahead. The season hadn’t even officially begun. He sat up straighter in his chair. He would help his team, if it took everything he had. Somehow, he would help them, and in the end his efforts would make all the difference. He could feel it in his aching bones. God shone best in impossible moments, right?
Derrick ran his fingers gently over his right knee. It was one more thing the Lord wanted to teach him through the coming season. Learning how to be weak, so that God could be strong.
Because as moments went, the idea of an old man with a bum knee helping a team win the Super Bowl was about as impossible as it could get.
NINE
Cory watched out the window of their apartment, looking for the cab. Megan didn’t want to take BART today. Sometimes it got too crowded on game days, and this was a big game—preseason or not. Every time San Francisco played the Raiders, it was a big game. So all week she’d been saving her tips, putting a little extra aside. That way they’d have money for a cab, which was really special.
Only here was the weird thing. Aaron didn’t come to the pizza party last night. Cory got there early and so did Megan, and they waited. Because what was taking Aaron so long to talk about being a dad? He hadn’t called, so all week Cory figured he’d see Aaron at the youth center. Derrick was there, Jay Ryder too. But no Aaron.
Cory waited his turn for Derrick. The lines were shorter every week, since kids were getting used to the idea of Derrick Anderson. When Cory was next, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifted one shoulder a few times. “Aaron didn’t come?”
“No.” Derrick looked sad at this. “He had other plans.”
“Oh.” Cory’s eyes fell to the floor for a few seconds. When he looked up, he tried to sound hopeful. “Maybe he’s getting ready for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We’re his guests for the Raiders game.” The words felt good to say. “He read the letter I gave him. That’s why.” He didn’t want to say too much.
Derrick patted Cory’s arm. “Maybe that’s it, then. Maybe he’s getting ready.”
“You’re gonna win tomorrow, right?”
“Of course.”
The conversation stayed with Cory all night and into this morning, but the part about Aaron didn’t really make sense. What would he need to do to get ready? After the game they were going out for burgers. So why would that make him busy on a Friday night. He talked to Megan about it when they walked home, but just a little.
“He probably had a hot date.” She laughed and took a few running steps ahead of him. “Come on, race you to the top of th
e hill.”
Megan was always doing that, changing the subject when the subject was Aaron. Cory still wasn’t sure why. She had to believe that Aaron was his father now. Otherwise, he never would’ve come to the youth center last week, and he wouldn’t have invited them to be his guests. Her doubts made him mad, so he didn’t bring up Aaron again last night.
“Cory? Any sign of the cab?” She was in the bathroom, doing something with her hair.
“Not yet.” He planted his elbows on the windowsill and stared down the street in either direction as far as he could see. “You almost ready?”
“Almost.”
Cory thought about wearing his Aaron Hill jersey, but he changed his mind at the last minute. First, he didn’t want Megan saying anything about how he was trying too hard. And second, that was his special jersey. The one he slept in. He couldn’t risk spilling mustard or Coke on it. Instead he wore the new 49ers T-shirt, the one he got in the drawing yesterday. That and his old faithful San Francisco baseball cap.
A yellow cab pulled up out front, and Cory jumped off the couch. “It’s here. The cab’s here!”
Megan stepped out of the bathroom, and for a minute Cory felt like he was seeing her for the first time. She wore a white shirt and jeans, but she had some of her hair pulled back. The rest was curlier than usual. Plus she had a little eye makeup on. At least it looked that way. “Wow.” He whistled at her. “You look pretty.”
“It’s a big day for us.” She took her bag from the table and held her hand out to him. “I’ve wanted to see a game in person forever. Just like you.”
Cory took her hand and they hurried out the apartment and down the stairs, ’cause the elevator was still on the fritz. He couldn’t help but think as they jogged out onto the street that maybe some of the reason why Megan looked pretty was because of Aaron. The way he’d looked at her that night a week ago at the pizza party.
But he said nothing. Instead, he took his seat, his heart pounding, and fastened his belt. The trip into the stadium was like the beginning of an adventure. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it. They drove down a few streets and up a few more, and then they turned onto a freeway, and then another freeway, and finally they got off at a street right next to the water.
Between Sundays Page 10
